xymnovel Chapter 40 A Gathering of Wise Men
Chapter 40 A Gathering of Wise Men
As evening fell in Jerusalem, the chill intensified.
In the royal hall of the Tower of David, the torches on the stone walls and the bronze chandeliers shone brightly, yet they could not dispel the chill emanating from the marble floor tiles. A banquet, personally hosted by King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, was about to begin, and almost every important figure in the kingdom was present.
Balian stood guard at the entrance to the hall, nodding to each nobleman who filed in, silently reciting their names and titles: Guy of Lucinion, lord of Jaffa and Ashkelon, and Gerald, Grand Master of the Knights Templar; Joslin III, Count of Edessa of Acre; Raymond, Count of Tripoli, and Roger de Mullens, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller; Hughes de Saint-Eume II of Galilee, also Raymond's stepson and lord of Tiberias. Following him came Walter II, lord of Caesarea; Humphry IV, lord of Torun; Reginald de Grinier, Count of Sidon…
Balian observed the nobles filing in without making a sound, vaguely sensing that someone was missing.
"Ibelin's brat!"
A thick arm slammed onto his shoulder with such force that he staggered. Barian turned around abruptly, and the instant he saw the person's face, he realized who was missing.
This man was exceptionally tall and imposing, even a head taller than Guy, and one could vaguely imagine his former heroic bearing. But now his body was not as well-proportioned and fit as Balian's; the years and the wind and sand had sculpted his body into a weathered rock, with muscles that were bulging and rough.
His hair was disheveled, his face angular, and his skin, seemingly scorched by the desert sun and sandstorms, was unusually rough and dark. Yet his eyes were frighteningly sharp, as if they held a wild beast that might break free at any moment. Unlike the nobles in their finery filling the hall, he wore only a worn chainmail covered in dust, the edges of his outer robe frayed, as if he had just ridden out of the battlefield, ready to return with a wine cup at any moment.
He stared at Balian, the scars on his face twitching slightly with his grin: "When you're on guard duty, don't fucking look around!"
The gruff roar drew the attention of all the nobles in the hall. Apart from Guy and Gerald, everyone's face showed expressions of helplessness, disgust, or a desire to avoid the area.
His infamy was known to almost everyone from Constantinople to Cairo: "The Madman," "The Breacher"—Renard of Shatyon, Duke of Transjordan.
Even though Balian was the king's personal guard, his title was still only that of a baron. Faced with Reinard's overwhelming power and imposing aura, he dared not show the slightest dissatisfaction and could only bow his head in agreement.
Reinald was quite pleased with Balian's reaction and ignored the undisguised look of disdain in the eyes of the surrounding nobles. He casually snatched a glass of wine from a passing waiter's tray and strode over to Guy and Gerald, who were talking quietly in a corner.
"Good evening, children!" He practically burst between them, downing a large gulp of wine in a rough voice. "Can anyone tell me what the hell Jerusalem is up to?" He waved his glass in annoyance. "Some new tax system they've suddenly come up with has thrown all the merchants in my fiefdoms into chaos, constantly bombarding my tax collectors with questions!"
His gaze swept over Guy and Gerald: "What's even more outrageous is that a Lombard named Robert recently appeared with royal documents, claiming he wanted to come into my castle as a 'construction advisor'—it's unbelievable!"
Guy and Gerald exchanged a glance. Guy spoke, his tone equally frustrated: "We don't know much more than you, Reinald. The King has indeed been acting differently lately. What's even more puzzling is that a so-called 'prince' has suddenly appeared in the palace, said to be the offspring of the late King and Queen Mother. We've probed Raymond, but in the past few months, that old fox hasn't uttered a single word."
Gerald calmly added, "Raymond's silence itself is a signal. He's either in the know or he's observing. In any case, this suddenly appearing prince, and the king's recent policies, all indicate that Jerusalem is increasingly slipping out of our control."
Guy took a sip of his drink and turned to Reinald: "By the way, your plan... didn't get ruined by that Lombard, did it?"
Reinald snorted through his nose, lowering his voice: "My castle is impregnable; it's none of your business to interfere. That bearded man was scared out of his wits the moment he saw me draw my sword!"
His voice suddenly turned low and hoarse, suppressing his anger: "However... I'm quite interested in that prince you're talking about. I've already tolerated the current king's peace negotiations with Saladin due to his illness. But if the throne falls into the hands of a mere brat, won't Jerusalem still be under the control of that spineless old fox, Raymond?!"
He abruptly turned to Gerald, his tone almost commanding: "Gerald, since you can't get anything out of that old fox, why don't you, as the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, go and have a chat with Roger?" He pointed to the other end of the hall—where Roger, the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, was having a pleasant conversation with Raymond and his son.
At this moment, Earl Raymond was chatting and laughing with his old friend Roger. Roger was animatedly gesturing as he described the scene of his crossbowmen firing their weapons, his words filled with undisguised admiration. Hugh stood respectfully beside his stepfather, listening quietly. Roger was easygoing by nature, without the airs of a grandmaster, and he and Raymond were old friends who deeply respected each other. Since Lyon implemented the new tax system in Baldwin's name, Raymond had been actively involved, contributing both money and effort. The first batch of crossbows, secretly replicated by the Jerusalem royal craftsmen, had been equipped at Knightsburg almost simultaneously with the Jerusalem garrison, thanks to Raymond's efforts.
Meanwhile, in a secluded corner of a corridor draped with deep purple curtains, Baldwin stood with Latin Archbishop Heraclius by the railing.
The young king was draped in a heavy cloak, his face hidden behind a silver mask. He leaned slightly forward, his voice weak from illness, yet carrying an undeniable firmness.
"Your Excellency the Archbishop," Baldwin said bluntly, "the kingdom is facing an unprecedented threat. Saladin's power is growing daily, while our ability to cope with the war is limited by a lack of military funds."
Archbishop Heraclius stood solemnly, awaiting the king's next words.
"Therefore, I implore the Church to demonstrate its resolve to stand with the Kingdom at this moment," Baldwin continued, raising a deformed hand tightly wrapped in white linen to stop the other from speaking further. "I request that the Church appropriately reduce the tithe collection and use these funds for military equipment to arm the Lord's warriors."
Heraclius frowned slightly: "Your Majesty, the tithe is a sacred tax offered to God, used to maintain the church and relieve the poor. To divert it for military purposes is inappropriate, and there will surely be criticism within the church and among the believers."
"Isn't resisting the invasion of infidels and protecting the holy land of Christ the highest form of service?" Baldwin's voice rose slightly, carrying a suppressed passion. "Our warriors shed their blood for their faith on the battlefield. Isn't their blood enough to offset some of the monetary offerings? What God needs is not just gold coins in churches, but a sword and shield to defend His glory on earth!"
Chiracius lowered his head in thought, and before he could answer, a roar of applause suddenly erupted:
"Well said! Bishop, your paradise was built with prayers, while my defenses were fortified with dinars and blood! Move the gold from your cellars into my armory—that's the best prayer you can offer to God!"
Baldwin and Heraclius both looked in the direction of the sound. Sometime later, Reinald was leaning against the stone wall behind them, sipping his drink as if no one else was there, his gaze fixed on them with undisguised provocation.