Encounter (Part 2)

Chapter 50: Encounter (Part 2)

"Leave? Now?" the attendant asked in astonishment.

He should not have contradicted his master like this, but one had to know that his master had previously ignored everyone's objections and insisted on coming to Jerusalem at this most dangerous moment, all to meet Prince Baldwin, Amalric I's heir.

The fickleness of fate was displayed most vividly in this child.

A few months ago, he had been diagnosed with leprosy. When the news arrived, the Caliph's court had erupted in celebration. Everyone beamed, saying this was the thunderous wrath Allah had visited upon the Christians. No one thought well of the child's future. They believed that even if he did not die, he could only drag out the rest of his days in a monastery.

They were soon disappointed. Amalric I had actually withstood pressure from the Church and insisted on holding a "Choosing Ceremony" for his son.

Prince Baldwin had not disappointed his expectations either. Not only had he sensed Saint George during the "Choosing Ceremony"—a saint whom almost only wise kings could sense—but he had also manifested Saint George's spear for three full days and nights. Tens of thousands of people had witnessed this miracle.

With the deliberate fanning of the flames by interested parties, this miracle spread without legs like a bird grown wings. It not only reached every Christian nation, but also traveled into the ears of their enemies.

The Caliph's court fell silent. Laughter and merriment vanished, and even the bright tiles and curtains seemed to have lost their color. Hearts wavered, and everyone was anxious and unsettled—they feared that with such a son, one who had not only received a blessing but manifested a miracle, Amalric I would be able to gather more knights, raise more funds, and gain more support.

Perhaps within three to five years, he would launch another attack on Egypt.

Several ministers suggested to the Caliph that new taxes should be added, or taxes levied twice, and that these funds should then be gathered and handed to Amalric I as repayment for the previous debt.

If possible, they further suggested, perhaps they could even ask Amalric I to send troops to drive the Saracens out of Egypt.

They thought this conversation secret, never realizing that before the ministers had even left the Caliph's palace, every word had been copied down and swiftly delivered into the hands of the Saracens they despised and hated.

When Shirkuh, the Kurd sent to Cairo by Sultan Nur ad-Din of Zengi, received this secret letter, he did not know what to say for a time.

He handed the letter to his nephew—the willful master of this attendant—and after reading it, the young man too was left speechless.

What did the Caliph's court take them for? What did they take Amalric I for? Did they think that by promising a little money, they could order them about as they pleased? They were Sultan Nur ad-Din's proud, battle-hardened troops, not wandering knights like dogs that had lost their homes.

Yet the "leprous prince favored by Saint George" that the letter so fervently described had indeed caught his master's interest.

"You do not intend to meet that prince?"

"I have already met him."

"Ah?" The attendant could not help crying out. He quickly shut his mouth again and began replaying everything that had happened over the past few days. They had only been in Jerusalem for a day or two. The people they had met were either sturdy knights, fat merchants, ragged and exhausted pilgrims, or the Saracens' nails planted in this holy city.

Prince Baldwin was only nine years old. They did not seem to have met any child so young.

"Wait, those three children were not Byzantines?"

"I told you long ago that they were not Byzantines." His master took a silver ring from a leather pouch and put it on, replacing the previous one. He had once been to Constantinople, where he had spent several months disguised as a Saracen merchant within that colossal beast surviving by sucking the remaining blood of an ancient empire.

Everyone praised Byzantium for inheriting Rome's greatness and glory, but all he had seen was bloat and rigidity.

The Byzantine emperor was greedy by nature. He always wanted to clench everything tightly in his hands and demand that the entire empire function and advance according to his will. To that end, he appointed countless officials to manage and control every region for him. Yet the common failing of rulers—suspicion—also made it difficult for him to trust them. Thus, he deliberately indulged them in crushing one another and framing each other, while he, as the sole and unique arbiter, sat safely upon his throne and allotted each person's fate.

The consequences of this practice were plain to the naked eye: officials were slack, the army exhausted, the people unable to live, religious conflict never ceased, and uprisings broke out everywhere.

Even if Manuel I could be called a decisive and wise monarch, that cart burdened to its limit could not escape its fate of plunging into the abyss. It was only a matter of sooner or later. It could still hold on now only because it still possessed a huge shell, just as hunters hesitated upon encountering a bird puffing up its feathers. Everyone was waiting for someone to rush forward and tear off the first piece of flesh...

Those three children wore Byzantine clothing. He often saw such loose garments in Cairo; they too had been inherited from the ancient Roman Empire. But in the days of the ancient Roman Empire, people had never covered them in jewels or embroidered them full of gold and silver thread. Simple folds and lines had been enough to reveal the strength and ease of that nation and its people.

But today's Byzantines had turned what was once clean, soft cloth into a glittering shackle.

Those Byzantine royals, whether elders or young children, could only be called prisoners within those shackles. They were numb and lifeless, with nothing but vigilance in their eyes, swords in their hands, and greed and desire filling their hearts.

Yet the children he had seen were gentle, full of life, and brimming with hope. Even knowing they were the offspring of enemies, he could not help voicing sincere praise.

"Was it that child? I said it—he truly was a prince."

"You mean the green-eyed child? No." His master smiled. "He is not the prince. The one beside him in orange-red clothes is. He is merely one of the prince's attendants."

"How is that possible?"

"Why would it not be? At least in this regard, Prince Baldwin is a broad-minded man."

How many people grew jealous because others surpassed them, especially those of lofty status who were unworthy of their position?

Like their Caliph.

Al-Adid, the same age as Prince Baldwin and his attendant.

When those ministers had suggested bringing in Amalric I, that tiger, to drive out the wolves entrenched in Egypt—the Saracens—the Caliph had not explicitly agreed, but he had remained silent.

He had also often seen how the Caliph looked at him. It was an ominous gaze. Even though he and his uncle had come to Egypt at Sultan Nur ad-Din's command to drive away those Christians for him, the Caliph still felt deep jealousy whenever people praised him, obeyed him, and supported him.

If possible, what the Caliph wanted might not be mere expulsion. He would rather twist a bowstring around his neck and snap it, or personally drive a dagger into his chest and tear out his heart.

"Then why did you not speak with Prince Baldwin again?" Although his attendant had not followed him over—after all, a Saracen merchant speaking with a Byzantine might have been conducting business, or perhaps merely approaching because he found the man's face beautiful, but one more person would have drawn the knights' attention.

Yet his master had left before Prince Baldwin came out of the tent. Had he not come for the prince?

"A lion does not walk shoulder to shoulder with hyenas. The best way to understand a person is to look at those around him, not at the person himself. A man can disguise himself, but his friends cannot. You might say he was deceived by his friends, but if one person is close to another, he cannot know nothing about him. Otherwise, he is simply a fool.

"And if a man of noble character discovers that his friend is a filthy wretch, he will certainly stay far away from him—for only maggots crowd together and roll in a pit of dung."

As he spoke, the attendant also thought of the ministers in the Caliph's court, and of their Caliph.

"I remember now. They said the prince's attendant also received a blessing, and it was a shield. They all said this attendant was born for the prince."

The attendant spoke, and his master gave a meaningful smile. "Who was born for whom is still hard to say."

Were there merciful people? Yes, quite a few. Were there cruel people? Yes, even more. But those who could retain a clear-eyed streak of cruelty while being merciful were rare; and those who could preserve the final bottom line of mercy amid cruel contests were as rare as pearls in the desert.

Only compared to Prince Baldwin, this child's starting point was low beyond measure. The road ahead would surely be even harder. No matter how twisted he became or how far he fell in the future, he would not be surprised.

Yet he still held an extravagant hope in his heart...

This Saracen from Egypt was swift both in making decisions and taking action. After telling his attendant they were leaving, they boarded an Egyptian merchant ship that very night. There, they unexpectedly caught sight of several familiar yet unpleasant faces.

They were overseeing slaves carrying cargo. One wooden crate was especially large, more than a man tall and two men wide. Dull snoring sounds continuously came from inside it.

This dock used a treadwheel crane. Simply put, it resembled a huge wooden hamster wheel, about fifteen feet in diameter. Slaves walked the treads within it like hamsters, turning the wheel connected to pulleys and thereby hauling heavy cargo. It was said such a crane could lift as much as twelve thousand pounds. The ancient Egyptians had used it to build the tombs of pharaohs, and the ancient Romans to build temples for their gods.

But such cranes had a flaw: they collapsed easily. Once one fell, the slaves inside would be dead or injured, and the cargo would also be damaged.

Those men clearly knew this as well. They were extremely nervous—about the cargo, of course. They shouted and screamed, threatening the slaves that if they damaged the crate, every one of them would be thrown into the sea.

In that taut atmosphere, the largest crate was lifted unsteadily from the deck and pushed out into the air. The slaves inside the wheel strained with bulging muscles, drenched in sweat, and slowly began walking in the opposite direction—lowering cargo was more dangerous than lifting it. A snapped rope, a slipping crate, a sudden gale—any one of these could throw the crane off balance. Then they would lose their lives at once, without even needing their employers to raise a whip.

When the cargo was still fourteen or fifteen feet above the ground, several dozen more slaves seized the ropes hanging from the crate and pulled with all their strength in every direction. Even so, when the crate struck the ground, it gave off a tremendous boom, and the earth itself trembled.

"What is that?"

The sudden voice startled the man shouting the loudest. He immediately drew the curved sword at his waist and warily turned toward the source of the voice—a Saracen in a black robe stepped out.

"So it is you." The man unconsciously took a step back, then after thinking for a moment, took one forward again. "This is a wedding gift from Caliph al-Adid to Amalric I, King of Jerusalem, and his bride, the Byzantine princess Mary Komnenos."

"What kind of wedding gift smells of wild beasts?"

"That is not something you should ask about or know." The other man spoke rudely, but under the Saracen's glance, he still lowered his head instinctively and bowed deeply. "Please do not make things difficult for me, my lord. If I tell you, the Grand Vizier Shawar will tear both me and my family apart."

The gift Prince Baldwin brought back did indeed earn the Countess of Jaffa's wholehearted delight, loud exclamations, and many hugs.

But when the countess saw the divination result, she was somewhat confused, for it said she would have two sons. Her first son would bring her glory, while the glory her second son brought would be even greater.

Confused, she touched her belly. Amalric I was only in his thirties this year, and she was younger than Amalric I. At her age, she could still bear sons. But her husband had died not long ago. Was this prophecy telling her to find a husband quickly and then bear a second son?

Yet she hesitated. Amalric I was still strong and vigorous, while his bride was only fifteen. Once the two were joined, they might soon have a child.

If that child was a boy, nearly everything Baldwin possessed now would be transferred to him. After all, Baldwin's illness could not be cured, which meant he did not have a long future. Who would invest in an asset doomed to lose everything in a short time?

She worried that if she had a younger son, she would transfer part of her love for Baldwin, her eldest son, onto him. Baldwin already had so little. She did not want to take away the portion that should have belonged to him.

Moreover, the prophecy said that her second son would bring her greater glory. Baldwin would one day be King of Jerusalem, so how could her younger son be more glorious? By inheriting Baldwin's throne... or...

But Baldwin did not care at all about what the prophecy said. He had been worrying that he might not even outlive his mother. When he was gone, who would protect her? If his mother could have another son, and that son could achieve greater deeds than he did, then he would no longer need to worry.

But he could see that the countess was not in high spirits, so to distract her, he said, "You probably do not yet know Damara and Cesar's divination results, do you?"