Chapter 117: Patrol

“We’ll return before the Feast of Saint Jude (October 28),” Raymond said.

Within a year of Amalric I’s death, the Crusaders had settled their most urgent task through several meetings—they must remove the greatest thorn on the Christian pilgrimage route: the Armenian prince Mlei.

Had Amalric I not yet passed away, no matter his stance in council, the Crusader commander would have been him alone; but now the King of Jerusalem was a fourteen-year-old boy, brave in battle and favored by fortune, yet the older knights still hesitated when they saw his delicate face.

On a battlefield where moments turn to disaster, if a commander lacks his men’s trust, even a moment’s hesitation can bring ruin—after careful deliberation, he decided that in this campaign, he would serve as the king’s proxy and assume this vital duty, with Oger de Barlaim, Grand Master of the Hospitallers, as his deputy, while Philip de Milly, Grand Master of the Templars, and Bohemond would remain in Shengcheng.

This arrangement made Bohemond roll his eyes, but Raymond argued firmly: compared to Mlei, the conflict between his son Abigail and Princess Sibylla was what he ought to care about more—already, the princess had refused to share Abigail’s bed, and then, at the joust, she had publicly demanded the king Baldwin IV hand over his knight, sending Abigail into a rage.

Most galling of all, Abigail had once challenged knights who admired the princess; now, he uttered not a word.

Before leaving—yes, Raymond had kept Baldwin in Yalasalu and left Cesar immobilized, but he had taken David and several other young knights with him—David and the others had bitterly complained during their gathering, fueled by wine: after all, Abigail had always been with them, and now noblewomen had half-jokingly asked, was this coward an isolated case… or were there many like him?

They had to swear one by one, vowing to bring back three Turkic Seljuk braids from the battlefield and lay them at their feet—only then would these women, whom they loved and hated, deign to lift their hands and spare them for a while.

“Because he knows even if Cesar doesn’t kill him, he’ll beat him soundly,” William said, then glanced unconsciously at David, who shrugged indifferently; though he hung his head in shame before his father, among his peers he could honestly admit he was no match for Cesar.

“What’s wrong with Abigail?” muttered another young knight. “He wasn’t always so insufferable.”

“He loves Sibylla too much.”

“Who wouldn’t love her?” Guy said. She was the most exquisite dream of their youth—even though Count Etienne’s refusal of her hand cast a shadow over her like a dark veil, that was not the true reason they drifted from Sibylla—it was only after learning what Sibylla had manipulated Abigail into doing that they shuddered and finally understood their elders’ warnings.

Some people have no heart.

“She’s still beautiful,” William raised his cup, shielding his face, half-jokingly asking: “Have you never wavered, Cesar? Though all say your face makes even the proudest noblewoman blush, love cannot arise between self and self—since you came to Shengshibao, you’ve often met the princess. Haven’t you ever wanted to kiss her fingers, touch her feet?”

“No,” Cesar said. William stared at him a moment, confirmed no flicker of doubt stirred in those emerald eyes, and muttered, “You’re Sibylla’s comeuppance!”

The young knights burst into laughter; others might not have seen clearly, but they had all once adored, loved Sibylla—because when you love someone, your attention fixes solely on her, unshakable; during those days, they constantly tracked every move, every smile, every glance of Sibylla’s.

What was she doing? What was she thinking? What did she love? What did she hate?

It was no surprise Sibylla was drawn to Cesar; few could muster malice toward a child like him—even they, after seeing he was more than just a beautiful shell, accepted him within days; though they rarely interacted, since Cesar always stayed by Baldwin’s side, they knew he was no villain.

But Sibylla’s hostility and rejection of Cesar—Guy and William, with their sharp minds, could sense the reason: how arrogant was Sibylla?! Even they, nephews of dukes and counts, were merely her toys and pawns; for her to admit she’d been seduced by a slave of the Isaians was worse than death itself!

Yet when Baldwin’s illness was uncertain and Cesar might follow him to a monastery, Sibylla could easily hand over her least-favored maid—Jielaide’s Damara—to Cesar; and when Cesar became a Knight of Bethlehem and a close advisor to the new king, she could force Damara to break the vow Cesar had sworn to her and seize him back…

The one possibility she never imagined was that Cesar truly did not care for her.

Had Cesar shown even a hint of hesitation, none of them would have stepped forward to defend him—Sibylla was, after all, the king’s daughter, his sister, and someday his mother.

“Will you return to Bethlehem afterward, or stay in Yalasalu?” David asked.

“I’ll return to Bethlehem—with Baldwin,” Cesar answered joyfully; though left behind in Yalasalu, Baldwin had not lost heart—Raymond was right: he was a newcomer to Yalasalu and its surrounding fortresses, lands, and cities; they did not know him, and he did not know them—making any decision in complete unfamiliarity would be suicide.

He planned to tour the many castles encircling Yalasalu; Bethlehem was his first stop.

————

Jacques had been busy these days.

He had already secured a cabin on a ship for his wife’s aunt, to send her back to her homeland; but just before departure, the eccentric lady suddenly fell ill. Though he immediately summoned a priest, the priest took one look at her and left in displeasure—he refused to treat an Isaians.

He turned to the Isaians’ “wise men,” but they too refused, nearly driving him out; only then did he recall his wife had told him her aunt had renounced her faith to marry a Christian knight—she was already dead to her own people.

So he hired a servant to care for his wife’s aunt in the inn.

Fortunately, the other person his father-in-law had entrusted to him—his friend—caused Jacques little trouble; he only needed a few camels, some mules, some food and water, to carry his wife and children to the next city.

“You say he went into the desert?”

Jacques asked in surprise.

He had only sent men to follow them as a precaution—he never expected the servant to report that they had headed into the desert near the Dead Sea.

(End of chapter)