Chapter 7: Chosen
Caesar’s guess was correct; Amalric I, and even Baldwin, both praised his actions highly. Baldwin gave him a Damascus scimitar as consolation and compensation, while Amalric I’s rewards consisted of two items.
One was permission to complete the “Oath ceremony”.
The Oath ceremony originally existed only between vassals and monarchs, but later the monarchs extended it to every subject under their rule. Every commoner had to swear to the envoy that they would be loyal to the monarch and his heir. Before the ceremony, Heraclius also performed baptism for Caesar, of course, it was unknown to others, just to ensure his Christian identity. After the baptism was completed, Caesar kissed the Cross, placed his hand on the Bible, and said.
“I swear here, from this day forward to be loyal to my monarch Amalric I, the most pious monarch, Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, son of King Fulk V of Ayyarasa Road and Queen Melisende.
In my relationship with him, I am pure of heart, my conduct free of deceit and malice. For the honor of the Kingdom, I fulfill according to the law all that a man ought to do for his monarch. May I receive the help of God, may I receive the help of the Holy Land.”
Originally, such an oath only needed the king’s envoy as witness, but at Amalric I’s request, Duke of Antioch Bohemond, Count Raymond of Tripoli, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller Ogier de Balben, and Grand Master of the Knights Templar Philip de Milly were all among the witnesses. This display made people almost mistake it for witnessing for a Grand Duke’s son. Among them, Count Raymond of Tripoli had the ugliest expression.
After the ceremony ended, he immediately caught up to the king, seeming to want to say something, but soon turned back dejectedly. Seeing him like this, Bohemond laughed and linked arms with him: “You know our friend can be very stubborn sometimes,” he said. “Just indulge him occasionally. After all…” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the left tower: “No good news has come from Rome.”
“Those pigs!” Raymond cursed, then frowned impatiently: “What’s the commotion outside?!”
“Some servants who dared to murder the prince’s attendant are to be hanged.” An escort replied; he was excitedly tiptoeing to look out the window in the corridor.
Raymond snorted lightly: “A bunch of useless things!” He refused Bohemond’s request—to watch the hanging together—and walked away alone.
Once he left, Bohemond also dropped his smile: “…You’re not much use either, Raymond.” He said softly, and the attendant nearby immediately lowered his head.
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This was the second gift Amalric I gave to Caesar.
To be honest, even knowing that these people about to be hanged were either involved or aware of the murder plot against him, Caesar still had no enthusiasm for watching others’ deaths. But the people around him, from the castle steward to the attendant officer, from the attendant officer to the knight attendant, from the escort to the lowliest groom and washerwoman, were all thrilled and eager.
By noon, the square was packed with people around the erected gallows.
Caesar even had the honor of watching from the crenellation atop the defense tower alongside Prince Baldwin, without having to squeeze into the hot, noisy, stinking crowd. Caesar did not find this particularly gratifying—this defense tower was the very one where Witt and others had set the trap. He didn’t know if the castle steward had done this deliberately to distance himself from Witt, or if it was a contemptuous mockery toward the weak.
The reversal of prey and hunter indeed provoked wave after wave of laughter from the onlookers, especially when they were led out like cattle and sheep, then noosed and hanged.
“If it had been you falling then,” Baldwin suddenly said, “they would laugh just as heartily.”
“If I had died, would they still receive the same punishment?”
“Probably not,” Baldwin looked down at the crowd in the square and said slowly: “Before becoming my attendant, you were just a slave, at most a commoner, while these people were selected by the castle steward from Ayyarasa Road and surrounding territories after my father confirmed I had leprosy.
They are either the unfavored youngest sons of lords, wandering knights who lost their territories, or illegitimate sons or unacknowledged legitimate sons—I mean Witt.
His father was formally married to Isaac woman, but this marriage was unrecognized by either canon law or customary law. Later, Witt’s father died on the battlefield, his mother remarried, and he lived off his uncle by blood. Even so, people would still believe him over a dead man.”
A noose was placed around a neck, its end handed to an escort, who tied it to the saddle, then crisply cracked the whip. The horse bolted forward, the servant bouncing high off the ground before crashing down, his neck snapping instantly, head lolling to the side as the crowd cheered.
“You did well, Caesar,” Baldwin said. “Don’t be too sad; they all deserved it.” As Caesar looked at him in surprise, Baldwin smiled faintly: “What’s there to be surprised about? Though we’ve spent less than a week together, some things are clear without deep acquaintance.”
He comforted: “Your choice was correct—no hesitation, no excessive impulsiveness. Your decisiveness and acuity are enough for my father to vouch for you, making you truly my attendant.”
“Ah…” Baldwin suddenly said: “Look, it’s Witt.”
Witt was the last to be led under the gallows. Before, Caesar had thought he was like a cunning weasel or skunk; now he still seemed like one, but not a living animal—more like its fur. Overnight, he had completely withered, shriveled into a ball, but this didn’t mean he accepted his fate. All along the way, he shouted and yelled, audible even to Caesar and Baldwin at the crenellation.
He complained, begged for mercy, cursed, pleaded for pardon, claiming to be the count’s illegitimate son, the duke’s illegitimate son, the archbishop’s illegitimate son… His yells were not only useless but drew mockery; the executing soldiers found him annoying and noisy. The noose was placed around his neck faster than before, the escort lazily cracked the whip, and the horse ran off…
Everyone thought the farce was over; the two atop the crenellation had looked away. But no cheers came. After a brief silence, the crowd erupted in even louder screams of shock.
“What is that?” Caesar asked. He unconsciously leaned toward the chest-high wall and saw Witt’s body suddenly burst with faint white light—the small man’s feet kicked hard at the ground, hands wedged between neck and noose, resisting the horse’s pull in this awkward position. The rope tightened, snapped; Witt flew forward and fell, the light on him vanishing.
Meanwhile, Baldwin beside him rarely showed surprise: “How could such a person be selected?” he exclaimed involuntarily.
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“How could such a person be selected?” Amalric I said.
“Who can judge on behalf of the Holy Spirit?” Heraclius shook his head: “Not all previously selected were saints, Your Majesty. It’s just a holy office; it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m worried someone will use this to cause trouble,” Amalric I said. “The one he tried to kill before was Caesar.”
“Then we’ll send him to the monastery quickly. All selected by Raphael become monks; I’ll have John watch him.”
“That’s not enough,” Amalric I said. “I want to hold Baldwin’s ‘Choosing ceremony’ early.”
“But Baldwin has no one with him now…” Heraclius was genuinely surprised: “You want that child to become Baldwin’s brother?”
“I said I would treat him as a Grand Duke’s son,” Amalric I explained: “He doesn’t remember his past, nor his age or birthdate, but I had the monks check his teeth and bones—he’s either nine or ten, perfect to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre with Baldwin.”
He took a deep breath. Originally, Baldwin should enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre surrounded by sons of nobles; under God’s gaze, the selected would become brothers of different blood, loving and respecting each other like monks in the same monastery. But now it was impossible.
No lord’s or minister’s son would want to become brothers with a leper.
“It’s September now,” Heraclius paused quietly; he should refuse, but today they received the reply from the Patriarch of the Holy Land—just like Rome, the religious leader of Ayyarasa Road also refused the “absolution ceremony” for Prince Baldwin unless Amalric I conceded, allowing the Patriarch’s influence to further infiltrate Ayyarasa Road.
“Little Baldwin’s name day is on the Presentation of the Lord（February 2）; generally, children complete the ‘Choosing ceremony’ between ten and fourteen… but advancing it by one or two months should be fine. How do you want to arrange it?”
“The location will of course be the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,” Amalric I accepted the kindness from his friend and subordinate: “Though some suggested the Temple, you know it was originally a Saracen temple; I think it’s still not quite suitable.” He rubbed the ring on his finger: “Heraclius, who do you think will select him?”
“It should be Michael, Your Majesty,” Heraclius said: “He will become a strong and wise knight, a perfect ruler, like you.”
“I’d rather it be Raphael,” Amalric I said slowly, as if already seeing that moment: “If he becomes a priest, he can heal himself.”
Heraclius was silent for a moment, not reminding Amalric I that even if selected to become a priest who senses the Holy Spirit, one needed far greater favor than others to heal leprosy. Such priests were as rare as gold in sand, and nearly all were recruited by the Church—otherwise, how could the Patriarch of the Holy Land and the Pope in Rome be so arrogant?
“As long as he is selected,” he said: “it can delay the disease’s erosion. We can have more time to seek a way to heal little Baldwin. Your Majesty, you are the master of Ayyarasa Road, guardian of the Holy Sepulchre; God will not be so cruel to you.”
“God also once gave Abraham such a trial,” Amalric I murmured: “Unfortunately, I am no saint; I am destined not to pass this test.” He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t easily abandon his only son. The king rarely allowed himself to sink low for a moment, then forced himself to rally again: “Once you’ve set the time, come tell me.”
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“He was selected.” Back in the room, Baldwin said: “What, no one in the monastery told you?”
“Maybe they thought I should know.” Caesar said: “But I really didn’t.” He remembered that when he still couldn’t move, certain monks would visit regularly, holding his hand, stroking his forehead. He occasionally saw light, but how could he have imagined it was a supernatural ability beyond mortal norms?
“Put it this way,” Baldwin said: “Some people are selected, Caesar.”
The so-called selected come in two types: one deemed selected by Michael, the archangel, guardian of Eden, vice-lord of Heaven, lord of light—like him, the finest and strongest challengers, God’s chosen guards, leaders of the holy light spirits. They usually possess unparalleled wisdom and strength, pious and pure, fervent and trustworthy, virtuous, brave and fearless…
“Of course, that’s just talk.” Baldwin said, making Caesar laugh: “The selected usually become knights, and they are almost all descendants of knights—perhaps some hunters’ or craftsmen’s sons, but not many.” Baldwin continued: “The other type is recognized as selected by Raphael. Do you know Raphael?”
“I know, the most benevolent of the seven archangels, who performs all healing miracles.”
“Dominion angel of the second day, lord of the powers, guardian of the Tree of Life in Eden.” Baldwin said: “All selected by him become monks; they can heal all diseases and wounds, unless God forbids it.”
Caesar immediately caught the subtle difference: “All become monks?”
“Yes,” Baldwin said: “If the person denies being selected by Raphael, they must be the devil’s servant.”
“But you just said those selected by Michael don’t necessarily all become knights.”
“The Church absorbed a batch of such people,” Baldwin said: “Like some priests in the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller who were selected by Michael—they don’t treat the wounded, only fight.” At this point, Baldwin’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t explain further.
“So Witt is one selected by Raphael?” Caesar didn’t notice the sarcasm and doubt in his own tone.
Baldwin raised a finger to his lips, ending the conversation.
