Chapter 118: Haridi’s Chance Encounter
“Haredi!”
Hearing his wife’s call, Haredi turned his head from the camel’s back. His wife was already swaying precariously on the camel’s back, but her hands were still tightly holding their little daughter. “We… let’s stop and rest for a while.” She appealed, “I’m already very tired, and so is Miram.”
As she spoke, she painfully licked her cracked lips, turned her head to tighten her headscarf, not knowing whether to avoid the increasingly scorching sun or to prevent her husband from seeing the hatred on her face.
“We’ve already rested many times. If we continue like this, we won’t make it to the next water source before dusk.” Haredi patiently explained to her.
Unfortunately, his patience had no effect. “I want to go back to Bethlehem!” His wife suddenly shouted hoarsely. “Why can’t we stay in Bethlehem?” She demanded, “You are a goldsmith, a goldsmith with superb skills! Sir Lego also said you could get a stable job in Bethlehem, and with him as intermediary, the guild there would accept you.”
“As long as you agree, they will immediately provide you with residence, tools, apprentice, basic gold and silver, gemstones, and servants.” She said full of longing—the last item was what she anticipated most. When they were in the City of Bilbeis, although they were ostracized by peers and unable to serve nobles and the Caliph due to faith issues, among the residents of Bilbeis, Haredi’s reputation and skills had quite outstanding acclaim.
Haredi’s wife was of course also an Isaacite, but she was merely the daughter of an Isaacites merchant in Bilbeis. In Bilbeis, there were almost no ascetic Isaacites. Even if some ascetic Isaacites traveled with caravans, they wouldn’t bother him. Their life was peaceful and leisurely. As the wife of a goldsmith, although she couldn’t compare to those noblewomen with jewels and wearing silk, she had never lived in straitened circumstances.
But this peaceful life was shattered on the day the City of Bilbeis fell, by those detestable Christians.
However, when Haredi’s wife learned that they could leave Bilbeis by paying ransom money, her heart was filled with the joy brought by luck—when the City of Ayyarasa Road was captured by Crusaders, they killed all the Saracens and Isaacites in the city—she even felt that she and her family were watched over by God.
This thought persisted until they met that Crusader knight. When he forced them to hand over their little daughter, she instantly fell from the human world into hell. How could she bear it? It was like cutting a piece of bloody flesh from her body with a knife. Of course she was unwilling to abandon her little daughter, but she was also afraid.
She feared that if they insisted or resisted, that knight would kill them on the spot without hesitation, and their little daughter would still not escape the fate of becoming a slave, or even worse.
But at that moment, a lord willing to speak for them appeared—although in terms of age, he was still a child, he still made a just judgment.
When their family walked out of Bilbeis intact, she even felt a moment of daze.
Although at that time, they had nothing but the clothing on their bodies, she was not panicked. She knew how astonishing her husband’s skills were. People even joked that whether he had been watched over by some saint to create such exquisitely beautiful items full of ingenious ideas.
Anyone who had seen Haredi’s works would not doubt that he would one day serve a duke or king.
Therefore, when Haredi told her he was preparing to go to Bethlehem, she strongly approved.
Bethlehem was the holy land second only to Ayyarasa Road, and every sacred place revered by pilgrims was indispensable for holy images, crosses, reliquary boxes, and various rosaries, jewelry, and accessories with sacred meaning. The craftsmen of Ayyarasa Road were more numerous than the pebbles on the ground, and Bethlehem was no exception.
As she wished, Haredi immediately found a friend. Isaacites were renowned for stinginess, harshness, and shrewdness bordering on cruelty, but within their community, they always advocated mutual help and support—although sometimes out of necessity, they might occasionally set a tripwire or push out a scapegoat—such cases were rare, and Haredi’s profession wouldn’t conflict with the other’s anyway.
Haredi’s friend, upon seeing them, immediately enthusiastically arranged residence and dinner for them.
From that night on, Haredi’s wife seemed to have returned to her days in Bilbeis—no more wandering destitute, no more living in fear, able to fully enjoy soft beds, abundant food, and warm bath water, with servants attending diligently nearby.
After only a few days, not to mention Haredi’s wife, even their little daughter’s face gained some color. She fully thought Haredi would settle in Bethlehem. She had even planned whether to borrow money in her father’s name, have Haredi borrow himself, or directly rent a shop from Haredi’s friend, repaying principal and interest with works or rewards—she had full confidence in her husband and wasn’t worried at all about going bankrupt over this loan.
But what she didn’t expect was that before she could even smile, Haredi brought her terrible news.
Haredi had no intention of staying in Bethlehem. On the contrary, after receiving support from his old friend, he wouldn’t open a shop, set up a workshop, or seek a steward’s recommendation to find opportunities before nobles—he would use this money to buy camels and mules, prepare food and water, and take them back to the ascetic settlement.
“What?”
“I am a member of the ascetic group. For some reasons, I left there, and now I am going back.”
Hearing this, Haredi’s wife nearly went mad. She was also an Isaacite. Of course she had heard of the “ascetics.” They were this small group within their community, different from most Isaacites. Even after a thousand years, they had hardly changed, still adhering to the most ancient and orthodox concepts and doctrines.
They did not engage in lending, trade, or money exchange. Every ascetic member had only one profession: farmer, or scholars taking farming as a profession. They reclaimed fields in extremely remote places, drew river water, planted wheat or vegetables, or possibly grapes and figs.
In their settlements, there were no poor people or rich people, no servants or slaves—everyone was equal.
Every day they rose with the sunlight, bathed in the river, then put on plain linen robes, and worked diligently in the fields or vineyards. It was said they were very skilled at planting wheat, vegetables, and fruit for self-sufficiency. Apart from occasional exchanges（they still needed essentials like salt, earthenware pots, and cloth）they had almost no contact with the outside world. When the sun set, they began studying and prayer.
And such a life they had sustained for several hundred years, perhaps to continue in the future. This life sounded holy and pure enough, but Haredi’s wife had no intention of becoming the wife of an ascetic, much less letting her daughter grow up in such harsh conditions.
But as an Isaac woman, she lacked the boldness to oppose, either in words or actions.
She could only think to herself—she would even rather return to Bilbeis. To be honest, becoming slaves and servants to Christians might not be worse than becoming members of the ascetics—otherwise, why would farmers try every means to work in castles?
But she also knew that although Haredi was usually taciturn and gentle enough toward them, he was not one whose thoughts would be swayed by his wife’s words. She didn’t dare openly defy him and could only try to delay, hoping that in this time Haredi would change his mind—at least, if he was going back, let him go alone. Damn it, she would rather stay in Bethlehem.
She had already heard that Bethlehem’s new lord was precisely the knight who saved their little daughter. If he still maintained the justice and kindness from Bilbeis, then even if she and her little daughter stayed alone in Bethlehem, there would be nothing wrong with it.
Haredi perhaps perceived what his wife was thinking, but like all husbands, he attributed it to women’s characteristic weakness and eccentricity, and didn’t pay much attention.
He gently patted the camel’s neck, telling it to slow down until his wife’s camel gradually caught up. He turned his head to check their daughter’s condition. Haredi’s wife hadn’t lied—adults could endure the sun’s scorching, the air’s dryness, and the pain from the jolting.
But for a child, these were three torments. They had only left Bethlehem for half a day, and the little girl had wilted like a flower deprived of water, her face flushed, limbs limp, looking indeed unwell.
“Give her some water.”
“I’ve already given her some.” Haredi’s wife complained in a low voice. “Or give her some sugar lumps.”
“No.” Haredi looked at the sky. Sugar could certainly revive one’s spirits, but it would also quicker deplete the moisture in the mouth. Although they brought several leather pouches of water, in the desert, water was never enough.
“We’ll speed up,” he said words contrary to his wife’s wish, “and reach the next water source as soon as possible.”
Places with water sources usually had a village or tribe. Although the place Haredi mentioned could hardly be called a village, only a settlement.
There were only a few low houses here, but relying on the water source, the residents could sustain their livelihood by providing food, water, and hay for feeding horses and camels to passing caravans.
As Haredi said, they arrived at dusk, but multiple bonfires were already lit in the open space outside the village. Haredi warily reined in the camel. “You stay here.” He said, then dismounted and cautiously walked forward.
Soon, his expression relaxed. It was a caravan, an Isaacites caravan.
The people in the caravan also saw Haredi. Upon seeing their similar attire, they visibly relaxed a little too.
Haredi’s wife stood in a place out of the firelight, seeing them greeting Haredi and shaking hands. Soon, two people holding torches escorted Haredi back, leading the camels and mules, bringing them to the largest bonfire. The desert nights were very cold.
When they saw Haredi’s wife still holding a little girl, they immediately led them into an empty house nearby. “We’ve rented this house.” The caravan leader said: “Stay here without worry.”
Haredi’s wife gave a grateful smile. She and her little daughter indeed needed a place to lie flat and rest, and to shelter from wind and rain. She took two steps forward and found a thick blanket laid on the ground. She immediately cried out happily, “God bless,” then placed her little daughter on it and wrapped her in a cloak.
The caravan leader stood at the door watching for a while before turning toward the bonfire. “Brother, where are you headed?” He asked.
He had reason to ask this, after all, in this place rife with bandits, Haredi surprisingly had no servants or hired wandering knights, just traveling alone in the desert with a woman and a child—weren’t they afraid of encountering threats?
Not to mention, even without bandits, there were wolves in the desert.
Haredi first thanked him for the kind reminder, then said: “The place we’re going isn’t far from here, maybe just two or three days.” And they could safely return to their homeland.
The leader pinched his fingers, roughly estimating the time and distance. “Where are you going? To Banyas, or Damascus?” Neither of these places could be reached in two or three days.
“Of course not.” Haredi said, “The place I’m going is Qumran.” If he said this to a Christian, the Christian might not even know what place he meant, but since he was speaking to an Isaacite—this person wasn’t an ascetic but knew of their existence, and knew Qumran as an ascetic settlement.
“Are you a scholar there?”
“Qumran has no scholars, only farmers.” Haredi answered with a smile.
The leader didn’t argue. The ascetics were like a group of monks who could marry. Although they had no money, no territory, no titles, they were still respected and trusted by Isaacites—even though most among them had become notorious, nitpicking, and profit-driven, they still held a sliver of persistence in their hearts.
That perhaps one day, they too could wash away their sins and be reborn.
If one said Isaacites now were a long withered, decayed tree, the ascetics were their purest shoots. They might even say that if one day Hell rose to the surface, Isaacites would hold the ascetics atop their heads, preferring to die, fall, and suffer torment themselves rather than let their hope perish.
He looked at Haredi, knowing this stubborn fellow probably wouldn’t accept too much kindness. So he thought and asked: “Do you plant wheat there? Grapes? Or vegetables.”
Haredi nodded. “Then can you let us go back with you?” The caravan leader said, “I just need to acquire some grain—wheat, vegetables, grapes, or wine, the more the better, and at a very good price. Items are fine too.”
“Is some place going to war again?”
“I don’t know.” The caravan leader lightly brushed past the topic. “I came from Damascus. But Saracens seem never to stop warring; perhaps they’re preparing to take Ayyarasa Road.”
He cracked a joke.
