Chapter 18: Killing Intent

"What kind of child do you think Cesar is? Is he foolish? Or is he brave?"

Facing Amalric I's seemingly casual inquiry, Heraclius could not help but feel a chill. He knew that the previous... grand spectacle had aroused the King's suspicion.

"I know the woman holding the child was arranged by you, but later... did you remind him, or did he do it of his own free will?" Amalric I continued, not waiting for Heraclius's answer.

Heraclius frowned, not knowing how to answer the King for a moment. Yes, to heighten the atmosphere and corroborate that Cesar's asceticism had indeed received God's reward, he had arranged for a woman. Such things were very common; as long as someone living, or even dead, wanted to add the title "Saint" to their name, clerics would naturally constantly create all sorts of miracles, such as statues bleeding or weeping, or cripples standing up again and the blind regaining their sight—of course, there were indeed clerics who had received favor and could heal the disabled, but most were fake, forged.

But the massive momentum that followed was completely beyond Heraclius's expectations.

Just as Longinus was surprised, contrary to what we might think, in this era, people of noble status did not even consider themselves the same species as commoners or the even lower slaves. Clerics, and even ascetic monks of sects like the Shiyebu Society, would not easily cast away their kindness. Whether for money or for faith, they were more stingy than the Rasun people they loathed.

Perhaps some would think that Cesar was just an ignorant child who did not know how much intangible wealth he held. But those poor, disabled, and pain-ridden people were also terrifying. Their hair was like thick felt, their skin like thin paper, and milky-yellow and white pus flowed from their fish-flesh-like sores. Their scabs flaked off like wood shavings, and every friction caused them to fall like snowflakes. What covered them was less like fabric and more like a mixture of dust and filth. They stank like dead fish, roared and whimpered like wild beasts, and there was almost no light in their turbid eyes—there were over a hundred such people, and even the most valiant knight would retreat.

As long as you saw them, you knew these people had nothing left to lose. They did not cherish their own lives, nor did they cherish others'. Who dared to reach out a helping hand to them? No, they would only drag those who helped them down to hell together!

At least, that was what Heraclius had believed until that day.

He should have found it ridiculous, but he could not laugh. He had thought a child's innocence would be destroyed by worldly cruelty, but it was not. Those who heard that a young saint was willing to bless anyone—those refugees too poor to afford indulgences and unable to cross the church threshold—swarmed in, yet they did not harm anyone out of urgency or impatience.

According to the knights who followed, it was a bit crowded at first, but when they realized that everyone could get what they wanted, so many people—perhaps hundreds, or a thousand—suddenly fell silent. By the time Cesar finished his work for the final day, even though the number of people had reached a terrifying amount (the knights could no longer count them), the order remained impeccable; there were even people who appeared to guide and coordinate the lines. Thus, when Cesar donated the jewelry and robes he was wearing, he immediately found people who could take responsibility for them.

"Tell me, how many people in Yafa are chanting his name now?" Amalric I said thoughtfully. "And my child, the son of the King, Prince Baldwin, how will people describe him? A... poor wretch who received favors from a servant?"

At this, Heraclius was not just chilled; he was terrified.

Cesar was, after all, not a person of this era. He did not know that his various actions, born purely of kindness and his own heart, had instead aroused Amalric I's wariness. Especially as a servant, his "alms" to Baldwin almost placed himself in a condescending position—God knows, a servant can be stupid, slow, despicable, lecherous, greedy, or even cruel and cowardly... but he must never misidentify his own status... and pity his master.

How arrogant!

Heraclius was already certain that Amalric I had developed a killing intent. If no one made him change his mind, Cesar's end would be no better than that of Weite. With just one casual gesture from the King, the boy who had been showered with glory and praise today would return to our Lord silently on a quiet night. Those in the know would mock him in secret, while those who did not know would sincerely admire and rejoice—he hesitated for a moment, but finally said: "Your Majesty," he lowered his voice, "no matter what you intend to do, shouldn't you ask Baldwin?"

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After Baldwin left Amalric I's sight, his first action was to take a deep breath.

Amalric I was his father and his King. He should be loyal to him, obedient, and follow his arrangements. But after so many things, he had changed a lot. At least he had seen how many ugly hearts were hidden beneath the flowers. Cesar might be a bit... reckless, but his intentions were good. Baldwin also firmly believed that his background would not be too unbearable. He would also become a knight in the future, and accepting a gift from a knight was not unacceptable to Baldwin now.

The Prince even asked Amalric I not to let anyone warn Cesar. If the King's wish had not changed—he would rather have a friend who was not so perfect than a submissive, timid servant. "I will teach him," he said.

In fact, Baldwin did not have much confidence. Although they had not spent much time together, he sensed that Cesar was a stubborn person. No, it should be said that although he had the body of a child, he had the willpower of an adult, which meant it was difficult to change his thoughts and reverse his actions—just like the previous asceticism. Heraclius had arranged a poor mother for him, but the kindness of the hundreds and thousands of pilgrims that followed was Cesar's own doing.

"Baldwin."

Baldwin turned his head. Not so surprisingly, it was his sister, Sibylla, the only woman in this towering castle who could call him by his baptismal name directly.

Perhaps because there were no major scenes today, Sibylla and her maids were dressed lightly, wearing headscarves instead of Xinan hats. She waved her fingers at Baldwin, signaling him to follow her.

They did not walk far. On one side of the main tower stood an exquisite Saracen-style courtyard. Gooseberries and cherries, shrouded by boxwood, mulberry, and myrtle, were lush and green. The four square flower beds were occupied by roses, irises, kale, and lilacs respectively. Beside the cross-shaped path was a murmuring clear channel. However, they were not the only things in this lovely world worth the servants' careful tending. In the nearby garden, there were also Mulak (a shrub used for cleaning teeth), henna (dye), alfalfa, garlic, fava beans, and leeks.

Under an exceptionally tall myrtle tree, there was a stone bench, and the grass beneath it was like a carpet. Sibylla let the maids stay behind, walked toward it, and sat down. Her skirt fell to the ground like a large patch of congealed blood.

"Brother," she looked at Baldwin and said gently, "it seems you have made our father change his mind."

"King Arthur had twelve knights," Baldwin said. "In terms of purity, no one compares to Galahad. In terms of bravery, no one compares to Gareth. In terms of handsomeness, Gawain is second to none. But can you say that King Arthur's glory was dimmed by even a fraction because of this?"

"You are quite right," Sibylla nodded, "but that person by your side, Cesar..." She narrowed her eyes slightly and plucked a sprig of rosemary in full bloom. Dark green thin leaves clustered around pale purple flowers, each one complete, fresh, and looking pleasing to the eye: "How old is he?" Without waiting for Baldwin to answer: "Nine years old, Baldwin. You are also nine years old, but you were destined to be the King of the Holy Land while you were still in swaddling clothes. You were bowed to by ministers while you were still toddling, and generals had to kneel. The friends and companions around you are all of illustrious birth. Your teachers, every one of them, are either lords or bishops."

The Princess stretched out her hands and slowly gathered the rosemary in her palms: "But what about him? Not to mention whether he really lost his memory, every word he says, every thing he does, every choice he makes... Do you think David and Abigail could reach this level? Baldwin, perhaps you could do it, but who are you? A child of unknown origin and background, yet you could almost stand shoulder to shoulder with you in just a few months? Don't you feel... fear?"

"Fear, perhaps," Baldwin answered steadily, "but as a King, as a commander, should one fear that a blade is too sharp?"

"Are you sure you can control him, rather than the other way around? Brother, you should also have noticed that he lacks respect for his superiors."

"I don't need respect, only loyalty."

"Without respect, where does loyalty come from?"

"There is also love, the love of friends and brothers."

"Although I don't want to say it, Baldwin, you are a leper. You are healthy now, but as time passes and the sun and moon rotate, you will become weak, confused, and slow. You will suffer from pain, and you will change. He will too. And by then, even if you are high-ranking and powerful, you will not be as healthy and agile as him—he will be your knight, your attendant, your minister, and perhaps even your general. He knows you like the back of his hand, and... he can also do whatever he wants..."

"I still have time, sister. I will watch him. If he is as you say, I will not hesitate."

"People praise your kindness, and I will echo it, but Your Highness, I do not have our father's courage. I cannot leave such a dangerous person by your side without any shackles."

"Shackles?"

"An inescapable and unhideable flaw."

Baldwin lowered his eyes. The Princess's slender but long hands—unlike the cute little hands praised by the Franks, Sibylla's hands were fair but not plump, with distinct knuckles, more like a man's hands. They were slowly crushing the entire sprig of rosemary. The petals trembled and fell, and the broken leaves erupted with a rich fragrance.

"Lend him to me for a while." He heard his sister say slowly: "He will encounter an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"The kind that brings fate back on track."

Baldwin instantly understood Sibylla's intention. The revulsion and weariness he had suppressed in front of Amalric I finally surged into his heart.

In Frankish, English, or Apennine lands, the bad habits from the Mesopotamia region had not entered the court because the population was never very optimistic. But here on the Arabian Peninsula, surrounded by places like Byzantium, Armenia, Egypt, and Syria that advocated the use of eunuchs in the inner chambers, how could Baldwin be ignorant of this?

But in the Christian world, especially in Yafa, a man useless in bed would be regarded as a waste in the court and on the battlefield. Everyone would be ashamed to work with him, and even his enemies would disdain to fight him—let alone kneel to him or be driven by him. By then, even if he possessed Gawain's handsomeness, Galahad's piety and purity, Gareth's bravery, or even King Arthur's nobility, he could only become a shadow hidden behind the curtains.

How terrible. Baldwin did not say it out loud, while hiding this thought in the bottom of his heart. Regardless, Sibylla was his sister, and her original intention was for his sake... She might be a bit cruel, and this method could not be said to be the smartest, but... she was, after all, just a noblewoman, not a knight or a cleric. He should not be so harsh on her.

"Forget this thought," Baldwin said softly and firmly: "I am not yet cowardly to this extent."

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"What's wrong?" Cesar asked strangely: "Is there sauce on my face?" As he said this, he bent his fingers and wiped the corner of his lips.

Such a crude action, yet he did it with the elegance and composure of a dance. Baldwin smiled: "Nothing. You know I just talked to Sibylla earlier. Cesar, do you remember Damala? You neglected her quite a bit for the sake of asceticism. As a future knight, that is truly not competent. My sister asked me to punish you, so you can go and beg for mercy in front of Damala."

"I will go." Cesar keenly felt that Baldwin's words were not entirely true, but he did not pursue it: "Perhaps tomorrow."

And it could only be tomorrow. Heraclius had just confirmed with Cesar the time for the selection ceremony: the Epiphany at the New Year, which was January 6th. This time was truly subtle, because the celebration ceremony surrounding the birth of the Lord began on December 25th and reached its peak on January 6th—because December 25th was originally the Egyptian Sun God Festival, so many clerics and believers still disapproved of it, and believed that the Epiphany on January 6th was more worthy of celebration... And this date was also close to Baldwin's true birthday. Sometimes, it could perhaps be used to blur Amalric I's intention to hold the selection ceremony for his son in advance.

The Epiphany was not far away. Next, they not only had to continue fasting but also be even busier. Neither Baldwin nor Cesar wanted to think about what would happen if they were not selected—before that, Cesar should indeed go to see Damala, otherwise they might have to wait until Lent to meet, and the long blank space in between might be noticed by those with ulterior motives.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 19 =====