kingdom of nations

Chapter 216 Seven Days of Mourning (Part 2)
Seeing Walter's strange expression, Cesar guessed that he had misunderstood.

Walter assumed this was part of Princess Anna's dowry, whether publicly or privately.

Of course that's impossible. Princess Anna was just a bait that the emperor used to deceive the Franks and the eldest prince Alexius. The fisherman wouldn't care if the bait was torn apart and eaten by the fish. How could he possibly hand over such a sharp weapon to his own daughter?
These "Greek fires" were made by Cesar. After returning to Arrasaro from Damascus, he not only formally inherited his father's title, but Baldwin also returned the 200,000 gold coins to him intact, which made things much easier for him.

While searching for a possible cure for Baldwin's leprosy, he also stumbled upon some records about Greek fire in the library of Damascus—the main material of Greek fire should be naphtha, mixed with sulfur, bitumen, rosin and resin, which, in addition to being easy to burn, could also make them float on water or adhere to the enemy's body...

Although the Saracens had roughly analyzed the ingredients of Greek fire, they had never been able to mix it properly, or rather, the power was still insufficient. Moreover, how to ignite it when it ejected the bronze siphon remained a difficult problem to solve.

Since he arrived here, he has not yet seen real Greek fire. He also asked Heraclius whether a knight blessed by God could fight against Greek fire and return safely.

The answer was disappointing. Even the blessed knights could be wounded or killed on the battlefield. Greek fire was like fire rising from hell to earth. It could pose a threat to the knight as much as a sharp sword, a heavy hammer, or a huge arrow.

Cesar didn't know the recipe for Greek fire, even in his world, but a doctor couldn't be unfamiliar with flammable and explosive materials—he was not only familiar with them, but also knew under what conditions they would burn and explode, and what kind of harm they would cause to people.

He tried to concoct some, but at that time he did not intend to make these rudimentary results public—the relationship between the Byzantines and the Crusaders was not harmonious, and if one day he encountered Greek fire on the battlefield—he would need to know whether his strength and favor could withstand such high temperatures and heat.

He just didn't expect that the initial flames would burn here, at this moment.

As the fire died down, the sky was beginning to lighten like a thin veil, and the sea was no longer gloomy. It was the dawn of the fifth day, and the third day after the funeral. The stone bricks at the city gate were gradually cooling, but a chilling red still lingered in the black.

Walter was about to order his men to push the real battering ram up, but suddenly he waved his hand to signal his squires to hold back—the Templar Knight raised his left hand to shield his eyes from the suddenly intense sunlight, and said with delight, "Someone is coming out."

Because the city gates had been blocked and burned by the high temperature for several hours, the envoys inside the city dared not and could not enter or leave from their original positions, and could only order the soldiers to lower them down from the city walls.

Walter believed that as long as the person inside hadn't completely lost their mind, the one who fell would only be a peace envoy, not a fool who came to provoke them.

He guessed right. If they had simply sent men to launch a direct assault, even with countless casualties, the people inside the castle might not have felt despair. But the enemy used Greek fire—something that had almost become a spiritual anchor and a belief for the people of the Byzantine Empire—and they completely collapsed.

They stopped thinking about whether Cesar only had that much Greek fire, and they stopped thinking that even if the city walls collapsed, they could retreat into the inner walls and towers and continue their dying struggle.

The messenger who was lowered from the city wall in a basket was the lord's youngest son, about the same age as Cesar, around fifteen or sixteen. He was handsome, dignified, and still had a touch of childishness in his expression. Sometimes, when Cesar was reading the letter, he would secretly look at the messenger, seemingly finding it hard to understand how someone about his own age could become the monarch who controlled the fate of their entire family.

After Cesar finished reading the letter, the Cypriots present all felt a sense of tension.

They had already foreseen the fates of several previous families. Cesar made a clear distinction: those families who might have known the truth but remained silent would only be exiled or banished—but they would be allowed to take some of their property with them.

However, if caught up in this conspiracy, whether forced or voluntary, or if the entire family still brazenly opposes Cesar after he sent an envoy, the ringleader must be executed, and other adult men must also be tried and convicted. Only women, children, and infants can be pardoned, and even if they are pardoned, they must leave Cyprus forever with nothing.

Most unfortunately, this family possessed all the characteristics of the latter two. After Cesar gave his answer, the young man turned pale. He was sixteen years old. Of course, he was already an adult. He didn't believe he could be forgiven, but he still stood firmly on the ground without kneeling down to beg for mercy.

"I understand. Is this your reply? I will take it to my father."

"There is one more thing, which you may already know: I have forgiven all women before."

"Yes, you are a kind person."

"But there might be an exception here."

The messenger looked up at Cesar, puzzled.

"What, you don't know? Several ladies in your family became accomplices to the traitors. They killed several maids who also served the princess, and then opened the door for the eldest prince, Alexius."

The messenger opened his mouth, perhaps wanting to explain—perhaps he wanted to say that Prince Alexius was, after all, the princess's brother, and it was understandable that he wanted to see his sister… but what about the dead maids…

Do you want them to die?

"I just want them to pay the price for their crimes."

"But they are ladies." If a man decides to rebel, he is prepared to be beheaded, hanged, or torn apart by five horses. But most of the time, women (here, only noblewomen), no matter how terrible their crimes, are ultimately sent to a convent or imprisoned somewhere under the care of their family.

But Cesar just looked at him gently: "It's fine if you don't want to hand them over, but do you know how old Anna was when she died?"

The envoy was clearly taken aback, completely bewildered, but Cesar quickly revealed the answer: "Anna died at the age of only twenty-four, not even twenty-five. Therefore, all your female relatives who are over that age will be put to death." He spoke in such a gentle tone, as if ordering someone to pluck a rose.

“The sights Anna will never see again, the music she will never hear, the scenery she will never see again, and they should never have them either—” He nodded and said, “Go and take this request to them.”

Even Walter couldn't help but show a surprised expression. He knew that this child was often criticized for being too weak, which was not a quality a knight should have. Many people said that he should become a priest.

The first time Walter saw this child was when the child pleaded with Walter not to let the craftsmen and farmers in the castle become victims of their conflict and contradictions with Amalric I.

At that time, he felt that the fact that this child had been "blessed" to become a knight was truly the devil playing tricks on everyone. He should have been "given" and become a monk.

Becoming a monk allows one to fight for God without being criticized for his mercy. But how does a knight deal with prejudice and accusations when he stubbornly adheres to the same principles as a monk?
Walter had been a knight for a long time, and he had certainly seen some young squires who, unable to bear the bloodshed on the battlefield, decided not to advance further. They might return to the castle stables to become grooms, or blacksmiths, or even become monks—not the armed kind, but those who were only responsible for prayer and healing.

He had assumed Cesar would be the same kind of person, but while Cesar on the battlefield still couldn't treat life with the same disregard as the Templars, he was still a competent knight and subject; he protected some and killed others. Walter simply hadn't expected him to make such a cold-blooded decision here.

Walter, always a blunt and outspoken man, didn't hesitate to ask his question.

César was silent for a moment. “Women are no different from men, unless she is indeed born mentally challenged, but if so, they cannot commit crimes.”

My judgment of whether a person is guilty or not has never been related to his or her gender.

This idea is completely contrary to current beliefs.

People have always been quite permissive towards noblewomen. These women, who are considered to have minds like animals and children, have no power to decide their own fate. They must be subject to the control of their fathers, husbands, and sons, or even just a guardian appointed by the king. However, after being deprived of their power, they also do not have to bear any responsibility.

Even in Byzantium, the worst that could happen was being sent to a monastery. Of course, if someone died mysteriously after being sent to a monastery, that was a different story altogether.

But Cesar didn't see it that way. At twenty-four, they were probably already mothers of several children. They had sisters, mothers, and daughters, yet they showed no empathy for Anna—they didn't hesitate to poison the maids. They may have been coerced, but that didn't mean they were exempt from the consequences.

Walter still felt it was a bit of a pity, "You could sell them to the Turks or the Egyptians."

“I will never sell anyone into slavery, and... having life and losing life are two completely different concepts. Letting a person live, however they live, is sometimes the best reward, not punishment.”

Walter knew he couldn't change César's mind, just as César was adamant about not allowing them to execute criminals in the Latin or Greek way—the punishment for sinners was either beheading or hanging, and he would agree if the criminal asked to commit suicide by poison.

“I don’t know if you’re being merciful or cruel,” Walter muttered.

However, both Walter and Cesar's actions have kept Cyprus quiet for quite some time.

People at this time will not be grateful for your forgiveness or repent for their past mistakes. On the contrary, they will only think that your kindness is foolish or arrogant.

If they are not punished the first time they commit a crime, they will not hesitate to plan the next time.

When dawn broke and those who were willing to surrender left the castle, the women who had committed crimes were brought before Cesare. A beautiful young woman walked up to his horse, knelt down, and begged him for forgiveness, vowing to serve him for life or enter a monastery...

Meanwhile, an older woman was shouting, "The tyranny of the Latins!"

Cesar remained unmoved, but a woman of the highest status in the crowd met his gaze and said, "If you do this, the princess will not come back to life, and you will be despised by everyone. It's such a pity that you have such a good reputation."

As she said this, she stared intently into Cesar's eyes, hoping to detect any hesitation, but there was none. She couldn't find the slightest trace of wavering. In the end, she could only smile slightly and say, "It's unbelievable how she ended up meeting someone like you."

Having said that, she strode forward, grabbed the girl, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the older woman (who was now silent). "Fine," she said sternly, "a bet's a bet! I just hope you won't regret it later!"

Walter watched them turn and leave, even more resolute and decisive than the men: "Now I believe you." He shook his head and said to Cesar.

"Wait, sir!"

A voice suddenly came from behind them in a panic, and everyone was taken aback. At first, they thought the person was there for the ladies, but the person who rushed over only glanced at them.

"You can't kill those priests!"

The Archbishop of Cyprus was dressed in full regalia, from a top hat to a long robe, with an outer cloak and holy sash. This cumbersome attire almost caused him to fall head over heels when dismounting, but fortunately, a knight beside him caught him in time.

But his face was flushed, and he stumbled toward Cesar, pleading, "You...you can't! Those priests...they are...they are people who have nothing to do with worldly affairs...please let them go!"

The Archbishop of Cyprus arrived late for a reason: he believed that even if Cesar's wrath swept across Cyprus, the safety of the priests would still be guaranteed.

After all, they were servants of God, not earthly rulers. They held a transcendent position, and even if they committed sins, the Church, not ordinary lords, should be the ones to punish them. But what he didn't expect was that Cesar would bring out and kill every single priest involved in that conspiracy.

Their threats and pleas had no effect whatsoever. The Crusaders didn't care about these priests—they served the Roman Catholic Church, and orthodox priests were heretics among heretics to them. Cesar's treatment of them was not seen as transgression, but rather as the proper way.

All the Archbishop of Cyprus could ask for was Cesar.

Cesar had shown the Archbishop of Cyprus ample respect these days, but sometimes he couldn't be too lenient with people. Once he was lenient, they would unhesitatingly seek more. "I'm merely punishing criminals," he said calmly. "I can repeat, in my eyes, a criminal is a criminal, regardless of their status, gender, or profession."

"A profession? Do you consider serving God as a profession?"

The Archbishop of Cyprus shouted angrily, "You are provoking a conflict between the two religions. You are doing this intentionally—would you have done the same if there were some Roman Catholic priests in the castle right now?"

Cesar did not answer. He was surrounded by Crusader knights, armed monks of the Roman Catholic Church. He was upright, but he would not easily give others a handle to use against him.

“I never make things difficult for anyone,” he said politely to the Archbishop of Cyprus. “I can even give you a chance to become a saint.” He glanced at the siege equipment the Crusaders had brought, but sadly, these massive machines were of little use. “Do you see those catapults over there? I’ll have them add a leather bag, put you inside, and throw you into the castle. That way, you can go to heaven with those priests. It’s a good opportunity.”

I believe the Patriarch of Constantinople would not hesitate to bestow upon you the title of saint. What do you think?

The Archbishop of Cyprus gaped, his eyes wide, because Cesar had previously been very kind to him and had even allowed him to preside over the princess's funeral. He had thought...

In the blink of an eye, his aura vanished, and he reverted to the timid, hesitant old man: "No...no, no, I mean...of course you can, they have indeed committed unforgivable crimes..."

“Yes, yes… they are all sinners, and sinners cannot serve God,” he said, his eyes darting around. After realizing he couldn’t persuade Cesare, he came up with another idea: “I will excommunicate them.”

Even Walter couldn't help but laugh. This Archbishop of Cyprus was truly flexible. When he couldn't threaten Cesar, he immediately came up with this brilliant idea.

There are quite a few priests involved in this conspiracy, and if they are allowed to be executed, his prestige will undoubtedly suffer.

But if he excommunicates them for murdering the princess, then the people Cesar kills will only be ordinary people, and he won't need to worry about it.

The Archbishop of Cyprus looked at Cesar with some nervousness, only to see Cesar simply nod at him, at which point he immediately let out a deep breath.

"Then I'll go back."

No one answered him, so he could only mutter to himself, and with the help of his attendants, he remounted his horse and disappeared dejectedly into the bright morning light.

On the sixth day, all the rebellious areas were quelled, and César held a public trial. Later, the people of Cyprus said that they had never seen so many people dressed in silk being hung up—including even noblewomen and priests.

They were deeply worried and filled with fear, afraid that the new lord's wrath would extend to them—those who could escape had already fled, while those who could not or were unwilling to leave Cyprus waited in fear for disaster to strike.

But on the seventh day, their new lord boarded the ship and returned to Arazari.

After his return, it took a long time for the people of Cyprus to realize that the mourning period had ended on the seventh day.

(End of this chapter)