Chapter 131: The Son of Count Joscelin III of Edessa (3)

Joseph III.

He had no lands, no army, and even his own freedom was under Zengi’s watch—but for this peculiar man, Zengi did not execute him or force him to convert, and any political creature could understand the implication: his son Nur ad-Din even found Joseph a noble Armenian bride when Joseph was sixteen.

This Armenian noblewoman, too, had been captured in war; she was one of the daughters of Ruben II. Of course, King Ruben II had many children, and this princess was not favored—on her way to marriage, she and her maidservants were taken captive; out of malice toward his brother, Mleh sold the princess to slave traders.

After several transfers, she arrived at Sultan Nur ad-Din’s court, just as Joseph III had turned sixteen; to avoid questions about his children’s inheritance rights, Nur ad-Din deliberately chose him a Christian wife, and this Armenian princess bore Joseph III two children: a daughter, Nattia, and their only son, Joseph IV.

“My father lived in a Saracen prison from the age of five. Though Sultan Nur ad-Din was a benevolent ruler who ordered those around him to treat my father as if he were a prince, how could a prisoner ever know true freedom?”

I was very young then, but I still remember the man called father—thin, pale, gloomy, not like a living man, but like a shadow ready to vanish at any moment.

He often walked the corridors connecting the palace chambers, like a ghost; I rarely saw him smile—except when he saw my brother,” she glanced at Cesar, “one moment, he seemed to make up his mind. I don’t know how he did it, but that night, my mother gave me medicine that sent me to sleep; together with my brother, I awoke inside a chest—the jolting of the cart woke me, my brother was in my arms, then he began to cry.”

At that moment, someone opened the lid of the chest, and light poured in. They were the two most loyal servants of Edessa—one a knight blessed by grace—who had once served my grandfather, and the other a maidservant who had once served my grandmother; they carried us away with forged documents, escaping Edessa.

By then, Nur ad-Din had already learned of our escape; he flew into a rage and ordered his soldiers to search everywhere for our foster parents.

We had nowhere to go, so we temporarily settled in a remote little village…”

“But you escaped already—you could have gone to Antioch, or Tripoli, or Nablus, any Christian city—why didn’t you?” Abigail asked foolishly.

This time even David couldn’t help giving him an elbow to the ribs.

Nattia looked at him, certain he was an idiot: “At the time, my brother and I were perhaps three years old, at most four. Our foster parents carried us; finding even a village that would let us stay temporarily was already incredibly difficult—it exhausted all their strength. Had Nur ad-Din not fallen seriously ill twice, I probably wouldn’t have lived to nine—let alone traveled from Aleppo to Antioch with two children…”

Abigail’s foolish question revealed just how abysmal his ignorance was.

In this era, Syria had no wide roads or swift transport; they had to carry two fragile children through war-torn lands, barren deserts, and wild plains where bandits and beasts roamed alike—even as a chosen knight, one could endure hunger, cold, thirst, and endless fatigue—what of children? How long could children endure?

“Then how did you end up sold as slaves? Did your foster parents betray you?” Queen Maria asked.

“No, they were two utterly loyal people who kept their oaths to my grandparents and parents; they raised us as if we were their own children. But as you said, when I had grown older and my brother had passed his eighth birthday, they had to make a choice—to seek out those willing to rescue and help us.”

“Because of the Selection Ceremony,” Patriarch Heraclius said, and others nodded slightly; indeed, they might have ensured the children grew up safely, taught them—even without saying it, their foster mother was herself a noblewoman—otherwise she could never have served as a princess’s maid.

But in Syria, ruled by Saracens, how could they find a Christian church to perform the Selection Ceremony for their now-grown young masters?

The ceremony’s age limit was nine to fourteen; they could not wait until the final year to consider it.

“I only know that for several months, my foster father was anxious and restless; though he tried to hide it from us, I could feel it—he kept writing letters, waiting day and night for replies, then one day he joyfully told me that someone had found our father, Joseph III; he had been entrusted by my grandfather, Joseph II, to help us.”

“They would take us back to a Christian land—though the County of Edessa no longer existed, there was still a place for us in Antioch, Tripoli, or Arles; my brother could undergo the Selection Ceremony in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and I could choose a husband I loved.”

“He even said that perhaps soon we might meet our father, Joseph III—was Nur ad-Din so generous? Of course not. But my father managed to send me a letter, in which he said he had entrusted his life and death to his ally.”

Though Edessa had fallen and both he and his father were prisoners of the Saracens, the wealth they had accumulated had not been entirely seized.

“His ally would send men to take charge of us and this wealth, then use the money to ransom my father; Nur ad-Din’s rule over Edessa had grown stable, and a child who had left Edessa at age five would no longer threaten him—this pawn had little value; if so, perhaps the Sultan would agree to let them ransom my father.”

“Who was this ally your father spoke of?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Where are the letters?”

“They were taken—the moment I realized I had been betrayed.”

“Betrayed—note carefully, you are accusing a Christian,” Raymond said darkly.

“I don’t know if it was his order or if the men he sent were disloyal, but they brought us to the treasure site, saw the wealth there, and immediately killed my foster parents.”

“Then they sold me and my brother to an Isma’ili slave trader; after two or three more hands, I eventually ended up in Sultan Nur ad-Din’s court.” Here, a cold smile touched her lips: “It does seem like a devil’s cruel joke.”

“Is what she says true?” Heraclius asked, though he directed the question to the Saracen envoy.

The envoy glanced at Cesar—he had never imagined this kind Christian knight was Joseph III’s son: “As far as I know, Count Joseph III of Edessa was indeed treated like a prince by Sultan Nur ad-Din, and he did marry a Christian Armenian woman and had two children—but I cannot confirm what happened afterward.”

“You say your birth certificate is fake,” Patriarch Heraclius turned to Nattia: “Then where is the real one?” Without a birth certificate, no one here would believe her—even if she spoke eloquently. She might even be executed for impersonating royal kin, and Cesar would be mocked. So the patriarch’s tone was stern.

“I have it—not only my birth certificate, but also the marriage certificate sent with it. It bears the archbishop’s signature, my parents’ signatures and seals—and those of the witnesses.”

“Where?”

“In the real treasure chamber.” Here, Nattia’s face broke into a radiant smile: “The knight and servants the traitor sent didn’t know that when my grandfather built this chamber, he borrowed Eastern designs and used a double-room system; what they saw was only a small fraction of the treasure.”

“Thus, even if someone stumbled upon the chamber or faced our situation, they would only take the outer treasure and never notice the hidden chamber—provided you send someone there, break through the layer of earth and brick on the north wall, and you’ll find the second vault.”

“The marriage certificate and birth certificate are both inside?”

“Isn’t that the true treasure?”

“Why didn’t they kill you?”

“No, I don’t know why,” Nattia shook her head.

“Perhaps because of the oath,” King Baldwin IV said calmly: “I remember my teacher telling me that the oath I swore with Cesar does not bind only me and Cesar—it extends to our descendants.”

“Like the knight who made a pact with his king—even after leaving his homeland, he still faithfully fulfilled his duty as a covenant partner; when he died, and his wife and children came seeking the king’s protection, the king showed no hesitation or disdain.”

“You could say both were noble men—except one is suspected of killing his own brother and brother-in-law…”

These words caused uneasy glances among those present; clearly, Joseph III had been betrayed, but he was no fool—he left no backdoor unguarded. Perhaps the covenant contained clauses forcing the other side to honor their oath—at least, they could not directly kill him; they could only sell Joseph III’s two children to slave traders.

At the time, they were only nine; even if they remembered their identity, they might not dare speak it—besides, compared to Nattia—Cesar recalled—he remembered the scene vividly: as a male commodity, a slave trader should have treasured him enough; in Mosul, Syria, or Egypt, he was worth a fortune.

But he had a high fever, barely breathing, yet the trader insisted on castrating him, unwilling to wait even a few days—clearly, he wanted him dead.

But that’s not surprising—Nattia was a girl, and he was a boy.

Those present likely guessed the reason—hey, before Cesar earned Baldwin’s trust, the servants had spoken cruelly of him—their eyes darted between each other, Raymond’s the sharpest.

Though he had never held Cesar in high regard, it was because of his obscure origins; now, Cesar might be the sole heir of the Count of Edessa, and his feelings turned complicated.

“Where is this place you mentioned?” King Baldwin IV asked. Nattia immediately named a location, then requested pen and paper; she could draw a crude map. “You remember it so clearly?” Raymond couldn’t help asking.

“I trace this map in my mind every night, my lord. Thousands of days and nights—I have never forgotten.”

With this crude map, finding the place would not be difficult—even if it still lay within Saracen territory, as long as it hadn’t collapsed or been discovered by others.

“Cesar will stay by my side these days,” Baldwin said. Then he hesitated; Queen Maria immediately took up the challenge: “She will stay with me.” She would prepare a room and assign her most trustworthy maidservant to serve her, living and sleeping beside her—both as careful surveillance and to help her quickly adapt to castle life.

Nattia silently accepted the queen’s kindness. Before leaving, she gazed long at Cesar, almost unable to move.

Then she saw Baldwin IV reach out and clasp his hand tightly; only then did she turn away, smiling lightly.

Days later, the knights returned with good news—perhaps God’s protection—the cave used as the treasure chamber had not collapsed nor been discovered by locals; it was merely half-buried by wind and sand. The knights dug it out and, as Nattia said, found the second vault.

The wealth inside was preliminarily estimated at around two hundred thousand gold coins. Thus, according to Joseph II’s account, this sum was more than enough to ransom him—but he seemed not to have fully trusted his ally. If those men had taken the first treasure and then kept their promise, he would have told them about the second vault when they complained the money was insufficient.

But if, as now, they had planned betrayal from the start, then at least the second treasure would allow him to rise again—he would not be left with nothing.

The marriage certificate and birth certificate were also found; people gathered again, taking turns to examine them.

But gradually, another discordant note arose among murmurs—since the earlier birth certificate was fake, could it be that these two documents, though genuine, belonged to false people?

(End of Chapter)