Chosen

Cesar's guess had been correct. Amalric I, and even Baldwin, had unanimously praised what he had done. Baldwin gave him a Damascus scimitar as consolation and recompense, while Amalric I's reward came in two parts.

The first was permission for him to complete the "oath-taking ceremony."

The oath-taking ceremony had originally existed only between vassals and their liege lords, but kings later extended it to every subject under their rule. Every subject had to swear before an envoy that they would be loyal to the king and his heirs. Before the ceremony, Heraclius also baptized Cesar—secretly, of course, solely to ensure his status as a Christian. Once the baptism was complete, Cesar kissed the cross, placed his hand upon the Bible, and said,

"I hereby swear that from this day forth, I shall be loyal to my king, Amalric I, the most devout king, Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, son of King Fulk V and Queen Melisende of Jerusalem.

"In my relationship with him, my heart shall be pure and my conduct free of deceit and malice. For the honor of the kingdom, I shall fulfill, as the law requires, all that a man ought to do for his king. May God aid me; may the Holy Land aid me."

Originally, such an oath required only the king's envoy as witness. Yet at Amalric I's command, Bohemond, Prince of Antioch; Raymond, Count of Tripoli; Aug. de Barlebin, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller; and Philip de Milly, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, were all listed among the witnesses. The display was so grand that one might have thought they were witnessing the oath of a prince's son. Of them all, Raymond, Count of Tripoli, wore the ugliest expression.

The moment the ceremony ended, he hurried after the king as though he wished to say something, only to turn back in frustration soon after. Seeing him like this, Bohemond burst out laughing and hooked an arm through his. "You know our friend can be very stubborn at times," he said. "Indulge him once in a while. After all..." He tilted his head toward the left tower. "No good news has come back from Rome."

"Those pigs!" Raymond cursed, then frowned impatiently. "What's all that noise outside?!"

"A few servants who dared murder the prince's attendant are to be hanged," a retainer answered. He was standing on tiptoe, eagerly peering out through the corridor window.

Raymond gave a soft snort. "A pack of useless things!" He refused Bohemond's invitation to watch the criminals be hanged and left alone.

Once he was gone, Bohemond's smile vanished as well. "...You're not all that useful yourself, Raymond," he murmured. The attendants nearby immediately lowered their heads.

This was the second gift Amalric I had given Cesar.

To be honest, even knowing that these people about to be hanged had either participated in or known of the attempt on his life, Cesar still had no enthusiasm for watching others die. Yet everyone around him—from the castle steward to the attendants, from the attendants to the knightly retainers, from the retainers down to the lowest grooms and washerwomen—seemed intensely interested and impatient.

Before noon, the area around the gallows in the square was already packed with people.

Cesar was even fortunate enough to watch alongside Prince Baldwin from the battlements of the defensive tower, rather than being crushed amid the sweltering, noisy, stinking crowd below. Yet Cesar found little comfort in this—the tower was precisely the one where Witt and the others had laid their trap. He did not know whether the castle steward had deliberately arranged it to distance himself from Witt, or whether it was merely contempt and mockery aimed at the weak.

The reversal of prey and hunter had indeed set the spectators laughing again and again, especially when the prisoners were led out like cattle and sheep, then noosed and hanged.

"If you had fallen that day," Baldwin suddenly said, "they would have laughed just as merrily."

"If I had died, would they still have received the same punishment?"

"Probably not." Baldwin looked down at the crowd in the square and spoke slowly. "Before becoming my attendant, you were only a slave—at most, a commoner. These people, meanwhile, were selected by my father from Jerusalem and the surrounding lands after it was confirmed that I had contracted leprosy.

"They were either the unfavored younger sons of lords, wandering knights who had lost their lands, bastards, or legitimate children who were not acknowledged—Witt, for instance.

"His father had formally married an Isaac woman, but that marriage was recognized neither by canon law nor by customary law. Later, Witt's father died on the battlefield, his mother remarried, and he survived by relying on his uncle by blood. Even so, people would still believe him rather than a dead man."

A noose was slipped over a neck. Its end was handed to a retainer, who tied it to his saddle. Then, with a crisp flick of his whip, the horse bolted forward. The servant sprang high from the ground as if flung upward, then crashed heavily down. His neck snapped at once, his head lolling to one side, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

"You did very well, Cesar," Baldwin said. "Don't be too upset. They deserved what they got." When Cesar looked at him in surprise, Baldwin smiled faintly. "What is there to be surprised about? Though we have spent less than a week together, some things can be seen without knowing each other deeply."

He comforted him, "Your choice was the right one. You were neither hesitant nor rash. Your decisiveness and sharpness were enough to make my father willing to vouch for you. Only then could you truly become my attendant."

"Ah..." Baldwin suddenly said. "Look, it's Witt."

Witt was the last to be led beneath the gallows. Before, Cesar had thought him like a cunning weasel or a skunk. He still did, except now he no longer resembled a living animal, but rather its pelt. In a single night, he had shriveled completely, collapsing into a bundle. But that did not mean he had accepted his fate. He shouted and screamed all the way there, loud enough for even Cesar and Baldwin on the battlements to hear.

He complained, begged for mercy, cursed, pleaded for a pardon, declared that he was a count's bastard, a duke's bastard, an archbishop's bastard... His shouting was not only useless but drew ridicule. The soldiers carrying out the sentence found him noisy and irritating, and the noose was put around his neck even faster than before. The retainer lazily flicked his whip, and the horse ran...

Everyone thought this farce was about to end. The two on the battlements had already looked away, but they did not hear cheers. After a brief silence, the crowd instead let out even louder cries of shock.

"What is that?" Cesar asked. Unconsciously, he moved closer to the parapet. He saw a pale white light suddenly burst from Witt's body—the small man's feet stamped desperately against the ground, both hands wedged between his neck and the noose. In that awkward position, he somehow held fast against the explosive pull of the horse—the rope stretched taut, then snapped. Witt flew forward and fell, and the light around him vanished.

Beside him, Baldwin wore an expression of surprise rarely seen on his face. "How could someone like that be chosen?" he cried involuntarily.

"How could someone like that be chosen?" Amalric I said.

"Who can judge in place of the Holy Spirit?" Heraclius shook his head. "Those chosen in the past were not all saints either, Your Majesty. It is only a matter of granting him holy orders. It is of no consequence."

"I am worried that someone may use this to stir up trouble," Amalric I said. "The one he wanted to kill before was Cesar."

"Then we shall send him to a monastery as soon as possible. Anyone chosen by Raphael must become a monk. I will have John keep watch over him."

"That is not enough," Amalric I said. "I wish to hold Baldwin's 'Selection' ceremony ahead of schedule."

"But Baldwin has no one beside him now..." Heraclius was truly somewhat startled. "Do you wish that child to become Baldwin's brother?"

"I said I would treat him as I would a prince's son," Amalric I explained. "He remembers nothing of the past, and naturally does not remember his age or birthday. But I had monks examine his teeth and bones. He is either nine or ten years old, just right to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre together with Baldwin."

He drew a deep breath. Baldwin should originally have entered the Church of the Holy Sepulchre surrounded by the sons of noblemen. Beneath God's gaze, the chosen would become brothers though not of the same blood, loving and respecting one another as monks in the same monastery did. But now, that was impossible.

No lord's or minister's son would be willing to become brothers with a leper.

"It is September now." Heraclius waited for a moment. He ought to refuse, but today they had received the Holy Land Patriarch's reply—like Rome, Jerusalem's religious leader had refused to hold the "absolution ceremony" for Prince Baldwin unless Amalric I agreed to yield and allow the Patriarch's influence to penetrate further into Jerusalem.

"Little Baldwin's name day is on the Feast of the Presentation, February second. Normally, children complete the 'Selection ceremony' between the ages of ten and fourteen... but advancing it by a month or two should not be a problem. How do you wish to arrange it?"

"The location will naturally still be the Church of the Holy Sepulchre." Amalric I accepted the goodwill of his friend and subordinate. "Some have suggested changing it to the Temple, but as you know, it was once a Saracen shrine. I do not think that would be appropriate." He rubbed the ring on his hand. "Heraclius, whose hand do you think will choose him?"

"Michael's, Your Majesty," Heraclius said. "He will become a strong and wise knight, a perfect ruler, just like you."

"I would rather it were Raphael," Amalric I said slowly, as if he could already see that moment. "If he becomes a cleric, he will be able to heal himself."

Heraclius fell silent for a while. He did not remind Amalric I that even if one was chosen and became a cleric capable of sensing the Holy Spirit, one still needed favor far beyond that of ordinary people to heal leprosy. Such clerics were as rare as gold in the sand, and nearly all of them had been gathered in by the Church. Otherwise, how could the Patriarch of the Holy Land and the Pope of Rome be so arrogant and overbearing?

"As long as he is chosen," he said, "the disease's encroachment can be slowed. We will have more time to seek a way to heal little Baldwin, Your Majesty. You are the master of Jerusalem, the guardian of the Holy Sepulchre. God will not be so cruel to you."

"God once gave Abraham such a trial as well," Amalric I murmured. "Unfortunately, I am not a saint. I am destined to fail this test." He could not do it. He could not easily abandon his only son. The king allowed himself a rare moment of despondency, then forced himself to rally again. "Once you have settled on a date, come tell me."

"He was chosen." After returning to the room, Baldwin said, "What? No one told you in the monastery?"

"Perhaps they thought I ought to know," Cesar said. "But I truly did not." He remembered now. When he had still been unable to move, several monks with familiar faces often came to see him, holding his hand and touching his forehead. Sometimes he saw light, but how could he have imagined that it was an extraordinary power beyond worldly reason?

"Put it this way," Baldwin said. "Some people are chosen, Cesar."

There were two kinds of chosen people. One kind was considered chosen by Michael—the archangel, guardian of Eden, vice-regent of Heaven, lord of light. Like him, they were the finest and strongest challengers, guards appointed by God, leaders of the spirits of holy light. They usually possessed wisdom and strength beyond anyone's reach: devout and pure, fervent and trustworthy, noble in character, brave and fearless...

"Of course, that is only what people say." Baldwin made Cesar laugh. "Those who are chosen usually become knights, and almost all of them are descended from knights. There may be the occasional descendant of hunters or craftsmen, but not many." Baldwin continued, "The other kind are considered chosen by Raphael. Do you know Raphael?"

"I do. The kindest of the seven archangels, who performs every miracle of healing."

"The ruling angel of the second day, lord of the Powers, guardian of the Tree of Life in Eden," Baldwin said. "All those chosen by him become monks. They can heal every illness and wound, unless God does not permit it."

Cesar immediately caught a subtle difference. "All become monks?"

"Mhm." Baldwin said, "If someone does not admit that they were chosen by Raphael, then they must be a servant of the Devil."

"But you just said that those chosen by Michael do not necessarily all become knights."

"The Church has taken in some of those people," Baldwin said. "Some of the priests in the Knights Templar and the Knights Hospitaller were chosen by Michael. They are not responsible for treating the wounded, only for fighting." At this point, a shadow crossed Baldwin's eyes, but he did not continue explaining.

"Then does that mean Witt was chosen by Raphael?" Cesar did not notice the trace of sarcasm and doubt in his own voice.

Baldwin raised a finger to his lips, ending the conversation.