Chapter 32: Count Etienne’s Warning
We all know that human thoughts have always been very stubborn, sometimes even stubborn enough to disregard facts, just like if a person has lived in piles of feces and rotting fish since birth, accustomed to those sticky, pungent, or faint but lingering stenches, when you pull him out and place him in a pile of roses, he won’t feel relieved but will be greatly alarmed, thinking he has encountered the devil, and desperately want to escape.
Count Etienne felt the same way at this moment; he was a smart man, and it was precisely because of this intelligence that he was worn down by this world.
From a very young age, he saw through his father’s perfunctory attitude, his mother’s disgust, his eldest brother’s contempt, and his second brother’s wariness; he could hear the mockery in the servants’ words and understand the knights’ impatience; his father’s subjects fawned on the powerful and groveled, and their goal was certainly not him; the priests taught him that God created all things, humans bear original sin, so everyone should be humble, pious, and strive to do good deeds to redeem their sins.
That’s what they said, but when they lifted their robes to mix with maidservants and male servants, or held up scripture to intimidate farmers into handing over their last bit of wheat, last handful of peas, or even last few bundles of branches, they showed no guilt at all.
And in his thirty-seven years of life, the only bright spot he found amid this dark background was his wife Adelaide.
People mocked him, saying he went to war with the king and two counts for a woman, not only failing to get a dowry but also provoking a troublesome enemy.
Only Count Etienne knew that if Adelaide were just an ordinary woman like the others, muddled or venomous-hearted, it would be one thing, but she was truly a woman possessing “beauty” and “goodness”—Anslo II was not the worst of villains; he was just an utterly ordinary noble, meaning he had all the virtues and vices of nobles.
Upon first seeing Anslo II, Count Etienne could immediately see Adelaide’s future: either abandoned and divorced by her husband for failing to obey him, or “unexpectedly dying,” or forced to fulfill “a wife’s duty” and withering away unhappily early…
Stealing Adelaide was less out of irrepressible love for the girl who grew up with him—he was an attendant in Adelaide’s father’s castle—than out of sympathy; marrying her was more like saving himself.
When he arrived at Louis VII’s court, he thought he could at least find someone among these “noble people” who wasn’t just falsely famous, after all, in the minstrels’ songs, the king was always great and pious, the subjects wise and loyal, the queen and noble ladies chaste and merciful—but he was disappointed almost immediately; the court was just a slightly larger castle, or rather, the people there weren’t better, but worse.
If you ask if he continued searching after his disappointment, yes, the priests and monks around him included sons of farmers or craftsmen, but would they show any pity or understanding for their former kind because of past experiences? Sorry, no; they hated for everyone to forget their origins and oppressed the lower classes even more viciously and despicably!
Count Etienne could only settle for second best; if there truly were no perfect saints in this world, there should at least be people with one or two virtues, but when he really looked, he found them as rare as pearls in sand or gold in mud; even if there were, they had long been taken in by bishops or lords who weren’t blind or deaf.
In the end, the only ones around him were some not-so-bad knights and monks; the best was actually the monk Annoncia by his side, who was “chosen,” but not particularly gifted.
Not to mention, he didn’t quite meet people’s current expectations for a monk; he was too frivolous, not steady, somewhat dismissive of the power of authority and money, and often spoke up for the poor, which made the abbot of the monastery where he was extremely averse to him; upon hearing that Count Etienne wanted him, the abbot hurriedly sent him over.
So when Count Etienne heard about the “Little Saint” in Jaffa, his thoughts were exactly the same as other nobles: this was just a trick by King of Ayyarasa Road Amalric I to boost his son Baldwin’s prestige, but since Prince Baldwin suffered from the dreaded leprosy, unable to use “laying on of hands”（note 1） or prolonged public prayer or parade, his attendant used this clever method to raise his reputation.
Forget “an angel descending into the cathedral to help clean”; Count Etienne didn’t even believe he truly cleaned the entire cathedral, probably just found some place for him to stay and had him walk out at the right time…
When Templar Knight Geoffrey charged into the wolf pack, they loudly praised “God bless, the knight is brave”; who would notice the little attendant following closely behind?
It wasn’t until Count Etienne fell into the fissure, his thigh broken, body freezing cold, wondering if he would be eaten by rats or bugs, that he saw Caesar and thought the child had commendable courage, appreciating him somewhat.
But after they met Mulai, the wisdom and boldness Caesar displayed made the count take notice again—just as he had seen before, a few virtues were enough for a mortal to make a stand in court, army, and church… Was his attentiveness hiding some other motive?
When he returned to Holy Cross Castle and inquired further, he learned that Amalric I hadn’t encountered Caesar at the market or in the castle and bought him from Isaac slave merchant.
At that time, Isaac slave merchant had chosen a hillside in the Judean Mountains, preparing to castrate a batch of children there to sell as eunuchs to the heathens’ courts; Amalric I’s hunting party was passing between two hills—Caesar, then just an nameless slave, barely alive and feverish, actually leaped up while the slave merchant and guards were prostrating to show respect and submission to the king, jumped over their bowed heads, and rolled right under Amalric I’s horse’s hooves.
Count Etienne was also a knight, and hunting was commonplace for him; he knew hunting was like a small sparring or campaign, the king’s mounted escort especially vigilant and well-trained; yet Caesar wasn’t trampled to death by hooves or killed by the escort—this led to Amalric I redeeming him from Isaac merchant… Though Amalric I had his own motives, not every slave of Isaac merchant moved him.
It was said he forgot many things—his origins, family, and faith—but he could still read and write Latin, count, and calculate; one abbot liked him very much and was almost unwilling to hand him back to the king.
Upon arriving at Holy Cross Castle, he faced exclusion, framing, even assassination attempts from the prince’s former servants—such things weren’t uncommon; the lower classes’ infighting was even more direct and cruel than the upper classes’; not only did he not fall for it, he killed two servants in return, one thrown into the toilet shaft, and both were adults, one even tall and fat…
He also sparred with David, son of the Count of Tripoli, and won.
Prince Baldwin gaining such a companion was both joyful and cherished; in just a few days, he treated him like a duke’s son—the count also saw that sharing room, food, and travel with the prince could be seen as valuing an attendant, but having him wear the gold cross and black mink fur meant treating him as someone of the same class.
What surprised the count even more was the feedback Annoncia gathered after inquiring around—from washerwomen to helpers, attendants to knights, knights to monks, aside from those jealous or stubborn ones, it was all uniform praise; even those who disliked him couldn’t name anything wrong with the prince’s new attendant.
And the origin of the “Little Saint” title—he did more than clean the holiest place; because of his good deeds, the filth in people’s hearts was also cleansed.
Since that grand parade, though the monks of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre still charged for pilgrimage and veneration, every month for three days they let pilgrims elect the most virtuous or most in need of absolution to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre free of charge.
Even those brazen evildoers in the Holy City—who dared rob even pilgrims with shells（symbol of Saint James） on their hats—consciously avoided the road the “Little Saint” took.
Achieving this wasn’t enough with just pardoning a woman and her swaddled infant; the count heard he donated all rewards from lords and noble ladies to the poor, keeping only a white wool cloth said to have been draped over the Holy Sepulchre, which he offered to his master Prince Baldwin.
Was this at Amalric I’s direction or his own initiative? After sounding out some of Amalric I’s attendants, Count Etienne believed the latter, as in the days after, Amalric I was cold toward his son’s attendant.
No one could calculate the total value of the jewels and clothes Caesar took out to donate to the poor, but the count had experienced several grand parades after Mass, where monks and knights bared their torsos, chained their ankles, viciously flogged themselves, leaving their foul fleshships bloodied and twitching; then the nobles would throw off their jewelry, cloaks, or silk scarves.
As some knight boasted, a single ring was worth fifty gold coins…
At that time, Count Etienne still didn’t believe there was such a good person in the world; he thought either Caesar was too young to understand their value, or he sought something greater—what? From the count’s perspective, besides escaping a sin-ridden leper, what else?!
This wasn’t worth criticizing; whether agreeing to be the prince’s attendant or wanting to leave, it was just a mortal’s self-rescue in the face of great threat; moreover, he truly helped many poor people, and for that alone, the count was willing to use the favor Amalric I owed him to redeem him.
“You might not quite understand,” likewise for the poor who received this child’s favor, the count patiently advised: “You’re inexperienced; a prince’s attendant title is indeed attractive, but you serve a leper—not to mention if he’ll pass sin to you…”
He paused, observing Caesar’s arm and face, confirming no infection: “Maybe one day, maybe not, but he won’t live past thirty, he can’t have offspring, Amalric I will have a new wife, he’s younger than me and could easily have another son; then even your master would count for nothing—what future would you have?”
“That’s precisely why I must stay by his side.” Caesar said patiently: “I will serve him until he dies, to fulfill our true friendship.
Then I will request my king Amalric I to leave the castle; I’ll still be in my prime, I can become a monk, a craftsman, or even a farmer; I know it’ll be hard, but far better than my original fate.”
“But…” But you could have had a better future.
Everyone seeks their own profit, everything can be weighed on the scales—why won’t you be one of them?
Without Count Etienne noticing, monk Annoncia had stood up, while the count gazed at the youth, chest heaving, as if unable to suppress his emotions.
Much later, when even the sunlight wasn’t so glaringly bright, he turned to his monk: “Help me get the reliquary box.”
The reliquary box was the most popular ornament, jewelry, and storage item of the 12th Century; as the name implies, it usually contained some relic: bones, hair, fragments of instruments of torture, etc.; some shaped like hands or feet, some like crosses, others coffins or small cabinets; varying sizes, some only for altars or niches, some wearable around the neck.
The count’s reliquary box was shaped like a cross, about one foot long and wide, thickness like a palm; the monk was a bit surprised but not entirely, quickly bringing the reliquary box; the count used the small key from his neck to open it, taking out several rolls of parchment.
The monk moved the long chest over; the count opened them one by one, weighting them with his ring: “Get me that box of gold coins too.”
This time the monk unusually didn’t mutter anything like “why not say it all at once,” turning to fetch another box, oak, plain without carvings or gilding, only reinforced with iron plates at corners and hinges.
“This is a pilgrimage permit signed by Alexander III.” Caesar instinctively looked down; besides the holy signature, it had brief info on this pilgrim, stating he was a pious Christian, an honest wine merchant under the Count of Champagne, going on pilgrimage to Ayyarasa Road after twenty childless years of marriage…
Seeing Caesar’s puzzled look, the count smiled and pointed to another parchment: this was a “safe conduct” signed by Louis VII, similarly detailing the wine merchant, and also a “safe conduct” signed by Byzantine Emperor Manuel I.
After he read them, he showed several more documents—a pilgrimage permit signed by the Bishop of Troyes, identity proof and “safe conduct” by the Count of Champagne, then “safe conducts” signed by Zengi’s Nur al-Din Sultan and Fatimid’s Atid Caliph.
Caesar hadn’t been long in this world but could see this was a full set of pilgrim documents; with these parchments, he could travel almost unimpeded along the entire pilgrimage route; every king had strict orders against killing or imprisoning pilgrims, bishops and Pope’s authority was sacred and unshakable; as for heathen rulers’ documents—pious or cautious pilgrims crossing heathen territory would buy such permits; for money, sultans and caliphs didn’t mind Christians passing through.
Of course, if you really ran into thieves who cared neither for sin nor law, you could only count yourself unlucky.
Count Etienne pointed to his monk: “Annoncia is skilled at forging documents; he’ll change the info to you—nephew of so-and-so, stating you’re pilgrimaging in place of your uncle to seek him a son.”
He pushed over the box of gold coins: “There are three hundred gold coins here; I don’t advise using them to help the poor here; the Holy Land’s poor are like the sea, layer upon layer, old ones gone, new ones come; you might say saving one is good, but I hope it’s you.”
The count gazed at Caesar, emotions complex: “You saved my life, I should repay you, but you refused my first offer, so I can only give you these.” He said lowly but clearly: “Take this gold; Prince Baldwin won’t demand it from you, but some knights and attendants will borrow money or tempt you to gamble, or bring prostitutes and merchants to drown you in pleasure’s mire; child, listen to none, trust none; hide this money and documents well, tell no one.
When the time is right, leave the castle, rent a small house outside, hire someone to guard the things inside; not much needed, a few clothes, a sturdy mule or donkey; remember a wide-brimmed hat with shells, a sturdy staff.”
This was pilgrim gear.
“I hope that day never comes, but if it does, take the money, bribe the guards or whoever, escape Holy Cross Castle, go to the small house, dress as a pilgrim, ride the mule, head quickly to Jaffa or Acre; captains there will take you aboard seeing your permits and money; once in Egmont, come find me in Sancerre.”
Note 1: “Laying on of hands” was a placebo therapy prevalent from the 5th to 18th centuries.
Specifically, the king touches the patient’s forehead or face, gives a gold coin as blessing, curing prevalent scrofula.
Checked sources, unclear if princes and nobles could do this; here assume if the king allows, princes can too, as co-rule was common then.
ps:
—I calculated: last month’s monthly votes nearly a thousand, recommendation votes nearly ten thousand, rewards far exceeding my expectations—
Readers’ enthusiasm truly flattered me!
Deeply grateful!
Will gradually complete promised extra chapters in February.
Also: Special thanks extra chapter for this book’s alliance leaders!
pss: I thought this book didn’t need special notes.
No harem, no reverse harem, no BL!
