The Unlucky Count Étienne (Part 2)

"It's snowing."

Geoffrey Foucher said. This experienced Templar, his temples white with snow, reached out to touch the branches, the ground, and the stones. "Even so, we have to get moving. Otherwise, we won't reach Azaz by nightfall. In weather like this, spending the night outside is deadly. Even if God blesses us and the darkness and cold don't kill us, the damp will turn our legs into wooden sticks."

Bracing himself on his knees, he stood, spat on the ground, and drew a cross over his chest. "To hell with devils and heathens. Move!"

At his words, the several men who had received the Grand Master's orders alongside him followed him out of the "beehive house."

This crude cone-shaped adobe dwelling was only three royal feet in diameter at its base—one French royal foot equaled roughly two meters—and about two royal feet tall. Its walls and floor were chiefly made from earth, wood shavings, and dead branches and leaves. Apart from the small door through which knights had to stoop to enter, it had only a tiny skylight at its highest point—though calling it a skylight was generous. It was really just a small hole.

Cesar was the last to leave the house. He tried not to look at the bodies piled behind it like firewood... They belonged to the owners of the beehive house. Judging by their sex and age, they should have been a father and his two sons, along with their wives. Perhaps it was because there were three men in the household that they had been able to build such an adobe house—this precious possession of theirs, and the source of their disaster...

Cesar's party had first encountered the younger son and his mother. They had been standing before a pine tree felled by lightning, scraping its bark with stone flakes to eat. Not the coarse, hard outer bark, but the white inner bark beneath it. Scrape off a thin layer with a sharp stone or small knife, and the fresh inner bark was crisp and refreshing, with a faint sweetness to it.

As for how Cesar knew that, naturally, it was Baldwin. Ever since he had gained such a pleasing little companion and become willing to leave his room, he had wanted to share every joy with him.

When Cesar saw the mother and son, he smiled—the pleasure of sharing inner bark with Baldwin still lingered in his heart. But then he heard Geoffrey let out a thunderous roar: "Heathens who do not believe in Christ!" At the same time, two sergeants in the party, along with one of Geoffrey's squires, shouted, "Enemies of the son of the Virgin Mary!"

They spurred their horses toward the poor pair, but did not immediately bring axes and clubs down upon them. Mercy? No. They had deliberately let them flee. Later, Geoffrey explained that the mother and son had been properly dressed—though those things could scarcely be called clothes, they were at least not naked, and they wore bark shoes on their feet. That meant they surely had a shelter.

They had disembarked at Tripoli and ridden hard all the way here. They were already exhausted, and they could not spend the night in such wilderness without somewhere to take shelter.

Perhaps the mother and son had never encountered anything like this before, or perhaps, like hunted beasts, they had lost the ability to think. Just as the Templars had hoped, they ran toward their "nest." A man immediately rushed from the house. He was the woman's husband and the child's father. The moment he saw the scene, he knew things had gone badly. He dropped to his knees at once, spread his arms, clasped his hands before his chest, and assumed a posture of prayer.

Geoffrey felled him with a single axe stroke. A young man and his wife rushed out of the house. The young man gripped a stone knife tightly and cried out in grief, but he was only one man. How could he possibly threaten knights with such extensive experience in battle?

The whole thing took only a few breaths. By the time Cesar caught up with them, the house's original owners were already lying in pools of blood. He was too shocked to contain himself, until Geoffrey's squire rudely snapped him awake and ordered him to help move the bodies. In such cold weather, the blood soon congealed, and the corpses stiffened in the blink of an eye. They carried them behind the house. Once they left, hungry beasts in the woods would follow the scent of blood and come to devour them clean.

By the time Cesar entered the house, they had already lit the hearth—a pit dug into the ground. The sergeants found an earthenware pot, perhaps the family's most valuable possession besides the house itself. They set it over the fire, melted snow in it, and added the grain, beans, and salted meat they carried with them to boil.

The wheat porridge was soon ready. Since Templars were effectively monks clad in armor, they could not speak while eating. Someone therefore had to recite from the Bible, and the task quickly fell to Cesar, who knew the most letters, had the most pleasant voice, and held the lowest standing among them.

Only after they had finished eating was it Cesar's turn. He tried to forget what had just happened, but every mouthful of wheat porridge he swallowed carried a thick scent of blood.

The sergeants exchanged meaningful glances. "Still just a child." Geoffrey watched him finish before asking, "Do you pity those heathens?"

Cesar was silent for a while. "No... sir. I was only wondering how you recognized them."

No matter which god they believed in, commoners here dressed much the same: a long robe, bare feet, or bark shoes and wooden clogs; a belt made either from a nearly rotted cord or twisted scraps of hide. In winter, they wrapped themselves as tightly as possible in anything they could put around their bodies.

Geoffrey smiled and stroked his chin. Templars had to shave regularly, with brothers known as "robe officers" supervising them, but his beard grew unusually fast. Only days after leaving Jerusalem, a broad patch of stiff stubble had already thrust through. "I would like to tell you that the saint I admire, Erastus, polished my eyes with his sleeve, so that I can spot at a glance the scorpion hidden among bees and the venomous snake in the thicket, but..."

He glanced at Cesar.

People were often under the illusion that all Jerusalem's military forces belonged to the king and his vassals. In truth, that was not so. Every Crusader knight had his roots in "fighting for Christ," not in serving a king or lord. They remained "under the protection and supervision of the Holy See, steadfast, unto eternity."

Because the Knights Templar had firmly stood on Innocent II's side in a papal election, they had received more honors and privileges than the other knightly orders. They could elect their own Grand Master, build private chapels, not only avoid paying tithes but collect them, confer holy office upon others, and have anyone who harassed them punished with excommunication... and more.

As king, Amalric I naturally found it difficult to endure one, or even several, unchecked powers within his realm. He maintained good relations with the Knights Hospitaller, but not with the Knights Templar. Only a few years ago, Amalric I and the Templars had disputed a tract of land in Transjordan. Transjordan was an important territory on Egypt's border, and Amalric I was contesting it with Nur ad-Din. Naturally, he had wanted the land incorporated into Jerusalem, only to be refused by the Knights Templar.

Amalric I had no choice but to settle for less, demanding that the Templars hold one of its positions at any cost. Yet only a few days later, the Saracens captured that position. Amalric I was driven mad with rage. Ignoring all attempts to dissuade him, he insisted on executing the twelve Templars responsible for the defeat...

After such an incident, the Knights Templar still supported Amalric I, but their relationship could hardly be called harmonious. So when Heraclius brought them this child—everyone knew he had once been a slave, and had only become the prince's attendant after winning the king's son's favor—Geoffrey had not been very willing. He had merely grudgingly accepted the new member.

But like many others, Geoffrey came to like the boy after spending little time with him. Thus, when Cesar asked that question, he did not slap him as he would the order's squires, nor pull out a whip to beat him. He first gave the answer people expected, then met those green eyes and said gently:

"The truth is that our guide died. This is the first household we've encountered here. We don't know whether there will be any farther on, how long we would have to travel to find one, whether the snow will worsen, or whether we'll run into wolves, bears, or Seljuks.

"We need to conserve our strength, sleep well, and eat well. As for these people... I can tell you that they had no cross displayed in their house, and that they did not invoke the name of Jesus Christ when they saw us—but those are trivial matters. Their greatest sin was appearing here.

"Don't say we could have negotiated with them or asked to stay for one night. This place is too small; it can hold either us or them. If they truly were Christians, then for us, the helping hand extended by God, they would surely abandon their home and go outside. What awaited them then would be either freezing to death or being torn apart by beasts. Better to perish beneath a holy blow and reach Heaven sooner... Of course, if they were not..." He did not continue, and there was no need for him to.

What could Cesar say? Unless he rose now and went outside to freeze to death, he had to accept this blood-soaked favor. But this was—wrong, he said in his heart.

Early the next morning, when Geoffrey reached out to touch the branches, earth, and stones to gauge the temperature and dampness, sparse snowflakes began falling again from lead-gray clouds. Geoffrey had traveled many times between the Holy Land and Europe—which was why he had been sent here—and was very familiar with this maddening weather.

Low-hanging clouds, howling winds, and swirling blizzards were certainly frightening, but weather like this—a light snowfall, a clear day, an overcast day, then another light snowfall—was more deadly still. When snow fell, it became especially cold as it melted. If the following day remained bitterly cold, the melted snowwater would quickly freeze into ice that was not hard but terribly slippery. Their guide had been too anxious and kicked his horse. Pain made the horse rear and bolt, only for it to step on broken ice and fall, snapping his neck in an instant.

Anyone who had not lived in this age would never know how important a guide was.

In this world, humanity was still far from being nature's match. Between villages and cities, between one city and another, wilderness, deserts, cliffs, rivers, swamps, beasts, and birds still occupied the greater part of the land. It was not unusual for a man, or even a party, to travel for days or months without seeing a trace of human habitation. That was why people had to travel in groups, whether going to market, working, or making pilgrimage—and why they needed a guide.

More accurately, they were guides rather than messengers. They were true craftsmen. They needed not only good memories, but courage, bravery, and sufficient loyalty—so they would not lead enemies to a village or castle. They had to know where to go and how to travel, the speed and rhythm of walking, what tools were needed, what clothes to wear, where to keep watch, and where to rest and drink.

Skills and tricks like these were passed only from father to eldest son, then from that eldest son to his own eldest son. Even a second son could not lay so much as a finger upon them. Thus they were handed down from generation to generation... If that chain was unfortunately broken, it was a grave matter indeed, enough to draw the attention of stewards and even lords.

When they left Tripoli, they had had such a guide with them, tasked with leading them to Azaz. Yet their luck had been so poor that the guide broke his neck and left them in an unfamiliar place. If Geoffrey had not traveled this route often, they would not even have known where Azaz lay... much less any other villages or settlements.

"What are you looking at? The snow?"

Baldwin turned around. Heraclius stood behind him, the lean-faced monk watching the prince as he asked softly, "Are you thinking about Cesar?"

"Yes..." Baldwin said. "I even regret it a little, Teacher. The snow has never stopped, and they have gone so far." If he had made his request from the beginning, Cesar might only have needed to search Jaffa or Caesarea, at most reaching Acre. But by the third day, the knightly orders had spread throughout Jerusalem and gone in the directions of Tripoli and Antioch. They could only place Cesar in the party heading toward Tarsus, and that party now consisted solely of Knights Templar. If he could have chosen, Baldwin would of course have preferred Cesar to travel with the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre.

"You must trust him," Heraclius said. "He is doing this for you."

At the same time, he could not help but sigh inwardly. It was no wonder Amalric I had grown wary of such a young child. They had initially guessed that he was a count's son, but now it seemed that even princes raised at court might not possess Cesar's insight, courage, and resolve.

Put simply, Witt had still been a knight's son then, yet once he was sent to the prince's side, he could not wait to abandon himself to decay. Those rat-like little eyes of his could see nothing but a few silver coins, several meals of roast meat, a few barrels of beer, and several pretty women. He had never considered how vast his future prospects would be if he won the favor of both prince and king!

And Cesar? In Heraclius's view, no one could have begun from a worse position. Yet this child, who did not even have a surname, could make people in every place he went like him. Anyone else would surely have become smug at once, floating on air—but Cesar remained steady in conduct and clear in mind.

He even understood exactly where his greatest weakness lay, and immediately set about making up for it.

After he returned from Calvary, even Heraclius had thought that it was enough. Perhaps Prince Baldwin thought so as well. Delightedly linking arms with Cesar, he treated him as another brother and brought him before everyone. Indeed, with this ascetic devotion and these good deeds, he was qualified to become the prince's attendant. But what if Amalric I should unfortunately die, and Prince Baldwin became king of Jerusalem, as the former had promised?

The king of Jerusalem, guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, leader of the Crusaders, and a prince whose survival was uncertain were two entirely different things. The difference between them was enough to make people forget their fear of leprosy.

When that time came, counts, dukes, and princes would come swarming in. Where would there still be room for an attendant?

So Cesar had to go. He had no support to rely on. His only capital was the affection between himself and Baldwin.