Chapter 173: Bloodletting Needle?
“Eat more, drink more. I’ve brought lots of good things. Even though New Year has passed, children should never be restrained. Look at you, all so thin like this—you really should eat some good food to nourish your bodies.” Witt’s mother encouraged them verbally while pretending to feel the wrists of the two apprentices.
In fact, at Haridi’s place, these two children had not suffered much mistreatment. Even if it wasn’t as free as at home, their food and drink were much better than at home.
But with an older woman being so gentle and kind, urging them to eat more, these two inexperienced children immediately fell for it. Tears welled up in their eyes as they looked at her expectantly, and she did not disappoint them, taking more food from the basket and pouring them a little wine.
“This was given to me by others. If it sits too long, I’m afraid it will turn sour. You all help me drink it.” As she said this, the older apprentice’s eyes immediately lit up with disbelief. They had never drunk wine at home—first, they weren’t old enough; second, wine was an expensive expenditure for their family.
At Haridi’s, it was even more unnecessary to mention. A craftsman’s most important assets are his eyes and hands. Although people at this time didn’t know how harmful alcohol was to the body, it was an indisputable fact that if someone drank too much, their eyes would blur and their hands would shake. Haridi would drink some light wine and ale, but the two apprentices were strictly forbidden from drinking—after all, Bethlehem’s fresh water was not scarce.
Witt’s mother sat down across from them, her face piled with smiles, sweet words coming from her mouth, but her heart filled with malice. If she weren’t here to gather information today and didn’t want to alert Haridi and others, she might have put a little poison in the food and wine.
These two little brats were fat and stupid, with ugly faces and insatiable tongues, utterly incomparable to her son who was smart, healthy, beautiful, and blessed by God. But her son Witt was dead, while they were still intact, alive and kicking.
Thinking this way, she felt the world was truly unfair. She really wanted to poison them, making their parents fall into endless despair like her, suffering immensely and unable to escape.
But no rush, she told herself. Such things could still be done later.
With these two little bastards’ trust in her, she could even pull out the poison directly and stuff it into their mouths, and they would happily swallow it.
These two children never imagined that someone would harbor such malice toward them, who had no grudge against her. They fully enjoyed the things Witt’s mother had brought.
Witt’s mother casually chatted with them, asking if they were used to the workshop, if they were happy. Was their master strict with them? Did he often beat them? Did they eat their fill and stay warm usually? Had they started learning how to make things, or were they still just helping out.
Just like every child strictly disciplined, once she said this, the two apprentices involuntarily opened up. Even though Haridi was indeed good to them, they still had to complain about what needed complaining.
Haridi valued character and talent, as well as the patience and sense of responsibility a craftsman must have. These qualities were not innate but cultivated later.
The most frequent tasks he assigned the two children were the most basic ones: cutting, grinding, hammering, dewaxing, mold casting, and so on.
Having an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy do such things was, of course, boring and dull.
But until they fully completed one stage of learning, Haridi would never let them move to the next—no matter what. This was already quite good, after all, some vicious master craftsmen would really make apprentices serve as servants for ten years or more first.
“I heard others say your master has fingers as if kissed by an angel. Every piece of jewelry, reliquary box, cup, or dish he makes can sell for a high price.
Have you seen his works?”
Both children nodded.
Before this, they had never imagined such exquisite things could come from a mortal’s hand. If it were up to them, they wouldn’t bear to use these items; they would only wrap them in the finest velvet cloth, place them by their pillow, and look at them day and night to feel at ease.
“I really want to see them.” Witt’s mother probed.
But unfortunately, before New Year, their master had already delivered all the commissioned work from others. His latest job was from the Knight of Bethlehem, the lord here. This item was extremely labor-intensive, so Haridi even refused the new sage’s commission for it.
“That must be something very exquisite.”
Exquisite? Probably, but the two children weren’t sure. They could only tell Witt’s mother that in fact, their master had busied himself for a week and produced only a needle.
“A needle?!” Witt’s mother feigned displeasure, pulling a face. “How is that possible? A craftsman of his skill busy for a week and only making a needle?”
At her words, the older apprentice felt unhappy. He quickly added that it wasn’t an ordinary needle, but a hollow needle.
Although Haridi didn’t let them watch how he made this item, afterward he had the apprentices buy some live chickens and rabbits.
He tested it on those chickens and rabbits, even on his own arm a few times. “It’s a bloodletting needle,” the older apprentice gestured as he said. “Both inner and outer walls are extremely smooth. Holding it, you can even see the reflection of your face. He just stuck that needle into the rabbit’s neck, and with a spurt, blood sprayed out.”
This was what he had secretly seen—and that scene was truly a bit frightening.
“What is this thing for?” Witt’s mother pretended not to understand. “Doesn’t bloodletting just use a small knife?”
“How could we know what nobles think? But these past two days, master seems to have made a satisfactory needle. He’s now… making, making, making a cylinder.” The younger apprentice put down his meat patty and said haltingly, because he wasn’t too sure what it was either.
“Master seems to have thought of using a piston rod, maybe even adding a screw stopper, but it hasn’t succeeded. I saw him discard many failed products. To me, they already looked very perfect.”
“A big cylinder?”
“No, very small. About as thick as five reed tubes together. Somewhat like, like those things for giving enemas.”
“For giving enemas—does it really need pure silver or gold?”
The older apprentice widened his eyes, utterly shocked at the other apprentice’s guess.
“That’s how nobles are,” Witt’s mother said thoughtfully. “They want gems inlaid on enema devices. As long as they can pay for the materials and labor, plenty of people are willing to make them.”
The younger apprentice giggled. Clearly, he found it very amusing that their usually serious, unsmiling master was making an enema device for nobles.
“Drink a bit more.” Witt’s mother said nonchalantly. She had gotten what she wanted to know and was too lazy to waste more time on these two little bastards.
“By the way,” as she left, she said to the two children with a smiling face: “Don’t tell anyone I came here, not even your master or parents.
If they find out you talked to a witch and ate her things, they definitely won’t let you off. A beating is inevitable, and you might even be driven away.”
She said it sincerely, as if considering for them. But seeing the two little brats’ faces suddenly turn ashen, she threw her head back and laughed silently.
“Bloodletting needle and enema device?” Bohemond slightly furrowed his brow, eyeing the servant before him.
The servant only dared to slightly raise his head, glancing at him before trembling all over and immediately kneeling. “That witch really said that. She swore oaths! I, I don’t know if she lied. Maybe we can call a few more people…”
“No need.” Bohemond said. Of course he knew what a bloodletting needle and enema device were; it was just that people at this time rarely made bloodletting needles hollow even when using them.
They usually used a sharp awl or directly a small knife to nick the blood vessel, letting the blood flow out.
But a Christian knight, a lord, a count—someone repeatedly demanding and pursuing an Isaacite craftsman just for bloodletting and enemas? He didn’t quite believe it.
He had first noticed Haridi because of Caesar.
Bohemond had heard that this Haridi was originally an Isaacite who fled from Fustat in Egypt to Ayyarasa Road. In the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, he seemed to have played some role. But since he was an Isaacite and a craftsman, after giving some reward, no one paid attention to him anymore.
But after Caesar found him in Damascus, he insisted on keeping this Isaacite by his side, despite the dangerous environment and important tasks—not just for Ayyarasa Road, but for himself.
What was special about this man? At first, Bohemond worried he had found an Isaacite blessed by God.
This wasn’t strange.
Among Christians, Saracens, and Isaacites, there were those blessed by God.
Outstanding Isaacites who could heal stubborn diseases had appeared, but once discovered, they were immediately arrested. Then, either conversion or execution—the Church would not allow an Isaacite to emerge who competed with them for authority.
Later, the reports from scouts said Haridi was a genuine craftsman. He could not heal others. The strength he gained from being blessed by God was in his eyes and hands.
These eyes could see farther than ordinary people and finer patterns; his hands were unusually strong and steady, allowing him to make many exquisite devices, thus winning many customers’ favor.
But you say healing and saving lives—no, he had nothing to do with that. Since the man himself was fine, the key must be in that item.
Bohemond wanted to send someone to steal those things and see. But doing so would definitely alert Caesar. He wasn’t afraid of this young retainer, but he temporarily didn’t want conflict with the king.
His previous probing of the new king had already caused some dissatisfaction toward him.
Though Bohemond wouldn’t fear the gathering of these ants, he didn’t want the king to use this chance to establish authority solely his own.
He had once tried to exploit Baldwin’s inherent sentimentality and loyalty—before he fully shed his old identity and became a king—but he overlooked something.
This sentiment was based on him still willing to trust the princess.
If Baldwin only had Sibylla, Raymond, and him by his side, it would be fine—but now Baldwin had a friend he could confide in honestly. He could pour out to him without worrying that this honesty would become a dagger stabbing him later, and Caesar had not betrayed his expectations.
He quickly sensed the issue and revealed it to Baldwin IV. For such matters, if not revealed, fine; once revealed, the fragile gorgeous surface always hid the ugliest truth beneath.
Baldwin was no fool, or rather, he was always extreme. His love was like the vast sea, his hate like mountains. Fortunately, the child in Sibylla’s belly was after all the future king of Ayyarasa Road…
Baldwin couldn’t yet bring himself to ruthlessly cut it off completely. As long as he still had some attachment and familial love for the princess, Bohemond could have her return to Ayyarasa Road after giving birth in Nalessa.
He roughly calculated the time and found it quite subtle: when Princess Sibylla gave birth, Baldwin would likely be able to rule personally.
“Even more frightening is that Raymond should be mine too?” he muttered as if to himself. “Children grow up quickly.” The Duke of Antioch stood up, boredly glancing at the kneeling servant without a word, then turned away.
This action was equivalent to a verdict. The attendant beside him immediately covered the servant’s mouth and dragged him up. The servant struggled but couldn’t match two attendants’ strength. He was dragged around the corridor corner and killed bloodlessly. By tomorrow, people would find him drowned in the toilet—definitely from drinking too much and falling in.
Such things were common in the castle.
Bohemond returned to the table and sat down again, fingers tapping the surface. Bloodletting needles and enema devices couldn’t serve as direct evidence.
Although the Church valued the medical profession highly, allowing only their priests and monks to monopolize it, possessing and making these tools wasn’t illegal and wouldn’t attract the Church’s attention. Even Caesar could argue it was for some priest.
But was it really that simple? Bohemond knew Baldwin IV’s condition had worsened further due to prior events. For them, this was good news, but for Patriarch Heraclius and his disciple Caesar, it was thoroughly bad news.
These days, he heard Patriarch Heraclius had been preparing holy water for the king—what was called holy water was more like ointment. But as a holy office holder, Heraclius doing this was irreproachable.
But there was also news that this ointment was originally prepared by Caesar for Baldwin, which was interesting.
Caesar was a knight. What he received from God was Chosen by Michael, not Chosen by Raphael. So far, no one had appeared who received both Chosen by Michael and Chosen by Raphael—or rather, if there was, the Church had already strangled them in swaddling clothes.
