Chapter 69: To Egypt!
The sea breeze blew in, lifting a corner of the silk rug hanging on the window, and sunlight poured in, waking Baldwin and Caesar.
Baldwin sat up, momentarily stunned. Only when Caesar on the other side of the couch also woke up did he remember that they were no longer at Holy Cross Castle, but at the Crusader castle in Ghazalafa.
At Holy Cross Castle, as the king’s escorts, they had to wrap themselves in bear skin and spend the night at the door of Amalric I’s room, but when the king went on expedition, even if there were rooms, those responsible for guarding would not be them, but real knights, who could have their own residences.
Additionally, after examining the prince’s body, Heraclius believed that bear skin and the cold stone floor were not conducive to the healing of those ulcers and blisters, and would only worsen the progression of the illness—Amalric I’s only remaining heir was still just Baldwin. Although he adhered to most of the tenets of knights and kings, he had no choice but to yield before reality.
Freed from the nighttime corvée, Baldwin’s condition indeed improved a lot, perhaps also because Heraclius had taken over that dangerous assignment. The prince occasionally felt ashamed; he had once greatly admired this teacher, especially when everyone else had left and Heraclius was still teaching him, but in his heart, Heraclius’s importance still could not compare to Caesar.
Perhaps this was because he knew very well that Heraclius had done so initially for his father Amalric I, while Caesar had done it only for him.
“I’ll go fetch some water,” Caesar said.
At Holy Cross Castle, these tedious tasks could be handed over to servants, but on the expedition, everyone was a cog in the war machine. Adding to others’ burdens just for enjoyment would only draw sideways glances and displeasure.
Even though Caesar and Baldwin handled everything personally, there were still people whispering that Amalric I should not have placed his heir, and another child who was only thirteen years old, in such an important and sacred campaign.
But Baldwin and Caesar both understood that the Byzantine Princess giving birth to a daughter instead of a son as expected had dealt a considerable blow to Amalric I.
He was nearly forty, and moreover, the breath of death in war could overturn anyone at any time, even if he was a king. He felt panic, and at the same time worried that if he died before Baldwin came of age, he would have to appoint a regent for Baldwin.
But he had inherited the throne precisely because his brother had no heir. If he and Baldwin III still had some blood relation, then the tragic reality faced by the current Duke of Antioch Bohemond III even more told him that a regent would never relinquish power—before Bohemond III came of age, the regent was his mother, or rather his stepfather Reynald of Châtillon.
Bohemond was born in 44, but by the time he was sixteen, his mother and stepfather still refused to give him power, until in 60 Reynald was captured by the Seljuk Turks, Bohemond returned to Antioch, gained the support of the Knights of Antioch and Baldwin III, and finally reclaimed what had always belonged to him.
With these guys as “precedents,” Amalric I dared not test human hearts at all, so he took an action that would not seem strange in Francia: to quickly promote Baldwin to a position where even if someone obstructed him, they could not obstruct him for too long or too broadly.
Fortunately, although the illness had not healed, Baldwin had received a blessing and enjoyed deep divine favor. No one could deny that over these three years he had been an outstanding novice knight, and as the king’s escort, he was competent enough.
Amalric I had already decided that in this assault on Fustat, as long as Baldwin could achieve a victory as commander and leader, he would immediately hold the “knighting ceremony” and enfeoff him as a knight.
What he hesitated over now was whether to knight Caesar at the same time. If so, he hoped Caesar could have a surname, but who should give him that surname was another problem. After all, anyone with eyes could see that if Baldwin ascended the throne in the future, the one he relied on and trusted most would only be this blue-eyed companion.
Or he could give Caesar a small fief?
In this era, if someone was fortunate enough to gain a new territory, they were entitled to use it as a surname, or rather, people at this time used only a few names anyway, and without appending the place of origin at the end, it would truly be indistinguishable.
It needed to be prosperous enough, but also small enough—prosperous so that Caesar would have a pivotal status in war and court, small because Amalric I worried he might become another Reynald of Châtillon. Perhaps, if they could achieve brilliant results this time, a piece of land far away in Egypt could be rewarded to Caesar.
He would inevitably stay on Ayyarasa Road for a long time serving Baldwin in the future, able only to collect taxes and tribute from the fief, unable to manage it directly, and with the territory isolated, it would mean he would inevitably have to seek more help and support from Baldwin to secure his position as lord…
As for what Baldwin had said about hoping to find Caesar a female heir and a widow, Amalric I dismissed it with a thought. Women! Hey, women! Sometimes they would seize power from their sons’ hands, but before their favored ones, they became soft and malleable—a king would not share power with the queen, but a queen would place the crown on her husband’s head…
He had no doubt at all that with Caesar’s appearance and temperament, which woman could remain unmoved before his smile? If he indulged Baldwin’s wish, Caesar could leap to become a lord with real power, even master of a county…
“Your Majesty? Your Majesty?”
Heraclius called several times before bringing Amalric I back; he then refocused on official business. During the expedition, there would only be more matters to attend to, not fewer. He lowered his head and saw the letter draft written for him by Heraclius—to Manuel I.
Speaking of which, Amalric I got angry. Initially, he had negotiated the marriage with the Byzantine Emperor and married his grandniece Princess Maria. As agreed, Manuel I should have provided a dowry of thirty light warships, ten heavy warships, equipped with sufficient oarsmen and sailors, and most importantly, Greek fire.
But in the end, what came with Princess Maria were only thirty court warriors, thirty heavy cavalry, and a hundred light cavalry—this was within the agreement—but the warships never appeared.
And half of those thirty warriors were lost at the welcoming ceremony, and those cavalry—fortunately Amalric I did not fully trust the Byzantines, and only in the conflict with Templar Knight Walter de Mesny placed them in the reserve with an experimental mindset.
The result was that if not for the naturally vigilant Caesar always remembering Walter’s features, and his knights being brave enough, Walter’s surprise attack might really have succeeded…
And he, as king, would have become a laughingstock.
Of course, he should also know not to expect anything from the Byzantines. If their cavalry were still as fierce and victorious as in Justinian’s time, their emperor would not have sought aid from the Pope of the Latin Church. And during the First Crusade, even the earliest peasant armies wielding pitchforks and flails could defeat the garrison of Byzantine cities and rush in to plunder wildly…
Without soldiers and knights, and without a son, the only thing Amalric I could seek from this marriage alliance was the warships promised by Byzantium. Fortunately, after delaying for ten months or so, Manuel I finally fulfilled the promise: thirty light warships, ten heavy warships, fully loaded with weapons and armor, and fully equipped with sailors and oarsmen.
Now they were docked at Port of Laffa, along with galleys from Francia, Castile, or Hungary. They brought new Crusader knights, their lords, and senior priests.
Snow-white seagulls shuttled through the clear blue sky, gray sails, and transparent air. The Crusader castle at Port of Laffa was already quite large, enough to house thousands of knights.
But the number of people here had already exceeded ten thousand and was rapidly increasing. Continuous tents spread like moss after rain in all directions, colorful flags like blooming flowers. The filth produced by these people was all dumped into the sea, breeding masses of seaweed, which attracted small fish, and the small fish attracted big fish and seabirds.
Coming with them were merchants, craftsmen, and prostitutes. Even the residents of Ghazalafa flocked here, hoping to do business with these outsiders. At the connection between the city and the port, one could almost say a new small city had formed. Daily conflicts, shouting, and fights continued from the brightest time to the darkest, with hostility extending from regions and races to faith—heretics were always more detestable than heathens!
For this reason, Amalric I had to accelerate the pace of action. He held three or four meetings every day with senior Crusader generals, wanting to quickly finalize the steps and rhythm of the campaign. “Let these young lads direct their energy at those Saracens!” he said.
And this letter, drafted by Heraclius and personally signed by Amalric I, sent to Manuel I, was about only one thing—money! Demand money!
Amalric I no longer planned to waste effort on the Byzantine army and ships. Now with the great army gathered at Laffa, though fighting for God should mean providing one’s own weapons, horses, and food, don’t be ridiculous. If the knights were really that noble, there would be no plundering of European and Byzantine cities and villages.
Now these guys were still honestly buying things with money because Amalric I had begun generously rewarding everyone, and also because of the sweet bait he dangled before them—Fustat.
Fustat was the first capital established by the Saracens in Egypt, prosperous, wealthy, and sacred, awaiting their favor—she was a voluptuous beauty draped in thin gauze, adorned all over with gold, gemstones, and pearls, waiting only for a strong knight to seize her and take her into his arms.
Of course, assaulting such a huge ancient city would not be simple, but had these people come here only to begrudge their lives?
But the daily consumption still made Heraclius, who handled the statistics and calculations, go dark in the eyes daily, and the answers he summarized always made Amalric I’s heart palpitate.
Daily salt, sugar, barley, wheat, oil, wine… wood, stone, cowhide, sheepskin, black iron, fine steel… horses, donkeys, and mules… all screamed that he must win this battle, or else he would have to mortgage Ayyarasa Road.
This made him even more righteous and bold when writing the letter. He even shamelessly wrote that if the siege failed due to insufficient preparation, he would lead the army to seek help from Constantinople…
Heraclius checked the king’s grammar and spelling, only hoping that Manuel I, no longer a young man, would not be angered into “apoplexy”（Greek Apoplexy, meaning stroke, a term coined by the ancient Greek medical sage Hippocrates）. But to say he had any mercy would be false; Amalric I had not hidden his plans for Caesar from him. He was single-mindedly trying to secure a good place for his student.
He handed the letter to the envoy, leaned against the window looking down, and saw that hateful yet likable child crossing the extremely noisy square, holding a stack of linen cloth, followed by a knight not wearing a robe, Longinus, who carried two copper pots, one still steaming.
He knew this knight; the king had once wanted him to join the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, but he had considered and refused.
——————
“Longinus,” Caesar said, “you’re really not planning to try again?”
