Chapter 144: On the Road to Aleppo (9)

Laila's unsparing praise drew everyone's attention. No matter how deep the hatred the Saracens here had for Christians, they couldn't help but soften their expressions before this treasure personally created by Allah.

No, wait, perhaps it couldn't be said for everyone, because in this room, there was still one person who was still lying in the arms of a "Beautiful" with drunken eyes, seemingly indifferent to everything happening here.

Let alone Cesar, even Geoffroi began to frown instantly. Things were getting tricky. This person was the very purpose of their trip—Razi.

Geoffroi and Cesar had already met many Saracens, whether on the battlefield or in the palace, but the Saracen before them completely violated their deep impression—men among the Saracens always seemed solemn, firm in temperament, and not smiling. They grew wire-like curly beards, wrapped headscarves, revealed no hair, wore simple black robes, tied cowhide belts as wide as a palm, and had nothing on their bodies except a silver ring.

And Razi... look at him now. His headscarf had long since disappeared, his hair was messy, and his face was red. He grew a beard like all Saracen men, but it was very short, almost close to the skin, more like a dark blue shadow. He stretched his hands loosely, resting one leg on a velvet hill piled up with pillows, his chest open, and even the long underwear inside was crooked and out of shape.

This posture was not just lazy; even if it were called wild or decadent, it wouldn't be unacceptable. To say that as an important figure in Damascus, he would know nothing about the origins of Cesar and Geoffroi would be absurd, but at this moment he still put on such a posture—it seemed to have clarified that their trip would not be so smooth.

Razi laughed first. His voice was hoarse but unusually charming. Among men over forty, he could be called young and handsome, with a pair of eyes like honey. Although it was said that he was pursuing Laila, the fact that Laila was finally willing to accept his love and invite him into her house also showed that he had indeed won the favor of this "Beautiful"—when he opened his eyes to look over, there was not much displeasure at being disturbed, but a kind of deadly sobriety.

"I have heard of you. They say you are the chosen one of the Christians, the attendant beside the King of Lazarus, and he trusts and values you very much. People say you might become the youngest Grand Vizier," he stretched, "There may indeed be friendship as pure as spring water in this world, or it may be that you each have your own purposes, just using each other. Even worse, there is a fool among you. Either he fooled you, or you fooled him.

He used you to gain the recognition of the Christians, making people think that his leprosy is not Allah's punishment, but a rare test. As long as he passes this difficult trial, he may become a great king, or even a saint in the future.

You, not long ago you were just a slave of the Isaac-people. Your origin has always been criticized by those Christians. Their palace is completely different from ours. If there is no blood of a knight or noble in your body, even if you win Damascus or Aleppo for them, don't think about getting their respect."

He smiled, "We are different. As long as virtue, wisdom, courage, and piety can be recognized by Allah, even if he becomes a Sultan or Caliph, it won't be strange, and no one will oppose it."

He reached out and pointed to the cup tilted beside him, and the "Beautiful" beside him immediately stood the cup up and filled it with crimson grape juice for him. He picked it up and drank it in one gulp, sighing longly. "I don't know if your legends are true or false, but this sounds like a wonderful story. It's just that you have a brother and friend who is a king to guarantee you, so they are willing to acknowledge you and let you walk in the world as the son of Joscelin III, Count of Edessa."

He glanced at Cesar sideways, "You do have a face equal to the value of this story. But so what? Whether it is the King of Lazarus or Joscelin III, Count of Edessa, they are Christians, enemies of the Saracens. I will sigh and regret for them. When their heads are placed on the wine table, I will even write poetry for them," he raised his cup to Cesar, "Of course, including you. Beauty, youth, and life are all so short.

But when he is still alive, I am sorry, I will not pay anything for him, even if you are Kamal's guest. You should perhaps know—my relationship with Kamal is not very good. As a subject, he is too naive, slow, and indecisive. He is even willing to show his mercy to an enemy.

But Christian knight," he said in an unquestionable tone, "I know you want to borrow those medical classics about leprosy from me for your close friend and king. What Allah gave him is not a favor, but a punishment. Yes, he himself may be innocent, but he is the King of Lazarus, the commander of the Crusaders. He is destined to fall into the fire of Hell to suffer torture. Now it is just that this torture is advanced by ten years or so.

I will not hand those books to you, let you save him, I will not let him live healthily and long, until he can lift his spear and gallop on the battlefield, because what he will kill are Saracen soldiers, my friends and brothers.

Of course, you can also say that you once cleansed the body for our Sultan Nur ad-Din. I don't know if you did it intentionally or unintentionally—yes, you did so, even the Sultan's sons or wife would thank you for not letting him be humiliated by the enemy after death. But if you use this favor to ask for a return, to blackmail, to hold hostage, don't you feel ashamed?"

This remark perhaps many people have thought about in their hearts, after all, they are enemies who will not die until the end. No matter how bad or despicable they imagine the other party to be, it cannot be said to be excessive.

But Razi was the first person to say these words clearly. If Cesar was indeed a young man who didn't know the world and was in the period of valuing dignity and others' views the most... even Geoffroi behind him felt a surge in his stomach, hard to rest.

The other party's meaning was very clear, which was to accuse them of wanting to knock the bones and suck the marrow by relying on a long-planned favor, and not just once or twice.

"You have sold this favor back and forth several times. Not counting those gifts," Razi said listlessly, "You have won an unprecedented great victory. The young king has laid the foundation for his power, the honor of the Crusaders has been saved, and there is also Count of Edessa—your father... You seem to have forgotten that Sultan Nur ad-Din died under your swords. A group of murderers, but because they gave the deceased a little dignity, they are jubilant, proud, and everywhere proclaiming that they have supreme mercy. Isn't it ridiculous?

When you get to Aleppo, besides your father, you can also get gifts from the ladies and the Prince. Those gifts can allow you to form an army that belongs only to you. Isn't that enough? You insatiable thing!" Razi said coldly, "You remind me of those fruits that are intact on the outside but rotten on the inside. When people don't understand you, they will treat you as a treasure, but in fact... your heart is as black and smelly as those Christians...

All right, go away. For Kamal's sake, I won't be unfavorable to his guests, but you really annoy me."

This order to evict guests was already quite impolite. Even Geoffroi had already thought of retreating. It was just a few medical books. If they couldn't get them in Damascus, couldn't they find them in Aleppo? The large library there shouldn't refuse their visit, or they could get them from those merchants—as long as they were willing to pay enough generous returns, weren't Razi's books also copied?

Even Laila's gaze toward Cesar couldn't help but carry a trace of pity. Several "Beautifuls" were even eager to move, wanting to comfort this poor beautiful boy—they all thought that the conversation between Razi and this Christian had ended here. Razi's attitude was very clear. No matter what efforts and promises the other party made, he would not agree to his request, and they didn't have much time. They would set off tomorrow for Aleppo.

But what was unexpected to everyone was that this young man, even if only looking at his appearance, could attract countless people's pity, did not immediately feel ashamed and leave the room because of this sarcasm. He even performed very calmly, as if what he had just heard was praising him, not disparaging him.

Indeed, if Cesar was really a child of fifteen or sixteen, no matter what, he wouldn't be able to bear this humiliation.

But he was already an adult before coming to this world. And when rotating in the hospital, he didn't know how many partings and life-and-death situations he had seen, and the ways of the world. In this world, what could be more important than life? Nothing. He had realized this long ago.

Moreover, he had been here for a full six or seven years. He had already seen that Razi was deliberately revealing such an attitude and saying such words.

Perhaps Kamal had already informed Razi. He knew that if Cesar insisted, he might really have to lend those precious books to him for copying. But as a Saracen, he was full of reluctance. He admitted that he was not a person with a broad mind, and he could never have pity on his enemies or make a gesture of respect.

He hoped that his cold words could send this young man away—but this young man walked over, and when he sat cross-legged in front of him, he could only turn his head away and not look at him. Then he saw this young man take out a money bag from his side, then open the rope on it, take out a gold coin from it, and place it in front of him, "I will exchange one gold coin for the copying rights of those medical books of yours, is that okay?"

Razi was stunned first, and then almost laughed out of anger. He thought this was a low-level revenge, used to mock the things he cherished, which were only worth one gold coin, "It seems you are unwilling," Cesar said, and then he added a gold coin: "How about two?"

Razi's hand was already on his tiger-tooth dagger. If the other party wanted to humiliate him, he didn't mind treating him in the way Saracens and Christians truly dealt with each other.

And at this time, Cesar placed the gold coins on the carpet to the tenth, "Then what if I exchange ten gold coins for it?"

Razi had already sat up. The "Beautiful" beside him had already dodged nimbly. The room was silent, only they were talking. Some people showed worry, while others moved to more subtle positions. Geoffroi had also placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

He knew Razi was chosen. He had once received the Prophet's revelation. And among Saracens, "scholars" could bring knowledge and death to people. Because the first and most supreme prophet among them was also based on the sword to lay the foundation of rule.

Cesar stopped his movements. They didn't plan to buy anything this time. Even if they wanted to buy, they would only do it through contracts and documents, not by taking out real gold and silver. So there were only a few dozen gold coins in his money bag. "One hundred?" Cesar looked at the cold-faced middle-aged man and continued calmly, "How about one thousand? Ten thousand? One hundred thousand? Even one million? If it were one million, would you feel humiliated?"

Although people call books the crystallization of wisdom and say that wisdom is priceless, this is just talk. Those scholars who teach and translate classics for the Caliph have all received generous rewards. If Razi's collection of books could really be exchanged for one million gold coins, people would absolutely not think he betrayed the Saracens or did something stupid, but would only think this was good luck bestowed by Allah.

One million. What did this mean? It almost meant being able to re-establish a country. Razi stood there, but his expression had gradually calmed down.

Of course, it was not for those illusory one million gold coins. He had already realized what the other party wanted to say.

Everything will have a price, but this price may not necessarily be based on gold, and it may not necessarily be something people can see and touch—just like if Razi agreed, for those gold coins, what he had to abandon was more than just a few books. More was his honor and dignity.

Razi was silent. If someone really put such a generous reward in front of him, he would agree—just like the young man in front of him, no matter what they say, whether past good deeds were a kind of hypocritical pretense, or insatiable, repeatedly asking them to return favors based on a meager favor, or being suspected by them of his conduct, not only toward Saracens, but also toward Christians—his loyalty to his friends, brothers, and monarchs, he did not take it as a shame, nor would he change his ideas and ways of doing things because of this.

He came here just to achieve a result, even if he didn't know whether those books could really have any effect on the King of Lazarus's leprosy, but for the sake of this little glimmer of hope, he had to do his best.

Razi had to say that for a moment, he wavered. This sincere emotion, just like beauty, could shock and make people submit, especially when he put himself in this young man's position, he couldn't be sure whether he was willing to bear such humiliation and people's misunderstanding for the Sultan. Sometimes living humbly is far more difficult than dying purely.

"But you don't have one million gold coins," he said. This did not refer to gold coins, but was questioning whether he necessarily had the power to fulfill his promise.

"I certainly don't have it now, but how do you know I won't have it in the future?" Cesar smiled and retorted. Compared to Razi's tension, hesitation, and ferocity, he had always performed very loosely. He even kept his hands gently on his knees, his fingers drooping downward. No fear or hesitation could be seen on him. Even though Razi stood up and he had to look up at him, his answer was still as steady and clear.

"As you said, in Saracen lands, as long as a person has real talent and learning, he can become a general, an official, an Emir, or a Grand Vizier, or even a Sultan and Caliph.

Since this is the case, how do you know I can't repay the debt I owe you here?"

"You are really an arrogant person," Razi said, "You have no territory, no army, just an attendant beside a king of the same age, and his life is like a candle in the wind, which might go out at any time. Under your feet, it is not solid rock, but loose sand... and you still..."

He suddenly stopped, "Look at what I have done tonight... Christian, I still think I will regret today's decision—I can lend you the books I have. You can take them to copy, but you cannot leave my house. But if you really use them to make your brother and king recover, then you must remember that you owe me a debt."

"I remember," Cesar said, and then he thought for a while, and pulled a gold chain out of his robe. On the gold chain was a cross, and a large ruby was inlaid on the cross. This gold necklace was once worn by Baldwin. When Count Etienne went missing, he had to let Cesar go to inquire about news for him, and for this, he gave Cesar a sable coat and this gold cross, hoping that in case of necessity, these two things could save him from certain death or being captured.

Gifts given, of course, had no reason to be taken back. And these two things had always been carefully collected by Cesar. Until this mission, although he was not very willing, he was traveling in disguise this time. Except for this gold cross, everything from clothes to jewelry was Saracen.

"I will use this thing as collateral," he said: "Please don't resell it or give it to others at will. If in the future you think I can fulfill the oath I made now, you come to find me with this token."

"Will you agree to all my requests?"

"I cannot guarantee this to you," Cesar said frankly, "But I can promise that I will definitely do my best."

This time Razi was silent for a long while. Most people thought he was going to go back on his word, but he still reached out and took the cross.

If Cesar said that no matter what wish, he would achieve it for him, he would really go back on his word.

"I will let my servant take you to my house," Razi said: "He will show you where the books you need are. You can copy them, but I hope you can leave before dawn, and don't spread it around, otherwise I will be very embarrassed."

He said bluntly. Cesar, of course, had no reason not to agree. After they left the room, Razi finally showed a troubled expression, "Allah really shouldn't let such a child be born in a Christian castle," he said.

"If Allah really put him in Aleppo or Damascus, what good would it do?" Laila waved her hand, signaling the "Beautifuls" to start singing, playing music, and dancing again. She then walked gracefully toward Razi, replaced the position of the original "Beautiful," and gently took his head into her arms.

"Do you think any of Sultan Nur ad-Din's three sons is worth his assistance?"

Razi was speechless. It was really true. Although he hated the Christians, he had to admit that the young King of Lazarus had indeed revealed extraordinary brilliance, and in the recent negotiations, it could also be seen that he had a mercy and tolerance that previous kings had never had.

Nur ad-Din's three sons... sorry, if such a pearl fell into their hands, I'm afraid it would be crushed into dust in a few days, "I don't believe Allah would treat the Saracens so poorly," he muttered. Razi's palm, which was longer and more powerful than other women's, stroked up. In this gentle soothing, he soon closed his eyes.

Razi didn't know that just after he fell into a deep sleep, Laila left the room. She walked to another bedroom, sat in front of the dressing table, wiped off the grease and powder on her face, and then began to apply dark oil ointment to her body and face—ensuring every place was wiped, and used a special potion to temporarily dye her hair brown, braided her hair, and tied it together.

Subsequently, she took off the bright silk, put on a rough black cloth short robe, wrapped a cloak, and pulled up the hood. When she walked out of the house with bare feet, she had become a thorough Nubian woman—after losing those significant features and even creating a sharp contrast with her original appearance, even if someone met her face to face, no one would guess that she was Laila, the most famous "Beautiful" in Damascus.

(End of Chapter) ===== CHAPTER 145 =====