kingdom of nations

Chapter 1: Escape from Hell
This is hell.

The air was scorching hot, dust was flying, and the stench of blood, feces and urine rushed into the nostrils. Thirty boys with white, brown and black skin were taken to a flat hill on the right side of the Judean Mountains.

They will be castrated here, and if they are lucky enough to survive, they will be sold to the courts of Byzantium, Egypt or Syria.

He is the thirty-first.

He gasped in pain, his breath hotter than the sand beneath him. Two strong black slaves brought him to the slave trader, and a hint of hesitation flashed across the trader's eyes.

The cargo was sick and weak, and the castration method they used was extremely crude.

After being deprived of their male rights like pigs and horses, the wailing semi-finished products were stuffed directly into a hole dug earlier, with only their upper bodies exposed. High temperature and sand were the only means to stop the bleeding.

The castrated slaves would stay here all night, and merchants would come to inspect them before Venus rose. Usually three out of ten would survive.

But he certainly wouldn't be one of those three.

After a moment's hesitation, the slave trader shook his head regretfully.

His thoughts were still confused by the high fever, and he could only try his best to remember this doubt, but the businessman was obviously reluctant.

Out of pity, a slave gave him some wine that had a lot of dregs but was extremely sweet. The alcohol and sugar were like sparks that ignited charcoal, and the ability to think and act returned to him.

Now he was still under the tent with only a ceiling, but there was a dazzling white light only three feet away from the shadow under his feet. After adapting to the strong light, he could see the yellow-brown sand dunes, a winding path between the dunes, and then the sky and the lake distorted by the evaporating heat.

Perhaps because he was dying, those people didn't waste shackles and ropes on him. After all, those stronger children would only cry and beg. But if he could use this to escape...

He touched his arm to confirm that this was not his original body. This body belonged to a boy of only seven or eight years old. He was unarmed and naked, but still intact.

In addition to the few slaves who followed him, the slave trader also had four or five guards wandering outside the tent. They hardly ever looked at the children. It seemed that they were just guarding against external invasion, but they would not stand idly by if anyone wanted to escape.

He was taken outside the tent and the merchant looked at him. He was holding a curved castration knife in his hand. Even though it was polished to a shine, it still carried an lingering smell of blood.

At this moment, they heard the sound of horse hooves coming from not far away. There were quite a few people, and the merchants and guards immediately became alert. Although the Judean Mountains were only a few dozen miles away from the holy city of Arash, bandits were still rampant. They wanted everything: money, slaves, or people who could pay the ransom.

As if in an instant, two ponies with light steps appeared in their sight.

The pony's riders were two attendants wearing robes with stand-up collars and vertical quilting lines on them. They had leather belts across their chests and one-handed swords hanging from their belts.

As soon as they saw the people on the hill, they immediately raised the horns hanging on their saddles and blew a few times. A series of loud, short, crisp and sharp sounds rushed into the air.

While the sound of the trumpet was still echoing in the air, several knights in chain mail caught up with them. Their mounts were all tall armed horses. When the slave trader and his guards saw the red Jerusalem cross embroidered on the chest of the white sleeveless robes of the newcomers, they knelt down quickly and buried their heads in their hands.

The slave trader peeked out from between his fingers and saw more squires and knights appearing with banners.

Some of them were leading a packhorse with its back loaded with prey, some were holding high a falcon with a fur hat, dogs were coiled between their horses' hooves, barking constantly, and some were carrying multiple crossbows, javelins and spears. It was obvious that they were servants responsible for providing weapons for their masters.

In the middle and behind them were ministers and lords dressed in even more gorgeous clothes. Their chain mail was covered with colorful velvet and silk, their horses were also dressed in gorgeous horse clothes, and the shields hanging on the saddles were depicted with exquisite coats of arms.

Surrounded by them, a middle-aged man wearing a crown frowned as he smelled an unexpected smell of blood - he was Amalric I, King of Alasar.

"Who are those on the hill?" asked Amalric I.

His friend, vassal, and brother in the eyes of God, Count Raymond of Tripoli, glanced up and said with disgust: "An Isaac castrator."

When Amalric I heard Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, pah behind him, his already not-so-cheerful mood became even heavier. He did not say anything, but just patted his horse's neck lightly, and the mount under him immediately quickened its pace cleverly.

The horses were like this, and the king's servants were even more alert. Count Raymond of Tripoli raised his hand and waved it forward vigorously. The knights responded with thunderous shouts. The sound of horse hooves was like drumbeats, from slow to fast, dust rolled, and people gathered. In less than a cup of tea, they could leave the hills filled with the smell of blood behind them.

But before the king's Percheron could break into a gallop, a small riot broke out less than a hundred feet away.

Hounds barked, hawks flapped their wings, and the horses, controlled by their riders, bounced and twisted constantly, their huge hooves leaving deep depressions in the sand and sending gravel flying everywhere.

Amalric I was a knight king with a sharp vision, and he saw at a glance what caused the commotion.

A slave escaped from the Isaac's tent. While the merchants and guards were lying on the ground, he leaped over the low backs and heads with incredible speed and courage, rolled down the hill, and like a nail hit by a huge hammer, he wedged into their ranks with a bang.

At this point, it doesn’t mean that his life can be saved.

All war horses were trained to trample anything that fell under their hooves (especially strangers). Even the strongest knight, fully armored, would inevitably be trampled into bloody mud covered with iron sheets by the enemy's hooves once he fell off his horse.

The dogs regarded him as a prey like a small animal, and each of them was roaring fiercely. A child without any protection had to rely entirely on his slender body and quick reaction to fight for his life between the horses' hooves, iron boots, and the dogs' claws and teeth.

What's more, some of the followers had already raised their crossbows and drawn their swords.

He would certainly have been killed if a monk had not suddenly jumped between him and the others. This monk was known to everyone as Heraclius, the king's friend, his minister of religion, and the resident curate of the Castel Santa Croce.

"Stop!" cried the monk. "The King wants to see him."

People made way and the king rode over on his horse. The majestic Percheron was no less than six feet tall at the shoulders. The equally tall Amalric I looked down at the escaped slave with a cold expression.

The slave was covered in dust, but one could still tell he had fair skin and was a boy, not an undeveloped girl. His short black hair was messy, and one of his hands hung limply at his side, perhaps sprained or broken.

He was breathing hard and trying to stand up. Someone shouted "Kneel down!", so he knelt down, but stubbornly only put down one knee. This posture was more strenuous than touching the ground with both knees, especially when the person doing this action was at the end of his strength.

As the king gazed at him, he slowly raised his head. What beautiful eyes, Amalric thought, a pair of emeralds without a trace of impurities. What would he do? How would he ask me to save him? What if he was indeed a Christian, asking the help of a Christian king?
The slave was also thinking. He had nothing but this strange body. No one could testify or defend him, and Amalric I wouldn't give him much patience or time. He raised his arm and, under the vigilant gaze of everyone, sucked a mouthful of blood oozing from the wound. The small amount of liquid moistened his throat, allowing him to speak fluently.

"I will sing to the Lord..." Then he raised his head, looked at the crowd of strangers, and said slowly, slowly, "For he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea..."

This is a language that Amalric I and the people around him would never ignore - Vulgar Latin. Although it is a bit hoarse, slow, and some words are mispronounced, it is indeed a language familiar to Christians and a poem familiar to Christians, like syllables and words engraved in their souls.

The crowd could not help but sing along loudly, almost drowning out the little slave's voice: "...The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation... This is my God, I will praise him; he is my father's God, I will honor him..."

The king lowered his eyes and raised one hand to his chest: "...The Lord is a warrior, His name is the Lord... Your right hand, O Lord, is glorious in power; Your right hand, O Lord, shatters the enemies in pieces."

He intoned, "The Lord brought his people out of their slavery with a mighty hand and said, 'Because they are my servants, whom I brought out of the land of Egypt, they shall not be sold as slaves—so, son, you are a Christian. Come to me and ask me for help, just as Isaac asked the Lord for help."

"Yes."

"Then I must rescue you," said the king. "Take him, Heraclius; this may be the greatest prize I can gain from this hunt."

The monk, Heraclius, obeyed. He jumped from his horse and wrapped his cloak around the naked boy. As soon as it touched his skin, he jumped in fear. "He has a fever!"

"Is it an epidemic?" asked Amalric I.

"I'll take him to the Church of St. John the Baptist first," said Heraclius.

A squire took a money bag containing dozens of silver coins from the Count of Tripoli - an Isaac slave trader was not even qualified to talk to the knight face to face.

He casually threw the money bag in front of the merchant, then turned his horse around and caught up with the team, so he didn't see the merchant's overly ugly expression, which was far more serious than losing a valuable commodity.

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As soon as Heraclius saw the child, he guessed that he had a great chance of being saved. This was related to his amazing courage and decisiveness, his skin color and faith, but the most important point was that Amalric I's only son, Baldwin the Younger, was also of the same age.

In the past, this similarity would not have been enough to inspire sympathy in Amalric I, but just a few days ago, young Baldwin was confirmed to have leprosy.

Leprosy is a highly contagious disease. People who contract it will experience hair loss, rashes and plaques all over their bodies, swollen lymph nodes, numbness, atrophy, and deformity of their limbs, making their faces and bodies look as terrifying as demons.
In Byzantium, Frankish France, and Britain, lepers were excluded from normal society (this was even written into law).

They were not allowed to live in cities, enter churches (nor perform sacraments), or be in any crowded places (such as marketplaces), they could not inherit or inherit, and they could not file complaints or defend others.

The church held two views on them: one was that these people were considered unclean, and that they must have made unknown mistakes to be condemned and punished by God; the other was that this was a test, which, although also given by God, at least in name... could better comfort the lepers.

Little Baldwin was diagnosed with leprosy. Whether he was considered guilty or was being tested, it meant that the current situation in Alaska would undergo a drastic change.

The most fortunate thing was that Amalric I and the previous King of Alaska had not had time to enact laws on lepers. He could keep Baldwin in Alaska and his Castle of the Holy Cross, and continue to fight for various political and legal powers for his only son.

All kinds of doubts, condemnations and pressures came like a surging wave. Amalric I had not been happy for many days, so today's hunt took place.

His friends and ministers all agreed that he should go out for a walk - although hundreds of prey had not made the king feel any happier until this little accident happened.

Perhaps for Amalric I, redeeming the life of a Christian from the devilish Isaac slave trader was like adding a precious chip to the scales on which the fate of his only son hung. Perhaps it was this chip that prevented poor little Baldwin from falling into purgatory too quickly.

Therefore, Heraclius did not despise the task because the child in his arms was once a slave. He galloped on his horse and arrived at the sanctuary opened by the Church of St. John the Baptist in just half an hour.

The asylum is the prototype of the hospital. It was originally established for the knights and pilgrims who were injured and sick in the First Crusade. Now it is responsible for the entire Alaska and even the surrounding Christian countries and territories.

Upon hearing that there was a patient with fever, the abbot John immediately rushed over with several monks. They wanted to confirm whether the patient was carrying the plague. After some examination, they confirmed that he was fainting and his blood was hot because of hunger, weakness and fear, and they felt relieved.

"Hey," John said in surprise after hearing what Heraclius said, "He doesn't look like the son of a serf or a craftsman."

"Well," Heraclius said, "he may have had a good family background and a proper education."

What they said was not without reason. In addition to the fact that the child could recite the scriptures completely and correctly, after wiping his body with clean water and light wine, there was not a single old scar on his body, nor any irreversible disability. All the wounds were minor and fresh - they were used by him in exchange for his lost freedom.

This situation is rare among ordinary poor children.

They slept on piles of straw with livestock, bedbugs and fleas feasted on their bodies, they were beaten by their parents or masters, whipped by overseers and guards, burned by torches, doused with boiling water, bitten by dogs, and kicked by horses.

From infancy to adolescence, the result of having only dried peas, acorns and porridge to provide nutrition is that they are generally thin, short and hunchbacked; hard work will make their joints thick, their fingertips rough and their nails thick, just like their family members.

They are often naked, barefoot or wrapped in a few pieces of tattered cloth, so that the soles of their feet are covered with thick, dirty calluses; their teeth are loose and brittle because they need to chew rough and hard food for a long time, and sometimes their permanent teeth begin to fall out as soon as they grow out.

But none of these symptoms were found in this strange patient. One monk jokingly said, "The soles of his feet are softer than the palms of my hands."

"The more so," Heraclius said, "the more unfortunate he is." If they had not happened to be passing by, the best outcome for the child would have been to become a eunuch in the harem of the Byzantine emperor or the Fatimid caliph.

After hearing this, the monks couldn't help showing expressions of shame and pity. The monk who made the joke even made the sign of the cross several times on his chest to show his repentance.

"Take good care of him," Heraclius said. "Perhaps the king will come to see him again."

　New year, new article!

　　Thank you to my new and old readers for your continued support!

　　I hope you can continue to give me guidance and encouragement in the new year!
　　I wish you and your family good health and all the best!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)