Chapter 216: Seven Days Of Mourning
Seeing Walter’s strange expression, Caesar guessed that he had misunderstood.
Walter thought this was also one of Princess Anna’s dowries brought publicly or privately.
This was of course impossible; Princess Anna was merely something the Emperor cast out to confuse the Franks and Grand Prince Alexios. The fisherman would not care if the fish tore and ate the bait, so how could he possibly entrust such an incomparably sharp weapon to his own daughter?
This “Greek fire” came from Caesar’s own hand. After he returned to Ayyarasa Road from Damascus, not only did he formally inherit his father’s title, but those two hundred thousand gold coins were also handed back to him intact by Baldwin, which gave him much convenience in his actions.
While he was searching for possible treatments for leprosy for Baldwin, he also occasionally saw some records about Greek fire in the library in Damascus—Greek fire’s main ingredient should be petroleum naphtha, mixed with sulfur, bitumen, rosin, and resin. Besides being easy to burn, it could also make them float easily on the water or adhere to the enemy…
Although the Saracens had roughly analyzed the ingredients of Greek fire, they had never managed to concoct it, or rather, its power was still insufficient. Moreover, how to ignite it precisely when it was ejected from the bronze siphon remained an unsolved problem.
Since he came here, he had not seen real Greek fire, and he had also asked Heraclius whether a knight blessed by God could confront Greek fire and return unharmed.
The answer was disappointing: even a knight who received a blessing would be wounded or even killed on the battlefield, and Greek fire was like flames rising from hell to the earth. It could threaten knights just like sharp swords, heavy hammers, and huge arrows, or even more.
Caesar did not know the formula for Greek fire, even in his own world, but a doctor could not be unfamiliar with those flammable and explosive items—he was not only familiar with these things but also knew under what conditions they would burn or explode, and what kind of harm they would cause to people.
He tried to concoct some, but at that time he had not thought of publicizing these rudimentary results—relations between the Byzantines and the Crusaders were not harmonious. If one day he encountered Greek fire on the battlefield, he had to know whether his own strength and favor could resist this intense heat.
He just hadn’t expected that the initial flames would burn here, at this time.
When the great fire burned out, a dawn like thin gauze was showing on the horizon, and the sea surface was no longer gloomy. This was the dawn of the fifth day, the third day after the funeral. The stone bricks at the city gate position were gradually cooling, but amid the blackness, there was still a chilling red glow.
Walter was about to order people to push up the real battering ram, but suddenly he waved his hand signaling the escort to hold off for the moment—the Templar Knight raised his left hand to shield from the suddenly intensifying daylight, then said joyfully: “Someone is coming out.”
Because the city gate was blocked and had been burned by high temperature for several hours, the envoy inside the city did not dare or could not exit from the original place and could only order soldiers to lower himself from the city wall.
Walter believed that as long as the people inside had not completely lost their reason, the person who came down would only be an envoy seeking peace, not a fool coming to provoke.
He guessed right. If it had only been a strong assault with people, even with countless casualties, the people in the castle might not have felt despair, but the enemy had used Greek fire—this thing that had almost become a spiritual sustenance and faith for the Byzantine Empire—and they had completely collapsed.
They no longer thought whether Caesar only had this much Greek fire, nor did they think that even if the city walls collapsed, they could retreat to the inner city walls and towers to continue a dying struggle.
This envoy lowered from the city wall in a hanging basket was the lord’s youngest son, about the same age as the current Caesar, also in his prime at fifteen or sixteen years old. He had a handsome face, dignified demeanor, and still carried a bit of youthful innocence in his expression. Even when Caesar was reading the letter, he would sneak glances at the other, seemingly unable to understand how someone about his own age could become the monarch controlling their entire family’s destiny.
Caesar finished reading the letter, and all the Cypriots present felt a trace of tension.
They had already seen the endings of the previous few families. Caesar divided them clearly: families that might only have known but kept silent would only be exiled and driven out—but allowed to take some property.
But if they were involved in this conspiracy, whether forced or voluntary, or if after Caesar sent envoys, the entire family still brazenly opposed him, the ringleaders must be executed, other adult males also needed to face judgment and conviction, and only women and children could receive pardon. Even if pardoned, they had to leave Cyprus forever with empty hands.
The most unfortunate thing was that this family possessed all the characteristics of the latter two. After Caesar gave his reply, the young man’s face turned pale. He was sixteen years old. Of course he was already an adult. He did not think he could receive leniency, but he still stood firmly on the ground without kneeling to beg for mercy.
“I understand. Is this your reply? I will bring it to my father.”
“There is one more thing. Perhaps you already know: before, I pardoned all the women.”
“Yes, you are a benevolent man.”
“But there might be an exception here.”
The envoy puzzledly raised his head to look at Caesar.
“What, you didn’t know? There are several noble ladies in your family who acted as inside agents for the rebels. They killed several handmaids who also served the princess, then opened the door for Grand Prince Alexios.”
The envoy opened his mouth; he perhaps wanted to argue—perhaps he wanted to say that Grand Prince Alexios was ultimately the princess’s brother, and it was not unreasonable for him to see his sister… but those dead handmaids…
“Do you want them to die?”
“I only want them to pay the price for their crimes.”
“But they are ladies.” If a man decided to rebel, it could only be said that he was prepared to be beheaded, hanged, or drawn and quartered, but most of the time, noblewomen, no matter how shocking the charge, would ultimately only be sent to a monastery or imprisoned somewhere under her family’s watch.
But Caesar only looked at him mildly: “If you are unwilling to hand them over, that’s fine too. Do you know how old Anna was when she died?”
The envoy was obviously stunned, completely not understanding his meaning, but Caesar soon revealed the answer for him: “Anna died at only twenty-four years old, not even twenty-five. Since that is so, your female relatives who exceed this age will all be executed.” He said in that mild tone, as if instructing someone to snap off a rose.
“The sights Anna can no longer see, the music she can no longer hear, the scenery she can no longer behold—they should not have them either—” He nodded and said: “Go, bring this demand to them.”
Even Walter could not help but show a surprised expression. He knew this child was often criticized for being too soft, which was not a quality a knight should have. Many people said he should become a priest.
And the first time Walter met this child was when he came to plead with Walter not to let the craftsmen and farmers in the castle become their sacrifices due to conflicts and contradictions with Amalric I.
At that time, he felt that this child being “Chosen by Michael” and becoming a knight was truly the devil toying with everyone; he should receive “Chosen by Raphael” and become a monk instead.
Becoming a monk could still allow him to fight for God, and people would not criticize his benevolence. But as a knight who stubbornly held to a monk-like bottom line, how should he cope with others’ prejudices and accusations?
Walter had been a knight for a long time. Of course, he had seen some young attendants who, unable to endure the bloodshed on the battlefield, decided not to advance. They might retreat to the castle stables to become grooms, or become blacksmiths, or even directly become monks—not the martial monks, but those only responsible for prayer and treatment.
He thought Caesar would be such a person too, but on the battlefield, although Caesar still could not treat life as lightly as a Templar Knight, he was a qualified knight and subject. He protected some people and killed others. Walter just hadn’t expected him to make such a cold decision here.
Walter had always been a crude and straightforward man; he unhesitatingly asked his question.
Caesar was silent for a moment. “Women are no different from men, unless she is indeed a natural-born idiot, but if so, they could not commit crimes.
And when I judge whether a person is guilty, I never think it should have anything to do with his or her gender.”
This idea was completely contrary to current concepts.
For noblewomen, people had always been quite indulgent. These women, considered to have minds like animals and children, had no power to decide their own destinies. They had to accept the arrangements of fathers, husbands, and sons, or even just a guardian appointed by the king. In return, deprived of power, they did not have to bear responsibility.
Even in Byzantium it was the same; the worst was entering a monastery. Of course, if she mysteriously died after being sent to the monastery, that was another matter.
But Caesar did not think so. Twenty-four years old—at this time, they might already be mothers of several children.
They also had sisters, mothers, daughters, yet they had no sympathy for Anna at all—did not hesitate when poisoning those handmaids. They might have been coerced, but that did not mean they did not need to pay the price.
Walter still felt it was a pity. “You could sell them to the Turks or the Egyptians.”
“I will never sell anyone into slavery, and… having life and losing life are completely different concepts. Letting a person live, no matter how, is sometimes the best reward, not punishment.”
Walter knew he could not change Caesar’s mind, just as Caesar firmly refused to allow them to execute criminals in the Latin or Greek way—sinners’ punishments were either beheading or hanging. If the other party requested to use poison to commit suicide, he would also agree.
“I don’t even know if you are merciful or cruel.” Walter muttered.
However, whether Walter or Caesar, their actions could keep Cyprus quiet for a good while.
For people at this time, they would not be grateful for your tolerance and reform their ways; on the contrary, they would only think your leniency was foolishness or arrogance.
The first time they committed evil without punishment, they would unhesitatingly brew the next.
And when the sky brightened and those willing to surrender came out of the castle, those women who committed the crimes were also escorted before Caesar. A beautiful girl walked to his horse, knelt down begging him to forgive her, swearing to serve him for life or enter a monastery…
While another older woman shouted loudly: “Latin tyranny!”
Caesar remained unmoved, and in the crowd, a woman whose status was clearly the most noble met his gaze: “If you do this, the princess will not come back to life either, and you will be spurned by everyone for it. You have such a good reputation; it is really too much of a pity.”
While saying this, she kept staring tightly into Caesar’s eyes, hoping to see a hint of hesitation, but there was none. She could not find the slightest trace of wavering. Finally, she could only smile faintly: “It’s really seeing a ghost—how did she end up meeting someone like you?”
After speaking, she stepped forward quickly, pulled up that girl, and stood shoulder to shoulder with that older woman, now silent: “Alright,” she said sharply: “Fair and square! I only hope you won’t regret it in the future!”
Walter watched them turn and leave, even more resolute and decisive than those men: “Now I believe you.” He shook his head at Caesar.
“Wait, Lord!”
A voice suddenly came panic-stricken from behind them, and everyone could not help but show astonishment. At first they thought the newcomer was there for these ladies, but the one who hurried over only glanced at them.
“You cannot kill those priests!”
The Archbishop of Cyprus was fully attired, from the high hat to the robe, the outer cloak, the stole—all complete. This utterly cumbersome attire nearly made him fall head over heels when dismounting, but fortunately the knight beside him pulled him up in time.
Yet he was red-faced, stumbling toward Caesar: “You… you cannot, those priests… they are all… all people unconcerned with worldly affairs… please release them!”
The Archbishop of Cyprus’s tardy arrival had a reason: he thought that even if Caesar’s anger swept across all of Cyprus, the priests’ safety would still be guaranteed.
After all, they served God, not earthly monarchs; they had a transcendent status. Even if they sinned, it should be the Church that punished them, not secular lords. But he hadn’t expected that for every priest involved in that conspiracy, Caesar had them all singled out for execution without exception.
Their intimidation and appeals had no effect; the Crusaders did not care about these priests—they served the Roman Church; Orthodox Church priests were heretics among heretics to them. Caesar’s impartial treatment, they did not see as overstepping but as how it should be.
All the Archbishop of Cyprus could beg was Caesar.
Caesar had shown sufficient respect to the Archbishop of Cyprus these days, but sometimes one could not be too tolerant of people. Once tolerant, they would unhesitatingly seek more. “I am only punishing criminals,” he said calmly. “I can repeat: in my eyes, a criminal is a criminal, no matter what status, gender, or profession he has?”
“Profession? Do you consider serving God a profession too?”
The Archbishop of Cyprus shouted angrily: “You are stirring up strife between the two churches; you are doing it intentionally—if there were Roman Church priests in the castle now, would you do the same?”
Caesar did not answer; around him were Crusader knights, Roman Church martial monks. He was upright but would not easily give others a handle.
“I never make things hard for people.” He said politely to the Archbishop of Cyprus, “I can even give you a chance to become a saint.” He glanced at the siege engines the Crusaders brought—pity, these big machines hadn’t been used. “Do you see that catapult over there? I’ll have them add a leather pouch, put you in it, and hurl you into the castle. Then you can ascend to heaven with those priests; it’s a good opportunity.
I believe the Patriarch of Constantinople would not stint on giving you a saint’s title. What do you think?”
The Archbishop of Cyprus’s mouth gaped round, eyes bulging. Because Caesar had always been very mild to him before and allowed him to preside over the princess’s funeral, he had thought…
As if in an instant, the fire around him vanished, and he turned back into that timid, hesitant little old man: “No… no, I mean… of course, you can; they indeed committed unforgivable sins…”
“Yes, yes… they are all sinners; sinners cannot serve God.” His eyes darted around, and after realizing he could not persuade Caesar, he thought of another idea: “I will excommunicate them.”
Even Walter could not help laughing. This Archbishop of Cyprus was truly flexible. When he could not threaten Caesar, he immediately thought of this good idea.
There were quite a few priests involved in this conspiracy; if they were allowed to be executed, his prestige would undoubtedly suffer a blow.
But if he excommunicated them on the charge of murdering the princess, those Caesar executed would just be ordinary people, and he would have no need to worry.
The Archbishop of Cyprus looked nervously at Caesar, who only nodded to him. He immediately let out a deep breath.
“Then I will go back.”
No one answered him; he could only mutter, remount with his attendant’s help, and disappear dejectedly into the bright morning light.
On the sixth day, all rebel areas had been pacified. Caesar held a public trial. Later, the people of Cyprus all said they had never seen so many people dressed in silk hanged—including even noblewomen and priests.
They worried deeply for this, filled with fear, afraid the new lord’s anger would spread to them—those who could flee did, while those who could not or would not leave Cyprus waited tremblingly for disaster to descend.
But on the seventh day, their new lord boarded a ship and returned to Ayyarasa Road.
And after he returned, it took a long time for the people of Cyprus to realize afterward—that on the seventh day, the mourning had ended.
