Chapter 109: Bethlehem
The woman might have recognized Caesar or might not have; she didn’t give him a second glance. The Bishop shook his head, thinking this woman was too unruly, but that was also true—if she were the kind of docile woman, she wouldn’t be standing here issuing a “duel divorce” challenge.
The man was exceptionally deferential when facing the knights and the Bishop. He took off his hat and held it to his chest, not daring to lift his head, so much so that Caesar had to wait until the guards let him into the pit to see his face—he had a beard, looking all unkempt and matted, his hair greasy and clumped, though most commoners were like that at the time.
From his appearance, he didn’t seem like a vicious man, somewhat dull-witted, but all that changed when he saw his wife. His face immediately turned purple with rage, gnashing his teeth and cursing her, calling her a witch, a devil’s prostitute, a lowly thief. He cursed her for ingratitude—when she had collapsed by the roadside, on the verge of starving to death, it was he who saved her, gave her food to eat, gave her a bed.
He had even married her!
The woman fired back, cursing the man as a shameful swindler, a cowardly bastard. He would get deceived and mocked outside, then come home to beat his wife. If that were all, it might be tolerable, but he was also a failure in bed, unrisen dough, shriveled seeds! “Stop talking about taking me in,” she shouted loudly, “If it weren’t that everyone here knows you’re a useless man who can’t get a woman pregnant, how would you have picked up a wife from outside the city!?”
The people laughed, while the husband glared with eyes that seemed to shoot venomous arrows, and his wife seemed unwilling to let him off: “You put a grass ring on my finger and made me your wife. Now you have cattle and horses, you have a slave, and when idle, you can swing your fist for amusement. As for me, I have to work in your workshop every day, with no money, no clothes, no bread—every day nothing but beans and more beans…”
She spat, “I’m not like those fools before me. If I don’t act now, I’ll end up dying by the grindstone like them.”
Caesar and the Bishop were both blessed people; they could clearly hear the whispers from the crowd. The woman wasn’t lying. At that time, commoners married simply—just two or three witnesses, then publicly shouting “We are married” in an open place, and that was it. Nothing as complicated as later generations imagined. And besides this man’s inherent defect, several wives of his had indeed died before, and none had children.
But if this woman had originally been a pilgrim or beggar wandering on Ayyarasa Road, the people of Bethlehem wouldn’t have stood witness for her. Even prostitutes would side with her husband, putting her at a disadvantage. Choosing “duel divorce” seemed risky, but it was also a bold, all-or-nothing good idea.
A priest rang the bell, shook it, and the duel began.
The crowd buzzed; some urged them to place bets. The Bishop frowned slightly but didn’t stop them—gambling was one of the rare entertainments for commoners. Some bet on the husband winning, others held the opposite view.
But the wife’s chances were indeed much lower than her husband’s. Besides him being a baker in Bethlehem, the wife was too small and thin. If the husband was a strutting rooster, she looked like a stunted chick.
As soon as the husband heard the bell, he perked up immediately. He straightened his back; the pit’s edge was below his ribs, not hindering him from turning and swinging the wooden stick. He bared his teeth and shouted, “Come on, come on,” he yelled: “Watch me drag you to hell!”
The wife, however, was unhurried. She circled the husband like a weasel on its toes. The husband watched vigilantly the cloth belt she held, turning his body with minimal movement to avoid expending energy too soon. After about thirty breaths, the crowd grew restless, finding this repetitive play boring, and the priest reminded the wife not to waste the nobles’ time.
Under the husband’s malicious gaze, the wife stopped. Then she suddenly sprang up like a released spring, leaping to a farther spot, also in the man’s blind spot. Before he could turn his head, she swung the cloth bag; the stone inside arced high and struck the husband’s temple with lightning speed.
This blow was both heavy and fast. The husband’s head jerked to one side. He reacted quickly too, swinging his club to catch the cloth bag, but the wife had already pulled it away. He missed, blood spurting from the wound. His hair and beard immediately bore a large dark stain, and one eye was blurred by blood. He blinked hard, but how could the wife pass up such a good opportunity.
She swung the cloth bag—once, twice, three times… Some hits landed, some missed. She darted flexibly around the husband, and the more he was hit, the angrier and more dazed he became. He tried to wipe the blood from his face but failed several times. The blood was sticky, not easy to clear, especially when it flowed into his eyes.
“Alas?” The Bishop let out a sigh of regret. “It seems the husband has lost this time.”
As if to confirm his words, the husband toppled headfirst to the pit’s edge, even dropping the wooden stick. The wife cautiously leaned over to check. The crowd shouted irritably; those who bet on the husband wanted him to get up and fight on, while those who bet on the wife laughed heartily.
The wife stepped forward. By the rules, she had to drag her husband out of the pit to win. She wrapped the cloth bag around her arm and kicked the wooden stick away with her toes—the husband still didn’t move. Only then did she bend down to grab the arm he had exposed outside, but that arm suddenly seized her and dragged her toward him!
Amid the woman’s scream, the crowd erupted in even greater clamor. Cheers and curses filled the air endlessly; countless arms shot up, waving wildly. The previous joy and frustration flipped instantly, but what shocked them more came next: faced with this sudden attack, the woman didn’t panic at all. Instead, as if prepared, she straightened up and positioned herself across the pit’s edge.
While the man was still desperately pulling her, she raised the cloth bag wrapped on her arm and smashed the stone inside down on him. From her words, Caesar knew she had once pulled the grindstone like cattle and horses, and now that strength was repaid in full on her husband and master—the crowd watched as the husband’s face caved in immediately.
The woman’s feet braced powerfully on the pit’s edge, one hand gripping the man’s arm tightly, the other raising the cloth bag and smashing down again and again. In fact, by the third blow, no one needed to wait for the ending—no one could survive missing half a head.
Amid a mist of blood, the Bishop leaned back slightly. The winner of this deathmatch had emerged. The crowd sighed in disappointment. The woman pulled her husband out of the pit, and the executioner on the side dutifully completed the duel’s final procedure: chopping off the husband’s head.
“What will happen to her now?” Caesar couldn’t help asking.
“Now she is blessed,” the Bishop said. “She might freeze to death, or she might starve to death, but she is free, isn’t she?”
For a moment, Caesar couldn’t tell if the Bishop was joking or declaring the woman’s future destiny. He glanced at Longinus below the platform, and Longinus immediately understood and walked away.
This was the last case the court needed to handle. The people slowly dispersed, and Caesar returned to his mansion in Bethlehem, right next to the Church of the Nativity. It had originally belonged to that merchant Jacques; he had offered it to Caesar—this wasn’t a bribe, for by canon law and customary law, Caesar had the right to reside in any building in this city.
Of course, as a merchant, Jacques had done it perfectly. The mansion had food, decorations, furnishings, and servants all complete, even some horse tack and weapons that wouldn’t touch the King’s confidants’ reverse scale. And somehow, in such a short time, he had even embroidered and painted Caesar’s coat of arms on the cushions, tapestries, and panels.
So, when the next day he brought a Saracen merchant to visit Caesar, Caesar found it hard to refuse his visit.
