Selection Ceremony (Part Two)

The Patriarch had not yet finished speaking when the priest who had earlier warned them—or informed on them—could no longer wait. He stepped forward eagerly. Even as everyone glared at him, he showed no fear. It was not that he possessed extraordinary courage, but that the Patriarch stood behind him, and those before him were a pack of sinners. Surely they would not dare lay hands on him?

Someone wanted to stop him, but before they could receive the king's signal, the knight hesitated for only a moment. The priest strode into a gap in the crowd and seized the blue-eyed boy's arm—ha! He knew that throughout the Holy Land, whether residents or pilgrims, everyone called him the "Little Saint." But these tricks were beyond the grasp of stupid, lowly people like them. Could priests such as himself fail to understand them?

He felt neither fear nor respect toward Cesar. He had merely glimpsed the thoughts of those above and wanted to use this chance to embarrass Amalric I, making it a stepping-stone to his own advancement.

In an instant, a thousand thoughts raced through Cesar's mind.

He could argue, explain, question them—but what use would that be?! Setting aside whether the faithful would be more willing to believe him, even Amalric I could only endure the Patriarch's shameless abuse with a face gone iron-blue in the face of his furious wrath.

For a bishop clad in white robes and wearing a lofty crown was inevitably God's appointed representative. Everything he did could be performed in God's name. Even if he committed evil, no secular court could judge him. That was God's authority.

And the priest's malicious accusation placed him in an even more perilous situation. So long as he was dragged out—this priest was an adult, and priests at this time trained alongside knights; no matter how nimble Cesar was, he was only nine years old—once he stood beside the Patriarch, willing or not, Baldwin's guilt would be sealed!

He did not want to think about why Amalric I had fallen silent at such a moment. There was little time left for thought—Baldwin had already twisted sideways, urgently trying to shove the priest away. Cesar could even see the priest's mocking expression, his opening mouth—perhaps in the next moment, he would cry, "Sinner!"...

Cesar looked at the priest and reached one hand behind him. He remembered that a Holy Sepulchre knight stood there, but did not know that Geoffrey had already slipped to within less than three feet of him. Before the Holy Sepulchre knight could react, Geoffrey drew the Hungarian short sword he carried and thrust it directly into Cesar's hand.

The priest only felt a little resistance in his grip and paid it no mind. If the other boy did not struggle or howl, he would instead feel that something was missing—this vile fellow lowered his head to meet those cold green eyes, licking his lips like a lizard. The most venomous words had already reached his lips—then he saw a streak of white light.

He wondered whether someone had raised a mirror, or whether gold leaf on some holy image had reflected the sunlight... then he stumbled backward involuntarily. His hands clawed wildly at the air, but only one swept across a knight's belt.

The priest fell to the ground. Only then did he realize something was wrong. He raised his right hand and found it unnaturally light. Then he saw...

His hand, his hand was gone! His hand was gone!

The priest screamed hysterically. More than pain, it was terror that consumed him. When he had watched lords or kings cut off the hands and feet of thieves or tax defaulters, he had not felt the slightest pity. He had even relished commenting on the condemned men's wretched postures, regretting only that there was not more entertainment for him to enjoy.

But when it was his turn, he forgot everything else. He cried and screamed, clutching his arm as he rolled about on the ground...

Amalric I gave a satisfied snort.

Baldwin stared wide-eyed at Cesar, scarcely able to believe his little companion had been so bold. Geoffrey shoved aside the obstructive Holy Sepulchre knight, pressed a hand onto Cesar's shoulder, and whispered in the smallest voice, "Well done!" At the same time, he casually took the gleaming Hungarian short sword and slid it back into its sheath.

The Knights Templar and the king certainly had their conflicts, but when it came to preventing Jerusalem from becoming a theocratic state, their aims were the same. The Knights Templar had a good relationship with the Church of Rome because they were far apart, but if a Patriarch suddenly appeared above their heads, they did not believe for a moment that he would remain unmoved by the Order's immense wealth.

The Patriarch was stunned as well.

Even an ordinary priest dared to treat Cesar with such contempt. As God's sole spokesman in the Holy Land, the Patriarch had never regarded such an insignificant figure as worthy of notice. Whatever this little slave did, it was not worth keeping in mind.

Even after that grand charity distribution—yes, he had done a good deed, but so what? It had merely earned him a smile from the great and powerful. Would a king or lord buy him a church office afterward?

Before, now, and in the future, he would remain a little attendant at a prince's side.

But this little attendant had cut off the hand of a priest at his side!

Now it was the Patriarch's turn for his face to change dramatically: first the pale disbelief, then the flushed red of humiliation and rage, and finally the blackness of deep, still water. He raised a trembling finger and shouted in an equally quavering voice, "Sinner! Sinner! A sinner who should be cast into the lake of fire and burned for ten thousand years!"

At last, Amalric I could smile. "What did he do?"

"He killed a priest!" the Patriarch roared. At that moment, the priest crawled to his feet and begged him to save his hand, only to be kicked aside. He went on to beg the other priests, babbling incoherently that the grace God had bestowed upon them was greater than that bestowed upon others, and surely they could restore him to his former state.

But since the Patriarch had declared, "He is dead," these priests and monks merely crossed themselves repeatedly over their chests, praying for God's mercy, yet not one of them moved.

The Patriarch's shouting had also reached the people at the rear of the procession. Or rather, while the priest was still struggling, the priests at the Patriarch's side had already raised the same harsh questions.

Geoffrey had thought Cesar would lose his composure when Amalric I did not immediately step forward to shield him and begin defending himself. But unexpectedly, the blue-eyed boy merely stood where he was, calm and motionless. He neither moved nor spoke.

At first, the crowd truly did fall into a brief fury—this was the Holy Land! Killing a priest was a sin that even a thousand years' worth of indulgences could not redeem, and such a sin should never have been forgiven in the first place!

They shouted, demanding to know where the murderer was. They wanted to seize him, tear him apart, and wash away his sins with a sinner's blood!

But when the Patriarch's priest pointed out the murderer, they instead fell silent. The uproar of righteous indignation the Patriarch had expected did not arise at his call. Men and women looked at one another, seemingly unable to understand the priest's words, even though his finger remained stubbornly pointed at Cesar.

"Don't spout nonsense," said a scantily clad woman in a voice that sounded as if it had been scorched by burning coals. "How could such a small child kill a priest?"

Her words were like a stone cast into a still lake. People immediately began chattering all at once. Some said, "He really is only a child." Others said, "He has done so many good deeds—we all saw them." Some added, "The Patriarch himself said he was a devout and good person." Others said, "Could that priest have committed some sin, or perhaps been possessed by a devil? Then the Little Saint used a wooden stick to beat him, driving the devil out?"

Such things had happened before. Sometimes, people were accidentally beaten to death during an exorcism...

At that, whether or not they had personally seen Cesar cut off the priest's hand, everyone in the procession burst into hearty laughter. The Patriarch was furious enough to die. He wanted to rage and roar, but when he looked up, he saw Prince Baldwin standing beside Cesar, their hands clasped tightly together. At once, he remembered the matter of greatest urgency.

He spat at the still-groaning priest. "Do not think that by using some gaudy devil's trick to frighten us, you can make us let you enter." The Patriarch straightened the back that had unknowingly bent forward. "One man's blood has already been spilled here. A second, a third, a fourth may be spilled as well. Threaten me with your swords if you wish, and see whether I yield!"

Amalric I truly wanted to test that, but unfortunately, the weight of a priest and that of a Patriarch were entirely different.

"We cannot remain here," Heraclius said softly, his expression grave as he looked toward the thin streak of white light in the distance. "By tradition, those undergoing the test should enter the church during Matins, from five to six in the morning." Though some had chosen the hour of Terce, at nine in the morning, Baldwin's identity was unusual, and the Patriarch's obstruction and accusation only made matters worse. His Selection Ceremony had to be beyond all reproach.

"Other than the Church of the Holy Sepulchre..." Amalric I hesitated. Heraclius had discussed this with him before: if something happened at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre—though Amalric I had not believed it would—then which church should they designate as an alternative?

Churches, great and small, and chapels dotted the entire Holy Land like stars adorning the heavens, but few could stand beside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where Jesus had been born, lay three miles from Jerusalem. They certainly could not reach it in such a short time, and besides, they could not ride horses. The procession after Mass was also part of the ritual; without it, the ceremony would be difficult for people to recognize.

Then what about the Church of Saint James or the Church of Saint Anne? Unfortunately, neither had been built for God and His Son. The former was for one of Jesus's disciples, and the latter for the parents of the Virgin Mary. Perhaps one might mention the Church of the Weeping, built where Jesus had shed tears, but at this time it was only a small chapel, utterly incapable of holding such a ceremony.

Amalric I lifted his eyes and glanced at the Patriarch. "We are going to the Temple Church!"

At the king's command, the vast procession laboriously turned around on the narrow steps and headed toward Temple Mount. They left behind only the Patriarch before Passion Square, his expression shifting uncertainly. The priests and monks behind him rejoiced, believing they had won; only a few wondered whether their master had suddenly taken ill.

—If Prince Baldwin were "selected" at the Temple Church, would the Patriarch's actions today not make him Amalric I's thorn in the eye and flesh?

And if the sinner he had condemned received God's blessing, would that not mean he had been wrong? Such a matter could be great or small. After all, many people coveted the position of Patriarch of Jerusalem.

"How did you dare?" Baldwin asked quietly on the way to Temple Mount.

"Someone was about to stab me with a knife. Was I supposed to reason with him slowly?" Cesar replied in the same low voice.

"Teacher Heraclius always says you are steady and composed. When you play chess with me, you never take risks either."

"That was different..." Cesar still wanted to say something when he heard Heraclius deliberately clear his throat ahead of them. The two children immediately closed their mouths and dared not say another word.

The Temple Church was not far from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. When they arrived, dawn had only just begun to brighten the sky, and Amalric I and Heraclius both breathed a sigh of relief.

The Grand Master and the chief priest of the Knights Templar pushed open the heavy church doors. The candles and oil lamps inside had all been lit, but looking in from the entrance before the long corridor, it was still a mass of deep darkness.

Baldwin narrowed his eyes slightly and took several deep breaths. Then he turned to Cesar. "Let's go in."

"Let's go in." Cesar was somewhat nervous too, but he had never been someone to indulge in pointless speculation or exhaust himself from within. Just as he always considered matters before acting, he had prepared himself for failing to be "selected," or for being "selected" but receiving not "Grace" but "Bestowal." Or rather, the greatest danger of this Selection Ceremony might not yet have arrived...

People watched the children enter the nave, and the doors closed behind them. Then the procession circled the Temple Church once more—everyone here would bear witness to this sacred ceremony. The priests and monks would pray through the night, while the knights silently recited prayers in their hearts, hoping that God would choose a new and worthy ruler for the Holy Land. May he not be cowardly, cruel, or lecherous; may he be devout and wise, able to overcome every evil in the world and defend and save each of God's lambs.

Someone urged Amalric I not to wait here. They could understand a father's concern for his child, but experience had shown that during a Selection Ceremony, if children knew their family waited outside the doors, they would develop a heart that leaned on others. They would be unable to devote themselves wholly and properly to gratitude toward and the calling of the saints, causing the ceremony to fail... It was like asking even the most skilled Turkish archer to shoot an arrow from one end of the broad square before the Temple Church to the other—it would be difficult.

Amalric I accepted the advice, but he did not return to Holy Cross Castle. Instead, he stayed in a newly built structure on the western side of the Temple, constructed by the Templars. The building was tall, and from its windows he could see the Temple's main doors directly. That way, the moment his child emerged, he would know.

Knight Geoffrey saw Longinus in the stables on the eastern side of the Temple. This piece Cesar had left here, one might say. "What did your little master tell you?"

The sudden question startled Longinus so badly that he nearly jumped off the piled crates. Only after seeing that it was Geoffrey did the tension leave his face. "It is you."

These stables dated back as far as Solomon's time. The Templars had not altered their foundations, merely building new walls and a roof over them. Whether because of the original designer's intentions or the limitations of the terrain, the stables were not laid out in a square. Instead, they twisted and turned, with many blind corners that could not easily be noticed.

Longinus had chosen one of them. He had climbed atop a stack of crates, and from there he could see the side of the Temple Church perfectly, while others would have difficulty spotting him.

"I asked you."

"Some things that would be best not to happen," Longinus said.

"Is there anyone in this holy city whom your master still trusts?" Geoffrey sighed.

"That was an enormous sum of money." Longinus made a gesture. "If gold could float upon water, that money would let me walk all the way from Jerusalem back to my hometown, Brest." He added, "Brest is a small peninsula town at the far northwest corner of Brittany. If Brittany were a finger stretched outward, it would be at the very tip of that finger's nail."

Geoffrey lowered his head and traced out the map in his mind, then looked up. "Do you think that thing will happen?"

"I hope not."

"All right. Stay here."

"And you?"

"I am going to take on a most urgent task." Geoffrey had already turned away, casually waving one hand. "The kind that means leaving the holy city at once."