Chapter 34: Templar Knight Geoffrey’s Invitation And Gift
“I’ll take you to the Market to play.” Upon seeing Caesar, the first thing Geoffrey said was this.
Even though Caesar’s body did not house the soul of a nine-year-old child, he couldn’t help but cheer a little. No way around it—ever since he came “here,” the places he stayed were almost always fixed: either Saint John’s Monastery, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, or Holy Cross Castle.
It was only when searching for Count Etienne that he finally left the Holy City. But to be honest, no one could appreciate the scenery amid day-and-night trekking and prayer. And there wasn’t much scenery to see anyway—the 12th Century Pilgrimage Road was far from the flat, gorgeous, and holy path people imagined. Trees were like demons, rivers like nooses, and corpses lay everywhere, from shriveled and bloated ones to those turned to white bones.
He had wanted to get out and see things for a long time—who wouldn’t be curious? This was a city from a thousand years ago!
This city had stood here for three thousand years. It originally belonged to the Semites and Canaanites. The Isaacites were their offspring. They established their own Kingdom here, which didn’t last long—only three hundred years—before it was destroyed by the Assyrians amid division. After the Assyrians came the Babylonians, Persians, and Romans, all of whom became masters here in turn.
No one could deny that this city, located at the center of the crescent in the Arabian Peninsula, connecting Europe, the Arabian Peninsula, and Egypt, perched high in the Judean Mountains, was an important chess piece both politically and economically. Even without any religious significance, it was a vital spot like a throat or a heart that must be fought over.
“The Market day on Ayyarasa Road is every Tuesday and on feast days,” Geoffrey said. He had shaved his beard especially clean today and was wearing a nearly new sheepskin cloak. He noticed Caesar staring at the cloak.
“Thanks to you, little brother, that day I brought back that sorry-looking cloak and told our castle steward about it. He was so moved he nearly teared up. He asked me to return it so he could treasure it carefully. In exchange, he gave me this most complete cloak. What’s up?”
“This isn’t anything remarkable,” Caesar said. “If we’re talking danger, fighting the Saracens is truly a matter of life and death. And for you all, it’s as routine as prayer and chanting.”
“I think it’s because you’re too young, nine years old,” Geoffrey said. “You don’t know—among the sergeants with us that day, one was married and had a child. Sadly, his only son died at six. He saw it as God’s punishment, which is why he joined the Knights. He took a real liking to you. If not for Count Etienne’s matters being so involved, he might have even tried to stop you from taking the risk.”
“Sometimes you seem to forget your own age,” the Templar Knight said jokingly. “Is there some ancient elf hiding in that body?”
There really was, but Caesar kept a straight face. There were no ancient elves here, just one unlucky soul. “I heard Your Highness say the Market on Ayyarasa Road is fixed in the Isaacite quarter.”
“Yes, the King of Ayyarasa Road set the Market near the Dung Gate, east of the Western Wall, starting from Baldwin I. They say it’s because the Isaacites kept running to the Western Wall to cry, annoying him, so he put the Market there to see if it could drive them away.”
“Did it drive them away?”
“Pretty hard.” Geoffrey said with a mischievous grin. “After all, that’s the only place they can prove they once had such a glorious history.”
In fact, the Solomon’s Temple where the Templar Knights were stationed was the Isaacites’ First Temple. But it had been thoroughly destroyed in 586 BC after Nebuchadnezzar II of the Babylonian Empire captured Ayyarasa Road. The current Temple was a heathen shrine built by the Saracens on the foundations of Solomon’s Temple, so the Isaacites did not acknowledge it as God’s dwelling.
Now the Isaacites mourned the Second Temple, which they built after returning from Babylonian captivity. It had been burned by the Romans eleven hundred years ago, leaving only this one wall.
Though the Crusaders fought for God, they didn’t much like the Isaacites. They thought the Isaacites had long been dogs and spies for the heathens. In the campaign to capture the Holy City, at least thousands of Isaacites became souls under the Crusaders’ blades.
They walked forward along Ayyarasa Road avenue. In the 2nd century AD, after the Romans destroyed the Isaacites’ Second Temple, their Emperor Hadrian rebuilt Ayyarasa Road. In true Roman obsessive style, he divided the square city with two perpendicular main roads, like evenly slicing a cake into four pieces. The Market was in the bottom-right quarter.
Now there stood four neat rows of cowhide tents there. Since the Market wasn’t completely fixed and the King or local lord could change the location at will, merchants didn’t build houses here aside from the existing shops at the Market site.
Under these tents were stalls, some belonging to merchants themselves, some rented. Most renters were traveling merchants or farmers without long-term agreements with merchants. Their goods were very common: fish, fruit and vegetables, eggs, cheese and honey, or chickens and ducks, pigs and goats, plus some home-woven linen or cotton.
Of course, there were some less common items: clothes, shoes, soap, woven baskets, pottery jars, tin plates, plus furs, jewels, and spices loudly touted by the merchants. Though they likely never saw the castle steward’s shoe heel, they all claimed these were “screened out after being sent to the castle or residence.”
But there were always people tempted by the lure of “coats or boots just like the nobles’ masters’, only slightly flawed,” “the same food, just not quite fresh,” “the same jewelry, only the gemstones a bit small, the gold not so pure.” They hesitated in front of these stalls, and the merchants always found ways to convince them.
One merchant started brewing mulled wine with spices right there; another hung up a coat of arms chart so customers could compare engravings on rings or forks anytime; the fur clothing merchant hired a tailor to make on-the-spot alterations if customers weren’t satisfied.
“Those spices are dregs left at the bottom of the sack, or mixed with sand and dyed,” Geoffrey tweaked Caesar’s curious head. “Most jewels are fake, and the clothes might be stripped from corpses. Let’s head that way.” He was much bigger than Caesar and rode an adult horse, so he could see farther. “There’s something lively to watch over there.”
Caesar thought it was juggling, but when they got there, he saw the Market Inspector punishing several merchants who hadn’t paid taxes, farmers, and two fools bold enough to sell spoiled goods.
Doing business at the Market required taxes of course: Market tax, transaction tax, weights and measures tools usage tax（some goods needed both buyer and seller to weigh them together）, but some people always tried their little tricks, thinking they could evade the inspector’s sharp eyes.
Once caught, they had no choice but to weep and beg, but the King’s tax collectors had long hardened their hearts. Those who could pay taxes and fines still got beaten on the spot with waxed wooden boards that made buttocks and thighs swell huge after one strike; if they couldn’t pay, they were sent off to labor.
Though catching tax dodgers was fun, it paled compared to punishing those two idiots who sold spoiled goods and got caught.
People of this era were actually quite imaginative.
These two unscrupulous merchants: one sold rancid beer and sour wine. After a complaint, the inspector tasted it and said it belonged in a dung pit. So they roughly stuffed the wine merchant into a barrel—he couldn’t come out of that little cask until he drank every drop left.
The other sold dead quail and pigeons to customers. When asked why the birds weren’t moving, he said they were just asleep… No need to say more—people plucked the birds’ feathers, glued them to his face with tree gum, then forced him to eat the bloody meat.
Geoffrey watched and laughed heartily. Once done laughing, he noticed the child beside him seemed uninterested, even a bit bored. “Don’t like this? How about I take you to see some juggling?”
Caesar shook his head. “I’m a bit hungry. Let’s go eat.” Ever since seeing that dwarf smash into the antlers, he figured he wouldn’t want to see juggling for years.
“Then let’s go to the ‘Shrubs.'” Geoffrey said.
The “shrubs” here weren’t the dense forest ones—it was just that 12th Century taverns usually let vines cover the front and sides to show wine was sold, so people sometimes called taverns “shrubs.” The Market had ready food like roast meat and pies, but Geoffrey wouldn’t risk it for himself and his young attendant.
They came to a tavern behind the Market, not far from the Dung Gate, with a wooden sign carved with a human leg. Don’t misunderstand—this wasn’t a human flesh inn. It represented Saints Cosmas and Damian, who in Syria had reattached a severed leg while practicing medicine and preaching. Even knights and lords of the time might be illiterate, let alone the common folk, so places relied mostly on pictures instead of words.
The tavern keeper spotted the eye-catching white-background red cross and eagerly came over. Tavern food was usually simple, but what couldn’t money do? He soon brought a table of plentiful food. Templar Knights were always required to be humble and temperate, so though fresh and tasty, there were no spices or dyes, just newly brewed beer, no wine.
But it suited Caesar fine. Geoffrey wasn’t one to care about such things either. They sat across from each other, ate and drank heartily, and once full, told the keeper not to let anyone disturb them—they were in a corner by the fireplace. Then Geoffrey said to Caesar, “Has Etienne seen you?”
Since Etienne could offer Caesar the first path, it meant he’d already arranged it with Geoffrey. At this question, Caesar could only nod. Seeing that, the Templar Knight asked, “You refused him, and refused me too?”
Caesar took a deep breath and nodded again.
Geoffrey wiped his face with the edge of his cloak, showing no displeasure. “I figured as much. When they brought you to me, they said you came on behalf of Prince Baldwin. At first I thought you were coerced, but later… I realized you meant it. You were even willing to die for him—what more could I say?”
He reached to his side, untied a calfskin money bag from his belt, and tossed it on the table. “This is for you.”
Caesar didn’t need to look—he could tell by the sound it was another bag of gold coins. “I don’t need…”
“No, you do.” Geoffrey said firmly. “I’ve long heard of your good deeds, but if you want to stay by the Prince’s side as his attendant, escort, or knight, you can’t do without money.”
He raised his thick fingers, counting them out for Caesar. “When you’re still an attendant, you can wear his clothes, use his weapons, wear his jewels—people will just envy you. But when he becomes a knight and you his escort, that’s when you need money. First, you outfit yourself: leather armor, chainmail, helmet, long sword, short sword, dagger, archery… a horse… horse tack… greaves, cloak… shield…”
He kept listing. “Once you’re a knight’s attendant or novice knight, you need your own attendant, and you must fully equip him with everything he needs.”
“Finally, as a knight, you need three attendants, a personal monk, maybe two laborers. Of course, their outfits, annuities, daily food and expenses are all on you.”
“I admit Prince Baldwin favors you highly, but even without any change in his feelings, when you need these things, can you just stretch out your hand and ask him for money?”
He nudged the money bag. “And don’t feel too bad about it. There are a hundred gold coins here, but I only filled thirty. Know where the seventy came from?” The Templar Knight grinned mischievously, his eye wrinkles dancing.
“It’s that guide’s. During their fight with the wolf pack, a beast’s claws tore open his money bag. Most of the hundred gold coins he traded his life for spilled out. Later the Count and my attendant picked up some—they didn’t dare pocket them and turned them over to my sergeant. He gave them to me, and now I give them to you.”
He leaned back, spread his arms, and sighed contentedly. “Destiny is funny sometimes, isn’t it?”
