Marriage (2)

Cesar froze.

It was not his fault. Since coming to the castle, neither the castle steward nor the servants and attendants like himself, nor Prince Baldwin, nor their teacher Heraclius, had ever mentioned Amalric I's first wife.

And the first rumor concerning marriage that he had heard was that Amalric I had discussed marriage with Manuel I, the Byzantine Emperor, many times.

Naturally, he assumed that Baldwin's mother had died, perhaps when Baldwin was still very young. Of course, he would not casually bring up such a thing before Baldwin.

And then this mother had walked out of the grave?

That was truly too disrespectful a thought. Cesar immediately lowered his head in salute. All he felt was a warm, lavender-scented breeze brush past him. "Raise your head, child. You are not the first person to look as though he has seen a ghost upon seeing me."

He raised his head and saw Baldwin standing there even more awkwardly than he was. He seemed to want to reach out and embrace his mother, but the moment he lifted his hand, he realized he wore neither gloves nor a veil. He hurriedly turned to look for them, only for the Countess of Jaffa to pull him into her arms.

"Let me hold you properly," she said. "Your father is a king, yet he does not fear you. Would I be afraid of you?"

She held Baldwin tightly for quite a while. His face had turned scarlet, almost concealing the scars left by leprosy. His eyes closed slightly, and his body gradually softened from its initial stiffness. Like a drunken man, he even placed most of his weight upon the countess's shoulder.

Balian of Ibelin did not come in. He merely coughed softly, and Cesar knowingly closed the door.

Balian was clearly standing guard at the door. Cesar wondered whether he ought to take his leave as well, but the countess spotted the various items scattered across the carpet at a glance. These expensive gifts had obviously been divided into two piles. What the two children had been doing before she entered was therefore plain as day.

"Your name is Cesar, is it not?" the countess called gently. "Come, sit here. Sit with us—I have heard your name, and I know of your character. I am very glad that my son has a companion like you by his side."

She stroked Baldwin's head. "As the wise say, birds of a feather always fly in flocks. Rather than hear people say that you serve at the prince's side as an attendant, I would rather hear them say that he is Cesar's friend."

Now even Cesar's face began to burn.

"He is not an attendant anymore," Baldwin said joyfully. "Under God's gaze, we have become brothers. From now on, he is the same as me."

With a smile in her eyes, the countess carefully looked Cesar over. "If I could give birth to such a beautiful child, I would surely build a little chapel just for the Virgin Mary."

"I am not beautiful?" Baldwin gaped. "I always thought I was beautiful, Mother."

The countess could naturally tell that her child was deliberately trying to amuse her. She laughed aloud, then said, "In my heart, even if Attis, whose blood turned to violets, cunning suitor Acontius, and Linus, son of Apollo the sun god, stood side by side before me, the most beautiful one would surely still be you, and only you."

She reached out and drew Baldwin close. Though he would turn ten after February 2, and with the special permission of a bishop or the pope could become an adult early, marry, and make alliances—every mother saw her child as small, someone she could pick up and hold in her arms at any time.

It was a tender scene, but several glints of gold stabbed Cesar's eyes rather inappropriately. Only then did he notice that one corner of the little cloak Baldwin had picked up to show him earlier was sticking out. He was wondering how to hide it without drawing attention when the countess noticed it.

"It is a gift from Princess Mary," she said frankly. "Bring it to me and let me see whether it suits my most beautiful child."

Baldwin hurriedly covered his face. Cesar crawled over to fetch it, and the countess placed it in her hands, examining it again and again. "The Byzantines..." There was not much jealousy or hatred, none of those unpleasant emotions, in her voice. "Baldwin's father, Amalric I, and I divorced in the year sixty-three."

Originally, it had been a well-matched marriage. Amalric I had only been a second son, while the countess was the daughter of the Count of Edessa. She had never expected to wear a crown. She only hoped that her husband would not die too early and would preferably leave her a few children—they soon had Sibylla, and then Baldwin. But in the very year Baldwin was born, Baldwin III suddenly died. He had no heir and could only leave the throne to his younger brother.

For Amalric I, his former wife was no longer a suitable match. It was not that he had forgotten kindness and cast aside all affection. It was simply that the King of Jerusalem and the Count of Jaffa and Ascalon were entirely different creatures. By then, the County of Edessa had already fallen, and the patriarch, ministers, and grand masters of the knightly orders all tried to persuade him to seek a better marriage, one more beneficial to Jerusalem.

Amalric I weighed the matter again and again—he truly needed a powerful wife's family, and the fall of the County of Edessa was a lesson written in blood... Besides, he harbored ambitions toward Egypt.

"He was willing to make a bargain with the patriarch, preserve Baldwin and Sibylla's legitimacy, and recognize their rights of succession. I was already deeply grateful for that, not to mention that he left Jaffa to me."

The countess cast Cesar a sidelong glance and smiled. "It was simply difficult for them to tell you. What were they supposed to say? That my husband heartlessly cast me aside? That a mother was forced to abandon her children?"

Baldwin took her hand. The countess in turn squeezed his fingers, seeming absentminded but actually checking on the child's condition. When she realized that Baldwin had not noticed her little action, her heart sank sharply. Yet nothing showed on her face.

They sat there lazily and happily for a while. Baldwin selected his own share of the gifts again and offered the most precious things to his mother. The countess only chose a round brooch and pinned it to her headscarf, then looked at Cesar. "Do you have nothing you wish to give me?"

Cesar gathered his courage, selected several pieces of jewelry, placed them in his hands, and presented them to the countess. She lowered her head for a glance and also chose a brooch, pinning it beside Baldwin's gift.

"Look." She picked up a small hand mirror. "What an adorable pair."

This time, Cesar boldly looked at her face. He saw many familiar features there. It could be said that, aside from the blue eyes, Baldwin and Sibylla had inherited almost everything from their mother.

As beautiful as Sibylla was, so was this countess. Even after the ravages of time and fate, her beauty had not been wholly worn away. Instead, it had gained a misty veil, making her seem ever gentler, more restrained, and more worthy of lingering over.

"What is it?" the countess noticed his gaze.

"You and Baldwin really look alike." Only after the words left his mouth did Cesar realize he had said something foolish. He hurriedly added in embarrassment, "No, Baldwin looks like you. Princess Sibylla looks like you too."

The countess laughed uncontrollably. "Of course, child. They are my flesh and blood, my legacy." She gently cradled Cesar's face. "You are a beautiful child, and Baldwin's good friend. But that is not entirely why I took a liking to you the moment I saw you."

She turned Cesar's face toward Baldwin and brought them close together. "How strange," she said. "The two of you actually resemble each other somewhat." She looked back and forth between them. "Perhaps beautiful people all have something alike about them."

They passed most of the afternoon like this, until the sky beyond the window changed from gold to inky blue. "I should go," the countess said.

"Stay and have dinner with me," Baldwin pleaded, clutching the hem of her robe.

"I will remain in Jerusalem for a while, until Amalric I's wedding to Princess Mary of Byzantium is over—this is the duty of the Countess of Jaffa." The countess lowered her head and kissed his forehead. "So do not be afraid. I will come see you often."

The Countess of Jaffa had come without a sound, and she left without a sound as well, briskly and decisively.

"She said she would come again," Cesar said, feeling somewhat reluctant to part with her too. The countess was wholly different from the noble ladies in the castle. She was like a flower blooming amid the Judean Hills, surrounded only by sand, blazing sun, a great lake, and the vast dome of heaven, making it so proud and unique. "Even if she cannot come, we can go to Jaffa to see her."

"You are right." Baldwin's eyes brightened. "I have received the blessing. I am no longer a child."

That night, Cesar and Baldwin slept together, rather than in his own room or on the trundle bed. The two kept talking. In truth, by the end, they did not even know what they had been talking about. They only felt that they had never been so happy.

The Countess of Jaffa had been as delighted with Baldwin as she was troubled by Sibylla.

"I told you, this was all the work of men!" She rubbed her face with her palm and complained to her brother-in-law, Balian.

"Well..." Balian truly found it difficult to agree—Godfrey I was an inviolable saint in Jerusalem, and Baldwin II had been an incomparably valiant knight-king, but when it came to their daughters, they really were... difficult to describe.

In order to control the other Christian states in the Holy Land, Godfrey I married his daughters to the rulers of Antioch, Tripoli, and Edessa. His calculation was that when these rulers died—whether from illness or in battle—his daughters could support underage rulers and govern in their stead. And indeed, two queen mothers later emerged.

Godfrey had set a bad precedent, and Baldwin II followed close behind. He had only one daughter, Melisende, and carefully chose a son-in-law for her, Fulk of Anjou. Yet before his death, his will shocked everyone—he actually divided the succession into three shares: one for his daughter, one for his grandson, and one for his son-in-law... Yet he designated only his daughter as Baldwin III's guardian. Fulk, as Baldwin III's biological father, received no authority at all!

There seemed to be nothing wrong with his doing so. Fulk and Melisende had only one son at the time, but Fulk had several adult sons from his previous marriage. Baldwin II feared that after his death, Fulk would use the power in his hands to become the sole king—which was indeed Fulk's plan—then expel or exile Melisende and her son, and instead place his eldest son upon the throne.

This was not uncommon at the time. Although male lords in the Holy Land often died prematurely in war and disease, forcing their daughters to inherit their lands when there were no male heirs, these daughters rarely exercised their authority directly after marriage. Their husbands, instead, were able to gain a voice and power through them.

If they were lucky, the bloodline they inherited from their fathers could continue in that land. If they were unlucky, they had merely made a wedding dress for someone else.

After Baldwin II went to see God, Fulk indeed began petitioning and seizing power. Unfortunately for him, Baldwin II's will stood before him, and Jerusalem's ministers and knights stood behind it. He could not shake Melisende's authority in the Holy Land. In the end, that bastard came up with a filthy scheme: he accused Melisende of having an affair with Baldwin II's cousin, the then Count of Jaffa, in order to sever the Church's and the nobles' support for her.

Of course, Melisende was the final victor. Through a palace coup, she cleanly and decisively ended the game. After the Church stepped in to mediate, Melisende supposedly "generously" reconciled with her husband. They later had another son, Amalric I, but from then on, Fulk never touched so much as a scrap of power again.

Eight years later, he fell from his horse, broke his neck, and died.

Afterward, Melisende continued to govern, ruling jointly with her eldest son Baldwin III for thirteen years. Had she not suffered a stroke in 1161, she might have remained active in Jerusalem...

"If Sibylla could become a second Melisende... perhaps that would be a good thing," Balian cautiously offered.

"Impossible." The countess lifted her head, her gaze like lightning, making Balian shudder all over. "Not only has her brother already received the blessing, but the Byzantine princess will also bear children. A girl would share Sibylla's power; a boy would monopolize all power. And how could she compare to Melisende? Baldwin II raised Melisende as an heir."

She gave a cold laugh. "Amalric I was not even an heir himself. How could he regard his daughter as someone upon whom an entire Holy Land could rest? Besides, he has Baldwin. And—" She pressed a hand to her forehead wearily. "I have met Melisende and spent time with her. As a mother, she was not particularly competent. It could be said that she was her eldest son's mortal enemy and her younger son's keeper. Amalric I would certainly not be pleased to see himself with a daughter like Melisende."

"Wait." She suddenly looked in one direction. "I seem to have seen that child with Sibylla. Where is she going? The left tower?"