kingdom of nations

Chapter 283 Broken Wings (1)

"Goose carcass!"

As Jian was walking through the smoke-filled camp, he was suddenly stopped by a voice: "Jian the goose! Jian the goose!"

Upon hearing this, he knew it was someone familiar with him, possibly even Magigau, who was also from Frankish. He turned around angrily, ready to teach this reckless person a lesson.

People at this time often used the names of their ancestors or saints, so much so that if you shouted William or Arthur in the street or church, everyone from princes to beggars might respond.

Therefore, people often use their birthplace as a prefix to their names, such as Godfrey of Bouillon or Raymond of Torova, or give them nicknames—like Richard the Red, Henry the Coward, or George the Cripple.

Most of his nicknames are somewhat teasing. Gian got this nickname because when he was very young—maybe only five or six years old—he provoked a flock of geese outside the castle. Geese are known for their strong attack power. Little Gian was chased by them and ran for his life, but he still couldn't escape the fate of being pecked on the butt by a goose's beak.

When he ran into the castle crying, he had two geese in his mouth, which looked like the kind of frame people used to hold geese back then, hence the nickname.

He had originally intended to teach this loose-tongued fellow a lesson, but upon seeing the two men sitting in the tent, he immediately backed down and even became somewhat hesitant. Those two men were none other than his father and his future father-in-law—Count Magiggao and Gerald's patriarch.

"What are you doing here, son?" Count Magig asked. "Didn't you go to join that inspection team...?"

“The inspection team,” Gerald’s patriarch corrected.

"Yes, inspection team, weren't you supposed to be on patrol? How come you have time to wander around outside?"

“I wasn’t wandering around,” Gian coughed twice. “We have shifts—it’s my break time now. I heard a merchant has some decent pieces of jewelry and I want to go take a look.”

As he spoke, he lowered his eyes, observing the expression on Gerald's face. In this world, no son-in-law is unafraid of his father-in-law; their relationship is like that of natural enemies and prey, regardless of rank or power.

Count Magigor let out a meaningful sigh. He knew his son was a simple and honest good boy. Although he had inevitably been taken to brothels by his uncles after he came of age, he had never been like those young men who had experienced love affairs, frequently fooling around with maids or peasant women.

He went to merchants to select a few gems that suited his taste, most likely to please his future wife rather than the prostitutes wandering outside the camp—some might laugh at such behavior—but the Frankish court at this time, though not as decadent as it would become later, was already showing signs of such behavior, with noblewomen sometimes behaving in ways that even prostitutes could not match.

But as a traditional old knight, Count Magigga still hoped that his son and daughter-in-law could have a happy marriage and then give him several or even a dozen grandchildren. He didn't mind; the more the merrier. "Is the money enough? Do you want me to give you some more? Buy more, son," Count Magigga tossed out a money pouch without hesitation. "A bride's dressing case can't be empty. Dress her up. She is your wife and the mother of your children. She should be able to share everything with you, whether it's honor or wealth."

This is certainly an effort to increase his son's leverage.

In fact, Magigga's territory was not vast or wealthy; in fact, it was small and barren. When the marriage fell to his son, he even thought the king (Louis VII) was joking.

But as it turned out, Gerald's patriarch was indeed a father who loved his daughter dearly. He was extremely determined to marry his daughter off to a place outside the Holy Land. Count Magiggao understood, but sometimes he couldn't help feeling a little guilty.

"No, no need, Father. I have enough money. We received our rewards and stipends yesterday."

"How many?"

Gian mentioned a number, and Count Magig couldn't help but click his tongue in surprise. His territory only earned three hundred gold coins a year, while Gian had received three times that amount this time.

Moreover, if he continued to follow the King or the Count of Cyprus, money would continue to flow into his pockets, since everyone knew that neither of them cared about gold or silver.

This amount of money is more than enough to hold a grand wedding.

Count Magigga took back his purse and turned to Patriarch Gerald: "It seems we still have time to hold the wedding for the two children on the feast day of Saint Luke as originally planned."

“Bishop Andrei and I discussed this matter, and he hopes to personally officiate the wedding of the two newlyweds.”

Bishop Andrei had taken an oath and was the chief priest of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. Even if he returned to his hometown, he could not overstep his bounds and preside over the wedding of Count Magigor's son and his new wife in place of the local bishop.

However, he also promised to transfer a portion of his savings and profits from his businesses to Gian as a congratulatory gift for their marriage, a request that was not unreasonable considering that Bishop Andrei did indeed regard Gian as his secular successor.

"I also heard that he left a portion of his assets to the Knights of Bethlehem."

Gerald's fingers paused slightly: "Count Cesar of Edessa is not the greedy kind of man. If you want to ask him for this money..." he said gently, "I can speak to him for you."

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” Count Magigga quickly explained. “I just feel a little regretful.”

Gian wore the same expression as his father. How could he have been promoted to César's side? He was neither a knight of Arrassa nor a Cypriot—César treated him differently, of course, because of Bishop Andrei, whose generosity was paving the way for him.

However, according to their original plan, after conquering Damascus, they would hold their wedding in Bethlehem, after which Gian would take Damara back to Frankish territory. In Frankish society, a young knight like him would likely have little chance of advancement. Louis VII's court was teeming with talented individuals, but also rife with undesirable practices. Someone like Gian would not only be unwelcome there, but might even face rejection.

Gian shared the same idea; he wanted to stay in the Holy Land. The scenery they saw along the way was not as desolate and barbaric as they had imagined. Apart from having to fight the Saracens, there was almost nothing bad about the place.

Here, he could have his own territory, castle, wife and children, and live and fight alongside the people he admired—the time he spent with Cesar in the Valley of the Hura was the happiest time of his twenty-odd years—and probably ever will be.

He had heard bards sing of the young knight's legend in the castle, and since then he had wished that his own name could be mentioned alongside his.

But neither Count Magigor nor Gian could voice this plan. They both knew that Gerald's patriarch had not sought a better match for Damara because he was tired of the fear of losing his loved ones at any moment.

Seeing that the topic was about to take a not-so-good turn, Count Magigaut hurriedly asked his son about his work these past few days. The inspection team was a new thing for the Crusaders. It first appeared in Fosterstadt, and people thought it was just a whim of young people, a flash in the pan.

Unexpectedly, it reappeared in Damascus—this job is not for everyone. First of all, even the squires following the knights in this team must be selected.

They not only faced fellow Christian crusaders, but also potentially dangerous natives—those despicable Saracens. The former might lash out in anger or a desire to escape guilt, while the latter were self-evident; if hatred could vanish in an instant like a flame thrown into water, it wouldn't be hatred at all.

“There are still some people committing crimes, such as robbery, extortion, or rape, and some residents of the city have lost their lives because of their resistance.” Gian became somewhat somber as he said this, even though, according to the church’s teachings, the suffering of the heretics was what they deserved.

However, it is almost impossible for an upright person to divide himself into two completely different beings in this respect. For example, Gian was a good successor worthy of the people's love when he was in Magig, and he would not suddenly become a villain after coming to the Holy Land.

The actions of those knights even made him feel ashamed.

If you hate a Saracen or a pagan, then you should go to the battlefield and fight them with real swords and spears, instead of bullying the weak women and children after the war is over, the outcome is decided, or even after a peace treaty has been signed, when you are not under any threat. It's like a knight boasting about hunting a bear or a boar, but not about how many rabbits he has caught—but he can hardly describe that feeling accurately.

"How often does this happen?" Count Magig asked with concern.

“Not much,” Gian replied. “First, we need to clear the oil from the city.”

Although Lazius revealed the location of the buried oil after the Crusader knights and lords swore an oath, his words could not be entirely trusted. Therefore, a thorough search was imperative—the army had not yet fully entered Damascus.

In addition, the long siege had exhausted many lords who had come from other places. After receiving money and glory from the King of Arazarus, they were all preparing to return home. Some would go directly back to their country from Acre, while others would make a pilgrimage to Arazarus and then embark on their return journey from Jaffa. They seemed to have no desire to stay here for even a moment longer. The camps outside the city were already quite empty, not to mention the ones inside the city.

It was only because they gained the upper hand in the final battle that the Crusaders were able to escape defeat at the walls of Damascus.

"I've heard that Damascus is a city like paradise on earth. Is that really true?" Count Magig asked curiously. "Has it been affected by the war? Has it become very desolate and dilapidated?"

“No, not at all,” Gian said honestly. “The most affected areas are the walls of Damascus and the residential areas near the walls—but that area is a buffer zone between fighting and living.”

But the buildings and people in the city suffered almost no real damage. We walked along the straight road—a street mentioned in the Bible, straight and long, lined with beautiful houses and shops on both sides. Father, all the houses opened onto the street, leading to a square courtyard with a fountain and trees, laden with flowers and abundant fruit.

Are the residents still inside?

"As per the king's orders, they all stayed in their rooms and did not go out, but left their doors open for us to search."

However, many houses remained vacant. It was said that after the death of their Sultan Nur ad-Din, Damascus was attacked several times by their own people, so many fled.

“Those Saracens will surely want to take Damascus for themselves. Who wouldn’t want Damascus? But Damascus certainly has its own ideas,” said Gerald’s patriarch. Having lived in the Holy Land for decades, he knew that the people of Damascus had always hoped that it could become a free city.

In other words, they did not submit to the rule of any sultan or caliph; they wanted to govern themselves and only pay taxes to the monarch.

This approach might be feasible in Europe, but it is unlikely to work in Syria.

"So we actually got a good deal."

“Perhaps that’s how it is, Father,” Gian said. “I have indeed heard that during the second expedition, Conrad III and our king encountered a Damascus that was as solid as steel, while we encountered a Damascus made of clay, and one that was badly damaged—it could be said that even if they had held out this time, the next invading enemy would have been able to achieve their goal.”

"When will we be able to enter Damascus? I really want to see the city with my own eyes, and that supposedly largest pagan temple. By the way," said Count Magig, "have they cleansed those evil pagan symbols and converted it into a church?"

“That might take more time,” Gian said. His father had little idea about this, but he was different; he had actually watched the craftsmen build a bridge. “But the True Cross and the altar have been erected, and Patriarch Heraclius has gone there and held a solemn Mass. It’s just that it’s not yet decided whether to still call it the Basilica of St. John, or something else—it might need to be discussed with the Romans.”

“Rome? That’s not Heraclius’ style,” Gerard said, the patriarch.

(End of this chapter)