[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations":3,"chapter-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-22":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Nation of Ten Thousand Nations",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2332990,4562,"Chapter 22: Sibylla Suffers Humiliation (Part 2)","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-22",22,"\u003Cp>Count Étienne felt as if struck by five thunderbolts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had always believed himself to be a quiet, peace-loving good man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In his entire life, he had done only one outrageous thing: taking his beloved Adèle away at the wedding altar—but he insisted that Adèle’s marriage to Ansel II had never been valid, and his actions violated no doctrine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He accepted punishment: he faced challenges from one king and two counts, then purchased five hundred years of indulgences from the Church—two hundred years more than the sin of marrying his own sister.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt he had done more than enough, leaving no room for criticism; yet ever since, people had regarded him as a frivolous, reckless fellow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But surely his liege, Louis VII, ought to know him well—otherwise, His Majesty would never have entrusted him with the weighty role of Holy Land envoy. He never imagined Louis VII had chosen him for another purpose entirely… God save him, he had never once wished to become the father-in-law of Amalric I of Arasal, nor had he ever dreamed of becoming a Knight of Christ, Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was not that pious!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He complained to his personal servant, who immediately removed his cap, pressed it to his chest, and expressed boundless sympathy. Just moments ago, Count Étienne had done something irreversible. He did not believe he had done wrong, but the scene had indeed become… absurd.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the Frankish court, Count Sancerre had always been a popular figure—after the incident of storming the church to carry off the bride, public opinion had solidified: men saw him as a troublesome, detested enemy; noblewomen saw him as a challenging, deeply rewarding lover.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He admitted he had never kept chastity, but both he and his partners swore they had only ever shared an elusive, elegant, noble atmosphere—no intimate contact, no incriminating letters. They were like larks: meeting at dusk on the branches, parting at dawn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was accustomed to the ambiguous atmosphere of the Frankish court, so he overlooked the peculiarities in the Arasal court—the eager glances of nobles, the defiant stares of young knights, and the whispered gossip of maids and servants.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They seated him beside the princess on her left, so he treated her as the castle’s lady, like a knight serving a noblewoman: bringing her wash water, handing her towels, slicing her meat, presenting her spice trays, peeling nuts for her—but he swore before God he had behaved with absolute propriety, not a single improper word or gesture!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the final dish was removed, servants cleared the long table and tidied the hall. A spacious area was opened in the center for dancing—this was a mandatory part of any banquet. All eyes turned to him and to Princess Sibylla; as the most important guest, he must dance with the lady of the house.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he stepped forward to invite the princess. He had to admit: Princess Sibylla was indeed beautiful. Yet her beauty differed from that of the Frankish court—perhaps because she was the only daughter of the King of Arasal, she lacked the humility and gentleness expected of women in this age. Though she had to lift her head to meet his gaze, she did so without a trace of shyness, even with a hint of calculation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For several minutes, Count Étienne thought he had gone mad from too much wine or moldy bread—her gaze was possessive, as if he were a jewel in a casket. She extended her hand as if offering herself to him, but in truth, she pulled him toward herself. Count Étienne felt he was the one being seized.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even so, he clung to a sliver of hope. He was thirty-seven; Princess Sibylla was thirteen. To put it bluntly, he could be her father—and if marriages were arranged hastily, he might even be her grandfather. He had full self-awareness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But that self-awareness shattered quickly. They danced. Then Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, rose and suggested he compose a love poem for the princess—poetry was one of the knightly arts. In banquets, knights presenting love poems to their admired ladies was common, even celebrated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This involved no moral or doctrinal violation. Many husbands welcomed such scenes—it showed their wives were admired, and they shared in the honor. But the problem was: Princess Sibylla was unmarried. For a man, especially one not wed, to publicly declare love to an unmarried woman at a banquet was virtually a proposal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Count Étienne’s body turned icy, yet the stares pinned him down—he could not refuse rudely or remain silent. He could only rise, “cheerfully,” and compose a love poem for Princess Sibylla:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Beneath the shade lies a scroll,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>a bottle of wine, a crust of bread,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>with you singing beside me in this wasteland,\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>wasteland—becomes paradise!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The poem was short, simple, and recited dryly, devoid of emotion. Yet everyone present erupted in delight, clapping vigorously or pounding the tables.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Except for Sibylla’s admirers, all smiled broadly. They drew Count Étienne to the hall’s center, surrounding him. Sibylla’s attendant stepped forward, head high, and presented him with a black sable cloak.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was, of course, a magnificent garment. In the Frankish court, if a noblewoman ordered such a gift, Count Étienne would have gladly accepted it as a token of affection. But could he not understand now?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the first step in betrothal!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though marriages were often like transactions or alliances—sometimes the couple had never met, only exchanged portraits, with negotiations handled by clerks or ministers—certain customs were still observed to lend dignity or a veil of romance: one such custom was for a young woman to prepare a cloak for her future husband.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Count Étienne watched the attendant step forward, unfold the cloak, and prepare to drape it over him. His face was numb, limbs stiff, yet he forced himself to step back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The attendant had not anticipated this reaction. His hands flew open—the cloak fell, and with no support, it landed with a soft whoosh on the floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A cold silence spread from Count Étienne outward, extinguishing laughter and shouts wherever it reached. Joy vanished from faces, replaced by shock and suspicion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he saw Count Étienne step back, Amalric I froze. But he was King of Arasal—he quickly realized what had gone wrong!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was all Louis VII’s fault. Louis VII was an utterly devout believer; when Pope Eugene III issued the Crusade edict, he was the first notified. Louis responded without hesitation, pouring vast sums and manpower into the Crusade—so much so that his wife Eleanor insisted on divorce. This failed marriage severed Aquitaine from the Capetian dynasty and France, turning Louis VII into a laughingstock—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Regardless, his marriage to Eleanor had produced only two daughters, and he had always claimed it was due to her poor health that he had no son. Yet no sooner had Eleanor divorced him than she married Henry II of England and swiftly bore him three sons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had Louis VII not finally fathered his own heir five years ago, his position would have been even more humiliating. Such a devout, resolute king likely never imagined his subject would treat the Arasal throne like a venomous serpent, fleeing in terror…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Count Étienne was torn between laughter and tears. He knew Louis VII meant well. Earlier, the king had gently asked why he had not remarried, whether he had anyone in mind. The count had evaded the question, claiming he still mourned his late wife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had he known the king had planned to send him to Arasal for a marriage alliance, he would have shouted: No! Your Majesty, I have no intention of remarrying—even if I did, I would find a suitable match within France, not journey a thousand miles to become a princess’s husband in the Holy Land!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amalric I felt dizzy, pressing his hand to his forehead. Fortunately, Count Étienne had recovered. He immediately knelt, hand over his heart, and spoke with sincere emotion—he never imagined he could earn Amalric I’s favor and praise. To marry Princess Sibylla would be God’s grace, fate’s gift, the highest honor—he was overwhelmed, scarcely daring to believe it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he remained a vassal of King Louis VII of France. His marriage required the monarch’s consent. He would ride posthaste back to France to seek the king’s approval, then return solemnly to propose for the princess.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost everyone knew this was an excuse. His earlier reaction had made it clear he had no desire to become Amalric I’s son-in-law.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amalric I pinched the bridge of his nose, rose from his throne, and warmly clasped Count Étienne’s arm. He gladly accepted the request and declared he would immediately write a personal letter for Étienne to deliver to Louis VII.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We will never know whether Amalric I cursed the reckless Louis VII in that letter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The only certainty was: Count Étienne rose as if granted pardon, and immediately led his men out of the hall. The banquet ended abruptly. Everyone, including Amalric I, remained silent, avoiding eye contact with Princess Sibylla. It was an unthinkable farce—and the only true victim might be Sibylla…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even Baldwin and Cesar, huddled on the “gallery,” dared not speak. They sat motionless until the hall emptied, then sighed and rose. “This is terrible,” Baldwin said. But he dared not, and did not know how, to comfort his sister. To be publicly rejected in marriage was a disgrace beyond measure for a noblewoman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ll have the castle steward summon a merchant,” Baldwin groaned. “See if he has any gems or silk.” Perhaps gifts would lift Sibylla’s spirits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar doubted it, but he had no experience soothing women: “We could try other things—books, birds, perhaps.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Count Étienne was meant to remain at the Holy Cross Castle for some time—at least until Epiphany, or he would miss several major holy days on the road. But because of this fiasco, he left Arasal the next morning with his knights and servants in haste.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Amalric I personally saw him off. On the third day, Baldwin told the castle steward of the incident. The steward obeyed, and before vespers, he led a gem merchant into the castle. The merchant, trembling, opened his jewel box before the prince and his retinue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this time, gems had not yet been cut with later techniques; they were merely polished into spheres, ovals, or squares. But gems were still gems. Even with such crude craftsmanship, when held to the sun and turned, their dazzling colors and unique textures still inspired awe at the Creator’s artistry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Pick out a stone for Damara too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps the world held the saying: speak a name, and the person appears. Before Cesar could politely refuse, a servant arrived—sent by Damara. Cesar followed the servant down the tower, amid Baldwin’s subtle smile. He saw Damara at once: standing in the tower’s shadow, twisting her hands, anxious, even stamping her foot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the sight of Cesar, Damara rushed forward, grabbing his sleeve. Cesar’s heart stirred. He knelt down, and she spoke in a taut voice: “Something’s happened! Cesar! I heard Abigail’s servant say they bribed Étienne’s guide to lead him into the wolves’ den!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here, “wolves” did not mean the four-legged, two-eared beasts—those were merely prey for knights’ pelts, cloaks, or mediocre meals. Cesar immediately wrapped his cloak around Damara and carried her up the tower. Baldwin’s face paled. He waved his hand, dismissing the merchant: “Damara, is it Sibylla…?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s Abigail. He swore to cleanse the princess’s shame. But the king has forbidden anyone to challenge Count Sancerre—” some knights realized it was best to let the matter fade quietly; after a few months, no one would speak of it: “He’s not yet a knight, so…” Damara gasped for breath: “So he sent men to bribe the count’s guide, saying they’d lead them into Mule’s territory!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1971,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","2c67b9069495ea2258e12cad0d5f8fa57f2aaa4b02e1c78a64d68017b0866692","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-23","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-21",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]