kingdom of nations

Chapter 349 Farewell
"Your Highness, they wish to see you."

The total number of people brought out by César before the war was 3,005, and the extra few hundred were pushed out by the people of Damascus at the last moment—they were the people they cherished and valued the most.

Most of them were children, but there were also some women and the elderly. Among the women, many were pregnant, and they were in the most danger. If they were captured by the soldiers, not only would their babies be lost, but their own lives would also be threatened. Then there were the elderly.

These elderly people were highly respected elders who, despite not having received any prophetic revelation, still held great prestige among the people.

But this was not a good thing in Damascus at this time. Ibn made no attempt to hide his disgust for them, because these people usually had the duty and power to teach and guide the people. He was worried that his actions in Damascus would incite these people to rise up in rebellion.

In fact, these people did just that. It can be said that without César, they would not have been able to escape Damascus, given their advanced age and slow movements.

"Okay, I'll go see them."

At this moment, the excitement has subsided. Just like a tree burned by a raging fire, beneath the charred bark and shattered branches lies a heart ravaged by disease. The pain felt in this heart will be subtle and lingering, perhaps lasting a lifetime. It is unknown whether these withered hearts will be able to sprout new branches when spring returns.

However, some people who still retained some rationality forced themselves to calm down. They walked among the crowd, letting those who couldn't hold on sit down and rest, letting children gather around adults to receive care, and also looking for more "like-minded" people.

They only needed a glance to know each other's identities and status, and they easily stood together, concisely explaining their own situation, seeking help, and thanking and apologizing to each other.

After all, as Christians and Saracens, they often had some friction when they lived together in Damascus, sometimes even to the point of resorting to swords. But compared to the calamities they had suffered before, the personal conflicts between them seemed so insignificant. Even those who would have been at each other's throats before could now embrace each other with tears in their eyes. Their tears were for their own good fortune, and also to mourn their relatives and friends who had been left behind in Damascus forever.

When Cesar arrived, he was faced with three representatives, one of whom was a Saracen.

“Where do you plan to go next? I can give you some food and water.” Cesar paused, looking at the heavily pregnant women and the children who shouldn’t be walking on their own. Many of them were barefoot, so when they stepped on the sand in the camp, each step left a bloody footprint. “There are also a few wagons—I’ve already asked the servants in the camp to prepare porridge for you. You can eat before you set off, or you can rest here for now.”

Fortunately, the harvest season is in July, and Damascus is not cold at the moment, so there is no need to consider using the soldiers' tents.

“This is already very good. You treat us like a father treats his sons, and like a ewe nurses her lambs,” said an old Saracen.

Cesar nodded. "There will soon be an extremely brutal and protracted war here, and I cannot be sure whether the aftermath of the war will affect you."

If possible, you should set off for a nearby city or village as soon as possible. He didn't think it would be a problem, since these people were residents of Damascus, which meant they might have businesses or relatives nearby.

But the old Saracen did not answer immediately. Instead, he asked, "Then, sir, do you own any land of your own in this region?"

"Yes, but it's a very small city, and it belongs to Christians; there are no temples or scholars like yours there."

"Will the people there expel us? Will they forbid us from praying to Allah, or turn our temples into their chapels or churches?"

“No, I will not allow them to do that. Even in the holiest of places, Arazari, a small place is reserved for the Saracens.”

Although Bethlehem is the holy city of Christians, there is no reason to expel the Saracens, provided you are truly willing to obey my laws.”

“Then we will come to you. We don’t even need to go into the city. As long as you are willing to give us a piece of land, we can rest and recuperate there.”

"But you are all elderly people, women and children."

“It is precisely because we are all elderly that women and children can shamelessly make this request to you. We still have some money to hire people to work for us, and our relatives and friends will also help us.”

"Why not go back to Damascus? Although Damascus will need a year or two to recover after this devastation, it's still better than you traveling thousands of miles to another unfamiliar place, especially since it's Christian territory."

"If our loved ones were still with us, we would, even if it meant sleeping outdoors, listening to the howls of jackals in the wilderness, enduring scorching heat and bitter cold. But we have no one left to care about."

"Your Highness, Damascus is already a vast tomb for us. We may gaze upon it from afar and mourn the dead, but we will never set foot inside again."

"Then perhaps I can point you to a place, three miles from Bethlehem, in a valley called Jiren, where a Byzantine Orthodox monastery stands—Masaba Monastery."

Although their faith differs from yours and they are considered heretics among Christians, the monks there are a group of warm, kind, and hardworking people who cultivate the land with their own hands and never accept charity or donations from people.

They are the most down-to-earth and trustworthy people I have ever met.

Four or five thousand people had previously left Bethlehem; they were patients who had recovered from malaria under the care of Cesar and with herbal remedies, along with their relatives and friends.

Because at that time the church had already condemned Cesar as a devil, and those who received the devil's healing would inevitably become the devil's servants. Even if they were not, they would have sold their souls to the devil in order to escape from the terrible plague.

They knew very well that if they remained in Bethlehem until the Roman Catholic Church's envoys took over, they would face endless extortion and torture. The priests would crush every finger and toe of theirs until they were ripped out of the last penny, and women would be more likely to be humiliated as the devil's whores.

Later, César selected some young men from among these people to be his soldiers, but their parents, sisters, and children remained at the Massaba Monastery.

César later also saw the information about this monastery. The Massaba, originally an orthodox church monastery, owned about a thousand acres of land when Bethlehem was still under Byzantine rule.

This land was once filled with vineyards, olive groves, and fig orchards, but after Bethlehem was conquered by the Saracens, this privilege was taken away, and the land was divided among the Saracen nobles.

Until the Crusaders, who were also Christians, arrived, but as heretics, they too had no right to appeal. Thus, these lands remained firmly in the hands of the secular powers, namely the kings of Arazarus.

The bishops or other lords they sent were not good at planting—or rather, not good at any kind of labor—so many orchards were abandoned, much to the monks' dismay, yet they were helpless to do anything about it.

After reviewing the documents, César generously returned the thousand acres of orchard to the monastery. However, the orchard had been abandoned for a long time and it might take two or three years to harvest a fruit. The following year was crucial.

The monks also wrote to Cesar, hoping he could recruit more men for them.

Now these people have a good place to go, but he is still a little uncertain. In this way, there are three faiths in that green canyon: Christians, believers of the orthodox church, and Saracens.

Although the Christians and monks in the monastery had previously lived in harmony, the addition of these hundreds of Saracens made Cesar uncertain.

The elder Saracen, who was leading the group, simply shook his head. "Here, I would like to present you with a short poem, written by my great-grandfather, Abu Al Amaman: "There are two kinds of people in the world: those who have brains but no religious beliefs, and those who have religious beliefs but no brains."

"Sir, I can assure you that everyone here is from the former group, at least after this disaster," he smiled slightly, "including you."

"Is your great-grandfather well?" Cesar asked gently.

"My great-grandfather was originally a man who was both intelligent and courageous."

I grew up under his tutelage. He never left Damascus, yet he saw things more clearly and far-sightedly than anyone else—have you ever read our scriptures?

After receiving confirmation, he nodded slightly and said, "Once you have read our scriptures, you will know that what our prophet desires is simply that his people can live better lives—"

To this end, he lit torches for us, set up tents, taught us how to dress, how to hunt, how to choose food, how to conduct business honestly, and how to worship devoutly.

We follow him because we want to become better people, not more cruel beasts.

"And those people in the city..." He glanced back and said, "They have completely turned away from the teachings of the prophet, and when they indulge in money, women, and strong liquor, how are they any different from your tyrants?"

I swear to the Prophet, Your Excellency, that as long as your laws are just and fair, we are willing to abide by them, even if it means paying more taxes and performing more labor.

“What I said in Damascus will not change even in Massaba. In fact, it has always been so in my territory. I value a person’s character and integrity more than his faith. Faith is pure and noble, not a means of venting, a reason for doing evil, or a privilege to be above others.”

Cesar said, "Go if you insist, but I hope my trust won't turn into a dagger piercing my back."

“If that’s the case, then let me and every Saracen here go to Hellfire, and that will be what we deserve,” the old man said solemnly. “And I am not swearing an oath here to a Christian knight, but to our master.”

"Owner?"

"Yes, we are willing to be your people. Even though we have different beliefs, we share the same morals and aspirations."

Then he knelt down and placed his forehead on Cesar's feet. Cesar forcibly suppressed the urge to pull his feet back; he found this act of humility difficult to accept, yet he had no choice but to do it.

After the old man, hundreds of Saracens, men, women, and children, came before him, knelt down, and kissed the ground beneath his feet. "We will offer you the white camel!" a Saracen boy shouted. This was a phrase that Saracen warriors often used when swearing oaths to their chiefs or kings.

When Zengi arrived in Damascus, he rode a white camel.

The camel held a different significance for the Saracens—it was their mount, and its hair, hide, and bones were also useful—the hair was used to weave cloth, the hide to make containers, and the bones to inscribe scriptures.

“Alright, if you don’t mind pledging allegiance to a Christian knight.”

A resolute expression appeared on the boy's face.

“Even if you are the devil, I am willing to offer my loyalty to you. You saved me, my brother, and my sister,” he said, two young children were indeed hanging at his feet. “Without you, we would be dead, or at best captured by soldiers and sold to slave traders. We would be separated forever, never to meet again, and we would never know if the other was alive or dead.”

"Your parents..."

“My parents and grandparents are all dead. They are my only family. For them, I am willing to wield my sword for you.” Then, the boy paused for a moment: “May I have your name? I will remember it forever.”

“Fadi,” the old man said on behalf of Cesar. The boy, having received his name, left contentedly, while Cesar was somewhat surprised. In Saracen names, Fadi was derived from the Saracen name of Jesus the Savior.

But on the other hand, if we only consider him a savior, the old man wasn't wrong.

Cesar didn't take it to heart, after all, among these hundreds of people, almost all the teenagers had sworn an oath to him.

These Saracens took some time, and eventually even the Christians came to kiss his feet, even though they had already knelt before him. Cesar did not ask them to do so, nor did he want to accept it, but this immediately aroused a wave of opposition.

They said, "Since you are a fair person, you should maintain fairness here as well. You can't just allow the Saracens to kiss your feet while we don't have that right—no, we should have more right."

Their eloquent arguments forced Cesar to spend some more time on them, and the people became much more relaxed when they accepted the porridge, clothes, and shoes offered by Cesar.

"Because they are already your property, well, whether servants or slaves, it is only right that they be taken care of by their master."

Cesar looked over helplessly and noticed that Richard had also come along at some point: "It's really quite touching... but to be honest, it would be best if a bard wrote a poem at this time. By the way, let's go find Philip; Philip is quite good at poetry."

César had to beg Richard to do so. For this, he even offered a whole case of rock sugar and twelve bottles of wine as a bribe.

These ill-fated people rested for a night outside the Christian camp, and the next morning, even though they were still tired and sad, they packed their meager belongings and prepared to go to Jiron outside Bethlehem.

The journey was quite arduous, but fortunately, there were three thousand of them. Although there were old people, women, and children, there were also men—the young men were also able to take up bows and arrows and knives, and were able to resist the attacks of bandits and wild beasts.

Cesar watched them walk away into the distance, towards the rising sun, the sunlight casting a long, dark shadow behind them, as if they were stepping into the light and leaving the darkness behind.

Just then, a mournful song suddenly rang out from the procession, and the rough, hoarse voice belonged to the old Saracen man. He sang:

"I don't know if this is a hunting ground for wild beasts, or my own home, the land that gave me birth and nurtured me..."

Even Richard, who was usually oblivious to romance, couldn't help but sigh. They could all understand simple Saracen, and Philip II and Frederick I had translators with them.

"That's why we have to fight."

Frederick I said.

(End of this chapter)