Mike Bai jumped down from the carriage and, guided by a servant, entered the grand hall of the Jerusalem Royal Palace. The dimly lit hall was filled with the flickering glow of several candelabras. Around the long tables in the center, nobles of the kingdom were devouring the banquet's offerings, loudly discussing matters as bits of food flew from their mouths, making Mike Bai seriously question the hygiene standards here.
Guided to the far end of one of the long tables, Mike Bai glanced at the food before him: a roasted pig, several roasted chickens, a platter of lamb chops, all dripping with oil, enough to reflect his own face. He instinctively turned his head away from the greasy dishes, only to see the middle-aged noble beside him casually tearing into a pig's leg with his hands, too lazy to even use a knife.
"Is this what they call 'nobility'?" Mike Bai silently scoffed, though the wine the servant brought him was exceptional.
What Mike Bai didn't know was that courteous nobles only became common after the Renaissance, and that most of the nobles here were rough, uneducated men with muscle-bound bodies and simple minds.
Once the table was full, a servant stood at the foot of the throne and, with a melodious tone, announced:
"His Majesty the King has arrived."
At once, the guests put down their food, quickly wiped their mouths on their robes, and rose to their feet to welcome the king. Musicians began playing horns, and all eyes were fixed on the corridor beside the throne.
Accompanied by a middle-aged official, a young man wrapped in layers of cloth slowly emerged.
Mike Bai examined the man carefully, realizing that this was King Baldwin. The king wore a long robe of white sleeves and blue fabric, a white veil covering his head, and a silver mask obscured his face. His entire body was wrapped tightly in clothing.
"It seems the rumors about King Baldwin's illness were true." Mike Bai thought to himself.
The king stopped in front of the throne, and a servant immediately brought him a jeweled goblet. As Baldwin raised the cup, the nobles below raised their own in salute, chanting, "Long live the King!"
The king lifted a corner of his mask and sipped from the cup before handing it to his closest companion.
Mike Bai's eyes subtly narrowed. He noticed the magnificent goblet being passed between the nobles, growing nearer to him. "Is there no regard for hygiene at all?" he thought, but forced a smile and pretended to sip from the cup when it reached him. He quickly passed it on to the next person when no one was looking.
After the cup had made its rounds, the noise in the hall returned to its previous level of clamor, as if the king's presence had made no difference. Baldwin remained seated on his throne, sipping his drink, while nobles came to greet him.
Mike Bai, feeling a bit queasy from the proximity to some very sloppy eaters, stood up, using the excuse of needing to use the restroom to leave the table.
Once outside the hall, Mike Bai found a quiet, little garden and took a deep breath, feeling as if he had just escaped from a bandit's den. Looking back toward the noisy hall, Mike Bai decided to wait until the banquet was almost over before returning. Feeling bored, he pulled an apple from his cloak and began to nibble on it.
As he ate, Mike Bai noticed a shadow watching him from a distance. Thinking it was another noble taking a break, he waved and offered the stranger another apple.
The young man, taking the apple with a smile, teased, "Baron Mike Bai Adler, the Windmill Baron. It seems you're exactly as the rumors say."
The title of "Windmill Baron" had been earned by Mike Bai due to the constant, never-stopping windmills at his estate, which produced a steady supply of goods, drawing the envy of other nobles. The title was meant to mock Mike Bai for being a noble without any military glory.
"Flattery, I see," Mike Bai replied, taking it as a compliment. "As nobles, our primary duty is to protect the people of our lands, not to boast of military conquests."
"I'm not like some mindless nobles," Mike Bai continued, "who care only for personal gain and provoke wars with infidels in the name of the king, with no regard for the kingdom's well-being…"
Reflecting on the things he had witnessed over the past three years, he continued, "Pilgrims return home once their pilgrimage is completed, nobles fulfill their most basic military duties for the king, but the kingdom's defense is left to the knights, who are more focused on eradicating infidels than defending the borders. Even with repeated victories, a single defeat could spell disaster for the entire kingdom."
"The kingdom is not as strong as people think," Mike Bai concluded sharply.
The young man, intrigued, leaned in. "And what do you think the kingdom should do?"
"As King Baldwin is doing, we must allow infidels to visit the Holy City and establish treaties to ease tensions with them," Mike Bai sighed, "but at the same time, we need to reform the military and establish an elite standing infantry."
"Infantry?" The young man laughed derisively. "They'll be crushed by knights."
"That's because the infantry today consists of farmers, not soldiers." Mike Bai waved his hand dismissively, "The Roman infantry was made up of land-owning citizens, rigorously trained, with high discipline and organization. They could hold their lines against fast-moving enemy cavalry."
Mike Bai became more animated as he spoke, "If our infantry can withstand the harassment of light cavalry, it'll give our knights the chance to charge and retreat without being surrounded. That alone will put us in an undefeatable position."
"Elite infantry?" The young man scoffed, "The kingdom's treasury can barely cover the costs of what we have now."
Mike Bai's brow furrowed in confusion, and the young man continued, "When the kingdom was founded, in exchange for the Venetians' support, trade privileges were granted, allowing them to control the spice trade in exchange for a yearly tribute. Now, with constant border skirmishes, the army is stretched thin."
He sighed, "And the court is a mess. Local nobles like the Count of Tripoli and the Ibelin family are constantly at odds with the Knights Templar. Every faction supports one side, which makes any real reform impossible."
The young man paused, before adding, "But the treasury is barely holding together thanks to the taxes you've paid."
Mike Bai was taken aback by this revelation, but the young man went on, "And there's the matter of Saladin, who's already begun to eliminate the influence of his former masters. He'll soon be marching against us. With the kingdom in its current state, the outcome is uncertain."
Mike Bai's concern deepened, but the young man remained unfazed. "Don't worry. If Saladin comes, he'll never make it back."
Mike Bai's skepticism was clear, but he simply replied, "To seek peace, we must prepare for war."
Just then, a middle-aged official hurried over holding a torch. "Your Highness, they are still waiting for your speech."
"Your Highness?" Mike Bai stared in surprise at the young man, only now noticing the disfiguring pockmarks from leprosy on his face. He quickly stood to bow.
The young man smiled faintly, then turned and left. Just before disappearing, he called back, "Windmill Baron, I'll remember you."
But what Mike Bai didn't know was that his thoughts were focused elsewhere: Leprosy is contagious, right? I need to disinfect when I get back!
Later, after the banquet, King Baldwin collapsed onto the soft cushions, his body half-paralyzed by the long-term torment of leprosy. But even more than the pain, the kingdom's situation weighed heavily on him.
"Your Highness, you mustn't overwork yourself," the royal chamberlain said, presenting him with a wine goblet.
"With the kingdom in such a state, I cannot afford to relax," Baldwin struggled to sit up, gazing out at the moonlight still dimming the night.
"Every day, nobles squabble for power, while the knights, focused solely on slaughtering infidels, are the only ones holding the kingdom together." Baldwin ran a hand over his forehead. "Now, the only ones with any vision are you and a twelve-year-old child."
"Teacher."
"Here, Your Highness." The chamberlain hurried forward.
"Tell Grandmaster Odod to start recruiting more knights. I approve of his request," Baldwin continued, pausing to try to lift the cup with his left hand, but his arm refused to move. He struggled, his face contorted with effort, but the cup wouldn't budge.
The chamberlain noticed and hurried to take the cup, but Baldwin pushed him away.
"I'm not completely useless yet," Baldwin snapped, gritting his teeth as he took the cup with his right hand.
"Your Highness!" The chamberlain asked, concerned.
Baldwin waved him off and continued, "Send orders to Reynard. Have him prepare for war—Saladin will be marching soon. When he does, we must be ready."
He paused for a moment, then added, "Write two letters. One for Duke Antioch. If Saladin comes from Egypt, he must move to attack Aleppo and keep the enemy at bay. If Saladin comes from Damascus, I will march to assist."
He then looked at his chamberlain. "The other letter, I want you to personally deliver to the Pope, telling him of the dire straits we face. If he wants the banner of the Lord to fly here, he must send out a papal bull calling for more crusaders. At the very least, we need the Venetians and Pisans to halt their petty squabbles at sea, and get pilgrims and supplies here."
The chamberlain was already writing furiously when he realized Baldwin was watching him intently.
"Teacher, it's been five years since you came to court," Baldwin said quietly. "This journey will be difficult for you again."
"Your Highness, I am forty-three. My life is no longer a concern," the chamberlain replied. "But you, Your Highness, must take care of yourself."
Baldwin gave a bitter smile, summoning every last ounce of strength to stand.
"Three years ago, when I ascended to the throne, I thought I would sweep away my enemies and spread the Lord's glory." He coughed weakly. "But the doctors told me I wouldn't live past thirty."
"The will of the Lord is unfathomable," Baldwin murmured, making the sign of the cross. "But before I die, at least I want the kingdom to remain strong."