Chapter 81

Baldwin looked at Cesar. He was asking Cesar if he had his own judgment on this case, but Cesar just shook his head and remained silent.

He could indeed see that among these two groups of Isaacites, Hadiri was indeed the weaker side, and there was Saracen testimony indicating that he was not a bad person.

What about Laban? He was at least a sharp guy. As early as when Amalric I was still stationed outside the city, he had defected without hesitation—and it was estimated that he was not doing grain business as he said. An Isaacite doing grain business would not need to be so oppressive to a fellow goldsmith.

Then what about Hadiri? Sorry, he was not as honest and selfless as those Saracens said. He might be a good person, but he must have hidden something. This secret, both he and Laban knew, just didn't want to tell others. Since that was the case, Cesar didn't want to interfere with his fate.

"Then let's do it according to what was agreed at the beginning."

As soon as Baldwin's words came out, a smile appeared on the Saracens' faces. Although Hadiri was also smiling, his smile always carried some shame and helplessness. It seemed that he also knew that his deception was very unfair to these Saracens.

Laban still wanted to beg. Baldwin lowered his head and said seriously to him: "I do know you. You are not a grain merchant. In fact, you have come to beg my father many times, hoping that he can grant you the right to mint coins. At the same time, you also do precious metal trading and currency exchange. You also lend money, lending money to many people."

"The knight I know once complained that you are a greedy dog. Don't be afraid. I say this not to accuse you, but to let you know that I understand your true intention."

Laban licked his lips nervously. Baldwin waved his hand, "But I cannot set a precedent. If this kind of auction-like behavior spreads in the city, it will do more harm than good to us—we now need to count all the population as soon as possible, and solve the things on them first—whether it is redemption or trading."

"You want to pay three times the price today, and someone wants to pay five times the price tomorrow. My father may get more money. But he is not a merchant, he is a King, and also a commander. This benefit is not worth our great effort to solve. Do you understand?"

"Yes, understand." Laban swallowed a mouthful of saliva unwillingly. He stood up slowly and looked at Hadiri: "... Anyway, you have to remember that you are still an Isaacite," he said gloomily.

At this time, the Saracen servants had also rushed back. They brought the money agreed upon before, and even a little more. The Saracens were very happy that the Templar was willing to make concessions in this regard. After all, when Laban proposed three times the price, they couldn't help but hesitate for a while.

Laban gritted his teeth and looked at them sullenly. He wanted to speak several times, but was suppressed by the remaining reason.

Cesar guessed what he wanted to say. Everything in this city already belonged to Amalric I.

Then where did the redemption money for these Saracens come from? This cannot be investigated in detail. After all, these are also people with status, and they did not participate in the rebellion against Amalric I. Even after Amalric I truly ruled this city, he would need them.

After all, it is impossible for there to be only Christians in this city. Even the Saracen road now lives with many Saracens and Isaacites. This is unavoidable. Any city that wants to be prosperous cannot retain its original purity.

Hadiri's family couldn't wait to run outside the city. Before Bilbeis fell again, he had long expected to set up a small workshop in the village outside the city.

Although there would probably be no business for him to do in the short term, he was originally an ordinary person who was content with poverty and happy with the way.

It was just that he didn't have peace for long. On the fourth night, another group of Isaacites came to this village. The leader was a real "teacher," a wise man among the Isaacites. As soon as he saw Hadiri, he immediately opened his arms, and Hadiri couldn't help but step forward and hug him tightly.

"Teacher!" he shouted with emotion.

"I thought you would die in Bilbeis," Hadiri's teacher said.

"I had originally made full preparations. But I didn't expect that I was caught by a Templar as soon as I left the city. Fortunately, he was not that kind of extremely evil person. He allowed us to go back to get our redemption money..."

Hadiri told his teacher the truth about what happened in the city. The teacher also had to say that Hadiri and his family had indeed received a lot of protection from God along the way. As long as one link was missing, all he could see was Hadiri's bones.

"That group of people still hasn't given up," Hadiri said after mentioning Laban.

"They will never give up. After all, that is..." The wise man of the Isaacites did not continue, and Hadiri did not either. He changed the subject and asked about the teacher's current situation, "We are nothing. Honestly, for us Isaacites, Christians and Saracens are not very different. They despise us, hit us, and have to use us."

Hadiri brewed a cup of hot tea with honey for him. The wise man took it and drank it in one gulp, letting out a long breath.

Although he had always been energetic and physically strong, hearing the news of Amalric I's second expedition, he rushed to Bilbeis without stopping—this urgent and long journey did indeed exhaust him.

But Hadiri was his best student. He originally should have become a wise man, but because of conflicts with some clansmen, he had to be a goldsmith.

Although he was also the best goldsmith as a goldsmith, seeing him, the wise man couldn't help but feel heartache: "Come back with me. Hadiri, I need you, and people who have the same ideas and persistence as us also need you."

"I hate war, teacher. I don't like any disputes and quarrels. I don't want to raise a butcher's knife against my own clansmen."

"This kind of thing doesn't need you to do it yourself."

"Is there any difference between the order I give and the hand I move?"

The wise man sighed long, "But you have also seen that in this world, there are wars everywhere, because of faith, because of interests, because of land, even just for a horse, a sheep, a copper coin, where can you hide? I heard that Amalric I is about to attack Fustat. Although you are hiding here, soon the people here will be summoned."

"The fruit trees here will be cut down, and the farmland will be deserted because no one takes care of it. Next year, this place will be a great famine. Where can you go?"

"Unless you no longer be an Isaacite, abandon our faith..."

"I will absolutely not do that," Hadiri said excitedly.

"Then think about it again. You still have two daughters in their prime. Do you want them to lose their chastity and lives in this war? If you go back, I can still pick two suitable people from the lads. After they get married and have children, your bloodline can continue to be passed on."

"By then, you will find that your sacrifice is completely worth it."

How Hadiri responded to his teacher, we don't know for the time being, but the wise man was right. Amalric I did not force every Muslim to do hard labor for him, but these people were empty-handed and left the city with nothing.

Even if nearby villages could accommodate them, there were tens of thousands of people. Where would their food come from? And the farmers in the village also had to prepare to survive the next few months.

They wanted to pick fruits to satisfy their hunger, catch flying birds and beasts, but these had long been looted by the Crusader knights. Where could such good things wait for them? Even the fish in lakes and rivers were much less.

At this time, Amalric I issued a notice, preaching to them that as long as they were willing to work for him, they could get certain rations and remuneration. What kind of things? Needless to say, of course, it was to attack Fustat—more carriages, more siege towers, ballistae, battering rams, catapults... more spears, more protective walls, more tents and houses...

The trees outside Bilbeis, those date palms, olive trees, pomegranate trees, and fig trees that had grown for several years, more than ten years, or even decades, and were full of fruits, fell one after another in the painful eyes of the Saracens. They had to do so. This was their future, but if they refused to serve, they wouldn't even have the present.

Baldwin and Cesar had also seen how people in the Saracen road made these machines—that was the time when the King was preparing to attack the Tortosa castle, but compared with this time, it was like comparing a toddler who was learning to walk with a giant several feet high. They stood high and looked out. The craftsmen were like ants, and the piled wood and stones were like sugar cubes.

"Alright," Heraclius put his hand on their shoulders and pushed them gently: "Let's go down and see."

The person responsible for this important project was Heraclius. Some people had objections to this. After all, Heraclius was no longer a monk beside the King, but the Patriarch of the Saracen road. But clearly, both Amalric I and Heraclius felt that supervising the construction of siege machines, works, and campsites was far more suitable for the latter than kneeling before the altar and praying.

Heraclius, of course, would not let go of such an excellent opportunity—looking at pictures, words, listening to explanations, where is there a better way than going to the scene to see, touch, and understand!

"This is a siege ballista," the teacher said.

For Cesar and Baldwin to see, it was still just a trapezoidal frame with beams in the middle and four square fixed feet at the bottom. They were stacked layer by layer and transported to another area, where people installed metal parts and elastic horsehair ropes on them, and finally they were properly fixed, becoming a huge combination, and another group of people stuffed them with straw and loaded them onto carriages.

Cesar only then discovered that people at this time already had a rough and simple assembly line consciousness, but this consciousness was generated from the isolation of professions, like a blacksmith needing a wooden dinner plate, he couldn't just shave one to use; if a carpenter needed nails, he couldn't just knock one or make a puppet; if a stonemason was good at carving, he couldn't cast iron statues or make a puppet.

What they did, what they sold, what they bought, all had the restrictions of guild rules. At the same time, they also recognized these rules. These outdated customs originated from the craftsmen on noble lands—any kind of craft, sending letters, leading the way, raising cattle, collecting honey and beeswax... were strictly kept secret by every craftsman and passed down like a treasure.

Anyone who dared to steal learning, even if they were already apprentices, would be whipped or even executed.

With such a tradition, everyone was used to not interfering with others, only doing their own work, and handing it over to another person to complete the subsequent processes after finishing...

As far as Cesar knew, even the blacksmiths here had extremely detailed distinctions. Some were good at forging horseshoes, spurs, and bits, while others were good at making, repairing, and sharpening tools for carpenters and stonemasons. Some could forge exquisite and sturdy railings and window lattices, and some even specialized in making nails... large and small, all kinds of nails, from the smallest bent hook nails used to fix armor plates, to the largest nails used to fix ship anchors or figureheads...

"This is a flat-shot ballista and a projection ballista."

Heraclius did not disturb these people's work, but walked to the finished product and pointed it to them, "Around the 5th century BC, the Phoenicians here made the current ballistae, but they could not be fired into the air, only flat-shot. And the Macedonians, the ballistae they made were said to be able to throw metal arrowheads of 100 pounds or even heavier, or 50-pound stones."

"These ballistae can destroy battlements or some thinner ramparts that are more fragile than city walls."

He walked a few steps and pointed to another crossbow for them to see: "This is a ballista improved by the Romans after they conquered the Phoenicians and Macedonians, allowing it to be thrown further and cause greater damage. They called it a Roman ballista or a scorpion," he stood in front of this crossbow that was clearly longer than other ballistae and made a hugging gesture: "It looks like a scorpion stretching out its front claws, right?"

"And this kind," he pointed to a machine installed in a wooden box: "This is a torsion ballista and its stand. This machine requires strict and precise requirements, so it cannot be stacked and stored at will. It's a bit troublesome, and the production time is long, but it is more stable, has a longer range, and has greater power."

"These ballistae need to be readjusted when firing. Temperature, humidity, and newness will all affect their power and accuracy. Skilled archers only need to listen to whether the sounds of the two bowstrings are consistent to determine—if they are different, they need to be adjusted manually. By the time you are on the battlefield, you will be able to feel it personally."

The sizes of these ballistae were also different. Some were as small as chairs, some were like cabinets, and some were directly mounted on carriages. One carriage, one ballista.

"There are bigger ones, but they can only be assembled on the battlefield," Heraclius said. He noticed Baldwin's gaze fell on a wooden machine that also looked like a ballista: "No, child, that is not a ballista."

He said: "That is called a 'wild donkey,' also from the Romans, but we added two arms to them, allowing it to be fired further."

"But it is still a catapult."

(End of chapter)