Marriage (Part One)

Cesar woke from searing pain. The instant he screamed, Longinus sprang up from his half-kneeling posture, yanked shut the bed curtains that had been deliberately drawn aside, then leaped to the window and swiftly closed it. Cesar's room had no glass windows, only wooden shutters; once they were shut, the whole room immediately became dim and obscure. Naturally, no one outside could see the light shining from within.

The window had barely closed, and Cesar had only cried out once, when Longinus turned and pounced back to the bedside. He lifted the bed curtains and covered half the boy's face with his hand. "Don't make a sound!" he whispered. "The king has just left!"

Fortunately, to keep Cesar from crying out when he woke, Longinus and Heraclius had discussed reducing the number of times he was given water over the past two days. That earlier dry cry had not alerted anyone else.

Only after Cesar faintly blinked did Longinus take a small glass vial from his robes and pour the medicine inside into Cesar's mouth.

By the weak light, Longinus watched Cesar's expression closely. Only when he was certain that the boy was still in pain but fully conscious did he bend close and whisper in his ear, "The saint you beheld was Saint Jerome. Remember, the scholar Jerome. Heraclius said he once pulled a thorn from the paw of a wounded lion."

Longinus performed the entire sequence as smoothly as drifting clouds and flowing water. After all, he had simulated it countless times in his mind and practiced it repeatedly when no one was around, though he had not dared make a sound.

Once Cesar nodded through the pain, Longinus returned to the door and used his exceptional hearing to probe the situation outside. Many people were hurrying up the stairs. The last set of footsteps was especially light and nimble; the visitor did not knock, pausing only briefly before leaving. Only then did Longinus, drenched in sweat and feeling as though a great burden had been lifted, lean against the door and sit down. This truly was a killing job!

Cesar regained consciousness quickly. When the room suddenly darkened, he saw Longinus.

The familiar room, the familiar person—they had already left the Holy Sepulchre. He also remembered the light he had seen in Baldwin's eyes. He had been chosen as well. After the joy came pain, but he could still remember Heraclius's warning.

After one was "chosen," the brightness of the light upon the chosen and how long it endured were closely tied to the amount of blessing bestowed.

Take Witt, for instance. The light he received had lasted only a brief instant, barely enough to keep him from being hanged, before vanishing at once. Sure enough, though he had received Bestowal, his ability could only heal minor ailments that would recover on their own even without treatment.

This sort of "being chosen" was almost useless, bringing nothing but ridicule. But what if the light was bright and long-lasting? That was something people would praise in unison, but one still had to be careful. Just as Count Étienne became weak after praying for a saint's protection, after the first manifestation of divine grace, the chosen would also suffer adverse symptoms that varied from person to person but were generally severe—pain, exhaustion, weakness... or more than one at once.

There had even been cases before where children too young to endure the trials that followed had received blessings, only to die young. That was why people later set the "Selection Ritual" between the ages of nine and fourteen, to avoid the same tragedy.

Had it been a strict and dull-witted monk, he would certainly have followed church law to the letter and prepared no medicine at all to ease the child's pain. But Heraclius had dared to cheat for them during the "Selection Ritual," and now he had even fewer scruples. The medicine he compounded was indeed effective. The pain receded somewhat, but it was immediately followed by indescribable numbness and soreness.

Cesar found bitter amusement in it. If he were a patient lying on an operating table now, the anesthesiologist would surely spring in alarm from his little stool and readjust the anesthetic dosage. Yes, he meant one of the most terrifying situations during surgery—"anesthesia awareness," or "intraoperative awareness."

As the name suggested, it was when a patient suddenly regained consciousness during surgery under general anesthesia and could recall most of the details afterward.

Lucky patients could move, call out, and draw the attention of the anesthesiologist, surgeon, or nurses. Other than brief pain and fright, they would suffer no further symptoms. But some patients remained conscious while their bodies could not move, and they could not make a sound. They could only let the doctors cut open their bodies. Such an experience was often accompanied by intense suffocation and helplessness—it would linger with patients for a long time. Even after their bodies recovered, their minds might collapse because of it.

That was what Cesar was experiencing now.

To distract himself, he could only turn his thoughts elsewhere. For example, what had Longinus meant when he hurriedly whispered that he had beheld Saint Jerome? And why had he specifically mentioned Heraclius? Had Heraclius told him to say it?

Cesar did not believe Heraclius and Longinus would deliberately frame him. The former had no need to, while the latter still needed him. Besides, human feelings were difficult to conceal. Heraclius might not care for him more than Baldwin, but if it came down to Cesar or someone else, he would certainly choose Cesar.

Longinus's case was even simpler. He had once been derisively called "a slave's slave." Everyone knew he was Cesar's servant, which had earned him respect from some and disgust from others. But if he dared betray Cesar, both kinds of people would spit on him.

Not only in the Holy Land—even if he returned to Brittany, his lord would strip him of his knighthood upon hearing of it. He could forget about returning to his elder brother's lands to become a steward or overseer. Being allowed to work as a farmer or craftsman, rather than being homeless and alone, would already count as good fortune.

Then what did Heraclius mean by telling him to say that Saint Jerome was the saint he had beheld?

Saint Jerome had not been among the original candidates. And besides, wait—which saint had he beheld? He only remembered chasing a majestic figure together with countless human shapes formed of white light. He still remembered how desperately eager he had been, while those around him urged him on in a chorus of voices. He had almost caught up to Him...

He had asked for His holy name, but received none.

That was clearly the final step of the Selection Ritual. Heraclius had once said that when he underwent the Selection Ritual, he too had not known where he had arrived or where he should go. Then a monk saw him, called him over, and made him his student.

They lived in mountain forests, keeping company with wild beasts. They made candles from beeswax and spun thread from wool. Their days were exceedingly difficult, but his teacher had seen much, knew much, and was deeply devout. Heraclius had felt only joy, never hardship.

When had he realized he was undergoing a trial? Perhaps it was after the governor's soldiers captured them. He and his teacher suffered whipping, hooks, and hunger, and were about to be beheaded. He could not stop coughing and wheezing, but his teacher laid a hand on his throat and recited scripture, and he recovered.

He immediately fell to his knees, weeping bitterly until he could scarcely speak. At last, he haltingly asked the most important question.

The saint seemed to have been waiting for that very moment. He said, "I am Saint Blaise of Armenia."

If those faceless followers had not been lying, or exaggerating too outrageously, then the saint they had pursued—the saint Cesar had beheld—far surpassed Blaise, who could only tame wild beasts and cure diseases of the throat. Though it was somewhat irreverent to say so, Cesar now understood Heraclius's protective feelings toward him.

Heraclius still did not know whom Cesar had beheld, but clearly, his patron saint surpassed Prince Baldwin's by far. That was not a good thing.

In his muddled state, he heard someone knock on the door. Longinus answered it. It was the king's attendant, who had come to observe and inquire after Cesar's condition. Though he had nominally come on Prince Baldwin's behalf, who could fail to understand his true purpose?

Longinus's reply satisfied him—or those behind him. After he left, Longinus continued feeding Cesar medicine every four hours. When he gave him the fifth dose, Heraclius finally arrived. Seeing Cesar already able to lean against the pillows and watch the dawn outside the window, he showed a relieved expression.

"How is Baldwin?" Cesar asked.

"He woke almost at the same time as you. The king saw the light burst from the window and immediately turned back," he said, glancing at Longinus. Longinus nodded; those footsteps he had heard then had been the king and his attendants. "Prince Baldwin's blessing was profound and enduring, only too sharp." He sighed. "He suffered more than you did."

"His illness..."

"The king summoned priests to examine him... They can only slow the disease's progress. They cannot cure it."

All those priests had been taken away and executed by the king's knights. It was almost laughable. The Patriarch had once used them to threaten the king, only for them to prove nothing but wineskins stuffed with rice. Naturally, Heraclius, as the new Patriarch, signed several indulgences for this, paid for with the former Patriarch's property.

The king had even complained that it would have been better if Cesar had received Bestowal rather than Grace. Since the saint wanted him to be Baldwin's shield, why make him a knight? In the past, Heraclius would have agreed.

But today, Heraclius felt that the misfortune Cesar had suffered should not become the reason he was sacrificed. If he had favored Prince Baldwin somewhat before the Selection Ritual, then Cesar's performance during the ritual had placed several heavy weights on the other side of the scales.

He was bold, good at planning, capable of endurance, and decisive enough. He knew how to protect himself, yet would not hesitate when sacrifice was needed. With such qualities, and also... his origins—Heraclius had seen Cesar when he was still a slave. Such a strong and flawless boy could not have been the son of a farmer or craftsman.

He had even sent people to find Isaac the slave trader, intending to investigate Cesar's origins through him. Unfortunately, that merchant Isaac had suddenly become like a drop of water fallen into the sea, impossible to find no matter how they searched.

But even if Cesar had forgotten everything about his past, he now had status. Just as Amalric I had said, to a monk, a student was equivalent to his own son. This child likewise had things to inherit. If Heraclius had been an ascetic content with poverty and disgusted by power, he would not have appeared at Amalric I's side, nor would he have climbed to the highest position a clergyman could attain.

"Everyone favors their own child," the monk murmured.

He asked Cesar about the saint he had beheld. Cesar answered truthfully. Heraclius did not doubt him, merely pondered for a while before swiftly setting the matter aside. "Anything can happen in this world. It's fine. This is better, in fact. You only need to say that the saint you beheld was Saint Jerome."

He reached out and stroked Cesar's head. "There is something I need to ask you. Brother John wishes to visit you. Will you see him?"

Cesar looked surprised. "Why wouldn't I?" He smiled readily. "I miss him too." But ever since arriving at Holy Cross Castle, one upheaval had followed another. By the time he could go out alone, he had begun preparing for the coming Selection Ritual.

Someone else might have felt a little resentment. After all, John had said that he wanted Cesar as his student, and that if anyone but the king asked for him, he would refuse.

Later, when Cesar wanted to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for ascetic practice and wanted a map of the Temple Church, the Gerard family had granted every request—though Heraclius only learned that afterward. Damara of the Gerard family was also the noblewoman Cesar had promised that, once he became a knight, he would come and swear fealty to.

But Heraclius did not see it that way. Though he bore the name of a great Byzantine emperor, his own birth was not particularly lofty. He had been Amalric I's monk, and Amalric I himself had originally been only the second son of Fulk V and Queen Melisende. If Baldwin III had not been childless, he would now be no more than a subject or commander.

Precisely because of such origins, he felt pity and admiration for Cesar. He did not mind that Cesar had other patrons. In the unfathomable and ever-changing holy city, even having one more thin, fragile vine to grasp was a good thing.

Besides, the Gerard family was not a vine but a towering tree. In 1099, Gerard, a nobleman from the Duchy of Burgundy, founded the "Knights Hospitaller of Saint John of Jerusalem" with several companions in a hospital near the Church of Saint John the Baptist, sheltering countless pilgrims. By this merit, he ascended to Heaven and sat shoulder to shoulder with the saints. His family thus became a "Holy Family"; so long as the Holy Land did not fall, they would have a place in the halls of power.

And compared with the Knights Templar, the Knights Hospitaller were gentler and more merciful. Pilgrims often joked that the Knights Templar were where one "donated money to kill people," while the Knights Hospitaller were where one "donated money to save people."

Given Cesar's nature, even without the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre—though as Prince Baldwin's attendant, he likely had little choice—Heraclius would never have advised him to choose the Knights Templar.

The plump Abbot John arrived on a mule the next day.

Abbot John's present weight could be seen from the gifts he brought Cesar.

A huge jar of stewed mutton with rosemary, a huge jar of fried pickled quails sprinkled with olives, and a huge jar of donkey meat cooked with onions and carrots. "These are all very good for the body, secret recipes of the Gerard family. Countless knights have eaten them, and they work wonders." He winked smugly at Cesar, then said disdainfully, "I suppose there's nothing good here."

That was true enough. Though monks fasted around two hundred days a year—ordinary people fasted about one hundred and sixty days, but monks always had special occasions, such as when they themselves had sinned or someone else had sinned—there was no question whether monastery cooks or castle cooks were better. The former, without doubt!

And the monk cooks at the Monastery of Saint John the Baptist were quite willing to discuss cooking with Cesar.

There was also a box of dried mulberries in honey, a box of honeyed dates, and a box of dried figs in honey. "Hide these away," Abbot John said, adding a small lockable chest. "Don't be too generous and offer some to everyone you see. Wear the key on your belt yourself."

Longinus coughed from beside them. "I'm his servant." Shouldn't things like this be entrusted to a servant?

Abbot John shot him a sidelong glance. "You may ask your master for them."

Then Abbot John brought out three small boxes: one of frankincense, one of Sichuan pepper, and one of saffron. Even Longinus no longer dared joke. These could be exchanged directly for gold, or something worth the same as gold.

"Take them without worry," Abbot John said when Cesar looked at him questioningly. "To celebrate Prince Baldwin being 'chosen,' the Gerard family gave away gifts worth a hundred times these."

"But I'm only an attendant."

"Do you know," Abbot John said, answering a question with another question, "the Gerard family has made many choices? The most famous and best known was when my great-grandfather begged Ali al-Zahir, caliph of the Fatimid dynasty, to build a hospital along the pilgrimage road to help all pilgrims."

He lowered his eyes. "After that, we continued making choices, including giving up the position of Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller. You are merely another choice, Cesar. The Gerard family and the Knights Hospitaller may not be as wealthy as the Knights Templar, but believe me, we are far more generous than they are. And..."

He patted his belly. "Our ancestor was a merchant, so nearly all his children inherited one virtue: they do not care about temporary gains and losses."

After things to eat came things to wear. "You and Prince Baldwin have both been chosen, which means you will soon be promoted to squires. Generally speaking, squires should serve in other lords' castles, but the prince's status is special. He probably will not leave Jerusalem, and you must remain at his side—you need several sets of respectable clothes."

His thinking was unexpectedly the same as Count Étienne's. "Once you become a squire, you cannot rely on the prince to provide everything for you, though it would not be impossible..."

"Wait." Longinus's eyes widened. "What is that? Purple ribbon? With gold edging?"

"To tie around your arm or neck..." Abbot John said to Cesar.

"No, I mean," Longinus said, "this is Jerusalem, but I know the Byzantine emperor has laws concerning purple silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Anyone guilty of overstepping their station can be executed for treason."

"You may," Abbot John said with a sigh. "Our king, Amalric I, and Byzantine Emperor Manuel I have settled a marriage alliance. They will marry before June. Many Byzantine merchants have come to Jerusalem, bringing much silk with them. It is said Princess Mary has sent three purple robes for her future husband, and a purple cloak for her future stepson, Prince Baldwin."

He looked at Cesar. "When she arrives in Jerusalem, the king and prince will certainly wear purple robes and a purple cloak to welcome her. If you accompany them, it would be best for you to have something Byzantine on you as well."