Mithridates' Formula (Part One)

Geoffrey watched Cesar pick up the purse and fasten it to his belt, then nodded in satisfaction. As an old knight, what he could least abide was talking to fools, whether they were inside the order or outside it.

After putting away the purse, the boy seemed to have something else to say. "Is there anything else you need my help with?" For the moment, Geoffrey could think of nothing. If it were him, the most important thing would be getting away from that cursed place, Holy Cross Castle.

"I have a servant," Cesar said. "When I was doing penance at the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, he guarded me at my side."

"And then?"

"He is a wandering knight, but he has a family name and lineage. He has been in the Holy Land for several years and has always wanted to join the Crusaders, but never succeeded."

"You want him to join us?" Geoffrey frowned. That would be rather difficult.

How should he put it? When the Knights Templar had first been founded, almost any knight could join. But fifty years later, the Knights Templar had become a Temple Mount of gold. They no longer needed others to add luster to them; rather, those who joined could gain considerable benefits from it.

Thus, joining the order was even harder than joining the Church. One needed either power, wealth, or lands. In any case, it could not be some wandering knight with no support or background whatsoever.

"He does not have such extravagant hopes," Cesar said. "It will be enough if he can train with the Knights Templar for a while."

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. "For a while?"

"He will leave after January 6."

"Does Your Highness the Prince know?"

"No."

A playful smile suddenly appeared on Geoffrey's face, then turned lighthearted. "That is good." His hand, clad in a mail glove, crossed the table and landed heavily on Cesar's shoulder. At once, the space seemed darker and more secretive. "Perhaps you are too young, perhaps Baldwin is too young. Neither of you has yet realized what a king—someone who possesses boundless power—can twist into.

"You respect and love your master, and that is worthy of respect. Yet to retain your own ability to think and your own code of conduct on that foundation is not something everyone can do. There are always people like stubborn guinea pigs, who will not stop until they have battered themselves bloody."

He settled back into his chair. "Are you speaking of that knight in black who has been following behind us? I agree. Call him in."

"You noticed?"

"I noticed from the drawbridge onward. He is clever and nimble, but I am a soldier of Christ." Geoffrey tapped his head. "How could one afford to be insufficiently vigilant when dealing with Saracens as cunning as foxes?"

Cesar could not help showing a trace of admiration. Seeing it, Geoffrey immediately felt a surge of satisfaction. A child displaying wisdom beyond that of his peers, even beyond that of adults, could indeed delight people—but at the same time, it inevitably brought a measure of frustration.

To make him show the expression a child his age ought to have—if he had not been worried about getting drunk, the Templar would almost have called over the tavern owner to buy several more large cups of ale and drink his fill.

Longinus had been waiting outside the tavern since early morning. At Cesar's call, he ran inside. The moment he saw the expressions on Cesar's face and that of the knightly lord in the white mantle, he knew the matter had been settled. He immediately tried to kneel and kiss Geoffrey's mail glove, but Geoffrey caught him in one swift motion. "A bow between brothers will do."

"It so happens that the quartermaster has complained to me about lacking hands to organize the warehouses," Geoffrey said. "You have a guarantor whom I trust. I hope you can prove worthy of his trust."

"I will never betray his expectations of me," Longinus said sincerely.

"What is your name?"

"You may call me Longinus for now. Before coming here, I swore that until I made something of myself—until I had cut off at least three Saracen heads—I would not reclaim my former surname and name."

"Then you are quite fortunate," Geoffrey said, stroking his clean-shaven chin. "Give him a gold coin. Let him shave off that beard, change into a clean mantle, and work well." He said to Longinus, "If you do well, perhaps you may have a chance to remain in the order."

But Longinus said, "To stand among God's knights, even if only for three short days, would be glory enough for me to proclaim for a lifetime."

Geoffrey gave a snort. "Since when have the Knights Templar become so unwanted?" Yet in his heart, he truly preferred people like Cesar and Longinus—people who did not immediately look overjoyed and greedily impatient the moment they heard they might gain entry into the Knights Templar. It was a rather contradictory feeling, yet a very real one.

He said no more, merely waved a hand and walked out of the tavern. Longinus looked to Cesar, and Cesar nodded.

They mounted their horses. Longinus tried hard not to laugh. Since he had met this green-eyed, black-haired boy, he had never seen him lose composure—not when facing assassins, not when confronting hundreds upon hundreds of impoverished pilgrims...

But today, Cesar rode his little horse Castor, a full head shorter than the rest of them, indescribably... adorable. Only then did Longinus realize that the master he followed was still a child.

"What is this?" Geoffrey muttered. The street they were passing through had already been crowded before, but now it was packed so tightly that not even water could pass through. Today, because he wanted to speak heart-to-heart with Cesar, he had not brought any attendants. Seeing this, Longinus immediately dismounted, lifted his scabbard, and struck the sluggish crowd with it, "reminding" them to make way.

"They have caught two people intending to damage the market." Geoffrey could vaguely make out shifting figures and movements, and guessed what was happening there.

There was always an open space in the market, used to publicly punish merchants who evaded taxes or sold counterfeit goods. The two merchants who had previously sold spoiled wine and dead birds were still there: one was still drinking his wine, his body already reddened from the cold, while the other was still eating his dead birds. And between them, there was now another woman. Dressed in rags, she knelt on the ground while two men dug a pit for her, preparing to bury her alive.

The market inspector also saw the white mantle and red cross. He hastily dispersed the crowd, telling them to come back later if they wanted to watch the excitement.

At such a time, damaging the market was a grave crime. Men would be hanged, while women would be buried alive. But as Cesar rode past on little Castor, the woman suddenly raised her head and looked at him. Cesar merely froze for an instant, but Geoffrey, who had been watching him all along, noticed. "You know her?"

In truth, if Cesar had not possessed such a strong memory, he would not have remembered the woman either. Most poor people at this time were disheveled and filthy, their faces ugly. "She is the woman whose child was sick."

Geoffrey smiled. So she was the special actress arranged by that monk Heraclius. As for what had happened afterward, he wondered whether Heraclius and Amalric I would regret it. He looked at Cesar. "Do you want to save her?"

"What happened?" Cesar asked.

There was nothing particularly complicated about it. The prostitute had gotten into an argument with a customer, and during the shoving, she had fallen against a stall. That stall happened to sell dyes, and all its wares had tumbled to the ground, flowing everywhere with the smashed jars.

Though the woman had done it unintentionally, she could not compensate the merchant for the dyes, so she could only be judged as having deliberately damaged the market.

The dye merchant was also complaining at the side. It was not that he insisted on seeing someone die, but all his dyes had been ruined. With no one to compensate him, his business was utterly finished. He had lost everything—who would pity him?

Cesar glanced at the empty, lopsided stall. A considerable amount of black, white, green, and yellow dye had indeed flowed across the muddy ground. Though there was no expensive red, indigo, or purple among them, the sum was certainly beyond what this woman could afford.

He was still hesitating when someone finally recognized him. At once, someone said they were willing to pay the fine for the prostitute. The dye merchant immediately shed his dejected air and ceased mourning his dyes. All he asked was for this devout, good person to bless several ornaments by his side.

Geoffrey muttered a curse under his breath and laughed. This merchant was truly shrewd. Those jars of dye together would not be worth more than three silver coins, but any relic blessed by the "little saint," once taken back to Europe and paired with a story, could fetch one or two gold coins.

Cesar did not agree to bless his ornaments. Instead, he compensated him for the dyes and swiftly left before the crowd could gather around him.

The market inspector could only sigh at how lucky this prostitute was. He took out several copper coins and gave them to the men digging the pit, then impatiently waved for them—all of them, including the woman—to get lost. The woman vanished from everyone's sight with great speed. She heard people criticizing her for not thanking the saint, thanking God, and sincerely repenting for her sins.

But she knew that fellow was no saint at all. She and her child had both been hired to put on a show for others. Her child had not recovered at all—or perhaps she simply did not want to raise him. She had eaten the date herself. She wanted to live.

What was his name again—ah.

Cesar.

Count Étienne had set out on Holy Innocents' Day. Though Amalric I sincerely urged him to stay a while longer, the count had already learned that Amalric I was preparing to hold the "Selection Rite" for Prince Baldwin on January 6.

Ha! He could tell with his knees that day would never pass quietly or smoothly. As an outsider, who knew whether some scheme might fall upon him? Especially now that he knew his enemy was not only wicked, but foolish—and utterly unscrupulous.

Until his departure, he never saw Cesar again. But Cesar would also find it difficult to remember this count any longer.

Before the "Selection Rite," the most important, most crucial, and most deadly preparation had arrived.

It was a secret circulated only among those of the upper ranks.

The "Selection Rite" could only be held in a church, and in ordinary churches, the chance of failure was high. To be "chosen," it was best to conduct the rite in grand cathedrals that concealed true holy relics, had received the recognition of the Church of Rome, and were worshipped by kings, lords, and countless believers.

For three days before the rite began, the child undergoing the trial had to fast, bathe daily, and pray at fixed hours. Then they would kneel before the altar and silently recite the Lord's Prayer until they felt the arrival of saints or angels. They would guide them onto the path they ought to take and grant them abilities beyond those of mortals.

Once the children entered the church, they could not come out again for an entire day and night before being "chosen." To come out meant failure in the "Selection," and they would never again have the right to undergo a "Selection Rite," not even if they were the sole son of an emperor or king.

But that presented a problem. Not every child possessed a temperament as steady and enduring as Baldwin or Cesar. Though the upper age limit for the "Selection Rite" was fourteen, there were plenty of fools like Abigail. So, when noble personages wanted a satisfactory result... naturally, they would resort to every conceivable means.

One of the most common methods was the use of medicine.

To stimulate, soothe, invigorate, control... Yet few monks could accomplish such things. Either the medicine failed to achieve its intended effect, or the dose was too high, or it was prepared too intensely, causing the user to die on the spot...

"It is called Mithridates' Formula." Heraclius held up a small glass bottle for Baldwin and Cesar to see. The bottle was only as long as a finger, its belly rounded enough to hold about three ounces of medicine. "The name comes from a legend. In 120 BC, the King of Pontus held a grand banquet to celebrate the prince's birthday. At that banquet, Mithridates V was poisoned and died before his guests and his own son.

"This became Mithridates VI's lifelong nightmare. He feared that he, too, would be poisoned to death, so he hired physicians to make poisons of lesser potency for him to take every day, hoping thereby to escape the threat of poison. He succeeded, though it led to a tragic end when Pontus fell: he failed to kill himself with poison and had no choice but to order a servant to kill him.

"Mithridates VI died, and his kingdom perished, but this formula remained. It is said that Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, used it; Agrippina the Younger, Nero's mother, used it; and Egypt's snake keepers used it as well.

"I obtained this formula from my teacher, then refined and improved it over the following decade or so. Its effects are immediate, and because it is so effective, I cannot give it to you too early—in my previous experiments, anyone who took it for more than ten days died."

He set the small glass bottle before them. "But it will still induce some hallucinations and pain—which of you will go first?"