Chapter 301: Whose Responsibility?
Bishop Andrew truly and sincerely wanted to take on this heavy responsibility for Caesar.
Although the Church’s accountability was inevitable, he was at least the Provost of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre and the Bishop of Bethlehem. Even if in the end he faced the worst situation and could not free himself from the charge, he could greatly seek God’s forgiveness by relinquishing all his positions and retiring to a monastery.
He was already old and not enthusiastic about power. Being able to spend the latter half of his life peacefully might be a reward rather than a punishment for him.
But things always develop contrary to people’s wishes.
Bethlehem is a small city with about eight thousand residents, but after the apparition of Saint Jerome, countless pilgrims came from all directions. They crowded into this city, and the population doubled day by day, even exceeding the original number of the small city—roughly estimated, Bethlehem now has about twenty thousand people.
And among these twenty thousand people, according to the results obtained by the priests, about one thousand or more had contracted malaria—among them there might be some with fever or exhaustion mixed in, but one-third had already developed severe cases. They could not move on their own legs like the other patients but had to be carried in.
The priests’ residence attached to the Church of the Nativity certainly could not accommodate so many patients. After thinking it over, Bishop Andrew decided to send them to the Monastery of Mar Saba.
The Monastery of Mar Saba is built on a cliff overlooking the green Jirun Valley, only three leagues from the city center. It is not a monastery built by Christians but was constructed by priests of the Byzantine Orthodox Church in AD 483.
It has a famous brass roof, where the holy relics of Saint Saba—the immortal ascetic—are preserved, along with about one hundred and twenty martyred monks who rest eternally with him.
From the outside, the monastery looks unremarkable, even somewhat dilapidated, but it is vast in area with numerous rooms, and it has many courtyards and terraces—when necessary, the patients could also be placed here to rest.
It just has one rather strict rule: women are prohibited from entering.
But malaria does not care whether you are an old man, a young man, a man, or a woman; there were quite a few women among the patients.
However, Bishop Andrew, who had long known of this outdated custom, did not hesitate at all. He waved his hand, and the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre rushed forward, binding these stubborn monks and then carrying them out of the Monastery of Mar Saba in a grand procession.
The monks naturally made a lot of noise, but as the knights carried them down the steep stairs, they gradually quieted down.
Because they saw the patients tormented by malaria in unbearable pain, some even had to be strapped to shields or wooden boards to prevent them from struggling wildly and harming themselves or others.
“We have never encountered such a situation before. Is this really just malaria? Or a more terrifying epidemic?” a monk muttered, and his companion beside him was silent for a moment before beginning to pray for these poor people.
Forget it; the original rule at Mar Saba was because the monks in the monastery needed to abstain from women. Women were not allowed inside to avoid tempting them, but now they had all been “removed” from the monastery. It did not matter if some ladies stayed there.
When Bishop Andrew heard that the monks of the Monastery of Mar Saba had finally calmed down and stopped shouting, even willing to do their part for Bethlehem, he also breathed a sigh of relief.
Although the current Byzantine Empire and the Orthodox Church under its rule were still allies with the Crusaders, churches and monasteries were originally on the most sensitive nerve of religious people.
And another problem followed closely: the number of patients kept increasing.
Previously, they had found more than a thousand patients, which already made some priests lament repeatedly.
And as the sun rose and the moon set—those patients and their relatives who had originally stayed away out of fear of being deceived by the priests or for other reasons had no choice but to come out. Their symptoms had worsened: high fever, convulsions, diarrhea, and vomiting, with no way to conceal them. Once discovered, they would be driven out of their houses and collapse on the streets, enduring the alternating torment of the scorching sun and the night’s chill, and they could not hold out for long.
The number of patients soon doubled from one thousand to two thousand, then from two thousand to three thousand, and it was still rising.
Not only that, the fleeing residents of Bethlehem were also driven back.
“It is the army of the Duke of Antioch,” they said in panic. “They have blocked all the surrounding roads.”
And those heading toward Damascus encountered the army of the Count of Tripoli, as well as lords from Galilee and other places. They seemed to have anticipated it and blocked every escape route for the people of Bethlehem.
Although the escapees repeatedly argued that the outbreak in the city was malaria, not smallpox or the Black Death, if that were the case, why were they fleeing?
They were refused at the cold spear tips of the knights and the towering city wall. After cries, appeals, and threats all failed, they could only return to Bethlehem, trembling in fear, locking themselves in their houses, thinking this would allow them to escape the epidemic.
But this was obviously not in line with Caesar and Bishop Andrew’s wishes—these people might already be infected and would surely become infected in the future.
Bishop Andrew had governed this small city on behalf of Amalric I for ten years or so, but he was no different from any other holy office holder—people did not fear or hate him, but they did not trust him much either.
So when Bishop Andrew made some requests that the people here could not understand, they were unwilling to comply.
Moreover, there were many pilgrims who had come from various places, and they knew nothing about Bishop Andrew.
But whether they were from Ayyarasa Road or residents of the surrounding areas, as long as they had passed through those cities, they must have heard of the Little Saint’s fame, not to mention those who had passed through Cyprus—they had witnessed firsthand how much change a benevolent and tolerant lord could bring to his territory.
They had not heard of Bishop Andrew’s name and were naturally wary of him, unwilling to fully follow his instructions, such as not urinating or defecating anywhere, not drinking raw water, and not lying down casually in places with dense vegetation—now when Bishop Andrew was recruiting manpower, he also faced their doubts. Although cleaning the streets was a way to combat the plague, they always suspected the bishop wanted to drive them out under this pretext.
Bishop Andrew also could not explain to these people—malaria is transmitted by mosquitoes. Although he was willing to believe Caesar, this sounded truly unbelievable—what’s more, this was not knowledge held by the Church. If he said so, the charge would add another count in the future.
But if he did not explain, even if he was willing to pay a reward, no one would be willing to do these things.
A priest could not help but ask curiously, “Why not let the Little Saint do this? These people would even kiss the ground he walked on. If he told them to do it, they would definitely do it.”
Hearing this, Bishop Andrew felt something was vaguely off, but at this moment Caesar had already been caught.
It was a merchant from Bethlehem who made his living trading wine. He was not particularly wealthy and had no prominent status.
Several people had been carried out from his mansion, including his wife, his mother, and his son. He was the only survivor in the family, clutching at the clothing on his chest as if to soothe his ravaged heart.
Upon seeing Caesar, hope burst from his eyes. He rushed forward, tightly grabbing Caesar’s robe and kneeling at his feet.
“Little Saint, Little Saint, please have pity on me,” he pleaded earnestly. “Please tell me you will truly take them for rest and treatment, not throw them alive into the valley or into the fire!”
Caesar had to stop. He grasped the man’s arm to pull him up but found him extremely stubborn—if he used more force, he might even break the man’s bone. He had to reassure him: “Yes, rest assured. This illness can be treated. The monks and priests are taking care of them.”
“Will they come back? Will they return to my side, healthy and well, as before?”
This was truly something even Caesar could not be sure of.
Although the patients in this family had not yet deteriorated to a terminal state, malignant malaria and mild malaria were hard to distinguish. All symptoms of mild malaria also appeared in malignant malaria, and by the time the patient began convulsing, failing, and bleeding, there was almost no chance of recovery.
He had indeed successfully extracted a small bottle of artemisinin, but he could not be sure whether it was a life-saving medicine or a deadly poison.
Most patients still had to rely on their own physical constitution and survival instinct to survive.
He glanced at the man and saw he was a man in his prime, fat and ruddy. “If you are really worried,” he said purely out of goodwill, “you can go with the priests to the Monastery of Mar Saba to care for your family.”
The hands tightly hugging his legs suddenly loosened, and the man retreated two steps, his face pale. “I… I… I… will stay here and pray for them.”
“Good, staying here to pray is also a good thing.” Caesar answered good-naturedly, though he could see the man’s appeal was purely at others’ expense.
Along the way, there were those who truly loved their family and insisted on following the priests to the Monastery of Mar Saba, and those who offered their last money or valuables to donate to the priests or directly bribe the servants—but most people, like this man, hoped others would take on his responsibilities. However, most were willing but unable, unlike this man—judging by his residence and clothing, he was not destitute or empty-handed.
Caesar could only shake his head helplessly. He continued forward; there were still many places and people who needed his persuasion. Fortunately, as soon as people saw the Little Saint, they were willing to believe him. Patients were led out one after another and entrusted to them amid their relatives’ cries.
Others also began raising torches and lighting candles to search those places reflecting light. Even in Bethlehem, there were still many stagnant water spots in alleys, courtyards, and residences, and these places often bred large numbers of mosquitoes.
