Chapter 164: The Isaacites’ New Year
September, Bethlehem.
After Longinus met Caesar, they stayed in Damascus City for about another week.
The next day, David arrived with another group.
This straightforward young man was also filled with joy when he saw Caesar. When he was young, he really didn’t like this pretty peer. On one hand, it was shame, shame that he couldn’t firmly stay by Baldwin’s side.
On the other hand, it was jealousy, jealousy that Caesar, a man of unclear status who had been a slave, could occupy his former position.
But these grudges had long dissipated several years ago. Caesar proved to him that he was indeed better than David, both as an attendant and as a friend.
Although eager to return home, Saladin insisted on waiting until the doctors thought Caesar could withstand the long journey before they were allowed to leave.
Saladin accepted Baldwin IV’s gifts, but in return, he also gave the King of Ayyarasa Road an extremely generous gift. Caesar, David, and Longinus each received rewards—horses, armor, and silk aside, the most surprising thing was that just as they were about to pass through the city gate of Damascus City, Saladin even gave a special gift.
An Isaacite.
As soon as he saw Caesar, he showed a resigned expression. Saladin nodded to Caesar, believing this gift would surely be more pleasing to Caesar than gold or a Damascus knife.
This Isaacite was none other than Haridi.
When they passed through here before, the Isaacites merchants in the city had colluded with bandits outside during the chaos in Acre, plundering passing caravans—the Governor here arrested all the Isaacites, hanging men and dogs together on wooden frames, selling women and children into slavery.
Haridi was one of them. Fortunately, though caught while fleeing, he was recognized by Caesar.
Caesar had been looking for him. While performing purification on Sultan Nur al-Din, he discovered needle marks on his body and a broken needle tip.
At the time, he could hardly believe it—he had actually found the prototype of a syringe. He always thought syringes wouldn’t be conceived by a European until three hundred years later, and actually manufactured another hundred years after that.
Yet here he saw a real syringe, a trigger-activated anesthetic flying needle. Such flying needles were not uncommon in his world; people used them to hunt fierce beasts, control thugs, and the mentally ill.
So Nur al-Din’s death was not caused by his illness, but by poisoning. The potion and syringe were done so cleverly that no one noticed. If Caesar hadn’t come from another world and been so familiar with syringes, he wouldn’t have known what that hair-thin thing was…
Or he might not have cared at all, perhaps tossing it away as a piece of ornament from the Sultan’s body.
That Haridi could make such exquisite apparatus meant he could fulfill some of the extremely precise components Caesar envisioned.
Those Saracens in Fustat were right—Haridi was indeed a craftsman more than capable of serving a Sultan or Caliph. His skills couldn’t even be described as exquisite; his designs were wildly imaginative—possibly related to the blessing or revelation he received.
Caesar wanted to take him back to Bethlehem, but when they broke out from Acre with Kamal and other ministers, this cunning Isaacite craftsman escaped.
At that time, Caesar lacked the energy and leisure to pursue him, so he could only keep it in mind and see if there would be a chance later to find him or someone else usable.
Unexpectedly, Saladin caught him again. To save his life, he mentioned Caesar’s name, and Saladin, of course, wouldn’t begrudge adding such a small gift for his little friend. But he glanced at the ashen-faced Haridi, “I hear this isn’t the first time he’s escaped from you,” he suggested kindly: “Perhaps you should break his legs. If what you need him for doesn’t require anything beyond his eyes and hands, of course… and his tongue and ears.”
“Then he will never get my service,” Haridi said firmly: “I am alone in this world. All I seek is freedom. Without freedom, I will do nothing.”
“Ha!” Kamal beside Saladin scoffed less politely: “I don’t believe you have such courage, Isaacite.
You are so young, with such skills. No matter which city you go to, even if you can’t join the Christians’ guilds, you can still live quite comfortably. You would still have another wife and more children. You’re just hoping for luck, full of ingratitude.
If you crave freedom so much, I believe Caesar wouldn’t be unreasonable.
Go climb onto the wooden frame yourself now. There are still a few empty spots.”
Haridi looked where this Sultan minister indicated; those wooden frames still held shriveled corpses, of men and dogs.
“I don’t understand why you keep wanting to escape?” Caesar asked strangely. “I’m not a harsh man. I take you back to Bethlehem, and you can still run your workshop there. I’ll give you good treatment and a comfortable environment, as long as you can make what I want.
And I’ve already seen the finished product you made before. It’s not a challenge for you.”
Yes, why? Haridi could only remain silent.
Anyone could see Caesar’s future was bound to be bright. His only weakness had been eliminated. Even because Jocelin III was dead, instead of being constrained by his father as Heraclius and Queen Mother Maria worried, he could inherit everything from his father upon returning to Ayyarasa Road.
Even if the County of Edessa no longer existed, the title and two hundred thousand gold coins remained.
Haridi could easily find a foothold in Bethlehem through his favor. This was a relationship that Lego of Bethlehem and other Isaacites couldn’t build despite spending a hundred thousand gold coins.
Why did he keep fleeing? Not only others couldn’t understand; if he hadn’t heard his teacher’s dying words, he would wonder why he was doing this.
But perhaps destiny was like this, pointing him a direction he must follow.
For a moment, Haridi didn’t know how to describe his feelings—was it desolation? Mockery? Or despair? He lowered his head, seemingly accepting this twist of fate.
Saladin imperceptibly shook his head. If he were Caesar, he would hang this Isaacite craftsman to repay his repeated escapes.
No matter what Caesar hoped he could do, he didn’t believe among thousands or tens of thousands of craftsmen, none could match him. But nothing happens overnight; he made many mistakes in his youth too.
An Isaacite craftsman was at most a small thorn embedded in flesh; removing it was just a thought away.
Haridi was handed to a Christian knight, who unceremoniously looped a rope around his neck and tied the rope to his own horse.
No carriage, no horse, no mule.
He would have to walk the rest of the way on his own two feet as an Isaacite craftsman—this was the mildest punishment. When they rested, Longinus would check on him as Caesar instructed. He found it strange too, but unlike others, he could ask.
“Does this Isaacite have something special? Must it be him, not others? Even if Bethlehem doesn’t have one, Ayyarasa Road surely does.”
Others really couldn’t.
Unfortunately, Caesar couldn’t explain the reason to Longinus. First, even if he did, Longinus wouldn’t easily understand those things. Second, the apparatus he needed Haridi to make would be used to treat Baldwin.
In the Christian Church, a knight who received Chosen by Michael must never involve Chosen by Raphael—that was the priests’ exclusive domain.
Even in martial monk military organizations like the Knights Templar, there were priests and monks who received Chosen by Raphael. Though called knights, they were essentially holy office personnel.
“Haridi! Haridi?!” Continuous calls jolted Haridi from his memories. He realized he had been staring blankly at a gemstone a customer brought. He looked up to see his old friend, one of the merchants in Bethlehem, Lego.
However, his reputation among the Isaacites had dimmed due to the recent mistake. Though much of the hundred thousand gold coins was Lego’s personal investment, others had also suffered losses to varying degrees.
They had complaints about Lego’s failed scheme, even saying Isaacites should stay in Isaacites’ places, not interact too much with Christians or Saracens—they were just deviant heathens, untrustworthy and uncommunicative.
Trading money with them was as dangerous as snatching prey from a tiger’s mouth.
Lego retorted that when they discussed it in the synagogue, few opposed—everyone’s eyes gleamed with eagerness, eagerly contributing money. Weren’t they just trying to seize Bethlehem through this opportunity?
After all, the original rulers here were Knights of the Holy Sepulchre sent by Amalric I—Bishop Andrew and his knights. Though Bishop Andrew accepted their offerings, like churchmen from Rome or Francia, he was full of disgust and wariness toward them. They gained no benefits from this strict martial monk.
Their new lord, however, was young, benevolent, and best of all, had lived as a slave without commensurate education.
Young heirs like David and Abigail had long learned from their fathers how to deal with Christians, Saracens, Isaacites, and farther ones like Byzantines, Armenians, and Turks.
As for governing a city, the Knight of Bethlehem had no experience. If their plot succeeded, God willing, they would get a huge, huge return from the Knight of Bethlehem—perhaps even their names written in scripture.
Such risky, uncertain ventures weren’t their first, nor their first failure.
Lego felt no guilt for his kin’s losses, even though some incurred debts—he even used collecting those debts to cover part of his own shortfall.
Though Haridi was still just a goldsmith, he had heard a bit about it and really didn’t want to deal with such a man.
“Right, you want an amulet?” He roughly estimated, “Come get it in three days.”
“Besides that, I have another task for you.”
Haridi looked up warily. Ever since Caesar brought him back to Bethlehem, Lego had been trying every way to probe why Caesar valued him so much.
He even sent a few fellow craftsmen to inquire what Caesar wanted him to make—a golden crown for the King? A reliquary box? Or a large Cross? For his unfortunate parents.
Of course, all returned empty-handed; they couldn’t even see Caesar. With Haridi, he didn’t want to be a sage or leader—he had no desire for power or money, slippery as an eel, leaving Lego nowhere to grasp.
“Not for those things,” Lego shamelessly pretended nothing happened: “New Year is coming. The sage asked me to tell you we’ll gather at the Isaacites’ synagogue tonight to discuss celebrating New Year.”
Haridi didn’t want to go, but as an Isaacite, regardless of his sect, this reason was inescapable. He reluctantly nodded, “I’ll go, but Lego, does celebrating New Year need discussion?”
“It does, of course,” Lego winked at him, “You’ll know when you get there.”
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“Bethlehem’s Isaacites are preparing to celebrate their New Year.” Nathia leaned by the window, lifting a corner of the curtain to spy on the Isaacites walking the street.
The Isaacites’ New Year differs from Christians’ or Saracens’, neither at year-start nor year-end, but between September 5 and October 5, as they follow their own Hebrew calendar based on moon phases—the corresponding Gregorian date varies yearly, as does New Year.
“You need to prepare too, brother.”
“Prepare?”
Nathia raised her head, left the window, went to her brother’s side, leaned down to hug Caesar’s shoulders, gently took the quill pen from his hand, and pushed away the parchment before him. “You should rest, brother.”
“Just reviewing some documents; it won’t burden my current condition much.”
“You nearly died.” Nathia ignored him, pushing him back onto the couch: “Let me tell you about the Isaacites.”
Though these years Nathia was in Sultan Nur al-Din’s harem, her information wasn’t isolated. Don’t think harem women were unrelated to court intrigues—like the Sultan’s First Lady being his blood relative, the second and Third Lady Turkic Khanate princesses, and some his ministers’ female family members.
Unlike bought female slaves, if they gained the Sultan’s favor, they stayed in the harem for life. If not, at a certain age, the Sultan might release them to marry.
Their outside connections never ceased.
For Nathia, the noble ladies’ conversations, quarrels, even slanders held vital information she accumulated, memorizing every word.
Every September, consorts almost complained about their fathers or brothers needing heightened city security against the Isaacites’ New Year.
Saracens and Christians would throw stone blocks at celebrating Isaacites, extinguish their flames, insult and mock them, sometimes sparking conflicts in multiple places.
This touched on a point Caesar hadn’t yet learned.
“Is Bethlehem like this too?” In Ayyarasa Road, perhaps because he was always by Baldwin, he hadn’t heard of such things.
“I don’t know, but you could ask others, or just order no Isaacites New Year celebrations.”
Of course a simple, decisive method, but after a brief thought, Caesar called Longinus to fetch Bishop Andrew.
Bishop Andrew had ruled here for Amalric I for over a decade; he should know how Bethlehem’s Isaacites celebrated New Year before, and if city Christians or Saracens clashed with them over it.
Bishop Andrew promptly accepted Caesar’s invitation, untroubled.
A Knights of the Holy Sepulchre veteran, he’d seen companions overexert strength and bedridden for months. For Caesar’s deeds in Damascus City, he felt only admiration and gratitude—several youths he knew returned safely to Ayyarasa Road.
They dined together, and before nightfall, Caesar raised the Isaacites preparing New Year.
Bishop Andrew pondered briefly, “They don’t parade or hold Mass; most ceremonies are in their own rooms—I haven’t heard of related conflicts—but I think your sister’s suggestion is good,” he said without hesitation: “No one knows how to take advantage better than a group of Isaacites.”
“This is your first September in Bethlehem.” He added meaningfully.
