↷ 🦋 Charper Two ❜
The morning dawned with a faint golden glow, gently caressing the river where Xica washed King Baldwin IV's clothes. The water ran fresh and clear, carrying away the worries of the previous day. Xica was lost in her thoughts as her skilled hands scrubbed the royal garments. She was the only one who volunteered for this task, for she did not fear the leprosy that afflicted the king.
As she worked, Xica couldn't help but think about Baldwin IV. What lay behind the mask he always wore? Could he be someone handsome, with deep eyes and a captivating smile, or had the disease ravaged his face beyond recognition? She had never been able to see him clearly, and this uncertainty fueled both her curiosity and her fears.
After finishing the laundry, Xica headed back to the castle. On the way, she met her adoptive brother. Although they were not blood siblings, they had been brought together as slaves to the king of Jerusalem's castle. Their differences were evident; he was strong and silent, while Xica was thoughtful and full of life.
"Reynald de Châtillon is becoming more abusive," her brother said, his voice laden with concern. "Although he is not our owner, he constantly beats us and harasses the other maidservants."
Xica felt a wave of disgust and anger. "That man repulses me. If I could wield a sword, I would slit his throat without a second thought, but I know they would kill me instantly."
When it was time for dinner, Xica helped her mother and the other maidservants distribute food to Tiberias, Princess Sibylla, Guy of Lusignan, and Godfrey. While serving, her thoughts wandered to young Prince Baldwin V, who had had to leave due to his illness. She deeply missed savoring his food and personally bringing him his dishes.
She also thought of King Baldwin IV, who rarely ate with his family or officials, possibly to prevent anyone from seeing his leprosy-ridden face. This self-imposed solitude moved her, intensifying her curiosity and compassion for him.
After dinner, Xica retreated to the servants' quarters, where she locked herself in to write poems. She poetically reflected on love and whether she could ever stop being a slave to live freely with her mother and brother. She wondered if she had ever felt love for any man, remembering how many desired her body and tried to court her. Even Godfrey, with sweet words, had attempted to win her over, but she could only see him as a master.
Her thoughts wandered to King Baldwin IV. She had seen him few times, bringing dinner to his room or seeing him pass quickly through the halls. His presence made her heart inexplicably race, and his voice seemed deeply attractive to her. Any woman who could marry him would be very fortunate, Xica thought. That night she wrote several love poems to the king, but upon finishing, she hid them carefully. She knew that if anyone found them, her life would be in danger.
A memory invaded her, taking her back to her childhood in France. She recalled when her father taught her to use a sword and to read and write. Her life changed abruptly when they had to flee with her mother, or rather, the woman she considered her mother. This woman had previously been a slave of her family, but after her father's execution, they fled together and ended up in the castle of Jerusalem. It was a difficult time, but they were fortunate to be well-received and to live relatively well.
Before sleeping, Xica knelt beside her bed and prayed to God. She begged for her freedom, to be loved, and to experience true happiness. With each word, she felt like she was releasing a piece of her soul, hoping that someday her wishes would come true.
The night covered the castle of Jerusalem with its dark mantle, the stars twinkling as silent witnesses to the desires and secrets of its inhabitants. Xica curled up in her bed, her heart still pounding after her prayer. She closed her eyes, letting sleep take her away from her reality, if only for a few hours.
At dawn, the castle's routine resumed its usual course. Xica, always diligent, rose early and began her tasks. Despite her fatigue, there was an unbreakable determination in her, fueled by her secret dreams and hopes.
That morning, while Xica swept the great hall, she heard voices coming from the corridor. She recognized the deep voice of Reynald de Châtillon and that of other nobles. She stayed apart, trying not to draw attention. Reynald passed near her, and for a moment, their eyes met. Xica felt a chill run down her spine. There was a cruelty in his eyes that terrified her.
"It’s only a matter of time before something terrible happens," she thought, gripping the broom handle tightly.
She finished her tasks and headed to the castle garden. This was one of the few places where she found respite from the day's turmoil. She sat by a fountain, letting the sound of the water calm her thoughts. She closed her eyes and remembered the days of her childhood when she ran freely through the fields of France.
"Xica," a soft voice called behind her, interrupting her memories. It was her mother, who approached with a worried expression. "Are you alright?"
Xica nodded slowly. "I was just thinking about home… in France."
Her mother sat beside her and took her hand. "I know it's hard, daughter. But we have to be strong. Here we are together, and that is the most important thing."
Xica nodded, grateful for her mother's comforting presence. They spent a few moments in silence, enjoying each other’s company, until the sound of hurried footsteps alerted them. It was her brother, his face full of concern.
"Xica, mother, you must come quickly," he said, his voice breathless from the rush. "There are problems in the courtyard."
They rose immediately and followed her brother. Upon reaching the courtyard, they found a group of servants and slaves gathered in a circle. In the center, Reynald de Châtillon shouted orders and waved his sword disdainfully. One of the servants lay on the ground, injured and bleeding.
Xica felt a surge of fury. She wanted to intervene, but her mother gripped her arm, reminding her of the danger of acting recklessly. Reynald continued to rant, his face distorted with anger and cruelty. The servants, terrified, did not dare move.
Finally, Tiberias appeared, imposing order with his mere presence. "Reynald, that’s enough," he said firmly. "These people are not your toys."
Reynald shot a defiant look but stepped back, muttering curses. The servants quickly dispersed, helping the injured one up. Xica felt a knot in her stomach. She could not bear to see more injustices, but she knew she had to be cautious.
When everything calmed down, Xica returned to her tasks, although her mind was far from at peace. She thought about Reynald's cruelty and the vulnerability of her position. She felt a burning need to do something, to change her fate and that of her loved ones.
That night, after a long day of work, Xica retreated again to the servants' quarters. She sat at her small table and took out her parchments and ink. She began to write, not only love poems but also about the injustice she saw around her. Her words were her refuge and her form of resistance.
As she wrote, an idea began to form in her mind. Perhaps, through her writings, she could find a way to help others, to make her voice heard in a world that seemed determined to silence her. She carefully stored her parchments, aware of the danger she faced if someone found them.
Before sleeping, she knelt beside her bed again. Her prayers were more fervent than ever, asking not only for her freedom and happiness but also for justice and the well-being of those she loved. She promised herself that she would find a way to make a difference, no matter how small.
With this new determination, Xica closed her eyes and let sleep take her away. She knew the road would be arduous and dangerous, but she was willing to face it. After all, hope and love were the most powerful forces she had, and with them, she could endure any adversity that fate put before her.
Fragment of the poem Baldwin, King in the Distance Baldwin, king in the distance, hidden behind veils of distance and shadow, your eyes, though never seen, ignite in me a deep flame. Your voice, a whisper in the night, a melody that caresses my restless soul, could your words be the key to unveil the mystery of your heart? Though leprosy steals your face, your spirit shines with invincible strength, like a lighthouse in the storm, guiding me towards impossible dreams. In my solitary nights, your name is my solace and my prayer, and though I may never touch you, I hold you in every verse, in every rhyme. Loving you is my secret and my refuge, a love pure, expecting nothing in return, and as I write these lines, I dream of a day I may see you, beloved. Baldwin, my king and my sorrow, my heart belongs to you in silence, and as the moonlight fills my window, I pray for your freedom, as I do for mine.
Hello ! Hello! Her dear author speaks, this book has been something very new for me, it is not the first time I write but I wanted to bring my works to this platform, mainly this one I hope you like it and I am open to any questions, suggestions or whatever I want you later, my mailbox will always be open