Chapter 8: The plea of a villain

A week later.

"I'm hungry," Baldwin said.

"I'll go to the kitchen and see," Cesar said.

In people's imagination, the King's son and his attendant must be able to get whatever they want at will. Perhaps you can say so. Amalric I was full of love and pity for this only son who might leave the world earlier than himself and might have to endure countless humiliations and pains before that, and was willing to satisfy all his requirements.

But in this era, the scarcity of materials is simply comparable to a blank sheet of paper drawn with a few strokes at will. Even in the kitchen of the Castle of the Holy Cross, only some vegetables, smoked meat, dried cod, and pickled herring were prepared.

The grand banquets recorded by monks must be prepared in advance, and it takes many days to prepare, so that the manor steward can collect enough livestock, wheat, and beasts and birds.

The castle steward and the chief steward also have to buy spices, honey, and sugar salt from merchants. Baking bread, pickling meat, candied fruit, and taking out the silver tableware, porcelain tableware, linen tablecloths, and other utensils that have been stored in the warehouse also require a lot of effort to polish, clean, and air-dry.

Usually, the King and nobles' two meals a day or three meals (during wartime) are also very simple, and can't even be called very fresh. When busy, they eat extremely sloppily. A bowl of wheat porridge plus dried meat or a piece of overnight bread dipped in wine can send them away, not to mention commoners. Wheat grains ground very roughly or simply wheat grains boiled into porridge, adding some dried peas or seasonal vegetables can be considered the best of luck.

Now people still avoid and retreat when they see Cesar, but compared to Witt, the Prince's new attendant is much more likable. He doesn't deliberately spit at people, nor does he get too close to the water-taking place or the stove, and he stands four or five steps away when talking to people. But the most convincing thing is that he has never shown any fine damaged appearance.

"He is a pious good child," they said, firmly believing that Cesar didn't contract the disease because he was pious enough, especially the cook and the cleaning maid.

"What vegetables are there today?" the black-haired little attendant asked politely.

"Onions, kale, turnips, pumpkins, and cabbage," a maid said timidly. Vegetables were never precious things. They were piled on the ground on one side of the kitchen—this was today's portion. Cesar carried a cowhide drawstring bag, put two onions, a cabbage, and some dried peas into it.

Under the guidance of the fruit master, he took two apples that were surely the sweetest and most succulent, and the butcher offered a piece of roasted beef the length of an arm. The milk, squeezed just this morning, had already been boiled and was contained in a round, bulging pottery jar.

"Do you want some beer?" the wine master ran over panting, "Beer just sent from the monastery!"

Cesar hesitated. He didn't like or approve of drinking, regardless of the alcohol content, it was harmful to the human body. The problem is that in Jerusalem, or more places, because of the lack of stable and clean water sources, people are also accustomed to using wine to replace water, and regard being able to drink to their heart's content as a symbol of masculinity. As the heir to Jerusalem, and his attendant, he and Baldwin couldn't avoid this problem.

The monks who sent the beer were a few monks from the Monastery of Saint John the Baptist. They still remembered Cesar, happily greeted him, shook hands, and wished God to bless him.

Seeing people who had helped him, knowing that everything was fine with them, was undoubtedly a happy thing, but Cesar's good mood was soon destroyed by an uninvited guest.

"Stop!" Cesar said disgustedly: "Otherwise I'll call the guards!"

The person who suddenly jumped out of the shadows was Witt.

In the left tower, Witt was not like this. He wore a fine cotton tunic, a goat-skin cloak, stepped on deer-skin boots, his face was rosy, his body was fat, and people who didn't know would definitely shout "Lord."

Now? His fat seemed to have been sucked away by the devil with a wheat straw. His eyes were terribly protruding. He only had a coarse hemp robe to his knees, barefoot, and exuded a stench. It didn't look like it was stained, but rather overflowed from the depths of his heart.

Cesar only looked at it and knew that he must have climbed into the castle secretly by clinging to the carriage while delivering beer.

While Cesar was observing Witt, Witt was also looking at Cesar. When Cesar first came to the left tower, they didn't take this little slave seriously. So what if he was the Prince's attendant? The Prince was just a leper! He should have been driven to the valley outside the city and lived and died with those abandoned by God...

However, just because he had a King father! They, these pious good people, had to be forced to serve him—they didn't want to ask the castle steward how they were confused by the generous rewards when they got this qualification, and how they were high-spirited and forgetful after getting it.

Who knows, with Cesar, the Prince, who had always remained silent no matter how presumptuous they were, suddenly drove them out of the left tower, and was unwilling to listen to any of their pleas. They were not knights, nor attendants, not even blacksmiths and carpenters. As an ordinary servant, they were not qualified to live in the castle permanently.

But as long as they can enter the castle, who is still willing to go out? The work in the castle, even if it is dealing with feces, is easier than quarrying, farming, and grazing outside, not to mention that when war comes, the castle is the safest place.

They, they were also forced by helplessness to be confused by the devil and do that kind of thing!

His hands grabbed empty air above his head, as if to grab a hat, but his hat had long disappeared. He had to kneel down, put his hands on his chest, his head lifted upward, and his greedy eyes swept over Cesar—he was dressed in a dark blue silk tunic just like a noble's son, with gold and silver thread lace on the cuffs and collar, white wool tight pants, brown long boots, tied with a wide leather belt (commoners are only allowed to use cloth belts), a dagger hung from the belt, and a silver cross hanging on his chest.

If he hadn't... if he had known, this dress and the favor it represented should have been his!

"Please," Witt shouted hoarsely: "Please, attendant lord, don't call the guards, don't call the guards, God have mercy, I came to beg for mercy, I came to repent!"

When he knew he was "selected," Witt was ecstatic for a while, and arrogant for a while. He thought he could escape purgatory and return to the human world or even go straight to the clouds. But that cruel hand of fate soon gave him a slap. He did get amnesty and became a monk lord, but after arriving at the monastery, he soon realized that the chips in his hand were not as many as he thought.

He couldn't become a knight, nor could he be a good servant. Now that he was selected, he could only treat some very minor diseases and injuries. Not to mention, those scabies, abrasions, or cold and fever, wiping some spit would be fine, drinking some hot wine would also work, and if it really couldn't, letting some blood would solve the problem, completely not needing a monk—praying for holy grace requires a large sum of money.

If Witt had Cesar's appearance and character, perhaps he would also be kept in the court by a wealthy lord or King, looking pleasing to the eye, but he was such a wretched sinner...

His life in the monastery was not as satisfactory as he imagined. He had to work like a farmer, sleep on the ground, and his food and drink were also few and cold.

He really couldn't stand that kind of hardship, so he tried every means to run back.

Compared to before, Witt's appearance now really could arouse some pity, but not to mention the traps he set to harm Cesar before, just the things he did before—after Cesar became familiar with the servants in the castle, he heard a lot about his evil deeds.

This little weasel's malice seemed to be aimed at everyone, "like a skin bag full of bad wine," the cook said, full of sour bitter juice, he enjoyed bullying anyone he could deal with, from his colleagues to his master.

He was the first to start complaining and cursing, and the first to blackmail and extort through trivial matters. He instigated other servants to work passively and even sarcastically. In a short period of time, he successfully turned the left tower into a nest of villains full of foul air.

"... I know there are some misunderstandings between us," Witt said: "But I can swear to the Holy Sepulcher, at least I, attendant lord, am sincere in wanting to make friends with you and serve our good master together."

"These don't need to be said," Cesar said: "Your accomplices probably didn't think that you, the mastermind, would push all the crimes onto them when they were hung on the gallows."

Witt was very cautious. He only brought the bad news that he was about to be driven out of the castle to other servants, and then hinted that Cesar was the one who did it. He went to get wine and pies, and recruited prostitutes. Those simple-minded and evil guys naturally knew what to do: "What do you want to do?"

"I want to return to the Prince's side," Witt said: "I know I did... make a small mistake before, but attendant lord, I have been selected now. I am a monk. If I am by the Prince's side, as the Prince's private secretary, just like Heraclius, it will only be a good thing for the Prince who is still not allowed to participate in any sacraments."

He was afraid that Cesar wouldn't understand, and hurriedly said: "You know, lepers are not allowed to participate in sacraments, so when it comes to inheriting and being inherited, their power is to be deprived. But as long as I am there, I will prove that the Prince has completed every duty to God like all Christians."

He stared at Cesar while speaking. He could only rely on Cesar now—his uncle never ignored him again, the monks treated him as a prisoner who needed supervision, as for Abbot John, the Count of Tripoli, Amalric I, these big figures, he didn't even have the qualification to meet them.

"Okay," Cesar considered for a while, then said: "I will mention it to the Prince."

——————————————

"You're back?" Baldwin was reading a heavy book by the fireplace, "What's in the kitchen today?"

"Some good vegetables," Cesar said: "Drink some milk first, then I'll cook soup."

In people's imagination, the King's son and his attendant must be able to get whatever they want at will. Perhaps you can say so. Amalric I was full of love and pity for this only son who might leave the world earlier than himself and might have to endure countless humiliations and pains before that, and was willing to satisfy all his requirements.

But in this era, the scarcity of materials is simply comparable to a blank sheet of paper drawn with a few strokes at will. Even in the kitchen of the Castle of the Holy Cross, only some vegetables, smoked meat, dried cod, and pickled herring were prepared.

Baldwin moved away from the fireplace, and they shared the milk in the pottery jar. Cesar lifted the double-eared pot, poured some clean water into the jar, lifted the fire poker to wrap around the hooks on both sides of the jar, and skillfully hung it on the iron crossbar above the fireplace stove. The flames immediately danced around the pottery jar, and the water in the jar boiled in a while. Cesar held the roast beef and pulled out a dagger to shave it into the boiling water bit by bit. Next were cabbage and onions.

Baldwin walked over to help. Cesar glanced at him, "You don't have to wear a veil and gloves in the room."

"Isn't there still you?" Baldwin said. His eyes reflected the fireplace fire, which were a pair of blue eyes as calm as lake water.

"If I were to be infected," Cesar said: "then I would have shown symptoms long ago. I said I wouldn't get sick." He stood up, took off Baldwin's veil, and then his gloves. These were thin silk, which would burn if they touched a spark. It was really unsafe to wear them while around the fireplace.

"I saw..." Baldwin said:

"What?"

"Witt. That was Witt, right." Baldwin turned his head and stared at his little companion.

Cesar simply told Baldwin about the conditions Witt put forward.

"You probably don't know," he continued: "Witt and those people were originally new attendants prepared for me by my father, and the servant was just a transition." He smiled melancholically. It was hard to imagine that such a smile would appear on a nine-year-old boy.

"After confirming that I contracted leprosy, David and Abigail, as well as my previous friends and attendants, were no longer suitable to stay by my side. My father wanted to find suitable candidates from wandering knights and their descendants for me, using future and honor in exchange for their loyalty to me. Taking Witt as an example, he was originally not qualified to serve me, but who let the situation undergo such a dramatic change?"

"They were not forced," Cesar said: "They are not slaves, they have no master, although they did sell themselves for a good price." He only learned after coming to the castle that the servants in the castle were actually hired, and the price of Witt and others was ten times theirs.

Baldwin's smile became real, and then he shook his head: "But they soon regretted it. They were terrified every moment. Even if I hadn't had my face ulcerated and bones deformed like those lepers who had been ill for many years, I have to say they also tried their best to control themselves, but later...

Not everyone can be as fearless as you, and can accept this life that is equivalent to semi-imprisonment." He looked at the fire: "Unlike other people's servants or attendants, as long as they are known to be by my side, they inevitably receive exclusion and disgust."

"Can't they leave?" Cesar commented sarcastically: "Blood-sucking leeches still have to be picky about the victim's skin not being thin enough."

Baldwin laughed, "It seems you won't let Witt return to my side."

"Who dares to trust such a villain?" Cesar said: "But this matter..."

"I will tell Heraclius. It just so happens that the afternoon is his dialectics class," Baldwin said lightly. If Witt only had stupidity besides malice, perhaps things would pass like this, but he seems to have a special talent in doing evil, so he can't stay. But dealing with a selected person is not something they can complete.

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(End of chapter)