Chapter 39: Choosing Ceremony
The vast church was left with only two children.
Temple Church was originally a Saracen temple, which retained the ancient basilica architectural style, that is, a huge rectangular body.
The building was surrounded by colonnades for worshippers to rest, inside was a vast great hall, with longitudinal hall pillars dividing it into several long, strip-shaped spaces—from the main door, corridor, nave, side aisles on both sides（the nave was much higher than the side aisles, allowing for high windows）, hall, north and south transepts, platform and altar, and at the end a semicircular apse.
From the north door to the semicircular apse, it was about three hundred feet long, while its width was half the length, consistent with the height.
Such a magnificent hall was not destroyed even after the Crusaders recaptured the Holy City; it was first used as the temporary palace of the King of Ayyarasa Road in the Holy City, and after Holy Cross Castle was completed, the Knights Templar needed a base, so the then King of Ayyarasa Road, Baldwin II, granted it to them, and the Knights Templar were thus named.
The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of Solomon’s Temple in 1119 lived up to their name; the Templar Knights had no money, or rather, all the money was used to equip weapons, armor, horses, and other military gear to fight the heathens. After moving into the Temple, although they immediately transformed it into a Latin cross church, the work was very crude—in short, retaining everything that could be retained and saving everything that could be saved.
Seven large lamp stands hanging from the highest point, which could hold candles or burn lamp oil, were kept, as were twenty-eight small lamp stands and forty-nine torch holders fixed to the hall pillars.
They were all lit now, especially the large lamp stands, whose oil bowls were filled with clear olive oil; the olive oil was mixed with spices, so along with the light fell a rich fragrance—myrrh sharp and clear, frankincense sour and sweet, sandalwood rich and thick.
Seventeen small marble “niches” were kept and filled with statues of saints—because seventeen was a number belonging to the heathens（Note 1）, so later one more was added to make eighteen.
The saints were either compassionate or solemn, and by tradition, each held the instrument of their martyrdom—Saint Peter leaned an inverted cross on his shoulder; Saint James held a long sword, while Saint James the Less（namesake）held a club; Saint Bartholomew held his own skin in one hand and a skinning knife in the other; Saint Simon raised a saw, Saint Jude（not Judas）faced him, also raising an axe…
A prayer niche almost emblematic of a Saracen temple（located in the apse）was kept because it was made of gold, silver, and gemstones; only the Saracen scripture on it was ground off, and inside was placed a cross with a carving of Jesus crucified, above which were the letters JNRI.
When the Savior was nailed to the Cross, the Roman Empire’s governor of the province of Isaac, Pilate, wrote such a plaque and placed it at the top of the Cross—Jesus Nazarenus Rex Iudeorum—meaning “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Isaacites.”
It is said that every Templar Knight must kiss this cross before joining the order.
To turn a rectangular building into one with at least an internal cross-shaped space, of course required partitioning off the excess space; the Templar Knights of that time did not use stone or bricks（too expensive!）, but cedar wood planks abundant in the area.
The pale cedar wood plank partition walls stood in the Temple for a long time until the Knights Templar’s funds became slightly more plentiful, then they hired painters to adorn these cedar partitions with vibrant egg tempera paintings, with common themes like “Christ in Majesty,” “Dormition of the Virgin Mary,” “Graces of the Sacred Heart”…
This thoughtless approach meant these old wooden partition walls could not be replaced before completely rotting away, as no one wanted to bear the responsibility of destroying holy images.
The painters at this time mostly still used the “profile frontality” inherited from Ancient Egypt, like the screen in the chapel of Holy Cross Castle, with faces turned toward the viewer but bodies in profile, whether the Virgin Mary in blue robes, saints in red, or Jesus Christ wrapped in white linen… even angels flying in the air or demons trampled in the mud.
Anyone walking between these images would feel countless eyes staring directly at them, indescribably terrifying.
Of course, only Caesar should feel this way; from still in swaddling clothes until he was found to have leprosy, a full nine years, Baldwin had spent them under these eyes’ gaze. To him, these saints were more like family and friends hung on the walls; he had thought he would only see them in his room for the rest of his life, so now seeing them, his heart was filled only with joy, no fear.
He composed his expression, steadied his mood, took Caesar’s arm, and positioned him opposite himself—the two separated by an altar filled with candelabras and liturgical vessels, coarse cloth cushions stuffed with unwashed wool under their knees.
At the first Choosing ceremonies, the children could only wear linen robes, barefoot, kneeling directly on the ground, no matter which day they chose, whether the hot Saint Eusebius’ Day（August 2）or Epiphany（January 6）like Baldwin.
But after a while, women came out crying and begging, worried their children might return to God’s feet to enjoy bliss before gaining a saint’s favor, so the priests reluctantly made a small concession, allowing a cushion or such for the children during the ceremony, but the materials could not be too luxurious.
The cushions under Caesar and Baldwin’s knees were something even an ordinary shepherd could provide, but stuffed full of wool and larger in size than a king’s, a short boy could curl up and sleep on it.
“Did someone really do that?” Caesar asked curiously; if someone fell asleep during Mass, they would definitely have to buy indulgences, or be pinned on a bench and beaten.
“I don’t know,” Baldwin said: “But if you ask, whether selected or not, they will inevitably tell you how they endured a harsh and difficult day and night—tormented by countless devils, questioned by countless saints, supported only by a strong, pious, and pure heart until the door opened.”
Caesar thought about it; indeed, it could only be described that way.
“I’ll only tell you…” Baldwin whispered: “I haven’t told the teacher or father, but after taking the teacher’s potion, I truly saw a devil.”
“What kind of devil?”
“…One identical to me… a leper covered in rotting sores, limbs mutilated.”
Caesar wanted to hold Baldwin’s hand; Baldwin reached out, but the altar was too large, they could only touch fingertips. “When I saw it, I wasn’t afraid anymore; it threatened me that this was my future—doomed to die miserably in pain and despair, alone, no one by my side—but I immediately said, I still have you, you will definitely be by my side.”
“Devils are the best liars,” Caesar said. “You will become a knight, and a king, and I will always be by your side.”
“Even if I chase you away, don’t go.”
“Even if you chase me, I won’t go.”
Baldwin suddenly smiled happily, then solemnly took out two small fish bladders tied with hair and sealed with wax.
During the “Choosing ceremony,” the chosen ones could not wear weapons, jewels, or fine clothes, only the simplest linen robe reaching the knees, without a belt.
For caution, Heraclius did not put the potion in a glass bottle, but used a deep-sea fish bladder, processed to hold a little liquid, which the taker could swallow whole, leaving no trace.
Caesar hesitated only slightly, and Baldwin read his mind. “If it were anything else, I could indulge you…” But not this time.
Baldwin watched Caesar take the fish bladder. “Baldwin, my friend,” Caesar said: “If something happens…”
“Are you worried about those hidden enemies?” Baldwin interrupted: “They may have means, but we are in the Temple.
In the Temple, with Knights Templar, Holy Sepulchre, and Knights Hospitaller knights here, and my father, the King of Ayyarasa Road, under the gaze of Jesus Christ and the saints, what can they do?
But if you don’t swallow the potion to protect me, if you are selected it’s fine, but if you are not—my regret will be endless, even standing before God, my first tear will surely be for this.”
Caesar had no choice but to swallow the potion.
Before the potion took effect, Baldwin was still instructing him: “Pray, pray; if you truly cannot believe in a saint, then revere him as your teacher. Remember, before the saints you are like a transparent crystal; they can see you clearly, so better not believe than lie… never try to deceive the saints!”
Baldwin’s voice gradually faded; Heraclius was indeed a monk skilled in medicine. Although even now Caesar did not know exactly what effect these potions had, the side effects after taking it were visibly reduced; no instruments or reagents were available now.
Baldwin saw a devil disguised as himself in the hallucination, but Caesar never saw his familiar past and people in the hallucination—was it this world not allowing it, or his subconscious strictly obeying his command to eliminate all exposure?
But this time, Caesar clearly felt something approaching him.
——————
Caesar lost consciousness; he seemed to still feel his body’s presence, but it had long lost relation to his soul; he tried to find the right path in a tangle of chaotic lines, but they gathered and dispersed, never forming objects he recognized; countless voices surged into his body like tides, making him swell in the noise, then vanish in an instant, leaving a soft void…
He seemed to see—it was the saint Heraclius once mentioned? That body was like light and mist, no features or outline visible, but groundlessly, he felt a strong urge: to catch up to it, to speak to it, to…
More and more lights and shadows, walking ahead of him, seemingly slow yet flying or flashing; he could not catch them, not even touch them…
Wait for me!
He shouted; a voice—perhaps it could be called that, as it appeared directly in his mind—said, Hurry, come, we must catch Him!
Catch whom?
Ruler of all nations!
Who?
He who makes rivers gush from the desert, flowers bloom from steel, roads form from mud, city-states crumble to sand, lions dwell with lambs; He carries thunder, holds light in His hand; none purer than He, none more just, none more powerful—hurry, follow me, let us follow Him, and enjoy peace in His Heaven!
Tell me His name!
His holy name is…
————————
Caesar’s body went empty beneath him, as if falling from a great height to the ground; the hard, cold sensation told him he had merely fallen on the stone slab before the altar, but he still felt as if his body was shattered in pain, memories fragmented, unsure if he had been “selected” or not—he gasped heavily, fingers clutching his throat tightly; no, not right! This was not a normal reaction!
Unless Heraclius brought the wrong potion, but even the first time, the reaction was not so violent; Caesar rolled over, unable to hold back vomit, but they had taken no water the night before the ceremony, so only a bright trace remained on the ground.
He turned his head, wiped his face on his shoulder, clearly feeling his heart pounding wildly, as if it might jump out of his chest or throat at any moment; no longer wasting energy, he crawled on the ground toward the other side of the altar; Baldwin’s side was silent, perhaps worse off—a few breaths later, he saw Baldwin lying supine, head tilted, unconscious.
Caesar yanked off Baldwin’s veil, pried open his eyelids, and upon seeing those pupils shrunken to pinpoints, unresponsive even to sudden light, involuntarily closed his eyes.
He placed Baldwin on his knees, back against the altar, fumbled with fingers to find the candelabra on the altar—he could barely hold it; fortunately, before it ignited his robe, he blew out the candle, then bit off the candle with his teeth, exposing the sharp points on the candelabra used to fix the candle; from frequent use, these points were sharp and bright.
He pricked his finger with the points until it bled; when the fog in his mind cleared somewhat, he pricked Baldwin’s finger.
It took Baldwin a while to regain consciousness; he knew he might have made another mistake and implicated Caesar, but now was not the time for apology. “Is… is it, what?”
“I…” Caesar was about to say he didn’t know, but suddenly, a strange smell awakened those forcibly dormant memories.
Every young doctor had seen, smelled, touched those things that could turn a person into a beast or devil with just a little; due to their profession, they could access potent painkillers, easily targeted by ill-intentioned people, even former friends; in past cases, doctors were careless, had blank prescriptions and codes taken by friends, leading to imprisonment.
“It’s…” he gasped: “I smelled… it’s opi… um’s… scent…” He was looking up at those lights, not so brilliant but piercing enough, the large lamp stands, small lamp stands…
In the castle, he had once seen servants lower the lamp stands to clean them; these had bowl-shaped lamps fixed on them, plus olive oil and wick, could burn a long time.
If someone had added not olive oil, but ointment made from those sinful fruits…
