Chapter 129: The Son of Joscelin III, Count of Edessa! (1)

The scent of spices was rich, the silk shimmered with iridescent light, and the gold and silver vessels sparkled with a warm, gentle luster; yet, none of these could compare to the six slave girls who filed in, and all eyes were fixed upon them.

The slave girls wore headscarves, veils, and cloaks, their eyes cast downward; apart from their eyes, not even a single strand of hair was visible. From their appearance, the six were almost identical in height, build, and posture.

The envoy called for them to walk one by one before King Amalric I. They knelt before him, then cast off their cloaks, letting them fall to the floor, before removing their veils and headscarves. The cloaks and headscarves were of the simplest white cotton, and the veils were of common, dull-colored fabric.

But just as a shrewd merchant might sometimes place a lustrous pearl in burlap rather than silk—with no external distractions to steal the show—when these girls cast aside their coverings and revealed themselves, that beauty was enough to sting the eyes of those who looked upon them.

Or perhaps beauty was secondary; what mattered more was the absolute obedience displayed in their gazes and postures—a docility and fragility such that even if one were to command them to die, they would only comply. Even among Christians, women were taught obedience, yet it could not compare to this seemingly innate innocence.

Abigail, who boasted that he loved only the Princess, could not help but straighten his body slightly, wanting to see more clearly, but his position was truly lackluster.

This vast hall was exceptionally empty. The entrance was located on the west side, while the King's throne was set on the east. On either side of the gold-and-silver-interwoven canopy hung white curtains embroidered with the Cross of Jerusalem. The throne was magnificent and enormous, its towering back easily evoking the spires of a cathedral.

The King sat high upon it, with the Queen Mother Maria and his sister, Princess Sibylla, on his left, and the Patriarch Heraclius and his regent, Raymond, seated on his right.

Below them, the three rows of seats on either side were also clearly stratified by rank.

The first row belonged, of course, to those ministers the King trusted most, or those he was forced to trust, such as Bohemond, Prince of Antioch, as well as the Grand Masters of the Templars and the Hospitallers, and the Prior of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre.

The second row belonged to the minor vassals and the officials of the city, led by Balian of Ibelin.

Although David and Abigail were already knights, they could only sit in the third row, a position pressed against the wall, as if to remind them that in this grand assembly, they had only the power to observe.

So, where was Cesar's place?

Beside the King's throne stood a dark brown oak high-backed chair, at a distance close enough that one only needed to lean forward slightly to converse. Although this chair had no carvings or gilding, Raymond's expression changed drastically when he saw it, and it was only because Bohemond grabbed his hand and pressed down on his shoulder that he did not erupt on the spot.

If not for that great victory by the Sea of Galilee, they could certainly have persuaded or even reprimanded him. After all, Cesar was currently only a knight, and Bethlehem was but a small town; he could appear at this occasion, but it was absolutely impossible for him to sit beside the King. Yet, it was precisely because Baldwin and Cesar had won that great victory, while they had suffered a severe defeat in the war against Nur ad-Din—already, many were demanding they be held accountable, and their images had been dimmed accordingly.

At such a time, clashing with the young and spirited King was truly not something a seasoned man should do. Raymond held back, but when he saw the Bethlehem knight Cesar show not the slightest modesty and sit straight down in that seat, he still could not help but curse in his heart—an arrogant, upstart villain!

Cesar, of course, knew that this position would bring him many vicious curses, but even if he did not sit here, would he have fewer enemies? As long as he remained the Knight of Bethlehem, bearing the grace of Amalric I and the friendship of Baldwin IV, he had to stand by the King's side and face their common enemies, whether they were Christians or Saracens.

Baldwin, however, felt only a sense of heartfelt joy. Sunlight projected from the high windows onto his throne. He turned his ring, and the tiny specks of light refracted by the gemstone swept across the walls, then over the faces of the ministers. Some squinted, some turned their heads, some raised their hands; their expressions and movements were all captured in his eyes.

This was the feeling of being King. Everything his uncle and father had once enjoyed now rested in his hands. He finally understood why, at times, his father would act so casually, even with a touch of mockery and disdain.

When you sit in this position, everyone here, no matter how high-ranking or powerful, must bow their heads before you and obey your arrangements. You can even easily change their fates—just like moving pieces on a chessboard. That feeling is something you could never imagine without experiencing it yourself.

He smiled, his hands resting casually on the armrests of the throne. From this day on, he could finally give his dearest brother the reward he deserved.

At this moment, the last slave girl had walked before the crowd. Her behavior was somewhat strange; she seemed more untamed than the others. She did not kneel, nor did she immediately pull off her headscarf, but instead looked around with a gaze of shock and bewilderment, staring at those... Christians.

The envoy, a minister trusted and valued by Sultan Nur ad-Din, knelt before this young man, and he seemed to be surrounded by some extraordinary figures. Was he the King of Jerusalem? He was so young, and so handsome. Could she really ask him for help?

Seeing the last slave girl suddenly standing there, motionless, the envoy frowned. If this were in the Sultan's court, eunuchs would have already come up to drag her away to a secluded place and give her a lash (before the Sultan and the First Lady spoke, the slave would not suffer a very heavy punishment).

But this was a Christian castle, and he could only condemn this ignorant slave girl with a stern look. Fortunately, she finally moved, slowly untying her cloak and lifting her headscarf, and the veil fell lightly to the ground.

"Ah." The Queen Mother Maria sighed subconsciously. This slave girl's face felt familiar to her, and before she could recall who it was, she had already taken a step forward, opening her arms, seemingly wanting to kneel to the King, like her companions.

But suddenly, she froze, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide, as if something incredible were happening before her.

Later, Queen Mother Maria recalled that her expression was as if she had suddenly seen light cast down from heaven, with saints walking slowly down white steps, reaching out their hands to lead her to paradise; or as if hell had opened before her, with countless demons crawling out from the rift, grabbing her feet, scrambling to drag her down.

She stood stiffly there, her features distorted, her beauty almost vanished. Even the King had to show an expression of concern. Out of respect for all women, he asked gently, "What is the matter with you? Is there something amiss with me? Do you know me?"

He saw in her face an expression of ecstasy, as if she had grasped something, but he did not remember ever seeing this girl before.

It was not strange that Baldwin IV had this misunderstanding, for she had been staring fixedly in the direction of the throne.

Heraclius had already stood up, wanting to order people to drag this slave girl away—he feared that this Saracen slave girl would throw herself at the King's feet, clutching his knees to make some inappropriate request. The slave girl did indeed, as he had feared, lunge toward the throne.

She was merely a petite woman; it was impossible for her to have received the revelation of a prophet or the favor of a saint, but this behavior could still be viewed as an assassination attempt against the King.

But the Bethlehem knight beside the King had already blocked her path. His speed was so fast that it seemed as if he had been standing there all along, and the slave girl had already hugged him tightly.

Until this moment, people still thought her target was the King, but to their surprise, the next moment, she cried out loudly.

"Joscelin, Joscelin! Don't you recognize me? I am your sister, Joscelin, I am Natiya! Your sister!"

The hall was suddenly in an uproar. Some looked toward the envoy, and the envoy was also bewildered. He had not heard a single word about this—about Joscelin's brother. When he left Aleppo, he was full of fear, and these six slave girls were only a part of the gifts. Would you care about the thoughts of a gold cup or a silver plate?

Hell, of course not.

Others looked at Cesar, their gazes shifting between Cesar and the woman, searching for similarities. There were indeed some, especially the jet-black hair that seemed almost to blend into the night, and the shape of the eyes and lips also had some resemblance. Some, after confirming, felt a complex emotion—it was rare for a sister's beauty to be inferior to her brother's, if they were indeed siblings.

Even Baldwin IV could not help but stand up. He took two steps forward, wanting to move to the front to observe this slave girl, but Cesar blocked him with one hand, then, carrying the human attachment hanging on him, took two steps forward. The situation was unclear, and he could not be sure if this slave girl wanted to use this opportunity to get close to the King and then assassinate him.

At this time, several venerable ministers finally stood up. Together with Raymond, they ordered the crowd in the hall to be quiet and called for the knights outside the door, telling them to be strictly on guard against these Saracens and the gifts they had brought.

The slave girl who had been tightly hugging Cesar was not pulled away. For one thing, if she was not lying, she was the sister of the Bethlehem knight, and regardless of who their parents were, she was a noblewoman who required the respect of knights; they could not treat her roughly. Secondly, if Cesar wanted to pull her away, he could do so at any time; he was someone who had held off an angry mother bear when he was ten years old.

The knights quickly cleared the hall, leaving only the Christians and the one Saracen—Mr. Envoy.

Cesar placed his hands on the slave girl's shoulders and pushed her away gently. His expression was grave—he could feel that the body pressed against him wore no weapons, nor did it have solid muscles or rough calluses; she was just an ordinary young girl. After letting her stand steady, he did not leave immediately, letting her face the scrutiny of the crowd alone, but instead took a step back, looked at her, and said.

"First, I must tell you, my lady," his voice had a gentle and highly soothing magic: "I had a great illness when I was nine, with a high fever, and I no longer remember anything from before that. I only know that under God's arrangement, I met King Amalric I of Jerusalem in the scorching Judean hills."

"At that time, I was a slave to an Isaac merchant, and what awaited me was an extremely unbearable and miserable fate, or death. Of course, I did not sit and wait for death. When the King's cavalry passed by, while everyone was kneeling to pay homage to the King, I escaped from the tent and reclaimed my health and honor."

"The King saw me and said, 'Christians cannot be sold as slaves.' He redeemed me from that Isaac merchant, brought me to the castle, and generously and kindly allowed me to keep his son company. As you can see, Baldwin treats me like a brother, letting me sit by his side—this is everything I have experienced—but in these memories, there is no you."

This sentence made the black-haired slave girl tremble. "I do not know if I have forgotten you, or if what you said was originally a lie. But if you are willing to speak, we can also set aside some time to listen..."

"Wait," a voice suddenly interjected, "if it is only about someone's background, I don't think there is any need to delay the progress of the negotiations, much less let these busy adults play house with you."

Abigail's words brought a look of anger to the King's face.

But he was not wrong. Indeed, some people were nodding. Although everyone loved to hear gossip, compared to major state affairs, it was not worth mentioning.

"But what I have to say is also a matter of utmost importance, no less than the negotiations you are about to hold," the slave girl said.

Baldwin IV raised his eyebrows slightly, signaling her to continue.

The slave girl brushed past Cesar, knelt forward—she could feel Cesar still watching her—she opened her arms, looking at the King of Jerusalem as if in prayer, and said slowly.

"I am Natiya, daughter of Joscelin III, Count of Edessa, and the Armenian Princess Mana. And he," she turned her head, looking affectionately at her beautiful brother.

"He is my brother, the only son of Joscelin III, the sole heir."

(End of Chapter) ===== CHAPTER 130 =====