Baldwin and Holy Cross Castle

"He is Cesar," Amalric I said. "He will be your attendant."

Cesar had no surname. Baldwin guessed that the boy might be of low birth, perhaps even a slave—and he was right, for only slaves of unknown origin lacked even a prefix denoting their birthplace. Even commoners without surnames would be called Joseph of Oman or Bak of Galilee.

"But Father," he still looked at the boy about his own age. His skin was fair, his brows thick, without a trace of rash or blotch—he was not a leper. "I already have many attendants, and servants as well."

"You do not," Amalric I said gently. "Did you think I did not know?"

Baldwin turned his gaze toward his father. He could now clearly see every minute detail of the king's face. A hot surge seemed ready to burst from his eyes. "You knew?"

"I knew," Amalric I said. "I have always known, and I have been waiting, my son. Why did you not punish them severely?"

"I thought I would soon become a monk. Monks have no need of servants," Baldwin said. "And for such people, being driven out and becoming lowly peasants or laborers again was enough to make them suffer."

"Your understanding of mercy surpasses that of any among us," Amalric I said.

"Then please take this boy away," Baldwin said. "God gave him such a face not so that he could serve a leper."

"He serves my son first—Prince Baldwin, future master of Jerusalem—and a leper only afterward," Amalric I said. "This is also his own choice."

"How could a mere commoner dare defy the king?" Baldwin said sorrowfully. "You have an army, priests, and gold. But none of those three things can erase people's fear of disability, or even death."

"There is one more thing," Cesar said without permission. "A heavy debt of gratitude, worth far more than armies, priests, and gold. Your father saved me—not only my life, but my honor as well. I am very willing to offer what little I can in return."

As Baldwin looked at him, Cesar looked back at Baldwin. Though he was alone in the room, Baldwin still wore the stiff face veil and gloves that made him seem masked. Yet even through the hard veil, one could tell that Baldwin ought to be a boy of refined features.

"Have you ever seen a leper?" Baldwin asked the boy. "You do not know how terrible it is. You do not know what price you will have to pay."

Fortune's favor toward Cesar might have exceeded anything he had imagined. Not only had he encountered someone of Amalric I's standing—someone even willing to give a former slave the chance to choose—but his son Baldwin did not seem to be the sort of pitiful and hateful person who would shift his own misfortune and vent his resentment upon others. Cesar had seen many such people. One could not even blame them too harshly, because they had indeed suffered hardships almost beyond endurance.

This was far better than what he had originally imagined.

"I see it as a trial," Cesar said. "If I do not fall ill, then it proves that God Himself sent me to look after you..."

"And if you do fall ill?"

"Then it proves that God believes your trial should include a companion who shares both sweetness and bitterness."

"A companion..." Baldwin said. "Perhaps even a friend." His resolve visibly wavered. Over these past months, he had lost every friend he had. Now he longed to regain a pure and flawless bond of affection as a desert longed for sweet rain. "Very well, if you insist, if God is willing to show us mercy..." He looked at Amalric I. "Will you give him holy orders?"

"No holy orders," Amalric I said cheerfully. "Baldwin, he will be your attendant, and perhaps one day your knight and minister as well." He continued as his son's expression shifted from confusion to alarm, then settled on excitement and joy. "I have not abandoned you. Even if you have contracted leprosy, you are still my heir, the future king of Jerusalem." He paused. "Come here."

Baldwin hesitated, then walked over and stopped one step away from Amalric I.

Amalric I reached out and placed both hands on the child's thin shoulders. "Remember one thing, my son. In Jerusalem, even across the entire Arabian Peninsula, apart from God, there is only one person whose words you must obey: mine. No matter what others say, as long as I have not deposed you, abandoned you, or turned a blind eye to you—you need fear nothing, and nothing will change your future."

"May I trust you?"

"As we trust our Father in Heaven."

"Then I will trust you," Baldwin said. He raised his hands and gripped his father's arms as well, resting his head against his chest.

Amalric I quietly held Baldwin close for a while. He was not afraid, nor did he believe Heaven could be so cruel, but he also knew that such chances would grow fewer and fewer in the future. Only when he could delay no longer did he gently stroke Baldwin's forehead. "All right," he said softly. "Now go back to your little companion."

After Amalric I left, the room instead fell into a strange silence. Neither Cesar nor Baldwin was fond of playing with words, and neither knew how to begin a conversation.

Only much later, when they could lay their hearts bare to one another, did Cesar learn that Baldwin still feared seeing eyes filled with fear and disgust.

Even though Cesar had plainly stated that he had come to serve him in repayment of a debt, Baldwin had already witnessed too many clumsy performances of saying one thing and meaning another. And Cesar, at this time, did not know how to face this unfortunate child. Leprosy remained a painful, stubborn affliction even centuries later—let alone for Baldwin...

He was the king's son, Jerusalem's sole heir. Contracting leprosy meant that overnight, heaven and earth had turned upside down, and he had fallen from the clouds straight into the mire.

After quite some time, Baldwin finally stood and walked to the corner of the room. "Can you read a water clock?" He pointed out a complex mechanical device to Cesar. At the monastery, Cesar had already seen many timekeeping instruments: sundials, hourglasses, candle clocks, and water clocks. Water clocks were Saracen creations, but Christians used them as well for their precision and accuracy.

As the only son of the king of Jerusalem, Baldwin naturally lacked for nothing. The water clock in the corner was an inflow type, so at the very top stood a large round-bellied glass vessel. Below it sat a little brass scribe on a balance, holding a quill whose tip pointed to the markings that represented the time. "It is the second watch," Cesar said, roughly between two and three in the morning by modern reckoning.

The moment it was mentioned, Cesar's eyes felt dry and his body went limp. "You sleep in the trundle bed," Baldwin said.

As its name suggested, the trundle bed was a low bed with casters fitted at its four corners, which could be pushed beneath the main bed. Considering that a prince's attendant was also a person of rank, its size and material were no worse than those of the main bed. Its surface was stretched with leather straps, piled with clean rushes and sprinkled with spices.

Since it was still September, no furs had been laid out. There were only linen sheets, though two feather pillows were piled on top. Cesar wrapped himself in the wool cloak Abbot John had given him and hastily said, "May you sleep well," before sinking uncontrollably into sweet black sleep.

Baldwin thought he would surely find sleep difficult that night, but as soon as even breathing reached his ears, he fell asleep at once.

When they woke, sunlight pierced into the room like golden arrows through the gaps between the tapestries and windows. Baldwin was surprised that he had slept so deeply, while Cesar was surprised that a prince's door could be knocked upon with such heavy-handed brutality.

He warily propped himself up from the trundle bed, gripping his dagger.

But Baldwin shook his head. "Servants," he said. "They have come with the morning water." Cesar was about to go over when Baldwin called him back and placed a silver coin in his hand.

Cesar was puzzled, but he took it anyway. When he opened the door, he saw a small man standing on the spiral stairs, four or five steps away. Two enormous copper jugs stood at his feet, and thin steam rose from the narrow mouth of one of them.

The man kept glancing around. Even upon seeing Cesar, he did not approach. He merely opened his palm where he stood. Cesar tossed him the silver coin. The instant it landed in his hand, he sprang away and fled downstairs, more nimble than a weasel.

Baldwin lent Cesar some tooth-cleaning powder. The monks used only plain pumice powder or crushed shell powder, while Baldwin's contained rock salt, dried iris blossoms, mint, and pepper.

When the last of the water was poured into the silver basin, conspicuous gray grit could be seen in it. Cesar frowned, but Baldwin appeared entirely accustomed to it. "The water is clean," he said. "It merely has a little salt added."

After the two had cleaned their faces and teeth, Baldwin took dates from a golden box and shared them with Cesar. Dates were a specialty of the Arabian Peninsula, sweeter than cane sugar and honey, but just right for them. People of this era ate only at noon and in the evening; boys still growing could not endure that.

Baldwin normally used the time after morning prayers for reading, but today he used it to instruct his new attendant on how to dress. Cesar was still wearing the clothes he had left the monastery in: a long linen undergarment, stockings, and a wool robe, with a thin cord serving as a belt.

"As an altar boy from a monastery, there is nothing improper about your clothing. But as a prince's attendant, your appearance will invite much displeasure and mockery. Your build is about the same as mine," Baldwin said. "Only a little more slender. You need only tighten the belt."

He opened a clothes chest and had Cesar put on a dark green heavy satin coat, fasten a leather belt with bronze buckles around his waist, pull on scarlet thin-wool hose, and wear yellow silk gloves. Then he took a pair of short deerskin boots from another chest and removed a short sword from the wall, hanging it from that leather belt.

Finally, he took out a heavy silver cross and had Cesar hang it around his neck.

Cesar had already been handsome and straight-backed. Dressed this way, he was no less impressive than Baldwin, so much so that when Kram, the castle steward, saw him, he thought he was the son of some lord.

Then Kram felt a trace of relief. As castle steward, he was responsible for recruiting and managing all the servants. Amalric I's act of bringing Cesar directly to Baldwin had made him deeply uneasy. Since the attendants he had previously sought out under the king's orders had failed to gain the prince's approval, he could not help worrying that this was a bad omen.

But now it seemed that if the king's standard was this boy, then anyone who accused him of failing to choose servants carefully for the prince would simply be finding fault for the sake of it.

Kram had come under the king's orders to familiarize Cesar with the castle. Amalric I had already given Cesar a brief description of Holy Cross Castle's general layout, but Cesar had to explore and experience the details himself.

Cesar's impression was that rather than an enormous castle, this place was more like a miniature city.

People of later generations always imagined that castles—especially ones like Holy Cross Castle, which served both political and military functions—must be solemn, quiet, and imposing. In truth, fishermen were catching fish in the moat, while the broad stretch between the outer and inner walls had become the domain of merchants. Farther in, people came and went across the dusty square, clamoring without end. Horses and mules snorted leisurely, occasionally spreading their legs to relieve themselves wherever they pleased.

Sparks flew in the open-air ironworking shop. Black slagstones stood beside the pillars like signboards. Several weapons and suits of chain mail lay on long tables, finished goods and samples for viewing alike. The blacksmith and his apprentices worked with all their strength while haggling with knights and squires.

In a tent nearby, two leather merchants played chess with casual indifference, letting several attendants circle around richly decorated saddles—attendants did not even have horses of their own, so naturally they were not the customers the merchants hoped for.

A Templar in a white surcoat embroidered with a red cross and a Hospitaller in a black surcoat embroidered with a white cross stood like two bulls not far away, arguing over ownership of a handsome Gallic horse. In the end, they decided to go to a small open space in the shadow of the wall and let knives and swords decide who would own the fine horse.

The duel between the two knights drew a large crowd. Kram watched with great enjoyment until the very end before contentedly releasing the guards, who had long been watching like tigers eyeing prey, clubs in hand. They gave the servants—regardless of why they had appeared there—a thorough beating to punish their laziness and neglect of duty. Half genuinely and half theatrically, the beaten servants wailed as they ran back to their workplaces—the washhouse, kitchen, stables, slaughterhouse, and weaving workshop—complaining as they resumed work amid their companions' laughter and spittle.

Every tower had a cistern in its basement, but those were for emergencies when the defenders had to hold the towers after enemies breached the castle. The drinking and washing water for the castle's several hundred people and its livestock still depended on the washhouse. It reminded Cesar of factories from later ages: vast and tall, and somewhat chilly because of the great stone-and-brick reservoir within.

Water from the Jordan River was diverted separately into the moat and underground channels. After the channel water entered the reservoir, it underwent purification three times or more. The people here appeared more orderly than those elsewhere, since this could be considered a military stronghold.

Beside the washhouse stood three huge bread ovens blazing with fire. Their flames were rarely extinguished—they had to provide enough bread for hundreds, even thousands, of people. The kitchen beside them was as high and broad as the washhouse, dimly lit, with a strong smell of seawater hanging in the air—salty and fishy.

At the center of the building stood a ponderous wooden table so large that a knight could gallop a horse across it. Opposite the stoves ran a water channel. More than a hundred brass pots of varying sizes hung from the walls, while baskets held large ladles, shovels, all kinds of cutting tools, and weighing instruments.

Everyone here was busy processing the game brought back from yesterday's hunt, lest it spoil in the hot weather. Whether birds or beasts, they had to be stripped of fur, hide, and feathers, then salted or smoked so they could be kept longer.