kingdom of nations

Chapter 138 On the Road to Apollo (3)

What are you doing standing here?

The sudden question startled the three young knights standing in the corridor. They turned around and saw the person they least wanted to see at that moment—the Templar Knight, Joeffroy.

In the Crusades, Geoffrey was a respected old knight, and people believed he was destined for heaven. If anything went wrong and he fell into hell, it must have been because of his sharp tongue. Sometimes, his sarcasm and ridicule were far more vicious than those of the most eloquent bards or the most eloquent scholars.

Joffre walked toward them, pointing to the robes on their bodies: the white robe with a red cross of the Knights Templar, the white robe with a yellow Arrassa cross of the Holy Sepulchre, and the red robe with a white cross of the Knights of the Good Samaritans—these were the young men of the three orders… who must be their representatives. He looked up and examined their faces closely, realizing that they were indeed the same young men who had once been the most disobedient and proudest.

"Are you looking for Cesare? Why don't you go in? Although he is called a lesser saint by the people of Arazarus, it doesn't say that you must bring gold, frankincense, and myrrh to visit him." Here Geoffroy made a not-so-pious joke—when Jesus was born, three highly respected scholars brought three precious gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—to worship him.

The young Templar Knight was pushed by his temporary companion and had no choice but to walk out. But before he could speak, the door next to him suddenly opened, and Cesar stood behind the door, looking strangely at the group of people crowded in the corridor.

“Come in,” he said. “Don’t stand outside.”

The young Templar knight glanced at Geoffroy every now and then—his meaning was clear: he hoped the old knight would step aside for the time being. Unfortunately, Geoffroy was never one to read other people's expressions. Not only did he not leave, but he also sat comfortably in the chair by the fireplace and ordered his servants to bring him a glass of mulled wine, clearly intending to see this amusing little episode through to the end.

The three young knights did not make any unreasonable requests of Cesar—and Cesar and Geoffroy had anticipated this—as the administrator of Busra, Shamsdin, wanted to hire them to wipe out several groups of bandits between Busra and Damascus.

It's no wonder that Shamsdin would have designs on them. There are ninety knights who have been blessed by the saints, and many of their squires have also received "favor." Several priests have also sensed the presence of powerful saints. In addition to their armed attendants and servants, their force of over a thousand men is more than enough to attack even a small castle. Clearing out the bandits roaming the desert and wastelands would not be difficult.

“This matter will be handled by me…” Cesar glanced at Geoffroy, who was idly fiddling with the chess pieces. “I will handle this matter together with Geoffroy.” In other words, he would speak with the administrators of Busra in his capacity as the head of the mission and a knight of Bethlehem.

The young knights immediately relaxed, bowed to Cesar, and then left one by one without asking any other questions or making any demands.

Cesar returned to the table, where he had been trying to play chess against himself. After all, he wasn't particularly interested in modern entertainment, such as watching vaudeville, listening to music, or indulging in pleasure with women. However, the steward of Busra had specially prepared a chessboard in his room—the same chessboard he and the prince had played with, the Sartranz. Since he and the prince had become squires, they had hardly had time to play chess. Seeing the chessboard and pieces now, he felt quite nostalgic. But after only a few moves, he heard the voices of Geoffroy and others outside the door.

“You know why it’s them,” said Geoffroy. Others would have been puzzled and wouldn’t have understood what he was talking about, but César just smiled. “I know, and I also know why you’re here.”

"I did come here to do something, but there's no need for that now." When he saw the three knights, he knew that his fears hadn't come true—if those knights had been hired by the Saracens to speak to Cesar, or had simply kept it a secret, then the problem would be much bigger. He might even have tried to transfer some other trustworthy knights—which would mean they had retained their original stubbornness and arrogance. Taking this group to the perilous Apollo would be a recipe for disaster!
Fortunately, although he didn't know how Cesar had managed it—he only knew that Cesar had been very busy during this time, and that he had done more than just provide food for these hungry young men; there must have been other things as well, but these things had all happened in places he hadn't seen—and Jofroy wasn't going to investigate further.

“It’s such a wonderful thing to have such a carefree child,” thought Geoffroy to himself, twirling the ebony chess piece with its gold base as he drank. He had also enjoyed playing chess in his castle. However, since arriving in Arrassa and becoming a member of the Knights Templar, this pastime had been forbidden. The Templars didn’t regret it, but at this moment, he really longed to play a game of chess with someone.

Then he saw César sitting across from him. “I think,” César said, “that anything, as long as you don’t become too addicted to it, isn’t a bad habit.”

Goffroy grinned and slammed the chess piece onto the hard olive wood chessboard.

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Kamal was ultimately mistaken. Although he cherished these knights, this was also an excellent opportunity for Cesar—opportunities to observe Saracen villages and tribes up close were rare, and he was protecting not lambs, but a pack of ferocious wolves.

You might ask, since these were also Saracens, why would they attack caravans traveling between Damascus and Busra? While there were Christians and Isaacs among them, the majority were Saracens—but as Saladin lamented, without a strong Caliph or Sultan to lead them, the Saracens could never unite their forces; they would only fight and plunder each other, filled with covetousness and hatred towards their own people.

But this cannot be blamed on them. When they lived here, it was a place flowing with milk and honey, with abundant water and lush vegetation. Until hundreds of years later, the weather changed drastically, and clouds and rainfall gradually became scarce. A scorching wind blew in from somewhere, carrying sand and swallowing up the fertile land.

Oases disappeared one after another—yet the tribes remained. In order for the people of the tribes to continue to live, their swords could not be directed solely at the Christians who occupied only the coastal areas.

After several raids and pursuits, even the experienced Geoffroy was surprised to find that in these extremely barren places, there were actually tribal warriors who had received prophetic revelations—their numbers were in no way inferior to all the Saracen regular army—a cavalry unit almost stumbled because of this, and if it weren't for Cesar, they might have suffered a heavy defeat here.

Geoffroy was once again filled with frustration—only after leaving Baldwin had César finally revealed his true brilliance. The radiance that enveloped him and his companions also shone upon his horses and weapons. He could even spur his horse forward without hesitation, charging towards the gleaming swords and arrows. No one could break through the protection bestowed upon him by the saint; instead, they were as if crashing into a giant wall of steel, either flying through the air or breaking bones on the spot. His attacks reminded Geoffroy of those heavy siege crossbows—those bolts, almost as tall as an adult male, would carve a straight, blood-soaked path through dense crowds after being fired from massive ballistae—and so too with César.

The young knights quickly changed their strategy. They no longer charged into battle alone, but followed closely behind Cesar. Wherever he went, the enemy was either thrown to the ground or scattered in all directions. Even the highest morale would vanish in an instant—even those among them who had received prophetic guidance were still as vulnerable as mortals in front of Cesar.

“I was so stupid, so stupid. I should have tricked him into joining the Knights Templar sooner,” he muttered. Before the selection ceremony, Cesar was not highly regarded. If he had stolen him into the order back then and managed to get him to swear an oath, perhaps the Knights Templar would have one more Paladin-like figure now.

But did this guy sense Saint Jerome?

He also had Templar Knights who could sense Saint Jerome around him, but no, not at all...

He couldn't think any further, because the knights were already rushing towards him, carrying honor and prisoners.

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Shamsding looked at the men brought before him by the Christian knights, some Saracens and some damned Isaacs, and he could hardly believe his eyes—for these Isaacs were the merchants he had graciously permitted to live and trade in Busra.

No wonder those thieves knew the merchants' schedules, routes, and numbers so well. Their spies were all over the city, right beside them, and in a way that no one would suspect.

Think about it. You just bought silk and spices from an Isaacman today, loaded them onto the backs of camels, and are preparing to transport them to Cairo, Alexandria, or anywhere else.

The Isaac merchant you traded with seemed extremely pleased with the deal; he displayed extraordinary enthusiasm, inviting you to dinner and seeing you off. When his gaze fell upon your caravan, could you guess he was counting your guards and your camels?

This is undoubtedly a short-sighted approach, but the Isaacs wouldn't care. They had no land of their own, no country of their own, and no king of their own. Even if Busra or the governor of Damascus allowed them to live and trade here, to them it would only be a rented inn and warehouse. Who would cherish something that doesn't belong to them?

Even without Kamal's prompting, Shamsuddin could guess what these bastards were thinking. Yes, Sultan Nur ad-Din was dead, and none of his successors could command the respect of everyone; the shadow of war had already fallen upon them.

In contrast to the Saracens who lived in the city, the Isaacs neither trusted Shams al-Din nor cared what might happen to the city; they were only interested in making a fortune during this turbulent period. As for whether trade routes would be cut off or the city would decline, God, what did that matter to them? They could simply take their money and flee to other places to continue their business.

After a few years, when things have calmed down, they can return here without anyone finding out what they did. As long as they are willing to bow down, pay taxes, and live a life far superior to most Christians and Saracens.

Shamsdin was furious. He immediately ordered the craftsmen to build wooden frames and erect them one by one along the road from Busla to Damascus.

These Isaacs, draped in silk and feasting on meat and wine, their pale skin exposed to the scorching sun, were mercifully killed by Shamsuddin, who instead employed a method that could be described as imported.

“This is common in Frankish countries,” said Geoffroy. “They should have done it a long time ago,” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “The poor fellows have no idea what the Isaacs are. You’d be better off trusting maggots on rotting flesh; at least they have some value.”

They were riding past a wooden frame in front of which hung upside down a fat Isaac man, head down and feet up, his hands bound behind his back. The few hours he had been hanging there had made his face red and his breath faint. Beside him, two dogs were also hanging upside down.

—In Christian countries, people believe that newborn puppies do not open their eyes for the first few days, just like blind people. Therefore, they use dogs to symbolize the blindness of Isaacs and mock them for not being able to see or recognize the salvation of the Savior when he came to them. Therefore, when an Isaac sins and refuses to convert, they will hang him upside down and bring two dogs to hang beside him as a form of mockery and warning.

This Isaac was relatively lucky. There were several other Isaacs, and perhaps due to the executioner's deliberate actions, the two dogs were a little too close to him—when the dogs were hanging upside down and struggling desperately, they would scratch and bite with their claws, instantly leaving them covered in blood and in a gruesome state.

Amidst this silence and wailing, they saw people emerge from Damascus to greet them.

(End of this chapter)