Chapter 138: On the Road to Aleppo (3)

"What are you doing standing here?"

The sudden question startled the three young knights standing in the corridor. They turned in unison to see the person they least wanted to encounter at that moment—the Templar Knight, Geoffroi.

Among the Crusaders, Geoffroi was an old knight worthy of respect. People believed he was destined for Heaven, and if any mishap caused him to fall into Hell, it would surely be because of his wicked tongue. At times, his sarcasm and mockery were far more venomous than those of glib troubadours or scholars who spoke in flowery prose.

Geoffroi walked toward them, tapping his finger on their surcoats one by one: the red cross on white of the Templars, the yellow Lazarus cross on white of the Holy Sepulchre, the white cross on red of the Hospitallers—young men of the three orders... or rather, their representatives. He raised his head, scrutinized their faces, and realized they were the very ones who had been the most disobedient and proud.

"Are you looking for Cesar? Why don't you go in? Though the people of Lazarus call him a little saint, it is not said that one must bring gold, frankincense, and myrrh to visit him." Here, Geoffroi made a joke that was not particularly pious—when Jesus was born, three venerable scholars brought these three precious gifts to worship Him.

The young Templar was nudged by his temporary companion and had no choice but to step forward. But before he could speak, the door beside them swung open violently. Cesar stood behind the door, looking curiously at the group crowding the corridor.

"Come in first," he said. "Don't stand outside."

The young Templar glanced at Geoffroi from time to time—his meaning was clear: he hoped the old knight would tactfully withdraw for the time being. Unfortunately, Geoffroi was never the type to take a hint. Not only did he not leave, but he also sat comfortably in the chair before the fireplace and ordered the servants to bring him a cup of hot spiced wine, clearly intending to see this interesting little interlude through to the end.

The three young knights did not make any excessive requests of Cesar—and this was something Cesar and Geoffroi had already anticipated—Shams ad-Din, the administrator of Bosra, wanted to hire them to clear out several bands of bandits between Bosra and Damascus.

It was no wonder Shams ad-Din had his eyes on them. There were ninety knights here who had been favored by saints, and among their squires, there were no few who had received "Grace." Several of the clerics had also perceived powerful saints. With their armed attendants and servants, a force of over a thousand men was enough to attack a small castle, let alone clear out bandits wandering the deserts and wilderness.

"This matter will be handled by me..." Cesar glanced at Geoffroi, who was idly fiddling with a chess piece. "I will handle this matter together with Geoffroi." In other words, he would negotiate with the administrator of Bosra in his capacity as the leader of the mission and a Knight of Bethlehem.

The young knights' expressions relaxed instantly. They bowed to Cesar and left one by one, without raising any other questions or demands.

Cesar returned to the table. He had been trying to play against himself; after all, he had no great interest in current entertainments like watching juggling, listening to music, or carousing with women. The administrator of Bosra had specifically provided a chessboard in his room—the same Shatranj board he had played on with the Prince. Since he and the Prince had become squires, they had almost no time to play. Now, seeing the board and pieces, he felt quite nostalgic. But he had only made a few moves when he heard the voices of Geoffroi and the others outside the door.

"You know why it was them, don't you?" Geoffroi said. Anyone else hearing this would surely be confused, completely failing to understand what he was talking about, but Cesar just smiled: "I know, and I also know what you came here for."

"I did come for something, but now there is no need." Upon seeing those three knights, he knew that the thing he had worried about had not happened—if those knights had been hired by the Saracens and had come to tell Cesar, or simply concealed it, the problem would have been grave. He would have even tried to bring in other trustworthy knights—this meant they still retained their original stubbornness and arrogance. Taking this group to the perilous Aleppo would be a disaster!

Fortunately, although he did not know how Cesar had managed it—he only knew that during this time, Sar had been very busy. What he did was certainly not just providing food for these hungry young men; there must have been more, but these things happened where he could not see—Geoffroi was not prepared to get to the bottom of it.

"Having a child who doesn't make one worry is truly a delightful thing," Geoffroi thought to himself. As he drank, he turned the ebony chess piece with a gold base in his hand. He had also loved playing chess when he was at his castle. However, since arriving at Lazarus and becoming a member of the Templar Order, this pastime had been forbidden. The Templar did not feel regret, but at this moment, he really wanted to play a game with someone.

Then he saw Cesar sitting opposite him. "I think," Cesar said, "that as long as one is not excessively indulgent, anything is not a vice."

Geoffroi grinned and tapped the piece in his hand onto the hard olive-wood chessboard with a *clack*.

——————

Kamal had been wrong about one thing after all. Although he cherished these knights, for Cesar, this was also an excellent opportunity—opportunities to observe Saracen villages and tribes at close range were rare, and those he sheltered were not lambs, but fierce wolves.

Perhaps you might ask, since these are also Saracens, how could they attack caravans traveling between Damascus and Bosra? Among them were indeed Christians and Isaac-people, but more were Saracens—but as Saladin had lamented, without a strong Caliph or Sultan to lead them, the Saracens could never unite their strength. They would only attack and plunder each other, full of covetousness and hatred for their own kin.

But this could not be blamed on them. When they lived here in the past, this place was still a land flowing with milk and honey, with lush water and grass, until hundreds of years later, when the climate changed abruptly, clouds and rainfall became scarce, and scorching winds blew from nowhere, carrying sand that swallowed the fertile land.

Oases disappeared one after another—but the tribes remained. To allow the people of the tribes to continue to survive, their swords could not be aimed solely at the Christians who occupied only the coastal areas.

After several raids and pursuits, even the seasoned Geoffroi was surprised. In these extremely barren places, there were actually tribal warriors who had received revelations from the Prophet—their numbers were not inferior to those in the regular Saracen armies—a knightly troop even nearly stumbled because of this. If it hadn't been for Cesar, they might have suffered a crushing defeat here.

Geoffroi felt annoyed once again—only after leaving Baldwin did Cesar finally show his own edge. The light covering him and his companions also shrouded his horse and weapons. He could even drive his horse toward those flashing cold swords and arrows without hesitation.

No one could break the protection granted to him by the saint. On the contrary, they were like crashing into a giant wall of steel; they were either sent flying or suffered broken bones on the spot. His charge reminded Geoffroi of those heavy siege crossbows—those crossbow bolts that stood almost as tall as an adult male, once fired by a massive ballista, would carve a straight, blood-soaked path through a dense crowd—Cesar was the same.

The young knights quickly changed their tactics. They no longer charged and fought alone but followed closely behind Cesar. Wherever he went, the enemy was either thrown into disarray or fled in all directions. No matter how high their morale had been, it vanished in an instant—even if there were those among them who had received revelations from the Prophet, they remained as fragile as mortals before Cesar.

"I'm such a fool, really. I should have tricked him into the Order long ago," he muttered. Before the selection ceremony, Cesar was not highly valued. If he had stolen him into the Order at that time and managed to make him take the oath, perhaps the Templar Order could have had a 'Paladin' figure by now.

But did this guy perceive Saint Jerome?

There were also Templars around him who had perceived Saint Jerome, but no, it was completely wrong...

He could not continue thinking after that, because the knights had already rushed toward him, bringing honor and captives.

——————

Shams ad-Din looked at the people captured by the Christian knights and brought before him. Among them were Saracens and the damned Isaac-people. He could hardly believe his eyes—because these Isaac-people were the very merchants he had graciously permitted to live and trade in Bosra.

No wonder those bandits knew the merchants' timing, routes, and numbers like the back of their hands. Their spies were in the city, right beside them, and were the kind no one would guard against.

Think about it. You just bought silk and spices from an Isaac-person today, loaded them onto the backs of camels, and prepared to transport them to Cairo, Alexandria, or anywhere else.

That Isaac-merchant you traded with seemed extremely satisfied with the deal; he showed unusual enthusiasm, invited you to dinner, and saw you off. When his gaze fell on your caravan, could you guess that he was counting your guards and your camels?

This was, of course, a way of draining the pond to catch the fish, but the Isaac-people did not care. They had no land of their own, no country of their own, and no king of their own. Even if the Viceroy of Bosra or Damascus allowed them to live and trade here, for them, this was just a rented inn and warehouse. Who would cherish something that did not belong to them?

Without Kamal's reminder, Shams ad-Din could guess what these bastards were thinking. Yes, Sultan Nur ad-Din was dead, and none of his heirs could convince everyone. The shadow of war had already loomed over their heads.

And compared to the Saracens living in the city, the Isaac-people neither trusted Shams ad-Din nor cared what would happen to this city; they only wanted to make a fortune during this turbulent situation. As for whether the trade routes would be cut off or the city would decline? Good heavens, what did that have to do with them? Anyway, they could just take their money and flee, continuing their business elsewhere.

When the situation here settled down a few years later, they could return. No one would discover what they had done. As long as they were willing to bow their heads and pay taxes, they could live a life far better than most Christians and Saracens.

Shams ad-Din was furious. He immediately ordered craftsmen to build wooden frames and set them up one by one on the road from Bosra to Damascus.

These Isaac-people, wrapped in silk and eating wine and meat, with their pale skin exposed to the scorching sun—Shams ad-Din did not mercifully grant them a quick death but adopted a method that could be called an import.

"This is common in Frankish lands," Geoffroi said. "They should have done this long ago," he clicked his tongue and shook his head. "These poor wretches, they don't know what kind of things Isaac-people are. Trusting them is worse than trusting maggots on rotten meat; at least they have some value."

They were riding past a wooden frame on which a fat Isaac-person was hanging upside down, head down and feet up, with his hands tied behind his back. Just a few hours of hanging had already made his face red and his breath faint. Beside him, two dogs were also hanging upside down.

—In Christian countries, people believed that newborn puppies would not open their eyes for the first few days, like blind men. Therefore, they used dogs to metaphorically describe the Isaac-people's blindness, mocking that even if the Savior descended before them, they would be unable to see or recognize His salvation—so when an Isaac-person committed a crime and firmly refused to convert, they would hang them upside down and hang two dogs beside them to mock and warn them.

This Isaac-person was still considered lucky. Because there were several other Isaac-people, perhaps due to the executioner's deliberate intent, the two dogs were closer to them—when the hanging dogs struggled desperately, they would scratch with their claws and bite with their teeth, instantly leaving them bloodied and horrific to behold.

And it was in this silence and wailing that they met the people who had come out of Damascus to welcome them.

(End of Chapter) ===== CHAPTER 139 =====