Count Étienne's Advice (Part Two)

Baldwin and Cesar met again, and there was no need to say how overjoyed they were.

In the days Cesar had been gone, endless remorse had gnawed at Baldwin's heart like a venomous serpent, on and off without cease.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his little companion lying red-faced in wet mud. He was sick, burning with fever, about to die. Then in the blink of an eye, he saw him on horseback, a vicious Turk driving a sharp spear through his chest. He fell from the horse and vanished at once beneath the chaotic thunder of hooves. In his haze, the prince saw again how, while crossing the sea, the ship encountered monstrous winds and waves and sank. Cesar cried, "God!" as he fell into the sea, disappearing without a trace within a few breaths...

Any of these things could have happened to Cesar. There was no one familiar by his side, and he was heading into the lands of heathens, with so many hardships awaiting him on the road—Baldwin had been in such agony that he could neither rest by day nor sleep by night. Only after Cesar left his side did he realize that he had foolishly succumbed to the Devil's temptation, sending his best friend to his death for worthless vanity and competitiveness!

When he saw Cesar and found all four of his limbs intact, his mind clear, and his appearance no different from when he had left Holy Cross Castle, Baldwin finally felt the heavy shackles fall away from him. He was even reluctant to let go of Cesar. The two returned hand in hand to the left tower, but this time Baldwin took Cesar to an empty room. Its furnishings and decorations might have been only slightly inferior to the prince's own chambers, and a steaming bath had been prepared within.

"Whose room is this?"

"Yours," Baldwin said.

Though, as an attendant, Cesar ought to have slept in the same room as him, throughout Cesar's absence Baldwin had been so restless and distracted that he could only pace through the left tower again and again, climbing up and down its stairs.

Not until he noticed that the tower had several vacant rooms did he remember that, when he had still lived in the right tower, David, Abigail, and the others had all been his attendants. Every night, one of them slept on the trundle bed beneath his own bed, but they each had rooms of their own in the tower.

He remembered that his father, Amalric I, had once promised that Cesar would receive the same treatment as David and Abigail. Since that was so, he ought to have a room of his own as well.

Having a room of his own was naturally a good thing for Cesar. No matter how splendid or comfortable the prince's chambers were, they did not belong to him. Whenever he occasionally wanted to find a private space, he could only slip outside after Baldwin had fallen asleep and sit on the small platform beyond the door to think or read.

"You even prepared bathwater for me?"

"As one would for every knight returning in triumph." Baldwin pushed him forward and watched as, with the servants' help, he removed his clothes and sank into the bath. He found no wounds on Cesar's back or chest, but Amalric I had also shown him the letter sent by the Templar Geoffrey.

The letter gave only a rough account of what had happened along the way. Naturally, it did not lack the Knights Templar's characteristic style of writing around spring and autumn, but it still revealed how thrilling and dangerous the journey had been—especially when, at the very end, they had actually run headlong into Prince Mleh's party.

Baldwin did not entirely trust the monk at Count Étienne's side. He thought that, when the time came, he should find some way to have the bishops of Jerusalem examine Cesar's condition.

"I'm going back first, Cesar," Baldwin said.

"Don't you want to hear about the journey?" Cesar asked. In this age, when entertainment was monotonous and scarce, people were full of curiosity about anything happening beyond their immediate surroundings. That was why traveling troupes, pilgrims, and bards received such a warm welcome wherever they went.

Baldwin was no exception. He had even promised that, after the Selection Ceremony, he would take Cesar to the market, where performers playing music, singing songs, and telling stories could often be found in the taverns and alleyways.

"No," Baldwin said. "I'm tired too. I'm going to sleep. Once you've washed up, you should sleep as well. Don't come disturb me."

Though he said so, Cesar could feel Baldwin's tenderness. It was not that he did not want to know, nor that he had become cold toward Cesar. He was simply worried that, after going through so much, Cesar was already exhausted to the bone. If he still made Cesar stay and talk with him, that would be nothing less than tormenting him.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Cesar said. "Tomorrow, I'll tell you the stories of this journey—sleep easy. I'm back now."

Baldwin nodded without speaking. He feared that if he opened his mouth, he would burst into tears.

Cesar had never slept so deeply before. This mission abroad had been a harsh test for him as well, but if God truly existed, then He ought to give this answer sheet a fine score.

When he woke and was about to go to Baldwin's room, he encountered an attendant. He recognized the man as one of Amalric I's servants. The attendant told him to go to Count Étienne first. Supposedly, the count wished to personally thank the little benefactor who had rescued him from the fissure.

Count Étienne was currently staying in the room of Bohemond, Prince of Antioch. It was naturally an excellent room as well. Once the tapestries were lifted, bright sunlight flooded it, as if coating everything in a shining layer of gold. The count sat on a Byzantine-style throne, wrapped in a sleeveless robe of gray squirrel fur. The golden collar Amalric I had given him glittered around his neck, and several rings Cesar had not seen before adorned his fingers. Monk Anuncia sat beside him on a long chest, the sort that could serve as a seat, storage, or display piece.

Cesar bowed to the count.

Although the count's stated reason was that he wished to personally thank his little benefactor, more people believed that he was merely curious about this attendant. After all, in this era, if a person of high rank received aid from someone beneath them, they only needed to grant an appropriate reward. There was no need at all to expend their own time and energy, much less lower themselves to personally express thanks.

Count Étienne examined Cesar carefully once more and had to admit that, having spent several years at Louis II's court, he had seen countless young attendants. In appearance alone, scarcely any could compare with this child.

"I must thank you," he said. Only after leaving the fissure had he seen how deep and narrow that "Devil's Mouth" truly was. The monk had not needed to recount the situation to him for him to know that, after he fell, the likeliest decision his attendants and the Templars would make was to abandon him.

Had Cesar not insisted that they lower him into that terrible Devil's Mouth to search for the count, those people would at most have knelt at the edge of the fissure and prayed for him once or twice. They would have found nothing and received punishment for it, but he would certainly have died—and before dying, he would have experienced firsthand a living hell upon this earth.

"I must thank you," he repeated. "I have thought about it for a long time, child. How should I thank you? I asked some people—you are Prince Baldwin's attendant. Then, do you know that he is a leper?"

"I know."

"Since when?"

"Since before I became his attendant."

"I hear you received a favor from Amalric I."

"Yes."

"He saved you from the knife of an Isaac slave merchant. That was indeed a kindness, but it is not one that cannot be repaid." Count Étienne leaned back. "You should know what happened before. One could say that Amalric I owes me a favor, and I can use that favor to ransom you."

Cesar raised his head in surprise. The count smiled. "You see, I can speak to Amalric I and have him free you. Nor need you worry about where you will go. Do you remember the Templar Geoffrey Fuller? He is no ordinary knight. He was once a commander of a Templar division and only returned to Jerusalem last year. It is said that he may become Inspector of the Holy City.

"He has praised your performance throughout this journey to the skies. He said that even the young knights of the order might not compare to you—those nobler than you are not as humble; those humbler than you are not as brave; those braver than you are not as steady; those steadier than you may not possess your piety; and those more pious than you cannot compare to your wisdom. Yes, he likes you.

"If you were merely a farmer's son, he would surely have taken you straight into the order. But you are the prince's attendant, and that makes things exceedingly difficult for him.

"I can guarantee that, so long as Amalric I is willing to free you, Geoffrey will immediately come impatiently to the gates of Holy Cross Castle to take you away. With the favor you did me as your guarantee, and Geoffrey's favorable regard besides, your prospects in the order may not be much worse than if you remained at Prince Baldwin's side."

All the while, he covertly watched Cesar's expression, expecting him to be wild with joy.

Cesar lowered his head and thought for a moment. The path Count Étienne had envisioned for him was not wrong. Because of Abigail's foolish deed, Amalric I and even the entire Crusader host had, in effect, been caught by Count Étienne's handle.

After seizing another lord's bride and then fighting the king because of it, the count had still retained Louis VII's affection and trust. The king had even been willing to let him become king of Jerusalem, whether the count himself wanted it or not. That showed just how smoothly he moved in every direction, how nimble and ingenious his mind was.

A man like him had first seen the guide suddenly reveal a great sum of money that someone of his kind could never possibly possess, then seen the knights of Jerusalem arrive in such a hurry for no reason at all. How could he fail to guess that someone had laid a vicious trap for him? And that person was no ordinary man, at the very least not an ordinary attendant. An ordinary attendant could never have produced so many gold coins, nor could he have stirred all of Holy Cross Castle into cleaning up after him.

When he returned to Holy Cross Castle and saw at a glance that Abigail, son of the Prince of Antioch, was absent, he understood even more clearly.

And the Knights Templar truly were one of the few organizations in all Jerusalem, even in the whole Kingdom of Christ, that could refuse to give Amalric I any face.

Within the order, there was no contempt for one's origins, wealth, or surname either. Crusader knights had originally been "armed monks." Once they decided to serve God, everything they possessed in the secular world was cast away—a farmer's son and a knight's son had little difference between them within the order.

"I think I ought to thank you for the arrangements you have made for me," Cesar said after considering it, but he still shook his head. "But I have already sworn an oath."

Count Étienne was somewhat taken aback, then showed a trace of understanding. "Do you doubt me? Or do you fear His Majesty the King of Jerusalem?"

"How could that be? My lord, Amalric I is the defender of the Holy Land and guardian of the Holy Sepulchre. Every word he speaks is law proclaimed in God's name; even he himself cannot fail to obey it. And you—I also believe that a good man who braved hardship and traveled a thousand miles to the Holy Land to labor for God, king, and people would not casually make empty promises."

"Then why are you unwilling?"

"Because I have sworn an oath," Cesar said with a smile. "I swore to Baldwin that I would never leave him, and Baldwin swore to me that he would never abandon me."

Count Étienne truly froze. He looked at the monk in disbelief, then straightened his back and leaned forward, studying every minute shift in Cesar's face to make certain he was not lying. "Then... when you followed the Templars, braving snowstorms, wild beasts, and Turks all the way to find me... when you fought the wolves without fear... and when, in the end, you descended into Devil's Mouth without the slightest hesitation... all of that was for your master, Baldwin?"

Not because he wanted to seize the chance to leave him? But because he sincerely wished to serve him?

Count Étienne's mind instantly became a chaotic mess, like the processions of four great feast days and eight lesser feast days all inside his skull, banging and beating, shouting and crying, praying and singing hymns. He sank back into his chair and pondered it back and forth for a long while before asking in confusion, "But he is a leper..."

"It is not as though I only just learned that he is a leper," Cesar said gently. "And I was no more than merchandise belonging to an Isaac merchant. He respects me and loves me, so of course I will respect him and love him. I praise your generosity, but I will not leave Prince Baldwin."

"Good heavens." Count Étienne turned to the monk beside him. "Pinch me. Am I dreaming? Perhaps I am. When I open my eyes, I may find that I am still in Devil's Mouth, bleeding as I wait to die..."

The monk readily reached out and pinched him!

The count cried out and sprang from his chair.

"Enough!" He glared at the monk. "I know, I know this is not a dream. What are you doing?" He slapped the monk's hand away. "Wasn't one pinch enough?"

Unable to help himself, he tugged at the collar around his neck, removed it, and tossed it aside. He felt as though he were suffocating.

"I truly find it difficult to imagine—" He stared at Cesar and said quietly, "Could you really be a saint?"