Encounter (Part 2)

He finished speaking and stepped out of the tent, abruptly emerging from darkness into light. The Saracen in a black robe could not help but shut his eyes, only opening them again a moment later.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he realized that the dazzling light came not only from the blazing noonday sun, but also from a person.

"He shines like a poem."

"What?"

His attendant followed him out of the tent and saw why. His mouth fell open; he could scarcely believe his eyes.

A boy dressed in Byzantine attire was passing before them. The crowd around him parted to make way—Cesar's features had always been flawless, and over the past few months he had grown a little taller. Moreover, as Baldwin had said, those who received a "blessing" would gain a certain improvement in their physical condition.

And as everyone knew, a healthy person was seldom ugly. Their eyes were bright, their skin smooth, their steps light, with nothing sluggish or distorted about them.

Today, Cesar wore a loose gold-ground robe embroidered with emerald-green flowers, birds, and diamond patterns, fastened with a golden belt. Over it, he wore a cloak threaded with silver, secured by a white opal brooch. Rather than stealing the wearer's radiance, these adornments were like leaves setting off a flower, making him shine all the more brilliantly.

Compared to him, Baldwin, who had linked arms with him, wore an orange-red robe embroidered with gold thread and a golden belt as well. But just as a new moon inevitably paled beneath the blazing sun, scarcely anyone noticed him. This suited Baldwin perfectly—he was still a little afraid.

As for Damara, the noble ladies in the castle had long since given up comparing themselves to Cesar. It was not that they could not compete, they said. After all, he was a man and they were women. Was it not only natural for men to be more perfect than women?

When it came to literary refinement, the poor attendant naturally could not compare to his master. His master could immediately recite a line of Saracen poetry, while the attendant could only go, "Abba, abba, abba..."

Only after they had passed did he sigh and praise him from the bottom of his heart. "What a beautiful child! The Almighty must have put much thought into creating him. A pity he is a Christian." He could not help looking in that direction, as if he might look them back. "He must be a little prince raised with the greatest care. His father may be Manuel I's protovestiarios."

He had immediately guessed at the protovestiarios rather than some other official because, although the office had originated in the ancient Roman Empire, where it had originally involved little more than delivering messages and handling practical affairs, after the Roman Empire split, the Eastern Roman emperor had used the protovestiarios to replace the former commander of the imperial guard—perhaps because the latter stood too close to the emperor.

The protovestiarios was a whip in the emperor's hand, able both to cow enemies and intimidate colleagues. Without question, whoever became protovestiarios stood above all other officials—Amalric I was about to marry Manuel's great-niece. The bride would arrive in Jaffa in a week, and it was hardly strange for the protovestiarios's child to appear in Jerusalem at this time.

The other man shook his head. "No," he said. "That is not a Byzantine."

The attendant was about to ask a question when he saw his master walking in that direction. He could only hurry after him.

Men a thousand years later might regard accompanying a lady on a shopping trip as a miserable chore, but men of this era did not necessarily feel the same.

Though this place was called the most sacred and could be considered a flourishing city, the people of Jerusalem still lived amid the day-after-day tedium of dull routine. Those who did not need to scramble over their next meal had few ordinary diversions beyond playing music, dancing, watching the castle's kept fools turn somersaults, and listening to poets sing stories they had heard so often they knew them by heart.

Thus, to young people—especially vigorous young men—as long as they were not staring at walls, praying, or training, anything could be interesting.

One more thing needed to be explained: men of this era were every bit as vain as women, and even more flamboyant.

They grew their hair long, then covered it with silver or gold thread hairnets adorned with pearls. Their armor had to be engraved with their family names, passages from the Bible, or decorative patterns. Their saddles and shields were either gilded or silvered. They set golden spurs into their boots and pinned gem-studded brooches to their hats. They loved velvet, silk, and wool, and when choosing colors, the brighter and gaudier the better.

When a knight defeated his opponent in a tournament, or whipped his bare back bloody in a penitential procession, he won the nobles' admiration. Sometimes noble ladies would directly throw down their shawls or cloaks, which the knight would pick up and drape over himself, flaunting them before everyone.

This had now grown ever more excessive, to the point that the Knights Templar's "Primitive Rule" had to sternly declare: "Robes shall have no fine ornamentation," and, "If any brother desires better or more splendid clothes—all Templar equipment being issued by the Order—give him the worst."

Yet this was also unavoidable. People of that time had difficulty identifying one another—leave aside identification papers; most people could not read. Not to mention men like Longinus, who had sworn an oath to Christ and would absolutely not reveal their origins or names before fulfilling that oath.

Only the clothing worn upon that fleshly shell could prove who they were. What a monk should wear, what an attendant should wear, what a prince should wear—there were clear rules for all of it. Jerusalem might not possess laws as detailed and stringent as Constantinople's, but once a person stood before a crowd, people could judge their identity and occupation seven or eight parts out of ten merely from their clothing.

If you dressed like a beggar, or a fool, there would inevitably be ill-tempered people who came looking to provoke you.

Thus, to merchants, noble ladies were certainly esteemed customers, but knights could also be astonishingly generous buyers. And many noble ladies were willing to pay their knights' bills.

It sounded inconceivable, but once a knight had sworn an oath to a noble lady, he was effectively hers. He would serve his love and become his beloved's vassal.

Just as knights polished their own armor and fed their own horses, noble ladies cared for their knights: buying them armor and horses, giving them garments of sable fur or silk, recommending them to their fathers or husbands.

Naturally, in return, a knight could never defy any command from the noble lady to whom he had sworn himself. Even if she required him to whip himself, fight wild beasts, or go to his death, he had to obey.

Even if she said nothing, he ought to defend her honor anywhere and at any time. Many knights, upon arriving somewhere, would hang a sign at an inn or other lodging, declaring that a certain lady's beauty and virtue were unmatched under heaven.

If another knight objected, he would mount his horse, take up his lance, strike the wooden sign, and duel him.

Usually, one person had to die in such a duel.

"That is Elena and her knight," Damara said softly.

Before a shop stood a noble lady wearing a hennin and veil. Her knight knelt on one knee so she could step upon it to mount her horse. Once seated, the lady lifted her veil and smiled. As payment for such attentiveness, she removed a ring. The knight immediately received it and placed it upon his little finger.

"Isn't that Gerard de Redfort?" Baldwin frowned. "Is he not applying to join the Knights Templar? If he has sworn himself to a noble lady, how does he intend to fulfill his oath?"

"Elena is not a demanding person," Damara said. "She can release him from the oath, so long as that gentleman is sincere enough. Besides, if people say that this knight joined the Knights Templar with a broken heart because he could not win her love, keeping himself chaste for her sake, that would make quite a romantic tale."

"Is that... allowed?" Cesar asked hesitantly.

"Why not?" Damara said. "Several of my friends all hope to have a knight willing to die for them, or become a monk and remain chaste for life."

"And you?" Baldwin immediately asked.

"Me?" Damara looked at Cesar. "I would not want my knight to die. It would be best if he could stay with me forever."

"Do you want to marry Cesar?" The Gerard family would never agree.

"Why not? Cesar is so beautiful."

"I will consider Cesar's marriage carefully," Baldwin said. Damara was not a good match for Cesar. Cesar's foundation was too weak; it would be best to find him an heiress with wealth or lands.

Cesar did not take in the rest of their conversation. He somewhat understood why "knightly love" was so highly praised.

In an era where only men could inherit property, for the most part, serve in the army, govern, and even conduct business, the quickest and most effective way for women to gain honor was to have knights who adored them proclaim their virtues far and wide.

Whether that knight died or defeated his opponent, it could establish the lady's lofty standing. People would say that if she were not truly devout, kind, and wise, how could someone lose his most precious life for her?

For knights, it also had its benefits. When poets performed in castles and courts, they would mention his name as well, spreading news of his valor and might. Furthermore, if a knight defeated another knight, the loser's armor and horse became his property. Many knights accumulated their fortunes this way.

At this moment, Gerard de Redfort came over to pay his respects to the prince. He cautiously avoided alerting the others. If possible, he even wished to serve as the prince's temporary guard, but unfortunately, he had to escort his lady back to the castle.

"Would you like to continue?" Longinus asked.

Baldwin hesitated a little. Today was not market day, but the king's wedding had brought vast numbers of merchants and their customers—Byzantines who had come to offer congratulations, envoys from various lands, and knights hoping to enter the tournament crowded every corner of the Holy Land.

As for the merchants, whether they carried baskets on their backs, set up tents, or borrowed shopfronts, the wares they displayed might be crude, but they were still dazzlingly varied.

He dearly wanted to find his mother a treasure unlike any other in the world, but its preciousness should not lie in its price.

"I'll look a little longer."

They passed several shops and tents, and Baldwin even inspected goods piled upon the ground, but he never found anything suitable.

Damara was already somewhat tired. Turning her head to look around, she searched for somewhere to rest. "Ah," she said. "They've already begun rehearsing."

She meant the actors. Performers were indispensable at a wedding, and especially numerous for a king's wedding. From the moment the bride entered Jerusalem, all the way from the gate to Holy Cross Castle, people would perform various plays upon raised wooden stages, most of them related to marriage.

There were also acrobats, magicians, dwarfs, and dancing girls. Some had heard the news and come on their own, while others had been hired by the castle steward. But no one would simply wait around idly. With crowds surging outside, they took the chance to earn a little drinking money.

Damara seemed drawn to a place rehearsing "Solomon and Sheba." Baldwin and Cesar followed her, only to discover that she was watching a "slaughterhouse." Cesar did not know what else to call this game, if it could even be considered a game.

The game was simple. It only required an open patch of ground and some chickens and ducks. The organizer buried the birds in the earth, leaving only their heads exposed. Those willing to play paid to enter and received a stick. They took turns striking the chickens' and ducks' heads with it. Whoever knocked off a bird's head in a single blow won that chicken or duck.

The birds' necks were very flexible and their reactions quick, but if one person missed, there would always be a second, a third... And there was no shortage of trained attendants and squires here.

The young men eagerly paid their money, turning the ground into a complete mess. Chickens and ducks stretched out their necks and cried desperately. The spectators made sounds of pity, admiration, and mockery; feathers flew everywhere, and blood splashed in all directions.

After only a few glances, Cesar was the first to turn away. Baldwin lowered his eyes as well. Damara raised a hand and demurely covered her eyes, seeming a little frightened but even more fascinated.

"What is that?" Baldwin turned his gaze aside. Cesar followed his line of sight and saw a small tent, perhaps large enough for only three or four people, though a long line waited outside. Longinus hurried over to ask about it, then returned. "It is a monk's tent. He says that he has received a vision from Saint Enoch, and those who have tried him say his predictions are very accurate—"

He hesitated before continuing. "He says that if a mother wishes to seek divination for her son, or a son for his mother, then in remembrance of Gabriel foretelling the coming of the holy child to the Virgin Mary, he charges nothing."

Baldwin did not care about a few silver or gold coins. What moved him was the phrase "a son seeking divination for his mother." He hoped that the Countess of Jaffa would enjoy smooth fortune in all things and live to a hundred, but the world was ever-changing and fate unpredictable. Her fief was Jaffa, a strategic throat that would inevitably be contested once war began—and the appearance of this monk seemed like an omen as well...

"I want to try it," he said quietly to Cesar.

The knights went over to disperse the crowd and search the tent. The diviner truly was a monk, and there was no one else inside. However, he insisted that only one person could enter the tent for each divination, because he used geomancy, and a third person who learned the result would be plagued by misfortune.

Naturally, the knights were unwilling, but Baldwin was insistent. Cesar thought for a moment. "Tie him up," he said. "Leave his mouth and eyes free."

"Then how will he use his stick to make dots in the dirt?"

"Have him hold it in his teeth."

The monk glared at Cesar.

Having settled that small matter, Cesar went aside to rest. Damara was very curious about the monk. Forgetting her fatigue, she circled the tent again and again. Longinus and the knights could only watch her closely, afraid she might suddenly slip inside.

"Sir," Cesar said, "why have you been following us?"

The other man gave a quiet laugh.

He was a Saracen—at least, judging by his clothes. He wore a black robe, and on the palm-wide cowhide belt at his waist hung nothing but a curved blade.

The blade bore no decoration, and its leather sheath was black as well. Brown leather strips were wound around its hilt. Over the black robe, he wore an open-front cloak with vertical tea-brown and white stripes, made of the same thin wool as his robe.

A dark turban was wound around his head. It had no brooch and was made from ordinary linen, yet when he wore it, it seemed as though he wore a crown.

"I saw you watching that... game just now. Child," the visitor said gently, not answering Cesar's question. "You do not like that game?"

"I do not," Cesar said. "And you? Do you like it?"

"Neither do I," the visitor said. "Then may I ask why you do not like it?"

A knight walked toward them. Cesar waved to indicate that there was no problem. The knight stopped, though he still kept one eye on them. Cesar looked at the man, who seemed not to have taken the knight seriously at all—though he was dressed like an ordinary Saracen merchant one could find anywhere.

Cesar pondered for a moment before answering. "Let me put it this way. In the education I once received, there was a saying: if you wish to be a compassionate person, do not go near the kitchen."

The visitor repeated the words. "That cannot be their literal meaning."

"Indeed not," Cesar said firmly. "The saying came from a conversation between a sage and a king. It was said that the king once saw someone leading an ox past him, and asked, 'Where are you taking it?' The man replied, 'I am going to sacrifice to the gods, so I must kill this ox.' Seeing tears in the ox's eyes, the king said, 'I will ransom it with a sheep.'

"When people learned of this, they mocked him. They believed that pitying the ox but not the sheep was hypocritical."

The visitor listened intently, absentmindedly stroking a broad silver ring with his fingers. It was the only ornament on his person. "And what did that sage say?"

"He said that possessing even that small measure of compassion was already something very fine," Cesar said. "At the time of that king, there were many states around his own. They were almost constantly at war, and to wage those wars, their people had to pay many taxes, nearly to the point where they could no longer survive.

"The sage said: You saw the ox and could not bear it, yet you did not pity the sheep because you had not seen it. Does this not show that your compassionate heart already exists within you?

"Compared to you, should those who feel nothing even when they see such things not be blamed far more?"

"...Ah," the visitor said after a long while. "That truly was a sage. He could see not only the body, but the soul buried deep within it."

He gazed at Cesar. "That is why you did not wish to watch such a sight—you are a Christian, yet the sage of whom you speak reminds me of our prophet.

"When he taught us to slaughter livestock, he told us to use the sharpest blade, to sever three sinews, to do it swiftly, and not let them suffer. For we eat them to survive, not for amusement."

"Yes," Cesar said. "I eat meat too. I can slaughter livestock, and I am even a good cook, but I would not torment them like this."

"Every place seems to have similar truths."

"Because the human heart always inclines toward goodness."

"Is that so?" The visitor smiled. "You are so beautiful, like a new shoot after rain. May the Almighty bless you, and when we meet again, may you still retain this rare purity."

When Baldwin emerged from the tent, he saw Cesar standing there with a grave expression, as though lost in thought.

He stepped forward and called Cesar's name, then saw that something was clenched in his hand.

"What is that?"

Cesar showed him. A crudely made silver ring lay in his palm.

"Who gave this to you?" Baldwin lifted the ring. "An eagle?"