Chapter 71

Although he accepted the little master's request, Longinus didn't hold any hope at all.

Cesar was right. There were indeed some people who were always regretful and resentful that they couldn't hold a "Selection Ceremony." They always blamed all the setbacks in life on the stinginess of relatives and the greed of clerics. Even Longinus, when he lost his servant, horse, and armor in the Holy Land, had once hated his father and brothers while dead drunk.

But later, he saw many people who had similar experiences to him—they came to the Holy Land, looking for opportunities, but never succeeded. Those who were inherently violent and vicious didn't need to be said, even those who were originally kind—some of them even gave Longinus help—didn't escape the curse.

A bad situation, complicated human hearts, and the darkness of not seeing the future could make people collapse overnight.

Some people joined the knight orders, but they could only become the lowest-level walking servants and handymen, or horse boys, just like what Longinus had done in the Templar Order.

They held a glimmer of luck, thinking that if they could participate in the fighting, perhaps they would be favored by the knight commander or cleric in the knight order and promoted to the position of squire.

There were also some people just because they took an oath to kill a certain number of heathens before they could return home, or it could be said, also to have a foundation for standing in the future after returning to Frank or the Apennines.

But the endings of these people were not very good. At least Longinus hadn't heard of any—if there were, the rumors in taverns and markets would have been burned hot long ago.

More people became beggars and criminals, or both.

They looted pilgrims, looted merchants, looted clerics. They committed crimes, unscrupulously, every day as if it were their last. Longinus's sword was sharpened on them.

The faces of these people wandered and flashed in his nightmares every day. They laughed, stretched out their arms, as if welcoming Longinus to join them.

Among them were Longinus's friends (he met after coming to Lazarus), and Longinus's enemies. They said, as if blessing or cursing, that Longinus would eventually become one of them.

If Longinus suddenly woke up in a cold sweat, it must have been after he stabbed someone to death, opened his body, and saw his own face.

But ever since he followed his little master, such nightmares were fewer, but he hadn't had any dreams worth mentioning.

Longinus bent his back. When he knelt by the altar, he thought that if he wasn't chosen—which was most likely—he would pretend to break his leg and stay in the castle of Gaza-Jaffa.

Of course, this way he couldn't repay the little master's debt, nor could he fulfill the oath to kill three Saracens, but he knew Cesar asked him to hold the "Selection Ceremony" just to fight for a glimmer of life in the cruel war that followed—he was always so good.

Longinus shook his head. He raised his eyes, gazing at Jesus Christ on the crucifix and the saints surrounding Him, and couldn't help but recall the scene of him leading pilgrims one by one through the pine door, the black oak door, and the cedar door.

When those devout people knelt on the ground, shedding tears, weeping and repenting to their heart's content, what was he thinking?

Thinking about money.

How much for a man, how much for a woman, Isaacites had to triple it; how much for a minor crime, how much for a serious crime; how much for touching the baptismal stone, how much for stepping into the Passion Square, how much for lifting the wool cloth on the Holy Sepulchre.

Want holy objects? How much for candles, how much for crosses, even a stone, a handful of sand had their own prices.

For a person like him, even if the ground split open and let him fall directly into the lake of fire, he wouldn't be surprised. How could he expect those saints who lived high in heaven to be willing to lower their eyes to look at such a puddle of filth?

Before meeting Cesar, he had even thought that when he didn't want to live anymore, he would grab a horse, rush to Damascus or any place with Saracens, fight with the first person who rushed out, then the second, the third... until they killed him.

This way, even if he didn't wipe holy oil or perform sacraments, at least he wouldn't fall directly into hell, but could wait for the arrival of the end of the world in purgatory.

So he was calm now.

Being chosen was a great honor and surprise. If not chosen, he would stay in the safe Gaza-Jaffa, which would also save his little master from worry. That's it. Being a servant wasn't bad. At least with a personality like Cesar's, he might even have a decent tomb.

————

Longinus was knocked awake by a group of angry monks. He was pulled up, dazed, and dragged for a long distance until he was pushed out the door, and the door slammed shut behind him.

He looked up at the pitch-black sky, the few twinkling stars, and the gray-white sand, realizing that he might have fallen asleep during the "Selection Ceremony."

The wandering knight smacked his lips, feeling his throat was like swallowing a handful of charcoal, dry and parched.

About what time was it? Longinus guessed it should be the second None (two to three in the morning), which meant he had spent a day and a night in the church, perhaps a bit more.

This dark and thin guy laughed. It seemed his little master would be disappointed. He seemed to have just had a sleep—although this might be the most comfortable and enjoyable sleep he had ever had in his life, and he even had a good dream.

In the dream, he was a robber, imprisoned in a jail. And every year, the Governor of Rome had one chance to pardon prisoners. He, of course, hoped to be pardoned, but also knew the hope was not great.

Because in the cell next to him, there was a good man imprisoned. Although he hadn't seen this person, he had heard that he was a person with great power, but also compassionate and selfless.

His crime was not killing anyone, or raping a woman, or robbing money, but because his good deeds infringed on the interests and authority of the Isaacite priests and elders.

Especially after he entered Lazarus, people scrambled to see him, spreading palm branches and clothes at his feet, crowding him into the temple, countless people came to listen to him preach, spreading the gospel...

Such a person, compared to a lowly thief, who knew how to choose?

But the facts were so ironic. The one released was not that good man, but him, this bad man.

He thought he would fly away quickly, but he didn't. He draped his robe over his head, watching that person being stripped of his clothes, suffering whipping, until he was covered in wounds.

Then, this innocent person was forced to carry a heavy crossbeam, under the arrows of Roman soldiers, walking out of Lazarus step by step, walking up to Golgotha, where he was nailed to the cross.

Every strike of the soldiers, every stab, felt like it was poking at his heart. He was numb all over, unable to move. He wanted to laugh, but found himself in tears...

"You die for me," he muttered: "I live for you."

"I am Barabbas."

Then, Longinus was beaten awake by the monks.

He picked up the leather armor and weapons that were thrown out with him, put them on, and walked out of the shadow of the Church of St. John the Baptist, but he was still chaotic and wooden.

He looked at his fingers, then turned to look at his back, legs, and shoulders. There was no anomaly indicating he had been chosen. No light, no music, just as plain as every day before.

"I need to drink some water," he said to himself, and then observed the situation around him with the bright daylight—from the first day he arrived in Gaza-Jaffa, he hadn't stopped his steps, while completing his work, he also rode a horse or walked to explore the terrain and buildings around Gaza-Jaffa for his little master.

His little master Cesar had a skill that made people admire—perhaps many skills.

Anyway, before Cesar, Longinus had never seen a person who could draw a map that was eight or nine out of ten accurate just by his description. He even drew curved lines and marked numbers on it to indicate whether this area was a depression or a hill, used shadows to represent lakes, used double lines to represent rivers... and some symbols that even Longinus couldn't understand.

But even if he couldn't understand, Longinus had to say that as long as he had such a map, he could lead an army to attack Gaza-Jaffa.

Although it was indeed not very good-looking, without saint paintings, without lace and decorations, and without houses, trees, and flags, only bare lines, numbers, and letters... but this was the essence of a map.

Cesar modified it many times, and the discarded maps were burned. When Longinus was cleaning up, he found that a quarter of a map, perhaps only the size of a palm, was miraculously preserved. After hesitating for a long time, he hid it, just in his leather armor.

He remembered that not far from the Church of St. John the Baptist, there was a well square. As the name suggests, there was an octagonal stone well in the center of the square, and the water inside was cold and sweet. Thinking of this, he couldn't bear it anymore and walked quickly toward it, wanting to drink his fill as soon as possible to relieve the heat in his chest.

The square was silent, not a ghost in sight. Longinus cursed secretly, remembering that he didn't carry a pot or a bucket. Could he jump into the well to drink water? He should have made those clerics suffer and knocked the door open to ask for water.

But then he had an idea. He could pull out the cotton shirt in his leather armor, put it down with a rope, and pull it up after it was soaked with water—this water would undoubtedly have a taste, but not being particular, Longinus had even drunk mule urine when he was lost in the desert. His own taste wouldn't be more disgusting than that.

But just as he walked to the well, he kicked a wooden bucket.

Longinus's face immediately sank. He didn't think that people here would discard a wooden bucket casually—a wooden bucket was also a piece of heritage worth passing down for those commoners, and it was one of the furniture that every family or even every person couldn't lack.

He walked slowly to the wooden bucket, lifted it, and there was still some water shaking inside. He lifted the bucket and drank and poured it. The flame was immediately extinguished, and his eyes and ears became more sensitive.

The wandering knight heard a wooing sound like wind blowing through sand, and also heard a huffing sound like wood burning in a furnace, and also a creaking sound like a door hitting the frame, accompanied by the iron hinges on it, and the ping-pong sound. These sounds were very small. If it were a careless or cautious person, they would surely be ignored.

For a moment, Longinus just wanted to leave immediately. He had seen many such things before and would never meddle in other people's business.

Why bother? If he was injured, he had no money to hire a cleric to treat him, and could only rely on sand and cloth strips to stop the bleeding. He had also had a fever, and it was entirely God's protection that he lowered his temperature on the cold stone slab—he didn't dare to bet that everyone he saved was a good person like Cesar.

But he thought of his little master, who said he would walk to the cruel Templar and persuade him to abandon his castle, and walk to King Amalric I and persuade him not to slaughter the people in the castle—just for some lowly people he had never known, and those people might never know that someone had been willing to sacrifice his life for them...

He stood there, feeling it might have been as long as a hundred years, but it was just the time for the wind to dry the last drop of water on his cheek.

Longinus turned abruptly and strode in one direction. It was an abandoned house, possibly a bathhouse used by the Saracens who occupied this place to clean themselves. After the Crusader knights occupied Gaza-Jaffa, these buildings used by heathens to blaspheme the holy land were all demolished—of course, those magnificent and vast temples were exceptions.

This bathhouse only had some broken walls left. Anything of value was removed. There was no door, no window, only a broken ceiling and walls that still stood. Longinus turned past the half-person-high brick wall and saw the situation inside with the help of the light outside.

Those wooing sounds like wind blowing through sand came from a girl whose mouth was covered, and the huffing sound came from the heavy breathing of the thugs, and the sound of the door hitting the frame and the iron hinges came from their chainmail, shields, and weapons.

No explanation was needed. At a glance, Longinus understood. This girl might have run out to fetch water while everyone was asleep at night.

As for the reason, it didn't need to be said. As the large army gradually gathered in Gaza-Jaffa, the preparation time became longer and longer. No locals dared to approach those cowhide tents anymore, and King Amalric I was also constantly receiving complaints—heathens, Isaacites, and Christians were not without them.

But these things had always been unavoidable. When Longinus was still in his hometown, even in the smallest territorial war, farmers and craftsmen couldn't avoid being ravaged.

There were three knights wearing surcoats and chainmail. One was holding the girl firmly, not letting her shout, and two were holding longswords, vigilantly looking at the newcomer.

Seeing Longinus's wandering knight attire, their expressions relaxed suddenly, even with a hint of impatience. One knight put down his longsword, then touched his belt a few times, took out a silver coin, and threw it over.

Longinus didn't catch it. The silver coin fell to the ground and spun around.

"That's good enough, bastard," the knight said: "Take the money and get out. There's no share for you here."

"Who is that girl?"

"A Saracen, a heathen prostitute," another knight replied. The girl heard it, struggled desperately, widened her eyes, and tears like dew flowed from her dark brown eyes.

"We are about to use devout kisses and hugs to convert her," the one holding her said. Longinus then discovered that this guy was not a knight, but a cleric wearing chainmail.

"She will become devout, and she will become a good Christian," the cleric continued: "If she is unwilling, or if someone comes to disturb this sacred ritual, they will all go to hell."

He was satisfied to see this wandering knight start to hesitate, and then bent down, as if to pick up that silver coin.

But the next moment, he screamed!

(End of chapter)