Chapter 168: The Isaacites

Haridi was also an Isaacite, a student of the Sage, and a master craftsman.

When the Isaacites discussed this matter in council, they did not omit his reasoning.

But he did not participate in it; he merely remained silent.

He was already prepared when brought into Cesar’s chamber. Whether he was to be hanged upside down or whipped, he accepted it willingly.

After all, Cesar had been his benefactor, saving his life more than once; even if he gave his own life in repayment, he had no grounds for complaint.

But to his surprise, Cesar not only allowed him to sit before him, but ordered Longinus to bring a cup of clear water and a large candlestand with many candles, instantly brightening the room.

Then Cesar dismissed Longinus, leaving only him and himself in the chamber.

The young Knight of Bethlehem carefully withdrew from a drawer a piece of parchment about three feet square.

This size was rare for parchment, since it was made from sheepskin, which had to be stripped, soaked in lime water, removed of wool, scraped thin on both sides, stretched, dried, and polished—each step requiring precision.

One misstep during the process could cause cracks or holes, reducing what began as a large hide to mere scraps.

He had assumed Cesar would show him some holy relic or scripture; instead, when the parchment was unfurled, Haridi saw only strange patterns—or to the untrained eye, merely odd designs. But as a master craftsman with advanced insight, he recognized at once that they resembled a small weapon designed to inject poison into an enemy’s body.

He thought, Ah, this day has finally come—this Christian knight kept me alive precisely for this purpose. Yet at the same time, an instinctive revulsion rose within him: he had indeed crafted instruments of death before, but back then he had been nearly mad, all he had destroyed by the hyenas of Sultan Nur ad-Din.

His master, his kin, his wife, his daughter—all dead. He wandered alone, rootless as a floating weed.

Indeed, as Saladin said, he still clung to a sliver of desire to live; he could not kill himself, nor could he accept being killed by others. But without the scrolls, he could not return to their secret place as his master had instructed, to seek the protection of his people.

He scorned such a path, yet he could not bear the thought of spending his future crafting only instruments of death.

Those who used them were not necessarily like Sultan Nur ad-Din—heretics and murderers. They might be capable rulers or wise scholars.

He knew these Christians, these knight-lords; perhaps they held good reputations abroad, but when profit called, they showed no mercy.

“Can you tell what this is?”

Haridi was about to refuse—even if Cesar flew into rage and hanged him on the spot, he did not care. But then he saw another device: a full set of extraction apparatus, far more complex than those used for distilling floral waters…

“What do you intend to do with this?”

It was the first thing he had spoken since entering the room.

“To save lives,” said Cesar.

He had expected surprise and relief on Haridi’s face. Instead, Haridi studied him with suspicion, as if searching for some compassionate trait in this Christian knight.

Then he picked up the large parchment and examined it repeatedly, top to bottom. “Do you also believe in the theory of blood balance?”

He did not mean the blood transfusion that would emerge centuries later, grounded in medical science and practical innovation.

This hypothesis still rested on Hippocrates’ humoral theory: clerics believed illness arose from bodily fluid imbalance; thus, removing some fluid—known as bloodletting—or introducing new fluid might restore health.

This view found many supporters; bloodletting had existed since ancient Egypt and Rome. But transfusion remained theoretical—no one had succeeded in practice, primarily because they did not know how to introduce another’s fluid into the body.

Their only attempts involved ingestion or topical application: Roman noblewomen often collected the blood and sweat of gladiators after training or combat, mixing it with wine, believing it enhanced their allure.

Ancient Egyptians drank the blood of strong men directly, believing it cured epilepsy.

In the Christian world, consuming flesh and blood appeared mostly in evil rituals; devil-worshippers ate the flesh and drank the blood of victims, believing they absorbed qualities they lacked—youth, health, and so on.

Even the Isaacites were firmly believed to eat infants.

Haridi had heard of Cesar’s reputation, but frankly, he did not believe it. He had seen too many nobles; Christians held less credibility with him than the Saracens, who erected false idols and called them the Son of God sent to earth, claiming he had atoned for all human sin through his death.

How could that be? The Messiah would appear only at the End of Days, as their scriptures recorded: he would lead the innocent souls across the Aras Road, escorted by angels and saints, ascending to Heaven.

Before that, any savior was a fraud, a heretic, worthy of eternal damnation.

To him, if he encountered a Christian lord who oppressed his people and greedily exploited them, he would accept it as natural, calmly.

He might flee, or pretend obedience while secretly resisting.

But he could not believe such a perfect, selfless man truly existed.

He frowned and studied it longer; now he was certain this device bore resemblance to his earlier works—but far more precise.

As a master craftsman, he could not help but want to try it. “No, this is not for bloodletting or transfusion.” He did not care whether bloodletting or transfusion would help Baldwin’s condition—even if it did, Cesar lacked the courage to attempt it. Not least because of blood types: current medical knowledge could not determine individual blood types; a mismatch would kill Baldwin faster.

“I intend to refine certain medicines and administer them directly into the patient’s body using this injector.”

“You mean herbal remedies? Why not ingest them?”

“Some illnesses can be treated by ingesting herbs, but if the herbs pass through the mouth, throat, stomach, then intestines, the patient absorbs too little of their active components—the stomach and intestines contain acids that destroy everything.”

“If we extract the useful components and inject them directly into the body, the effect multiplies.”

He explained this without fear Haridi would not understand; as a student of the Sage, Haridi was also a physician and teacher within the Isaacite community.

“Did your master teach you this?” Haridi asked. If it was Patriarch Heraclius, then he and his student were indeed bold—he was teaching a knight how to become a physician, and this knight actually had his own ideas. “Have you tested this method you describe?”

Of course—he had, in another world, centuries later.

Cesar could not say that. “There is a simple way to verify it—though somewhat… embarrassing.”

“What do you mean by embarrassing?” Haridi’s eyes narrowed. “If possible, I would like to understand.”

His request was reasonable. Perhaps contrary to later generations’ assumptions, people of this era already understood blood circulation: as Cesar said, rather than making the patient drink medicine, injecting it directly into the bloodstream might indeed work.

The injector had not yet been built, but Cesar had a way to prove it.

“You know the human intestines are densely packed with capillaries more than any other area,” Cesar gestured slightly. “Find someone. Have him drink a bottle of wine, and…” He did not finish, but Haridi understood. “Then observe carefully—see which time he becomes drunk faster.”

His claim was not entirely accurate. But at this moment, he could not introduce an entire system; he could only let Haridi grasp a glimpse of what he intended—enough to ensure the device Haridi built would meet his needs.

Haridi was deeply shaken—not only by the unusual verification method, but because this Christian knight, Lord of Bethlehem, was openly instructing him in tasks reserved for clerics.

“Do you know if I report you to the Church, you might be excommunicated?” Haridi said, then immediately dismissed his own thought: “No, they would not accept an accusation from an Isaacite.”

Haridi pondered and found it logical. “I understand. You want me to complete this task—and if anything goes wrong—”

Would it not be natural for an Isaacite to practice sorcery?

He said confidently, “Yes, you saved my life twice, and now you ask only this… I will take full responsibility. When they come for me, let them burn me.”

Cesar knew he should be pleased, but he felt only helplessness. He realized Isaacites fell into two extremes: one sought to rule all others, the other to serve them as slaves.

Earlier, when he offered generous treatment, Haridi only wanted to flee. Now, when he asked Haridi to become a scapegoat, to die, Haridi accepted willingly.

Cesar could not fathom what these Isaacites thought.

But since Haridi was willing to craft this device, the matter became simple.

He gave Haridi a box of Roman gold coins as payment and materials, and sent him back to Bethlehem.

Before Haridi left, Cesar called out to him. “Do you know Nili?”

“No. I do not know any Christian woman.”

“Very well. Still, thank you,” said Cesar. “Return to Bethlehem. Serve at the church. Watch over your safety.”

Nili had come to the Holy Cross Fortress to warn Cesar out of gratitude for past kindness—a seemingly ordinary act.

But consider: how could a woman with no education, crude and savage, discern the malice hidden beneath good deeds? She might discard Isaacite gifts or eat them without thought.

To think deeper than that was beyond her.

Someone with intimate knowledge must have warned her—only then did she appear before Cesar.

But this could never be spoken aloud; Isaacites punished traitors far more cruelly than Christians.

(End of Chapter)