Chapter 55: Visitors From Eagle’s Nest
This young knight was handsome, tall and sturdy, with a warm smile on his face that made people like him at first sight.
However, what didn’t match his refined face was his overly muscular build. His shoulders were so broad that two children could sit on each side. And when his arms hung down, they could almost touch his knees.
Such long arms would surely give him an advantage in combat that others couldn’t have, after all, no technique beats hitting your enemy before he hits you.
The knight walked up to Baldwin and Caesar, carefully observing their clothing and expressions, lingering for a moment on the two gold crosses. Then he looked into their eyes—one pair blue, one pair green—and immediately thought of something, becoming even more respectful in attitude and softer in voice.
He half-kneeled down, as if afraid of startling them. “How did you get here? Did you have an appointment with someone?”
“We just wanted to see the attendants’ work,” Caesar told the truth. “We’re going to become attendants soon.”
“You’re going to become attendants?” the young knight asked. “Are you already fourteen?”
“Not yet.” Baldwin said, “Since you’ve recognized us, you should know we’ve both received God’s blessing, sensed saints, and can go to the battlefield. It might be a bit early, but on Ayyarasa Road, throwing oneself into combat earlier might not be a bad thing—you’re young too.”
The other man burst out laughing. He said, “Yes, I’m young, but I honestly served seven years as an attendant, seven years as an escort, three years as a novice knight, and only then became a knight.”
Caesar silently calculated in his mind. “You’ve just become a knight, right?”
“This is my first martial arts tournament since becoming a knight.”
Even Baldwin now showed an incredulous expression. He had defeated so many people in his first martial arts tournament?
“Were all these obtained in melee combat?”
“Not all.” The young knight followed behind them, letting them rummage through the piles of chainmail, helmets, and weapons strewn about haphazardly. “There must be seven or eight people here. Did you win the laurel wreath at the martial arts tournament?”
At this, the young knight’s escort showed a trace of unease. He removed the round cap from his head and pointed to his head wrapped in a cloth strip. “In the final melee combat, someone smashed my head. My master withdrew from the field and dragged me aside, forfeiting the match. Although his team still won, my master didn’t claim the ransom or other honors.”
“All right, all right,” the young knight good-naturedly interrupted him and said, “I couldn’t just watch you bleeding like a broken water jug. You’re my only escort. If you died, who would wash my clothes, polish my armor, run errands? I don’t want to do it myself.” He looked fearfully at the small mountain of spoils of war. “I’d just throw them to a merchant for whatever price they offer.”
“That won’t do,” the escort immediately objected. “You don’t know how cunning and vile these Isaacites are.”
The young knight waved his hand. Clearly, he had no intention of badmouthing others on unfamiliar land, even if they were Isaacites.
“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet.” He said, “I’m from England, two respected distinguished guests. My name is William Marshal. My grandfather Gilbert was a Norman knight who followed Conqueror William into England. My father was Henry II’s stable master and in charge of hosting knight duels. I’m his second son and was only recently knighted.”
“I heard the King of Ayyarasa Road is marrying the Byzantine Emperor’s daughter, holding a month-long martial arts tournament for it. I thought for a young man, such a sacred starting point couldn’t be better, so I bid farewell to my father and came all the way from London.”
“I luckily won some victories, but that’s nothing to mention. The knights I fought were all fine fellows. Due to negligence or humility,” he waved his hand, “they were willing to leave their armor with me, so I accepted. If they truly had difficulties of their own or oaths they had to keep, I was willing to let them go without taking a single coin in ransom.”
He invited the two into the tent and heated a pot of coffee for them on the small stove. “This is truly a good thing,” he exclaimed. “After drinking it, I’m full of energy, my blood boiling. Even if I had to fight on horseback for three days and three nights, I wouldn’t feel the slightest fatigue.”
“Did you pass the choosing ceremony?”
“Of course. Didn’t you hear the herald loudly announcing my name at the martial arts tournament? They add the name of the saint I sensed before mine, and they wouldn’t group knights who haven’t received blessing with those who have—it’s not fair.” He asked curiously, “If I’m not mistaken, you didn’t go watch the martial arts tournament?”
“We were still in class before today.” Baldwin answered stiffly.
The young knight realized he’d asked the wrong question and looked embarrassed. Of course, he hadn’t imagined that such a spectacular event would have parents willing to keep their children from seeing it properly.
But Amalric I could.
He thought Baldwin and Caesar both needed extra lessons—though they had performed well at the welcoming ceremony.
But after the banquet ended, the two children were still ordered to stay at Holy Cross Castle. For the past ten days or so, they had been training, praying, and studying etiquette, music, poetry—endless lessons whenever they opened their eyes.
Caesar guessed that Amalric I was doing this perhaps out of worry over undiscovered conspiracies, or to keep them out of greater whirlpools by hiding them away—his guess seemed correct. The day they were allowed to leave Holy Cross Castle was the day the Byzantines left, and Prince Baldwin naturally had to be in the send-off procession.
But these Byzantines probably didn’t care who saw them off. They fled like they were escaping for their lives. It was just unknown how many would end up dying in Manuel I’s prison back home.
What Caesar didn’t know was that Amalric I’s choice to hide these two children, besides the Byzantines, was also because another group of dangerous and tricky enemies had come to visit.
This matter had to be traced back to the “choosing ceremony” on January 6.
Not long ago, that thrilling rebellion had not only nearly killed Baldwin and Caesar with drug overdose causing epilepsy and respiratory arrest, but also almost taken King Amalric I’s life.
Holy Cross Castle was a fortress built with all the effort of three generations of Ayyarasa Road kings, heavily guarded with almost no flaws—except for Prince Baldwin contracting leprosy—making it hard for ordinary assassins to get near him.
But that day, for Baldwin, he had rarely stayed overnight outside the castle, allowing the assassin to break into his bedroom.
There might have been some Templar Knights stirring things up, but those guys still unhesitatingly killed the six Templar Knights guarding outside the Temple Church—Amalric I thought it was to clear the Knights Templar’s suspicion, since the king was attacked in their fortress.
But after the chaos, the Templar Knights still indignantly petitioned the king, hoping Amalric I would find the culprit—though it was unknown how many were crying thief.
It wasn’t hard for the king. Few had such skill and strength. This style didn’t belong to Franks or Saracens—or rather, not to the Saracens they encountered on the battlefield.
Moreover, there was the dagger left in Amalric I’s bedroom.
He knew of an organization skilled at silently placing a gleaming dagger by the bedside while the target slept deeply, using it to intimidate enemies.
Though this dagger wasn’t just placed before Amalric I’s bed but meant to pierce his chest, the two were no different.
Even without the Templar Knights’ request, the king would send a letter of accountability to the organization’s chief, questioning why he broke their prior agreement and dared attack him. He swore to withdraw all protection, treat them as lifelong enemies, and not rest until trampling them under his horse’s hooves.
The reply came quickly. In it—their leader—perhaps not to put it that way, they never admitted to being “commander,” only allowing themselves to be called “elder.” And these “elders” brought not love and comfort, but fear and murder.
The “elder” said he knew nothing of the matter and was certain his men hadn’t disobeyed behind his back to attack Amalric I and his heirs against the “elder’s” will.
But he had only become “elder” in 64, with some forces or dissidents still at large. He begged Amalric I to temporarily quell his anger and at least hear his explanation.
He swore to Amalric I that he would find the one who took the bribe and execute every member who violated the rules—one by one, right before Amalric I’s eyes. He couldn’t hand over Eagle’s Nest members to the king, but he could let him watch their blood soak into the sand.
In fact, Amalric I knew his new ally wouldn’t do such a foolish thing.
When he dealt with this “elder,” he was still just the administrator of Eagle’s Nest-Syria branch. Compared to the distant Eagle’s Nest Headquarters in Iran, the Syria branch was surrounded by the Zengid dynasty, Kingdom of Christ, and Fatimid Dynasty, enemies on three sides. He had always strived to balance these three great powers, carefully discerning every assigned task to keep this isolated little nest from capsizing.
Moreover, even Eagle’s Nest founder Hassan wouldn’t be easily bought with money to assassinate a king. They knew well that doing so could easily spark full-scale war, and Eagle’s Nest, at bottom, was just a “hall of scholars.”
Amalric I wouldn’t believe their words, especially after another assassination attempt on Princess Maria at the welcoming ceremony. Though interrogation confirmed it was Byzantine infighting, he didn’t let his guard down. After Eagle’s Nest’s visitors brought members previously commissioned by the Patriarch, he confined Baldwin and Caesar, not allowing them to leave Holy Cross Castle freely.
Only after he renewed the contract with the “elder’s” envoy and supervised their departure did Baldwin and Caesar get brief freedom.
“Wait,” as dusk fell and Baldwin and Caesar wanted to return, William suddenly called them back. “Do you have people with you?” Baldwin nodded—of course, though they weren’t wearing conspicuous robes, blending into the motley camp without drawing attention. William scratched his hair, or rather his coif. “Can you wait a moment? Please allow me to escort you back.”
For a knight, this was indeed what he should do.
Baldwin didn’t refuse. William quickly donned his chainmail and robe. “Did you ride here?”
“Yes, outside the camp.”
So this young knight, with the other attendants, directly escorted Baldwin and Caesar back to Holy Cross Castle. He stood at the other end of the drawbridge, watching them enter the castle, then sighed deeply.
He hadn’t expected to meet the king’s heirs before seeing the king. He had also heard of the various misfortunes this prince had suffered—like Caesar once. He thought he’d see a temperamental, suspicious, irritable child. Unexpectedly…
If God’s blessing and the saint’s favor could let him live longer, who knew if he would gradually become mediocre or achieve even greater glory than his father Amalric I.
But at this moment, what the young knight thought of was, upon returning to London, telling this thrilling experience to his little friend Richard.
Prince Richard was Henry II’s second son, now already Count of Aquitaine, born in 57. At seven, he swore to be the greatest knight.
William had briefly served as this prince’s attendant. Though he soon left Richard for other duties, the friends with a big age gap never stopped exchanging letters.
Richard had heard he was coming to the Holy Land for the King of Ayyarasa Road’s martial arts tournament and desperately wanted to come along. But he was only twelve, not yet of age. Henry II would hold his choosing ceremony next year. In any case, William couldn’t take on such responsibility, so he regretfully wrote to Richard’s mother, Queen Eleanor, asking her to keep little Richard closely watched, then set off alone.
He guessed that upon returning, he’d face Richard’s angry accusations, perhaps a few days of cold war.
But having witnessed Prince Baldwin and his attendant’s brave feats at the welcoming ceremony—their bravery, their understanding, their piety—would surely move Richard’s heart.
He could persuade Richard to at least stay obediently in his father’s castle until after the choosing ceremony, instead of always clamoring to go on Crusades, giving Henry II and Queen Eleanor headaches.
As he turned back to camp, his mind still on the letter to Richard, William suddenly regretted not asking Baldwin for a token or small gift to send along with the letter.
Richard would surely be delighted.
He was thinking so intently that he didn’t notice a pilgrim standing by the roadside. Only after the knight’s hoofbeats faded into the distance did the pilgrim slowly remove his hood. He looked like any ordinary pilgrim—aged and weary, with graying temples.
“Is that the child favored by the Christians’ Prophet?”
“Do you think he will be a threat?”
“A threat? If… he might become a threat to Eagle’s Nest or even Saracens, but the one by his side—”
He didn’t continue, but quietly headed toward the mountainous area outside the city, the others following like his shadows—silent and loyal.
