Chapter 2: The name Cesar

It was more than ten days later that Amalric I remembered the child.

As the guardian of the Holy Sepulcher, a tough and pious ruler who defends every Christian's rights under the watchful eyes of the Saracens, he has countless things to do every day.

He must maintain the security of the Holy Land; balance the forces of residents, pilgrims, and even pagans near the Holy Land; and ease the increasingly tense relationship between the two major knightly orders stationed in Jerusalem—the Knights Templar and the Knights Hospitaller.

He must meet, talk to, and threaten greedy Venetians, Isaacites, and foreign merchants to make these stingy devils open their purses.

This money is to be used to fight against Mahmud of Zengi, to fight against Saladin of the Fatimids, to fight against Keres II of Asia Minor, and to soften the hard-line attitude of the Byzantine Emperor Manuel—his wife unfortunately passed away six years ago, and as a King, he wants to reach a more solid alliance with Byzantium through marriage.

And his son Baldwin.

Ever since Baldwin was confirmed to be a leper, Amalric I has been in a bad mood every Sunday during Mass or other sacraments. It is not for anything else; although Baldwin is still his heir in law, in the Church, lepers cannot participate in any sacraments. This means that when the King and his family—only a daughter, Sibylla—along with ministers and lords attend Mass in the small chapel of the Castle of the Holy Cross, Baldwin can only stay in his own room.

Amalric I has been pondering how to solve this small problem. He thought of some monks who would receive communion on behalf of the sick and injured who cannot move, that is, bringing broken unleavened bread and wine in a cup before them. If so, he could also give a holy order to the servants around Baldwin, letting them do this. He told this idea to Heraclius, but Heraclius showed hesitation.

"Why?" Amalric I asked kindly: "Is there a problem? I should still be able to afford the money for a holy order."

"It's not like that," Heraclius said cautiously: "I have heard some rumors recently, true or false..."

Amalric I finished listening to his words and said nothing, then turned and left. But in just an hour or two, he returned to the small chapel.

"I saw it, Heraclius," Amalric I said calmly. I don't know if he had already chosen a graveyard for those bold servants—when they treated the King's son badly and disrespectfully, they should have guessed they would have such an end.

"As long as one is human, there is always a time of negligence," Heraclius said, his tone not carrying much blame. It was not out of fear or dread; his friendship with Amalric I had not yet reached such a fragile level—Amalric I was ultimately a King first, then a father. He could not be inseparable from his child like a woman, not to mention that the greatest malice against Baldwin had been intercepted by the King outside the Castle of the Holy Cross.

Amalric I sighed gently: "This is not what worries me the most," he stared at Heraclius, "Since... after that, Baldwin has almost never left his room. He doesn't talk to anyone, nor does he have contact with them, except for Sibylla who occasionally visits him—even after encountering such humiliation, he is unwilling to tell me... Do you think Baldwin is too gentle?"

"He has a merciful heart," Heraclius said: "I firmly believe he has inherited your resilience and tenacity."

"I hope so. Compared to leprosy, weakness and cowardice are what I fear most." Amalric I was silent for a while: "... What about that child?"

Strangely, although Amalric I said this, Heraclius guessed who he was referring to immediately: "I only went to the shelter yesterday," the priest said: "He has fully recovered, returned to health, and is busy doing things every day."

"Are you going to see him?"

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"Cesar!" a monk called out loudly.

"I'm here!" the black-haired boy shouted back. In front of him and behind him were ropes, and on the ropes hung snow-white linen bed sheets. This was his considerable achievement from Prime (nine o'clock in the morning) until now—Sext (noon). The wet fabric swayed slightly in the September wind, emitting the fragrance of water vapor. As he walked toward the monk, he sighed that fortunately, there was enough olive oil and wood ash in the monastery to make soap.

"It's time to eat," the monk said, "We'll go pray, then eat. There's duck today."

According to church law, most Christians have to fast for more than a hundred days in a year. When fasting, you cannot eat any animal meat, including eggs and dairy products. During some longer fasting periods, such as the forty days of Lent, if strictly enforced, believers and monks would inevitably be starved to skin and bones.

Thus—many things were expanded into the "non-meat" area, such as shellfish, waterfowl, beavers... because they swim in the water, they should be counted as fish... so in Jerusalem, ducks are "fish with feathers."

"Brother Martha followed what you said, cooking the duck with sour wine, blueberries, and carrots, cooking it until it was tender... Many people were distracted during the chanting because of the smell of the duck... they were punished, beaten, but they weren't angry at all..."

The monk said intermittently as he walked, "Brother Martha saved you a duck neck, but do you really want to eat that? You can eat a piece of meat, after all, you haven't been recovered for long."

"I'm already well," the boy said patiently—he hadn't suffered too heavy an injury before. The most troublesome thing was just a dislocated arm, and the fainting and fever were all due to hunger and tension.

This body had been raised very well. As long as it was out of danger, well-rested, and had a few full meals, he would be a "little Samson" (the strong man in the Bible) again.

It's just that he couldn't tell these kind monks bluntly: "You work so hard every day and often need to contact patients, so you need to eat more things with grease and flavor."

Fatigue and malnutrition can cause many problems, and also lower human immunity, making it easier to contract infectious diseases. He could only try his best to persuade the monks to ensure sufficient rest time, and intake enough food and clean water.

Perhaps you won't believe it, but in this era that countless people call the Dark Ages, the "shelter" established by monks to serve crusaders and pilgrims has a scale, scope, and function far exceeding many official residences.

This shelter belongs to the Church and Monastery of Saint John the Baptist. It has forty-five rooms, separate residences for epileptics and pregnant women, a large kitchen and storage room, a water tower, a mill, a washroom, and a Roman-style public toilet, and a spacious courtyard for drying clothes and bed sheets.

Here, regardless of gender, age, wealth, or status, everyone can receive the care and treatment of the monks—according to the saying at this time, it is a precious practice to redeem the soul while redeeming the body.

As far as Cesar can see, most monks are full of enthusiasm to do this work. Even though their medical methods tend more toward comfort and consolation, many patients who entered here only because of malnutrition or psychological problems have indeed recovered.

For those patients, these monks are like angels and saints.

"Wait," a voice suddenly called out: "That's Cesar, right? Cesar, come here, there are honorable lords who want to see you!" A child wearing only a tunic and wooden shoes ran over hurriedly. He was the Abbot's page. As soon as the monk saw him, he hurriedly pushed Cesar: "Go quickly, don't keep the lords waiting."

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"Cesar?" Amalric I looked at Heraclius, "Did he tell you that?"

"No," Heraclius said: "He had no memory of the past after waking up." He looked at Abbot John again, and John nodded: "It might be caused by the fever. Overheated blood can cause damage to the brain. This is a disease that even the most pious prayers cannot cure—it is August now, so we gave him this name." He was uneasy for a while: "If you think it's inappropriate..."

"There's nothing inappropriate about it," Cesar is a Frankish name, and its meaning in Latin is more widely known—Caesar, the Emperor of Rome. The first Caesar named August after himself, "Now this title no longer has any political significance."

Amalric I said gently: "A blacksmith can be called Alexander, a farmer can also become Henry, and it's not strange for an attendant to choose Cesar as a name." He paused slightly: "Or, do you think that child might disgrace this name?"

"Absolutely not!" John said decisively. Such wording and tone made Heraclius look at him curiously. John is not the kind of monk who knows nothing about the secular world except for asceticism. He comes from the Gerard family. Barnes of the Gerard family was the founder of the Knights Hospitaller. Although the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller is now Aug. de Balben, the power of the Gerard family still has a place in Jerusalem that cannot be ignored.

"Let me show you his homework," John said, hurrying to the desk, pulling open a drawer to take out a stack of parchment, "He can count, do arithmetic, speak and write Latin, Isaacite, and Greek, and can also compose simple poems." He tilted his head and thought for a while: "And play the lute, paint, and ride horses."

"It's completely the education that a baron... no, a count's son should receive," Heraclius said: "Didn't you say he forgot about the past?"

"Perhaps these educations have been deeply branded in his bones and blood," Amalric I's fingers brushed over the concave and convex handwriting on the parchment—the ink at this time was mostly quite thick, "It is also possible that he has unspeakable difficulties."

Certainly, there are children from Frankia or the Apennine Peninsula who are plundered to Jerusalem by Saracen pirates, or pilgrims who are harmed on the way, but it is really unlikely that such a healthy child who has obviously received fine and complete upbringing and nurturing would suddenly appear with an Isaacite slave merchant. You know, to teach a child to this extent, the gold and silver spent is almost equal to his weight, not to mention the hard work and energy involved.

Amalric I has seen too many conspiracies and tricks in the world. For the sake of inheritance, a son can imprison his mother, an uncle can murder his nephew, and a young son who is too favored by his father, even if he cannot take away the ancestor's inheritance, may split the brother's interests with the father's support—if the brother is unwilling to kill his kin, he may directly take his younger brother out to abandon or sell him.

At this time, they heard a light knock on the door, twice, and then the person behind the door waited respectfully for a while, about three minutes, before knocking twice more.

At the King's signal, John, who had deliberately delayed for a while, called out: "Is that Cesar? Come in."

Cesar first saw Abbot John standing in the center of the room, a fat man who looked very happy and comfortable, and then the man sitting at the desk—Amalric I, King of Jerusalem, Protector of the Holy Sepulcher. He is not tall, but unusually burly, and his body width is three times that of a monk serving behind him.

It may also be because that monk is a bit too thin.

While the boy was bowing and greeting the three nobles, Amalric I was also carefully examining the child he had rescued from the Isaacite's castration knife.

Now, if you say that the person standing in front of them is a slave, one hundred and two out of one hundred people would disagree, because there must be stubborn people who would shake their heads three times.

The dislocated arm had long been set, and the wounds left under the hooves, the pack of dogs, and the whip before only left shallow red marks, which instead made his skin look fairer—not pale, blue-white, or gray-white, but healthy, moist, white like boiling milk fat; his fingers and toes were slender and soft, without heavy calluses or ugly scars; his hair was as black as ebony, his emerald eyes were bright and clean, he had a broad and smooth forehead, long limbs, and a tall stature.

Most rare is that he does not have the jumpiness and recklessness common to boys of this age, nor the shrinking and gloom common to slaves. His gaze is more upright and steady than any of his peers.

"What were you doing just now? Cesar?" John asked, not hiding his love for this child: "I saw you coming from the courtyard."

"I went to help wash the bed sheets," Cesar said.

"Oh my," John glanced at Heraclius and the King: "That is a very heavy and strenuous job."

"Just did some things within my power." After waking up, he realized that this body of his looked thin, but it seemed to contain endless power. Even for such extremely hard work as washing bed sheets (because it requires constant rinsing, wringing, and drying), he did it more easily than others, and didn't feel tired after finishing, but rather had a sense of comfort after exercise.

"What else did you do?" John asked persistently. Heraclius knew this question was for them—John was a bit too diligent. If he brought up this topic for that purpose, the resident priest guessed he might be disappointed.

Cesar was a bit surprised. His expression showed that he didn't think he had done anything worth mentioning in front of the King: "Tending the vegetable garden, taking care of patients, kneading dough in the kitchen, scraping sheepskin (making paper), mixing ink... some small things."

"Some small things..." Amalric I said thoughtfully: "Perhaps someone has told you that you are not of ordinary birth, and it is more likely that you are the son of a lord... You don't have to do this kind of humble work at all—is someone forcing you?"

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 3 =====