Holy Cross Castle

Amalric I had always been a man of swift and decisive action. Since he had decided to make Cesar his son's attendant, he would not delay. Even though the sky had already turned a deep reddish-brown, it did not prevent him from immediately taking Cesar and the others back to the castle. The monks brought palm-branch torches soaked in olive oil, while the knights checked one another's horseshoes and equipment.

Naturally, John was the one most reluctant to part with Cesar. He was not the sort of man easily consumed by desire, especially desires forbidden by God. He liked Cesar for much the same reasons Amalric I did. It was not as if he had no disciples, but none of them were as beautiful or clever as Cesar.

A cleric also needed an heir. Besides, within the Church, one's birth was hardly such a great problem. Jesus Christ had merely been a carpenter's son; His apostles had merely been fishermen, soldiers, and tax collectors. Even among the saints, there had been prostitutes and slaves.

Sniffling... yes, sometimes this abbot was just so sentimental. He prepared a leather bag for Cesar, containing two soft white loaves, thirty silver coins, a small knife for cutting meat, a set of linen clothes, and a woolen cloak. He even led out his own mule and lent it to Cesar to ride. That was an extraordinarily generous gift.

"No," Amalric I said. "I'll take him."

Cesar was not sure whether Amalric I meant what he thought he meant—Heraclius led him to the king's horse. It was a beautiful, tall animal, its almond-shaped eyes reflecting the violet clouds at sunset. Did it still remember him? He reached out, and the horse tilted its head to sniff him. "It seems to like you very much," the king said. Then he lifted Cesar onto the horse's back in a single motion, seating him in front of himself. This could practically be called an honor. Behind them, Heraclius gave a slight shake of his head.

How weighty was the favor of the King of the Holy City? A mountain of gold, a lake of mercury, a hurricane that hurled you into the clouds—but when you fell, your body would be smashed to pieces.

Amalric I's actions truly startled Cesar, but he was not as burdened with worries as Heraclius believed. The worst moment had already passed. At worst, he would become a slave again. Besides, from Amalric I's earlier conversation with him, the king was not some miserly, contemptible petty man. He did intend to have Cesar serve a leper, but he had also given him a choice and promised an exceptionally lavish reward.

"We are walking along Jaffa Road." As the squires raised their torches, Amalric I was unexpectedly still in the mood to explain things to Cesar. "Jaffa is a port on the Mediterranean coast, to the left of Jerusalem. Pilgrims cross the Mediterranean by ship, disembark at Jaffa, then follow this road to Jaffa Gate of the Holy City before entering Jerusalem." He gestured for Cesar to look by the roadside, where scattered pinpricks of fire were slowly gathering.

"Those are pilgrims, perhaps merchants as well. They have seen us. So long as they receive permission, they will follow our procession through the night, so they can reach their destination earlier."

Cesar was not foolish enough to ask why these people would stumble along in dim light, so faint it was nearly nonexistent, merely to gain a little time.

Though it was called a main road, it was still strewn with thorns, loose stones, rainwater, and ruts gouged out by hooves and wheels. After spending only these dozen or so days at the Church of St. John the Baptist, he already understood just how destitute people of this era could be. If those pilgrims reached the Holy City earlier, it meant they would consume less of the food they carried or bought, and their chances of being robbed would also lessen. Perhaps that alone could save their lives.

On both sides of Jaffa Road rose rolling hills. Under the fading daylight and torchlight, they resembled heaving waves of deepest black. Cesar remembered that hill... though he knew it was not here, he still felt his nostrils fill with a thick scent of blood. He likely would never forget that smell for years, just as he would never forget that slave trader's face.

By the time they reached Jaffa Gate, the dark vault of the sky no longer held a trace of any other color. What surprised Cesar was that Jaffa Gate was not entirely drowned in darkness and silence as he had expected. Bright bonfires burned outside the gate, their flames reflected in the rippling moat. Soldiers ran back and forth as, under the command of a knight wearing no helmet, only chainmail and a surcoat, they slowly lowered the narrow drawbridge.

"Your Majesty, you should spend a night at the monastery..." Raymond, Count of Tripoli, hurried toward Amalric I. When he saw Cesar seated before the king, he froze. In all Jerusalem, there was probably only one person fortunate enough to occupy that position: Prince Baldwin. Who was this child? The son of some lord?

"He is the new friend I found for Baldwin," Amalric I said, then urged his horse onward. Raymond looked toward Heraclius behind the king. Heraclius touched his temple. "Raymond," he said, "it is too late. I'll explain tomorrow."

"But, Your Majesty—"

Amalric I left his friends and the clamor behind, pausing only briefly before the wall of Jaffa Gate. The gate passage was not straight, but shaped like a capital L. Walls stood to the right and directly ahead, each block of stone about half the size of a child. The central stone bore a Latin maxim: "Wisdom, righteousness, fairness, integrity."

Turning left, they entered an expanse of tightly packed low houses. It was utterly silent as Amalric I and his knights passed through. Cesar guessed this was where the poor lived—places beside the city wall were always dangerous. When enemies besieged the city, this area would be the first struck by catapults, and the defenders would tear down nearby houses for stones to roll down in defense.

His gaze caught Amalric I's attention, but the king misunderstood. "That is the Tower of David," he said. Only then did Cesar notice the tall tower standing beside Jaffa Gate like a giant. It was almost entirely swallowed by the night, with only a single torch burning at its summit, easily mistaken for a dim star near the horizon.

Then they passed through another city wall. The buildings beyond it were much taller than the earlier houses, especially those crowned with crosses. Those were churches. After passing two or perhaps three such shadows, Amalric I made the sign of the cross over his chest before an especially majestic church. "The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the burial place of Jesus Christ, the holiest place in the Holy Land," he said. Cesar lowered his head slightly and made the sign of the cross as well.

The shadow cast by the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was even heavier than that of Jaffa Gate or the Tower of David. Beyond the church, flickering firelight could faintly be seen. Cesar felt the broad chest behind him tremble violently. "We are here, child," the king said. "That is Holy Cross Castle. You will spend a long time here."

After that, the king dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand that was less cold than weary, even Raymond, Count of Tripoli, who had swiftly caught up, and the Duke of Antioch, who had hurried over.

Though it was a king's castle, its structure and layout were no different from other castles. Double walls, twelve defensive towers, an open square encircled by the walls, and around it all the indispensable facilities: kitchens, washrooms, stables, iron forges, leather workshops, and more. There were two or three wells, barracks for the guards, and three towers at the very center.

Seen from above, the three towers resembled the head of a lion. The central King's Tower was like the lion's enormous mouth, while the secondary towers on either side were like fangs or ears.

The King's Tower was a cylindrical structure. From bottom to top, it held the dungeon, supply storerooms and kitchens, the royal hall, guest chambers, and the master's chambers. The sole difference lay in the chapel and armory. In other places, the chapel would be arranged between the master's chambers and the armory; here, the chapel was above the armory, because it housed the True Cross—the cross upon which Jesus Christ had been nailed to death.

The weapons of mortals could not stand above the sacred treasure of the Savior.

The secondary tower to the right had originally belonged to the king and his family, while the one to the left belonged to his knights and vassals. Once Baldwin was confirmed to have leprosy, he moved from his own rooms into the left tower. The vassals from the left tower moved to the right one. The knights were still complaining that they had to share rooms with several others, while the left tower had fallen into utter emptiness. There was only one master here: Prince Baldwin.

And a large crowd of servants.

They poured out of the tower. Though the king's expression was extremely cold, they did not—no, rather than saying they did not notice the king's annoyance, it was more likely they simply failed to perceive it at all. Or perhaps even if they did, their feverish desire to curry favor and see whether they might soar to greatness would have been enough to smother every scrap of unease.

Amalric I stopped. The attendants behind him immediately stepped forward in silence, swinging clubs and driving away those greasy, nauseating faces. Raymond opened the door for the king, his eyes sweeping over Cesar with deep suspicion. But he was not some senseless fool, and naturally would not open his mouth to ask at such a moment.

The king waved a hand, signaling everyone else to remain outside. Then he turned and called, "Is anyone coming to hold a candle for me?" As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the servants who had run out of the tower. They fell silent. Only after a long while was one person shoved out of the darkness. He wore a smile more like a grimace and bowed to Amalric I. A knight placed a candle in his hand, and that small flame immediately began to tremble frantically.

A snicker burst from the crowd, then vanished at once. The servant holding the candle stepped forward with an ugly expression, then suddenly stumbled. The firelight flashed, and the candle fell from his hand.

The people around them could not help crying out. Before the cries had faded, they turned into cheers—the silent boy who had been standing beside the king leaned forward the instant the candle fell and caught it in one swift motion. The flame flickered, yet did not go out. Such reflexes and courage were worthy of praise.

"Very well," Amalric I said. "Then this is settled. Come with me, child. I will take you to meet Baldwin."

Raymond finally moved. "Your Majesty, please do not undertake such a dangerous act."

"I am merely going to see my son," Amalric I said. "Or do you believe the favor I have received from God is not enough to carry me through the trial He has given me?"

Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, grasped Raymond's arm. When Raymond looked at him, he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. During that brief delay, His Majesty the king and the child he had brought had already climbed the wooden ladder leading to the tower without anyone stopping them.

The first defense of the tower was its entrance, raised about the height of a man above the ground. There were no stone steps leading to it, only a wooden ladder that could be drawn up. The king gently pressed Cesar's back, making him go first. The boy's feet landed lightly on the solid boards, making scarcely a sound, while Amalric I behind him, a tall knight clad in chainmail, made the entire ladder shake.

Cesar held the candle high. He had to admit, he was curious about this place. He had imagined the tower would be narrow and hollow like the lighthouse he had once visited, but that was not the case. The spiral staircase occupied only a small portion of the tower and was not even in its center, but pressed close to one side. Most of the tower's interior was taken up by a hall serving several functions at once. Round tables, chairs, and wooden chests could vaguely be seen, while the faint glow from the fireplace made the gold and silver threads in the tapestries gleam.

There was food and wine bottles on the round table as well, but before Cesar could make them out clearly, Amalric I was already urging him on. Like every father, he wanted only for his child to see his gift as soon as possible, entirely forgetting that Baldwin might very well already be asleep at this hour.

Baldwin was still drying his hair—this was originally a servant's task, but ever since the first servant forced forward had muttered curses without pause while working...

He might have thought that Baldwin, being a Christian, could not understand Bedouin, but he did not know that as the heir to the King of the Holy City, Baldwin's Greek, Latin, and Saracen studies had advanced side by side. Saracen had sprung from Bedouin; even if Baldwin could not understand every word, he could still grasp eight or nine parts out of ten.

He had considered whether to punish that insolent servant, but in the end rejected the idea himself. First, he might have to go to a monastery at any time and become a monk, so it would not be bad to grow accustomed to a humble life now. Second...

Baldwin smiled. In the end, he was Amalric I's only son.

"Baldwin." Baldwin heard his father's voice. He thought it was an illusion; it had been so for the past several months. But soon the door opened, and candlelight outlined a broad black silhouette.

For one brief instant, Baldwin almost wanted to rise and leap into Amalric I's embrace. No matter how clever or strong he was, he was still only a nine-year-old child. But he held himself back. He stood. "Your Majesty." His voice inevitably trembled slightly. "Stay there, stay there. Do not come any closer."

He breathed in greedily and painfully, listening and watching. All of this would be the only comfort in his impoverished, long years of spiritual discipline.

"I am here." Amalric I also knew he could not press too hard. "Look what I have brought you."

Without needing to be told, Cesar stepped forward. He raised the candle toward the candlestick beside Baldwin, lighting its candles one by one. The previously dim room immediately brightened, and Baldwin, whose attention had been wholly on his father, instinctively turned his head.

He saw a boy about his own age, incomparably delicate and beautiful. Even without gold or silk to adorn him, he still gleamed beneath the candlelight, so radiant that one scarcely dared look directly at him.