kingdom of nations

Chapter 267 Spreading Wings (3)

These savages had no idea what kind of army they had encountered.

They assumed that, as in the past, they would only encounter wandering knights or bandits, who, even if filled with anger, would not have the energy to entangle with them.

But this time they were wrong. The knights' squires immediately removed their helmets, chainmail, and boots. However, before they could even finish preparing, laborers volunteered to come forward.

"They are light, and so are we."

Thomas, the lead carpenter, earnestly said, “Let us drive them out, like hounds chasing away rabbits.”

"Can you do it?"

Thomas laughed. “Sir, when we were in the village, we also fought battles—with our neighbors, with refugees, with lords, with Saracens, or even bandits. The men in the village may not be able to wield swords, but they are certainly adept at using flails and pitchforks.”

It is much simpler to select suitable people from among the laborers. Even knight squires do not lack meat in their daily lives. Even if they are not tall, they are strong enough, which is certainly a good thing on the battlefield. However, in this case, short and thin laborers are better than them.

Not all the laborers were ignorant, and those who dared to stand up at this time were not ordinary people—a hundred laborers, armed with simple weapons—staff, spears, or axes, rushed towards the dense forest.

With a weight like Thomas's, she can walk on the meadow, though it's a bit undulating and she has to bounce around.

“He is fearless,” one knight said admiringly. “He has a brave heart in his small body. If he comes with us back to Arrasa Road, I will make him my armed servant.”

These words immediately made César understand why these laborers were so eager to help—indeed, for farmers, artisans, and menial laborers, living at the bottom of society, it was a very difficult thing to rise above their circumstances and change their social class; it was almost impossible.

However, there are exceptions. If they are chosen by a knight and become his servant, they have a shortcut to upward mobility. This is why being able to work in a castle is something that many people envy.

“I think the other one is better; he knows how to organize people,” Gian said. Indeed, with his exceptional eyesight, he could see the other leader in the group. He was probably from another village, surrounded by his friends and relatives. He was now directing them to spread out, forming a loose but easily tightened net. He had even sent someone to deliberately make a lot of noise to intimidate the savages who might have already hidden themselves.

“I know him,” said one of the knights. “He’s a hunter, and he’s good with a crossbow.”

The others each had their own methods, and even without a method, simply charging in could indeed achieve their goal. They were indeed thin, but much stronger than savages.

In any case, before this, they had a fixed place to live. The food they ate each day wasn't great, but they were generally able to eat their fill. Moreover, after being chosen by Cesar, they were able to eat enough salt, sugar, and meat meal to supplement their nutrition.

Before long, the first savage rushed out of the dense forest. Like the savages they had seen before, he was almost naked, with bulging eyes, disheveled hair, and his ribs were almost clearly visible.

As soon as he stepped onto solid ground, he saw the knights standing silently. He panicked and tried to escape to another place, but a laborer jumped out and hit him with a stick. He tried to dodge, but he was exhausted and could only fall down next to a clump of papyrus after being hit.

The laborer was overjoyed, as if he had personally killed a wild boar, and dragged him to Cesar and the other knights.

More and more savages were driven out. They did try to find another opening to escape, but they dared not actually run into a knight. They might only number a dozen or so, while a hundred farmers would be enough for them to form an effective encirclement.

The shadows cast by the knight and his horse on the ground moved only slightly, and the savages in the dense forest were already forced to be exposed to everyone's sight.

It's hard to say whether these savages are Christians or Saracens. They chose to flee from villages or cities in order to survive, but far from human habitation and without the protection of society and city walls, is life easy for them?

Even though they brought out some necessities, the salt and beans would eventually run out, the axe would rust, the rope would rot, and things like wooden cups and iron pots would inexplicably break down, which they couldn't repair—they had neither the tools nor the skill.

They may have brought seeds, but the seeds may not be able to germinate in such a place. Even if they do germinate, considering that each seed can only produce three to four times the yield at this time, they can only barely feed themselves for one or two years.

Eventually, they ran out of seeds, and of course, no new plants could grow to provide them with food.

They might gather fruit, hunt waterfowl, and perhaps catch fish and toads in the swamp, but the problem is, if they could survive by gathering and hunting, then humans wouldn't bother to cultivate the land.

Their clothing makes them completely unrecognizable as human, and it's even difficult to distinguish their gender. When they are starving to a certain extent, both female and male characteristics will atrophy.

They stood there, looking like a few moving skeletons, and even the laborers couldn't help but show expressions of pity and fear.

Cesar had seen the houses they had built in the dense forest. They couldn’t really be called houses; they were just huts made of branches. Judging from the main supporting pillars of the huts, they initially had some hope and energy—but now… if they hadn’t come here, these people probably wouldn’t have survived the winter.

The knights all looked at Cesar, knowing full well that their new master was a kind-hearted lord. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't need orders; they would simply behead them or throw them into the swamp.

Just like how they gloated before, watching them get stuck in the swamp and unable to extricate themselves, this is what you call an eye for an eye.

Cesar shifted slightly, Castor beneath him snorted impatiently, and just before he could deliver his final verdict, one of the savages suddenly groaned, “Don’t kill me,” he said.

At first, even the hearing-sharp César couldn't understand what he was saying.

Perhaps because he hadn't been in contact with outsiders for a long time, he spoke slowly and incoherently, "Don't kill us...we...are useful."

"Useful?" one of the knights couldn't help but laugh. "What good are you? Lay you out on the swamp and then let us walk across?"

He wasn't using a metaphor; he was stating a fact that could happen at any moment.

The savage who had spoken out shuddered, glancing with his grey eyes at Cesar, then at his cloak, and then at the knights behind him and the laborers surrounding him: "Are you their master?"

Cesar nodded. "Yes, what do you want to say?"

“If that’s the case,” he struggled to get away from the other savages who wanted to help him, barely managing to touch his knees to the ground in a kneeling posture.

"I have a secret to tell you—I can only tell you this."

The knight beside him wanted to draw his whip to punish this unreasonable sinner, but Cesar simply waved his hand: "Listen to me, I won't give him much time."

He walked toward the man, who was practically the embodiment of a swamp god—Cesar thought to himself. If it weren't for his eyes, those eyes that shone with wisdom, and if he were placed before a crowd and claimed to be a statue of clay, people would believe him.

This old man—he should be old—was better than the others.

Everyone else, regardless of gender—if there were women—was almost entirely wrapped in a loincloth, the color and material of which were indistinguishable, barely preserving a shred of human dignity for them. The man who claimed to have a secret to tell César, however, wore a loincloth—let's call it that for now; it looked like a whole piece of cloth folded up, with a hole cut in the middle for his head to stick out, and a straw rope tied around his waist.

"My surname is Bingen."

“Bingen?” Cesar asked with some doubt, as he was not very familiar with the surname.

The old man gave a sad laugh. "Indeed, she was burned alive, and her family suffered a great disaster because of it. Her books were burned, her research was stopped, and even the monastery where she served as abbot was closed. People no longer dare to mention their names. We could only flee here to seek refuge."

But decades have passed, and those who once benefited from her kindness are no longer willing to shelter us, so we have to flee here. But as the saying goes, disasters always come in pairs,” he said, his words flowing more and more fluently. “I once thought this would be a miniature Eden. But I was so wrong. This is a paradise for plants and wild animals, not for humans.” He paused. “If you don’t know Bingen, then do you know that she wrote a very comprehensive book on herbalism?” the old man asked hopefully.

"I've indeed never heard of her. As for what you mean by herbalism, is it what I understand it to mean?"

Seeing that the other party did not react violently, immediately jumped up and cursed them, and then executed them on the spot on charges of heresy, the old man felt a glimmer of hope.

“Yes, sir, if you are willing to release us, we are willing to offer this herbal medicine book, which I copied, but I can guarantee that not a single page is missing. You can take it, whether you keep it for your family, your king, or give it to the church, it will be a great deed for you.”

“And then,” Cesar looked at the timid people hiding behind the old man, “how many of you died last winter?”

“Five,” the old man answered instinctively, then he couldn’t help but tremble—he feared the knight’s next words would be, “Since that’s the case, I won’t leave you to suffer in this noisy world,” and then he would kill them.

As for the books he mentioned, perhaps the knight didn't care. Even if he wanted them, he could easily find them in that humble shack. What could he possibly not find?

"Are you Christians?" The question surprised the old man. He had already said that he was a descendant of Bingen, a German surname, which meant that they were definitely Christians, not Saracens. But he immediately understood what César meant.

They had only been here for about ten years, so of course they could recognize the emblem of Arrasar. These people were not ordinary knights—they had important duties to perform.

"We are Turks." He said this, and even those around him looked at him in surprise. Some of them were so excited that they were about to shout, but fortunately, there were a few smart people among them who immediately covered their mouths.

“Then you are now my slaves.” Christians cannot be slaves to Christians, and Saracens must be killed in particular. Cesare could, of course, do as the old man suggested and kill everyone here before continuing their journey, or take the book and continue their journey, but he did not want to do so.

The old man's bet paid off; he won even more than he expected.

What should we do if we don't want to kill these people, but also don't want them to stay here and become informants?

The simplest way is to carry them. Judging from their movements as they evaded capture, although they were skin and bones from hunger, they still had the strength to walk.

Or rather, in order to survive, they also had to be able to follow the group.

The laborers obeyed Cesare unconditionally. They rested temporarily in the dense forest, lit a fire, and set up an iron pot. Even when Cesare asked them to share a bowl of the thick soup with meat powder, salt, and sugar with these savages, no one complained or showed any reluctance.

The knights worried that these men would slow them down. But then they realized that these men were still of some value. They had lived here for over a decade, and even though they hadn't traversed the entire valley, they knew the main paths by heart. They also knew the plants and animals, as well as the unpredictable weather and terrain.

That night, one of them led the knights to a reed thicket to hide. There, the knights caught about a hundred plump waterbirds. After a hearty meal, they no longer felt that these people were a burden. If necessary, they could release them before the war. After all, the situation would be settled by then, and even if they went to inform on them, it wouldn't make much difference.

Its true value was demonstrated a few days later when, while they were crossing a lush wetland, a knight suddenly collapsed, followed by two squires, five armed servants, and dozens of laborers.

They first felt pain all over their body, then started to have a fever. When people applied cold compresses to them, they started to feel cold again, shivering all over. But they were also sweating, and the sweat quickly soaked through their clothes, even leaving dark stains on the blankets they were on.

"What's going on?" A knight had already placed his hand on his longsword, glaring at the savages. Was it a curse brought by these Turks? Or had they poisoned them?
"No, no, no," the old man cried hurriedly, "they're just sick!"

The priests began to treat the knights, but the problem was that just one day after they brought down their fevers and stopped their convulsions, they collapsed again, and their symptoms were clearly more severe and intense.

“I know…I know a herb that can cure them.” The old man said hastily as the knights cast ominous glances at them once again. His words immediately made the priest’s face darken. “What are you talking about?” he said threateningly. “A herb? Aren’t you a Turk? Are you a sorcerer, a devil? You speak our language, and very fluently at that.”

“I am a scholar,” the old man said, not the kind of scholar who could become a warrior: “I am just an ordinary doctor—the Sultan allowed ordinary people to practice medicine.”

The priest's expression softened slightly. He knew that among the Turks and Saracens, those who had received prophetic revelation, or rather, divine blessing, were generally called scholars.

But there is another type of scholar: ordinary people living in the secular world, who are likely to become teachers, librarians, or doctors.

Yes, although the profession of doctor has become extinct in the Christian world, doctors still exist among the Saracens and Turks; moreover, they are highly respected there.

"These hateful heretics!" the priest cursed inwardly. If it were any other lord, he could have claimed that he couldn't cure the knight because the knight was cursed by a demon.

Since he has fallen victim to the devil's curse, he can only rely on God's will. If God is willing to forgive him, he will be well; if God deems him deserving of this punishment, then he deserves to die.

But he also knew that the count standing in front of him was not the kind of fool who could be easily fooled by their words, so he shut his mouth. Cesar then looked at the old man and said, "You said there are herbs."

“There are medicinal herbs here. We have lived here for a long time and have encountered similar things before. And I have discovered a special plant here that has not even been recorded in any books.”

He nodded to César, indicating that the book he mentioned was something his aunt had left behind. "It's a plant that grows in dry areas, loves sunlight, has small green leaves and yellow flowers, and there may be a few blooms now. I can take people to find it."

Cesar nodded slightly, and two knights with their squires rushed toward the old man—it wasn't until sunset that the old man appeared in their sight with those men, each carrying a large bundle of fresh herbs on their shoulders.

Just as he said, the leaves were very small, and the flowers were yellow. "Shall we make it into soup?" a knight asked, one of his friends among the sick, who was deeply distressed by his plight.

"No, no need, sir. Just wash them clean, crush them, and make the juice for them to drink."

The knights were skeptical. But at this point, they really had no better option, and more people were falling—a brave squire was willing to use this strange herb with the laborers, though he wondered to himself—was this just another trick played by the wizard?

The laborers accepted it well; among people from the lower classes, practicality was what they valued most.

Sometimes they would tacitly accept some conventional treatments—herbs and such, which were very precious to the gentlemen in the church—most of the witches who were actually burned at the stake were useless old women who could no longer work and only knew how to eat; living another day would be a waste of resources.

But if there is someone in the village who is familiar with herbs and can use such inexpensive means to stop their fever, make them stand up again, or strengthen their bodies, they wouldn't care even if he were a devil.

The laborers who drank the herbs with great relish actually improved the next day, so the knights were no longer timid. "This isn't the plague, is it?" Gian asked worriedly. Cesar and the knights who had seen the saint and received his favor seemed to have escaped the plague, but he was also worried that these banished demons might return to them one night.

"probably not."

Cesar replied that he recognized it as malaria at a glance, but the symptoms were mild.

The herb the old man brought reminded him of a record he had once seen in a book on traditional Chinese medicine, but that name certainly couldn't be used here. He asked the old man privately and learned that this herb had been used in ancient Rome to treat snake venom, diarrhea, and fever, and therefore it had a very touching name—the gold of Artemis.

Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt, known as the mistress of wild beasts and the lord of the wilderness. These herbs do indeed grow in the wilderness and can ward off poisonous snakes and diseases contracted in swamps and wilderness, making them very suitable.

César once again felt how insane and foolish the Catholic Church's actions in stifling medical research and the medical profession were.

If they hadn't done so, perhaps the knights would have recovered sooner. The priests' incompetence also showed that their holy light was not effective against every disease. They couldn't cure leprosy or smallpox, and now, with only mild malaria, they were powerless to help either.

(End of this chapter)