Aig crouched low like a pigeon, staring out over the sea of rooftops.
The sun had long since disappeared beyond the horizon.
Jerusalem's night streets were deserted.
Only Aig moved across the darkened roofs like a stray cat.
"I never thought I'd be doing this again."
He shook his head.
No one had forced him — he had volunteered.
"Trailing the Patriarch of Jerusalem, Heraclius."
Who could have imagined such a task?
As he vaulted another roof, memories of his childhood surfaced.
Life before the Hospitallers took him in.
Days when theft meant survival.
"I'm doing this for His Highness. Just following him. Nothing more."
Heraclius walked below with two guards.
His steps were confident, familiar.
Aig followed carefully from above.
At a fork in the road, they stopped.
Then—
"Hey! Who's on that roof?!"
A shout.
Aig ducked immediately.
Men carrying torches and clubs rushed in.
"Local merchants…"
The neighborhood watch.
Aig slipped behind a row of large clay jars and peered out.
"Are you sure you saw someone?"
"I did! Right there!"
"Then spread out and look—"
Aig picked up a stone and hurled it to the opposite side.
"There! Over there!"
The men rushed toward the sound.
The moment the distraction worked, Aig moved again.
But the Patriarch and his party had vanished.
"They were just here…"
Aig dropped silently to the street.
Across the alley, two figures stood watch.
The Patriarch's guards.
"So he left them behind here? Where is he going…?"
Somewhere important.
Prince Baldwin's words echoed in his mind:
"He'll only bring those he truly trusts. Don't risk yourself unnecessarily."
Then he saw him.
Heraclius emerged from the shadows.
Gone were the gold and silk.
He wore a simple black robe with a hood.
He scanned his surroundings carefully—
Then entered a private residence.
Aig tossed another stone to divert the guards and slipped toward the wall.
Pressing himself beneath a window, he looked inside.
Bright lamplight illuminated the room.
Inside stood a boy — perhaps fifteen — and a middle-aged man.
"The Patriarch… has a son?"
Heraclius embraced the boy gently.
"I'm sorry I'm late. Too many matters demanded my attention…"
Aig blinked slowly as he watched the two embrace.
"Well… that was unexpected."
Two days later.
"Welcome, Your Highness!"
I arrived at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre around midday.
As I approached the entrance, priests rushed forward to greet me.
"His Beatitude the Patriarch and the bishops are awaiting you."
I nodded and entered.
The tomb of Christ lay beneath a vast dome.
Sunlight poured down from above, illuminating the entire church in brilliance.
So this was where they offered thanksgiving after conquering Jerusalem.
If you played the Muslim faction in Last Crusaders, you could choose to destroy this site.
Of course, that would trigger an immediate new Crusade from enraged Europe.
Deep inside the church, bishops sat along a long table.
At the center was Patriarch Heraclius.
Silk robes.
Golden goblet.
A mantle fit for an emperor.
If sold, those garments alone could fund a campaign.
"Your Highness, welcome."
He rose theatrically.
"May the Lord's infinite grace and blessing be upon you."
"I heard Your Beatitude wished to see me. Coincidentally, I too had intended to visit…"
I let the sentence trail off.
There was only one reason he had summoned me.
The brandy.
The elixir.
He intended to interfere.
"I hear you accomplished great deeds in Eilat. Without the Lord's mercy—"
The pleasantries dragged on.
While he spoke, I observed.
Heraclius was notoriously greedy.
There was no chance he would ignore such a profitable enterprise.
He would seek a share.
"Alas, the Saracens surround us — Babylon in the east, Ascalon in the west, Damascus in the north."
His gestures were dramatic.
"In such perilous times, must we not unite under the Lord's mercy?"
"Indeed, Your Beatitude."
"I am aware you labor tirelessly to protect holy Jerusalem and Christ's Cross."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But I have heard troubling news. That you have ordered liquor to be produced using Saracen devices. Is this true?"
He emphasized "Saracen."
As Hugh warned.
I simply nodded.
"How regrettable. You have been deceived by heathen cunning. To sell such impure drink to Christians…"
He raised a finger.
"And for the Order itself to produce it? That borders on blasphemy."
"I see."
I fought back a smile.
There was something else about Heraclius besides greed.
He had a taste for men.
In simpler terms—
He was homosexual.
In this era, that was not merely scandal.
It was criminal. Heretical.
Clergy could survive affairs.
But sodomy was different.
He thought I was intimidated.
His gaze toward me felt… unpleasant.
Clinging.
I swallowed my disgust.
"I would speak with Your Beatitude privately."
"Of course."
He dismissed the other bishops.
Now it was just us.
"I understand your concern," I began smoothly. "In fact, I have something concerning your own soul."
His eyes narrowed.
"You intend to threaten me?"
"I was told," I continued lightly, "that you regularly commit the sin of sodomy."
He shot to his feet.
"Who dares slander me so?!"
"Perhaps it is rumor. If so, I am mistaken."
His unease was visible.
He had not expected this.
"If this absurd insult continues—"
"Then we may verify it at once. Shall we visit the residence of Ibn Qadi? The boy from Al-Bifa?"
His face twitched.
Silence.
"Shall we go together?"
He stared at me, calculating.
He could not risk exposure.
Even rumor could destroy him.
Finally—
"Even unfounded gossip must be avoided for the kingdom's dignity."
He had yielded.
"Your Beatitude's rise to office was not without controversy, I hear."
I smiled.
"If you watch my back, I will watch yours."
For a moment, something strange flickered in his expression—
I cleared my throat sharply.
"Of course, I am ever devoted to Your Highness and the Kingdom's welfare," he said quickly.
"That is reassuring."
I folded my arms.
"That said… I have several additional requests."