Chapter 64: This one cares, this one also cares

"Templars never gamble, no matter what they bet on." Walter said.

This kind of talk is not very credible. Perhaps after becoming a Templar, knights will stop the bad habit of gambling, but no one is born a Templar. Commoners will use a handful of wheat or a bowl of beans to gamble, let alone knights who can at least afford a set of armor and have a surname?

"This is not a bet set by mortals for money or beauty," Cesar said: "What we cast will be ourselves, and then we look at God's judgment."

Walter frowned: "Are you talking about Holy Judgment? But child, just based on your words, I can convict you—you should not equate Holy Judgment with gambling."

"God has never said that gambling is forbidden. What He forbids is deception, greed, and vanity. The part covered by this law is much more than mere money—what we want to verify is something more sacred—my lord."

Cesar said calmly.

Oh, a Marshal thought in his heart, his voice is also very good, not chaotic, nor rude, every word is clear.

"You have always said that the master followed by Templars is only one, that is the Lord in Heaven, or His spokesperson on Earth. Now, we cannot invite that respectable servant of the Lord here to guarantee for us, so the only thing we rely on is one."

"That is the only master of Heaven, Earth, and all things in the world."

"I know there is a way, which is for two knights to duel before God, using blood and life to defend their honor and fight for the power to speak, but you are not a knight," Walter frowned: "If Amalric I came before me, I might be willing to try, but you don't have this qualification."

"Outside the Golden Gate, there is a cemetery where tens of thousands of dead people rest. The Isaac people say that when the end of the world comes, a Savior will walk into Al-Salu from the Golden Gate. At that time, every dead person in the Holy Land will be resurrected and accept judgment. My lord, you and I are both flesh and blood, mortal people. One day, we will also sleep in stone coffins, waiting for that day to come.

Then, on that day, do you think when we stand together before angels and saints, waiting for the result, will They say, this is a lord, this is a child, this is a knight, this is a squire?

No, in the light of the Kingdom of Heaven, all human beings are equally small and humble. When They pick us up, They don't look at the thickness of the bones or the number of teeth, nor will They look at whether there is gold or swords in our tombs, only whether our souls are pure, firm, and tenacious."

"And," Cesar smiled brightly: "I also don't think I can compete with you, my lord. You are the one who has truly fought for God, and I have not even smelled the blood of the battlefield. What I rely on is merely your piety to God and your compassion for the weak."

Geoffrey coughed, and then from him to other Marshals, a series of coughs sounded in the room, even Walter's squire was no exception.

Walter listened very comfortably: "Then what do you want to do?"

Everyone listened intently, but saw that little squire make another surprising move. He opened his belt and took off the brilliant silver-plated chainmail. The chainmail piled up on the ground like a curled-up pangolin—and he was still shimmering with a layer of milky white light like moonlight or sunlight.

People said so because this kind of brightness was gentler than sunlight and brighter than moonlight.

It looked so soft, only Walter, who had tried it himself, knew it was not something fragile.

"I am willing to guarantee for my master, King Amalric I, with my life and faith," Cesar said: "I have heard that your sword is the gift of Saint Paul. It will never break or rust, even stone and steel are like a piece of cheese before it..."

"Are you asking me to use that sharp sword to stab you?"

"Exactly, please take it to stab me, hack me, three times in total. If I take a step back, groan, or shed a drop of blood, it means God and the saints are on your side, and you are righteous. If not..."

"You want me to surrender to Amalric I?"

"No, I only hope you can extend your compassion for me to more people, those who should not have become victims in this struggle," Cesar said sincerely, "No matter who wins or loses in the war between you and the King, they will be grateful to you, praise you, and pray for you."

Walter looked at him for a long time and grinned: "You were just cursing me to fail, little bastard." He stretched, and those who knew him knew he had been persuaded. Geoffrey remembered that when he met Cesar, what Cesar cared about most was what this Templar liked most and what he cared about most—he even thought Cesar was going to try to bribe or threaten him.

"You want me to use Saint Paul's sword to stab you," Walter said, "But I also want to remind you, you have already used up the last chance just now. I will not show mercy. Although I know you are also deeply favored by the saints, just like two knights clashing, no one knows the result until the last moment. When you lie in a pool of blood wailing, please do not forget that this is your own choice."

Everyone present could not help but feel nervous, even Geoffrey was not so sure—it was easy for knights to judge how much divine favor they had obtained from each other. How long to pray, whether to pray loudly or silently, how long to last? How strong is the power?

The person who leads them must also understand the state and characteristics of each knight, so as not to command improperly, letting the agile falcon break its wings in the storm, letting the exhausted hunting dog face the furious giant bear.

As long as people have seen Cesar, they all praise the divine favor he received as thick and pure, and the speed of getting a response is even faster as if the saint is watching him at any time. But Walter had ultimately been a Templar for nearly ten years, and before that, he had already had the title of "Strongest Knight" in the Thiers region of France. If he were not pious enough and only interested in fighting, he would have had a place in the court of Louis VII long ago.

And what he said before was not a bluff. Although Templars are considered brutal beasts to heretics and heretics, Walter is the most unscrupulous one among them.

But thinking about it, Cesar's method was the most favorable to him—except for simply ignoring this matter, he stood there without moving, and the experience Walter had accumulated in countless duels and battles also lost its use. What was used to measure the two seemed to be only divine favor.

The problem is, divine favor also accumulates and increases over time. Not to mention he had not been on the battlefield. Even though he had faced a giant bear, how could a sharp and heavy greatsword compare to the fangs of a wild beast.

People have instincts. Seeing a sword hacking over, they must subconsciously want to dodge. Some cowards can even be scared to the point of not even having the idea of dodging, only knowing how to shout. If Cesar only said that he was willing to endure Walter's three blows, Walter might not have accepted his challenge so easily.

But since he said that he would not take a step back, would not shout, and would not shed a drop of blood, this was saying that he had full confidence in God. Just this point surpassed countless people, which was why he could gain the admiration of the Templars and stand in the position opposite Walter.

Since he said so, Walter stopped talking. He knelt on the cross with his bare hands, recited an extremely short hymn, and then shouted the name of Saint Paul loudly. Light was cast from the darkness. He raised his hand and held a bright cross sword. It was surging with flames, as if it had been passed directly from the angel's hand to him.

"One." He said.

Only light flashed, like pure white silk pouring in the air. He hacked at Cesar's left arm with one sword. Alas, although this Templar said extremely cruel words in his rage, he still left some room when he truly took action.

Although the flesh and bone were separated, only a monk beside the Pope could reconnect them—and that was when the blood was still flowing and had not changed color—if this child's arm was cut off, he could only live as a one-armed man and could not become a knight, only go to a monastery, but at least he could live.

People did not hear wailing, but they did not hear any sound like collision or knocking. Two Marshals who were clerics stepped forward. Although they were Templars, when they received the blessing, what they received was "bestowal" rather than "grace," which meant that they were both Marshals in the Order and clerics, responsible for praying and healing for the knights.

But almost at the same time, Walter had already retreated. He pointed the sword tip toward the ground, so everyone saw that the child was still standing in the same place—in order to determine whether he had moved, flour was sprinkled around his feet. Even if he just moved his toes, it could be seen clearly.

The two clerics quickly went up to check, as if they had stepped forward for this in the first place: "I saw it clearly," a cleric said, "He didn't move."

And the other cleric checked the place where the cross sword hacked. Cesar's left arm had a large piece of cloth hanging down, but the only loss was indeed the cloth, "He didn't bleed." This cleric also affirmed.

The other Marshals also checked—when people asked about this trial later, they had to be witnesses.

"Then, two." Walter waited for the witnesses to disperse before raising the cross sword again. Everyone was observing his expression, not knowing what his first strike felt like. Was it like steel, or like hard wood? Or was it like linen and wool? Anyway, no one would think Walter would fake a strike. This was an insult to himself and his faith.

The sword edge whistled, and people were terrified. This time the direction was actually toward the neck!

Could he still not dodge? Could he still not shout? Even if it was just a hoarse breath from the throat? Those fine flour was beside his feet. He didn't even need to move, just trembling would leave clear traces on it.

This time they could even see the muscles on Walter's face and arms bulging high. The Templar twisted his waist and let out a dull roar. His strong body and sturdy arms were like a spring that had been tightened and then suddenly released—even if the giant killed by David was here, he couldn't avoid being beheaded!

But, oh my, people saw it very clearly! This sword whipped on the little squire's tender neck like a whip, as if the next moment they could see that beautiful head flying into the air, and blood being thrown into the air like a ribbon. They could almost smell the sweet fishy smell.

It took a long while for them to realize that all this was just their imagination. The little squire was still standing steadily in the same place, motionless, without blood, and without a broken neck. Walter stood at a distance of no more than three or four steps from him, his expression unfathomable.

"You come up and see." It was not until Walter spoke that everyone woke up from a dream. They rushed up to confirm that Cesar was still unharmed.

"Three." Walter said. Everyone thought that this time he would roar, or make a fake move, or fiercely stab at the little squire's eyes. After all, as long as he could make him move, shout, the other party would lose. Even Cesar thought so—he saw the fierce light bursting from Walter's eyes, colder and crazier than that mother bear who lost her cubs.

The cross sword was raised high, the light was like the scorching sun, and even Cesar could not help but close his eyes slightly. But the expected violent blow did not come. He heard everyone let out a slight sigh, full of joy and admiration. He opened his eyes and found that the cross sword did not fiercely hack down, but gently rested on his shoulder.

"I think God has already seen your confidence." Walter said. He let go of his hand, and the cross sword dissipated on Cesar's shoulder.

——————

In Amalric I's tent, it was not just Baldwin who felt anxious, Heraclius was too. But whether it was the former or the latter, it was impossible to say, don't sympathize with those commoners who are like wild grass, don't offend the Templars, don't show your strength and talent to everyone.

If Cesar was willing to listen to such instructions, then he would be nothing more than a dispensable handyman in the Holy Cross Castle now. He wouldn't even be able to enter the Holy Cross Castle. When Baldwin was infected with leprosy and suffered the mockery of the servants re-selected by Amalric I, the King was already furious and had to find an impeccable companion for Baldwin.

And I don't know if it was luck or misfortune, he found one.

When an attendant stepped into the tent happily and announced loudly that the King's envoy team had returned safely and brought the messenger from Tortosa, even Amalric I could not help but show joy.

The irritable Walter de Mesnil could even ignore the King's authority. If he regarded the envoy sent by Amalric I as a humiliation, it was not impossible. The worst result was that he executed them and shot them out of the castle, and the best result was stripping their clothes, armor, detaining the flags, and letting them walk back to the camp in a dejected manner.

Baldwin emptied his box, and the greatest expectation was just to beg Geoffrey to find a way to save Cesar's life.

But the result was obviously beyond everyone's expectations. Even though they did have a weak fluke—but when Cesar truly did it, they could not help but feel intoxicated as if they had drunk a large cup of mellow wine.

Amalric I could still maintain the posture a King should have. After confirming the location, time, and approximate number of people for the war with the Templars of Tortosa, he gave them rewards before showing a pleasant smile.

And Baldwin, as soon as outsiders left, jumped onto Cesar, hugging his neck tightly. He was so excited that his face was red, and for a moment he didn't even know what to say, or rather, he wanted Cesar to tell him about what happened in Tortosa Castle.

Of course, Cesar first had to answer the King's inquiry. He told it one by one. When he said that Walter de Mesnil's third sword was just gently placed on his shoulder, Amalric I showed a subtle smile.

If it were him, he would do the same. Walter was nearly forty, and Cesar was only ten. Even if he won, was it a very glorious thing? Not to mention losing. With the two previous probes, an experienced knight could judge whether he could win this trial—directly giving up the last strike could create a beautiful story. When people talked about this matter, they would only sigh at his kindness and generosity...

To say something mean, this favor might be used twenty or thirty years later.

"You saved me a lot of time, manpower, and money," Amalric I said: "If you were already a knight, I would give you a horse, armor, and attendants, but you are still a squire yourself, so I give you a wish. You can put it forward now or keep it. I will fulfill it for you whenever you want."

Heraclius straightened his back, and Baldwin held his breath. They all guessed what request Cesar would make.

"I only have one request," Cesar said calmly, "Your Majesty, please forgive the commoners in Tortosa Castle."

The King was silent. He looked at Cesar with a look that could be called severe. The tent was very quiet.

Amalric I swore to execute everyone in Tortosa Castle. Was it because these people humiliated and betrayed him? Of course not, it was just because of the obstruction and threats of the Templar Order, and the entire cause of the Crusaders, he had to give up the plan to cut off the heads of the masterminds and use their blood to wash away the shame.

But the anger of a King always needs a place to vent.

Also because of this, the Templars had already acquiesced to the fact that except for a few people in the castle, everyone else would be executed by Amalric I to vent his anger. But now, there was a little squire who, in front of him, boldly requested him to forgive everyone.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 65 =====