Chapter 49: Encounter (Part 2)

He finished speaking and stepped out of the tent, suddenly moving from the shadows into the light. The Saracen, dressed in a black robe, could not help but close his eyes, only opening them after a moment.

Once he opened his eyes, he discovered that the blinding light came not only from the midday sun but also from a person.

"He is radiant, like a poem."

"What?"

His attendant followed him out of the tent and saw the reason; he could not help but gape, finding it hard to believe his own eyes.

A boy dressed in Byzantine attire was walking past them, and the crowd parted to make way for him—Cesar's features were already flawless, and in the past few months, he had grown taller, combined with what Baldwin had said: those who receive the "blessing" experience a certain improvement in their physical constitution.

And as we all know, a healthy person is rarely ugly; they have bright eyes, smooth skin, and a light gait, without a single trace of sluggishness or deformity.

Today, Cesar wore a loose robe with a golden base, embroidered with emerald-green flowers, birds, and diamond patterns, cinched with a gold belt, and draped in a silver-threaded cloak fastened with a white opal brooch. These did not steal the wearer's luster; rather, like leaves framing a flower, they made him appear even more brilliant and dazzling.

Compared to him, Baldwin, who was holding his arm and wearing an orange-red robe with gold-thread embroidery and a matching gold belt, was almost entirely overlooked—which suited Baldwin just fine, as he was still feeling somewhat timid.

As for Damala, the noble ladies in the castle had long since given up comparing themselves to Cesar. It wasn't that they couldn't compete; they simply reasoned that he was a man, and they were women—wasn't it only natural for a man to be more perfect than a woman?

Speaking of literary cultivation, the poor attendant certainly could not compare to his master. The master could recite a line of Saracen poetry on the spot, while the attendant could only stammer, "Aba, aba, aba..."

After they had passed, he sighed and exclaimed from the heart, "What a beautiful child! The Truth must have put a great deal of thought into creating him. It is a pity he is a Christian," he couldn't help but look in their direction, as if he could look them back. "He must be a little prince raised with great care; his father might be a chamberlain to Manuel I."

He immediately guessed "chamberlain" rather than any other official because, although the title originated in the ancient Roman Empire and initially involved simple communication and interest-related work, ever since the Roman Empire split, the Eastern Roman Emperor had used chamberlains to replace the original Praetorian Guard—perhaps because the latter were too close to the Emperor.

A chamberlain was a whip in the Emperor's hand, capable of both coercing enemies and intimidating colleagues. Without a doubt, being a chamberlain meant he was superior to all other officials—Amalric I was about to marry the grand-niece of Manuel, and the bride would arrive in Yafa in a week. It was not strange for the chamberlain's child to appear in Shengcheng at this time.

The other man shook his head. "No," he said, "that is not a Byzantine."

The attendant was about to ask why when he saw his master walking in that direction, and he had to hurry to follow.

————————

Men a thousand years later might view accompanying a lady shopping as a chore, but in this era, that was not necessarily the case.

Although this place was called the most sacred and could be considered a prosperous Dacheng, the people of Shengcheng still lived in the monotony and boredom of day-to-day life. Those who did not need to struggle for their next meal had only music, dancing, watching jesters tumble in the castle, or listening to poets sing stories they already knew by heart as their pastimes.

So much so that those young people, especially the energetic lads, found anything interesting as long as it wasn't staring at walls, praying, or training.

One more thing that needs to be explained is that men of this period were just as vain as women, perhaps even more flamboyant.

They grew their hair long and covered it with silver or gold nets, which were then adorned with pearls; they engraved family names, verses from the Bible, or patterns onto their armor; their saddles and shields were either gilded or silver-plated; they set gold spurs on their boots and pinned brooches inlaid with precious stones to their hats; they loved velvet, silk, and wool, and the more brilliant the color, the better.

A knight winning a Biwu Assembly or whipping his own bare back until it bled during a penitential procession could earn the admiration of the nobility. Sometimes noble ladies would throw down their shawls or cloaks, and the knight would drape them over himself and boast to everyone.

Now, this situation was becoming increasingly intense, to the point where the "Primitive Rule" of the Templars had to explicitly state: "Robes shall not have any exquisite decorations," and "If any brother desires better or more ornate clothing (all equipment of the Templars was issued by the Order), he shall be given the worst."

However, this was unavoidable, as it was difficult for people at this time to distinguish a person's identity—not to mention identity documents, as most people were illiterate—let alone those like Ma Like, who had sworn an oath to Christ and would not reveal his origin or name until he had fulfilled his vow.

The only things that could prove their identity were the clothes on their bodies. There were clear regulations for what a monk, a servant, or a prince should wear. Although Shengcheng did not have laws as detailed and strict as Constantinople, as long as a person walked before the crowd, one could estimate their status and profession by looking at their clothes.

If you dressed like a beggar or a fool, there would inevitably be ill-natured people coming to provoke you.

Therefore, for merchants, a noble lady was a respectable customer, and a knight could be an impressive buyer, and many noble ladies were willing to pay the bills for knights.

It sounds unbelievable, but as long as the knight had sworn an oath to the lady, he belonged to her; he would serve for his love and become a vassal to his lover.

Just as a knight would polish his armor and feed his horse, noble ladies would also care for their knights, purchasing armor and horses for them, giving them sable or silk clothing, and recommending them to their fathers or husbands.

Of course, in return, the knight must not disobey any order from the lady to whom he had sworn an oath; even if she demanded he whip himself, fight a beast, or die, he must obey.

Even if she said nothing, he should defend her honor anywhere and at any time. Many knights would hang a sign wherever they stayed, declaring that the beauty and virtue of a certain lady were peerless and unmatched.

If another knight raised an objection, he would ride his horse, raise his spear, and knock on the wooden sign to challenge him to a duel.

Such duels usually resulted in one death.

"That is Elena and her knight," Damala whispered.

Standing at the entrance of a shop was a noble lady wearing a Xinan hat and veil. Her knight knelt on the ground, letting her step on his knee to mount her horse. After mounting, the lady lifted her veil and smiled sweetly as a reward for this diligence. The knight immediately took the ring she removed and wore it on his little finger.

"Isn't that Waerte?" Baldwin frowned. "Isn't he applying to join the Templars? If he has sworn an oath to a noble lady, how does he intend to fulfill it?"

"Elena is not a harsh person," Damala said. "She can release the vow, provided the gentleman is sincere enough. Besides, if people say that this knight joined the Templars out of heartbreak because he could not obtain her love, and to remain chaste for her, that would also be a beautiful story."

"This... is that allowed?" Cesar asked hesitantly.

"Why not?" Damala said. "Several of my friends hope to have a knight willing to die for them or become a monk and remain chaste for life."

"And you?" Baldwin asked immediately.

"Me?" Damala looked at Cesar. "I wouldn't want my knight to die. Being able to stay with me forever—that would be better."

"Do you want to marry Cesar?" The Gerard family would never agree to that.

"Why not? Cesar is so beautiful."

"I will consider Cesar's marriage carefully," Baldwin said. Damala was not a good candidate for Cesar; Cesar's foundation was too thin, and it would be best to find him a female heir with wealth or land.

Cesar did not listen to the rest of their conversation. He began to understand why "Knightly Love" was so highly esteemed.

In this era where only men could inherit property (mostly), serve in the military, govern, or even conduct business, the fastest and most efficient way for women to gain honor was to have knights who loved them proclaim it everywhere.

Whether the knight died or defeated his opponent, it could establish the noble lady's lofty status. People would say that if she were not truly pious, benevolent, and wise, how could she have made someone lose their most precious life for her?

For knights, this also had benefits. After all, when poets performed in castles and courts, they would mention his name, and his bravery and ferocity would be proclaimed. Additionally, if a knight defeated another, the loser's armor and horses would belong to him. Many knights accumulated their assets this way.

At this moment, that Mr. Waerte came over to salute the prince, but he cautiously did not disturb the others. If he could, he would even have liked to act as the prince's temporary guard, but he had to serve his mistress back to the castle.

"Do you still wish to continue?" Ma Like asked.

Baldwin hesitated. Today was not a market day, but the King's wedding had brought a large number of merchants and their customers—Byzantine people coming to celebrate, envoys from various countries, and knights wanting to participate in the Biwu Assembly were crowding every corner of the Holy Land.

As for the merchants, whether they were carrying baskets, setting up tents, or renting storefronts, the goods they displayed, though crude, could be called dazzling.

He was determined to find a treasure for his mother that was unique in the world, but this preciousness should not lie in its price.

"I'll look a little longer."

They passed several shops and tents; Baldwin even looked at the goods piled on the ground, but he never found anything suitable.

Damala was a bit tired. She turned her head to look around, wanting to find a place to rest. "Ah," she said, "they have started practicing."

She was referring to the actors. Performers were indispensable in a wedding, and the King's wedding required especially many, because from the moment the bride stepped into the Holy City until she reached the Castle of the Holy Cross, there had to be people performing various plays on high wooden platforms along the way, the content of which was basically related to marriage.

Besides these, there were jugglers, magicians, dwarves, and dancers. Some of these people had heard the news and came on their own, while others were hired by the castle steward. But no one would just wait around; the streets were crowded, and they took the opportunity to earn a few coins for wine.

Damala seemed to be attracted to a place where "Solomon and Sheba" was being rehearsed. Baldwin and Cesar followed, only to discover that what she was watching was a "slaughterhouse"—Cesar didn't know what to call this game, if it could be called a game.

This game was very simple; it only required an open space and some chickens and ducks. The host would bury these chickens and ducks in the dirt, leaving only their heads exposed. Then, people willing to play the game would pay to enter and take a stick. They would take turns hitting the heads of the chickens and ducks with the stick. Whoever could knock the head off in one blow would get that chicken or duck.

The necks of the chickens and ducks were very flexible and quick to react, but if one missed, there was always a second, a third... and there were plenty of trained servants and squires here.

These teenagers were in high spirits, paying their money and hitting the field into a mess. The chickens and ducks stretched their necks and screamed desperately, accompanied by the sighs, exclamations, and mocking laughter of the onlookers. Feathers flew everywhere, and blood splattered.

After watching for only a few seconds, Cesar was the first to turn his head away. Baldwin also lowered his eyes. Damala raised her hand to cover her eyes, appearing a bit frightened but even more excited.

"What is that?" Baldwin turned his eyes away. Cesar followed his gaze and saw a small tent, perhaps only large enough for three or four people, but there was a long line outside. Ma Like hurried over to inquire and returned, saying, "That is a monk's tent. He says that the saint he envisions is Enoch, and everyone who has tried says his prophecies are very accurate—"

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "He says that if there is a mother who wants to divine for her son, or a son who wants to divine for his mother, in order to commemorate Gabriel prophesying the birth of the Holy Child to the Virgin, he will not charge any fee."

Baldwin didn't care about a few silver or gold coins; what moved him was "a son wanting to divine for his mother." He hoped that the Countess of Yafa would be safe and sound and live a long life, but the world was unpredictable and fate was fickle. Her fief was Yafa, a throat that would inevitably be contested once war broke out—and the appearance of this monk seemed to be a kind of omen...

"I want to try," he whispered to Cesar.

The knights went over to drive away the crowd and searched the tent. The diviner was indeed a monk, and there was no one else besides him. However, he insisted that only one person could enter the tent for each divination because he used geomancy, and the third person to know the result would be cursed with misfortune.

The knights were naturally unwilling, but Baldwin was very insistent. Cesar thought for a moment. "Tie him up," he said. "Leave his mouth and eyes free."

"Then how will he use the stick to make dots on the ground?"

"Use his teeth."

The monk glared at Cesar.

Cesar finished dealing with this small matter and walked to the side to rest. Damala was very curious about the monk and forgot her fatigue, circling the tent. Mark and the knights could only stare at her fixedly, fearing she would suddenly sneak in.

"Sir," Cesar said, "why have you been following us?"

The man let out a soft laugh.

He was a Saracen, at least from his attire. He wore a black robe, and his leather belt, as wide as a palm, held nothing but a curved sword.

This curved sword had no decorations; the leather sheath was also black, and the hilt was wrapped in brown leather strips. Over the black robe, he wore a tea-white striped open-front cloak, made of the same thin wool material as the robe.

He wore a dark turban, without any brooch, made of ordinary linen, yet he wore it as if it were a crown.

"I just saw you watching that... game. Child," the man did not answer Cesar's question but asked gently, "do you not like this game?"

"I do not," Cesar said. "And you, sir? Do you like it?"

"Neither," the man said. "Then may I ask, why do you not like it?"

A knight walked toward them. Cesar waved his hand to indicate that nothing was wrong. The knight stopped, but still kept one eye on them. Cesar looked at the man, who seemed to have completely disregarded the knight—even though he was dressed like an ordinary Saracen merchant.

Cesar thought for a moment and replied, "Let's put it this way: in the education I once received, there is a saying that anyone who wishes to be a benevolent person should not approach the kitchen."

The man repeated the sentence. "This is certainly not the literal meaning."

"Indeed," Cesar affirmed. "This saying comes from a dialogue between a sage and a king. It is said that the king once saw someone leading an ox past him and asked, 'Where are you taking it?' The man said, 'I am going to sacrifice to the gods, so I must kill the ox.' Seeing the ox shedding tears, the king said, 'I will redeem it with a sheep.'

When people found out about this, they mocked him, believing that pitying the ox but not the sheep was a hypocritical act."

The man listened very attentively, subconsciously rubbing a wide silver ring on his finger with his thumb; it was the only ornament on his body. "What did the sage say?"

"He said that having even that bit of benevolence is already a very good thing," Cesar said. "When that king reigned, there were many countries around him, and they were almost constantly at war. To fight, their people had to pay many taxes and could barely survive.

The sage said, 'You saw the ox and felt pity, but did not pity the sheep because you did not see it. Does this not mean that your benevolent heart already exists within you?'

Compared to you, shouldn't those who remain unmoved even when they see it be blamed even more?"

"... Ah," the man said after a long while, "this is truly a sage. He can see not only the shell but also the soul hidden deep within."

He gazed at Cesar. "That is why you are unwilling to watch such a scene—you are a Christian, but the sage you speak of reminds me of our Prophet.

He taught us to use the sharpest knives when slaughtering livestock, to cut the three tendons, and to be quick so as not to cause them pain. Because we eat them to survive, not for amusement."

"Yes," Cesar said. "I also eat meat, and I can slaughter livestock, and I am even a good cook, but I would not torture them like that."

"Every place seems to have similar truths."

"Because the human heart always leans toward goodness."

"Is that so?" The man smiled. "You are so beautiful, like a new sprout after the rain. May the Truth protect you, and may you still possess this rare purity the next time we meet."

——————

When Baldwin walked out of the tent, he saw Cesar standing there, his expression grave, as if he were lost in thought.

He stepped forward and called Cesar's name, only to see what he was holding in his hand.

"What is that?"

Cesar showed him; a crudely made silver ring lay in his palm.

"Who gave this to you?" Baldwin held up the ring. "An eagle?"

(End of chapter)