Chapter 119: Whispers In The Wind
The caravan leader might really just be joking, but how much truth there is in that statement is known only to him.
After all, in this era, merchants are likely the group with the keenest sense of smell and the quickest action in the entire society.
Perhaps some might feel puzzled: if the masters of fortresses and palaces know that merchants are inherently profit-driven, two-faced, despicable villains who could turn to either themselves or the enemy at any moment, how could they tolerate merchants continuing to travel through their cities and manors?
This has a great deal to do with the backward transportation and information flow at this time.
In every place, whether Paris or London, whether farmers, craftsmen, or even some knights and nobles, they are born where they live, and they rarely leave their territory unless to fight for the King or go on pilgrimage somewhere; most people spend their entire lives without leaving the streets or villages where they live.
The towns and villages at this time could even be called acquaintance societies—that is, everyone knows the people around them, and any stranger appearing on the street would draw stares of goodwill or malice.
Similarly, because everyone is familiar enough with each other, it has given rise to many humiliating public punishments, like the famous pillory, neck stocks, hand-and-neck stocks—self-explanatory, if a person commits a moderate sin, but the judge believes he needs a profound lesson, he will be sentenced to this punishment.
The hand-and-neck stocks lock a person’s hands and head together on a wooden board, forcing him to stick out his buttocks in that position, for a time ranging from hours to days; the hand-and-foot stocks fix the hands and feet on the same wooden board, leaving the punished person helplessly sitting on the cold, filthy ground to be mocked and spat upon.
Sometimes people would throw filth at them.
But the most important thing is to make them feel ashamed and mortified, not daring to offend again, and also to let people see their faces clearly to avoid being harmed by them again.
In such an extremely closed society, people are accustomed to self-sufficiency, but human desires are endless, and they always want something.
Thus, merchants emerge; they are like rivers flowing through hills, valleys, and plains, constantly bringing new things and taking away local produce. Merchants’ profit-over-principle attitude easily arouses others’ resentment and disgust, but no one can deny that without merchants, a city, even a nation, would quickly become lifeless.
This is true in peacetime, and even more indispensable in wartime.
There is no easily stored military grain, cheap industrial goods, or convenient transportation in this era, and for a knight on expedition, being able to prepare sufficient horses, weapons, and armor for himself, his escort, and even armed attendants is already quite commendable. Food? Perhaps a little, but it will soon be eaten up—what then? Of course, to “exchange” with spears and swords.
Gentlemen probably haven’t forgotten that we mentioned earlier: once it is determined to go to war or on expedition, lords and monarchs everywhere will post notices requiring summoned knights not to plunder arbitrarily en route…
But this is only limited to their own territory; on heathen land, there is no such restriction. For example, Amalric I’s Crusader knights once plundered extensively around Bilbeis, taking all the wheat, wine, oil.
Even so, they still could not guarantee that there would be no shortage of fodder on the long expedition.
First, because once the number of troops and followers far exceeds what the local area can bear, even torturing every person they see to death wouldn’t yield more food; second, the heathen’s farmers and garrisons wouldn’t be foolish enough to wait for them to rob—they might hide the grain or, like Shawwar, break the cauldrons and sink the boats, burning it directly.
At this point, the importance of merchants becomes prominent: they collect fodder from all sides and transport it thousands of miles to where the army is stationed, selling it to them.
At the same time, they take on the responsibility of converting the knights’ spoils of war—those vessels, furniture, cloth that they temporarily don’t need and can’t carry—into profits, giving knights money or goods other knights want, such as armor, horses, and weapons. The knights’ efforts and gains form a perfect cycle in the merchants’ hands.
It can be said that without merchants, knights would probably lose interest in expeditions, as they couldn’t obtain what they want from combat.
The merchant leader followed Haridi to Qumran, which is located at the northwest corner of the Dead Sea, not far from Bethlehem and their foothold at the water source, and it is indeed a vast and barren land.
Although for the hermits’ people, it is a peaceful land, the Eden God granted them.
Though this “Eden” left Haridi’s wife utterly dejected, just as she had heard before: the people of Qumran all live in low houses, like the village they saw at the water source—no windows, so even during the day lamps must be lit inside; slightly taller people have to stoop when entering or exiting houses.
They met Qumran’s sage, and Haridi’s wife could feel that when the sage looked at him, his eyes held more assessment and doubt; when she and her daughter could leave, she fled that house as if escaping.
“You must care for and cherish your wife more,” the sage said, gazing at Haridi’s wife’s retreating figure. “She was not raised here and has never followed our law and education—her eyes are full of unease; perhaps everything here feels strange to her. Do not blame her, do not rush to admonish her; she just needs time.”
Haridi fell silent. When leaving Qumran, he harbored anger and unwillingness, but these had been alleviated over nearly ten years of exile; nostalgia for his homeland outweighed the indignation of his youth—or rather, looking back now, it wasn’t humiliation, just differing views on doctrine and ideas.
“So, Haridi, you’ve been away so long, traveled so many places—have you seen anyone who might be the holy king in your heart?”
Facing the sage’s question, Haridi pondered for a moment and shook his head heavily.
“No, elder. I’ve traveled so many places, from Qumran to Bethlehem, from Bethlehem to Ayyarasa Road, then from Ayyarasa Road to Acre, from Acre to Jaffa, from Jaffa to Ghazalafa, by ship to Alexander, from Alexander to Bilbeis. I’ve seen kings, dukes, and the Grand Master of the Knights, sultans, caliphs, Grand Viziers, and emirs.
I observed their words and deeds, guessed their thoughts, weighed their virtue, but everyone I saw—whether lowly or noble—was just an ordinary person. Perhaps they have ideals in their hearts, but like me, they ultimately must yield to reality.”
“Many young people share your thoughts,” the sage said. “They hear that the Messiah will surely return to the human world and single-mindedly seek to find this holy king among humans. But we know he has not yet come—at least until Judgment Day, he will not appear in the human world again—he has already redeemed our sins; I’ve never heard of a debt being paid twice.
And humans are always ungrateful, forgetting past favors.
Just a few days ago, someone came to tell me we should rebuild our nation instead of chasing that elusive Savior or holy king. But didn’t we once have our own nation, our Temple, our kings? We had King David, King Herod, Solomon—they were all wise kings once, but ultimately could not resist the devil’s temptations; whether wealth, honor, or power, all would thoroughly change them.
I say, do not pin your hopes on others anymore—as long as he is human, he cannot escape the sin upon him.
Haridi, since you’ve returned, you should know that all we can do is wait, wait for the last day to come. When the Messiah sees us, may our repentance and endurance allow him to wash away our sins and elevate us to heaven.”
“I still harbor some hope,” Haridi said, “but perhaps you are right.”
After saying this, it was as if a great stone lifted from his heart, and he showed a relieved smile.
The sage also showed a look of relief; young people always have stubborn ideas and make mistakes, and Haridi was his favorite student. He hoped Haridi would one day take his place—not just in Qumran; perhaps his departure was to make him better suited for it in the future.
“And that merchant matter,” the sage said. “That outsider merchant, though he can be called one of our people, is tainted with too much external greed. I don’t want to see him, so you go—we don’t need money, but we need salt and sugar; salt is most important, sugar indispensable. Perhaps some oil too.”
“Do you also think a war is coming here?”
“I can indeed see some things: an aging star is about to fall, while a newborn star will rise, but sadly, its light will flash and fade.”
————————
Baldwin did not know that just a hundred miles away, someone had made the most accurate judgment of his destiny.
He decided to “tour” for many reasons.
First, Amalric I left too hastily, and for the previous period, he had been afflicted by leprosy, unable to leave Holy Cross Castle, let alone tour places with his father.
He had only seen names of cities, castles, ports, villages, and settlements on maps and scrolls, learned about them from teachers and lords like Raymond, but their true conditions—even Heraclius could not guarantee—and without face-to-face, he had no way to know nobles’ and knights’ attitudes toward him.
They could fill letters with praise, but Baldwin didn’t believe that if war suddenly arose, they would provide provisions, equipment, and knights at his command.
The state of these castles and towns also needed careful inspection: are reserves sufficient? Training adequate? Signs of collapsed or missing city walls? Can residents live peacefully?
Also, though Ayyarasa Road’s ministers are unwilling to believe his judgment and more likely to campaign north against Mulai’s territory soon, he can only use the “tour” as pretext to observe those Saracens closer, see if they have any unusual movements.
Also, at the previous martial arts tournament, Caesar firmly refused the princess—though Queen Mother Princess Maria was then the highest-status woman present; Sibylla would see Caesar’s evasion as humiliation; the last to bring her such was Count Etienne.
And for the princess, Caesar’s current status still can’t compare to a Frankish count; her anger would only burn fiercer.
Baldwin had to worry: if Caesar stayed in Holy Cross Castle, what crazy, laughable things might his sister do?
He still felt some familial affection for her; their father had gone far from them. He only hoped the siblings could support each other in future life, not eagerly bare fangs to seize power that might not even exist.
But he believed that given the chance, Sibylla would show Caesar no mercy.
In Bethlehem, Baldwin received an extremely grand and splendid welcome—not to mention Bishop Andrew, who had essentially watched him grow up.
Just the city’s merchants: they always believed Bethlehem was no less holy than Ayyarasa Road; Ayyarasa Road has the Holy Sepulchre, but they have the birthplace.
If the future king shifted some attention to Bethlehem, they believed, even if it couldn’t replace Ayyarasa Road, the Holy City might become two in the future.
What Caesar got in Bethlehem, Baldwin got three times over, but merchants carefully avoided sending prostitutes—who knows this young king’s health now? Baldwin noticed something seemed missing at the banquet; prostitutes were banquet staples then, like vases without flowers, drawing attention instead.
“I heard you refused the prostitutes they sent,” Baldwin said teasingly, cup in hand. “You needn’t mind me at all—Holy Cross Castle’s noble ladies complain you’re too clueless about romance. A too-lecherous knight is no good, but you could occasionally appreciate the gems and pearls before you. If you like one, tell me; I’ll ask her intentions.
You need a loyal lady.”
Caesar didn’t know what to say; in another world, he knew syphilis traces back to the 8th century, evidenced by Vikings. He couldn’t be sure if a prostitute carried treponema pallidum, and given hygiene standards then, inflammation and fungi were common risks—even if Heraclius said the blessed were less prone to disease—but he wasn’t risking it.
“Haven’t I already sworn loyalty to a certain lady?”
“Queen Mother Maria?” Baldwin hesitated; not impossible, but before Ayyarasa Road’s Queen Mother, Maria was a Byzantine princess.
“No,” Caesar said. “Your little sister, Isabella. I declare here: she is the most beautiful, noblest, kindest, most pious lady in the world.” He said solemnly, “What do you think?”
Baldwin couldn’t help laughing.
