Chapter 44: Spear And Shield?
Hearing this, Heraclius took a deep breath. Although he had anticipated it and felt joy, just thinking of the things that would follow gave him a headache. The trouble was, this matter could not be delayed.
“They didn’t catch that Envoy?”
“That rat has a keen sense of smell. When he heard I was unharmed, he decided to flee,” Amalric I said. “He is not the Patriarch. The Patriarch can still dream of becoming the lord of the Holy City.
He stays here with too much risk and little interest. Anyway, even if their conspiracy succeeds and Ayyarasa Road becomes a theocratic nation, the Patriarch would still need Rome’s support. At that time, he not only could not pursue the Envoy’s faults but would have to fawn over him instead.”
“What about that handwritten letter?”
“It cannot withstand any scrutiny, just like the Envoy’s status.”
“That fool!”
“Not entirely foolish,” Amalric I looked at Heraclius. “It’s just that the temptation was too great, my friend.”
“I would rather stay by your side.”
“But I have no one to use.” Amalric I spread his hands. “I can’t wait for the Roman Church to send another Bishop.” The Envoy had fled, and the fact that the Patriarch was killed by “heathens” could not be concealed for long. The Pope had always wanted Ayyarasa Road—no, wait, in that case, the Envoy’s snap decision was not so strange. After all, for the Roman Church, whether the Patriarch or Amalric I died, they would consider it a win.
“Then I will handle this matter immediately.” Understanding the key point, Heraclius no longer declined. Although this meant he had to handle his own promotion, from monk, porter, reader, exorcist, acolyte, assistant, deacon, all the way to priest… Although he could skip one or two ranks, it was still full of sarcasm.
“Baldwin will be pleased,” Amalric I suddenly said. “He has always been very worried about Caesar.”
Heraclius immediately raised his head vigilantly, but he could only see Amalric I’s tousled curls. The King very opportunely lowered his head to look at documents.
Before holding the “Choosing ceremony,” he publicly announced that Caesar was already his student, which, as Caesar thought, was more for the King and Prince Baldwin, to prevent any unfortunate changes. The problem was, things did not slide to the worst, but stopped at an awkward position.
“Prince Baldwin hasn’t woken up yet.” Heraclius mildly changed the topic.
Sure enough, hearing that Baldwin had not woken up, Amalric I’s attention immediately left the documents. “Didn’t he wake up once yesterday?”
“He woke up, drank some honey water, and fell asleep again.”
“I must go see him.” Amalric I said to himself.
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Is Amalric I a good father? Yes. Then is he a good King? Yes. But this good King must certainly take precedence over the good father.
When he learned that his only son, Baldwin who had grown to nine years old, had contracted leprosy that everyone feared, he was shocked, grief-stricken, and angry—he knew this was not an accident, but a long-brewed conspiracy.
When he brought Caesar before Baldwin and promised never to abandon him, there was both some paternal affection and some cold calculation—to know, a King or lord without an heir would inevitably attract wolves circling. And in Ayyarasa Road, because there must be a King who can lead the Crusaders to fight the heathens, the succession to the throne has never been peaceful.
Female heirs must rule jointly with their husbands, and infants have even less chance of ascending safely.
The King would not, as those people expected, out of excessive timidity or piety, drive away his only son. Until he had a second son, Baldwin would be a nail fixed in the Holy Land, making those ambitious fellows feel like a fishbone in their throats.
But the previous “Choosing ceremony” was full of ups and downs and constant waves. Even a man as resolute and strong-willed as Amalric I could not help but feel mentally exhausted. When he picked up Baldwin at the shaft, he no longer hoped Baldwin could receive a blessing. So be it, he thought. As long as he left enough, sufficiently loyal ministers and generals, even a leper who did not receive a blessing could hold the authority of the Holy Land.
He was not greedy. Ten years, ten years would be enough. When his youngest son came of age, Baldwin could abdicate to a monastery. More likely, Baldwin would be on his last breath by then, just waiting for God’s calling.
Therefore, when Amalric I entered the Great Hall of the Holy Sepulchre, he only saw all this as a rehearsed drama and did not take it to heart. He only worried whether Baldwin’s condition would worsen due to the cold stones during this time. When the priest shouted “The Holy Sepulchre is glowing,” he did not even react, and almost got pushed out by others. It was Heraclius who shouted for the King to look at his son that people made way.
Even to this day, Amalric I still involuntarily felt his heart surge and blood boil at the scene he saw then.
He had received Saint George’s blessing. The light then was like a torch, lasting for several hours straight. Even when he walked out of the church, it still shone in the morning light.
In comparison, his blood brothers unrelated by blood, that is, Raymond and Bohemond—Raymond’s light might have been slightly brighter than his, but very short, extinguishing almost after a quarter candle’s time. Bohemond’s lasted a bit longer, but the brightness was faint, flickering uncertainly, almost making people mistake it for “Chosen by Raphael” rather than “Chosen by Michael”.
And when he stepped into the Holy Sepulchre, it was as if he stepped into a courtyard at midday. Every tiny place was clearly discernible. He saw his son Baldwin curled up beside the stone bench where the Savior once lay, with a serene expression and steady breathing. And on his shoulder leaned a spear.
The spear’s Blade and shaft both shone with bright light. At that time, Amalric I still thought it was a relic placed there by the priests. He reached to take it, but involuntarily cried out—he was burned.
Only then did he realize that this spear did not have a true physical form.
It was light.
Amalric I’s shoulders shook, tears welling up. The worst outcome flew away from him like crows on a tomb. He was fortunate to bathe in the glory God granted his son. He knelt on the ground, tears falling on Baldwin. The King almost dared not touch his son until the people outside could not help but appeal—they also wanted to venerate such a holy relic!
The narrow cave really could not hold too many people. Amalric I carried Baldwin out. That spear still floated beside Baldwin, not disappearing—he had blurred vision and focused wholeheartedly on his son, not noticing that after he took Baldwin away, the light in the cave did not dim much.
The priests of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre took out the long poles used to lift the canopy. The Grand Masters of the two great Knights removed their cloaks. Several respected ladies tied them to the long poles, making a simple sedan chair. They placed Baldwin on it, covered with wool cloth from the Holy Sepulchre.
The pilgrims and residents gathered outside the Place of Suffering all saw it—that spear, dazzling even under daylight, surrounded by fine lightning, its spear tip like a bud or flame. Its length far exceeded an ordinary spear, possibly as long as three people joined end to end.
“This is the spear Saint George used to slay the dragon.” One person said in awe. He made the cross and slowly knelt down. Behind him, more people shed tears in admiration, praising the benevolent God, one after another lowering their knees. Some were even dazzled, unable to believe their own luck.
Amalric I worried that the spear did not know when it would disappear, so he adopted this overly abrupt proclamation method. But when they returned to the castle, after three days and three nights, the spear still stood firmly beside Baldwin, never dissipating.
“When do you think it will disappear?”
“I don’t know,” Heraclius said honestly. “I have indeed heard that some child, after ‘being selected,’ had holy light lasting several days without leaving. The Church sent people to investigate and found someone had rubbed phosphorus powder on him…”
Amalric I laughed. “The Roman Church will surely think so too.” He reached to touch Baldwin’s cheek and found the red spots still the same. The previous smile immediately turned into irrepressible mercy and regret. “They still couldn’t cure him—he will be a powerful warrior, a wise King. But if this gift could be applied to ‘Chosen by Raphael,’ perhaps he could heal himself.”
“Perhaps God intended it so,” Heraclius said. “Only great people are tested.”
“My Baldwin is so, and your Caesar is too.”
“My? Your Majesty, Caesar is not my son.”
“For a monk who vows chastity, a student is his son.” Amalric I turned around. “How is Caesar? Has the light on him weakened or disappeared?”
“No,” Heraclius said cautiously. “I rather feel that he and Baldwin seem… You know, being selected in the same Choosing ceremony makes them brothers without blood ties, and their auras seem to be responding to each other.”
“The shape? Has it changed?”
“Still a shield.”
“Baldwin sensed Saint George,” the King said. “What about him? Did he tell you whom he sensed?”
“Saint Jerome.”
Amalric I stopped. “Saint Jerome.”
“Yes.”
“It is said that this scholar of vast knowledge and self-disciplined sage once pulled a thorn from the paw of a lion in excruciating pain,” Amalric I said. “I hope it is so for him too.”
He entered Caesar’s room, which was right below Baldwin’s bedroom. Amalric I did not care what room, clothes, or jewels the Prince gave his attendant—but…
Longinus stood up from the bedside and knelt to the King. “I remember you are a knight,” Amalric I’s falcon-like gaze swept over his back. “No need to act like a servant. How is he?”
“Still in a coma.”
“Hasn’t woken up?”
“No.” Longinus said. “Still sleeping deeply.”
“What are you afraid of? Afraid I will harm your master?”
“I… did not mean that, Your Majesty.”
“Then get out of my way!” Amalric I said. Longinus had to step back. The King came to the bedside. The Prince’s young attendant was still unconscious, his face paler than ever, even compared to that day in the Judean Mountains.
Amalric I recalled that Heraclius had roughly analyzed that day’s events with him. Although some parts displeased him—for example, Caesar’s preparations—the thing that made the King’s face twitch most was that none of those preparations went to waste.
He had to admit how much disaster his arrogance had brought, and also admit that without Caesar, his son would only have waited for death.
Amalric I lowered his head. The light covering Caesar seemed a bit fainter than on Baldwin, but in terms of form…
“Shield…” he said softly. “But not ‘Chosen by Raphael’—it is ‘Chosen by Michael’.”
He turned and left, Heraclius following closely. Once the door closed, Longinus breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his shoulders.
Amalric I was not the meticulous type. He did not notice the little trick Heraclius and Longinus played. In Prince Baldwin’s room, the windows were half-covered, making the whole room much darker. Although this light was better for a patient to rest, it also made that spear appear brighter.
And Caesar’s room had all windows open, candles burning in the corners, plus several mirrors. Coming down the dim spiral stairs, it was hard to notice at first, but in comparison, Caesar’s light seemed dimmer than Baldwin’s.
In fact, the opposite was true.
After Amalric I carried Baldwin out of the Holy Sepulchre, almost everyone present followed closely, their eyes never shifting. Heraclius could only give Longinus a quick nod.
Longinus immediately dragged his cloak, crawled into the Holy Sepulchre, and wrapped his master. His whole body trembled with his pounding heart, mouth dry, limbs numb.
Fortunately!
Everyone, including Heraclius and Longinus not long ago, had a stubborn belief that an attendant could not surpass a prince in any aspect.
So when Amalric I wept, roared, and praised God in the Holy Sepulchre, no one would think God would give more gifts to a nobody.
Especially after seeing that spear—they unanimously believed this was “Saint George” descending to the world again.
The argument Amalric I and Heraclius had been making—that Prince Baldwin contracting leprosy was not a curse or punishment, but a test for a great man—finally became fact.
But if one of them had turned back, he would have seen that after Prince Baldwin left, the light in the Holy Sepulchre not only did not disappear but remained as before. That is to say… if Prince Baldwin’s light was like the bright moon, the current light was like the morning dawn. No matter how bright the moon, it could hardly compare to the dawn’s brilliance.
Only three people knew this: Longinus, Heraclius who returned, and Thomas.
If not for these two, Longinus could not have silently transported his young master out of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
He knelt by the bed, looking at his young master’s serene face, thinking it was fortunate Amalric I was a King—he would not reach to pull away an attendant’s blanket. If he had… he would have found that what Heraclius said was a shield, but more precisely, covering Caesar were layers of glowing scales, from neck to chest, chest to shoulders, shoulders to arms, abdomen to legs. Each scale flowed with light, from one scale to another, occasionally bursting into sharp light like thunder on the sea surface or sparks from rocks…
Heraclius said it was scale armor, but Longinus had seen scale armor worn by Byzantium soldiers. He always felt it was not quite like that—these scales were not floating outside but seemed to grow directly from the body… This thought made him shudder. It was too inauspicious. In the Christian world, the dragon was not a holy creature.
Saint George’s spear had once pierced a dragon.
