Chapter 30: Count Etienne’s Warning
The horse under Mulai moved its hooves slightly.
After accepting several months of horsemanship training, he had truly transformed horse riding from a mere amusement into a necessity of life. Caesar could tell at a glance that Mulai had shifted his body on the saddle.
For a disciple of the devil like this, a shameful traitor, a heathen mongrel dog, encountering such a group of Christians, it would be no surprise at all if he only thought of capturing them, taking them back to his castle, then ransoming them one by one—if someone couldn’t pay, contacting Isaacite merchants to sell them off as slaves.
Even if they had almost nothing to do with him and had committed no sins, they would suffer disaster because of his greed, but he wouldn’t care at all, and would even feel smug, thinking himself extremely lucky—today his target was another group, but who would refuse a plump lamb with little resistance?
But if the other party was the only son of Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, that was another matter.
As we mentioned before, this was indeed Mulai’s territory, but his previous vile deeds were despised even by the Turks. Toghrul II, harboring intentions of driving out the tiger to swallow the wolf, had placed the territory granted to him in the triangular area of conflict between the Principality of Antioch, Armenia, and the Seljuk Turks. As long as Mulai wanted to hold onto his territory, he had to work for Toghrul for free.
Of course, how could a vicious little man like Mulai willingly accept such exploitation? He was more keen on plundering pilgrims passing through or near his territory, sometimes attacking Isaacite merchants, or even Turks or Saracens who recited the name of Allah.
Someone might point at him and call him an apostate villain, but faith was just a useful tool to him, and he had such confidence—after all, he had worshipped Saint Matthew in the Temple on Ayyarasa Road and received the blessing of Prophet Lot in the Aladdin Temple. Since the saints and prophets didn’t care, what did a mere mortal have to care about!
But when it came to his own interests, Mulai considered much more.
The current Duke of Antioch, Bohemond III, was no easy neighbor—and this had something to do with events from his childhood and youth. His father was Raymond, son of Duke William IX of Aquitaine, and his mother was Constance, daughter of Bohemond II. This was also a marriage with a huge age mismatch: Constance was ten then, and Raymond thirty-six.
Though they had a pair of children, Constance did not respect or admire this husband. After he died in battle, she quickly married a Crusader knight, who became the later Duke of Antioch, Reynald. Whether there was true affection between them we do not know for now, but after Reynald was captured by the Saracens, Constance was not enthusiastic about efforts to rescue him—perhaps by then this noble lady had tasted the sweetness of power.
This desire ruined Bohemond III’s relationship with his mother, especially after he came of age and demanded she return power, only to be firmly refused by Constance. If not for her previous foolish act of marrying her daughter to Byzantine Emperor Manuel I, giving the latter suzerainty and inheritance rights over Antioch—with the result that the Crusader knights in Antioch angrily deposed her regency—Bohemond III’s accession might not have been so smooth.
Bohemond III naturally greatly disliked the covetous Manuel I, but a few years ago he had been captured by Nur al-Din of Zengi and was released back to Antioch only through Manuel I’s mediation and gold coins, so he had to accept certain conditions, such as accepting Manuel I’s priests and officials, and marrying his niece.
And Bohemond III’s only son with this emperor’s niece was Abigail. Mulai had of course heard his name. If this child’s mother were someone else, even the Pope of Rome’s bastard daughter or a princess of the Holy Roman Empire, he would unhesitatingly plunder them all—this child would fetch the highest price.
But this child was the key to Manuel I extending his influence into the states of the Holy Land. If he did that, he would face a three-sided attack from the Byzantine Empire, Armenia, and the Principality of Antioch—not to mention Toghrul II; the Turks’ sultan would not spend a single soldier to rescue a former enemy.
But to say whether he could accept this outcome willingly, the answer was definitely no—an heir to a principality was worth at least several thousand gold coins, and his status was so special, possibly worth more.
Mulai now was like a wolf pacing before an enticing trap, coveting the plump bait set by the hunter yet fearing the sharp bamboo spikes in the pit.
Moreover, he had doubts in his heart: the son of a grand duke held an exalted status, and he was so young that even if not in his father’s castle, he should be in the castle of the King of Ayyarasa Road or the Count of Tripoli. Why would he appear here for no reason, with only these ten or so people? Not to mention that he could tell at a glance they were two separate groups.
“One of my father’s guests encountered a wolf pack. His attendant rode back for help, so I brought some attendants out.” Caesar said.
Though he said this, his tone still carried a bit of weakness and uncertainty, and his eyes involuntarily looked down.
Mulai guessed that this child had probably sneaked out to play, hiding it from his father under the pretext of searching for the guest.
“We found him and were just preparing to go back.” Caesar added.
Mulai’s gaze lingered a bit on Count Etienne, seeing that twisted leg. “He is injured,” he turned his gaze back to Caesar: “Impressive, my little knight. Were you the only one who found him?”
“Indeed,” Caesar lifted his head and said proudly: “My father sent many people, but only I found him.”
“Your father… sent many people?”
“Many people,” this time it was Geoffrey who spoke: “We have already sent out the little falcons; they will be here soon.”
Mulai’s expression wavered. He had also heard that some knightly retinues were searching for someone, and though he had the advantage in strength and numbers here, the other side had eight or nine people, also on horseback—they could flee or fight them to a standstill, and who knew when the knights from Antioch city might catch up.
He always prided himself on being cautious, though in truth cowardly, greedy by nature and unwilling to take any risks. After much deliberation, he lightly kicked his horse’s flank: “Then let’s leave it at that.”
He urged his horse forward, slowly passing through the group. The “son” of the Duke of Antioch looked at him curiously, tilting his head to say something to his attendant beside him, while that tall burly knight replied with words carrying a touch of contempt—definitely nothing good—but Mulai, able to live comfortably to this day, wouldn’t care about such false fame.
As he passed by the guest, he confirmed he was a Frank: white or blue cloak or short jacket, red trousers, boots gilded and patterned. Knights who had stayed here long always had some Eastern elements. Count Etienne nodded slightly to him, seemingly never having heard of the infamous “Mulai.”
“You are truly a brave warrior.” Mulai said hypocritically, “How many did you encounter?”
“We encountered two groups, one a pack of wolves, one a pack of jackals—at least fifty of them. They were cunning and vicious, but God be praised, we sang songs as we drove them off. If you go further ahead, you might still see the corpses they left.”
Mulai stared at him for a while, unsure if the other was being sarcastic. Though Count Etienne used animal terms, compared to real wolves and jackals, Mulai was more worried about roving bandits—he cared not for the peace of his territory, but feared someone competing for his prey.
“Then I really must go take a look.” Mulai said. This time he no longer lingered, leading his group of soldiers—unclear if Turks or Saracens—past Caesar and the others. Only when the last cavalryman’s horse tail swept past the edge of the Pine Forest did Geoffrey nod to Count Etienne: “Let’s go too.”
One of the count’s knights was about to step forward but was yanked back by the monk grabbing the reins, along with a stern glance. He was a bit puzzled until he saw Count Etienne approach, bow slightly to the “son of the Duke of Antioch,” and then the two ride ahead side by side—only then did he understand. They had gone over a hundred feet when a Turkish cavalryman hurriedly caught up from behind.
“The prince says he forgot to ask you to convey his regards to your father, the Duke of Antioch, and wishes Allah preserve his health.” He extended his hand; Geoffrey took what he offered—a gold ring in Fatimid Dynasty style, with the band and face wrapped in strands of gold thread, dotted with gold beads, its craftsmanship far exceeding the value of the gold itself.
Geoffrey tossed a gold coin into the Turkish cavalryman’s hand. The cavalryman was overjoyed; he dismounted, bowed deeply with hand on chest to the “grand duke’s son” clad in a black mink fur robe, then remounted and galloped away in an instant.
Only then did Count Etienne’s knight realize he had nearly committed a grave error.
After this episode, they no longer minded Count Etienne’s leg. Once out of sight of Mulai and his soldiers, they galloped at full speed. Without a guide or messenger, they headed toward the sea as best they could. This time they finally received God’s favor, finding a Christian village.
The village steward sent a messenger to lead them all the way to Zephyrium, an ancient port city. Though it belonged to the Byzantine Empire, to avoid trouble, they disguised themselves as pilgrims escorted by Templar Knights, sailing from Zephyrium to Cyprus, then straight from Cyprus to Jaffa.
It was only on Cyprus that Geoffrey sent word to Ayyarasa Road. A day and a half later, Count Etienne returned to Holy Cross Castle.
Seeing those three lion-headed towers, Count Etienne was filled with mixed emotions. When he left, the king here, Amalric I, could be called his bitter enemy—though it was he and Louis VII’s fault—and when he returned, he had become Amalric I’s bitter enemy.
He was escorted to the main tower, housed in a room second only to the king’s. The bishops of Ayyarasa Road had long been waiting; they took turns praying over and treating Count Etienne’s leg, assuring him he could walk freely within a week with no aftereffects, and would remain a brave and fearless knight.
The king personally placed a collar around his neck—an item inlaid with red and blue sapphires worth roughly Count Etienne’s ransom this time. The other consolations and gifts need not be mentioned; the king and Duke of Antioch generously covered all the rewards—this incident had alarmed three Knights orders and half the Crusader knights of the city.
Geoffrey, his sergeant, and attendants were to receive extra commendations.
“That… child?” Count Etienne asked.
His monk hesitated: “I don’t know.” He recalled that as they entered Holy Cross Castle, the king had put his arm around Count Etienne’s shoulders, together with the Count of Tripoli, the Duke of Antioch, and other nobles, ushering them in—only to see that green-eyed little attendant left behind, receiving no extra attention, except Templar Knight Geoffrey turning back, pressing his shoulder, and saying something.
But to the monk, that little attendant didn’t seem forgotten or abandoned, but rather waiting for something.
And he got it. The monk saw that after the others left, a boy in a white robe and fine gauze veil rushed out from a corner of the tower, straight to Caesar, hugging him tightly!
“You saw that man?”
“Amalric I’s only son Baldwin, also Caesar’s master,” the monk said. “One could see their bond was strong; Prince Baldwin treated him not like a useful attendant, but like a dear brother.”
Count Etienne nearly laughed out loud: “Alas, my dear Annoncia,” he called his monk—generally, these monks were close confidants of their lords; he never hid his true face from Annoncia.
“You were born to a farmer’s family; if not a monk, you’d be an ordinary farmer. Tell me, if you were still a farmer, would you allow a leper to embrace you so intimately, rest his chin on your neck, breathe on your skin, touch you with fingers like withered branches?”
The monk shuddered. “No, never!”
“What if it were a prince?”
“Send him to hell!” the monk said firmly. “No amount of gold or titles matters if I don’t live to spend them!”
“Then,” the count leaned back, buried in the fluffy soft furs, and asked lazily: “Do you think Caesar wants that so-called ‘dear brother’?”
An explanation here: the collar the king gave Count Etienne.
Jewelry in this period was basically unisex.
And many knights wore collars, as there were no neck-covering helmets yet, only chainmail headscarves; to add defense, some knights wore iron collars.
