kingdom of nations

Chapter 297 Broken Wings (15)

Luck and misfortune are two seemingly completely different things, but they are completely the same in one respect—that is, they always arrive silently, unnoticed, and unexpectedly.

The guard standing before the "dung gate" in Bethlehem approached a covered wagon carrying a corpse with some tension—the dung gate was a gate in every city, used for dumping filth and transporting the dead—he held a spear and carefully lifted the linen cloth wrapped around the cold body.

His companion, looking on with some confusion, asked, "What are you doing? This car came from the city, and there aren't any wanted criminals here recently. Why are you being so cautious?"

The guard remained silent. He wouldn't tell his companion that a similar plague had struck his hometown, and the most vivid image left in his young mind was of wagons piled high with corpses—although pilgrims died in Bethlehem every day, the recent numbers were truly worrying.

He lifted a bit of the linen cloth and was relieved to see that there were no black spots, boils, or abscesses on the exposed skin. A person who was probably a relative of the deceased glared at him and slammed the linen cloth down: "Poor John died of diarrhea!"

“Indeed,” another older, more composed man advised, “If it were a plague, we would have fallen long ago, but we are still healthy now.”

The guards took a step back and remained silent. Just then, a rapid rumble of hooves came from the direction of the funeral procession. Both the mourners and the guards were startled. Fortunately, the sunlight was bright, and they could see a red flag fluttering in the wind and a white horse that looked as if it were made of ice and snow in the distance.

“It is the Knight of Bethlehem!” a pilgrim said in a low voice with reverence.

The Knights of Bethlehem have always been known as minor saints in the Arrassa Road and the surrounding cities. This time, when Saint Jerome appeared, people said that he came for Cesar, to reward him for his previous achievements in the Holy War.

Unfortunately, the Knights of Bethlehem did not enter the city through the Dung Gate. They turned away a short distance from the caravan and headed towards the Gate of David. However, whether it was a misperception or not, everyone present felt that he glanced back at them briefly.

Cesar was heavy-hearted. He knew that as a teacher who had once received the "gift" and was also one of the chosen ones, he was not so easily sick. Moreover, as the Patriarch and the highest religious leader of Arazari, the "fever," "cold," "hunger," and "exhaustion" that plagued ordinary pilgrims would never appear on him.

His entourage had already stepped forward, calling out their master's name and raising their banners. The guards had already dispersed the crowd in front of the city gate before Pollux's horses even touched the drawbridge. People watched the procession sweep past them like a hurricane and discussed it among themselves—especially the residents of Bethlehem, for Cesare's gentleness was well-known, and he rarely rode a horse in the city.

Some curious onlookers followed, and they saw César heading toward the Church of the Nativity.

"Does the bishop have something to discuss with the lord?"

"It shouldn't be him. If it were the bishop, he would be heading to St. Jerome's Monastery. By the way, isn't His Holiness the Patriarch at the Church of the Nativity?"

The church was never a standalone building, but a complex. Of course, César would not enter through the four-foot-high main entrance, as he had not come to pay homage to the birthplace of the Son of God. He bypassed it and rode his horse toward the rear gate, which led to the courtyard, one wing of which stood the residences of the bishops and priests.

When the Patriarch was staying here, Bishop Andrei had to give up his own room. Several priests were already waiting at the back door. As soon as one of them saw Cesar, he rushed up and tried to grab Pollax's reins.

Pollax was even more ill-tempered than the king's steed Castor, and was also a valiant warhorse. It dodged the priest's outstretched hand with just a slight turn of its side. Not only that, it also raised its front hooves high. If Cesar hadn't been strong enough to pull it away, this reckless fellow would surely have been in trouble.

“Don’t go near it,” Cesar said urgently, leaping off Pollax so that the knight behind him could grab Pollax’s reins. Pollax recognized the man but still called out to Cesar twice.

“Alright,” said the knight, “your master is burning with passion right now.”

César spotted Bishop Andre immediately—he dared not wait outside the door, for if something happened to the Patriarch, it would have a huge impact on Bethlehem. Without a word, he grabbed César's arm and dragged him forward, but once they reached a point where they could see the room, César pulled him away.

All the senior clergy of Bethlehem were gathered here, some coming out and some going in—they were taking turns treating Heraclius.

"Was it an assassination attempt or..."

“It’s an illness, but it’s very serious,” Bishop Andrei said.

Cesar threw off his cloak. He had come from the St. Jerome Monastery outside the city. Although the distance was not far, there was still a cloud of dust, not to mention that he had passed through a dense crowd. If he was carrying any deadly germs, it would only make things worse for a critically ill patient.

Before entering, he took out his small silver pot, poured some alcohol into his hands, and wiped his hands and face.

The strong smell of alcohol filled the room, and some priests looked on with puzzled expressions.

"teacher?"

Cesar walked to the bedside. Chirac was lying on the bed with his eyes closed and his face pale. The air was filled with a complex smell—vomit, feces, and spices.

"What happened? Tell me—in detail."

The priest serving Heraclius stepped forward—he recognized Cesar, of course, and knew there was no need to hide anything from him—"His Holiness the Patriarch began to have a fever three nights ago. He cried out for water, and when I brought him some, I found he had a fever, but not a very high one. After drinking the water, he went back to sleep..."

"Then?"

"The next day he continued to pray, read scriptures, and do some work. Although he was still a little tired, he didn't seem to be in any discomfort. But in the evening, he started to have a fever again..."

"Didn't you try to dissuade him or tell him to rest?"

"You know, His Holiness the Patriarch is as diligent as he is devout. We tried to persuade him, but he said he felt fine. However... during morning prayers, he suddenly experienced severe pain all over his body and was unable to finish reciting the prayer. We helped him back to his room and treated him. After a while, he felt better and continued to pray, but after breakfast, he began to vomit."

After vomiting came diarrhea—followed by sweating and chills. We summoned more brothers who took turns treating His Excellency the Patriarch, but after a brief improvement, the condition would worsen again.

Until now…

Cesar stopped talking. He sat down next to Chirac, then reached out and put his arm around the old man's neck. The moment his arm touched the skin, his heart sank. Besides the intense heat (estimated to be around forty degrees Celsius), there was also dampness and tension. The artery in his neck was throbbing, and his body trembled in waves.

In addition, Chirac was muttering to himself, and Cesar looked down to listen; he was saying he was cold.

César already had a guess in his mind, "Besides His Excellency the Patriarch, has anyone else fallen ill?" The priests subconsciously avoided his gaze, only Heraclius's servant sighed helplessly and looked at Bishop Andrei, who hesitated for a moment: "There are four or five other brothers who have shown similar symptoms—" He immediately explained, "Only one of them fell ill before the Patriarch arrived, and he did not leave his room."

César understood what he meant—at least the patriarchs were not harmed because of them.

“I don’t mean to pursue this matter, no matter who it is, as long as it wasn’t intentional,” Cesar reassured them. “I just want to know if my guess is correct.”

“Follow me,” said Bishop Andrei.

After they left, a priest nudged his friend and said, "I remember this was a 'Blessed' knight."

“Before he was chosen, he was the Patriarch’s student,” his friend said, giving him a warning look. “The Patriarch is a very favored man, and his abilities are exceptional, even in Rome.”

The priest chuckled and didn't continue.

César followed Bishop André to see the priests—who had all been quarantined—in which the priests always did a better job than the people.

"This is the tool shed; it's a bit dark, but dry enough and secluded."

Although it was supposed to be isolation, priests were taking care of their brother. Several people bowed to Bishop Andrei and Cesar. "Who can tell us what's going on?" the bishop asked.

A priest stepped forward, his expression calm and his words clear: "...Yes, only four people, with the same symptoms...fever, chills...two with diarrhea, vomiting...the other has been diagnosed with a cold, he is now fully recovered and is helping us take care of the others."

“Brother Bernard…” A priest suddenly ran over, glancing at the crowd with a look of apprehension, seemingly unsure whether he should interrupt them.

"Go ahead," Cesar said.

“He’s taking care of the Bruno brothers, and the Bruno brothers are in the worst condition—what’s wrong?” He wouldn’t come over to talk at this time if it wasn’t something very important.

“He, the demon possessing him…” the priest murmured. “Look…” He unfolded a piece of grayish-white linen cloth, which was soaked with deep red blood.

"He vomited blood?"

“No, no, no,” the priest said three times, “not from his mouth, but from his… it’s his urine.”

Bishop Andrei was stunned: "Did someone hit him?" As an armed monk, he knew, of course, that if someone was hit in the waist or between the legs without wearing armor, they would urinate blood.

"No, sir, absolutely not!" the priest cried out hastily.

The hematuria almost confirmed Cesar's suspicions, and they rushed into the room—it was small, perhaps because the original room had been forcibly divided into several areas—it could barely fit a bed.

A patient lay on the bed, a flat earthenware chamber pot shattered in front of it. Apparently, when the priest was cleaning up the patient's excrement, he stepped into the light and saw that it was full of "blood." Startled, he dropped the chamber pot and staggered over...

The Bruno brother was already on his deathbed. When Cesar approached to check on him, he found that his lips were purplish-black and his face was as white as chalk painted on a wall. The other priests had already brought holy oil and were performing the last sacraments for him.

Then one of them carried him by the head and the other by the feet, and they carried him out of the "room" because the ground there was filthy. They could only sprinkle lime on the stone slabs outside to make a cross, and then place him on it.

César grasped Bishop André's arm and led him aside to a shady olive tree. He whispered, "I already know what the illness is—"

It's malaria.

Bishop Andrei shuddered violently, but then his shoulders relaxed: "Malaria... just malaria—that's good."

He wasn't without reason; malaria is a plague that frequently occurs in densely populated areas. Although it brings death and suffering, it's still better than tuberculosis, diphtheria, the Black Death, and smallpox.

“It’s malignant malaria,” Cesar said, without letting go of the hand that was tightly gripping his. “It’s malignant, with a mortality rate of thirty to fifty percent!”

Although the mortality rate of malignant malaria without treatment should be 15% to 20%, that is another world where people are in much better physical condition than here—most of the people here are already malnourished and weak, so the mortality rate will only be higher, not lower!

“Then,” Bishop Andrei said, visibly tense, “then Patriarch…”

Why did the priests' treatments cause the condition to fluctuate? It's simple: people at that time couldn't understand how the plague arose, nor did they know that malaria originated from Plasmodium, a pathogen carried by mosquitoes that thrives in the human body. The priests could only see the skin, muscles, and didn't even understand the blood vessels and internal organs, so of course they didn't know how to cure the disease.

All they know is that if a patient has a fever, they lower the fever; if a patient bleeds, they heal the wound; if a patient is in pain, they relieve the pain—but if the root cause isn't addressed, it will only lead to recurring and worsening symptoms.

If Cesar had arrived in this world earlier, he might have truly been helpless, but perhaps he was protected by the gods—he had recently gone ahead to the Hula Valley to build a bridge on the upper reaches of the Jordan River in order to fight against Saladin's army.

In the Hula Valley, they encountered a group of savages. César persuaded the knights not to kill them, and instead took them as his slaves to Damascus. On the way, one of the knights developed symptoms of fever and chills, and the savages gave him some wild grass to eat, and he quickly recovered.

Of course, everyone tacitly "forgot" about this incident.

But the moment Cesar saw these wildflowers with their scattered yellow blossoms, he immediately knew their purpose and another name for them—

Artemisia annua.

(End of this chapter)