Chapter 96: Death Of The King
Caesar had always stayed by Baldwin’s side before. Hearing Amalric I’s calling, Baldwin immediately pushed his hand, signaling him to go out at once.
Amalric I shared a tent with Baldwin. This was at Amalric I’s request, just as he insisted on pitching the tent here—within a sprint’s distance of the Saracen cavalry—adjacent to the tent where negotiations were taking place.
He was unwilling to appear before the Saracens because he could neither sit properly nor stand for long—but he steadfastly upheld his duties as Lord of the Holy Land, and even on the brink of death, he refused to easily abandon the obligations of the King of Ayyarasa Road.
Besides his duties to the Lord, Amalric I was equally worried about his son. He knew his injuries were beyond recovery; even if he could linger for a while, he could no longer bear the heavy responsibility of commanding the Crusaders.
He was not without regret. Amalric I had thought he had at least ten or twenty years of life left. In that time, he could fully train Baldwin into a qualified heir. Even if Baldwin, afflicted with leprosy, could not have an heir through marriage, he could still pass the throne to his half-brother, and his bloodline would remain on the throne of Ayyarasa Road, forever glorious, forever great…
But what he had not expected was that the Byzantine Princess ultimately bore him only a daughter, not a son, and he could no longer return to Ayyarasa Road. This meant that after Baldwin took up his crown and became the new king of Ayyarasa Road, his heir could only be the son of his sister, Princess Sibylla.
Amalric I had little faith in this daughter. True, she possessed ambitions beyond those of ordinary noble ladies—perhaps from witnessing the “achievements” of her female elders, she too yearned to become a true king who could manipulate the Imperial Court and even wars, rather than a mere figurehead or puppet.
But as people had once feared, one unable to wield a long sword could not become King of Ayyarasa Road, let alone a woman. So no matter how clever or decisive she was, she would ultimately have to hand over power to her husband—unless she too received God’s blessing, the saint’s favor, and led knights into battle.
If her husband could pass power to their child—this outcome could not yet be called the worst—but if they had no child, or if her husband had a child from a previous marriage, or if her husband suddenly grew weary of being a queen’s husband rather than a king in name and deed…
What most troubled Amalric I was that his only heir, Baldwin, evidently still harbored some illusions about his sister Sibylla. In contrast, Sibylla… ever since Sibylla accepted that marriage without hesitation—Count Etienne was more than twenty years her senior! And she still showed no concern, even full of joy—the king knew that Sibylla might love her brother, but this familial affection clearly could not compare to her ambitions.
He also knew that Sibylla had once suggested to Baldwin something about “creating an accident.” At that time, he still felt some disgust toward Caesar and did not object, even thinking it somewhat feasible. But now, thinking back, if he had truly condoned Sibylla… Was she saying such things truly for Baldwin’s sake?
Or did she prefer to leave Baldwin truly alone and isolated?
“Come closer,” he said to Caesar: “child.”
The king had Heraclius administer many potions that numbed the body and reduced pain. He knew this would not only accelerate the decay of this body but also hasten death. But even if he could delay it by a few days or months, what then? He preferred to remain clear-headed in his final moments, to leave a glimmer of hope for Baldwin, for his family, for Ayyarasa Road.
He looked at the black-haired young man. Even after such a brutal battle and the scorching of flames, he still shone brilliantly, drawing all eyes, and the faint sorrow lingering between his brows only made him more endearing—Amalric I could now fully understand Abigail’s jealousy toward Caesar.
If Caesar were also a duke’s son—no, even just a count’s son—Abigail would not hate him so.
It was precisely because he was of lowly birth, yet possessed beauty and character surpassing David, Abigail, and even Baldwin, that such malice arose in people’s hearts.
The king had once thought this a good thing, but now he felt deep regret, even remorse. If only earlier, he had arranged a proper background for Caesar—made him the son of a knight; he could even give him a castle!
Baldwin would not be left isolated and without support in the Imperial Court later…
The king slightly closed his eyes, setting aside this useless emotion: “How many days have you and Baldwin been fasting?”
Caesar was slightly startled but immediately understood the king’s intent. After all, Heraclius had already reminded him that if he and Baldwin could earn a prominent feat in this campaign, the king could use it to hold the Sword Conferral Ceremony for them ahead of schedule, formally elevating them to knights.
Before Shawwar’s conspiracy was exposed, Caesar thought the king would hold the ceremony for them in Fustat. Later, Heraclius told him the king still wanted to complete this important work at Holy Cross Castle in Ayyarasa Road—after all, this was heathen territory, and even now that it belonged to Christians, converting the Saracens’ temple into a church for Christians would take some time.
By tradition, the fasting period ranged from three days to a week. But now Amalric I could no longer be sure he had that much time. Asking Caesar thus in front of several knights clearly meant he wanted him to shorten the process as much as possible.
Caesar showed no hesitation and immediately replied: “A week. We have already fasted for a week.”
Amalric I smiled faintly; he knew Caesar would not disappoint him.
“Then, tomorrow,” the king said weakly: “When Heraclius returns, tell him…”
The knights nearby could not help but show surprise. Leaving aside Amalric I’s current condition, there was no church belonging to Christians here… Where were these two young novice knights to pray and receive blessing?
But with the Patriarch of Ayyarasa Road here, such concerns were superfluous.
When Heraclius returned and heard Caesar relay the words, he immediately set to work decisively. They erected a new tent, larger than the one Amalric I was currently in, as the upcoming Sword Conferral Ceremony would inevitably have many witnesses.
The king’s urgency was justified.
Baldwin was fourteen this year, at a very delicate age. By years, he was of age, but not yet at an age to command full conviction. But if knighted, the doubts and disdain toward him would diminish greatly.
After all, the prototype of the knighting ceremony was the ancient Germanic warriors’ coming-of-age rite.
When an ancient German was deemed ready to bear an adult’s obligations and power, he would receive a shield and javelin from the leader or his father in front of all fully armed warriors. After completing this rite, the young man would be considered a warrior and full member of the tribe.
After the Germans converted to Christianity, this custom persisted. For example, Charlemagne’s eldest son received a long sword from his father when not yet thirteen.
Though Amalric I’s condition was now dire, neither Heraclius nor anyone else could persuade him to return to his tent for quiet treatment and rest—whether for the king, the prince, or Ayyarasa Road, they needed to complete this ceremony as quickly as possible.
As the two principal witnesses, Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch and Count Raymond of Tripoli had also heard the news. Compared to the ever unpredictable Bohemond, Raymond’s reaction this time was especially strong.
Amalric I suspected him.
In the court of Ayyarasa Road, no one was more suited than him to be Baldwin’s Regent. By doing this, was the king not saying he did not believe Raymond would sincerely support Baldwin? Moreover, he believed Raymond would seize power from Baldwin during the regency—so even on the verge of death, he had to make Baldwin a knight ahead of time to avoid being constrained by him.
He nearly stormed out of the tent to argue with Amalric I, but as soon as he stepped out, he suddenly stopped. What could he say? Even leaving aside that Amalric I was still his monarch, going over to plead his innocence might not evoke the king’s mercy or apology; instead, it could further convince Amalric I that he indeed had ulterior motives.
He could only forcibly suppress his boiling emotions and turn back.
On the way back, he suddenly spotted a stone. For some reason, Raymond impulsively went over, lifted it, then suddenly put it back—his movements so swift that he could almost guarantee he hadn’t seen what lay beneath, like a bug or a snake.
His heart pounded, even as he kept telling himself he was not trying to divine the king’s fate.
This was a very popular form of divination at the time. When someone was gravely ill and near death, his friends and family would go out and casually lift a stone.
If there was life beneath—bug, snake, frog, toad, anything, as long as there was a small living creature—it meant the person could survive; otherwise, there was no hope.
Raymond knew he shouldn’t do it. He walked some distance away, then abruptly turned back without warning. Trembling, he lifted the stone.
There was nothing under the stone.
————
A cross was soon erected in the new tent, embedded with fragments of the True Cross. The king had brought it, originally to inspire morale if the siege warfare stalled, but Shawwar had taken another shortcut, so it went unused.
Now it stood in the tent, with a crude altar before it pieced together from chests.
Even so, it was God’s holy dwelling on earth. Any Christian, upon passing this tent or seeing it, would make the sign of the cross on his chest.
Caesar and Baldwin were led into the tent. They had already bathed and prayed beforehand—this was a great trial for Baldwin. He had exhausted himself in the previous battle and burned his hands trying to rescue his father; the double torment of illness and flames continually wracked his body. His lips were ashen, his cheeks flushed red as fire.
He held hands with Caesar; everyone could see he was leaning most of his weight on his companion—the patriarch’s priests quickened their recitation of scripture upon seeing this.
The two young men had changed into white long shirts and donned red robes; the white long shirt signified purity, the red robe that they would shed blood for Christ in battle.
The makeshift altar was covered with a layer of snow-white linen, upon which lay a spear, two shields, and a long sword—representing Baldwin and Caesar’s weapons and armor, vital for destroying enemies and protecting themselves on the battlefield.
Placed here, they both requested blessing and consecration from God and the saints, and served as sacred pledges for their faith.
They were to keep vigil and prayer before the altar all night, and at dawn, the bishop would celebrate Mass for them.
This night was extraordinarily long, even surpassing the night of the Choosing ceremony—or rather, on the night of the Choosing ceremony, they were filled with anticipation; now, with sorrow.
Early the next morning, Heraclius hastily celebrated Mass for them.
Amalric I no longer lay on the couch but insisted on walking from the original tent into this holy place himself.
The witnesses had all arrived: Count Raymond of Tripoli, Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, Berion of Ibelin, Jocelin of Tel Dragon… along with the Grand Masters and Provosts of the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller, and important figures from various Crusader forces…
They watched the two young men kneel before the king—properly, one then the other, but fearing the king could not endure that long, this special treatment made Bohemond show rare displeasure. Being knighted by the king was one thing, but side by side with the prince—tch, his own son might one day be knighted by Baldwin. Thinking of that, it was truly unpleasant.
By contrast, Raymond, ever status-conscious, stood dazed, lost in thought.
Until a single word suddenly jumped into his ear, startling him awake from his reverie.
Raymond turned around, but could no longer see the speaker—though he was sure he had not misheard.
The man had said: “will.”
