Chapter 141: On the Road to Aleppo (6)

I am your homeless moon,

Offer me a bed.

I have not slept for centuries,

I am your Damascus rose,

Insert me into the first vase you find.

————Syrian poet Nizar Kabbani

Haridi knew he had made a mistake, just like those he had once despised and mocked.

When he saw those impressive green eyes before the gates of Damascus and escaped death once again under his protection, what surged in his heart was not relief, nor gratitude, but an uncontrollable greed.

He knew this person. At Bilbeis, he presided over justice for them so they wouldn't be separated from their flesh and blood; and in the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, if it hadn't been for this close minister of the King, those Christians wouldn't have been willing to trust him and give him a chance, and he wouldn't have been able to avenge his family with his own hands on the chaotic battlefield afterward.

Perhaps all Isaac-people were like this, blind and ungrateful. What he thought at that time was, if he could persuade this young man—he was now the special envoy of the King of Lazarus, and had also made the Saracens accept his favor—if he was willing, or even just showed a little mercy—at the very least, he could regain his freedom, leave this place, and go to other cities and countries...

Furthermore, he could try to rescue other Isaac-people through this Christian knight. Although some of them were indeed involved in conspiracies and rebellion, there were also some who, perhaps out of fear of the former, or were indeed ignorant—should be, perhaps innocent, at least those women and children—how Cesar was saved by Amalric I, he should also save others in the same way...

Haridi knew that if he dared to say this idea out loud, it would surely invite sneers. They would definitely think I'm a madman—he muttered, but if going mad could save thousands of people, why not make this deal?

He harbored such delusions in his heart and even tried to bargain, but he had only revealed a tiny trace before he was seen through by those cold green eyes—just a light glance made his courage disappear without a trace like dust in the wind.

Have you ever seen a cheetah teasing a lamb? A rainstorm sweeping across flower branches? Their temporary kindness and softness were only because the prey was too weak and not worth their effort to be on guard—and this young man was the same. Haridi knew that every word he said was true. If he still wanted to run away or defect to someone else, he would definitely drag him out of the room himself and hang him on a wooden frame with those he wanted to save.

No, just in case, he might even "kindly" slit Haridi's throat in advance.

Although Haridi still didn't understand why he valued himself so much until now...

——————

Why? Even if Baldwin asked, Cesar would find it hard to answer.

There was a power here that did not exist in his world, but relatively speaking, this power also curbed the world's thirst for exploration and innovation—the sword was not sharp enough, the shield was not hard enough, no matter, there was "Grace"; sick, injured, no matter, there was "Gift"—as for those poor masses... what needs could they have?

The nobles looked at them like cattle and horses, or rather, not even as good as cattle and horses.

Their cries were always ignored. In the present where even life could not be guaranteed, they would not complain that wooden farm tools were not as easy to use as iron ones, nor would they care about coughing, bleeding, pain... there were many people who fell silently while working, and the damn "hunger disease" and "devil possession"...

Before the "Chosen Ones" appeared, whether in Arabia, the Apennines, or Frankish lands, you could still see witches and "doctors" walking in villages and towns—these were general terms for people who knew herbalism and human anatomy.

But when the Church discovered that those who only needed to touch a patient to make their condition ease or even recover could more easily arouse the public's trust in the Church, and thus throw large amounts of money into the church boxes, these people disappeared.

Male "doctors" might still become clerics, while women could only become fuel on the stake.

And as there were more and more "Chosen Ones," the Church's monopoly on "doctors" became tighter and more vicious—even if you became a cleric, it didn't mean you could practice medicine as you pleased. These jobs had to be assigned by bishops, archbishops, and even the Pope. And then, you couldn't make a patient or injured person recover all at once. To what extent to treat, and when to treat, all depended on the meaning from above.

Just like Heraclius, when he was not yet Patriarch, he could not reveal that he knew how to formulate ointments. And after becoming Patriarch, what he took out was not "ointment," but "relics" after consecration... If he dared to say that these were just some ordinary herbs, even mortals could formulate them according to the prescription, even the clerics under his command would betray him.

After all, besides faith, profit was also something clerics were most keen on.

The Patriarch was still like this, let alone ordinary people. In the Inquisition and the Church, those who dared to touch this "forbidden area" would be the first to be sent to the stake. And under the day-and-night, persistent brainwashing of the clerics, even ordinary people, even if they had received the favor of these daring people—whether they were cured of illness or saved from death—would sell their benefactors without hesitation.

With the disappearance of these "doctors," "medicine" and "pharmacology" naturally became something that once existed but now seemed like a horror legend.

But when Heraclius was teaching him and Baldwin, he mentioned that some classics that had long been destroyed in Christian countries and cities might still be preserved in Saracen palaces and libraries. And although there were "Chosen Ones" among the Saracens—although according to their saying, these people were inspired by the Prophet to obtain power that mortals could not reach—they had never further divided this kind of miracle like the Christian Church. As long as you were inspired, you could be a "scholar" or a "warrior" as you pleased.

But they did not deny the power of mortals because of this. Among them, there were still medicine and doctors.

And this situation also appeared among the Isaac-people. The Isaac-people collectively called these people who had received God's blessing "Sages," but there were no warriors among them, only existences similar to clerics, and the power they mastered and the status and respect they obtained were much less.

"To be respected by those Isaac-people, you must have the power of Mercury (the ancient Roman god of commerce, travelers, and messenger of the gods)," Heraclius had mocked at that time.

So this time he insisted on going to Aleppo, which was also part of the reason—Baldwin's chronic illness was still a weight hanging on his and many people's hearts. No matter how leisurely, comfortable, or happy the moment was, it would prick their hearts like a small thorn.

Cesar's medical knowledge, after losing modern equipment and drugs, was difficult to make Baldwin recover (at least not to relapse in his lifetime). He also knew that some herbs could have better therapeutic effects than current ointments, but in the markets and merchant ships of Lazarus, he and the teacher had always found nothing. But what if it were in the palaces and treasuries of the Saracens?

And Haridi could be said to be an accident.

Although Sultan Nur ad-Din was their enemy, he was also an enemy worthy of respect. Leaving him to rot, swell, and turn black and smelly—even Raymond, Count of Tripoli, who hated the Saracens the most, would feel it was too much, and Cesar was not the first time he had come into contact with the dead—what made him unable to imagine was that when he was wiping Nur ad-Din's ribs, he actually found a needle prick on his gray-white skin?!

As a doctor, he would never be wrong. That was indeed not an arrow wound or a wound pierced by other sharp things. It was a needle prick—and it was poisonous, with traces of ulceration and swelling at the wound.

He carefully continued to search Nur ad-Din's clothes and body, and finally found what looked like a broken gold thread in the folds of his belt. More accurately, a slender crossbow bolt.

Cesar had once followed a teacher (from another world) to treat a patient. He was a zoo employee who was accidentally hit by an anesthetic dart while anesthetizing a lion with his colleagues...

The prototype of the dart—the blowpipe appeared as early as the Stone Age. If what hit Nur ad-Din was just a blowpipe wrapped in poison on the tip, he wouldn't be so surprised—but this blowpipe was hollow, and judging from the structure at the end, it also used the same principle as modern anesthetic darts. After the needle tip pierced the skin, the medicine would be automatically injected into the animal or human body due to air pressure.

And hearing from Haridi that he used toad venom, Cesar was even less surprised. Compared to toad venom, the fact that he could create such a thin and hard hollow needle tube, as well as the device to fire this special crossbow bolt, was what was most worth his concern—how many things needed small and sturdy parts.

Even in this era, there would be no kings peeking into the future. They might only value the crowns and scepters Haridi created more. Cesar did not dare to take risks. Even if Haridi was not at fault, he could not let Haridi leave his sight and get out of his control.

"Is there anything special about that Isaac-person?" Geoffroi asked with interest.

"He is the person from the Battle of the Sea of Galilee," Cesar said, and Geoffroi understood instantly.

Although Baldwin was still a young king, he did not have the habit of plundering his subordinates' achievements to decorate his throne. He highly praised and thanked Philip, the Grand Master of the Templar Order, and also mentioned an Isaac-person, believing that he had made great contributions. Moreover, in the cave mentioned by the other party, there were indeed a large number of ancient books that even Patriarch Heraclius couldn't help but be dazzled by—the knights, of course, didn't care about this, but the Church would certainly be willing to spend a large sum of money to buy them.

As for whether they would be destroyed or worshipped afterward, it was hard to say.

"But it seems that guy is a bit ungrateful."

"So keep a close eye on him."

"You seem a bit absent-minded." Geoffroi was sometimes very sharp.

"Because... because I am thinking," Cesar paused, "I want to go out and see."

"See?"

"This is Damascus."

When they were at Bilbeis, although the city was not completely destroyed, they entered it as conquerors, and the residents were full of guard and fear toward them, and the facts proved that their worries were not wrong. Afterward, although as inspectors, he and Baldwin walked through many places, they could hardly find anything of value. It was either destroyed or plundered.

Fustat was even less to be mentioned.

Now, they were in Damascus, as "guests," let's put it that way. So as bystanders, they might be able to see a real Saracen city.

"Then, together?" Geoffroi indeed did not raise any objections. They went to explain their intention to Kamal together—mainly to avoid being regarded as spies by the Saracens, and then, under the guidance of two local guides provided by Kamal, changed into Saracen clothes and stepped onto the streets of Damascus.

——————

Kamal listened to the report from his subordinate and nodded, then released a pigeon.

This pigeon flapped its wings, rushed straight into the clouds like an arrow, and then quickly turned into a black dot, disappearing from Kamal's sight.

It flew hard until dusk, when it folded its wings and landed on a terrace. A small eunuch was always guarding this terrace. When he saw it, he immediately grabbed the pigeon, brought it back into the room, and carefully removed the copper tube tied to its claws. He did not open it—if he did so, he would be dead—but immediately sent it to the hands of another great eunuch.

The great eunuch glanced at the copper tube—it was not something he could know, and immediately sent it to another room. The First Lady's eunuch stood up from the carpet, checked the wax seal, opened the copper tube, and presented it to his master.

The First Lady opened it and glanced at it, showing an annoyed expression.

She was about to order something when she heard a loud shout from outside the door. A boy of only ten or so rushed in and hugged her tightly—he was born to a concubine permitted by the First Lady, and was also Sultan Nur ad-Din's youngest son, Salih.

"What is this?" he asked. He saw the small note pinched in the First Lady's hand.

"Nothing... Kamal wants to kill the agent of Damascus, let him be, a Kurdish bastard," the First Lady said indifferently.

"Then what about this?" Salih pointed to another note placed on the side. He reached out to touch it, but was pressed down by the First Lady: "Also a small matter."

She said, and then grabbed the note and burned it on the lamp brought by the eunuch in time.

(End of Chapter) ===== CHAPTER 142 =====