Chapter 102: Funeral and Wedding (Part Two) (Collection 14,000+)

Among the noblewomen present, some, like Damara, immediately showed delight; others wore expressions of displeasure—because they too had a brother or lover who hoped to take Cesar’s current position; still others stole glances at Princess Sibylla, for indeed, Sibylla was over ten years older than the young Princess Isabella, and now she was like a tree in full bloom, her ovary swollen, waiting only to bear fruit…

But who could blame her when her husband was Abigail of Antioch? To tell a hellish joke, not even Baldwin, nor the other vassals and generals of the Holy Land, nor even Princess Sibylla herself held Abigail in esteem; it was precisely because she had looked down on this youth too much that he had done something nearly irreparable, provoking Bohemond into a rage and having Abigail sent back to Antioch—“in chains like a criminal,” as one knight put it.

Many had witnessed this scene firsthand; one could say that if Bohemond had a second son, he would have killed Abigail—had Abigail used such a scheme against the Saracens, or for the sake of national or personal grudges and interests, people would merely call him cunning and treacherous, like his father Bohemond, and say no more—but if it was for a woman…

Though knights proclaim their love for their lady and even claim they would die for her, all know this is merely an excuse to boast their strength; without noblewomen, they could just as easily fight to the death over which goat’s wool was shinier… A man who truly defied the sacred right of hospitality for the sake of lust, nearly causing two kings to fall out, would earn only their sneers.

The only person who seemed truly pleased by this marriage was Abigail.

If it were possible, Princess Sibylla would surely have sent Abigail to Baldwin’s side—after all, Abigail had once been Baldwin’s squire—but Baldwin’s attitude made it clear that, now and for a long time to come, no one could be compared to Cesar—and whether it would be Sibylla’s son or Isabella’s son who inherited the throne, Baldwin’s opinion would carry immense weight.

No, perhaps by then, the Knights of Bethlehem might also hold a crucial vote.

Princess Sibylla knew her unease also stemmed from another terrible past—that she had once proposed to Baldwin that she would engineer an accident to create for Cesar a flaw so irreparable and intolerable that he would lose his heart to pride, and perhaps even dare to rise above his master…

Though Baldwin rejected her proposal, ever since, whenever Princess Sibylla saw Cesar, she wondered whether Baldwin had told him about it; she told herself he hadn’t—Baldwin loved her deeply—yet she feared he might have carelessly spoken, or that someone had overheard their conversation and told Cesar.

Cesar’s attitude toward her had always been unchanged; he did not know of this matter—Baldwin truly loved his sister Sibylla, and even to his closest friend, he had kept silent. He feared they might develop a rift from this misunderstanding, one that could never be healed.

But we already know what kind of person Sibylla was—such a person sees others as exactly like herself.

Her resentment and fear rose step by step with Cesar’s growing importance—he became Baldwin’s servant, then his squire, then a student of Archbishop Heraclius, then joined Baldwin in the Selection Ceremony, and later forged a mutual covenant.

Though Cesar’s enemies still cursed him as a slave of the Ismaelites, they could not deny that his future was bright, smooth, and plainly visible: Baldwin had now received God’s blessing; even if he died before thirty, he would still have nearly fifteen years of rule, and during those fifteen years, he would surely bestow power, wealth, and honor upon the one he trusted most, placing him at his side to receive the people’s obeisance.

Who else could that man be?

Surely not those who, upon hearing of his illness, immediately abandoned him without a backward glance—David, Abigail, and the rest?

Princess Sibylla also knew that after Baldwin received God’s blessing, the King had asked whether he needed new squires—but Baldwin refused them all; he needed only Cesar.

Heaven knows how many had hoped Cesar would make some mistake, anger Baldwin or the King, and fall from the heights into the mud—but sadly, they were all disappointed; some had even reluctantly admitted that perhaps Cesar’s origins were not so low after all.

They simply could not imagine that the son of a craftsman or peasant could accomplish so much that they themselves could not.

Not to mention Cesar’s excellent reputation among knights, the clergy and monks of Arasal, and the pilgrims—they liked him, and their affection was more terrifying than their reverence.

But for Princess Sibylla, the better Cesar became, the worse she felt; she had exerted great effort to keep herself from uttering any venomous words.

But as soon as Baldwin and Cesar took their leave, she rose as well, coldly bidding farewell to her stepmother—without so much as glancing at her own mother, she returned to her chambers.

Back in her room, Sibylla immediately summoned a maid: “Abigail will arrive at the Holy Cross Fortress today. Send two attendants to meet him and bring him straight to my chamber.” The maid hesitated—such conduct was hardly dignified—but Princess Sibylla merely waved her hand in annoyance; she did not wish to meet Abigail so urgently either.

But she could imagine how delighted and smug that fool Abigail would be upon hearing he was to marry her—and at such a solemn and critical moment, if he showed any sign of it, or uttered something like “Wonderful!” Baldwin would never forgive him.

One must admit Princess Sibylla understood Abigail well—yet unfortunately, the attendants she sent failed to intercept him; he had already fought with several knights at the drawbridge and was dragged before Baldwin.

Baldwin pressed his temple—this gesture his father often made; he had once been puzzled by it, but now he understood the feeling: irritation, nausea, and above all, fury.

He recognized these two knights—they had just left his presence, carrying his rewards.

It was Cesar who had suggested granting rewards to those knights who had mourned the King.

At that time, Baldwin had been dazed, consumed by grief and tears, with no attention for anything outside; but Cesar had seen clearly how those knights had ridden in, cast their precious offerings before the King’s coffin, slashed their faces and arms in mourning.

So when the army returned to Gaza-Lafa, Cesar reminded Baldwin: Do not forget these worthy men.

Baldwin, hearing him, felt a pang of regret. As we said before, most knights who joined the Crusade sought honor, wealth, perhaps even land; now land was out of the question, and they could not return empty-handed. After all, they were mostly second or youngest sons, like Longinus.

Their families could no longer support or assist them; they had to fight, wander, and find their own path.

The Crusade was for them an immense gamble: win, and their descendants would remain knights, not fall from their class, perhaps even rise higher—to become generals or ministers of the King.

But if they returned home with nothing, to survive they would have to bow their heads and beg their elder brother or his son for a steward’s post.

But do not think becoming a steward guarantees safety; unless they had no heirs. If they did, then when their brother’s son had several sons of his own, they would sink further—to become village artisans, and even artisans might not hold their position long.

If their descendants failed to find opportunity—to join a lord’s army or become monks—they might become the most ordinary tenant farmers.

Do you think tenant farmers are the lowest class? No—they could be raided, sold, and after generations, descend from noble lineage into nameless serfs.

Such things were rare, but they had happened.

Or perhaps in their own generation, driven to desperation, they became bandits, lost their knightly status, and were hanged from a tree. That might even be a better path—at least they wouldn’t have to watch their descendants suffer.

Yet when these knights came with pure hearts to mourn the King, they unhesitatingly threw their most precious possessions onto the ground, buried them in dust, never considering what they would do upon returning home?

They might gain favor from local lords and nobles for this act, or even receive a letter of recommendation from someone moved by their loyalty—but in the end, they had lost a vital asset for Amalric I.

Cesar did not know how people acted at this time.

But since Heraclius had said: If a master accepts a guest’s gift, he must return something more precious, Baldwin should not neglect these loyal and devout knights by letting them return empty-handed.

Baldwin immediately recognized his oversight; at Gaza-Lafa, he gathered all the knights who had mourned his father. He patiently asked each what precious item they had offered in mourning the King, then repaid them double the value.

For wounded knights, he added a separate sum to help them seek healing from priests.

Thus, at Gaza-Lafa alone, he received over five hundred knights, and two hundred more who followed him to Arasal; later, upon hearing the tragic news, even more came to pay their respects—until the number reached over two thousand.

Raymond initially disapproved—of course, such conduct was admirable, befitting a king’s dignity.

But the expense was staggering; though the treasury of Arasal was not empty thanks to the spoils and gifts from Fustat and Bilbays (from the Saracens), this sum alone could fund an entire army.

Baldwin’s inquiry completely surprised these knights; they knew Baldwin, of course—he was a youth like King David, with a squire like Saint John—but he was still only fourteen.

Yet he had not drowned himself in grief and rage; instead, in his profound sorrow, he remembered them.

The knights understood Baldwin’s kindness; having experienced this, having witnessed a saint depart, and now receiving this wealth, they would no longer suffer their former hardships upon returning home.

Immediately, some knights knelt and swore that though their loyalty belonged to another lord, once they fulfilled their duty to him, whenever Baldwin summoned them, they would don their chainmail, seize their lances, and ride day and night without hesitation.

These two knights were among those who had sworn to Baldwin—he was their second lord—and while waiting for the drawbridge to open, they heard someone nearby speaking vilely, insulting the dead King and Prince Baldwin, and immediately fought him, dragging him before Baldwin.

“Send for Bohemond,” Baldwin said.

(End of Chapter)