kingdom of nations

Chapter 340 Silver Mask

“My lord.” The knight guarding the door bowed respectfully to him, but Bohemond simply waved him aside and walked toward the small door leading to the outside of the tower.

As the Grand Duke of Antioch, he naturally had his own room in the Castle of Sainte-Croix, but now the most distinguished guest in the castle was Frederick I, Holy Roman Emperor.

Frederick I was not a fool who could be easily manipulated—he was capricious. When he was in a good mood, he would be very indulgent towards you, like a well-fed lion that would allow birds to hop on its back; but if you went against his wishes, whether intentionally or unintentionally, he could immediately turn his back on you.

He had once brazenly humiliated Cesar, and he could do the same to Bohemond. Antioch was not a threat to him—after the duel with thirteen men, he even ordered Bohemond to move from the room closest to him to another room, a poorly located one that was practically next to the servants.

Bohemond knew, of course, that people were laughing at him, but so what? He had suffered far greater humiliations before, but never before had he longed for someone to confide in—not just Frederick I, but also his son Abigail.

"If you were still here, Grandfather, what would you do?"

Bohemond II died when Bohemond III was only seven years old, but he left a deeper impression on Bohemond than his father and mother. He was a thin, high-shouldered old man who always wore a fur-trimmed cloak. When he was huddled in front of the fireplace, his shadow on the wall looked like a huge vulture. Bohemond also remembered that he often used the sharp iron hook at the end to poke at the fire, making it crackle and pop.

He had once spoken to Bohemond about their family and their ancestors—yes, their ancestor Robert was born into the Oroville family, a Norman tribe in northern Europe, and Robert was the son of the tribe's chief from his second marriage. Like all second and youngest sons, he was not favored by his elder brother.

As a result, after his father's death, he received the smallest territory, and had only a few dozen soldiers by his side. Even so, he couldn't afford to feed and drink them.

So how did Robert manage to build his vast kingdom under such harsh conditions? His kingdom spanned Sicily, southern Italy, and Greece; his soldiers were as dense and strong as trees in a forest, and he had hundreds of warships. The people, nobles, kings, and even the pope, who had once regarded him as insignificant bandits, now had to bow and scrape and force smiles. The pope even had to rely on his protection. He even almost became related to the Byzantine emperor by marriage.

His tombstone bears the inscription, "Here lies the world's panic."

This statement does indeed aptly summarize his life, but aside from his martial prowess, his character is not praiseworthy. Just think—how did those Italians refer to him…

The cunning wolf of the North.

His allies also said that cooperating with him required being wary of his betrayal and backstabbing. He carried out these actions without the slightest psychological burden, even finding it quite enjoyable.

As if in some kind of retribution, after his death, his descendants did not gain the recognition he desired. It was his brother who usurped his throne and everything he owned. His son, Bohemond I, was expelled from his palace and given only a small territory.

His situation was exactly the same as his father's decades earlier—and Bohemond was no pushover either. Although he was powerless against his powerful uncle, he did not hesitate to sell his family property and organize an army to join the Crusades when Urban II launched them.

The cunning and decisiveness inherited from their ancestors quickly became apparent in this battle.

Compared to the recklessness and shortsightedness of other Crusader generals, Bohemond I was not naive enough to think that they were just visiting. He was not content with plundering the pagans' property or drinking their blood.

His goal was clear: to acquire a new territory here, and he did just that; he obtained Antioch.

Antioch did not belong to the Crusaders; it originally belonged to the Byzantines and was later occupied by the Arabs. However, after the Crusaders captured Antioch, he refused both the Byzantine emperor's demands for the lost territory and his offers of an official position (Governor of Antioch).

It can be said that if his nephew hadn't seized real power in Antioch while he was captured by the Turks, the Byzantine Empire would likely never have been able to force him to acknowledge Antioch's vassal status.

But this is not the most famous legend about Bohemond I; what really caused controversy was an event that occurred after he conquered Antioch.

The neglect of military discipline (or rather, the complete lack of understanding of it at the time) led to the knights killing and looting indiscriminately. In this loose and disorderly state, it is not surprising that Antioch was besieged again.

At that time, it was Emir Kabuka of Mosul who turned the tables and besieged Antioch. The situation was critical. The reinforcements promised by the Byzantine emperor were late in arriving. The city was already short of food and water, after all, they had already experienced a siege before. The starving Crusader knights, after being cut off from supplies, first killed livestock and horses, and then even roasted and ate the corpses of the infidels.

This scandal has led to modern bards and priests rarely mentioning the victory at Antioch, since they have always considered themselves virtuous believers, not man-eating beasts.

But what implicated Bohemond I was another matter that the Church kept silent about, and whose authenticity no one has been able to confirm to this day—a miracle.

Morale was low at the time, and even the priests could not rouse these hungry knights. If Bohemond were to force them to defend the city, he might be the next one to be roasted over a fire.

Then suddenly a monk named Peter Bartholomew appeared, announcing that his benefactor had told him that a most sacred object was buried in St. Peter's Basilica. When the Crusaders went to dig, they indeed found a spear stained with blood.

The monk immediately said that this was the spear that Roman soldiers used to pierce the side of Jesus Christ, and the blood on it was the precious blood of Jesus Christ. With this holy relic, the morale of the Crusaders in the city soared, and they actually defeated the Emir of Mosul and his army.

But what happened next was a bit more complicated.

More than one priest and monk came forward to accuse Brother Peter of fabricating the miracles he claimed to have performed, and that the spear was just an ordinary weapon that he had secretly buried under the altar in the cathedral.

Therefore, Brother Peter had no choice but to accept the Holy Tribunal. However, what should have been an easy passage of the Holy Tribunal somehow became a tool for taking a life. The brother died of infection shortly after gripping the red-hot iron, and the matter was left unresolved. People said that this was the work of Bohemond I, in order to completely cover up the evidence.

His son was Bohemond II. Unfortunately, Bohemond II only had one daughter. He found her a good husband, but the young couple did not get along well after marriage.

Bohemond's mother did not love his father, nor did she love him. She was even willing to lie to Bohemond in order to marry a handsome Crusader, inducing him to agree to leave Antioch and go to Arrassa—could this also be considered a continuation of her lineage?
She simply used this cunning and ruthlessness on her own child.

Bohemond no longer wanted to recall how much effort he had expended to regain his country, but he always remembered the few times Bohemond II had taught and cared for him, which was perhaps the only beautiful thing left in his childhood that was worth remembering.

It must be said that the sudden return of Hibil and Abigail disrupted his plans.

As the Grand Prince of Antioch, he was required to accompany the King of Arrassa on his campaigns. During this time, Antioch was to be handed over to his wife, Manuel I's niece, and several of his trusted ministers. He never intended to relinquish power to his son.

Abigail disappointed him time and time again.

Sometimes he wondered how they could have had this son, since he was a fairly intelligent man and his wife, who had risen through the ranks of the Grand Palace, was not stupid.

After discovering Abigail's incompetence, he even endured his discomfort and slept with his mother several times, hoping that this would bring him a new son, or even a daughter.
The same applies to Arrasa Road. There are women like Melisandre, but that tree is too old to bloom anymore, and it probably won't bear any more fruit. Abigail is still his only heir, and what bothers him even more is that Abigail is not only unable to be his help, but has also become his obstacle.

He laughed with glee when he exploited human weaknesses to set a trap for Cesar, and he was furious when he discovered that Heraclius was retaliating in kind. He could only console himself that his wife was a Byzantine princess who was just as power-hungry and eager for it, and that she would not hesitate to act against her own son.

Just then, he saw a horse slowly walking past the tower. Although the rider was wearing a hooded cloak and the horse was wrapped in a black riding coat, Bohemond recognized it at a glance as César and his Castor.

People and horses are equally annoying and irritating.

“Go and ask him what he’s going to do?” Bohemond said to his attendant.

Upon hearing the servant's reply, Bohemond felt a wave of nausea. "He really goes to great lengths to please our little king—without fear of making things worse... I wonder what His Majesty is thinking, pitying others, or pitying himself?"

However, Bohemond also knew that Baldwin was now the King of Alassa, and even if he was covered in sores, lying on his sickbed, dying, it would be difficult for him to die—he was still a king, and until he completely closed his eyes and stopped breathing, he had the rights and obligations that a king should have. It was impossible for him to be imprisoned in the Valley of the Lepers, also known as the Valley of the Lepers.

Unfortunately, Amalric I was too stubborn ten years ago, and Queen Maria's womb was not very cooperative; otherwise, he wouldn't be so troubled now.

The Valley of Sinen is located outside the city of Arrassa. This valley was originally used as a burial ground by the Romans, hence its other name, the Valley of Death.

The Gospel of Matthew refers to this place as the land of blood or the field of blood. When the people here still worshiped pagan gods, there was a god called Moloch, who was the god of fire. His followers held cruel sacrificial rituals in the Valley of Sinon, with children as the main sacrifices. They would be burned alive, and the believers would regard this as the highest respect for God. These innocent sacrifices would be exchanged for God's grace and redemption.

Of course, once they realized their mistake, the Valley of Xinnen became a despised place. They called it hell and would drive sheep there to their deaths on Yom Kippur each year to cleanse themselves of their sins.

It can be said that the Valley of Sinen has always been a place of human sin, bloodshed, and tears. Few people were willing to approach it. So, at some point, the Valley of Sinen became a place for exiling lepers. People built a high wall at the pass and then set up a pulley crane on the wall. They would put the water and food donated by believers on it and then lower them down using the pulley. The lepers inside would come out and carry the food back to the valley.

Generally, believers who come to donate, or the families of these leprosy patients, are stopped when they try to get any closer. No matter how much they suffer or how much they miss their loved ones, they cannot enter. Stepping inside is considered a betrayal of their faith—because leprosy patients are expelled from the Christian community. The guards, upon seeing César, turned away as if they didn't see him at all, letting him and the food descend into the valley. A group of people in linen robes came to greet César and carefully carried away the goods.

Contrary to the filth and chaos people imagine, the valley is orderly. If you ignore the deformed limbs, the lumps, and the festering wounds, it is just an ordinary little village. Apart from those with milder symptoms who can still move around freely, there are only healthy people who are too attached to their loved ones to abandon them.

They were the main force of labor in the valley, weaving cloth, fetching water, and farming. Now they had an important additional job—producing raw materials for penicillin and acting as "nurses" who did not yet exist at this time.

Although they couldn't understand what the man was saying, and the sharp needle was frightening, it was an undeniable fact that the leprosy patients' symptoms were no longer getting worse, and had even eased, which everyone could see.

“We tried the apples you sent last time, but it seems that barley porridge is still the best to make.” The leader led Cesar deeper into the valley. They dug deep and long caves into the mountainside, with rows of earthenware jars inside, filled with thick rice paste, and the air was filled with the sour smell of fermentation.

Cesar walked up to a clay pot and checked the date on the label—it should have been covered with plastic sheeting, but plastic, like another thing—organic compounds for leprosy—cannot be manufactured under current conditions, so it was covered with expensive silk to prevent the growth of bacteria.

Even so, out of ten earthenware jars, only two or three are usually usable. In these two jars, dangerous patulin may still be present. Patulin, like penicillin, has the characteristics of a broad-spectrum antibiotic, but it is also toxic and can cause nausea and vomiting. People with weak constitutions may even die as a result.

But for these leprosy patients, this is a very minor problem.

They were unusually eager to be the test subjects, or rather, the test subjects, because their treatment was ongoing. Cesar did not lose faith in humanity because of the Bethlehem incident; he did not see these people simply as experimental subjects. While treating Baldwin, he was also taking care of these people.

Even though they were almost useless to Cesar.

There was little they could do for Cesar, so they did everything with utmost care.

Because César had said that the cultivation of medicine required extreme cleanliness, the walls of these caves were coated with thick chalk, and the ground was paved with pebbles (there was no possibility of chiseling stone slabs here), and only the purest and cleanest people were allowed to approach these earthenware pots—in the barren leper valley, they were able to do this, and César could hardly imagine how much thought and effort they had put in.

He thanked them, and they were even more grateful; before César, no one had ever thought of treating a leper.

No matter how prestigious his status, how wealthy he was, or how stunningly beautiful and extraordinary he was, once he was entangled by this terrible demon, he would never have the chance to return to secular society.

Although the damage caused by leprosy is irreversible, at least they saw hope. Even though they are still excluded from normal society, they still yearn to live.

The sunshine, rain, air, wind, trees, birds, and even the lizards basking in the sun were all so lovely. Not to mention, after deciding to use this place as his drug cultivation base, Cesar also raised a lot of supplies for them, which greatly improved their lives.

Fearing that their illness might harm Cesar, some seriously ill patients dared not approach him, but instead watched from a distance. They would even push and shove their way forward after he had left for a while, picking up the dust he had stepped on and smearing it on their foreheads or putting it in their mouths.

César tried to stop it, but the leader told him that doing so would alleviate the suffering of these people, so he acquiesced.

A healthy father holds his son's hand. He is unfortunate; after his wife was diagnosed with leprosy, his son was also diagnosed. Before the mother and son were driven out of the city, he resolutely abandoned his family and faith, following them on their arduous journey—their only thought at the time was that even if they were to die, the family should lie together, letting wild animals tear them apart, leaving only bones, which would mingle together, symbolizing their intimacy and eternal bond.

Shortly after entering the Hinn Valley, his wife died, and a few months later, his son's condition also deteriorated.

As he gazed at his son, contemplating whether he should stab him to death to spare him the same suffering his mother had endured, César arrived.

Although the first batch of medicine was not much, the leprosy patients here had long been like one big family. They were considerate of each other, with the more severely ill giving to the less severely ill, the elderly to the young, and women or men to the children.

Although at Cesar's request, the children were excluded from the first group of patients to receive the medication—they were treated with Baldwin after the safety and stability of the drug were confirmed, and the man's son was one of them.

Now, if we can apply makeup to him so that people can't see the accumulated color and scars, he won't have to worry about being driven away even if he walks into the city.

Every day, the father would have his son stand in the sunlight and carefully examine every part of his body, holding onto the hope that one day these unsightly marks would fade away.

Does that prove that... there is still hope for his son? That he will become a normal person, leave the leprosy community, return to a Christian life, grow up, get married, have children, and sleep peacefully in the prayers of priests? That he will ascend to heaven instead of going to hell as those people cursed him to do?

As it turns out, a saint came to them and rescued them, as did the king of Arazarus. What they faced was not punishment, but a test.

They were almost through the trial—perhaps just a little short—and the father's eyes were filled with hope for the future.

That day will come eventually.

Meanwhile, Patriarch Heraclius, also yearning for a miracle, observed Baldwin's condition again while Cesar was away. Perhaps because Baldwin received exceptional favor from God, unlike other leprosy patients who had been treated, the growths and bone deformities caused by leprosy on Baldwin's body had disappeared, albeit only slightly and so subtly as to be barely noticeable. It was a miracle that seemed to force time to turn back.

What does this mean? It means that Baldwin might actually be granted a pardon one day, just as Amalric I once fantasized, and that his achievements might far surpass those of his father, or even his ancestors.

“Teacher, teacher?” Baldwin asked curiously, “I’m a little cold, may I put on my robe?”

"Oh, put it on, put it on," Chirac said somewhat perfunctorily. "Has Hibil come looking for you?"

Baldwin paused. Why hadn't she come looking for him? Not only had she come looking for him, but his sister had also shown a rare vulnerability. For the first time, she no longer maintained her proud demeanor, but knelt before him almost prostratingly, confessing her mistakes and hoping to salvage the relationship between the siblings.

She said that Abigail and Bohemond had instigated her to do so. But she was, after all, a woman, and women are always frivolous and emotional, unable to use reason to measure everything, or to distinguish the weight of a word, an action, or a behavior. She just loved her child too much, and even before he was born, she wanted to give him a peaceful future.

She admitted that she had indeed neglected Baldwin at the time, but this was common for pregnant women. Now she had come to her senses and couldn't help but berate herself for it. She didn't ask Baldwin to bring her to his side immediately, nor did she ask to continue to have any power in Holy Cross Castle. She even readily agreed when Baldwin said that it was very likely that she and Abigail would have to return to Antioch instead of staying in Arrassa Road.

“If only you could forgive me,” she said earnestly, “and Count Edessa.” She hung her head in frustration. “What was I thinking? He is our blood relative, even closer than Count Raymond and David of Tripoli. I don’t know why I was so resentful.”

At this point, she even blushed slightly, "Perhaps I didn't even realize it myself, but I was angry at his indifference towards me."

“You’re spoiled,” Baldwin couldn’t help but say. Hibler raised his hands to cover her face. A failed pregnancy hadn’t ruined her beauty; instead, it had softened her sharp, aggressive look.

She dressed exceptionally modestly that day, not even wearing a crown, but simply wrapping her hair and chin with a white headscarf. Such a scene would soften even the most hard-hearted person.

Baldwin wasn't sure if she could still trust her only sister. But with Hibil far away in Antioch, there was even less she could do.

Perhaps he should believe her.

“I have prepared a gift for you,” Chiraclius said suddenly, then pulled something out of his large bishop’s robe as if by magic and held it up in his hand. Baldwin looked at it and his face showed surprise.

That was a mask, a pure silver mask, engraved with exquisite patterns, very delicate. But in any case, it should not have been in Chirac's hands. Others may not know his physical condition, but how could his teacher not know?

If his face had become so badly ulcerated that it was unbearable to look at, such as missing a nose or swollen cheeks, it would be reasonable for him to wear a mask. But right now, he only has some red spots on his cheeks and neck.

"I believe the servants in the tower now know how to keep their mouths shut, but it's hard to say whether they might take risks for huge profits. And the development of leprosy is not like other diseases; it is not something that can be seen at a glance."

Normally, your bathing is done without anyone else's help. Apart from me, Cesar, and Berian, almost no one else can see your naked body. But your face can't be hidden. You can't let anyone guess your current condition, especially..."

Heraclius didn't finish his sentence, but Baldwin understood his meaning. Even as his condition improved, their enemies remained lurking in the shadows—even Count Raymond of Tripoli and Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch were merely tools in their hands—and these enemies were far too difficult to discern when faced with the true root of the problem. After all, Baldwin possessed an invaluable asset: the Holy City. Arazari was the spiritual homeland of all Christians, even the Isaacs and Saracens, the holiest of holy places, and as long as God had not withdrawn His blessings, and the saints still roamed among His followers, the Holy City's importance could not be denied.

“I understand.” Baldwin took the mask, tried it on briefly, and then suddenly laughed: “So we’ll give them a surprise.”

“An absolute surprise,” Sianclough said.

(End of this chapter)