"Cesar!"
"Coming!" Cesar ran across the sand carrying a huge pile of heavy wolf pelts. On the way, he happened to meet Baldwin, who was holding a large silver tray piled with meat pies. The two friends only had time to exchange a glance before hurrying past each other—if they moved too slowly and drew Amalric I's displeasure, they would truly be beaten with sticks.
This stick was much thicker than the ones used in lessons, and much heavier too.
Cesar had only been struck once before he stopped delicately imagining it as a necessary trial for leaving childhood behind. He wanted to go back to being a child!
He handed the wolf pelts to an attendant. Another attendant brought over two large jugs of wine, and Cesar struggled to carry them to Amalric I's tent. Baldwin happened to be coming out. "Did you bring the cups?" the prince asked quietly.
"I did." Cesar cinched his belt tightly. That helped him keep an upright posture, eased some of the torment the chain mail inflicted on his spine, and gave him somewhere to tuck things beneath his sleeveless surcoat—such as Amalric I's gold goblet and the silver cups for entertaining guests.
There was every chance Amalric I would generously gift those silver cups to his visitors—as long as they were equally generous, allowing the king to levy peasants and craftsmen from their villages and towns, and, if possible, provide a few knights as well.
When Cesar had collected those valuable vessels from the castle steward, he had even signed for them. He had carefully read the entry in the register too. He now had savings of nearly two hundred gold coins, but if he lost a cup, he would not only have to compensate for it—he would also be beaten and