Chapter 31: Count Etienne’s Warning
Baldwin and Caesar met, and how happy they were goes without saying.
It could be said that during the days Caesar was away, endless regret gnawed at Baldwin’s heart intermittently like a venomous snake.
When he closed his eyes, he saw his little companion lying flushed in a patch of damp mud, sick and feverish, about to die; in the next instant, he saw him on horseback, pierced through the chest by a fierce Turk wielding a sharp spear, falling from the horse and instantly vanishing amid the chaotic hooves; in a daze, the prince saw again that during the sea crossing, the ship encountered massive waves and sank, he cried “God!” and fell into the sea, disappearing without a trace in a few breaths…
These things were all entirely possible to happen to Caesar; he had no familiar people around him and was heading to heathen territory, facing so many hardships along the way—Baldwin was simply tormented day and night—only after Caesar left his side did he realize how foolishly he had fallen to the devil’s temptation, letting his best friend go to die for that valueless vanity and competitiveness!
Seeing Caesar with all limbs intact, conscious and clear-headed, looking no different from when he left Holy Cross Castle, Baldwin finally felt the heavy shackles lift from him; he even didn’t want to let go of Caesar, and the two returned to the left tower hand in hand, but this time Baldwin took Caesar to an empty room, whose furniture and decorations were only slightly inferior to the prince’s room, and a steaming bath tub was prepared.
“Whose room is this?”
“Yours,” Baldwin said.
Although as an attendant, Caesar should sleep in the same room as him, during the time Caesar was away, he was always anxious and distracted, pacing up and down the left tower repeatedly.
Only when he saw that the tower had several vacant rooms did he recall that back when he was in the right tower, although David, Abigail and others were his attendants, with someone sleeping on the bedside cart under his bed every night, they all had their own rooms in the tower.
He remembered his father Amalric I had promised that Caesar would receive the same treatment as David and Abigail, so he should have his own room too.
Having his own room was of course a good thing for Caesar; no matter how splendid and comfortable the prince’s room was, it didn’t belong to him, and when he occasionally wanted a private space, he could only sneak out after Baldwin fell asleep, sitting on the little platform outside the door to think or read.
“You prepared bath water for me too?”
“Just like for every triumphant knight.” Baldwin pushed him, watching as he undressed with the servants’ help and immersed in the bath tub; he found no wounds on Caesar’s back or chest, but Amalric I had also shown him the letter sent by Templar Knight Geoffrey.
The letter gave only a rough account of the journey, of course not without the Knights Templar’s characteristic rhetoric, but it still revealed the terror and danger of the trip, especially at the end when they directly ran into Prince Mulai’s group.
Baldwin didn’t much trust the monk by Count Etienne’s side, thinking he’d better have the bishops of Ayyarasa Road check Caesar’s condition later.
“I’ll head back first, Caesar,” Baldwin said.
“Don’t you want to hear about the journey?” Caesar asked; in this era of monotonous and scarce entertainment, people were curious about any events in the outside world, which was why traveling troupes, pilgrims, and minstrels were always popular wherever they went.
Baldwin was no exception; he had even promised that after the Choosing ceremony, he’d take Caesar to the Market, where the taverns and streets often had performers playing music, singing, and telling stories.
“No,” Baldwin said, “I’m tired too, going to sleep; after you wash up, you sleep too, don’t come bother me.”
Though he said that, Caesar could feel Baldwin’s gentleness; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to know, or had grown cold toward Caesar; he was just worried that after so much, Caesar was exhausted, and making him talk would simply be torture.
“See you tomorrow then,” Caesar said: “Tomorrow I’ll tell you the story of the journey—sleep easy, I’m back.”
Baldwin nodded without speaking, afraid that if he spoke, he’d cry.
——————
Caesar had never slept so deeply; this mission was a harsh trial for him too, but if there truly was a God, He would give this answer sheet a fine score.
When he woke, he was heading to Baldwin’s room but ran into an attendant he recognized, one from Amalric I’s side. The attendant told him to go to Count Etienne first, as the count wanted to personally thank the little benefactor who saved him from the fissure.
Count Etienne was now staying in Duke of Antioch Bohemond’s room, which was of course a fine room; lifting the tapestry let bright sunlight illuminate it as if plated with shining gold. The count, wrapped in a sleeveless robe of gray squirrel fur, sat on a Byzantium-style throne, the gold collar given by Amalric I gleaming on his neck, several previously unseen rings on his fingers—the long chest（this kind of chest could serve as a seat, for storage and display）held Monk Annoncia sitting atop it.
Caesar bowed to the count.
Though the count’s pretext was to personally thank his little benefactor, most thought he was simply curious about this attendant; after all, in this era, if a high-ranking person was aided by a subordinate, giving corresponding reward sufficed, no need to spend their own time and energy, let alone condescend to thank face-to-face.
Count Etienne scrutinized Caesar carefully again, and had to admit that after years in Louis II’s court, he’d seen countless young attendants, but in terms of looks alone, almost none could compare to this child.
“I want to thank you,” he said; only after leaving the fissure did he see how deep and narrow that “Devil’s Maw” was; no need for the monk to describe the situation, he knew that after he fell, whether his retinue or the Templar Knights, the most likely decision was to abandon him.
If not for Caesar insisting they could lower him down to search for the count in that terrifying “Devil’s Maw,” these people at most would kneel at the fissure edge to pray for him; they’d gain nothing and face punishment, but he would surely be dead, experiencing a living hell before dying.
“I want to thank you,” he repeated: “I’ve thought long and hard, child, how should I thank you? I asked around—you’re Prince Baldwin’s attendant, so do you know he’s a leper?”
“I know.”
“Since when?”
“Before I became his attendant.”
“I heard you received a favor from Amalric I.”
“Yes.”
“He saved you from Isaac slave merchant’s knife; that’s a favor, but one that can be repaid.” Count Etienne leaned back: “You should know what happened before; Amalric I owes me a favor, and I can use that favor to redeem you.”
Caesar looked up in surprise; the count smiled: “You see, I can go to Amalric I and have him release you, and you won’t worry about where to go; you remember Templar Knight Geoffrey Fuller, don’t you? He’s no ordinary knight; he was once a commander of the Knights Templar, returned to Ayyarasa Road just last year, and rumor has it he may become overseer of the Holy City.
He’s full of praise for your performance on this journey; he says even the young knights in the order might not match you—those nobler than you lack your humility; humbler than you lack your bravery; braver lack your steadiness; steadier lack your piety; and those more pious can’t match your wisdom—yes, he likes you.
If you were just a farmer’s son, he’d take you into the order immediately, but you’re the prince’s attendant, which puts him in a bind.
I can guarantee, if Amalric I agrees to release you, Geoffrey will rush to Holy Cross Castle’s gate to take you away—you have my favor as guarantee, and Geoffrey’s favor; your future in the order might not be any worse than staying by the prince’s side.”
He had been subtly watching Caesar’s expression, expecting him to be overjoyed.
Caesar lowered his head in thought; the path Count Etienne envisioned for him wasn’t wrong; due to Abigail’s foolishness, Amalric I and the entire Crusaders were effectively held by the count.
After the count stole another lord’s bride and went to war with the king over it, he could still earn Louis VII’s favor and trust, even willing to make him King of Ayyarasa Road（whether the count himself wanted it was another matter）, showing just how versatile and cunning he was.
A man like that, seeing the guide suddenly reveal a sum of money impossible for such a person, then Ayyarasa Road knights rushing over for no reason—how could he not guess someone had set a vicious trap for him—and not just anyone, at least not an ordinary attendant; an ordinary one couldn’t produce so many gold coins, nor mobilize all of Holy Cross Castle for cleanup.
Back at Holy Cross Castle, seeing Duke of Antioch’s son Abigail missing at a glance, he understood even more.
And the Knights Templar were one of the few organizations in all Ayyarasa Road, even the entire Kingdom of Christ, that could face Amalric I without deference.
In the order, there was no disdain for birth, wealth, or surname; after all, Crusader knights were originally “Martial Monks”; once devoted to God, all worldly status was cast aside—a farmer’s son and a knight’s son were little different in the order.
“I should thank you for your arrangements for me,” but after some thought, Caesar shook his head, “but I’ve already sworn an oath.”
Count Etienne was somewhat stunned, then showed a knowing look, “Are you doubting me? Or fearing King of Ayyarasa Road?”
“How could I, my lord? Amalric I is the defender of the Holy Land, guardian of the Holy Sepulchre; every word he speaks is law issued in God’s name, which even he cannot disobey; and you, I believe a good man who braved dangers and came thousands of miles to the Holy Land to labor for God, the king, and the people would not speak idly.”
“Then why won’t you?”
“Because I’ve sworn an oath,” Caesar said with a smile: “I swore to Baldwin never to leave him, and Baldwin swore to me never to abandon me.”
Count Etienne was truly stunned; he looked incredulously at the monk, then straightened his back, leaning forward to keenly observe every subtle change on Caesar’s face, confirming he wasn’t lying: “Then… following the Templar Knights through wind, snow, beasts, and Turks to find me… fearlessly fighting the wolf pack… and finally descending into the ‘Devil’s Maw’ without hesitation… all that was for your master Baldwin?”
Not to seize the chance to leave him? But genuinely acting for him?
Count Etienne’s mind turned to utter chaos, like four major feast processions and eight minor ones drumming, shouting, praying, and singing hymns in his skull; he sank back into the chair, pondering back and forth for a long time before doubtfully saying: “But he’s a leper…”
“I’m not just now learning he’s a leper,” Caesar said mildly: “And I’m just goods of Isaac merchant; he respects me, loves me, so of course I’ll respect him, love him; I praise your generosity, but I won’t leave Prince Baldwin.”
“Good heavens,” Count Etienne turned to the monk beside him: “Pinch me, am I dreaming? Maybe yes, when I open my eyes, I’ll find I’m still in that ‘Devil’s Maw,’ bleeding to death…”
The monk obligingly reached out and pinched him!
The count yelped and sprang from the chair.
“Enough,” he glared at the monk: “I know now, I know it’s not a dream, what are you doing?” He slapped the monk’s hand away: “Wasn’t one pinch enough?”
He couldn’t help tugging at the collar around his neck, unfastening it and tossing it aside; he was suffocating.
“I really can’t imagine—” he stared at Caesar, saying lowly: “Are you actually a saint?”
