Chapter 268: Spreading Wings
Likewise afflicted with malaria, the knights’ recovery was far stronger than that of ordinary people. By the third day, they could walk freely again, their full muscles returned, and they looked no different from before, but those laborers still felt dizzy, with aching or weak limbs. They could do some light activities, but it was impossible for them to keep up with the group.
They felt extremely frustrated, and some even cried out loud.
“You must believe in the Lord,” Caesar had to comfort them. “Does the omnipresent, omnipotent Lord not see your hearts or hear the oaths you have made? This may be His trial for you, setting some obstacles for this expedition, and you have already overcome them.”
But these people were still whimpering.
Drinking a male witch’s potion did not make these people so pious—the knights nearby secretly grumbled in their hearts.
“Next, you should follow His will. Since He has not immediately taken you to heaven, it means there is still work for you to complete in this mortal world that He has entrusted to you. Rest well. When we return, we will take you with us.”
“You, are you sure?”
A laborer asked tremblingly. He was very worried that if something went wrong, they would end up like that group of savages, spending the rest of their lives in this swamp.
“I swear.”
What reassured these laborers was that those left behind were not only the sick, but also several friends and relatives who stayed to care for them after being persuaded by Caesar. It was not that they were heartless, but Caesar, though benevolent, was also just; he would not let these stayers enjoy the same treatment as those laborers who had trudged hard with him and then labored tirelessly.
Those left behind would receive no silver coins. Although they could get the previous pay and perhaps some compensation, it would certainly not match what the others received. In the end, Toma ended their worries and mild complaints with one sentence: “Think about it. If you were in the previous group, what fate would you have faced.”
What fate? Undoubtedly, to be abandoned and left to fend for themselves. The sick laborers immediately fell silent.
“The farmers left to care for you also received money, you know? This money is not part of the expedition’s expenditure. It came from that lord, our Little Saint. Have you ever seen such a lord before? Or do you want to complain until he withdraws all his benevolence?” Toma added, “You should feel ashamed of your selfishness and greed.”
Thus, those people finally stopped clamoring.
They left the sick people’s tents. Although malaria did not spread from person to person, their tents were still some distance from the sick camp.
At the edge of the knights’ camp, Toma saw those who claimed to be Turks and were then accepted by their kind-hearted master, these savages. These savages might have used up all the luck they had accumulated over a dozen years here. Everyone could see they had reached the end of their rope, with a bottomless abyss right before them.
Even Toma did not believe these people were Turks—Christians could not enslave Christians, and if they were Christians, they would have to give their names and origins—but seeing that these people could speak the language of gentlefolk with their master showed they were more likely a group of criminals before.
Toma stared closely at the ropes around their necks. He knew these people were “useful,” but that was not why their master kept them.
“Do you want some water?” he walked over and asked.
These savages nodded eagerly. In fact, Toma’s question was quite unnecessary. Since they joined the group, they had accepted everything offered—clean water, Food, clothes… For them, these were things they had hardly seen except in dreams in recent years.
Toma shook his head. Once again marveling at their good fortune, he went to the iron pot and ladled some warm water for them. The water was quickly divided and drunk clean, and the smallest one was still licking the inside of the cup.
This was sweet water, the kind masters drank. They did not know how the Little Saint did it, only that he poured the filthy water into a wooden bucket, then opened the tap at the bottom— at first they thought the bucket contained light wine, but it turned out to be something like sand.
In any case, after the filthy water was poured in, clean, almost transparent water flowed out. Boiling it made it sweet-tasting, without the past fishy or bitter flavors.
When the sun rose again, they set off once more.
Next, even Toma was unsure how long they had traveled. But according to what that old slave said, after encountering these savages, they had walked about three more days—during this time, they advanced along the river, turning only when faced with impassable swamps or pools, but always returning to the riverbank.
Getting lost here could be fatal.
Until they reached a place even those savages found unfamiliar, Caesar finally selected three locations—after all, no one could be sure things would go as smoothly as expected.
As it turned out, his choices were right. The first spot had a hidden undercurrent beneath the water, the second had a whirlpool from who knows where, also invisible from the surface. Caesar had considered damming to slow the river’s flow to see if the whirlpool could be eliminated, but after estimating the workload, he gave up.
Fortunately, the third place had a river width and depth that met expectations. But in the uninhabited Hula Valley, they could not find enough boats—using boats to build a pontoon bridge had become unlikely.
But the Hula Valley did not lack wood. The oaks and black pines standing for a thousand years had never been disturbed by humans.
They were just unsure whether to build boats first and then use them for a pontoon bridge, or build a bridge directly—the knights argued endlessly, each with advantages and disadvantages. But after calculations, building the bridge directly would indeed be faster than building boats first for a pontoon, and the direct bridge would be less prone to damage.
Speaking of which, this bridge-building method should still be counted as a legacy of the Ancient Romans. The great Roman general Ancus Marcius once built the Sublicius Bridge—the first bridge across the Tiber in the City of Rome, entirely wooden, completed in just one month in 621 BC.
The laborers immediately got to work. After selecting wood of suitable thickness, they felled whole trees, laid them on the ground, chopped off excess branches, and sharpened a beveled tip at the base so it could sink deeper and more steadily into the riverbed mud.
At this point, a problem arose: knights always deeply despised labor. Even a king calling them to work like craftsmen or farmers would make them feel humiliated.
But the next work was beyond what these laborers could do. No matter how calm the river or narrow the surface, it was not something they could contend with.
Of course, normally, laborers would make hanging baskets（ filled with stone blocks）, pulleys, hoisting tools, etc., to aid the project, but they lacked time.
“Saracens could arrive here at any moment and then discover us.”
Caesar said, then walked first to the wood pile, shouldered a stake, and leaped into the water. Gian followed closely.
The young knights did not mind much, and the older knights, after slight hesitation, had to admit Caesar was right. When the time came, these knights responsible for guarding the laborers would still have to fight the Saracens anyway.
The knights blessed by God jumped into the river one by one. Upon hitting the water, they were swept downstream. If not for the cowhide ropes tied to them, they would either drown or be carried off to who knows where.
And while fighting the surging current, they also had to keep track of their positions to avoid fixing in the wrong spot. The deepest central spot was handled by Caesar, with Gian assisting him—for this strong knight, it was not very dangerous.
But being deep in the dark, silent water always made one feel as if already far from the mortal world, until a soft white light emanated from Caesar’s body. Everyone could see that as long as they stayed close to him, they need not fear being dragged by the devil’s hand into the bottomless hell. And the favor the saint granted him was so abundant it nearly overflowed.
He not only completed his own work but, after securing a stake, could turn to help other knights.
But after helping Caesar fix one stake, Gian’s heart was pounding; he felt dizzy as if drunk and nearly misplaced the stake—they fixed the first stakes against the current to use the water’s force to drive them deeper into the mud.
The opposite row was tilted less severely and would gradually lean to the other side with the current’s impact.
Then longitudinal wood connected stake to stake, followed by transverse pieces, and finally coarse planking for the bridge surface.
With everyone’s united effort, by the eleventh day, the bridge took initial shape. At this time, Baldwin’s envoy had caught up with their group—he had been startled upon encountering those forced to stay on a hill due to malaria, thinking they had abandoned the previous plan because of illness.
Only upon learning that only a few were sick and most had gone ahead to continue scouting suitable sites did he slightly relax.
And he absolutely would not have imagined that a real bridge lay before him—the envoy could hardly believe his eyes. He knelt on the bridge surface, prostrating to touch the wood. The workers had simply used pulling knives to strip the bark, as wet bark would be very slippery, causing people and horses to fall.
He knocked hard, as if to prove it was not fake, and the solid feel indeed brought him back to reality. He turned back with reverence: “Caesar, how did you build this?”
Even not in flood season, the water surface here was nearly a quarter of a league wide, and the bridge was wide enough for twelve men to walk abreast.
Caesar had said before that knights could even gallop war horses on it.
He had previously thought Baldwin and Caesar’s plan somewhat fanciful, but this bridge proved he was the one with short-sightedness.
The envoy Baldwin sent was, of course, his most trusted man, Count Berion of Ibelin. In Holy Cross Castle, he was counted among the king’s close advisors, but his position was awkward. Although Baldwin also called him uncle—this uncle relationship was quite complicated.
This relationship came from his brother marrying the Countess of Jaffa after King Amalric I’s marriage was declared invalid. He had no blood or marriage ties to the king, so he always acted reserved and seldom involved himself in important matters.
But his loyalty to the king was beyond doubt. Caesar and Baldwin were like brothers and also held a favorable view of this reserved middle-aged man—they could tell if it was genuine.
Seeing him so surprised this time, he even felt like joking, “Indeed, Count. Angels have been with us all the way, removing poisonous insects for us, driving away plague, preventing us from falling into swamps at night. We came here because angels pointed out this place, then helped us fell trees and block the current.
That is how we built a bridge in such a short time.”
He thought Berion would not believe it, but Berion immediately looked up with an “as expected” expression.
Uh, at this point explaining it was just a joke—Caesar truly worried Berion might jump up for a duel, while Gian beside him was already chuckling.
During this time, Gian had finally come to somewhat understand Caesar, but though his reverence had not lessened, he discovered Caesar was also a young man like him, often doing things people could not imagine.
Perhaps unintentionally blaspheming God, Caesar deserved punishment—he had to accompany Berion in a grand Mass.
There was no church here, but there were priests.
Berion was exceptionally pious, even more cautious than in the castle’s small chapel under the True Cross. Caesar even suspected he had seen through his nonsense and was deliberately tormenting him.
This good news indeed put the count at ease. After sharing a simple meal with them, he prepared to depart and return to the king’s side to report it.
“By the way, has anyone asked about my whereabouts?” Caesar asked.
Of course, Caesar was practically the king’s shadow. His sudden disappearance naturally aroused suspicion.
“Yes, many have asked. Besides those in on the plan pretending ignorance, there are some with ill intentions.” Such as Raymond and Bohemond.
Raymond asked directly at the banquet. The king told him that to ensure this victory, he had specially sent Caesar—his dearest friend and brother—as his representative on pilgrimage to Nalessa.
What later generations would find unimaginable was that such things did happen at the time—when the king was on expedition and passed a church or holy site but could not leave the army, he would send a knight to pray and offer on his behalf and retrieve relics.
Though sending Caesar seemed odd—any ordinary knight could do it—these could be explained as the king’s piety.
Raymond got an answer and was half-believing, but Bohemond was not so easily put off. He easily calculated the time needed for a round trip to Nalessa and had been probing Caesar’s whereabouts these days: “Where has he reached? Any messages back?
Has he met some accident? Should we send someone to check…” and so on, annoying the king greatly. But luckily, Baldwin’s authority was now established, so he did not press too hard.
And the main army above the Sea of Galilee had indeed found a suitable river-crossing spot.
This time, Berion even brought a map—if Caesar succeeded in building the bridge, he would not return to Baldwin soon but serve as a surprise force ambushing one side of the battlefield, ready for a fatal blow.
At this moment, Baldwin oddly shared the same idea as Caesar.
The position Baldwin chose was perfectly suited to Caesar’s location—not too far, not too near. War horses would expend less strength, action would be more concealed, and the strike on the enemy more sudden—though some had differing opinions.
At this point, Berion frowned. He too felt Bohemond seemed increasingly irritable. Even if he cared, he should not probe so deeply, especially since Raymond seemed provocative—who did not know Caesar had taken his son David’s place.
But Bohemond’s son was already the princess’s husband. Even if not valued like Caesar, his future position was secure. And Bohemond seemed more anxious than Raymond, but ever cautious, he said nothing. Why add needless worry for this young man?
