Chapter 160: The First to Arrive Was

Cesar’s consciousness awoke before his body did.

He had endured this torment many times before; after exhausting or overextending the blessings bestowed by the Saint, the pain and emptiness could drive even a weak-willed man to madness, and he was trapped within this shell, forced to endure in silence, like every human suffering from illness—he had wondered whether to embrace endless darkness to end this torture, but the thought vanished in an instant.

As a physician, no one understood better than he the fragility and preciousness of life. He did not know how those who loved him in another world would face his death, but at least in this world, he had blood-bound kin and irreplaceable friends.

He knew many had come to treat him—Christian monks and Saracen scholars alike.

He knew so clearly because they sat beside him, holding his hands, chanting scriptures as they prayed to their gods for strength—and their gods, even their saints and prophets, all pointed in one direction.

Sometimes Cesar wanted to laugh helplessly: they worshipped the same god yet saw each other as mortal enemies, believing they could prove their piety only by slaughtering the other—yet was this truly what the god desired to see?

Even after witnessing, feeling, and possessing this transcendent power, Cesar still harbored thoughts that would shock his teachers and friends: unless the god now worshipped by both Christians and Saracens were a bloodthirsty, murderous monster, how could He watch His own faithful suffer endlessly within His own city?

He could have changed all this.

When Christianity first emerged, it indeed clashed irreconcilably with the polytheistic worship of ancient Rome and Egypt—this was normal. After all, that Being had declared: “You shall worship only Me.” Even if the Romans of that time generously allowed Christians to place their icons in the Pantheon, Christians would still have fought them to the death.

This was the inevitable scene humanity faced in the struggle for faith.

Human life, resources, and energy are finite; even polytheists divided worship according to need—husbands should pray to Juno, generals to Mars, kings to Jupiter… not endlessly tossing coins and offerings at every statue they encountered.

When one god received worship, another inevitably was neglected; if this continued long enough, gods would fall—or be replaced.

But in this age, in this place, the purpose of war had become purely a struggle over human interests.

Why had the Crusaders traveled so far to this alien, hostile land?

Of course, because profit drove them—like a whip cracking against oxen and horses.

The Ishmaelites once called this land a land flowing with milk and honey, for Aralas and its surrounding regions had once been fertile, vast hills, forests, and plains, rich with grass and vegetation; any seed sown here would yield abundant returns the next year.

But gradually, as the desert expanded, oasis after oasis was swallowed, and the meaning of this land was redefined: money, a new crop, now grew here again, its roots like those of great trees, firmly anchored, sending endless “milk and honey” to every sultan and caliph and their nations.

Had the Saracen civilization arisen any later, the Crusaders’ expedition would have perished at the outset beneath the sharp curved blades of the Saracens; Urban II had chosen the perfect moment—he stirred the kings and lords of Europe to march toward this fertile promised land while the scattered sand had yet hardened into solid rock—and his motive was simple.

For the Church, for kings and lords craving wealth, for young men lost and aimless under primogeniture, for peasants grown “restless” from years of plague and famine…

“Holy relics” were another reason, but ultimately, they too brought money and power.

Aside from a few fanatical believers, nearly all went for land and gold. The Pope’s promised future had indeed been fulfilled in the first few decades—they built their own kingdoms, claimed their own territories.

Even this narrow strip of land was enough to sustain the Crusaders’ massive expenditures over the years.

For King Amalric I alone, his landless knights already exceeded three hundred, and he paid their salaries in actual gold; each campaign required covering all expenses for summoned knights—food, lodging, travel, tournaments, rewards, and pensions.

Thus, the conflict between Crusaders and Saracens could only grow sharper.

After all, human nature is greedy.

Profit lies before them—why should they not seize it? Even if negotiation, sharing, and sacrifice were necessary, they should be reserved for blood kin, friends, and allies—a group of infidels? Ha, was he mad?

Moreover, these knights had no retreat: if they returned home, they could only serve as stewards or craftsmen for their nephews or cousins; how could they endure the humiliation of such a fall after fighting for God?

Yet equally, the Saracens would not tolerate these outsiders ravaging their land.

Not to mention they had already slaughtered each other for seventy years. Seventy years of hatred had been passed down to at least three generations; such deep bloodstains could only be washed away by more time—but such peace could never exist.

Even if the Lord of Heaven descended here, He could not achieve it.

Jesus once fed all with two fish and five loaves, but this gift was too meager; the poor might accept it, but what of the nobles above them—whether Christian or Saracen? Their food, clothing, homes, and horses must be the finest and most splendid.

Human pursuit of pleasure is endless. Even among devout Saracens, many emirs and viziers wore silk beneath their robes, smoked water pipes, drank “grape juice,” and sought pleasure in “gorgeous” arms.

What to do? Must all be satisfied? Impossible.

Only another emotion could destroy this craving—fear.

Without the power of an angel destroying Sodom, humanity would forever indulge in present pleasures and forget the punishment to come.

Yes, this was such a difficult path, Cesar heard someone whisper beside him—no, not merely beside him; the voice seemed to come from all directions—above, below, all around—and it stirred in him an inexplicable familiarity, so much so that tears welled in his eyes for the first time, and he longed desperately for refuge.

But the figure stood silently, just out of reach, not far from him.

He seemed to gaze upon the person he loved most in this world, then the bright, white surroundings slowly dimmed; Cesar’s heart filled with anxiety—he knew He was leaving, yet he had so many questions, so many troubles, so many joys and sorrows to pour out to Him.

But the figure was resolute.

As He had come, so He departed—suddenly, all light vanished in an instant; Cesar plunged back into darkness, and he cried out—so he believed; in truth, those beside him heard only a faint murmur. They leaned down, wondering if this Christian knight was calling upon his god—or begging for something.

But the Christian knight uttered only that one soft cry, then fell silent; his breathing remained steady, his complexion still ruddy, and the servant grew slightly reassured.

This young man was favored by Grand Vizier Saladin, and indeed he was as beautiful as if crafted by the hand of the Almighty himself; even if he were a Saracen, no one could bear to see such a tender shoot perish.

He rose, and outside the door stood two physicians always on standby; upon hearing his words, they entered, examined Cesar’s condition, and confirmed he was about to awaken—this was good news.

“He may remain weak for a long time,” one physician said: “We do not know whether he will ever regain the Prophet’s revelation again.”

“He should,” said the other physician, speaking cautiously. “His wounds are healing, and though he suffered greatly, a force has protected him all along.” He had seen scholars who overused their power—they were not so calm; sometimes they required others’ help to perform “major ablution” (full-body bathing), for they might writhe and roll in the dirt, or defile their robes with excrement—this was a physiological reaction, impossible to suppress by will alone.

This youth either suffered no such severe aftereffects, or his Prophet shielded him from this humiliation. Either way, it proved he had not been abandoned—he would yet become a fierce knight, a formidable enemy.

They arrived before the Sultan’s door and saw a group of Ishmaelites, wearing small caps and black robes, departing; one physician instinctively stepped back and frowned—he disliked these Ishmaelites.

The Saracens were also skilled merchants, traveling between the eastern and western continents, yet never cheated or deceived.

Moreover, the Almighty taught them not to make money from money—but the Ishmaelites excelled at usury and currency exchange—often deceiving in the latter trade.

“I heard the Ishmaelites of Acre suffered misfortune.”

“Which Ishmaelites don’t suffer?” his companion replied. “Some among them may be good, but they are too few to shake the authority of their high priests or elders.”

“Even if they wished to, the Sultan, the Caliph, and the Christian kings would never allow it,” said one physician, seeing clearly.

Why were the Ishmaelites always slaughtered and expelled, yet always reappeared in every city? Because while despised, they were also the rulers’ finest white gloves—or black gloves.

When rulers desired wealth but wished to avoid the stigma of cruelty, the Ishmaelites became their best hounds and falcons—sent out to tear apart the lowly peasants, merchants, even nobles and officials with some power—and squeeze gold and silver from their flesh.

Meanwhile, all hatred fell solely upon the Ishmaelites; when matters became unmanageable, rulers would sacrifice them to appease public fury.

“Then they could simply refuse.”

“And starve? Sadly, their ancestors betrayed the Egyptians, then the Romans, then the Saracens and Christians—they had no path left. And if they truly possessed such will and character, there might be no Ishmaelites left in the world.”

The physicians’ assessment may have been harsh, yet it must be said: among other peoples—whether Saracens against Christians, Christians against Saracens, Christians against Christians, or Saracens against Saracens—though a few greedy, selfish, wicked individuals might serve as their rulers’ blades, most still held their own minds and principles.

Whether for themselves or their people, they would reject their rulers’ demands; only the Ishmaelites, despite countless precedents, stubbornly walked the most dangerous yet easiest, most convenient, and most profitable path.

Thus, others could not truly defend them.

“But how could Saladin meet with Ishmaelites?”

“Perhaps they have some task for him.”

The physicians were wrong.

Unless absolutely necessary, Saladin would never deign to meet a group of Ishmaeli merchants—but their identity and their request stirred genuine interest in this future Sultan.

“You say you wish to ransom your master with one hundred thousand gold coins?” Saladin glanced down at the open chest at his feet, glittering with gold—since the tenth century, the Saracens had used “bills of exchange,” predating Christians and Ishmaelites, yet gold coins were undeniably more persuasive.

“Cesar?” He looked at the Ishmaelites, trembling yet gathering courage.

“Yes, our master, the Knight of Bethlehem.”

(End of Chapter)