Chapter 97: Death Of The King
“Strong enemies ahead, fear nothing! Piety and loyalty, gratitude to God! Humility and integrity, never lie! Protect the weak, defend righteousness!
These are your oaths, remember them firmly!”
Amalric I said in a low, yet immensely authoritative voice.
“I shall treat the weak with benevolence, face strong enemies with bravery, oppose sinners relentlessly, fight for those who cannot fight, help those who need my help, treat friends loyally, extend aid to women and children, treat every knight generously, and fulfill every oath I make without discount.”
Baldwin in front, Caesar behind, they made these oaths, earning the king’s satisfied nod: “Very good.” He extended his hand, and a knight beside him handed over a long sword.
When the two young men knelt side by side before Amalric I, the nobles invited as witnesses could not help but show strange expressions.
Although this practice was to accommodate Amalric I’s current physical condition—the king probably lacked the strength and time to consecutively host two Sword Conferral Ceremonies—in most people’s view, he only needed to hold one grand Sword Conferral Ceremony for his only son, so why add this young attendant?
If he insisted on exceptionally promoting this young attendant to knight as well, the matter could entirely be left to Baldwin, for by common rule, a person qualified as a knight could confer knighthood on another.
Moreover, it would be more advantageous for Baldwin. After all, if a knight receives his weapon from someone, that person holds an eternal favor over him; he must fight for the latter and be loyal to him, unless he ceases to be a knight.
By doing this himself, was not Amalric I depriving his son of potential future rights?
Could this black-haired young man actually be Amalric I’s illegitimate son?
Those with such thoughts could not help but surge with more unspeakable vile ideas—people like Richard, noble in status yet valuing personal character over birth and surname when making friends, were still a minority.
When more people heard that the attendant by Baldwin’s side had no prominent birth—in fact, the opposite: he was a slave of an Isaacites merchant, fortunate to gain Amalric I’s rescue and Baldwin’s favor to rise to his current position—they began to scheme.
They might not all have those evil proclivities condemned by the Church, but such a beautiful person, if brought back to their castle or court, even as an ornament offered to the lord or king, would suffice to earn them envy or even meteoric rise.
So when Amalric I ordered Baldwin and Caesar to kneel before him, these people could not help but feel waves of regret.
In the Sword Conferral Ceremony, the two parties could be said to form an important, unalterable contract—if an ordinary knight had conferred knighthood on Caesar, they might still have a chance to persuade him to leave the peril-filled Ayyarasa Road for the warm Apennines or prosperous Francia.
But if Amalric I conferred it on him, he could never leave Ayyarasa Road again.
Amalric I knew exactly what those people were thinking, for since they saw Caesar, those seeking or wanting to exchange for this child were not just one or two.
A faint smile rose at his lips; Caesar was a treasure, and this treasure had long been seized by him to adorn the crown of Ayyarasa Road, and this crown was surely to be placed on his son’s head.
He looked down at these two children, raised his hand, and slapped each one. This act warned the young men about to become knights not to be overly proud or arrogant, but to always maintain sufficient humility and obedience.
Only then did he take the long sword from the knight and tap each on the shoulder. First Baldwin, then Caesar.
When tapping Caesar’s shoulder, whether the king suddenly weakened or did it intentionally, the long sword came too close to Caesar’s temple and ear; after the tap, it not only cut off a lock of hair but scraped a large bloody mark. Though not torn flesh, blood could still be seen rapidly clotting into a string of small beads, flowing down Caesar’s ear root and neck.
Fortunately, Berion of Ibelin and Humphrey of Toron were dressing these two children, and due to the Countess of Jaffa’s sake, Berion had always had a good relationship with Caesar. Seeing this, he immediately signaled Humphrey on the other side; they swiftly stepped forward and quickly clad the two children in gleaming chainmail.
With this motion, Berion used the inside of his sleeve to wipe away the blood beads; fortunately, the injury was not severe. By the time they hung sword belts on the two new knights and fitted them with spurs, the blood had stopped.
But this was indeed an ill omen. Baldwin looked worriedly at Caesar, who shook his head, indicating he was fine.
Next came the most crucial step of the entire ceremony: the new knights should immediately take up their weapons and shield, mount their horses, and topple a pre-prepared straw dummy; the observing knights would cheer for them.
Of course, provided they actually toppled it; some new knights, due to panic or poor training, turned this final step into a laughingstock.
For Caesar and Baldwin, this was no difficulty; they mounted lightly like birds, black Pollux and white Castor under the bright morning light, striking the cowhide-wrapped, straw-stuffed dummy far away in one blow.
The observing knights erupted in cheers; the king gazed at these two children like the rising sun, his heart full of satisfaction.
When they wheeled their horses back, he extended his hand to Baldwin, who immediately drew close to his father; then, to everyone’s surprise, he extended his other hand to Caesar.
Baldwin’s mother, the Countess of Jaffa, had done the same, but the same act by a countess and a king carried entirely different meaning, especially at such a sensitive moment.
“Why not come over?” Amalric I asked mildly, “My Knight of Bethlehem?”
Hearing Amalric I say this, everyone present showed shock, accompanied by an uproar—even Baldwin looked surprised at his father. Heraclius deeply furrowed his brows; Amalric I had not told him he would grant Caesar a fief, let alone Bethlehem.
His best imagined outcome had been the king allocating Caesar a small territory in the newly conquered lands.
Though that plan was now impossible—Mestatat still burned like Hell, and Bilbeis had become an isolated city—they could only return to Ayyarasa Road.
So in Heraclius’s mind, as long as Amalric I conferred knighthood on Caesar, even without territory, it would suffice.
In Francia or the Apennines, if one were made a knight, he should have a fief, even if just a mill or farmstead. But such law or custom was hard to fully enforce in Ayyarasa Road and surrounding Christian nations.
For nearly all land here was won from Saracens by Christ’s knights; it might be in Christians’ hands today, Saracens’ tomorrow. Thus, a knight pledging loyalty to their king or lord might not receive a fief.
So the Crusaders’ generals, inspired by the Saracens, adopted direct currency payment to support their knights, the so-called “gold coin fief.”
The knights supported by Amalric I received about nine hundred to a thousand gold coins annually.
In this regard, Heraclius had no great ambition; he thought even five hundred gold coins a year would do, for as long as Caesar stayed by Baldwin, he would lack no opportunities—Baldwin would treat Caesar as he treated his brother.
He would even gladly share everything with Caesar.
But he had not expected the king to truly grant Caesar a fief, and such a key one as Bethlehem!
Bethlehem was just a small city in the lower right corner of Ayyarasa Road, perhaps a tenth its area, with only a few thousand population, but its holiness was no less than Ayyarasa Road. For Jesus Christ and King David were born there.
Centuries before Jesus’s birth, a prophet named Micah foretold that the Savior would be born in Bethlehem. Indeed, Jesus Christ was born in a manger in an underground cave there—Bethlehem shepherds saw an angel descend, announcing the Savior’s birth; following the angel’s guidance, they found the newborn Jesus Christ, rejoiced greatly, and spread the news.
Three magi from the East sought audience with King Herod, telling him they saw the Savior’s birth in the stars’ revelation and went to worship him. Herod, greatly troubled, told them to find the Savior and report back—the magi went, worshiped Jesus Christ, but an angel warned them not to return, so they did not.
King Herod, learning this, felt deceived and feared the Savior’s rumor, so he ordered all infants under two in Bethlehem killed.
But before that, Jesus Christ’s foster father John, warned by an angel, had fled to Egypt with Saint Mary and the Holy Child.
In Bethlehem stands the Church of the Nativity, the Christmas church the king mentioned during the Choosing ceremony; its holiness rivals the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Moreover, Bethlehem has Rachel’s Tomb, the site of the Holy Innocents’ martyrdom, Jesus’s refuge milk cave, and other holy sites.
For Christians, Bethlehem’s importance goes without saying; no King of Ayyarasa Road has ever granted it to any knight or noble.
Immediately, some wanted to step forward with advice, but seeing the king’s icy blue eyes, they lost courage to remonstrate.
Berion nudged Caesar; Amalric I was originally willful, and now utterly unrestrained—expecting to lecture a dying man at length and change his mind was like persuading a stubborn stone to open its heart.
Moreover, this was nearly equivalent to Amalric I stating his final will.
At this time, Christians had a peculiar view of wills: they did not avoid them, but established and revised them in advance—perhaps because people so easily met God via war, murder, disease, or even a tumble.
Thus, when ill, before childbirth, departing for business or pilgrimage, war, hunting… Christians made wills or amended existing ones.
Priests strongly encouraged this, saying dying without a will, causing resentment or new deaths over inheritance, was grave sin, potentially barring funeral and ascent to heaven.
Thus, pious believers did not wait until gasping on deathbeds to gather family for final wishes—also considering delirium or unclear speech in severe illness or old age.
People agreed the best time for a will was when healthy and clear-minded; notaries sometimes harshly required the testator, unaided, to cross a stream or ditch, or stand upright unpropped.
If bedridden long-term or suddenly injured, to make a will, one summoned all kin and witnesses to the house, dressed properly, sat in a chair—not lying—facing questions to prove still a healthy good person, ensuring will execution.
Even ordinary people did this; a king more so, especially after churchmen once tricked Godfrey on his deathbed into surrendering Ayyarasa Road—Amalric I must ensure his will untwisted or unaltered.
Was this not the best opportunity?
The noblest, most prominent, most pious knights and lords were here, over a hundred witnesses; they not only saw Amalric I confer knighthood on his only son and companion, but listened to every word from Amalric I’s mouth.
“By God’s favor.” The king placed hands on the two young men’s shoulders, his face suddenly brimming with vitality, voice booming like a bell again: “Though passed through hellish trial, still—mind clear, will firm.
Gentlemen, I speak here by my own thought, not manipulated by others or the devil…”
Silence fell around; people stood outside or inside the tent, silently heeding Amalric I’s final charge.
Amalric I continued: “I make my will, or my final expectation…”
He first addressed his property, dividing it into six parts: one to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, one to the Ayyarasa Road Church, one to the Knights Templar and Knights Templar, one to his only son Baldwin, one to Byzantine Princess Maria and his two daughters, the last to all poor of Ayyarasa Road, men or women, Isaacites, Christians, or Saracens.
Then he gave Ayyarasa Road and Holy Cross Castle to Baldwin, requiring him to kneel and swear not to fail God’s heavy charge or saints’ favor; then he summoned the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre’s Provost, allowing him and the marshal to re-elect the Grand Master.
But all knew this Grand Master would only be Baldwin; if Baldwin lacked blessing, fine, but since he could still bear leading Crusaders against Saracens, none would choose otherwise, whatever the reason.
Finally, Amalric I’s gaze lingered on Raymond, Bohemond, and other vassals: “And my daughter Sibylla’s marriage…”
People visibly tensed.
