Chapter 140: On the Road to Aleppo (5)

Haridi propped up his body. He seemed to want to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a series of violent coughs followed—Cesar's shield had arrived just in time, preventing him from dying under the spears of those soldiers. But before this, he had been imprisoned and beaten. The most ironic thing was that those soldiers who broke into the Jewish district and expelled all the Jews had actually saved his life.

He looked up at the tall, thin, but strong person who was standing with his back to the sun, looking down at him: "Yes," he said in a hoarse voice, "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

In the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, Haridi was the most important step—if he hadn't produced that important document, the Christians would have had no possibility of seeing Sultan Nur ad-Din, and of course, no way to confirm his physical condition.

It was precisely because it was determined that Nur ad-Din did not have much time left that Philip, the Grand Master of the Templar Order, was willing to make a bold, or even crazy, attempt. It could be said that the answer Haridi obtained at the risk of his life eliminated many people's concerns.

And for those who truly made achievements, Baldwin was never stingy with rewards, whether they were Christians, Jews, or Saracens—after the great victory at the Sea of Galilee, Haridi could have made his request. Whether he wanted to rebuild the Jewish gathering area in the Qumran region, or move to Bethlehem, or Lazarus, or even propose to work for Baldwin, Baldwin would have agreed to it. But he quietly merged into the crowd after the war and disappeared.

He proved with his actions that he did not want to be loyal to the King of Lazarus. At that time, Baldwin and Cesar only thought that he had gone to an Isaac-people gathering area elsewhere, or returned to Frankish or Apennine lands. After all, he had just helped the Christians defeat the Saracens not long ago—no one could guarantee that no one would recognize him outside the battlefield.

"Can you still stand up?" Cesar asked.

Haridi wanted to say yes, and then he saw the young green-eyed knight reach out to him. He wanted to refuse this hand, but before he could make any move, he fainted.

Fainting might be a good thing for him now. In the eternal darkness, he could let himself be muddled, thinking of nothing and recalling nothing. His teacher, companions, wife, and daughter had all left him and could no longer be found. He lived in the world, just unable to violate their teachings. He was unwilling to enter Hell as a suicide, but fate was always so vicious.

He came to Damascus, but his peaceful life didn't even last for three months.

When he woke up, Haridi found himself lying on a bed. The bed was soft, and fluffy, plump down cushions were piled everywhere. On the small round table beside the bed stood an exquisite bronze lamp, cast into a peacock with lush feathers. The wick protruded from the bird's beak, and the flame was shrouded in a glass sphere the size of a fist, emitting a brilliant light.

It took him a long while to recall what had happened before.

The teacher gave him the ancient scrolls that the Isaac-people had hidden in the caves, wanting him to use these treasures to return to the "secret place" in the desert—the last hiding place of the Isaac-people. But he failed the teacher's expectations. At that time, he indulged his hatred and let it devour everything, whether it was faith or his people.

If not, he would not have been able to find peace for any day after that. Without avenging them, even if he could return to those people, what would be the point? Even if hidden deep underground, there would eventually come a day when he would be burned alive by the fire in his heart.

But since he had done so, only endless suspicion, hatred, and rejection awaited him—from this city to that city, not just from Christians or Saracens, even his own kin, once they knew what he had done, would immediately show their most hideous faces.

He often asked himself if he regretted it. He thought, no, he didn't regret it, just felt tired, unusually tired, as if he would fall down at any moment and never wake up again.

When the young knight handed him a cup of hot spiced wine, he even felt a trace of resentment—if he had died under the spears of the Saracen soldiers at that time, could he have found peace? Perhaps, he admitted. He was not a pious person like the teacher, but he had also made supreme achievements—for the Isaac-people, if this achievement were used as capital to ascend to Heaven, he thought it was enough.

He sat up and drank the wine, watching Cesar stand up and walk out, bringing him a small cloth bag. He opened the bag and poured out the contents. Inside were several small gold objects, some messy and disorganized accessories whose use could not be seen, and gemstones for inlaying: "This is my stuff, you got it back?"

He hadn't held much hope. When one of his kin wanted to use this to frame him—he claimed that he had stolen some finished products and materials given to him by customers.

At first, Haridi thought they knew what he had done at the Sea of Galilee. The fact was just that he was an eyesore to some people—although they were Jews like Haridi, this did not prevent them from feeling intense jealousy. They found a good opportunity to frame him for theft.

They rushed into his workshop, rummaged around, confiscated everything he was making and was about to make, as well as some precious raw materials, and then locked him up, trying to force him to admit to all the charges—before the Saracen soldiers rushed in, he hadn't eaten anything decent for three days, and hadn't even drunk much water, and had been intimidated, humiliated, and beaten.

"How did you do it?" These people were determined to put him to death. Even if he proved that he had been a student of a "Sage," it was useless. Sometimes, he really wondered if these kin of his were indeed as the Christians mocked, blind like puppies.

Those Jews indeed still wanted to quibble, even if these things were already destined not to belong to them anymore (the dead, of course, would not own any property)—they still insisted that Haridi was a thief, as if this would lighten the sins on themselves, or they could gain the mercy of the Saracens. But solving this kind of thing was simply easy.

Cesar only slightly checked the so-called evidence and exhibits they submitted, then picked up something that looked like a reliquary and asked the accuser, "Do you know what this is, since you said it was stolen by someone else and belongs to you?"

And the Isaac-goldsmith hesitated for a long while before saying: "A reliquary."

It could be held in the palm of a hand, square and upright, engraved with exquisite patterns, and didn't seem to fit the Saracen aesthetic—it should be something customized by Christians, and a reliquary was the most likely possibility.

"Unfortunately, this is not a reliquary," Cesar ruthlessly shattered Haridi's last trace of fantasy.

"Although when I saw this, I almost couldn't believe it either," Cesar said. "This is not a relic, but a weapon, and it has already been used, right?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"There's no need to do this useless work." Cesar sat down in front of Haridi and took something out of his surcoat, a slender wooden box—"You probably don't know that after Sultan Nur ad-Din fell from his horse, it took some time before he finally breathed his last, and at that time he was already in Lazarus. Perhaps it was the devil's teasing that made him fulfill his promise in this way.

When he left, although he was calm, he was covered in filth—mud, blood, bodily fluids... If he were just left there, maggots and rotten meat would soon grow on his body. We once wanted to let other Saracens do this, but they all showed expressions of fear and were unwilling—according to them, this was something only the Sultan's brothers and sons could do.

So, it was I who 'cleansed his body'."

Haridi raised his head.

"You understand what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I wiped his whole body, trimmed his hair and beard, and then I found something very, very small under his ribs—if it hadn't been me, but someone else, they might have just ignored it." He opened the wooden box. Against the black silk velvet, a thin gold thread shimmered in the candlelight. It was so slender, perhaps only one-tenth of a reed tube, or even less. Except for the very front part, other places were twisted out of shape.

"It pierced the Sultan's skin and muscles. I took it out. Then I observed it carefully and found that it was hollow." When he realized this, Cesar trembled all over. Nothing could be more familiar to a doctor than this.

This thickness was enough to be used for injection—there should have been other parts left on the battlefield. Unfortunately, time was limited, and they could not possibly go there to find the other parts connected to this syringe, but its existence explained one thing: Nur ad-Din's sudden death might not just be because of his age and illness.

"Open it."

Cesar handed the "reliquary" to Haridi. Haridi was silent for a long time, but under Cesar's gaze, he gently opened the "reliquary." As soon as it was opened, one could see that it was full of fine and complex mechanical parts, one after another, overlapping, interlocking, and all closely connected.

"What did you fill it with?"

"Pustules from a toad. I extracted some white powder from it. They can make animals go mad and die."

"You killed Nur ad-Din."

"Yes, but if you want to use this to blackmail me, I suggest you don't—I don't want to work for a king, and even less for a count. Please give me freedom. I will pray for you before God—if you want to hand me over to the Saracens, I have no complaints."

He thought Cesar would be furious, but the other party just looked down at the small thing that was probably only a few inches square, "But I don't want to," Cesar answered straightforwardly, which really made Haridi choke.

"I thought you were a merciful person."

"Precisely because I am a merciful person, otherwise, I would have hung you on a wooden frame long ago—you are using my mercy, again and again.

But I am still willing to forgive you, because I need you to work for me."

"What do you want this for? You are not an assassin from the Eagle's Nest. Your victory should be won uprightly on the battlefield, not by playing some conspiracies." Haridi tried to persuade: "I am just a goldsmith, not even a 'Sage.' Although I have also received the favor of God, I can neither ride a horse to fight nor attack city walls. Even just a few mortals can ruin me. I am really of no use to you—you are not a person who likes to show off, you don't want a crown, and you don't need a reliquary."

"Why would you think so? Your skills and talents are very important. Important enough that I will not comply with your request to let you go. You must go to Aleppo with me, and then return to Lazarus with me. I will recommend you to Baldwin—"

Cesar smiled at him: "You might even create something beyond your own imagination."

(End of Chapter) ===== CHAPTER 141 =====