Chapter 304: The Blinded Baldwin
Bishop Andrew hurriedly rushed to the door to call priests to treat Patriarch Heraclius, while Caesar hurriedly turned Heraclius over to make him lie on his side, lest the condition worsen.
Stroke is also one of the complications of malignant malaria—using medicine was ultimately a bit too late, only hoping this symptom is not serious. While the priests crowded around continuously bestowing blessings on the Patriarch, Caesar finally made a decision.
“Poppy paste?”
Bishop Andrew asked in surprise, and Caesar nodded firmly.
He of course knew that if Heraclius woke up again, he would inevitably try his utmost to stop him from continuing what he was doing now. The teacher liked him and cared for him, but his thoughts were not much different from those of the current noble persons—in short, they did not believe that the lives of commoners were worth a knight or a lord sacrificing for.
Moreover, he had already noticed that someone was using this method to hunt Caesar. Even if using forcible means, he would demand that Caesar leave Bethlehem immediately, but it might already be too late, Caesar thought. This could not even be called a conspiracy; it could be called an open stratagem.
It could be said that from the moment they had to return to Bethlehem because of the apparition of Saint Jerome, they had lost. He could not violate the values and morality standards he had established in another world; he could not watch with open eyes as the people of a city died one after another from a plague that should not have happened, when he clearly knew he could provide aid.
Such things, this was not the first time he had done them, nor the last time. They had indeed targeted his weakness. The problem was that the Patriarch’s current condition no longer allowed him to expend more energy and effort, much less become emotionally agitated. Using some medicine that could put him into a coma at this time was also a last resort.
Caesar also had to feel fortunate that because he had been away from Ayyarasa Road too long, Baldwin had not stayed in Bethlehem and had now returned to the Holy City; otherwise, he would have to face another difficult-to-persuade relative and friend.
But presumably, Holy Cross Castle was not so peaceful now either.
————
Caesar had guessed correctly; the people in Holy Cross Castle had already had several quarrels.
As soon as the young King heard that a plague had broken out in Bethlehem, his first thought was to immediately mount his horse and rush to his brother and friend. But before Pollux could be led out from the stables, Bohemond arrived hurriedly. The Duke of Antioch stood firmly in front of the King with a tough attitude, not allowing him to take a single step out of Holy Cross Castle.
“You are the King of Ayyarasa Road, the Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, the Commander of the Crusaders.
The responsibilities you bear are absolutely not just your own—this point I believe you understood long ago.”
“I want to go to Bethlehem.”
“Bethlehem has already been sealed off,” Bohemond said irrefutably, “and we have also blocked the roads leading to Bethlehem. Whether someone wants to enter or leave, they will be stopped.
If they insist on going their own way, I have already permitted my knights to shoot arrows at them—Your Majesty, this is a plague, not a trifle. You must not only consider your friend and brother but also the Holy City and the millions of people around it.”
“Indeed,” another voice suddenly interjected into their conversation. People turned to look and saw Princess Sibylla walking out from the side hall with her head held high; her marriage to Abigail had never gone smoothly.
Now, Abigail had become a complete waste, and people were discussing when this marriage would be declared invalid, but for now, it seemed she and Bohemond were still allies. “I watched with my own eyes as Caesar entered Holy Cross Castle, and I know why you value and like him so much. I admit he is a good child, loyal, bold, and strong.
And you, my brother, though you have unfortunately contracted a terrible disease, everything you possess is in no way inferior to his. You should not sacrifice for him.
The devils that come along with the plague have always been impartial. It invades every person’s body without change due to status, age, gender, or character. Are there few monarchs who have died from the plague?
Pericles, the creator of Athens’s Golden Age, also perished from the plague. His death directly affected the Peloponnesian War at the time, ultimately leading to Athens’s defeat. The Athenians had to surrender to the Spartans, which led to the fall of Ancient Greece.
And in the Ancient Rome period, smallpox and measles were rampant for a time; they once consecutively took the lives of two Roman Emperors. The first was Verus, and the second was his heir Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.
And in 270, the Ancient Rome Emperor Claudius Gothicus also died from malaria.
And closer to us is Emperor Justinian. The Black Death took not only his twenty million subjects but also his health and ambitions. Although he avoided death and rebellion, ultimately he had to watch his Empire decline.
Now, do you want to become the fifth monarch to die from the plague? Whenever people see this piece of history, they will mock you, because you could have been safe and sound, yet you insist on walking into that death trap.”
“I once swore to Caesar,” Baldwin answered calmly, “and he also swore to me. We swore that no matter what dangers or difficulties we encountered, we would face the enemy together and never betray each other.
We have already faced the Seljuk Turks and the Saracens together.” His gray-blue eyes, inherited from Amaury I, looked at everyone one by one. “Perhaps also rebels. Now the enemy he faces is the plague, and I should be by his side.”
“No, you should stay here even more. I believe what Caesar needs now is not you—at least not you as an individual. Though you are deeply favored by God and blessed by Saint George, how can one knight compare to a king? What he needs at this time is not your spear, but your power.”
“Mother.”
The Countess of Jaffa walked out from behind Sibylla. “I know you have deep friendship with him and an inseparable blood tie. But you must consider not only yourself but also him. If you stay here, you can continuously provide support to Bethlehem.” She glanced at Bohemond and the envoy standing beside him, and asked, “What is the situation in Bethlehem now? Besides Patriarch Heraclius, what about Bishop Andrew and the Knight of Bethlehem?
Have they been infected with the epidemic, and are they overwhelmed by fatigue and overwork?”
The messenger pondered for a moment and shook his head. “No, when I left, they were still well, and the Patriarch’s condition was under control. The priests are treating him day and night.
It’s just that he is already of such an age; his recovery will inevitably be slower than others.
Bishop Andrew and the Knight of Bethlehem are both well, and there has been no riot or disturbance in the city.” He hesitated but still said: “The people all greatly trust the Little Saint. As long as he says it, no one is unwilling to obey his orders. He is gathering the patients and trying to treat them…”
“Does Bethlehem have that many priests?”
Someone muttered lowly, while a pleased and smug smile appeared on Bohemond’s face.
“You may be right, Mother. I am the King of Ayyarasa Road, and precisely because I am the King. So do you think I can only issue my decrees and implement my policies from within Holy Cross Castle? Do I become an ordinary knight the moment I leave Holy Cross Castle, needing to wag my tail and beg others to aid Bethlehem?”
Baldwin said this, immediately stumping the Countess of Jaffa. She cast a pleading gaze toward the Queen Mother of Ayyarasa Road, who was the wife of Amalric I. The relationship between her and the Countess was very awkward. To avoid conflict or scheming by those with ulterior motives, the two noblewomen rarely appeared in the same place.
But at this time, Queen Mother Maria had to come; this was not the time for her to sit on the sidelines. If they failed to dissuade the King, the King would really rush straight to Bethlehem and confront the terrible plague there together with Caesar.
And plague is not like war. Although both are classified as heavenly calamities, war is controllable—personnel, horses, provisions, apparatus, or fortifications can directly affect the victory or defeat of a war.
But plague is not. Human strength is negligible in the face of plague; countless people have proven this with their lives.
But compared to others, Queen Mother Maria guessed as soon as she learned the news that Baldwin would definitely set out for Bethlehem regardless of dissuasion, so she was also prepared. Her envoy arrived in Bethlehem earlier than anyone else’s.
“This is a letter Caesar wrote to you.”
Even Baldwin was stunned for a moment. “A letter Caesar wrote to me? When?”
When they had just discovered the epidemic in Bethlehem, Queen Mother Maria said in her heart. Her envoy had not arrived that quickly, but as if by telepathy, halfway there he had the fortune to encounter a Bethlehem messenger also galloping on horseback. He was carrying a letter from the Knight of Bethlehem to the King of Ayyarasa Road.
“Open it and see.” The Queen Mother urged.
Baldwin was not very willing to read the letter Caesar wrote to him in front of everyone; he had already roughly guessed what Caesar would say, but he still opened it.
“My brother, I write to you from Bethlehem. When you receive this letter, you must already know that Bethlehem is suffering an outbreak of malignant malaria.
I say this precisely because this plague far exceeds any previous epidemic.
Because malaria often breaks out in the army, many people take it lightly, thinking it is not as terrible as smallpox or the Black Death. But similarly, it can bring pain and death: high fever, convulsions, vomiting, and diarrhea… In more severe cases, it will cause changes in your organs—of course, bad changes. They will rot inside your body, even leaking dark blood.
You will feel very cold while feverish, accompanied by severe pain.
Baldwin, I describe it in such detail precisely to make you know the seriousness of this matter. I know you must be eager to rush to me, and I know you are willing to share this heavy responsibility with me.
But I hope you do not come. As a knight, a subject, and your cousin, I have never considered myself a coward. I can take responsibility for my knights on the battlefield and for my subjects in my city.
But only you, my King Majesty, to me you are like a towering mountain. I hope to rely on you, depend on you, but cannot accept bringing danger to you instead. Please forgive my current cowardice. Just thinking of you coming here and suffering the torments I have witnessed fills me with fear and sleepless anxiety.
Similarly, I believe the saints must favor you and me; he will not let you lose your dearest friend, nor let me fail your love and expectations.
I believe we will meet again one day.
Your subject and brother.”
By the time Baldwin finished reading the entire letter, everyone present cast admiring looks at Queen Mother Maria. They had to admire Queen Mother Maria’s foresight, or rather her understanding of these two children.
Even if the devil crawled out of hell, or more blasphemously, if an angel descended from heaven and landed before Baldwin, it would probably be hard to stop him from going to Bethlehem unless they could bring Caesar back from Bethlehem to Holy Cross Castle.
And Caesar’s letter was written very cleverly. If he, like others, tried to dissuade Baldwin using Baldwin’s own interests and safety, Baldwin probably would not heed it, but Caesar used another way. Baldwin had to consider how great the guilt Caesar would bear if he really died from infecting the plague.
No, it should be said that even if no one blamed Caesar, he would die from the torment of unbearable guilt.
This was the only way to stop Baldwin; Baldwin did not even dare to risk trying it.
“We can send some necessary supplies to Bethlehem—food, fuel, cloth, oil, or some herbs—of course, this must be under the supervision of the Church.”
Berion said in a timely manner.
“As the Duke of Antioch said, their knights have sealed off the roads around Bethlehem. Presumably, this plague will not spread to more places, but there will definitely be shortages of provisions in the city.”
“Have people started fleeing already?” Queen Mother Maria asked.
“Such things are always inevitable.” Bohemond said.
They had to ensure the safety of the Holy City and surrounding cities; this was reasonable, and it should even have been the King’s decree originally.
People at this time already had the concept of quarantine, which was also why pilgrims and merchants must hold passes. Besides them possibly being enemy spies, it was also to check if they had passed through plague-ravaged areas. And once a place broke out in plague, surrounding cities would immediately prohibit outsiders from entering, even if they had not passed through the epidemic area. Such blockade measures might last a full year or longer, until ensuring no new outbreaks in that city.
“All churches and monasteries in the City of Ayyarasa Road will pray for Bethlehem,” the Bishop of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre stepped forward and said. “We will also hold Mass, one sacrament after another, hoping to dispel God’s wrath and make him withdraw his punishment.”
“Punishment? Does Bethlehem have any place that can be called sinful? Saint Jerome just had an apparition in their Monastery of Saint Jerome!”
The King’s rebuke immediately made that rash Bishop lower his head. This was indeed his mistake; it was just unknown whether it was unintentional offense or deliberate.
The priest beside the Bishop hurriedly stepped forward. “Perhaps devils are at work. Maybe they do this precisely to prevent our Lord from gaining more pious followers. They use disease and death to intimidate believers, shake their faith, and tempt their minds—just as it is said, where there is sunlight, the shadows are dense.”
Baldwin vaguely felt something was off, but he truly could not say exactly what was wrong. Surrounding him were all familiar faces—from Queen Mother Maria to his mother the Countess of Jaffa, to his sister Princess Sibylla and the Duke of Antioch Bohemond, as well as several neighboring lords. They had practically watched him grow up—they had been his father’s subjects, and now were his subjects. They came to dissuade him out of duty and righteousness.
After all, they were neither Baldwin nor Caesar and could not understand the deep bond between them.
It was just that he always felt Bohemond’s smile was extremely strange, like a hunter watching his prey walk into a trap. He suppressed his final unease.
Should he insist? But Caesar’s plea was still ringing in his ears. “You are the King.” Queen Mother Maria advised again. “Caesar must be extremely busy now. Your teacher Heraclius, His Excellency the Patriarch, is gravely ill and unable to rise. The people of Bethlehem are suffering endlessly, unable to find relief.
If you go, he will have to come receive you and serve you. Even if you refuse, he cannot treat you as an ordinary knight. Do you want him to divide his attention to receive you at this time?”
This was indeed true; if Caesar did not do so, the one questioned would not be Baldwin, but Caesar.
“Come now,” Empress Dowager Maria extended her hand to the King. “Let us think carefully about how we should aid Bethlehem.
