Chapter 110: Bethlehem (5)

Since arriving here, Cesar had seen many Saracens.

From battlefields to courts—Saladin, Shawar—but this Saracen merchant was clearly a third kind of man.

He was even young, with pale skin, a smooth forehead, and black eyes and black hair that naturally won Cesar’s favor; his demeanor was not that of a merchant, but composed, gentle, and courteous—as if he were a scholar.

“My name is Amin Al-Asmira, a merchant. My family has for generations produced and traded soap in Aleppo. You may have heard of Al-Asmira Olive Soap—our goods have supplied both the Romans and the Caliphs, the Sultan’s court. The Abbasid Emperor, grateful for our loyalty and diligence, granted us the finest olive groves in Aleppo.”

“Al-Asmira Olive Soap,” Cesar said. “Yes, I’ve heard of it—and used it. To be honest, this was the first thing I noticed: in the monastery, the monks made their own soap, but Brother John bathed in Al-Asmira Olive Soap. He even complained that Christians hadn’t invented it—Saracens had. I spend a fortune on it every month.”

“Then why have you come to see me?” Cesar asked.

“I’ve encountered a serious problem. I had nearly given up and prepared to return to Aleppo, but then I heard this city had been granted to you by Amalric I. I’ve also heard your name—you are a just and wise man who does not judge guilt or innocence based on faith… so…”

“Speak.”

“Our family has long traded soap with a merchant in Bethlehem named Leko. For years, it was smooth sailing—but recently, he secretly withheld a shipment and refuses to pay the price we demanded.”

“Did you sign a contract?”

“Yes.” Amin pulled open his robe, drew out a copper tube, and from it a parchment scroll. Cesar took it and glanced over it. The contract was written in Latin and Saracen script—he read it without difficulty. It was an open contract: no fixed price for the soap; instead, the price was to be negotiated after inspecting the quality upon delivery.

“Al-Asmira soap must be air-dried for over ten months,” Jacques explained. “During that time, wind, humidity, and the main ingredients all affect quality. So usually, merchants only set the price after seeing the goods upon arrival.”

As he spoke, Amin opened his traveling box, revealing soap specially offered to the city’s new lord. Cesar picked up a bar. The quality surpassed what he’d seen in Brother John’s chambers—the surface gleamed like gold, the interior glowed like jade, smooth and fine, fragrant with bay leaf and olive. It matched, without compromise, any industrial product centuries later.

Merchant Leko was swiftly summoned. Compared to Jacques and Amin, his posture was far more humble—he was an Isaacite. The moment he saw Amin, he knew why he’d been brought before Cesar. He’d heard of the public trial and knew Bethlehem’s knights were no fools to be deceived. He made no attempt to hide his intentions.

He openly admitted his dispute with Amin, but insisted he had not broken the contract—only disagreed with Amin’s price. He produced past contracts. The prices listed there did indeed differ from Amin’s claims—the latter were at least three times higher. Cesar turned to Amin: “Has the soap’s quality changed?”

“I do not wish to deceive you, my lord,” Amin said. “But I must admit—the soap’s quality is unchanged. If he refuses my price, I won’t force him to honor the contract. But the problem is—he refuses to return the goods.”

Leko’s eyes flickered with cunning. “Very well,” he said to Cesar, as if he’d only agreed to Amin’s raise because of him. “I’ll buy the soap at his price, since he’s brought this to your attention.”

Cesar looked at Amin. Strangely, the Saracen showed no joy. He seemed about to speak, but held back. “Then… so be it.” He extended his hand. Leko shook it. The deal was done.

After they left, Cesar glanced at the box of soap, calculated the time. “Go fetch Jacques back,” he told Longinus.

Longinus went—and returned swiftly. Cesar suspected Jacques had been waiting just outside the door.

“Has something happened in Aleppo?” he asked.

Jacques smiled.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m too kind,” Cesar said, stroking his chin. “You aren’t afraid of me. If it were someone else—say, the Templar Walter—would you dare this?”

“If you mean that one,” Jacques said, “I guarantee he’d never notice the trick.”

“Amalric I hanged many merchants in Bilbays and Fustat because their intelligence was false or incomplete—like those two bridges that suddenly appeared. The King grants you travel permits and charters not merely for taxes—if something important happens in Aleppo, and your delays or deliberate concealment harm the Arasal road’s situation, I won’t hesitate to hang you too.”

“We have no such audacity, my lord,” Jacques hurried to say. “But we cannot be certain. Still, Amin Al-Asmira’s reaction suggests it’s true.”

“Nur ad-Din?”

“Yes, my lord,” Jacques stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Amin’s shipment arrived a week ago. Suddenly, Al-Asmira merchants raised their price to three times the original—yet the soap’s quality remained unchanged. When our merchants questioned this, they even offered to ship the soap back to Aleppo. That raised suspicion, so I sent men to investigate—”

“What did you find?”

“Nur ad-Din has fallen seriously ill twice. Rumor says his envoy Shirkuh has become the Grand Vizier to Caliph Adid. Nur ad-Din demanded they depose Adid and switch Egypt’s Saracen religious faction—but they refused. Enraged, he plans to raise an army and march on Fustat—but…”

“Several of our people were executed,” Jacques did not continue. “But Aleppo’s situation is indeed tense—Al-Asmira merchants not only raised prices, they’re willing to ship the soap back. Perhaps because Aleppo will soon face war, causing an olive shortage—olives bear fruit every two years, and Al-Asmira soap requires the freshest olive oil. These soaps won’t spoil in storage.”

If war breaks out, their price will soar.

“Can you confirm Nur ad-Din’s condition?” Cesar asked. “If he dies, the Saracens cannot hide it.”

“We will closely monitor Aleppo’s situation, my lord.”

“If you give me definitive news,” Cesar fixed Jacques with his gaze, “King Baldwin IV of Arasal will reward you handsomely.”

(End of Chapter)