Chapter 164: The Israelites

September, Bethlehem.

After meeting Cesar, Longinus and he remained in Damascus for about another week.

The next day, David arrived with another contingent.

This straightforward young man was equally delighted upon seeing Cesar; in his youth, he had truly disliked this handsome peer, partly out of shame—for his inability to remain steadfastly by Baldwin’s side.

And partly out of envy—for how could this unknown former slave have taken the place he once held?

But those grievances had long since vanished years ago; Cesar had proven to him that he was indeed better than David, whether as a squire or as a friend.

Though eager to return home, Saladin insisted they wait until the physicians deemed Cesar fit for a long journey before granting them leave.

Saladin accepted Baldwin IV’s gifts, but likewise presented King Al-Arsal with an extraordinarily generous return gift; Cesar, David, and Longinus each received rewards as well—horses, armor, and silk aside, the most surprising gift came just as they were about to leave Damascus’s gate: Saladin had given them one final present.

An Israelite.

The moment he saw Cesar, the Israelite wore a look of resigned fate; Saladin nodded to Cesar, certain this gift would please him far more than gold or a Damascus blade.

The Israelite was no other than Haredi.

When they had passed through earlier, the Israelite merchants in the city had colluded with bandits outside, taking advantage of Aleppo’s chaos to raid caravans—so the governor had arrested all Israelites, hanging men and dogs together on wooden racks, selling women and children into slavery.

Haredi was among them; fortunately, though captured during his escape, he had been recognized by Cesar.

Cesar had been searching for him. While performing the ablution for Sultan Nur ad-Din, he had noticed the needle punctures on his body—and the broken needle tip.

At the time, he could scarcely believe it: he had discovered the prototype of a syringe. He had always assumed syringes wouldn’t be conceived until three centuries later by some European, and not manufactured until another century after that.

Yet now he saw a real syringe—a trigger-activated anesthetic dart. Such darts were not rare in his world; people used them to hunt predators, subdue criminals, and control the mentally ill.

Thus, Nur ad-Din’s death was not caused by illness, but by poisoning; the liquid and syringe had been crafted so skillfully that no one had noticed. Had Cesar not come from another world and been intimately familiar with syringes, he would never have recognized that hair-thin object as such…

Or he might not have cared at all, dismissing it as a broken ornament and tossing it aside.

Haredi’s ability to craft such intricate devices meant he could produce the highly demanding components Cesar envisioned.

The Saracens in Fustat had been right: Haredi was a craftsman so gifted he could serve even a sultan or caliph without shame; his skill defied description as mere excellence—his imagination was boundless—perhaps due to some divine blessing or revelation.

Cesar wanted to bring him to Bethlehem, but during their breakout from Aleppo with Kamal and other ministers, this cunning Israelite craftsman slipped away.

At the time, Cesar had neither the energy nor the leisure to pursue him; he kept the matter in mind, hoping for a future chance to find him—or another usable artisan.

Unexpectedly, Saladin had captured him again; to save his life, Haredi revealed Cesar’s name, and Saladin, of course, had no hesitation in gifting his young friend such a present. Yet he glanced at Haredi’s ashen face and said kindly: “I hear this isn’t the first time you’ve escaped him. Perhaps you should break his legs—if what you need him to do requires nothing beyond his eyes and hands, of course… and his tongue and ears.”

“He’ll never serve me,” Haredi declared firmly. “I am alone in this world; my only desire is freedom. Without freedom, I will do nothing.”

“Ha!” Kamal, beside Saladin, sneered unceremoniously. “I don’t believe you have such courage, Israelite.

You’re young, and you possess such skill. Wherever you go, even if you can’t join the Christian guilds, you can still live comfortably—you’ll find another wife, more children. You’re merely selfish and ungrateful.

If you crave freedom so much, I’m sure Cesar wouldn’t be unreasonable.

Just walk up to the rack yourself. There are still a few empty spots.”

Haredi followed the vizier’s gesture and saw the dried corpses still hanging on the racks—men and dogs alike.

“I don’t understand why you keep trying to escape,” Cesar asked, puzzled. “I’m not a harsh master. I’ll take you back to Bethlehem; you can run your workshop there. I’ll give you good treatment and a comfortable environment—as long as you make what I need.

I’ve already seen your previous work. It’s not beyond your ability.”

Yes, why? Haredi remained silent.

Anyone could see Cesar’s future was bright. His only weakness had been removed; and with Joscelin III dead, he would not suffer the constraints his father might have imposed, as Heraclius and Empress Maria had feared—he would inherit everything from his father the moment he returned to Al-Arsal.

Even though the County of Edessa no longer existed, the title and two hundred thousand gold coins remained.

Haredi could easily secure a place for himself in Bethlehem through Cesar’s favor—a relationship the wealthy Israelites of Bethlehem had spent one hundred thousand gold coins trying and failing to build.

Why, then, did he keep fleeing? Others couldn’t understand it; even he, had he not heard his master’s final words, would have wondered why he did it.

But perhaps fate had shown him the path—and he must walk it.

For a moment, Haredi could not describe his feelings: sorrow? Mockery? Or despair? He lowered his head, as if accepting this cruel twist of fate.

Saladin gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. If he were Cesar, he would hang this Israelite craftsman for his repeated escapes.

No matter what Cesar wanted him to build, Saladin refused to believe no other craftsman among thousands—or tens of thousands—could match him. But nothing worth doing comes easily; he himself had made many mistakes in his youth.

An Israelite craftsman was at most a small thorn embedded in flesh; removing him required only a thought.

Haredi was handed over to a Christian knight, who unceremoniously slipped a rope noose around his neck and tied the other end to his horse.

No cart. No horse. No mule.

The rest of the journey would be made on foot—this was the mildest punishment possible. At rest, Longinus would visit him as Cesar had ordered; he found it strange, but unlike others, he could ask.

“What’s so special about this Israelite? Why must it be him and not someone else? Even if Bethlehem has none, Al-Arsal surely does.”

Others truly couldn’t.

Unfortunately, Cesar couldn’t explain the reason to Longinus. First, even if he tried, Longinus would struggle to understand what he meant; second, the devices Haredi would build were meant to treat Baldwin.

In the Christian Church, a knight granted divine favor was absolutely forbidden from meddling in matters of bestowal—that was the clergy’s exclusive domain.

Even within the Templars, the armed monastic order, there were clergy and monks granted divine favor; though called knights, they were fundamentally clerics.

“Haredi! Haredi?!” Repeated calls jolted Haredi from his memories; he realized he had been staring blankly at a gemstone given by a customer. He looked up—it was his old friend, LeGao, one of Bethlehem’s merchants.

His reputation among the Israelites had dimmed considerably since his recent mistake; though much of the hundred thousand gold coins had come from LeGao’s own purse, others had also suffered losses.

They criticized LeGao’s failed scheme; some even claimed Israelites should stay among Israelites, avoiding excessive contact with Christians or Saracens—they were heretical apostates, untrustworthy and incomprehensible.

Trading with them was as dangerous as snatching prey from a tiger’s jaws.

LeGao retorted: “When we discussed this in the synagogue, how many opposed? Everyone’s eyes sparkled with eagerness; everyone eagerly contributed money. Didn’t you all want to seize Bethlehem for yourselves?”

After all, the rulers here had been members of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre sent by Amalric I—Bishop Andrew and his knights. Though Bishop Andrew accepted their offerings, he was just like Roman or Frankish churchmen: full of disdain and suspicion. They gained nothing from this stern warrior-monk.

But their new lord was young, kind, and most importantly, he had lived as a slave without receiving the education befitting his station.

David and Abigail, these young heirs, had learned from their fathers how to treat Christians, Saracens, Israelites, Byzantines, Armenians, and Turks.

The Bethlehem knights had no experience governing a city. Had their plot succeeded, God willing, they would have gained a vast, vast reward—perhaps even their names written in sacred texts.

Such risky, uncertain speculation was not new to them—nor was failure.

LeGao felt no guilt for his kin’s losses—even when some had gone into debt; he had used the opportunity to recover part of his own losses.

Haredi, though still merely a goldsmith, had heard whispers of this. He had no desire to deal with such a man.

“Yes, you’re making an amulet, right?” He roughly estimated: “Come back in three days to collect it.”

“Besides this, I have another task for you.”

Haredi lifted his head warily. Since returning to Bethlehem with Cesar, LeGao had been scheming to find out why Cesar valued him so highly.

He had even sent fellow craftsmen to inquire: What was Cesar having him make? A golden crown for the king? A reliquary? A great cross? For his unfortunate parents?

Of course, all had returned empty-handed—they couldn’t even meet Cesar. As for Haredi, he had no desire to become a sage or leader; he craved no power, cared nothing for wealth—he was like a slippery eel, leaving LeGao with no grip.

“Not about that,” LeGao brazenly pretended he’d done nothing. “The New Year is coming. The Sage told me to notify you: tonight we’ll gather in the Israelite synagogue to discuss how to celebrate the New Year.”

Haredi didn’t want to go, but as an Israelite—no matter his sect—he had no excuse to refuse. He nodded reluctantly. “I’ll come. But LeGao—do we really need to discuss how to celebrate the New Year?”

“Of course we do,” LeGao winked at him. “You’ll see when you get there.”

————————

“The Israelites of Bethlehem are preparing to celebrate their New Year,” Natiya said, peering through a slit in the curtain as she leaned against the window, watching Israelites walk the streets.

The Israelite New Year differed from those of Christians or Saracens: it fell neither at year’s start nor end, but between September 5 and October 5, for they followed their own Hebrew calendar, based on lunar phases—its date shifted annually against the Gregorian calendar, including the New Year.

“You should prepare too, brother.”

“Prepare?”

Natiya turned from the window, walked to her brother’s side, bent down to wrap her arms around Cesar’s shoulders, then gently plucked the feather pen from his hand and pushed aside the parchment before him. “You need rest, brother.”

“I’m only reviewing documents—it won’t burden my current condition.”

“You nearly died,” Natiya ignored him, pushing him back onto the low couch. “Let me tell you about the Israelites.”

Though Natiya had spent these years in Sultan Nur ad-Din’s harem, her information was far from closed. Don’t assume women in the harem were disconnected from court intrigues: the sultan’s first wife was his blood relative; the second and third were princesses of the Turkic khanates; some were female relatives of his ministers.

Unlike purchased slaves, if these women gained the sultan’s favor, they remained in the harem for life; if not, by a certain age, they could be released to marry.

And their ties to the outside world had never been severed.

For Natiya, the conversations, quarrels, and even slander among these noblewomen held invaluable information—she memorized every word.

Every September, nearly every concubine complained that her father or brother needed to increase city security to guard against the Israelites’ New Year.

Saracens and Christians would throw stones at Israelites during their celebration, extinguish their fires, insult and mock them—sometimes sparking multiple clashes.

This touched upon a point Cesar had not yet understood.

“Is it the same in Bethlehem?” In Al-Arsal, perhaps because he was always by Baldwin’s side, he had never heard of such things.

“I don’t know. But perhaps you could ask others—or simply issue an order banning the Israelites from celebrating their New Year.”

It was a simple, efficient solution—but after a brief pause, Cesar summoned Longinus and ordered him to invite Bishop Andrew.

Bishop Andrew had governed Bethlehem for over a decade on behalf of Amalric I; he would know how the Israelites had celebrated the New Year previously, and whether Christians or Saracens had clashed with them over it.

Bishop Andrew immediately accepted Cesar’s invitation without hesitation.

A knight himself, he had seen too many companions rendered immobile for months from overexertion. He felt only admiration and gratitude for what Cesar had done in Damascus; even several young men he knew had returned safely to Al-Arsal.

They dined together, and before nightfall, Cesar mentioned the Israelites preparing to celebrate their New Year.

Bishop Andrew paused thoughtfully. “They don’t parade or hold masses; most rituals are performed in their homes—I’ve never heard of any conflict related to it. But I think your sister’s suggestion is excellent,” he said without hesitation. “No one understands how to push boundaries better than Israelites.”

“This is your first September in Bethlehem,” he added meaningfully.

(End of Chapter)