Chapter 50: Encounter (Part 2)

“Leave? Now?” the attendant asked in astonishment.

He should not have contradicted his master like this, but his master had insisted on coming to Alasal at this most dangerous moment, disregarding all counsel, solely to meet Prince Baldwin, the heir of Amalric I.

The capriciousness of fate was fully evident in this child.

A few months ago, he was diagnosed with leprosy. Upon hearing the news, the Caliph’s court erupted in jubilation; everyone smiled, declaring it the thunderous wrath of Allah upon the Christians. No one foresaw a future for the child, believing that even if he did not die, he could only drag out his remaining days in a monastery.

They were soon disappointed: Amalric I had withstood the Church’s pressure and insisted on holding the “Selection Ceremony” for his son.

Prince Baldwin did not disappoint his expectations: not only did he perceive Saint George during the Selection Ceremony—a saint almost exclusively seen by wise kings—but he also manifested Saint George’s spear for three full days and nights, witnessed by tens of thousands.

With the encouragement of those with ulterior motives, this miracle spread like a bird with wings, reaching every Christian kingdom and even reaching the ears of their enemies.

The Caliph’s court fell silent; laughter and chatter vanished. The vibrant tiles and curtains seemed to lose their color. Hearts stirred with unease and dread—they feared that with a son blessed by divine favor and displaying such a miracle, Amalric I could now summon more knights, raise more funds, and gain greater support.

Perhaps within three or five years, he would launch another offensive against Egypt.

Several ministers advised the Caliph to impose new taxes or double existing ones, then collect the revenue to give to Amalric I as repayment for past debts.

If possible, they also suggested inviting Amalric I to launch a military campaign to expel the Saracens from Egypt.

They believed their conversation was secret, unaware that before the ministers had even left the Caliph’s palace, the entire dialogue had been transcribed word for word and swiftly delivered into the hands of the Saracens they despised and opposed.

When Shirkuh, the Kurd dispatched by Nur ad-Din, Sultan of Zengi, to Cairo, received this secret letter, he was momentarily speechless.

He handed the letter to his nephew—his attendant’s willful master—who also fell silent after reading it.

What did the Caliph’s court think of them? What did they think of Amalric I? Did they believe they could simply bribe them with money and command them at will? They were Nur ad-Din’s elite warriors, not wandering knights like beggars.

Yet the letter’s vivid portrayal of the “leper prince favored by Saint George” had indeed captured his master’s interest.

“Aren’t you going to meet the prince anymore?”

“I already have.”

“Ah?” The attendant cried out involuntarily, then quickly clamped his mouth shut, frantically recalling everything that had happened since their arrival in Alasal—only a day or two ago. The people they’d seen were either strong knights, fat merchants, ragged and exhausted pilgrims, or the Saracens’ spies planted in this holy city.

Prince Baldwin was only nine years old. They had never seen a child so young.

“Wait—those three children weren’t Byzantines?”

“I already told you they weren’t Byzantines.” His master took a silver ring from his pouch and slipped it onto his finger, replacing the one he had worn. He had once been to Constantinople, that colossal beast feeding on the last drops of the ancient empire’s blood, posing as a Saracen merchant for months.

Everyone praised Byzantium as the heir to Rome’s greatness and glory; he saw only bloated stagnation.

The Byzantine emperor was inherently greedy, always clutching everything tightly in his hands, demanding the entire empire move and function according to his will. To this end, he appointed countless officials to manage and control every region. Yet his king’s chronic paranoia made him distrust them, so he deliberately encouraged them to undermine and betray one another, while he sat serenely upon his throne as the sole arbiter, distributing each person’s fate.

The consequences were plain to see: officials grew lazy, the army grew weary, the people suffered, religious conflicts flared, and rebellions erupted everywhere.

Even if Manuel I was a decisive and wise ruler, this carriage, already burdened beyond its limit, could not escape its fate of plunging into the abyss—it was merely a matter of sooner or later. It still held together only because of its massive, intact shell, like a hunter hesitating before a bird fluffed up in defense. Everyone waited for someone to charge forward and tear off the first piece of flesh…

Those three children wore Byzantine clothing—loose garments he often saw in Cairo, also descended from the ancient Roman Empire. But in Roman times, people never adorned such garments with jewels or embroidered them with gold and silver thread; simple folds and lines were enough to reflect the strength and ease of the nation and its people.

Now, the Byzantines had turned once-pure, soft fabrics into glittering chains.

The Byzantine royalty, whether elders or children, were merely prisoners within these chains—numb, lifeless, eyes filled with suspicion, hands clutching swords, hearts brimming with greed and desire.

But the children he had seen were soft, vibrant, full of hope. Even knowing they were enemies’ offspring, he could not help but offer sincere praise.

“That child? I knew he was a prince.”

“You mean the one with green eyes? No,” his master smiled, “he’s not the prince. The one in orange-red robes is. He’s merely the prince’s attendant.”

“How is that possible?”

“Why not? In this regard, Prince Baldwin is at least a man of broad mind.”

How many people grow jealous when others surpass them, especially those of high status but low virtue?

Like their Caliph.

Like Atid, the same age as Prince Baldwin and his attendant.

When those ministers advised him to bring Amalric I, this tiger, to drive out the wolf pack—the Saracens—occupying Egypt, the Caliph said nothing, though he gave no explicit agreement.

He had often seen how the Caliph stared at him—there was an ominous gaze. Even though he and his uncle had been sent by Sultan Nur ad-Din to Egypt to expel the Christians, the Caliph still felt deep jealousy whenever people praised him, obeyed him, or supported him.

If he could, the Caliph would not merely wish to expel him—he would rather twist a bowstring around his neck, snap it tight, or personally plunge a dagger into his chest and tear out his heart.

“Then why don’t you speak with Prince Baldwin again?” his attendant asked. He had not followed—after all, a Saracen merchant speaking to a Byzantine might be for business, or merely because he found the man’s face beautiful enough to strike up a conversation; adding another person would alert the knights.

Yet his master had left before Prince Baldwin even stepped out of the tent. Wasn’t he here for the prince?

“A lion does not walk side by side with hyenas. The best way to understand a man is to observe his companions, not the man himself. A person can disguise himself, but his friends cannot. You might claim he was deceived by his friends, but if one is close to another, one cannot be utterly ignorant of him—otherwise, one is foolish.

And a man of noble character, upon discovering his friend is a vile wretch, will surely distance himself—for only maggots cluster together to roll in filth.”

As he spoke, the attendant thought of the ministers in the Caliph’s court—and their Caliph.

“I remember now—they said the prince’s attendant was also blessed, with a shield. They all say this attendant was born for the prince.”

The attendant spoke, and his master smiled meaningfully. “Who was born for whom? That remains to be seen.”

Are there kind people? Many. Are there cruel people? Yes, many. But those who remain kind yet retain a cruel clarity? Very few. And those who, amid cruel games, still preserve the last thread of mercy? As rare as pearls in the desert.

Yet compared to Prince Baldwin, this child’s starting point was utterly low; his path ahead would surely be harder. No matter how twisted or corrupted he became in the future, he would not be surprised.

But in his heart, he still held a luxurious hope…

——————

This Saracen from Egypt, whether making decisions or taking action, moved swiftly. After telling his attendant they would leave, that same night they boarded an Egyptian merchant ship, where they unexpectedly caught sight of several familiar but unwelcome faces.

They were overseeing slaves unloading cargo. One wooden crate was especially large—over a man’s height, two men’s width—and from within it came a constant, muffled snoring.

This dock used a treadwheel crane. In simple terms, it was a giant wooden hamster wheel, about fifteen feet in diameter. Slaves, like hamsters, stepped on the tread, turning the wheel connected to pulleys, which lifted heavy loads. It was said this crane could lift up to twelve thousand pounds; the ancient Egyptians used it to build pharaohs’ tombs, the ancient Romans to build temples to their gods.

But this crane had a flaw: it was prone to collapse. If it fell, the slaves inside would die or be injured, and the cargo would be ruined.

The men clearly knew this. They were tense—though their concern was for the cargo, not the slaves. They shouted, screamed, and threatened: if the crate was damaged, each slave would be thrown into the sea.

Amid this taut atmosphere, the largest crate was slowly hoisted off the deck, swung into the air. The slaves inside strained their muscles, drenched in sweat, beginning to walk slowly in the opposite direction—lowering the cargo was far more dangerous than lifting it. A snapped rope, a slipping crate, a sudden gust—any of these would unbalance the crane, and no master’s whip would be needed; they would die instantly.

When the cargo was still fifteen or fourteen feet above the ground, dozens more slaves grabbed the ropes hanging from the crate and pulled with all their strength in all directions. Even so, when the crate hit the ground, it thundered with a massive crash, shaking the earth.

“What is that?”

The sudden voice startled the loudest shouters. He immediately drew his curved sword and turned sharply toward the sound—a man in a black robe emerged.

“It’s you,” the man stepped back unconsciously, then thought better and stepped forward again. “This is a wedding gift from Caliph Atid to King Amalric I of Alasal and his bride, Byzantine Princess Maria Komnene.”

“What kind of wedding gift carries the scent of a wild beast?”

“That is not something you should inquire about or know,” the man replied bluntly. But under the Saracen’s gaze, he instinctively lowered his head and bowed deeply. “Do not pressure me, my lord. If I speak, my family and I will be torn apart by the Grand Vizier Shawar.”

——————

The gift Prince Baldwin brought back was met with the Countess of Jaffa’s delighted delight, loud exclamations, and many embraces.

Yet when she saw the divination result, she was puzzled: it said she would bear two sons. The first would bring her glory; the second would bring her even greater glory.

She puzzledly touched her belly. Amalric I was only in his thirties; she was younger than him. At her age, bearing a son was possible. But her husband had recently died—was this prophecy telling her to find a new husband quickly and bear a second son?

Yet she hesitated. Amalric I remained strong and vigorous, and his bride was only fifteen. After their union, they would likely have a child soon.

If that child were a boy, nearly everything Baldwin now possessed would shift to him. After all, Baldwin’s illness could not be cured, meaning he had no long future. Who would invest in an asset destined to lose everything in the short term?

She feared that if she bore a younger son, she would transfer some of her love for Baldwin to him. Baldwin already had so little—she did not wish to take away even more of what rightfully belonged to him.

Moreover, the prophecy said the second son would bring greater honor. Baldwin would one day be King of Alasal—how could her younger son surpass that? By inheriting Baldwin’s throne… or…

But Baldwin paid no mind to the prophecy. He worried only that he might not outlive his mother. When he died, who would protect her? If his mother bore another son—one who achieved even greater deeds than he—then he would no longer fear.

Yet he noticed the countess’s low spirits, so to distract her, he said: “You probably don’t know the divination results for Damara and Cesar, do you?”

(End of Chapter)