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In a way, my prophecies are quite simple.
But simplicity often leads to intuition, and the more intuitive something is, the easier it is for people to grasp.
This is something to keep in mind, especially when crafting prophecies meant to sway the masses.
People tend to shy away from overly complex ideas.
Of course, if it’s too simple, it risks being dismissed as mere guesswork.
A prophecy needs to be easy to understand, impactful, and yet sophisticated enough to avoid accusations of being a lucky guess.
In that regard, I like to think my prophecy was rather convincing.
Not to boast, but the fact that Alberic’s attitude changed completely after receiving the messenger’s report proves it.
“Hahaha… Marshal, is there something bothering you?”
“No, but you’ve been asking me that every ten minutes.”
“Well, I can’t help but worry about someone as valuable as you. Hahaha…”
Since leaving Jerusalem, he hasn’t stopped this routine for a single day, hour, minute, or second.
It’s better than being suspicious, but it’s starting to get a bit annoying.
“With your excessive concern, I might develop an illness I didn’t have.”
“Oh dear! That won’t do! I’ll restrain myself until we reach the next city.”
“For the record, you said the exact same thing, word for word, about thirty minutes ago.”
“Did I? Hahaha… What a mistake.”
Alberic and I left Jerusalem around the same time Balian of Ibelin returned with a handful of survivors.
Staying longer risked being branded as deserters, which would be troublesome.
I gave Alberic a plausible excuse, but it was too soon to reveal my prophecy.
Alberic, a devout Christian, seemed to believe my words wholeheartedly, but there was no guarantee Europe would do the same.
To ensure no one could question the divine nature of my prophecy, I needed something more impactful.
For instance…
“Are you sure Sir Ibelin’s life isn’t in danger?”
“I told you, didn’t I? You agreed to trust the revelation I received.”
“I’m not doubting you. It’s just that the latter part of your prophecy is… well…”
“You’re wondering if it’s even possible, right?”
Exactly. Something that elicits such a reaction needs to happen.
“To be honest, yes. Let’s recap. According to your revelation, Sir Ibelin asks Saladin to let his family escape to Tripoli, and Saladin agrees?”
“Yes. He seems to be a generous leader, despite being Muslim.”
“Right. But Saladin adds the condition of no hostilities, yet when Sir Ibelin enters Jerusalem, Archbishop Heraclius pleads with him to defend the city.”
“Yes. The archbishop is quite fervent.”
Up to this point, Alberic seemed to accept it.
Even in the worst of times between Christians and Muslims, it’s plausible for a great leader to show mercy to a worthy opponent.
And it’s only natural for the Patriarch of Jerusalem to strive to defend the city, regardless of any agreements.
“But for Sir Ibelin to swear an oath to God, and then have the archbishop absolve him of it, seems a bit…”
“The archbishop’s argument is that handing the Holy City to Muslims would be an insult to God, which convinces Sir Ibelin.”
“Right. But then Saladin understands Sir Ibelin’s predicament and lets it slide? Even when Sir Ibelin asks to send his family to Tripoli, Saladin agrees?”
“Yes. Saladin must be a magnanimous man.”
“Even after breaching Jerusalem’s walls, Saladin accepts Sir Ibelin’s negotiation, takes a ransom, and ensures the Christians’ safety…”
In medieval siege warfare, there’s a rule: surrender is valid only before the walls are breached. After that, it holds no weight.
Once the walls are breached, the city’s defenses are effectively nullified.
The Christians had a history of mercilessly slaughtering Muslims when they captured Jerusalem.
They were desperate to defend Jerusalem, fearing their past atrocities would come back to haunt them.
And yet, Saladin lets this opportunity for revenge slip by, settling for a ransom?
From Alberic’s perspective, it’s incomprehensible.
“They’ll threaten to destroy everything in Jerusalem and die with it if the attack continues. Saladin has no choice but to accept.”
“But couldn’t they just break the promise after capturing the city? It’s common knowledge that breaking a promise to infidels is forgivable.”
“Ah, yes… that’s the common belief here.”
The medieval moral compass is truly something.
Swearing by God’s name, yet nullifying it if the other party is an infidel.
It’s like some modern-day kids who swear on their parents’ lives but don’t mean it.
“Even if they exact bloody revenge on the Christians, the Muslims would likely rejoice, yet Saladin suppresses all that temptation and lets us go safely?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
But all of this is actually happening.
And the more they are astonished, the better it is for me.
The greater the impact when my prophecy is proven true.
“You’ve already decided to trust me, so just wait patiently. Salvation begins with faith.”
“Right. I’ve come this far, and doubting now would only harm me. I’ll just do as you say.”
With that, Alberic finally fell silent and focused on driving the carriage.
This gave me the chance to organize my plans.
To survive in this chaotic era, I need to build my own power base.
No matter how formidable I am, there’s a limit to individual strength.
No matter how much I struggle alone, I’ll only end up like a tragic hero of Europe.
Drawing attention as a prophet who hears God’s words is ultimately to effectively expand my influence.
However, the fame I gain this way is a double-edged sword.
If I can’t convert this explosive recognition into real power, I’ll be used and discarded.
History proves this, so I must remain vigilant.
Realistically, nothing has truly begun yet.
So far, I’ve only managed to halt the guillotine blade poised above me.
Whether I escape unscathed or end up beheaded will depend on my actions from now on.
Of course, if anyone tries to take me down, I have no intention of going quietly.
I’ll embrace those who ally with me and crush those who pose a threat.
In a world rife with schemes and plots, I have every confidence in my ability to thrive.
After all, that’s the area where I excel the most.
After a long journey, I finally arrived in the Duchy of Auvergne, part of the Kingdom of England.
Despite its French-sounding name, Auvergne was under English control for a simple reason.
At this time, the Kingdom of England’s territory extended into France.
Strictly speaking, it should be called the Angevin Empire.
The Angevin Empire of this era was a union of the Kingdom of England, the Duchy of Normandy, and the Duchy of Aquitaine in France.
Henry II, the current ruler of the Angevin Empire, was a monarch who demonstrated that the best way to expand territory in the Middle Ages was through marriage.
Through strategic marriages, Henry II added the vast lands of the Duke of Aquitaine, which were larger than those of the King of France, to his existing domains.
As a result, the Angevin Empire’s territory, including Normandy, Anjou, England, and Aquitaine, became much larger than the Kingdom of France.
Imagine adding half of modern-day France to England, and you’ll get the picture.
Though he was the King of England, Henry II’s identity was more French.
He was born in France, spent most of his reign there, and preferred speaking French and Latin.
Despite holding much of France, his French lands were technically under the King of France, not the King of England.
Alberic, from the prestigious French Dammartin family, came to England for similar reasons.
The Count of Dammartin, a close friend of the French King, suddenly pledged allegiance to Henry II of the Angevin Empire this year.
Such convoluted family ties were possible because Europe at the time was a strictly feudal society.
The Angevin Empire, despite its name, was essentially a feudal state.
The king ruled only a small part of the land, while local lords governed the regions.
In this era of decentralized power, there were many powerful nobles with authority rivaling that of the king.
For someone like me, who needed to climb from the bottom, it was the perfect time.
Thanks to liberally using my family’s name, Alberic and I were invited to Chinon, where Henry II’s court was located.
It was only natural, given that my father, Marshal, and Alberic’s relative, the Count of Dammartin, were both close to Henry II.
As we entered the court, a young man in his twenties, dressed in opulent attire, greeted us with a dignified air.
“Oh, the Crusaders have finally arrived. You must be Uncle Alberic, right? It’s been so long since you left for Jerusalem that my memory’s a bit hazy.”
“It’s been a while. My, you’ve grown so much, Count.”
“Well, I am the Count now, leading the family. And this must be Edward Marshall, the one you mentioned in your letters? William’s son?”
The Count of Damartin scrutinized me with a skeptical gaze, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“He looks younger than me, yet he’s supposedly one of the finest in the Knights Templar?”
“I can vouch for Marshall’s skills. You’d be hard-pressed to find a knight of his caliber anywhere in England or France.”
“True… a lion doesn’t sire a kitten, so I’ll trust your word, Uncle. Besides, we could use another skilled knight right now.”
From the conversation, it seemed news of our escape from the Crusades hadn’t reached here yet. The siege of Jerusalem wouldn’t be fully resolved until November, giving us a few months of leeway.
That was more than enough time to put our plans into action.
I listened quietly to their exchange as I walked calmly further into the inner court.
“But Count, the atmosphere seemed quite tense on our way here. Is something going on? I expected you to be in the Kingdom of France, so I’m a bit confused about the current situation…”
“Ah, yes. Since you’ve been in Jerusalem, you wouldn’t know the state of affairs here. It’s been a few years, but the relationship between His Majesty and the princes isn’t great. The third son, in particular, is a real troublemaker. He’s staged several military demonstrations, and I’m convinced he’ll rebel soon.”
“Then why not just send troops to suppress him?”
“The problem is that this third prince is unmatched in both strategy and personal combat. Unfortunately, with the other princes gone, there’s no one left to keep him in check except the youngest.”
“So that’s why you need more skilled knights. But isn’t Sir William, Marshall’s father, the greatest knight here? Are you saying the third prince surpasses even him?”
The Count of Damartin paused, then shook his head with a wry smile.
“We haven’t seen them face off, so it’s hard to say. But Sir William, His Majesty’s finest knight, must not lose. It would shatter his reputation and severely impact our morale.”
“Now I understand.”
Unlike me, who nodded calmly, Alberic couldn’t hide his complex emotions.
The Count’s hope in my abilities was partly because my defeat wouldn’t be a significant blow. Even if I was the best among the Crusaders, that was a tale from the distant Middle East, not here.
Moreover, being just past my twenties was a significant advantage. Even if I lost now, there was always the possibility of growth and future victories.
“But who is this third prince that His Majesty is so wary of?”
“He’s as bold as a lion and unmatched in bravery. Though he may become an enemy, one can’t help but acknowledge him. Sigh… that troublesome man’s name is…”
With a deep sigh, the Count of Damartin uttered the name of a future legend whose fame would reach even the distant Islamic lands.
“Richard. Richard, Duke of Aquitaine.”