kingdom of nations

Chapter 298 Broken Wings (16)

Of course, this matter should not and cannot be discussed with Bishop Andrei. People have always had reservations about Patriarch Heraclius often teaching him things that should only be learned by priests. However, since most of these things are superficial, they take it as a teacher's favoritism towards his student—after all, Cesare became Heraclius's student first and was chosen to "benefit" later—besides, the other student of the Patriarch is the King, who, although he needs his help in many ways, certainly not in the matter of herbs.

Knights would occasionally use red-hot swords, strong liquor, and enemas to relieve their companions' ailments. If investigated further, it would cause trouble, but it was generally a matter of the authorities not intervening unless the people complained...

But when it comes to collecting medicinal herbs and refining medicinal liquids, only priests, wizards (regardless of gender), and devils can do such things.

César did not want to test Bishop Andrei's faith at this time and in this place, whether it had surpassed his loyalty to the king and his obedience to the patriarch. However, there was one thing he could only ask Bishop Andrei to do for his teacher while he was in a coma.

"What?" The expression on Bishop Andrei's face immediately told Cesar that things might not be going so smoothly: "Why did you do this?"

“It’s just malaria,” he repeated. “Although that… ‘fatal rate,’ meaning it might cause death, so what? People are constantly dying in this city, no, everywhere, for all sorts of reasons, and even more here—”

"I think," he gave César a reproachful look, "that you should be more concerned about your teacher's health. Quickly send someone, or go yourself, to Arrassa, to Acre, to Cyprus, to Constantinople, and ask the churches there to send forth more powerful and devout priests, and have them pray for your teacher, our leader, God bless him—if it's just malaria..."

"I will, but if we continue to let the plague run rampant..."

“Plague, where did this plague come from, young man,” Bishop Andrei’s tone became stern. “It’s just fever and diarrhea. A few people get it every day. Who knows if those people have been instigated by the devil and brought the seeds of hell here? If they are steadfast, how can they not get through this in the land of Christmas?”

If they die, then we can only say they received their due punishment.

César then realized he had misspoke; he shouldn't have used the term "fatality." Bishop Andrei had clearly believed it. Perhaps he simply believed that Heraclius's student had studied it or collected data while in the army, but believing it was worse than not believing it.

He didn't care about the lives of the people here at all, especially when the death toll was so low. Bethlehem had so many people that even if a tenth of them died, no one would care.

Bishop Andre didn't even think that he and his knights would get sick. He shared the same thought as many others who were not yet in dire straits—that they would be the lucky ones and that misfortune would not befall them for no reason.

César clenched his fist. He had knights and servants who could knock on every inn or house in Bethlehem that sheltered pilgrims, but doing so would undoubtedly cause panic. This was one of the reasons why Bishop Andrei had refused outright. Although César was the lord of Bethlehem, in religious matters, with the fall of the Patriarch, he was undoubtedly in charge.

Even though César had suggested that the priests bless the sick in the name of St. Jerome—the least impactful and most discreet method—Bishop Andrei was unwilling. These priests, especially those who had received the "blessing," should have gathered around the Patriarch at this crucial moment to pray for him. Besides, wouldn't other dignitaries fall ill without the Patriarch?
“Perhaps you are right,” Cesar said. “Then perhaps you could have the priests burn incense, drain the fountain, and cover the damp areas with sand.”

"why?"

"My teacher told me that malaria grows in muddy and dirty places."

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the door, but the bishop called out to him, "Where are you going?"

“I’m going to give some orders,” César said. He couldn’t stand there reciting scriptures in vain; he knew of something that could cure Heraclius and others suffering from malaria—fortunately, as an ancient herb, Artemisia annua was effective from the beginning without modern purification.

However, he couldn't decide yet whether to go himself or send someone else. Unfortunately, he had left all the savages in Damascus and they hadn't come back with him. He could only choose from the knights who had accompanied him to the Hula Valley.

At that moment, he immediately thought of someone—Gian of Magigor. Besides the fact that he had also been to the Hura Valley, there was another reason—that was that he had an indescribable trust and affection for Cesar. This matter could not be explained, and some knights might even think that he had gone mad, or perhaps he had doubts, or even carelessly picked other wild herbs... Gian would not.

With that in mind, he immediately turned to Gian's residence, one of Bishop Andre's properties. Once Gian had confirmed the address, he sent someone to inform Cesar.

They knocked on the door, but waited quite a while before a servant hurriedly opened it. Upon seeing the newcomers, he was terrified, as if he had seen a group of Saracens. This unusual behavior immediately aroused the knights' suspicion. The lead squire shoved him, almost causing him to fall to the ground. After the servant scrambled to his feet in a disheveled state, he even made a gesture as if to block them.

A scent wafted out from the closed door, a scent that Cesar had just caught in the Patriarch's room.

Without further hesitation, Cesar charged into the room. Some tried to stop him, but they couldn't—he smashed the bolt with a single blow, the door slammed against the wall with a loud crash, and bounced back, nearly hitting one of the knights who had followed him in.

"Ji'an!"

Even in the dark, César's eyes remained as sharp as a hawk's. The servants did not light any candles in the room, but closed the wooden windows and hung up silk carpets, sealing the entire room completely.

Gian lay under the blanket, seemingly resting, but the loud noise seemed to have robbed him of all his senses; he remained motionless. Cesar yanked off the blanket, and an even stronger stench wafted out. He disregarded everything else and immediately picked Gian up.

The other knights had already detained the servant. Seeing a young and strong knight so weak, they were all filled with righteous indignation. One of them even cried out, "My lord, Gianta!?"

“Still alive,” Cesar said succinctly, then sent a servant to inform Bishop Andre, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, added, “Damara of Gerard.”

The squire obeyed and left. Cesar bent down and carefully laid Gian down, while another quick-thinking knight took off his cloak and spread it on the ground, earning Cesar an approving glance in return.

Before the knight could even smile, his expression froze on his face.

After the long robe covering Gian was unwrapped, the last rays of the setting sun revealed the festering sores and swelling on his body, causing someone to gasp in shock: "Black..."

“No!” Cesar interrupted him hastily. “It’s a skin disease caused by fever and diarrhea that wasn’t treated in time.” The first thing he did was touch Gian’s armpits and throat; the lymph nodes weren’t swollen—a clear sign of the Black Death.

Sure enough, when Cesar was cleaning Gian, the knights saw that most of the wounds were on his back, inner thighs, and other places. "Those damned bastards!" They had all had their share of negligent servants, so they knew that this was indeed caused by inadequate care.

“This is the plague!” one of the servants beside him still protested. “Plague! My lord! We’ve already shown him the utmost loyalty by staying here and serving him!”

“At first it may have been just fever—then came vomiting and diarrhea,” Gian’s symptoms were similar to those of Patriarch Heraclius, coming on suddenly and developing very quickly, and affecting the patient’s consciousness—meaning that Gian may have been in trouble for days, and it was only because of his strong physique that he was able to hold on until now, unattended and covered in dirt.

These servants weren't there for Gian's sake, nor did they believe it was a plague; Gian simply had a "fever." It's unclear which of them discovered Gian had fallen into a coma, but they then harbored malicious intentions—

"My lord, we've found it!" a knight shouted as he stepped forward, having searched the servants' bags and found a large amount of gold coins.

"We did steal, but we didn't kill anyone!"

"You're just waiting for him to die!"

A voice came from outside the door, and the servants turned pale instantly. Bishop Andrei strode in with a gloomy expression. When he saw Gian lying on the ground, he felt dizzy and, with the help of those around him, staggered to Gian's side and knelt down abruptly.

He was a priest who swore celibacy, and Gian was his successor.

“Ah…” He let out a long and painful sigh. He had once been high above, arrogant and domineering, leaving Cesar’s warnings and admonitions behind—but Cesar was right. The patriarch was not an accident. Death and plague have never made exceptions for anyone. Everything he relied on was vulnerable under the power of God—yes, what God gave them could be taken away at any time.

"If it's because of my arrogance, then punish me!" His trembling hand stroked Gian's burning skin; in just a few days, his ribs had become visible. "It's my fault, my fault!"

“He’s still alive, sir, still alive,” Cesar whispered to comfort him. Compared to the Patriarch, Gian’s illness was entirely caused by human intervention—the reward he received from Baldwin had aroused the greed of those around him. They lacked the courage to act, but they were willing to take advantage of his weakness.

“…What are you waiting for?” Bishop Andrei raised his head, and the priests beside him immediately stepped forward and lifted up the servants who were shouting. Seeing that things were not going well, they were about to shout wildly, but the priests were experienced and punched them until their teeth fell out.

They didn't bother looking for another place; they found a spot in the courtyard and strangled them. While one of the priests went out to find someone to collect the bodies, Bishop Andrei composed himself, helped Cesar to his feet, and Cesar silently supported him, showing no unusual expression despite the previous conflict.

Bishop Andrei did not let go of him. He grabbed César's arm with his iron-like fingers and, while watching the priests treat Gian, subtly pushed César into a corner: "I have something to say to César alone."

The knights who had followed could only retreat. Bishop Andrei raised his spectacles and gave Cesar a weary look: "I won't ask how you knew, whether it was Heraclius or Saint Jerome, but I can see that you have a way—"

“I do, but…” “I know I’m not a greedy person. Only God can control a person’s life and death—I’m just asking you, is there a way?”

Cesar nodded.

"You came to see Jian..."

"Originally, I wanted to ask Gian to find... the things we need."

"is it a lot?"

"The more the better, and they must be fresh."

"I understand. Also, regarding that matter you mentioned before, I will have the priests handle it..."

The matter was resolved, but Cesar's mood became even heavier.

"grown ups!"

Bishop Andrei looked up and saw his nephew's fiancée, Gerald's Damara. When he saw the bright girl, he finally burst into tears: "Poor child," he cried, "My poor child!"

------

When the priest knocked on the door, Harry immediately jumped up from his chair!
He strode to the door and peered out, only to see a priest standing outside, escorted by two attendants, looking rather impatient. Haredi breathed a slight sigh of relief; he had expected a group of people, torches in hand, their eyes filled with hatred.

Do you have any patients here?

"No, priest."

"Open the door!"

Haredi placed his hand on the door latch, hesitating. "But I am an Isaac."

The priest was taken aback. The door opened, and sure enough, inside was an Isaac man with a beard, wearing a hat and a robe. He immediately showed disgust—did an Isaac man deserve the saint's protection? Of course not!

He even took a step back, but still glanced at Harry again: "Are you sure?"

“No, sir, no,” Haredi said. “Everyone knows that my apprentice went home, my wife and daughter died at the hands of the Saracens, and I live here alone, and I am in good health.”

“You better not be lying, heretic!” the priest shouted. He ultimately did not step inside. Haredi closed the door, feeling utterly exhausted. Of course he had lied—there was a sick man here, Lego, who had fallen ill on his second day here, with a fever and chills—Haredi had treated him, but with little effect.

Now, Lego not only couldn't get up, but he also lost his normal consciousness and could only mumble incoherently. After much deliberation, Harry decided to go to the Synagogue of Isaac.

He now loathes the Synagogue of Isaacs almost as much as he loathes Christian churches; every time he goes there, he is met with either extortion or a trap, but he can't just leave Lego outside now.

Before leaving, he went to check on Lego again. Lego's condition was still the same, slowly and continuously falling down. He took out some powder and sprinkled some around Lego. This was powder made from dried and ground Dalmatian chrysanthemums, which Alexander the Great had brought to Persia. It could be used to repel insects, so as not to attract flies and insects to lay eggs around his eyes and nose.

He hadn't really cared much about it at first, but unfortunately, he had a clean-loving master. When Cesar first came to his workshop and saw flies mixed with jewels and bedbugs flying around with gold dust, his expression changed drastically—he had no sense of responsibility as the "Shield of the Holy City."

Haredi initially did this only because Cesar insisted, but he soon noticed the benefits: his skin became cleaner, he had less diarrhea, and he was no longer constantly itchy—which helped him concentrate better at work.

Just a bit expensive.

He put on a hooded cloak—whatever the reason the priest had come to ask if there were any sick people here, as an Isaac, he should always act with caution.

The goldsmith avoided people's gaze, especially the small groups of priests and monks, and arrived at the synagogue of Isaac. To his surprise, he found that there were no students of the "wise man" standing outside the door, and the door was ajar.

A sense of dread rose within Haredi. He hurried through every room—the hall, the council chamber, the library, the bedroom, the dining room, the toilet, the cellar… Nothing! There wasn’t a single person. No, not just people, but also all the precious relics, the exquisite vessels, the sacred amulets, the sturdy cabinets, the wine, the food… all gone. The place was empty, as if the Synagogue of Isaac had never existed.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. His mind was buzzing, and a terrible hypothesis formed in his mind. This Isaac, who always avoided any conflict or attention, disregarded everything else and, in a surge of anger, rushed straight out of the synagogue. Under the astonished gazes of passersby, his wooden shoes clattered on the stone pavement.

Where is he going?
Of course, he wanted to go to where the wise man and his relatives were! But even after searching the markets, the Isaac settlements, the taverns, and everywhere they might have visited, there was nothing, nothing! They had vanished without a trace, and when Haredi asked, the last one to disappear had appeared seven days earlier.

Desperate, he ran toward the lord's manor, but Cesar was nowhere to be found, and his knights were all outside—they seemed to be busy with something, and the squires left behind didn't recognize Haredi. Damn it! They saw an Isaac man and either mocked or loathed him; before they could hang him on the gallows, Haredi had run away.

He could certainly explain to these people, but he knew that fools were the most destructive. Even if Cesar returned, proved his identity, and punished these incompetent squires, could Haredi, hanging on the wooden frame, really come back to life?
Back home, Haredi was filled with mixed emotions when he saw the dying Lego. He had heard from the market and settlement that a similar disease was spreading among the Isaacs. He didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to be milder than smallpox and the Black Death. But no matter how mild it was, it was still a plague!

If it was uncertain whether Le Gao's illness was due to human intervention or divine intervention when he fell ill, it is now certain.

Lego, or perhaps more than one Lego—how many pilgrims flocked here because of the miraculous appearance of Saint Jerome?
The scene that Lego had described to him with joy and anticipation could not be realized. They had no intention of letting Lego rise again. Although Lego was also an Isaac, he was a victim to the people of Bethlehem and an invader to the people of Nalezha. Either one of these was enough for them to kill Lego.

"These are the Isaacs!"

Haredi cursed under his breath. They not only wanted Lego dead, but they also wanted him to suffer, to serve them for their last bit of use. This was nothing short of ruthless exploitation—and what could he do...?

The goldsmith collapsed to the ground, weeping bitterly, clutching his chest, while his once dearest friend lay beside him, dying.

A moment later, Haredi was horrified to discover that he too had started to have a fever.

------

"Artemis's gold!"

One of the knights cried out joyfully as he looked at the colorful drawing Cesar had given him by torchlight. Although they had used the herb in the Valley of the Hura, their lord said that the wild herb did not only grow in the Valley of the Hura; it was a tenacious plant that could grow anywhere that was moist, fertile, and sunny.

So they searched along the Jordan Valley, and sure enough, before they even reached the Sea of ​​Galilee, they found several thickets of "gold." Compared to the Valley of Hurrah, the wormwood here had already begun to bloom, and the dense, yellow flowers were like gold leaf adorning emerald green velvet.

Overjoyed, after the priests came forward to examine them carefully, they not only called over the laborers who accompanied them, but also used swords to harvest handful after handful, which were piled high on the open wagon.

Two attendants laid a layer of coarse cloth over the wormwood.

"Someone asked about it."

"Just say it's fodder for the horses," the attendants replied in unison.

The priest nodded in satisfaction.

A priest secretly pulled out a blade of grass and hid it in his sleeve. His colleagues pretended not to see it. If it really worked, it would mean that they had acquired a new asset. Whether it was used as a stepping stone for promotion or to benefit the family in the future, it would be a rare and good thing.

(End of this chapter)