Selection Ceremony (Part One)

In the early hours of January 6, all of Holy Cross Castle woke.

Amalric I had found it difficult to sleep these past few days, needing Heraclius to bring him poppy milk before he could rest. Today, he had also drunk some black Saracen beverage to keep his mind clear and his reactions swift.

Heraclius beside him had unusually drunk a large cup as well. Heraclius was in even worse shape than the king. For seven days and nights without pause, he had compounded medicines, observed their effects, tended to and washed the patients, then compounded the medicines anew... He had lived within that cycle. At long last, both children had fallen asleep, yet he still had to go report the situation to Amalric I, all while enduring the king's continual probing.

It was not that Amalric I distrusted Heraclius. What troubled him now was that Cesar was too good—better than expected.

He had already made up his mind. Once his second son was born, he would appoint two regents for Baldwin. One would certainly be Heraclius; the other, he would choose from Raymond and Bohemond. That way, even if Baldwin ascended the throne and proved unable to fight or govern because of his frail body, these two ministers could ensure that the Holy City would not fall into the hands of heathens or the Church.

The problem was that Baldwin now had Cesar: a boy only nine years old, yet while other noble boys his age were still learning manners and poetry beneath their ladies' skirts, Amalric I had already seen in him the first outline of a powerful minister.

Though Heraclius repeatedly guaranteed his loyalty to Baldwin, was loyalty always a good thing? Sometimes it was not. Amalric I thought that if Cesar truly regarded Baldwin as they claimed—as a master, even a brother—then his second son would become Cesar's enemy. Whether it was the healthy body Baldwin lacked but his brother had been born with, or his decision to make Baldwin a transition, even a stepping stone, this child was destined not to be liked by Cesar.

But he had to do it, whether as a father or as a king.

Amalric I closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of icy air. With that movement, torches, candles, and oil lamps were lit, as though he had inhaled all the darkness here into his body. Surrounded by a crowd, the king ascended to the highest point of the main tower: the chapel of Holy Cross Castle.

In the eyes of the clerics of the Church of Rome, this plain little chapel was wholly unqualified to house the True Cross. It was tiny, able to hold at most thirty people—and they would have to stand. Its vault used the most basic quadripartite rib framework rather than the more refined sexpartite one. It had only six niches for saints rather than twelve; no piers, no relief carvings or engaged columns, no archivolts, tracery, pinnacles, or canopies. Though its Romanesque round-headed windows used blue and red glass, they did not form images of saints in the latest fashion, but merely common geometric patterns.

There were no thick, soft carpets upon the floor, nor smooth marble. Only a great lion skin had been grudgingly spread before the altar.

The stone altar was rough and heavy, covered with white linen and silk in deep blue and vermilion. Crystal, gold, and silver vessels of every kind were displayed upon it. On either side stood Byzantine-style altar screens, whose saints gazed upon those coming to receive the sacraments in the classic pose of body turned sideways and face turned forward.

Upon the altar lay the True Cross.

It was said that whenever the Crusaders marched to war, if they bore the True Cross before them, they would win a hundred battles out of a hundred. Whether that was true could no longer be verified. Yet people of later generations, seeing in dramatized works a wooden cross roughly the size of an actual instrument of execution, studded with gold and jewels, mistakenly believed that the sacred cross found by Saint Helena, Empress of Rome, had been that large. In truth, it was not.

What Saint Helena had found was not an entire cross, but fragments of the True Cross. They had been gathered and stored in a reliquary, which was normally kept in a secret chamber and had only today been placed upon the altar. Everyone who saw this holy relic could not help showing uncontrollable excitement. Even Bohemond, ever gloomy and reserved, was no exception.

Heraclius first read two passages of scripture, essentially texts suited to Epiphany, which need not be repeated here. Then everyone prayed aloud together, hoping that they too might receive guidance like the Three Wise Men and walk toward the light of faith. Under God's guidance, the Three Wise Men had found Jesus; as Christians, they too could seek Jesus—not the infant Jesus, but Jesus arriving in glory at the Second Coming.

Afterward, Amalric I went first, Princess Sybilla second, and Cesar, performing the sacrament on behalf of Prince Baldwin, last. In turn, they offered gold, myrrh, and frankincense to the altar, while Heraclius recited the offertory prayer for them.

Next, everyone received Communion and recited the thanksgiving prayer. This time, however, was slightly different from before. Heraclius did not immediately take back the golden cup containing the Holy Blood—wine—but filled it with clear spring water instead. He removed a fragment from the reliquary—Cesar could hear the rapid breathing of those around him—and the monk immersed the fragment of the True Cross in the spring water three times, then took it out and distributed the water for people to drink.

Cesar carried two cups back to Baldwin. In the past, Baldwin had always drained his cup without hesitation, but this time he gave half the water in which the fragment of the True Cross had soaked to Cesar.

"It doesn't taste like anything." Cesar drank it in one gulp and gave his verdict.

Baldwin shook his head and said nothing.

By then, the procession was ready. They would pass through the entire Holy City, then at morning prayer—around five in the morning—ascend the steps leading to the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. They would escort Baldwin and Cesar into the great hall of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, where the Holy Sepulchre stood, then close every gate and leave only the two of them inside to await the arrival of angels and saints.

It was a procession of more than a hundred people, and as it went on, more and more would join it. All participants were male and all traveled on foot. At its head were Amalric I and his ministers, along with the grand masters of the major knightly orders. Behind them came monks bearing holy images and crosses. The Patriarch of Jerusalem should have followed behind the monks, but he had suddenly "fallen ill," so Heraclius took his place.

This monk, so deeply trusted by the king, kept his brow tightly furrowed, looking weighed down with worry. Behind him followed the knights of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, and only after them came the Knights Hospitaller and Knights Templar. Few of the knights looked troubled. They kept their eyes cautiously lowered and followed the monks step by step, only occasionally lifting their heads to look at the crowds gathered along both sides of the path—the residents here and the pilgrims. Those people would not be permitted to follow until the procession had gone some distance, or they would receive a few blows from a stick.

These devout people had remained quiet, but as dawn appeared and they were about to set foot upon the steps leading to Golgotha, certain memories were stirred. Some began discussing the two boys who would undergo the Selection Ceremony today. Cesar's name was mentioned again and again. No one debated whether he would be "chosen"; they had far more faith in Cesar than he himself did. "If the saints do not choose this child, whom else could they choose?" That was what they all said.

Some also mentioned Baldwin. Some said that the prince having such a companion of noble character proved that his leprosy was merely a trial God had given him, which was why such a good person had been sent to care for him, lest he die too young. But someone immediately countered: who was to say that sinners did not have guards at their side as well? Perhaps it was precisely because he was steeped in sin that a saint had been sent to his side, to teach him sternly and prevent him from straying down the wrong path.

Walking in the procession, Geoffrey could not help feeling glad for the prince's little attendant. Amalric I was already nearing Passion Square and could not hear these words. If he did, he would certainly fly into a rage. Those who spoke them would deserve hanging, and Cesar's days would become difficult as well. Let there not be too many loose-tongued fools here, he thought.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice the person in front of him, and the two collided. It was also that man's fault for suddenly stopping instead of continuing forward. "What is it?" Geoffrey asked. Then, with an old Templar's instinctive vigilance, he immediately shoved the man before him aside and ran forward. At a glance, he saw a line of black-clad clerics and gray-robed monks ahead of Amalric I, likewise holding holy images and crosses.

Like stars surrounding the moon, those clerics and monks encircled a single man. He wore a bishop's mitre with points front and back, a white robe, and a red chasuble. That was not right. On Epiphany, he ought to have worn a white chasuble.

This was naturally the Patriarch of Jerusalem. The envoy of the Church of Rome had moved his heart—or rather, he had long harbored such intentions. Who would not wish to become master of the Holy City? Besides, by refusing to treat Amalric I's only son, he had already offended the king. Since that was so, what was the point of continuing to cover things up and hide behind a fig leaf? Better to settle it once and for all!

Amalric I shot an angry glare at the grand master of the Knights Hospitaller. Since the Selection Ceremony was to be held in the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, it was essential that nothing go wrong there. One could say that Cesar's ascetic practices and good deeds over the past months had saved them much effort; the monks of the Gerard family had gained the upper hand in the church's internal struggle.

Yet when the king's gaze swept over these clerics and monks, he did not see Thomas, nor any of the familiar faces beside him. That showed that Oger de Balben, whom he had entrusted with ensuring that all was well at the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, had failed his expectations. He had allowed this perfect affair to begin with a crack in it, and their enemies had not failed to seize that opening with unerring precision.

"A sinner has no right to perform any sacrament!" the patriarch proclaimed in a voice like a great bell. Any cleric required to preach possessed this ability—whether indoors or out, they could carry their voices far. "I pity you, King of Jerusalem, and I pity your child as well. But God sees all, King. The sins you have committed exceed those of your child by a hundredfold! A thousandfold! Ten thousandfold!

"One day, Jesus went outside the city and saw a leper. When the leper saw Jesus, he knelt before him and said, 'If you are willing, you can make me clean.' So the Savior placed his hand upon the man's head and said, 'You are clean.' And indeed, he was cleansed. He could enter the city and make offerings at the altar.

"Take heed, all of you!

"Jesus possessed great power and a heart full of mercy, but did he say that leprosy was not sin? He cleansed the man before allowing him into the city to perform the sacraments. Did his merciful heart lead him to indulge that sinner, allowing him to pollute and poison the innocent?

"No!

"King, your child has suffered because of your sins. You ought to repay that sin. Ah, you say that duties rest upon you, that you must fight for God and cannot go into the wilderness in a coarse sackcloth cloak, barefoot, to repent. Those words sound grand and reasonable, but is that atonement? Is that repentance? No!"

He shouted, "It is the devil tempting you to cling to worldly power and the bonds of flesh and blood while disregarding the salvation of your soul! That is why I say..."

The patriarch drew a fierce but rapid breath. "You are lying again. You are sinning again! Even the Savior did not dare allow the unclean to perform sacraments, yet you dare bring a leper here!"

He pointed sharply behind him. "Had I not known, had I not come, where would this sinner have gone? To the place where Jesus was nailed to death? To the place where Jesus was taken down, where the Holy Mother and all the saints stood around him weeping? To the place where Jesus slept and rose again? Would you have his festering feet walk over every place that devout Christians have kissed?"

As he spoke, he indeed stirred a faint commotion.

A concealed smile flickered across the patriarch's face. He stepped forward until he stood before Amalric I. His once fairly dignified face was flushed and shining, his pupils contracted to pinpoints. He saw that the king had already placed a hand upon his belt, where a decorative dagger hung. But even a decorative dagger could kill. Rather than fear it, he laughed loudly. "Come!"

Spreading his arms, he cried, "Come, come! At the place where the Savior suffered, pierce my chest with your sword! I should have someone cover my face with cloth, lest I be unworthy of such glory!"

Heraclius rushed up and seized the king, urgently whispering, "He is right. He is wearing a red chasuble!" The moment people saw that red chasuble, they knew he had come today to be martyred. If Amalric I truly struck in full view of everyone, Jerusalem really would be handed over to the Church.

In truth, Heraclius had previously suggested finding a way before January 6 to have someone restrain the patriarch, or station more men at the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. But Amalric I had the body and courage of a lion, as well as a lion's stubborn self-will. He had said that on Christmas Sunday, the patriarch had sent an envoy with a letter.

In that letter, the patriarch had admitted with extreme humility and a measure of dejection that what had befallen Prince Baldwin was only a trial from God, not a punishment. Misled by certain people, he had entertained some unrealistic delusions. Now, he knew he had committed an unforgivable error. He was willing to accept punishment and have his clerics treat Baldwin. So long as the king was willing to forgive him, he could become a monk in a vineyard.

Heraclius had not believed a single word of that letter, but the king believed it was because the Selection Ceremony was imminent. He believed that his son would surely be chosen. If that happened, the Church's claims would naturally collapse without attack, and the patriarch's letter was merely preparing for a rainy day. Seeing that there was no hope, and since these clerics were all cowards, there was nothing strange about them begging forgiveness in advance.

He had not accepted Heraclius's proposal.

Now, the patriarch stood before him, and every word he spoke was mockery heaped upon Amalric I's foolishness.

The patriarch breathed heavily, with a hint of triumph in his eyes and even more madness. One cleric suddenly seemed to notice something and leaned close to whisper a few words to him. The patriarch revealed a smile full of scorn. "Oh," he said. "I see it now: a sinful child and a devout child. You have placed him beside the sinner—are you trying to use him to blind the eyes of men and saints?"

He gestured for the clerics to come forward. "Quick, save that child. Do not let him remain with the sinner any longer!"