Chapter 138: On The Road To Acre
“What are you standing here for?”
The sudden question startled the three young knights standing in the corridor. They all turned around together and saw the one person they least wanted to see at that moment—Templar Knight Geoffrey.
Among the Crusaders, Geoffrey was an old knight worthy of respect. People believed he was destined for heaven. If any mistake sent him to hell, it was surely because of that foul mouth of his. Sometimes, his mockery and sarcasm were far more vicious than those of the quick-witted minstrels or the scholars who spoke in polished prose.
Geoffrey walked toward them, pointing a finger at the robes on each of them in turn: the white field with red cross of the Knights Templar, the white field with yellow Ayyarasa Road cross of the Holy Sepulchre, the red field with white cross of the Knights Hospitaller—the young men of the three knightly orders… they ought to be representatives. He raised his head and carefully examined their faces, realizing they were precisely those once most disobedient and most prideful little rascals.
“Are you looking for Caesar? Why not go in? Though the people of Ayyarasa Road call him the Little Saint, it didn’t say you must bring gold, frankincense, and myrrh to visit him.” Here Geoffrey made a not particularly pious joke—when Jesus was born, three venerable scholars brought the precious gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to worship him.
The young knight of the Knights Templar was pushed forward by his temporary companions and could only step out helplessly. But before he could speak, the nearby door burst open, and Caesar stood behind it, looking strangely at the group crowded in the corridor.
“Come in first,” he said. “Don’t stand outside.”
The young knight of the Knights Templar kept glancing at Geoffrey—his meaning was clear, hoping this old knight would tactfully withdraw during the time to come. Unfortunately, Geoffrey was never the sort to act according to others’ expressions. Not only did he not leave, he comfortably sat in the chair by the fireplace and ordered the servants to bring him a cup of hot wine, clearly intending to see this amusing little interlude through to the end.
These three young knights made no excessive requests of Caesar—and this matter, Caesar and Geoffrey had long anticipated it—the administrator of Bosra, Shams al-Din, wanted to hire them to clear out several bands of bandits between Bosra and Damascus.
It was no wonder Shams al-Din had his eye on them. Here were ninety knights blessed by saints, and among their escorts, no small number had been “Chosen by Michael.” Several priests had also sensed powerful saints. Plus their armed attendants and servants, a force of over a thousand—even to assault a small castle would suffice. Clearing out those bandits roaming the desert and wasteland was no difficult task.
“I’ll handle this matter…” Caesar glanced at Geoffrey, who was idly fiddling with chess pieces. “Geoffrey and I will deal with it together.” That meant he would negotiate with the administrator of Bosra as leader of the delegation and Knight of Bethlehem.
The young knights’ expressions immediately relaxed. They bowed to Caesar and then left one by one, raising no other questions or demands.
Caesar returned to the table. He had been trying to play chess against himself, for he had little great interest in current amusements like watching juggling, listening to music, or carousing with women—though the administrator of Bosra had specially prepared a chess board in his room, the Shatranj board he had played with the prince. Since becoming escorts with the prince, they had scarcely had time to play chess. Now seeing the chess board and chess pieces, he felt considerable nostalgia. But after just a few moves, he heard voices from the door: Geoffrey and others speaking.
“You know why it was them, don’t you.” Geoffrey said. Others hearing it would surely feel puzzled, having no idea what he meant, but Caesar just smiled: “I know. And I know what you came for.”
“I did come intending to do something, but now it’s no longer necessary.” Upon seeing those three knights, he knew the thing he worried about hadn’t happened—if those knights had taken employment from the Saracens and only then come to tell Caesar, or simply concealed it, that would be a big problem. He would even arrange to transfer some trustworthy knights—this showed they still retained their original stubbornness and pride. Taking such a group to the perilous Acre without trouble would be the strange thing!
Fortunately, though he didn’t know how Caesar had done it—he only knew that during this time, Caesar had been extremely busy, and what he did was certainly not just providing food to these hungry young fellows; there must be more, but these things happened out of his sight—Geoffrey had no intention of prying to the bottom.
“Having such a worry-free child is truly a refreshing thing.” Geoffrey thought to himself. He drank wine while turning the ebony-carved chess piece with a gold-inlaid base in his hand. Back in his castle, he had greatly enjoyed playing chess. But since coming to Ayyarasa Road and joining the Knights Templar, this pastime had been forbidden. The Templar knights felt no regret, but at this moment he truly wanted to play a game with someone.
Then he saw Caesar sit across from him. “I think,” Caesar said, “that any pursuit, so long as one doesn’t indulge in it excessively, is no vice.”
Geoffrey grinned, and with a clack, he knocked the chess piece in his hand onto the hard olive wood chess board.
——————
Kamal had ultimately mistaken one thing. Though he cherished these knights, for Caesar, this was also an excellent opportunity—a chance to observe Saracen villages and tribes up close was rare, and those he protected were no lambs, but fierce wolf packs.
Perhaps you say, since these too are Saracens, how could they attack caravans traveling between Damascus and Bosra? Among them were surely Christians and Isaacites, but even more were Saracens—but just as Saladin had lamented, without a strong caliph or sultan to lead them, the Saracens could never unite their strength. They would only war among themselves, plunder each other, filled with greed and hatred for their own kin.
But this cannot be blamed on them. When they once lived here, it was a land flowing with milk and honey, lush with water and grass, abundant in vegetation—until centuries later, the weather abruptly changed, clouds and rain grew scarce, and scorching winds from who-knows-where brought sand that swallowed the fertile land.
Oasis after oasis disappeared—but the tribes endured. To keep their tribal folk alive, their swords could not be aimed solely at the Christians who held only the coastal regions.
After several raids and pursuits, even the seasoned Geoffrey was astonished. In these utterly barren places, there were actually tribal warriors who had received revelation from the Prophet—their numbers were in no way inferior to those in the Saracens’ regular armies. One knightly retinue even nearly stumbled badly because of it; if not for Caesar, they might have suffered a severe defeat here.
Geoffrey felt regret once more—only after leaving Baldwin did Caesar finally reveal his own edge. The light covering him and his companions also shrouded his horse and weapons. He could even unhesitatingly spur his horse toward those swords and arrows glinting coldly.
No one could break the protection granted him by the saint. Instead, they crashed against him like hitting an iron wall—either flung away or breaking bones on the spot. His charges reminded Geoffrey of those heavy siege crossbows—crossbow bolts nearly as tall as a grown man, launched by massive crossbow carts, carving straight, bloody paths through dense crowds—Caesar was the same.
The young knights quickly changed strategy. They no longer charged and fought alone, but followed tightly behind Caesar. Wherever he went, enemies were either thrown from their horses or scattered in flight; no matter how great their morale, it vanished in an instant—even if some among them had received revelation from the Prophet, before Caesar they remained as fragile as mortals.
“What a fool I was, truly. I should have tricked him into the knightly order long ago,” he muttered. Before the Choosing ceremony, Caesar had not been valued. If at that time he had sneaked him into the knightly order and somehow made him swear vows, perhaps the Knights Templar now would have one more figure like a “Paladin”（ Saint Knight）.
But this fellow had sensed Saint Jerome?
There were Templar knights near him who had sensed Saint Jerome too, but no, completely wrong…
After that he couldn’t think further, for the knights were already rushing toward him, bringing honor and captives.
——————
Shams al-Din looked at those people captured by the Christian knights and brought before him—among them Saracens and damned Isaacites. He could scarcely believe his eyes—for these Isaacites were precisely the merchants he had permitted to live in Bosra and trade.
No wonder the thieves knew the merchants’ timings, routes, and numbers like the back of their hand. Their spies were right inside the city, nearby, and the sort no one would suspect.
Think about it. You just bought silk and spice from an Isaacite merchant today, loaded them onto your camels’ backs, preparing to transport them to Cairo, Alexander, or anywhere else.
That Isaacites merchant who traded with you seemed utterly satisfied with the deal, showing unusual enthusiasm, inviting you to eat, seeing you off. When his gaze fell on your camel train, could you guess he was counting your guards and your camels?
Of course this was draining the pond to catch the fish, but Isaacites wouldn’t care. They had no land of their own, no nation, no monarch. Even if the governors of Bosra or Damascus allowed them to reside and trade here, for them it was just a rented inn and warehouse. Who cherishes what isn’t theirs?
No need for Kamal’s reminder—Shams al-Din could guess what this pack of bastards was thinking. Yes, Sultan Nur al-Din was dead, and none among his heirs could convince everyone. The shadow of war already loomed over their heads.
And compared to the Saracens living in the city, Isaacites trusted neither Shams al-Din nor cared what might befall the city. They only thought to profit greatly from this unsettled situation. As for whether trade routes would be cut or the city decline? Heaven forbid, what was that to them? They could always flee with their money and continue their business elsewhere.
A few years later, when things settled here, they could return. No one would discover what they’d done, so long as they bowed their heads, paid taxes—they could live far better than most Christians and Saracens.
Shams al-Din was furious. He immediately ordered the craftsmen to build wooden frames and set them up one by one along the road from Bosra to Damascus.
These Isaacites wrapped in silk, eating wine and meat, now exposed with their pale flesh naked under the scorching sun. Shams al-Din showed no mercy by granting them quick deaths, but used a method one might call imported.
“This is common in Francia,” Geoffrey said. “They should have done it long ago.” He shook his head with a tsk. “These poor fools, they have no idea what Isaacites are made of. Better to trust the maggots on rotting flesh—at least those have some value.”
They were riding past a wooden frame where a fat Isaacite hung upside down, head downward feet upward, hands bound behind his back. A few short hours of hanging had already turned his face beet-red, breath ragged, and beside him dangled two dogs similarly inverted.
—In Christian countries, folk believe newborn pups don’t open their eyes for the first few days, like the blind. Thus they liken Isaacites to dogs for their blindness, mocking that even if the Savior came before them, they could not see or recognize his salvation. So when an Isaacite sinned and stubbornly refused conversion, they would hang them upside down and place two dogs beside them for mockery and warning.
This Isaacite was still somewhat lucky. For there were a few Isaacites—perhaps by the executioner’s intent—where the two dogs were a bit closer. When the upside-down dogs struggled desperately, they would claw and bite with teeth, leaving them bloody and horrific in an instant.
And amid this silence and wailing, they saw the people who had come out from Damascus to greet them.
