The Rising of Venus (Part Two)

Morning light draped itself over the sands of Golgotha. As though it were shining upon a scatter of gold dust, Cesar stepped out of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

No one knew when it had happened, but the little square before the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the long winding stairs, and the streets and alleys had filled with countless people. Even those at the back who could not see Cesar were stirred by the laughter and cries into cheering along with the rest. Everyone was speaking the boy's name, praising his piety and virtue. Some even swore that, just moments ago, angels wrapped in resplendent holy light had descended into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, utterly disregarding the fact that this was precisely when the sun ought to have risen.

Longinus still remembered vividly the day Cesar first came to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. After all, it had only been forty-five days ago. At the time, only Thomas of the Gerard family had brought him to the church out of regard for the family, handing him over to a wandering knight with no surname, and then never bothering with him again—though he had profited from the mercenary attack on Cesar, he had merely assigned two more monks to watch over him, and that only because he had seen that the boy might still have some value...

Now he had come. Standing in the little square with a beaming smile, fingering his rosary beads, he was followed by monks carrying reliquaries and golden caskets, while attendants bore censers. The scents of myrrh and frankincense filled the entire square. Clerics of rival factions stood elsewhere, yet they too had to wear smiles, hoping to snatch a little glory from this act of devotion. Beyond these men in black and white robes stood nobles in splendid garments, countless silks and velvets flowing beneath the sunlight in dazzling, intoxicating colors.

The instant Cesar emerged, their attendants rushed forward with the rings, necklaces, and belts their masters had removed, along with cloaks and outer garments. Layer upon layer, they dressed him up. Cesar had already been a strikingly handsome boy, and thus adorned, he shone so brilliantly that people could scarcely look at him. They could not help praising in unison: this was God's gift, for only then could such beauty exist in the mortal world!

"Hold tight to your little bucket and... mop," Longinus whispered in Cesar's ear, struggling not to let the two monks and the castle knights crowd him out of his place.

Cesar paused, immediately understanding what he meant. Whether or not Heraclius and the Gerard family had helped fan the flames behind today's spectacle, a nine-year-old child had completed in forty-five nights the work that one hundred adults would need forty-five days to accomplish. It was bound to be regarded as a miracle. Even though, in truth, it was not as beyond human ability as the clerics proclaimed, and regardless of whether the Church of Rome acknowledged it or whether the Patriarch of Jerusalem could accept it, the clerics of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre would certainly record this miracle in full and attest to it with absolute conviction.

Then his little bucket and mop would inevitably become two holy relics. It was no exaggeration to say that in an age when a saint's bones could be divided into two, then three, then infinitely more, those two things alone could gather offerings enough to build one or even two churches. More likely, devout believers would be willing to donate vast fortunes for a tiny piece of them—as long as they believed angels had helped Cesar clean the holy sanctuary.

After saying this, Longinus was pulled to the rear. He took a deep breath, hoping the child would not become too carried away. But he had to admit that, had it been himself at that age, he probably could not have managed it—so much praise, so much glory, so much gold!

Cesar only felt an ache in his head and neck. Although Longinus had reminded him not to let go of the mop and bucket, he could no longer even feel the wooden handle or leather strap—there were simply too many rings on his fingers.

At that moment, the crowd parted, and Priest Thomas came forward with his head held high, carrying a silver tray.

Upon the silver tray lay a bundle of cloth, white enough to gleam. Cesar recognized at a glance that it was a roll of precious woolen cloth, meant for a cloak.

Perhaps some people did not quite understand the process by which a layman's offering became a church relic. To give a simple example: a good believer donated the savings of his entire life—most often money, but sometimes material things: silk, wool, vessels, timber, perhaps a beautiful slab of marble, a horse, a mule, and so on. If any of the first three were valuable, the clerics would place them on the altar for a while, drape them over an image of the Virgin for a while, and they would naturally become holy relics. No matter who came to reclaim them, the church would not return them—unless one was willing to pay several times, or dozens of times, their value to buy the relic back.

"This is the woolen cloth that once covered the Holy Sepulchre," Thomas said proudly. Then he shook it open and draped it over Cesar's shoulders. In a voice so intimate it made one shudder from head to toe, he said, "Cesar, my little brother, I have come to celebrate you. What a great deed you have accomplished—how devout, how beautiful! Child, you are simply a gift sent to us by angels." He stretched out both hands fervently. "You must be tired, you must be weary. Quickly, give me your little bucket and mop. I shall be your servant for this day. I shall attend you. It is what you deserve."

Though Longinus had warned him... Cesar smiled and loosened his fingers. Thomas visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

Longinus's warning had been well-intentioned, but there was too much he did not know. Cesar's bargain with Amalric I meant that, until Baldwin no longer needed him, he could not leave Baldwin's side. So what use were gold, reputation, and people's love and respect to him? Besides, these things were like castles piled upon a beach. The moment his protector withdrew the foundation beneath them, everything would turn to foam.

Better to hand these two things to Thomas. It could count as some small repayment to Abbot John, who had once cared for him.

Priest Thomas accepted the bucket and mop, immediately radiant as if an angel's golden light truly shone upon him. He kept his promise, following behind Cesar and intending to accompany him all the way to Holy Cross Castle. The monks and attendants nearby hurriedly raised their staffs to clear a path for them. The crowd pressing forward was even denser now; unless they drove away these foul-smelling poor people, they would not be able to take a single step.

"Wait," Cesar said. Then he turned toward that shifting sea of heads: clumps of tangled, matted hair, faces so filthy their features could not be seen, twig-like hands stretched out, cracked lips murmuring things no one could make out, and eyes—the only things that shone.

The people saw the young saint take a deep breath. Then he turned back and said something to the eminent high cleric beside him. The cleric looked troubled, but in the end he nodded and agreed.

Cesar turned toward them. "Everyone," he said slowly, raising his voice as clearly as he could so that no one would fail to hear, "what do you need?"

He lowered his head and met their eyes. "Do you need absolution? Or do you hope for a blessing? Are you hungry and in need of food? Or thirsty and in need of clean water? Have you fulfilled your heart's desire and only wish to return home? Or do you hope to remain forever in this holy place?"

The crowd erupted. Yes, yes, yes—this was exactly what they had been hoping for. Parents had brought their sick children. Old people had dragged their feeble bodies here. Some had emptied their purses through trusting scoundrels too readily; others through excessive devotion, and had nowhere to earn a living. Tens of thousands of pilgrims lingered in the holy city like beggars, and every day, people died.

"The Church of the Holy Sepulchre will hold a grand Mass," Cesar said. "For every believer in this city. During the Mass, devout people, you may enter the three great halls to behold and touch the holy relics."

Someone cried out. Like a stone cast into a still lake, the news spread outward in ripples. Cesar waited for a while, making sure it had traveled far enough before continuing. "My only request of you is that you obey every arrangement made by the clerics. And remember that others, like you, carry hearts full of urgency and pain. Before God and His beloved Son, do not commit wicked or base deeds."

"We will remember. Countless eyes will watch them closely," said several people kneeling at the very front. They were all strong men, and their clothing was not as ragged as the others'. Cesar had been outside the castle for over a month now, and knew these men must be figures of standing in their villages or towns. They might even have blood ties traceable to lords or officials. Their forebears had been people like Longinus, and for that reason, they were sharper and more worldly-wise than common peasants and serfs who could only struggle in mud huts.

Thus, whenever the people of a village needed a celebration, a sacrifice, or some other great event such as this, these men would be chosen. For a short while, they became the leaders of those farmers and craftsmen.

Pilgrimage was undoubtedly the most important and most arduous of such undertakings. These men bore extraordinary pressure and responsibility. The benefit was that once they returned home, this experience would be enough to make them honored guests at the tables of lords and bishops, allowing them to retain lofty status in the years to come. Their children, too, could enjoy the blessings brought by that lingering grace.

"And the hungry, the thirsty, those who wish to return home, or to remain here forever," Cesar said. "I leave them to you."

"We will do everything in our power," they promised.

Cesar shook his head. "I trust you, but other than Jesus Christ, who can draw bread and fish from a basket without end?" He removed one of his rings. It was gold, set with an opal as large as a little finger, scattering countless colors and gleams beneath the sun. "This was given to me by pious and generous benefactors, simply because I did a small piece of work for our Lord. Now I give it to you, so that you may do greater work. Exchange this for bread, water, and passage money. I ask for no reward. I only ask that every person who receives help pray for these generous good people."

Everyone present revealed expressions of astonishment.

Cesar said no more, but there was no need to waste further words. Others naturally kept spreading his words and deeds. How many people in holy Jerusalem needed water, bread, and hope?

The crowd writhed and slowly opened a path before him. Every few steps, the black-haired, green-eyed boy removed an ornament from his person and handed it to someone willing to work for him. Once all the ornaments were gone, he took off those magnificent garments, piece by piece. By the time he reached the drawbridge, gifts costly enough to move a count had been distributed to the poor without a single thing remaining.

The people following him had gone from constant whispering and occasional debate to utter silence. The powerful, the wealthy, nobles and clerics, along with their attendants, were mingled with the poor in a rare sight. The women had long since been weeping openly, while the men nodded with sincere solemnity. Every hand was either making the sign of the cross over the chest or tightly gripping rosary beads.

The drawbridge had long been lowered, but aside from Cesar, everyone else could only stop there. A thin white figure stood outside the black gate. Though not everyone had seen Prince Baldwin, one glance at the newcomer's gloves and veil, wrapped tightly around him, told them that this was Jerusalem's heir, afflicted with leprosy.

Cesar turned and took the silver tray holding the white woolen cloak from an attendant at his side. Beneath the gaze of thousands of eyes, he strode quickly toward the prince whom God was said to have punished.

Baldwin watched his new black-haired attendant walk lightly toward him, set down the tray, lift that snow-white relic, and drape it over him without the slightest hesitation.

For one moment, Baldwin had no idea what had happened. Soft, smooth cloth poured down from above his head like sunlight, enveloping his entire body—because this relic had once covered a towering holy statue, the boy's body was not large enough to support it all, and it embraced him completely like a mighty giant.

He stood frozen for a long while before speaking.

"It's so warm, Cesar..."

"It's wool, and it had been in the sun for so long," Cesar said. "Of course it's warm."

Baldwin gave a short laugh. "Cesar, my friend," he said sincerely, "once you become a knight, try not to be so utterly unromantic." He removed the cloak and placed it in a clothes chest decorated with little ivory figures. That chest held all his most important things—his rosary, given to him by his sister Sibylla; the Bible; and the sword his father Amalric I had given him.

Of course Cesar knew what Baldwin meant. But in all honesty, the education he had received had destined him to have no faith. To an unbeliever, a so-called holy relic was merely a woolen cloak. Yet its meaning was entirely different to Baldwin, whose circumstances were so difficult. Why should he quibble over something that was of no use to himself—especially when it could greatly ease people's malice toward a child?

He did not even want Baldwin to feel too much gratitude or guilt toward him because of this cloak.