Saladin is waiting for an opportunity.
Baldwin IV also knows he is waiting for this opportunity.
The young king, who is seen by the outside world as confined to his bedchamber awaiting death, is now sitting in front of the throne, slowly pressing a signet ring onto the letter before him: "Have Lord Godfrey deliver this letter to His Holiness the Pope."
"Is it urgent?"
The young witch, holding a thick magic book, asked without looking up.
"Not urgent, even if it were, it would be of no use."
This is a letter requesting assistance, but it makes no difference whether it arrives early or late.
It's simply doing one's duty and leaving the rest to fate.
The incense that once filled his bedchamber day and night has been removed, and the leprosy marks remaining on his body have become fewer and fewer, making him look almost like an ordinary person.
"Then I'll give it to Berian when I leave tonight."
"Hmm."
