Stepping down from the carriage, Norn was guided by a servant into the grand hall of the Jerusalem palace. The dimly lit hall was filled with flickering candlelight from several candelabras.
At the center, long tables were lined with nobles of the kingdom, who were indulging in the feast before them and engaging in lively, if not overly enthusiastic, discussions. Norn couldn't help but question the hygiene standards of the place.
Guided to the end of one of the long tables, Norn glanced at the dishes laid out before him: a roasted pig, several roast chickens, and a platter of lamb ribs. The oiliness of the dishes was so extreme that it almost reflected Norn's face. He instinctively turned his head away, only to see the middle-aged noble next to him not even bothering with a knife, tearing off a pork leg with his hands and digging in with gusto.
"Can this even be called 'nobility'?" Norn muttered to himself. However, the wine brought by the servant was quite excellent.
What Norn didn't know was that the courteous nobility he envisioned only really emerged after the Renaissance. The current nobles were mostly illiterate, brawny, and simple-minded individuals.
Once the long table was filled, a herald stood at the base of the throne and announced in a melodious tone:
"The King approaches."
The guests all put down their food, wiped their hands on their robes, and stood to greet him. The musicians nearby struck up a fanfare, and for a moment, all eyes were on the passage beside the throne.
Accompanied by a middle-aged official, a young man, wrapped head to toe, stepped out slowly.
Norn took a close look at King Baldwin. He was dressed in a robe with white sleeves and a blue base, his head covered with a white veil, and his face concealed behind a silver mask. Every inch of him was covered in clothing.
"It seems the rumors about King Baldwin's severe illness are true," Norn thought to himself.
The king stood in front of the throne, and immediately a servant presented him with a goblet adorned with gemstones and agate.
As the goblet was raised high, the nobles below toasted, "Long live the king!"
The king also lifted a corner of his mask, took a sip, and then handed the goblet to the closest middle-aged man beside him.
Norn's eyes twitched involuntarily: that ornate goblet was being passed around among all the nobles, and it was about to be handed to him.
"Is there even any hygiene in this place?" Norn looked at the ornate goblet in his hand with a mix of despair and resignation, and had to pretend to take a sip before quickly passing it to the next person when no one was looking.
After the toast, the banquet resumed its noisy state, with no sign of restraint due to the king's presence. The king, too, leaned back on the throne, holding his goblet and continuously receiving greetings from the nobles.
Norn, nearly splashed with drool by his neighbor, changed his expression but managed to hold back. He then got up and left the table under the pretext of using the restroom.
After leaving the hall, Norn found himself in an unknown small garden, where he took deep breaths of fresh air, feeling as if he had just escaped from a bandit's den. Glancing at the still noisy hall in the distance, Norn decided to wait until the banquet was almost over before returning. With that thought, he idly took out an apple from his pocket and began to nibble on it.
At that moment, Norn, still munching on his apple, noticed a dark figure watching him from a distance. Thinking the other person was also a noble taking a break, Norn called him over and even took out another apple from his pocket to offer.
The young man who took the apple smiled playfully and said, "Baron Norn Adler of the Windmills, you are indeed as rumored."
The title "Baron of the Windmills" was the reputation Norn had earned in the Holy City over the years. Other nobles, envious of the ceaseless windmills and their output on Norn's estate, used it to mock him for being a noble without any martial achievements.
"Flattery will get you nowhere!" Norn, however, took this as a compliment. "The greatest duty of a noble is to protect the people under his rule, not to wage wars indiscriminately and boast about military exploits."
"I'm not like some brainless nobles," Norn continued, "who, without considering the kingdom's actual situation, only think of their own interests and know nothing but to wage wars against the infidels in the name of the Lord."
Recalling the bits and pieces he had seen over the past three years, Norn went on, "Pilgrims, after completing their worship, will only return to their hometowns. Nobles only fulfill the most basic military obligations to the king each year. The kingdom's daily defense relies solely on a few knightly orders that are eager to slaughter the infidels. Even if we win battle after battle, a single major defeat could doom the entire kingdom."
"The kingdom is far from as strong as the world thinks," Norn pointed out incisively.
"Oh," the young man looked at Norn with interest, "so what do you think the kingdom should do now?"
"Just as King Baldwin has done, on the one hand, allow infidels to worship in the Holy City, make alliances, and ease relations with them," Norn sighed.
"On the other hand, we must reform the military system and establish a standing elite infantry."
"Infantry?" the young man retorted. "They are no match for knights."
"That's because the current infantry are just peasants, not soldiers," the young man in front of him, like most people at the time, only saw that the conscripted peasants indeed had weak combat effectiveness, but did not consider why this was the case.
"The Roman infantry came from propertied citizens. Trained rigorously, they had high discipline and organization. Facing the swift cavalry of the infidels, they could hold their ground like a mountain," Norn said, getting excited and waving his hands.
"Of course, if our infantry can withstand the harassment of the infidel light cavalry, allow our knights to seize opportunities to charge and ensure they can return after the charge to avoid being surrounded by the infidel light cavalry, then we would be in an unbeatable position."
"Elite infantry, you say?" the young man said with a bitter smile. "The kingdom's finances are already in the red."
Seeing Norn's puzzled look, the young man explained, "At the beginning of the kingdom, to gain the support of the Venetians, we granted them trade privileges, allowing them to control the spice trade by paying an annual tribute."
"Now the kingdom's borders are constantly in friction, and the army has to patrol everywhere to maintain stability," the young man sighed.
"The court is also full of opposition. The local nobles like the Count of Tripoli and the Ibelin family are at odds with the Knights Templar every day. One side supports something, and the other side opposes it, making reform impossible."
What the young man didn't mention was that it was thanks to the tax payments from people like Norn that the kingdom's finances were temporarily relieved.
Hearing so many court gossips, Norn's mind was a bit overwhelmed at first. After a while, he worriedly said, "Saladin has almost eliminated the influence of his former master. He will probably raise an army to attack us soon. With the kingdom's current strength, the outcome is uncertain."
"You need not worry about that. If he comes, he will not return," the young man said with an inexplicable confidence, as if Saladin was his underling.
"Pfft," Norn scoffed inwardly, but said, "If you want peace, prepare for war."
"Your Highness," a middle-aged official holding a torch hurried over, "the guests are still waiting for your speech."
"Your Highness?!" Norn looked at the young man in surprise, and only under the light of the torch did he notice the many mottled marks on the young man's face, the telltale signs of leprosy, and immediately got up and bowed.
The young man smiled at Norn, then turned and left. Suddenly remembering something, he turned back and shouted, "Baron of the Windmills, I will remember you."
But what he didn't know was that Norn was thinking, "Leprosy is contagious. I need to go back and disinfect myself right away!"
After the banquet, Baldwin slumped weakly on a couch. The long-term torment of leprosy had already numbed half of his body. But compared to that, the kingdom's situation worried him even more.
"Your Highness, please do not overexert yourself," the chamberlain said, taking the goblet from the servant and presenting it to Baldwin.
"The kingdom is in such a state that I cannot rest easy," Baldwin struggled to sit up straight and looked at the still dim moonlight outside the window.
"The nobles who vie for power every day, the knights who only know how to slaughter infidels. These are the foundations of the kingdom," Baldwin said, holding his forehead with his hand. "The far-sighted people in the entire kingdom are only you, my teacher, and a 12-year-old child."
"Teacher."
"I am here!" The chamberlain quickly stepped forward.
"Tell Grand Master Odod that I agree to his request and let him recruit more knights here," Baldwin said, pausing for a moment as he tried to hand the goblet in his left hand to the chamberlain, but his left hand remained motionless.
His face contorted with struggle, no matter how much he willed it, his left hand still did not move.
The chamberlain, sensing something was wrong, quickly stepped forward to take the goblet, but was pushed away by Baldwin's right hand.
"I am not yet incapacitated," Baldwin said in an unyielding tone, and with great effort, he took the goblet with his right hand and handed it over.
"Your Highness!" The chamberlain asked worriedly.
Baldwin waved his hand and continued, "Send orders to Reynald to temporarily return to his territory and prepare for war. Saladin will definitely raise a large army this year, and his blood feud will have plenty of opportunities for revenge."
"You also write two letters. One letter will be sent to the Duke of Antioch. If Saladin attacks from Egypt, ask him to march on Aleppo to prevent the enemy from making any moves. If he attacks from Damascus, then I will bring troops to assist."
"The other letter, I ask you, my teacher, to personally present to His Holiness the Pope. Explain to him the current predicament of the Crusader states. If he still wants the banner of the Lord to fly in this Holy Land, then he should issue a decree, calling for the Crusaders to come to our aid. At the very least, he should get those damned merchants from Venice, Pisa, and the like to temporarily stop their underhanded dealings at sea and ensure the normal transport of pilgrims and supplies to this Holy Land."
The chamberlain was writing furiously, but after a long while, he realized that Baldwin was still staring at him.
"Teacher, it has been five years since you came to the court," Baldwin said, looking at the man who was both his teacher and friend. "This trip will be another burden for you."
"I am already forty-three years old. My death is not a pity, but Your Highness, you must take care of yourself."
"Hmph," Baldwin let out a scornful laugh and then stood up with all his might.
"Three years ago, when I ascended to the throne, I thought I could eliminate my enemies and spread the glory of the Lord," Baldwin coughed weakly a few times, "only to be told by the physician that I would not live past thirty."
"The will of the Lord is inscrutable," Baldwin made the sign of the cross. "But before I die, at least the kingdom will still be prosperous."