Chapter 68: Herbs

A sharp click echoed as the flint sparked, igniting a candle—the visitor made no move to lift the tapestry or open the shutter, as if wary of being seen; the flickering flame revealed his face: none other than Heraclius, tutor to Prince Baldwin and Cesar.

Heraclius turned his head to look at Cesar. “Close the door.” As Cesar turned to shut it, Heraclius rose from his chair, stepped forward, bent down, and picked up the bundle—it was small and light. Without a word, he placed it atop a large chest and opened it, beginning to sort through its contents.

“What are all these?” Heraclius asked.

Cesar hesitated. “Herbs.”

“I’m glad you haven’t mistaken me for an idiot,” Heraclius said. “I thought you’d tell me these were just your cooking spices and seasonings, like you told those fools.”

“You’re cautious. You’re careful. You make no promises, conduct no second transactions. You wander the market, accompanied by Damara—a haughty, insatiable noblewoman. No one would suspect you’re the one truly obsessed with the market. Indeed, most will assume you bought these out of whim or deception.”

He lifted a tuber. “Aconite, hmm.” Then he seized a handful of plant stems. “Elder, cocklebur, licorice…” He fixed his gaze on Cesar. “But do you know how many are watching Prince Baldwin? How many are watching you?”

“Master…”

“They don’t understand what these are, nor can they obtain any—perhaps you and Baldwin think you’ve covered your tracks perfectly. If meant for ingestion, Baldwin chews and swallows every last bit. If for external use, you mix them into the lard and palm oil used to polish weapons. If for bathing, you bundle them in gauze, let them dry, then toss them straight into the fire.”

“We…”

“But they always find the herb seller—or note the characteristics of these few substances. One priest doesn’t know? Two don’t know? Can three priests still not know? You may claim you use them only for cooking, but… sometimes, all it takes is an excuse.”

Heraclius spoke sternly: “For these past days, your messes have been cleaned up by me and the King.” Seeing Cesar’s faint surprise, he curled his lips without a trace of amusement. “Surprised? When I discovered you knew how to use herbs—and that they actually worked—I was even more astonished than you!”

“This…”

“I’m not entirely surprised by this outcome. You even pity lowly peasants and courtesans…” Prince Baldwin and Cesar were nearly brothers, differing only by blood—no, they were closer than true brothers, for even blood brothers quarrel over thrones, deceit, and blades.

“I couldn’t just watch…”

“Baldwin’s condition is far better than I imagined,” Heraclius said. “Your herbs are effective—but precisely because they work, you’ve invited great trouble.”

“Baldwin told me the Church forbids anyone but priests and monks from practicing medicine.”

“Practicing medicine?” Heraclius let out a loud scoff. “It’s more than that, Cesar. You never even asked me—yet even for Amalric I, I wouldn’t stand by and let Baldwin suffer. So why don’t I act? Why don’t I just give you a bit of St. John’s wort to appease you? Or do you think I’m as ignorant as those fools?”

“I didn’t…”

But Heraclius merely waved his hand. “Baldwin has contracted this dreadful illness. Yes, as far as I know, certain herbs might ease his pain and slow its progression—but we’ve still been praying, negotiating, bargaining.”

“Why? Simple. Even the permission to use herbs is monopolized by the Church. Only those herbs approved by the Pope in Rome are holy; all others are devil’s poison. We cannot risk it.”

He tapped the items on the table. “You haven’t yet encountered true malice. This isn’t knowledge or law accessible to everyone—Baldwin himself knows only fragments. But if someone proves you’ve used these herbs, and you’re neither monk nor priest, you’ll be labeled a servant of the devil.”

“But aren’t you already the Patriarch of Arasalu?” Cesar asked.

“Even a Patriarch fears enemies—especially when they’re numerous,” Heraclius said calmly. “You’re still naive. That’s fine—it’s our fault. We never imagined you could actually pull this off. Could it be that a thousand-year-old devil truly dwells within this perfect shell?” He even managed a wry joke: “But this ends here.”

“But—!” Cesar whispered.

At first, Baldwin had refused too—but his left hand’s symptoms had worsened to the point of impairing balance and grip. That vital limb sometimes became a useless burden; he’d forget what he held, letting it drop or shatter. And the patches—they began to swell, crack, or ulcerate. When he first saw, in morning light, the weeping scars resembling countless lash marks, Baldwin nearly broke down…

He had clung to illusions, but they shattered with startling speed and clarity, leaving no room for self-deception.

Baldwin could not sleep. His whole body itched and burned. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth. He begged again and again for the saints’ mercy. Saint George’s spear remained bright and sharp, yet never dispelled his terror. His oddities, of course, escaped no one who spent half his day beside him—Cesar.

Cesar proposed it. Baldwin opposed it. But Cesar never pressed him. He simply kept urging Baldwin.

The north tower is now “clean.” With Damara as cover, buying spices and seasonings at the market is perfectly reasonable. Who would believe a knight “blessed” by God understands herbs? Though he is Heraclius’s student, Heraclius has never let him cross that line on this matter.

Baldwin finally nodded—but at first, he allowed only the tiniest amount of medicine. Gradually, as people began attributing his relief to divine favor, they grew bolder.

“The Greek word ατρ, Latinized as īātrós—we long had the word ‘physician.’ In ancient Rome and earlier records—before the Church even existed—physician was a profession. Though many were slaves. So when did physicians vanish?”

“About a hundred years ago,” Heraclius answered himself. “It’s time you learned knowledge beyond books, child. This question traces back to the very beginning of the ‘Selection Ceremony.’ Don’t tell me you think the Selection Ceremony has existed since God created the world.”

He pointed downward, signaling Cesar to sit.

“In fact, the concept of pilgrimage only emerged in the second century—and not to Arasalu, but to Rome or the Apennines. Only in the fifth century did the notion of saints arise. And in 800, when Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne in Rome, came the divine right of kings. For centuries, the miracles performed by priests and monks were indispensable—who doesn’t fear sickness and death?”

And during those centuries, people discovered not every monk or priest could perform ‘divine arts.’ Some devout warriors or knights, after prayer, gained powers different from monks’ but equally awe-inspiring. The clever always exist—at least, as far as I know, some had long begun cataloging locations, numbers, and frequencies of divine bestowals.”

“You said the more sacred the place, the greater the chance of receiving blessing.”

“Precisely. At first, people focused on churches, monasteries, and saintly tombs. But later, they realized the key lay in holy relics. You know not every relic is genuine—but the authentic ones do increase the likelihood of blessing. Thus, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, ‘pilgrimage of penance’ emerged. Tell me: what is a pilgrimage of penance?”

The sudden question startled Cesar, yet stirred a strange feeling within him: “A pilgrimage of penance is when a sinner atones through mass, prayer, or purchasing indulgences—or by pilgrimage. He must journey far to Arasalu and bring back a genuine relic for the church as his atonement.”

Heraclius offered a faint smile. “Yes. I don’t know which cunning priest devised it, but it worked. Even though most returned false relics, some brought true ones—and those who possessed true relics soon saw young priests receive blessings…”

“Wait, Master—do you mean…”

“Exactly. Otherwise, why? Arasalu and its surrounding lands have been under infidel control for centuries. Its prosperity is well known. The pilgrimage routes weren’t suddenly blocked overnight. Besides, most sultans and caliphs were tolerant—so why did Pope Urban II only begin inciting the Crusade in 1095?”

“Don’t tell me it was because the Byzantine Emperor sent a plea for help—the Seljuk Turks didn’t appear at Constantinople’s walls one morning…”

“I can only say: where there’s demand, there’s action. Before the Crusaders even reached Arasalu, they looted vast wealth from Byzantium and shipped it back to Europe and the Apennines. From then on, those receiving blessings grew ever more numerous.”

Heraclius raised a finger. “Do you know? Before I saw the holy light upon you, I thought you’d never receive a blessing. You’re impossibly arrogant—don’t deny it. I know you don’t believe in God. Even if He appeared before you, you’d be more stubborn than Saint Paul (who refused to believe in Christ’s resurrection until Christ appeared to him).”

He muttered softly: “I don’t know where you came from—no, you believe in nothing. Allah? Ra? Whatever…”

“Still, you received a blessing—that’s good. But such fortune isn’t granted to everyone. Not even to priests, monks, a bishop’s illegitimate son, his mistress’s father, or his brother. So how do these people secure desirable positions?”

“They’re… physicians?”

“Precisely. Who doesn’t fall ill or get wounded? Knights do. Lords do. Kings do. Isn’t Baldwin proof? Even with divine favor, he remains a sick man. The Roman Church can still hold him as its most vital bargaining chip. Besides, the profession of physician has always conflicted with those who receive ‘blessings.’”

Cesar nodded. He understood. Not every monk or priest could instantly make the lame walk or cure lepers—that was Christ’s power alone. Ordinary priests and monks could treat only fractures, bleeding, fever, or diarrhea. But if physicians continued to exist, people might choose them instead.

After all, seeking treatment from monks or priests came at a cost no ordinary person could bear—sometimes demanding vast lands, hundreds of serfs, even forests and lakes.

Cesar had been cared for by a blessed monk at the Church of Saint John the Baptist only because his fever was mild and he’d fainted—not seriously injured—and because he was genuinely pitiable.

Even so, Abbot John had “casually” mentioned that if the bill were settled, even as a knight, Cesar would owe ten full years of debt.

“Do you understand now?” Heraclius pointed to the herbs Cesar had brought. “If anyone discovers you can use herbs to slow a leper’s affliction—even without curing it—every monk and priest will want to devour you alive. This isn’t about one or two people. It would shake the entire Church.”

“Would lords and kings think the same?”

“Tch,” Heraclius made a “this is terrible” face. “The devil himself would want you as his teacher, child. But you’re only one man. Amalric I protects you because you protect his heir. Others won’t. Unless you suddenly produce ten thousand physicians, they might only pretend to negotiate with the Church.”

“And you’ve hit the nail on the head,” Heraclius continued. “The Church has no army. It has only priests, monks, and God’s earthly dwellings—monasteries and churches. Lose those, and our former Patriarch becomes the cautionary tale for all clergy.”

Looking back, it was precisely because the Patriarch had openly refused to treat Baldwin—and even blocked Amalric I and his heir from entering the Holy Sepulchre during the Selection Ceremony—that the King decided to break completely.

And those oil lamps laced with opium—later abandoned, as expected. Just as they predicted, Heraclius’s potions could never be spoken of openly. To reveal them would spark a storm.

“But Baldwin…”

“Not for now,” Heraclius said. “We’re about to join the other Crusaders. Merchants will follow us. But who doesn’t know you’re Baldwin’s closest friend? Whatever you do, they’ll assume Baldwin did it…” He shook his head. “May God protect Baldwin—and you.”

He placed his hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “Now, leave these herbs—and everything that follows—to me.”

(End of Chapter)