Geoffrey the Templar's Invitation and Gift (Part Two) (Monthly Ticket Bonus Chapter!)

"I'll take you to the market for some fun." That was the first thing Geoffrey said when he saw Cesar.

Even though there was not truly the soul of a nine-year-old child inside Cesar's body, he could not help giving a small cheer. It could not be helped—ever since he had come "here," the places he stayed were almost always fixed: Saint John's Monastery, the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, or Holy Cross Castle.

When he had gone searching for Count Étienne, he had finally left the Holy City. But honestly, no one could appreciate the scenery while trekking and praying day and night, and there was little scenery worth appreciating anyway. Twelfth-century pilgrimage roads were nowhere near as level, splendid, or sacred as people imagined. Trees were like demons, rivers like nooses, and corpses lay everywhere—from shriveled ones to bloated ones to bare bones.

He had wanted to come out and look around for a long time. Who would not be curious? This was a city from a thousand years ago!

This city had stood here for three thousand years. It had first belonged to the Semites and Canaanites; the Isaacites were their descendants. They established their own kingdom here, but it did not last long—only three hundred years before it was destroyed by the Assyrians amid division. After the Assyrians, the Babylonians, Persians, and Romans had all been masters of this place.

No one could deny that this city, located at the heart of the crescent lands of the Arabian Peninsula, linking Europe, the Arabian Peninsula, and Egypt, and standing high in the Judean Hills, was an important chess piece in both politics and economics. Even without any religious significance, it would still have been contested ground, like a throat or a heart.

"Jerusalem's market days are every Tuesday, as well as feast days," Geoffrey said. His beard was especially clean-shaven today, and he wore a sheepskin over-robe that was ninety percent new. He noticed Cesar staring at it.

"Thanks to you, little brother. That day, I took that sorry excuse for an over-robe back and told our quartermaster about it. He was so moved he nearly cried. He asked me to return that over-robe to him, so he could treasure it and put it away. That was why he gave me this most intact over-robe. What is it?"

"It was nothing remarkable," Cesar said. "If we are speaking of danger, fighting the Saracens is truly a narrow escape from death. Yet for you, it is almost as commonplace as praying and chanting scripture."

"I think it is because you are too young. Nine years old," Geoffrey said. "You do not know this, but among the soldiers traveling with us that day was a man who had married and had children. Unfortunately, his only son died young at six. He believed it was punishment from God, which was why he came to the Order. When he saw you, he took such a liking to you. If Count Étienne's matter had not involved so much, perhaps he would even have tried to stop you from taking the risk."

"Sometimes, you seem to forget your own age," the Templar said jokingly. "Is there an aged sprite hiding inside this body?"

There really was. Cesar's expression did not change. There was no aged sprite here, only an unlucky wretch. "I heard His Highness say that Jerusalem's market is permanently located in the Isaacite Quarter."

"Yes. Beginning with Baldwin I, the kings of Jerusalem set the market near the Dung Gate, east of the Western Wall. They say it was because the Isaacites often went to cry at the Western Wall, which annoyed him so much that he placed the market there to see if he could drive them away."

"Did he drive them away?"

"Rather difficult." Geoffrey said maliciously, "After all, that is the only place where they can prove they once had such a glorious history."

In fact, the Solomon's Temple occupied by the Templars was the Isaacites' First Temple. But it had been completely destroyed after Nebuchadnezzar II of the Babylonian Empire captured Jerusalem in 586 BC. The present temple was a pagan shrine built by the Saracens upon the foundations of Solomon's Temple, so the Isaacites did not recognize it as God's dwelling.

What the Isaacites mourned now was the Second Temple, built after they returned to Jerusalem from their Babylonian captivity. It had been burned by the Romans eleven hundred years ago, leaving only this single wall.

Though the Crusaders fought for God, they did not particularly like the Isaacites. They believed the Isaacites had long become the dogs and spies of the heathens. During the campaign to capture the Holy City, at least tens of thousands of Isaacites had become lost souls beneath the Crusaders' slaughtering blades.

They proceeded along Jerusalem Avenue. In the second century CE, after the Romans destroyed the Isaacites' Second Temple, their emperor Hadrian rebuilt Jerusalem. In the Romans' customary obsessive style, he used two roads crossing at right angles to divide the square city apart, like a cake evenly cut into four pieces. The market lay in the piece at the lower right.

Four neat rows of cowhide awnings had now been erected there. Since the market was not entirely fixed—the king or local lord could change its location at will—merchants did not build houses here, apart from the shops already present where the market stood.

Beneath those awnings were stall after stall. Some belonged to the merchants themselves, while others were rented. Most of the rented stalls belonged to traveling merchants or farmers who had not reached long-term agreements with merchants. Some of the goods they sold were exceedingly common: fish, fruits and vegetables, eggs, cheese and honey, chickens and ducks, pigs and goats, as well as linen or cotton cloth woven at home.

Of course, there were also less common items: clothes, shoes, soap, woven baskets, clay jars, pewter plates, and furs, jewelry, and spices loudly praised by the merchants. Though they might not even have caught sight of the castle steward's heel, they all unanimously claimed these were "picked out after being sent into the castle or manor."

Yet there were always people, tempted by the prospect of "wearing coats or boots exactly like those of noble lords, only with slight flaws," "eating the same meals, only a little less fresh," or "wearing the same jewelry, only with smaller gems and less pure gold," who stood hesitating before these stalls. And the merchants always found a way to persuade them.

One merchant directly began brewing hot mulled wine; another hung up a chart of heraldic designs so customers could compare them at any time with the engravings on rings or forks; merchants selling fur garments hired a tailor, so anything a customer disliked could be altered on the spot.

"Those spices are dregs left at the bottom of sacks, or mixed with sand and dyed," Geoffrey said, twisting Cesar's curious little head. "Most of the jewelry is fake, and the clothes may have been stripped off corpses. Let us go over there." He was far larger than Cesar and rode a full-grown horse, so he could see farther. "There is something lively to watch over there."

Cesar thought it would be acrobatics, but when they arrived, he discovered that the market inspectors were punishing several merchants and farmers who had not paid taxes, along with two idiots bold enough to sell rotten goods.

Doing business in the market naturally required taxes: market tax, transaction tax, and fees for using weights and measures—some goods required both buyer and seller to go weigh them together. But there were always people who wanted to play clever little tricks, thinking they could escape the inspectors' sharp eyes.

Once they were caught, they could not avoid weeping and begging for mercy all the way, but the king's tax collectors had long trained themselves into having hearts of stone. Those who could pay their taxes and fines still had to be caned on the spot. The boards were coated with wax, and a single strike could raise a huge swelling across one's buttocks and thighs. If they could not pay, they were sent away for forced labor.

While catching tax evaders was amusing enough, it was nothing compared with punishing the two fellows who sold rotten goods and were foolish enough to get caught.

People of this era were, in fact, very imaginative.

One of those unscrupulous merchants had sold foul-smelling beer and soured wine. After receiving a report, the inspector took a sip and decided the stuff deserved only to be poured into a cesspit. So they roughly stuffed the wine merchant into a barrel. Unless he drank every drop of the remaining wine, he could forget about getting out of that tiny barrel.

As for the other, he had sold some dead quail and pigeons to customers. When they asked why the birds were not moving, he had even said they were merely asleep... There was no need to say more. People plucked off the birds' feathers, glued them to his face with tree resin, then forced him to eat the bloody meat.

Geoffrey laughed uproariously. Only after he had finished laughing did he notice that the child beside him did not seem interested and even looked somewhat listless. "You do not like this? How about I take you to watch some acrobatics?"

Cesar shook his head. "I am a little hungry. Let us go eat." Ever since seeing that dwarf crash into the stag antlers, he thought he would have no interest in acrobatics for the next few years.

"Then let us go to the 'Bushes,'" Geoffrey said.

The "Bushes" here were not those at the edge of dense woods. It was merely because twelfth-century taverns usually allowed vines to climb all over the fronts and sides of their buildings, indicating that wine was sold there, so people sometimes used "Bushes" as another name for taverns. There were also prepared foods in the market, such as roasted meat and pies, but Geoffrey did not dare test the luck of himself and his little attendant.

They came to a tavern behind the market, not far from the Dung Gate. A wooden sign hung outside, carved with a human leg. Do not misunderstand—this was not an inn serving human flesh. It represented the two saints, Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian, because while practicing medicine and preaching in Syria, they had once joined a severed leg back onto someone. At this time, even knights and lords could be illiterate, much less the common people, so most places people needed to remember used images in place of words.

The moment the tavern owner saw that conspicuous red cross on a white field, he eagerly came to greet them. Tavern food was usually simple, but what could money not accomplish? He quickly brought out a lavish spread. Yet Templars were always required to be simple and restrained, so although the food was fresh and delicious, no spices had been added and nothing was dyed. Only newly brewed beer was served, with no wine.

But that suited Cesar perfectly, and Geoffrey was not someone who cared about such things. Sitting opposite each other, they ate and drank heartily. Once they had eaten their fill, Geoffrey told the owner not to let anyone else disturb them—they were seated in a corner beside the fireplace—then said to Cesar, "Has Étienne seen you?"

Since Étienne had been able to offer Cesar the first path, it meant he must have reached an agreement with Geoffrey. When Geoffrey asked this, Cesar could only nod. Seeing that, the Templar asked, "You refused him, and refused me as well?"

Cesar drew a deep breath and nodded again.

Geoffrey lifted the edge of his over-robe to wipe his face. He did not look displeased. "I suppose that was to be expected. When they brought you before me, they said you had come on behalf of Prince Baldwin. At first, I thought you had been coerced, but later... I discovered that you were sincere. You were even willing to die for him. Anything I said would be futile."

He felt at his side, untied a calfskin purse from his belt, and tossed it onto the table. "This is for you."

Cesar did not need to look. He could hear that it was another bag of gold coins. "I do not need—"

"No, you do." Geoffrey's voice was decisive. "I have long heard of your good deeds, but if you wish to remain at the prince's side as his attendant, squire, or knight, money will be absolutely indispensable."

He raised a thick finger and counted them off for Cesar one by one. "While you are still an attendant, you can wear his clothes, use his weapons, and wear his jewelry; people will only envy you. But once he becomes a knight and you become his squire, that is when the expenses begin. First, you must equip yourself: leather armor, mail armor, a helmet, a longsword, shortsword, dagger, bow and arrows... a horse... tack... greaves, a cloak... a shield..."

He continued counting. "Once you become a knight's attendant, or rather an apprentice knight, you will need an attendant of your own. One attendant, but every single thing he needs must be supplied by you.

"Finally, once you become a knight, your attendants must increase to three. You should have a personal cleric, perhaps two servants as well. Naturally, you are responsible for these people's equipment, stipends, and daily food and living expenses.

"I admit that Prince Baldwin thinks highly of you, but leaving aside the possibility that his feelings might change—even if they do not—when you need these things, could you really hold out your hand and ask him for money?"

He pushed the purse toward him. "And you need not feel too guilty. There are one hundred gold coins here, but I only put in thirty. Do you know where the other seventy came from?" The Templar smiled mischievously, until the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to dance.

"They belonged to that guide. When they fought the wolf pack, a beast's claws tore open his purse, and most of the hundred gold coins he had traded his life for spilled away. Later, the count and my attendant picked up some of them. They did not dare pocket them, so they turned them over to one of my soldiers. He gave them to me, and now I am giving them to you."

He leaned back, spread his arms, and sighed contentedly. "Fate can be quite interesting sometimes, can it not?"