kingdom of nations

Chapter 140 On the Road to Apollo (5)

Haredi propped himself up, as if to say something, but all he managed to utter was a series of violent coughs—Cesar's shield had arrived just in time, preventing him from dying under the soldiers' spears. But before that, he had been imprisoned and beaten, and ironically, the very soldiers who had stormed into the Isaac district and driven out all the Isaacs had ended up saving his life.

He looked up at the tall, thin but strong man who was back to the sun and looking down at him. "Yes," he said in a hoarse voice, "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Haredi was arguably the most crucial figure in the Battle of the Sea of ​​Galilee—without his important document, the Christians would have had no chance of meeting Sultan Nur ad-Din, nor would they have been able to ascertain his health condition.

It was precisely because it was certain that Nurdin's days were numbered that Grand Master Philip of the Knights Templar was willing to take a bold, even reckless, attempt. It can be said that the answer Haredi obtained at the risk of his life dispelled the concerns of many.

Baldwin was never stingy with rewards for those who truly made contributions, whether they were Christians, Isaacs, or Saracens. After the great victory at the Sea of ​​Galilee, Haredi was free to make his demands, whether it was to rebuild the Isaac settlement in Qumran, to relocate to Bethlehem, or to the road of Arathi, or even to do something for Baldwin. Baldwin would agree to all of them. But after the war, he quietly disappeared into the crowd.

He proved with his actions that he did not intend to be loyal to the king of Arazarus. At that time, Baldwin and Cesar only thought that he had gone to other Isaac settlements or returned to the Franks and the Apennines. After all, he had recently helped the Christians defeat the Saracens. No one could guarantee that no one would recognize him outside the battlefield.

"Can you still stand up?" Cesar asked.

Haredi wanted to say yes, but then he saw the young green-eyed knight extend his hand to him. He wanted to refuse the hand, but before he could do anything, he fainted.

Fainting might be a good thing for him now. In the eternal darkness, he can let himself drift in a daze, thinking of nothing and remembering nothing. His teacher, companions, wife, and daughter are all gone and can never be found again. He lives in the world only because he cannot disobey their teachings. He does not want to go to hell as a suicide victim, but fate is always so cruel.

He arrived in Damascus, but the peaceful life didn't even last three months.

When he awoke, Harry found himself lying in a soft bed, surrounded by fluffy down cushions. On a small round table beside the bed sat an exquisite bronze lamp, cast in the shape of a magnificent peacock with full plumage. The wick protruded from the bird's beak, and the flame was encased in a fist-sized glass sphere, emitting a dazzling light.

It took him a while to recall what had happened.

The teacher gave him the ancient scrolls hidden in the cave by the Isaacs, hoping he could use these treasures to return to the "secret land" in the desert—the Isaacs' last hiding place. But he failed his teacher's expectations; he indulged his hatred, letting it devour everything, whether it was faith or his people.

If he doesn't do this, he will never find peace. What's the point of returning to those people if he doesn't avenge them? Even if he hides deep underground, sooner or later he will be burned alive by the flames in his heart.

But since he had done so, all that awaited him was endless suspicion, hatred, and contempt—from one city to another, not only Christians or Saracens, but even his own people, once they knew what he had done, would immediately show their most hideous faces.

He often asked himself if he regretted it. He thought, no, he didn't regret it, he just felt exhausted, unusually exhausted, as if he would collapse at any moment and never wake up again.

When the young knight handed him a cup of scalding wine, a hint of resentment even arose within him—if he had died under the spears of the Saracen soldiers then, would he have found peace? Perhaps, he admitted. He wasn't a devout man like his teacher, but he had also performed unparalleled feats—feats that, for the Isaacs, were sufficient as a qualification for ascension to heaven.

He sat up and drank his wine. He saw Cesar stand up, go out, and bring him a small cloth bag. He opened the bag and emptied its contents, which were several small gold objects, some miscellaneous accessories whose purpose was unclear, and inlaid gemstones: "These are my things. You took them back?"

He hadn't held out much hope. But when one of his tribesmen tried to frame him—he claimed he had stolen some finished products and materials given to him by customers.

At first, Haredi thought they knew what he had done in the Sea of ​​Galilee, but in fact he had just gotten in the way of some people—although they were Isaacs like Haredi, it did not stop them from feeling intense jealousy, and they found a good opportunity to frame him for theft.

They stormed into his workshop, ransacked it, and looted everything he was making and was about to make, as well as some precious raw materials. Then they locked him up and tried to force him to confess to all the crimes he had committed. Before the Saracen soldiers stormed in, he had not eaten anything decent for three days, had barely drunk any water, and had been threatened, humiliated, and beaten.

"How did you do that?" These people were determined to kill him, and even though he proved that he had been a student of a "wise man," it was of no use. Sometimes, he really wondered if his people were indeed as blind as puppies, as the Christians had mocked them.

The Isaacs did try to argue, even though the things were destined never to belong to them again (the dead, of course, own no property)—they insisted that Haredi was a thief, as if this would lessen their sins or earn them the Saracens' mercy. But resolving such matters was incredibly easy.

Cesar only glanced at the so-called evidence and artifacts they had submitted before picking up something that looked like a reliquary and asking the plaintiff, "Do you know what this is, since you say it was stolen from you?"

The goldsmith hesitated for a long time before saying, "The reliquary."

It can be held in the palm of your hand, square and neat, engraved with exquisite patterns, which doesn't quite fit the Saracen aesthetic—it should be something customized by Christians, most likely a reliquary.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t a reliquary.” Cesar ruthlessly shattered Haredi’s last shred of illusion. “Although I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw it,” Cesar said, “this isn’t a relic, but a weapon, and it’s already been used, isn’t it?”

"I don't understand what you mean."

“There’s no need to do this futile work.” Cesar sat down in front of Haredi and took something out of his robe, a long, narrow wooden box. “You probably don’t know that after Sultan Nur ad-Din fell from his horse, it took him some time before he finally died. By then, he was already on Arrasa Road. Perhaps it was the devil’s trick on him, making him fulfill his promise in this way.”

When he left, though peacefully, he was covered in filth, mud, blood, and bodily fluids… If we simply left him there unattended, maggots and rotting flesh would soon spring up on his body. We tried to get other Saracens to do it, but they all looked terrified and refused—they said it was something only the Sultan's brothers and sons could do.

So, it was I who performed the 'purification' for him.

Haredi raised his head.

"You understand what I'm trying to say, right?"

"Yes."

“I wiped him down, trimmed his hair and beard, and then I found something very, very small under his ribs—someone else might have just missed it.” He opened the wooden box, and against the black velvet, a thin gold thread gleamed in the candlelight. It was so thin, perhaps only a tenth the length of a reed tube, or even less, twisted beyond recognition except for the very tip.

"It pierced Sudan's skin and muscle, and I took it out. Then, upon closer inspection, I discovered it was hollow." Upon realizing this, Cesar shuddered; nothing could be more familiar to a doctor than this.

The needle was thick enough to be used for injection—there must have been other parts left on the battlefield, but time was limited and they couldn't possibly go there to find the other parts that the needle was connected to. But its existence suggests that Nurdin's sudden death may not have been solely due to his age and illness.

"Open it."

Cesar handed the "relic box" to Haredi. Haredi remained silent for a long time, but under Cesar's gaze, he gently opened the "relic box". Once opened, one could see that it was full of intricate and complex mechanical parts, one after another, overlapping and interlocking with each other, and all closely connected.

"What did you fill it with?"

“I extracted some white powder from the pustules on the toad’s body. It can drive animals crazy and kill them.”

“You killed Nurdin.”

"Yes, but if you're going to use this to blackmail me, I suggest you don't—I don't want to work for a king, much less for an earl. Please give me my freedom. I will pray for you before God—if you want to hand me over to the Saracens, I will have no complaints."

He expected Cesar to fly into a rage, but the other man simply looked down at the tiny object, which was probably only a few inches square. "But I don't want to," Cesar replied bluntly, which really surprised Harry.

"I thought you were a kind person."

“It is precisely because I am a kind person that I would have hung you on the wooden frame long ago—you are taking advantage of my kindness, again and again.”

But I'm still willing to forgive you, because I need you to work for me.

“What do you need this for? You’re not an assassin from the Eagle’s Nest. Your victory should be earned honorably on the battlefield, not through underhanded tricks,” Haredi tried to persuade him. “I’m just a goldsmith, not even a ‘wise man.’ Although I’ve received God’s favor, I can’t fight on horseback or attack city walls. Even a few mortals could bring me to my doom. I’m really of no use to you—and you’re not one to show off, you don’t need a crown or a reliquary.”

“Why would you think that? Your skills and talents are extremely important. So important that I won’t release you as you request. You must come with me to Apollo, and then return with me to Arrasa Road. I will recommend you to Baldwin—”

Cesar smiled at him: "You might just do something beyond your own imagination."

(End of this chapter)