"Suppose, back then," Cesar asked, "I hadn't directly killed those servants who meant me harm, but had appealed to you instead, or run away..."
Baldwin closed his book and considered the hypothetical as Cesar had asked.
"Well," he said hesitantly, "perhaps you would have been sent away." He added, "I know you are a merciful person, but if you are not merely merciful, but also indecisive, then you are not suited to living in Jerusalem. You would die. Even for your own good, we would have to send you far away."
It was an answer Cesar could have anticipated. His heart remained perfectly calm. "And you?"
"Me?" Baldwin laughed soundlessly. "Not long before you came here, I was still healthy. My ninth birthday had only just passed when, under the supervision of my father and teacher, I executed a vile thief."
"He came from Lower Lorraine and was a viscount," he continued. "For that reason, my father allowed him to build a castle on a small fief near Jaffa. At the time, he generously promised that every pilgrim passing through would find safety, warmth, and free food and water in his castle."
Afterward, he seemed to have kept his promise faithfully. Group after group of pilgrims entered his little castle, rested for a night, then departed brimming with vigor. Full of gratitude toward its master, they swore to pray for him before Christ's tomb.
In truth, many did leave—but some remained there forever.
He was a cunning hunter. Pilgrims, after all, usually traveled in groups, with a village, a parish, or even an entire city acting as a single unit. Wealthier pilgrims would ask a lord to send knights as paid escorts, or hire mercenaries.
But there were also naïve believers who thought that, since the king had decreed the