Meeting (Part 1)

Meeting (Part 1)

Cesar and Baldwin could not possibly refuse Damara's invitation.

Although Baldwin would rather have stayed with his mother, whom he had not seen for so long—after all, if they wished to meet again in the future, they would inevitably face much criticism, since Amalric I's marriage to the countess was already unlawful. Perhaps they might even incur the king's rebuke—and Amalric I was already impatient to conquer Egypt and wipe away his former humiliation. Who knew when the army would set out from Jerusalem?

But early that morning, Balian had come to inform him that the countess was going to visit Princess Sibylla today and told him to go amuse himself—no matter how much Baldwin missed his mother, he could not deprive his sister of time with her. So he could only... go amuse himself.

He invited Cesar to play chess with him. This was rare leisure time for them these past few months, and even while playing, they did not wish to rack their brains too much. Only when Baldwin reached for the dice did he realize that the pieces on the board had almost filled it.

"This game of Shatranj has become a complete mess under our hands," Baldwin sighed. "If Teacher Bohemond saw it, he would definitely press us one by one against the windowsill and whip our bottoms with a stick."

Cesar felt the same. Baldwin's lessons had resumed these past few days, and he had finally received the true treatment enjoyed by David, Abigail, William, Guy... the sons of dukes and counts—that was, getting their bottoms spanked by dukes and counts.

Education in this era contained no tenderness or affection, nor was there anything like a law protecting minors.

Even if there had been, children who had received blessings, even if they were only just at the lower age limit of nine, would be regarded as adults in reserve. Whether hunting or praying, they had to do everything without a drop of flaw, without the slightest mistake, or else they would be "failing God's and the saints' favor"...

Baldwin had long grown accustomed to the teachers' strictness. Because of his special status, he had not gone at the age of seven to some other lord's little castle, but remained at Holy Cross Castle. His father's vassals, on the other hand, had sent their sons here in droves to serve as pages.

But from the time he was six, he had done none of the work expected of a page less than anyone else. Helping a lord dress, tidying rooms, running errands, cleaning the castle, raising dogs, feeding pigs—aside from scrubbing latrines, he had done almost everything. These complicated tasks were not meant to torment him, only to force a child "spoiled and raised by women" to understand as quickly as possible how to obey orders and submit.

Once he had worked until the age of seven, he was supposed to begin lessons. The teachers were all familiar faces—he often saw them at his father's court, and sometimes his father, Amalric I, would come teach a few lessons himself.

What Baldwin regretted most was that Holy Cross Castle had no mistress. Thus, for courses such as etiquette, poetry, and dress, which ought to have been the mistress's responsibility, he still had to face a male teacher...

Sometimes, Baldwin could not help imagining how wonderful it would have been if his parents had not divorced and Countess Agnes were still the mistress of the castle. Even if a little page made a mistake, the mistress would still strike his bottom with a stick, but it would surely feel different!

"By now, Sister and Mother must be having lunch together," Baldwin said, gazing at the sunlight beyond the window. "These past few days, the castle has been piled full of all kinds of food. Byzantine merchant ships have brought even more."

"What do you think they'll eat? Chickpeas, fish baked with cheese, or fruit stewed in wine? I wonder whether Mother likes Byzantine dishes. These days, the castle's cooks have been studying quite a few dishes made with fish, meat, and chicken to welcome the Byzantine princess..."

He sat cross-legged, watching Cesar gather the chess pieces. As he imagined his mother and sister happily enjoying themselves amid laughter and cheer, he also worried sourly that his mother might forget him altogether. After all, they were both women; they must have much more to talk about.

The prince did not know that after the embraces and tears, the countess had brought up that muddled marriage arrangement—and the room's atmosphere had immediately plunged downhill.

The countess might have been too impatient, but that was entirely because she wished to make up for the education Sibylla had been forced to miss before. When she left the castle, Sibylla was only six and Baldwin only three. Amalric I had also refused her request to leave her maid beside Sibylla.

She had not expected anything from Amalric I in the first place. The king had an heir, and he was not Baldwin II.

And the truth was as bad as she had anticipated—Sibylla should never have been so eager about the marriage privately arranged between Amalric I and Louis VII, much less incited Abigail to bribe a guide and sell Count Étienne to the Turks.

Sibylla still wanted to deny it and argue—the countess had nearly been angered into laughter.

Evidence?! Did people not have eyes, ears, or brains? They did not need to say aloud that they had convicted you in their hearts, but at some point, this hidden danger would surely erupt—no, perhaps there was no need to wait. When she had occasionally encountered Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, before, that fox's smile had been sinister enough.

No matter how little Abigail pleased his father, he was still his heir.

Baldwin had leprosy, yet Amalric I would confront the churches of two lands if necessary to preserve his inheritance. Abigail was a fool, but at least he was healthy and whole in all four limbs. Would Bohemond really be pleased to watch him get toyed with by a woman?

Even leaving aside Abigail bribing the guide, from the countess's standpoint, Sibylla's previous actions had offended a great many people.

Yes, if a noblewoman was overly reserved, people would complain that she was an Athena or an Artemis—both virgin goddesses sworn to chastity. But if she were a Clytie, a sea nymph who pursued the sun god at any cost, what do you think people would say?

Not to mention that she had made her two utterly different attitudes perfectly clear.

"Men rarely distinguish right from wrong. They speak only of success, failure, gain, and loss.

"You raised a cold, arrogant shield against David, Abigail, and the other sons of nobles. That was right. The fire of love in their hearts would not only fail to go out, but burn even more madly, scorching them until they tossed and turned in unrest.

"But you should not have exposed your soft belly to Count Étienne. Of course, you may say that this was a marriage arranged by Amalric I and Louis VII, that he would be your future husband and the father of your children, and that you ought to be gentle and obedient, to leave him fully satisfied.

"But, Sibylla, you are not yet married. Your engagement has not even been announced. Even if Count Étienne did not refuse, would he cherish you like a pearl and treasure you after marriage because of this?

"He obtained you far too easily.

"You should have been cold as ice. Even after the wedding, you should have made him pursue you, rather than you accommodating him!

"And now look at this. Everyone has seen how you treated Count Étienne. They will demand the same treatment you gave him. What? You cannot do that? Then neither can they—no matter what you ask of them.

"The only fool may be that Abigail of Antioch," the countess concluded angrily. "He was supposed to be your trump card, yet you squandered him merely to vent your anger... Fine. Now they will not call you Clytie. They will only call you Medea...

"Medea lost her mind because Eros's golden arrow struck her chest. And you? What made you go mad?! The title of a count's wife?"

Those words caused the meeting to end with Sibylla hurling reckless insults—she said that the countess was no longer the mistress of the castle, nor her father's wife, and had no right to instruct or criticize her...

The countess slapped her, knocking her to the floor, then lifted her skirts and stormed furiously out of the room.

Baldwin had no idea that his mother and sister had completely fallen out. He was still happily and sorrowfully considering how he ought to divide his mother's spare time evenly with his sister.

Damara had come looking for Cesar. Baldwin thought there could not possibly be a second Abigail in the castle, so he simply called her to his room.

At the sight of Prince Baldwin, Damara was immediately struck speechless—she had come to bring news. The disturbance between the countess and Princess Sibylla might form into a storm vortex, and she needed to warn Cesar to be careful—Uncle John had said that she was Cesar's protector in the castle!

(Damara lifted her head and puffed out her chest.)

"What is it?" Baldwin waited for a long time without hearing a sound. "Is there something difficult? Tell us. What problem could Cesar and I not solve? If it truly cannot be done, I'll take you to see my father. You only need to kneel down, hug his knees, and keep crying and begging. No matter what you want, the king can give it to you."

Damara glanced at Cesar behind the prince from the corner of her eye. Cesar shook his head with the smallest movement and the quickest speed.

"I... I want..." Damara raised a finger, and suddenly inspiration flashed through her mind. "I want to go out and buy something!"

Baldwin was stunned for a moment. Such a simple request. But then he saw Cesar. "Oh, right," he said with a smile. "Cesar will be your knight, won't he? It would be his honor. You should have him accompany you."

Cesar glanced at Baldwin, and Damara immediately understood and asked Baldwin to come with them.

Baldwin was still immersed in the warmth of being with his mother and noticed nothing unusual. Hearing Damara say this, he only assumed that they were shy, or perhaps being considerate of him.

He had not left the castle in a long time. He was a leper. If he had not been Amalric I's only heir, he should have worn rough sackcloth and lived in the desert. If he ever walked onto a road and approached people, he would have had to hold up a bell and shake it, warning them to move aside in time.

But now he had received a blessing... His father's ministers and generals were impatient to kiss his hand—perhaps his appearance on the streets would no longer cause panic.

"We can dress as Byzantines," Damara suggested. "Many Byzantines have arrived recently."

Baldwin and Cesar both agreed with the suggestion. Among the Byzantine princess's gifts were many clothes suitable for boys their age. Damara was the daughter of the current head of the Gerard family, so naturally she had also received an appropriate gift. They swiftly helped one another dress up.

Byzantine clothing carried on the loose style of ancient Rome. Though splendid and magnificent, its main emphasis lay in its materials; the styles themselves were nearly indistinguishable, even between men and women. Inside was a sleeveless or long-sleeved robe, and outside was a great shawl. The shawl might also be adorned with a piece of cloth covered in embroidery and jewels, but since they were still children, they could leave that aside.

Damara also had servants bring three shoulder bags. Their style was exactly like the large handkerchief she had given Cesar.

Her embroidery was already quite good, but no matter how good it was, it could not withstand such a riot of splendor. Baldwin nearly fell backward with one glance, but a knight could not refuse a noblewoman's gift. He could only turn his head and quietly tell Cesar to pick the least conspicuous one for him, then hang it behind his back.

"I was just thinking of visiting the market," Baldwin said happily. "I want to choose a gift for Mother." Though his storeroom glittered with countless expensive gifts, he still felt that something was lacking. What was lacking? Perhaps it was the thought behind it.

Cesar summoned Longinus and asked whether he had Byzantine clothing. Longinus laughed as soon as he heard. "I do, but there's no need. That sort of clothing isn't suited for combat. Don't worry—three young Byzantine nobles being followed by knights in leather armor or chain mail is common enough. I've taken similar employment before."

He lowered his head and carefully examined the three jewel-bright children. "Very good." Mainly because dressed like this, they would be harder to recognize. "I'll dress as I usually do. That will be better instead."

Without a surcoat bearing any mark of identity, it meant he was merely a wandering knight. And if they needed to hire a wandering knight, it meant these three young Byzantines had some status, but not enough for knights of an order to come guard them.

With his reminder, the other knights ordered to protect them also wore their surcoats inside out. Once they left the castle, Cesar looked at the river for a while, then watched the main road, then lifted his gaze to the sky.

"Is something wrong?" Baldwin asked from the side. This time, they had not even ridden the little horses Pollux and Castor. Pollux and Castor would certainly be angry if they knew, but it could not be helped. Ever since Baldwin received his blessing, Amalric I had done everything possible to build up his reputation. He had even claimed that Pollux and Castor had been sent by angels disguised as merchants.

Now everyone in the Holy Land knew that Prince Baldwin had two little horses, one black and one white, each with a star upon its forehead.

"Do you feel it too?" While they were in the castle, the feeling had not been so obvious. But once they left it, Cesar felt that "heaven and earth seem as though they have been washed." Everything was indescribably clear and fine. With one glance, it was as if coarse grains had become delicate brushstrokes, and the colors had grown far more vivid.

"Why wouldn't they?" Baldwin said softly. He knew Cesar was very clever and had accumulated much knowledge, yet he always got stuck on certain common-sense matters. "We have received the saints' favor and God's blessing. Our constitutions will improve greatly. In a few years, the gap between us and ordinary people will widen further." Otherwise, why would people value the "selection ritual" so highly?

Cesar thought of Count Étienne. He had effectively fallen from the height of a ten-story building. Though he had used the guide as a shield and cushion, and the bear carcass, tree roots, and rocks had softened the fall, he had merely broken a thigh bone. Cesar had been somewhat astonished then and thought he had encountered a European. Of course, luck had played a part, but the luck was not in that fall—it was that Count Étienne was also "chosen"...

Right. Even with priests treating them both, Count Étienne had recovered faster than ordinary knights. By the time he was able to wander all around the castle, those unblessed attendants of his were still lying in bed, shouting and crying.

"My lord, you should not have come at this time."

"You are wrong," said a Saracen wrapped in a headscarf. "There is no better time than now."