kingdom of nations

Chapter 295 Broken Wings (13)

Just like Al-Alassa, ruled by Solomon, a descendant of David—on the surface, it remained a sacred and great city. But in reality, beneath its magnificent gold ornaments and exquisite carvings, it not only housed the Ten Commandments and the Law of Moses, but also stored countless worldly treasures of gold and silver.

These proven defilements completely obscured the glory of God, causing Solomon and his people to quickly fall into depravity, and incurring the wrath of Heaven, ultimately leading to their destruction by the Assyrians.

What's hateful is that the people are attracted by the petty gains in front of them, unable to see the glory of God, and unable to see how they are heading down the path of inevitable destruction.

The ascetics finally solidified their resolve: they had to eliminate this demon, even if it meant making some sacrifices.

For these busy and blind sheep, punishment is necessary. Without blood and fire to awaken them, how can they repent and realize their mistakes?
“Come, child.” He lit a very small candle, just enough to barely make out the other person’s face, then took a small earthenware jar from the wooden box beside him, took out some grease from it, and rubbed it on his body and face.

They then did the same to the young cultivator. The September weather was still somewhat hot and suffocating, and they were all wearing long-sleeved robes with hoods. The young cultivator felt a little uncomfortable. "Can we stop wiping ourselves?" he asked.

"This can prevent us from being cursed by the devil."

"Is there really a devil here—that person who just walked by... but I don't think he looks like a devil at all." The little monk's voice gradually lowered.

He glanced fearfully at the ascetic. Although the ascetic did not show any anger, he could sense the elder's displeasure. He lowered his head and stopped speaking, letting the other man rub a thick layer of oil onto every inch of his exposed skin. "How long are you going to keep rubbing? Didn't that demon leave?"

“He will return. He won’t easily let go of the prey he’s already got his hands on,” the ascetic said. “But we don’t need to stay long, three days, five days, or a week. Once those sinners have been punished, we can leave.”

In fact, the young monk didn't really want to leave. He was originally just the son of a steward, living on the farm. Later, his father managed to raise some money and sent him to the church for a "choice ceremony." He was undoubtedly quite lucky, not only being chosen from among a dozen or so children, but also attracting the attention of the priests.

He didn't yet understand those complicated interpersonal relationships. He only knew that he had come from one city to another, and finally to a large monastery. He was asked many questions and did many things at the request of some people. Although he still didn't understand what these things were, judging from their expressions, they seemed to have discovered something interesting or a useful item.

He tried to ask to go home, but he was punished with a beating and not allowed to eat for several days, only allowed to drink water.

His mentor was the ascetic before him, and he dared not disobey him, though he felt it was a great pity that Bethlehem was more prosperous and freer than any other city he had passed through.

Although he was firmly controlled by the ascetics, he could still feel the vitality of the people here, a vitality he had never felt in the farm and the city of Frank. He pursed his lips, recalling the few words he had overheard occasionally—he vaguely sensed that something terrible was about to happen, but all he could do was reach out and hug himself.

------

César has returned to the Saint Jerome Monastery.

He would then pray all night. Baldwin would return to Arrassa the next day, after all, he had been away from Arrassa for too long. Patriarch Heraclius might stay in Bethlehem for a while. He was somewhat worried about Cesar, that lingering shadow always haunting him, but he had a large entourage and could only stay overnight at the Church of the Nativity.

“I have already instructed the abbot of St. Jerome’s Monastery; he will take good care of you,” Chiraclo said to Cesar as he saw him off.

Cesar was both amused and exasperated. He was no longer a nine-year-old child, but he would still feel joy at this kindness.

Although he had only been here for a few short years, the events of the other world felt like a century had passed. He remembered them, yet he still often felt a sense of estrangement. Sometimes, he even wondered if he was simply living in a long nightmare, unsure whether he was the heir of Count Josephine III of Edessa dreaming of that world, or if he in that world was dreaming of the heir of Count Josephine II of Edessa.

He pulled Chiraclius's hand over and placed it on his forehead.

Heraclius reached out his other hand and gently stroked his black hair. He was now truly grateful that he hadn't forgotten about this child, had even recommended him to Amalric I, and had resolutely chosen him as his student before the selection ceremony, giving him an identity. Otherwise, after Amalric I's death, he would have been all alone until his death.

After bidding farewell to his teacher, César remained in the sanctuary. Now, all that accompanied him were the candles that filled the altar and steps, Jesus Christ gazing down at him with his hands at his sides, and the saints who served beside Jesus Christ. The icon of the transfiguration of Saint Jerome still shimmered with a faint holy light, and blood still dripped from the clear stigmata.

At his feet coiled a lion—the people here may have seen lions before, but their craftsmanship was only so-so. Although Saint Jerome was sculpted as holy and solemn, the lion still looked like a slightly larger hunting dog.

Beneath the lion were several cups made of gold and silver, used to collect the sacred blood.

Cesar knelt down. Although the saint he had seen was not Saint Jerome, he still wanted to thank the saint for not coming down and telling his followers that there were two complete frauds.

But once a lie is told, there is no way to change it. No knight has ever realized that he has misjudged a saint before.

"grown ups."

Although Cesar had not requested to be alone, the priests had already wisely left, and few were able to sneak in at this time—the newcomers were Gian of Magig and Damara of Gerard.

Damara hadn't seen him for a while, though it had only been a little over a year, but the girl seemed to have truly transformed into a respectable lady.

"God help you, sir, may we touch the icon of St. Jerome?"

Gian asked somewhat nervously, and Cesar chuckled, "Why not?"

He stepped aside and watched as the newlyweds, who resembled a pair of doves, walked hand in hand toward the icon of St. Jerome. Gian was overjoyed, and Damara also wore a happy smile.

Damara was like a younger sister to Cesar, and he naturally hoped that this somewhat mischievous but rational and strong girl could find a good home: "Have you set a wedding date yet?"

“We plan to get married on St. Denis (October 9th), sir, and we hope you can be our witness,” Gian earnestly requested.

Contrary to the common misconception in later generations, at this time, the love between the two people represented by the knight—the noblewoman and her knight—usually did not involve true love, neither physical nor spiritual. Their relationship was more about mutual fulfillment. The knight proved his fearlessness and loyalty by pledging allegiance to the noblewoman and fulfilling her requests. The noblewoman, in turn, used the knight to demonstrate her piety and fidelity. Her husband, in turn, was not resentful that his wife had admirers—in fact, if a noblewoman had no knights willing to pledge their loyalty and proclaim her virtues, she would be ridiculed, like a bright jewel unappreciated, leading some to suspect it was a fake made of glass.

Damara's fame has long been proven by Cesare—his feat of single-handedly defeating a Saracen army for her has become a favorite subject of bards' verses. While there is inevitably some exaggeration, everyone praises Damara's virtues, beauty, and fidelity.

Otherwise, how could such an outstanding knight be willing to risk his life for him?
This is why Count Magig was so overjoyed when he heard that Gerald's patriarch actually intended to become his relative by marriage.

“It’s a pity I won’t be able to see your children,” Cesar said, adding that Gerard’s patriarch would certainly prefer Damara to return to Magigor in Frankish territory with her new husband as soon as possible, rather than remain in the Holy Land.

Jian tried to hold back, but he couldn't resist.

He said eagerly, "Even if I get married, my lord, I can still stay here. Please allow me to serve you and become your knight."

"No!" Damara and Cesar shouted in unison—Gerald's patriarch would surely go mad if he heard that.

The three of them were taken aback at first, and then burst into laughter together.

“Then we’ll wait until Damara has given birth to her children,” Gian said expectantly. “When they’re old enough to walk on their own, I’ll come to the Holy Land and fight alongside you.”

Cesar glanced at Damara, but she didn't show any unusual expression. Indeed, women in this era and place did not demand too much emotional value from their husbands. For them, as long as there was an heir—preferably more than one—it was a good thing for their husbands to go out and fight.

Fighting can bring glory, wealth, titles, and even land. Acts like Gian's, which fight for God, can also ensure the forgiveness of the souls of him and his family.

At this point, Damara suddenly thought of something: "After you finish your fast and ascetic practices, will you go back to Cyprus?"

Cesar hesitated for a moment: “If I could, I would go back.” He might even wait until Portia gave birth, after which he might return to Damascus to govern the city for Baldwin, but once the child was old enough to withstand the commotion, he could bring Portia to his side along with her.

But he couldn't be sure, because knights often had to go out to war, and their wives didn't need their husbands by their side during pregnancy, childbirth, or postpartum. Often, when a knight returned from war, he would be greeted either by his newborn child and mother, or one of them, or perhaps by two cold stone coffins.

If César says that his special trip back to Cyprus was to be with his wife after she gave birth, it would be an odd act that is hard to understand—even Portia's letters to him hardly mention the child, and the messenger would not report anything related to it unless César brought it up.

When he talked to Baldwin, he saw not a fetus or an infant, but a strong boy who was already able to run around and could be used as a servant. Chiraclo only reminded him to remember to return to Cyprus as soon as possible after the child was born (if it was a boy) to recognize him and give him the right of inheritance.

Their actions were understandable, given that medical knowledge and doctors were almost entirely monopolized by the church at that time. Priests even considered pregnancy and childbirth as a punishment for women and refused to provide treatment—they didn't seem to consider that the child was still in the mother's womb.

Even after a child is born, 30% to 50% die before reaching adulthood, so people rarely show affection for children who haven't grown up. Amalric I's love for Baldwin only gradually developed after Baldwin turned six, largely because Baldwin was an only child.

Magiggao's Gian was not an only child; he had several brothers, but in Count Magiggao's words, they were as if they did not exist.

And then there's Longinus—who, even after fulfilling his promise, still refused to revert to his surname and origins. He could have done so, but felt it unnecessary; he had never received any warmth from that family.

But César was certain that his own children would not do that, whether they were boys or girls, the oldest or the youngest.

And then there's Baldwin—he hasn't given up hope; he longs to hold Baldwin's child in his arms, to place that tiny, soft, murmuring bundle of flesh on his shoulder.

------

“That’s Gian of Magigor and Damara of Gerald,” the servant said, while Bohemond, standing on the hill overlooking St. Jerome’s Abbey, gave a mocking smile—the patriarch of Gerald’s family was a mediocre man, but his senses were sharp enough that he had sensed something was wrong after Prince Baldwin contracted leprosy and had been working to send his only daughter out of the Holy Land—not caring about settling for a completely mismatched marriage.

Bohemond had once intended to unite with him, even if it meant sacrificing Abigail's marriage, which was not without room for negotiation, but he was politely refused—for which Bohemond caused him a lot of trouble—anyway, there were quite a few fools in the Gerald family.

“If anything happens to that lady…” the servant asked cautiously. He was a member of the Guiscard family, and because of his blood ties, he knew more than the others.

“He will be greatly affected,” Bohemond laughed. “As for what you’re worried about, do you really think that I, Raymond, or Manuel I, the Byzantine emperor, or Alexander III, the Pope, and our allies, whether they participated or not but tacitly approved, would stand up and admit that this was our scheme?”

He raised the riding crop and held it before his eyes. The crop was large, while Bethlehem in the distance seemed so small: "This is just God’s punishment on sinners, just as God inflicted leprosy on the only son of Amalric I—and now his only son is as arrogant and haughty as he was. He rejected God, and now God will reject him."

He turned his eyes slightly to the side, still smiling: "Are you pitying them? Pitying these sinners?"

A chill ran down the servant's spine.

“How could that be, sir? I’m just worried… there are quite a few merchants and pilgrims in Bethlehem, and once… an outbreak occurs, they’ll definitely be running around everywhere.”

“So Raymond is in Damascus, and I’m on Arrassa Road, precisely to avoid such problems. Of course,” Bohemond pressed his temple, feigning annoyance, “I also have to deal with our king, heaven knows what Amalric I is thinking, such a young boy… he needs the guidance of his elders to distinguish right from wrong and act rationally…”

And you don't need to worry too much, it's nothing terrible—you'll even get through it.

"what?!"

No matter how horrified his attendants were, Bohemond turned his horse around and left the city that was about to become a victim of intrigue. He had to return to Arrasa – there were still many things to do.

(End of this chapter)