The Son of God and the Son of Man

Cesar later heard that David had taken part in several more duels among the squires and won unquestionable victories. He divided the spoils into two portions, offering one to God and the other to Princess Sibylla. It counted as washing away the shame of defeat and reclaiming his honor, after all—David was not yet a true knight.

But none of that had much to do with Cesar anymore. He and Baldwin were consumed by a fervent love for the foals Pollux and Castor.

Pollux and Castor were the twin offspring of Amalric I's black mare and a white Arabian horse. They possessed every virtue of both father and mother: small heads, long necks and legs, short backs, broad chests. Though not yet a year old, everyone who saw them believed they would become an exceptional pair of warhorses.

Pollux was black, with a white star on his forehead, while Castor was white, with a black star on his forehead. Their names came from the twin stars of Greek myth, the sons of Zeus, king of the gods, and Leda, queen of Sparta. Pollux was the son of a god, while Castor was the son of man. Thus, in Baldwin's original plan, Castor would have been given to the friend he trusted most: David, son of the Count of Tripoli.

Now, Castor belonged to Cesar.

Castor was wholly unlike any horse Cesar had ever seen or touched. A horse born for war, he displayed many qualities beyond those of his kind even as a foal. More than that, he was cleverer than many a dull-witted servant, and more responsive than any vehicle of steel. Though it was Cesar's first time riding him, he could keenly feel how nimble and in tune with him Castor was.

Without Castor, Cesar did not think he could have caught David so easily.

"I don't know how to describe it," he said. "At the time, my knees and calves were pressed tightly against Castor's body. I could feel his heart pounding fiercely, beating in the same rhythm as mine. For one instant, it seemed as though my thoughts had flowed into his mind as well. We were bound tightly together, joined as one."

"Every great knight ought to have such a beginning with his four-legged friend," Baldwin said. "I also hope to have such a first battle with my Pollux."

He held out his hand with a piece of dried apple in his palm. Pollux immediately stretched out his long tongue to lick it, and the tickling sensation drew a rare smile from Baldwin—a smile fitting for his age. "Still, things are not bad as they are. Since my father is still willing to let me become a knight and his heir, Pollux and I may have our first fight side by side on a true battlefield."

That piqued Cesar's interest. "A true battlefield? You aren't even a squire yet, Your Highness. Can you go to war?"

"Once the choosing ceremony is over, I can," Baldwin said. "Whether one receives 'Grace' or 'Bestowal'"—to avoid invoking the archangels' holy names too often, people here used these two terms in less formal settings for being chosen by Michael or Raphael; 'Grace' referred to being chosen by Michael, while 'Bestowal' meant being chosen by Raphael. "If we are both fortunate enough to receive 'Grace,' then there will be nothing more to say. But if one of us receives 'Bestowal'..." His expression grew grave. "I will still remain at my father's side. As for you, I hope you will make the same choice."

"I swore to you and your father that I would not leave you unless you drove me away."

Baldwin made a satisfied gesture. "You need not use formal address with me, Cesar. Friends need not stand on ceremony with friends." He pondered for a moment. "Of course, should the worst happen, we ought to have measures prepared."

"Mhm." Cesar answered without asking further. His future—more precisely, it was not bound to the foal Castor, but to Baldwin. He was Baldwin's lance and shield. Before the knight died, the lance must break, and the shield must shatter.

He sighed soundlessly and turned his attention back to Castor, vigorously brushing that pure white coat with a boar-bristle brush. The foal with the holy-colored coat ought originally to have been named Pollux, but Baldwin had been diagnosed with leprosy before the foals were named. In his profound grief and unwillingness to accept it, he had given the name Pollux to the black foal and Castor to the white one—it was not hard to understand.

Equally understandable was the jealousy of Abigail, son of the Duke of Antioch. White horses had always been mounts for kings and bishops. Had Baldwin or David owned Castor, perhaps Abigail would not have taken it so much to heart. But Baldwin had given Castor to Cesar.

Perhaps because the brush that had felt so pleasant suddenly stopped again, Castor turned his head and nudged Cesar, as though urging him on. The foal's large almond eyes, shimmering with watery light, could soften even the most cold-blooded heart. Cesar was even more susceptible, for he had always been a gentle person.

He raised the brush and continued grooming Castor's seemingly luminous coat until it was spotless. Then he braided the foal's long mane, so that Castor might be a little cooler in the scorching summer.

Baldwin did the same, though his braids were nowhere near as neat and beautiful as Cesar's. Pollux snorted, as if dissatisfied. "All right, all right," Baldwin said with a smile. "It's too late today. Tomorrow morning, I'll have Cesar braid it for you." He looked at Cesar. "Have you ever tried sleeping in a stable?"

"I don't remember," Cesar said. "But I can try."

Once he lay down in the fluffy hay, Baldwin soon fell asleep. Cesar, however, stared at the flickering torchlight, the frozen sky, and the twinkling stars for a long time, until his eyes grew sore. Unlike Baldwin, he had no road of retreat. At the coming choosing ceremony, he had to be chosen, or he could not ensure that he would not wither away too soon. Even if Baldwin had said he would not abandon him, how long could a slender lance and a thin shield withstand the storm and rain to come?

"How can the chances of being chosen be increased?"

Heraclius drew his brows tightly together. He was the same age as Amalric I, but his excessive thinness had long since carved deep wrinkles into his forehead, the corners of his eyes, and the sides of his mouth. His nose and cheekbones stood high, his lips were always pressed inward, and when he did not smile, he looked especially stern. David or Abigail would already have fled in terror, but Cesar had no reason to fear such a face. On the contrary, it made him somewhat nostalgic—nearly all the deans of discipline he had known had worn faces like this.

"If you asked that question outside, you would immediately be denounced as a heretic," Heraclius said. "A mere mortal, daring to speculate on God's will?"

"Then I withdraw my previous question," Cesar said without fear. "How should we more deeply, more keenly perceive God's joy?"

Heraclius glared at him, then allowed the faintest hint of a smile. Baldwin's leprosy placed him somewhere between sinner and one being tested; neither he nor Amalric I needed a fanatical believer as the prince's squire. "Devotion and diligence." Fearing that Cesar might not grasp the subtle meaning at once, he added, "And strict fasting, to cleanse your bodies and souls. Not merely the kind you are experiencing now. When the choosing ceremony comes, it will be stricter still. By then, the monks will provide all your food."

Cesar blinked. So the king's and Heraclius's methods lay in the food. He did not pursue the matter further. "Thank you for your guidance, and for your comfort."

"Be steadfast." Heraclius stroked his head. "Child, you must be more steadfast, more pure, than anyone else."

Cesar understood what he meant. Doubts about Baldwin might follow him all his life because he was a leper. As his squire, Cesar had to display advantages no one else possessed, using his courage, wisdom, and piety to prove that Baldwin would be a perfect monarch.

Just as King Arthur had been surrounded by twelve knights. Some had indeed relied upon King Arthur's fame to establish themselves, but there were also knights of lofty character and outstanding virtue, such as wise Gawain, devout Galahad, who found the Holy Grail, and steadfast Bedivere, who guarded King Arthur until the final moment. They stood as proof for King Arthur, proving him a king worthy of following and revering.

He had nothing to complain of in that. It was his duty. But after considering it, he made another request.

"You wish to cleanse the Church of the Holy Sepulchre yourself? Every inch of it?" Heraclius said in surprise. "Child, do you know how large the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is? It is one-third of Golgotha."

"I have already decided," Cesar said. "Right now, I am only a lowly mortal. The only thing that belongs to me is my body, and I can do only such small tasks."

After considering it for a while, Heraclius granted his request.

Though he solemnly reminded Cesar that for a practice and pilgrimage such as this, which was no secret, once begun there could be no casually abandoning it. Everyone in the holy city would watch him. At the same time, he could not neglect his proper duties—the duties of a squire. He had little free time to dispose of as he pleased.

But since Cesar had said this, it meant he had weighed it over and over beforehand. His birth, like Baldwin's leprosy, was a weapon that their enemies could raise against them at any moment. Baldwin could not change the fact that he was a leper, and Cesar had no way to prove that he was the son of a knight or lord. But there was at least one thing he could do—prove that he was a devout Christian.

This was not difficult. Before him, countless believers and monks had sought every possible way to show gods or men how pure and blazing their faith was.

Generally speaking, prayer, hymn-singing, and kneeling in worship were common among commoners. If they wished to go further, they chose pilgrimage—and this was not centuries later. First, they had to save food for the road from their meager rations, and make offerings to their lord or church in order to obtain a letter of special permission, something akin to proof of identity, to ensure they would not be seized as vagrants. After finally escaping the sharp eyes of wild beasts, bandits, or knightly lords little better than bandits, they still had to endure the trials of getting lost, poisoning, or disease. If, beneath God's glory, they were fortunate enough to cross barrier after barrier and reach their destination, they then had to pay the guardians of the Holy Land before they could touch holy relics or witness miracles with their own eyes.

Yet it was not without reward. Anyone who went on pilgrimage and returned home whole would surely become one who had the final say in his locality because of that experience. People would listen to his stories again and again, never tiring of them. The lord would remember his name, and when stewards chose helpers for tasks such as collecting wheat, they would rank such people immediately after their own relatives. He might become the first commoner to receive Communion, and his son might even join the choir.

As for nobles and monks, they had even more methods at their disposal. Beyond attending Mass and making pilgrimages, they fasted—commoners ate two meals of wheat porridge a day, so there was truly little difference between fasting and not fasting for them. They donated holy vestments, sacred vessels, candles, even entire churches. Some used the torment of the flesh to set off the purity of the soul. Knights often bound a rough hemp rope tightly beneath their shirts. Monks lashed themselves bloody with scourges. There were also those who practiced by not bathing, not even wiping their faces with cloth. This method was particularly popular among noblewomen and monks.

Compared with those who went unclean year after year, using filth as armor, or who vowed to build a church and a monastery, Cesar's vow was not particularly astonishing. If a monk had made such a vow, it might not even have been memorable. But Cesar was only nine years old, an age when boys were at their most playful and lazy. Would he truly do as he had promised, drawing half his precious sleeping hours after completing his squire's work to clean the vast Church of the Holy Sepulchre?

Unlike the doubtful Heraclius, Baldwin received the idea with enthusiasm. Though both the Pope of Rome and the Patriarch of Jerusalem had rejected his father's request, this mild-tempered child still believed that the fault lay with the Church and its servants, not with God or His messengers. That was also why, once it had been confirmed that he had leprosy, he had calmly accepted this harsh trial with reason beyond his years.

He fully supported Cesar's ascetic practice. "I will go to sleep two hours earlier. That way, we can wake when Venus rises—at half past three in the morning. I will pray, and you will go with my blessing to complete your work. We will meet again after morning prayer."

That was equivalent to giving Cesar four more hours of free time. The sleep he had to sacrifice was reduced to two hours, which would no longer cause much loss.

"Thank you," Cesar said. Baldwin looked at him, and Cesar suddenly understood. He smiled, stepped forward, and gave his friend a tight embrace.