Chapter 285: Broken Wings
David looked up, but he saw nothing.
Before he even raised his head, Bohemond had grabbed Raymond’s shoulder and pulled him away from the window.
“David!” his companions shouted. When this group of young men saw the king arrive, they excitedly clustered around him and entered the courtyard, while Baldwin, who had been talking with Caesar, turned around and raised his hand to David, as if asking why he hadn’t followed—David immediately cast aside these small doubts and quickly caught up with them.
Seeing David catch up, Baldwin returned to the previous topic: “So we have to wait another month, or even two months, to hear that good news.”
“What good news?” David asked his companion in a low voice.
“Caesar’s—envoys from Cyprus have arrived, bringing some goods and letters…”
When Caesar left Cyprus, his wife Boscia had already been confirmed pregnant. David calculated in his mind and realized it was indeed about time for this child to be born.
David didn’t have as many thoughts about this child’s arrival as his father Raymond did. He was happy for Caesar and also felt a bit envious—among his peers, Caesar was unexpectedly the first to have a child.
Sibylla and Abigail had been married for nearly three years, but Sibylla’s fetus had died before birth, and there had been no news since.
As for David, he knew his father Raymond was indeed looking for a marriage for him, but no matter what candidates were proposed, the Count of Tripoli found them unsatisfactory.
As to why—David could vaguely guess—Baldwin aside, if no miracle occurred on his body, he might never have a wife and child in his lifetime, but Caesar, who could say he wasn’t extremely lucky?
He first obtained a marriage that shouldn’t have fallen to him because he saved the life of Byzantine Empire Emperor Manuel I—after all, the wife of Amalric I was only the emperor’s niece.
The princess’s dowry was an entire Cyprus. Even after such a terrible event occurred afterward, with the witnesses and Princess Anna’s utmost efforts, Caesar still legally and religiously obtained Cyprus.
After his wife died, countless noble ladies were available for him to choose from. When he selected a Venetian woman, some mocked him for his short-sightedness, but they probably didn’t expect that the Venetian Dandolo would be willing to pay a whole fleet as dowry for this granddaughter.
Although in return Caesar granted the Venetians various privileges and official positions, who could say this transaction wasn’t worthwhile?
No one knew how many people secretly regretted it—if they had known Dandolo would love this granddaughter so much, they should have proposed to Boscia first.
With these two jewels as precedents, Raymond became much more picky when selecting a wife for David. He didn’t even care about the woman’s age, appearance, or virtue, only how much dowry she could bring.
Gold coins could no longer satisfy him; he craved a territory, and it had to be a large territory with no flaws in ownership.
David was his only son, and with the new territory of Mersin, there were no shortage of nobles willing to offer him a rose branch. The problem was, none of them could match Anna or Boscia, so David’s marriage was thus delayed.
However, David didn’t mind. Not to mention that men even at sixty could still find a satisfactory marriage, there were plenty who remained unmarried for life, then entered a monastery or became Martial Monks.
He had no strong desire for marriage. Compared to pursuing noble ladies, he preferred pursuing prey, drinking and sparring with knights, fighting Saracens, and felt completely satisfied without needing anything else to disrupt his life.
Of course he would still get married—after all, Tripoli and Mersin both needed an heir. “Is it a boy?” He couldn’t help quickening his pace, wanting to hear the answer from Baldwin and Caesar.
Or perhaps a girl? If it was a boy, he might need to hurry too, since he hoped his own child could be a companion to Caesar’s child.
“No, we have to wait… probably until late September or early October.” Caesar replied. Baldwin pursed his lips; though he was a man, he roughly knew that women needed ten months for pregnancy and childbirth. Before Caesar left Cyprus, the monks had already determined the child was three months along—hadn’t it been born yet?
Was there some bad situation? Illness or a curse?
Hearing the king say this, the surrounding knights also showed worried expressions. For women during pregnancy and childbirth, no matter what torment or danger they faced, they could not receive priestly treatment, because the scripture clearly stated it was the sin and punishment that descendants of Eve must bear.
Therefore, for a pregnant woman or new mother, the best was for everything to be normal. Premature or overdue birth would cause various issues—lightly damaging reputation, or worst, leading to the death of the child and mother.
“Thirty-seven to forty-two weeks are all normal numbers.” Caesar said, then realizing he shouldn’t know this so well, he had to explain: “I saw records on this in a Saracen library before.”
Amid a burst of glances that seemed to say “Oh!”, he continued, “This year’s Lent was March twentieth. And I departed on the fifth day of Lent—I remember clearly, at that time the priests had already covered the cross and holy images with light purple curtains.”
Although a priest who was Chosen by Raphael swore he heard the fetus’s heartbeat—and indeed, in most cases, the fetal heartbeat is clear enough for instruments to detect around three months—but Caesar had asked that priest, and under the saint’s blessing, his hearing was much sharper than ordinary people. Based on this, the child might even have been only six to eight weeks.
Combined with Boscia bleeding in the previous month—that might have been early bleeding when the fetus implanted.
So when he left Cyprus, the child should have been about two months along. Although first-time mothers generally have slightly shorter pregnancies, this wasn’t absolute.
If Boscia was the exception, then the child could be born in September, October, or even November.
“That’s good too—you might even return to Cyprus and witness his birth in person.” Baldwin said somewhat sullenly. Though it wasn’t a husband’s duty—marriages at this time weren’t so tender; knights and lords fighting outside, returning home to find the child walking was common. Even in the castle, more important matters were “acknowledging” the child—a legacy poison from Ancient Romans.
They had just seen the envoys from Cyprus and thought Boscia had finally borne an heir for Caesar, but they only brought letters from Caesar’s sister Nathia and wife Boscia, along with some goods.
Cyprus’s goods had played a key role during the siege of Damascus. Even now, the sugar and salt inside were still items knights flocked to, but that wasn’t all—Nathia had also given Caesar a surprise.
“Is it liquor?”
David asked curiously. Even through the thick wooden boards filled with grain husks for shock absorption, he still smelled a rich wine aroma—he had never experienced such a heavy, almost tangible alcoholic scent. It was like a knife, or a handful of fire, able to slice through one’s nasal cavity and ignite a blaze from the chest.
“It’s purified liquor.”
Caesar said. These distillation vessels were originally used by Saracens to extract rose essential oil, but their Prophet had warned them against drinking, so no one thought to use the equipment to extract purer alcohol.
While Francia now had beer and wine, the current Christians lacked the Saracens’ technology and equipment. The light wine they drank like water was probably only three or four degrees, wine around ten degrees, and the strongest liquor only over twenty degrees.
After many attempts by Nathia, based on what Caesar smelled and tasted, this sample was at least eighty or ninety percent—close to success. The next steps were simple, though he hadn’t told Nathia yet—just mix it with quicklime; the quicklime would absorb the water in the alcohol, and once it solidified and precipitated, the alcohol could reach ninety-nine percent or higher.
Then, mixing it at a ratio of three cans of alcohol to one can of clean water would yield seventy-five percent alcohol, so-called medical alcohol.
Baldwin had already taken out one small jar. Fortunately, Nathia had followed Caesar’s instructions and masked it with some lower-proof liquor, but those were still fifty or sixty degrees.
“This seems different from the light wine we usually drink.” David insisted on tasting some, and Caesar obligingly poured him a shallow cupful.
David took it and drank it down. He heard Caesar say, “Support him.” While David and those around him wondered, there was a thud, and David lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious.
Fortunately, Saracen halls rarely had tables and chairs, only carpets—they sat cross-legged on the floor. The craftsmen were busy converting the largest temple into a church and couldn’t spare hands to make furniture for them, so David simply collapsed from his cross-legged position, insensate.
The knights around him hurriedly checked in panic, but found his breathing heavy, eyes tightly closed, face flushed—he had simply passed out drunk.
They immediately licked their lips curiously, wanting a taste too, but Caesar refused. “You don’t want to sleep solidly like this for a whole day, do you? Wait until I dilute it with light wine, then you can try it.”
Amid their regretful gazes, Caesar collected all the jars of liquor.
“Will this be one of the goods Cyprus sells in the future too?” One knight had already thought of the rock sugar produced in Cyprus—Cyprus wine was famous far and wide, loved by lords and monarchs everywhere. He couldn’t be sure about this liquor, but there would surely be those who liked it.
More importantly, it was a new thing, like rock sugar. Often, nobles and officials desperately wanted something not because they loved it, but because it was rare and unique.
“Perhaps.” Caesar said ambiguously. Alcohol couldn’t become a good. Besides its exorbitantly high cost, its main purpose wasn’t to satisfy appetites, but to combat infection.
On the battlefield, it was an extremely important strategic material. Though there were priests—but only lords, knights, or merchants who could afford the fee could receive priestly treatment.
The armed attendants, servants, craftsmen, and laborers, once wounded or ill, could only rely on the most primitive methods—wood ash, moss, mud, their own tenacious life force, and pious prayer to seek God’s mercy.
The efficacy of alcohol could not be publicized. Caesar dared say that once he produced alcohol, the Church would immediately slander it as poison brought by the devil from hell, claiming it led humans to depravity. And from its production process to its use, it indeed made people think the maker was tempted by the devil—it required massive amounts of grain, heathen vessels, and the inevitable stinging cold when poured on wounds.
The wounded were already in anxiety and fear; with a little incitement, things could spiral out of control.
And selfishly speaking, Caesar preferred to use this precious alcohol on Baldwin’s illness.
Though this was just a sample, there probably wouldn’t be large-scale production in the future—raw materials might be sufficient, but equipment and manpower definitely wouldn’t.
While he was lost in thought, the knights had noisily decided to hold a banquet. Though regretting they couldn’t celebrate Caesar having an heir yet—the child wasn’t born—they always had excuses for banquets. They decided to go hunting.
Baldwin called servants, but the knights had already lifted David’s heavy limbs themselves and carried him back to his room. After instructing the servants to look after David, one knight hesitated: “Should we call Abigail?”
The others immediately made grimacing faces—they despised Abigail from the bottom of their hearts but had to give some face to his father Bohemond. After all, he was still the Duke of Antioch, one of the four rulers of the Kingdom of Christ, and the minister second only to Count Raymond of Tripoli in the Ayyarasa Road Court.
Abigail was also David’s friend, though lately David rarely mentioned him.
“Let’s call him anyway.” That knight glanced at his companions—they had all come from Holy Cross Castle and didn’t want to be seen as flatterers. To their delight, the servant they sent soon ran back excitedly, reporting that Abigail had left the castle—he had taken Antioch’s knights hunting outside the city.
If it had been David, these young knights would have been angry, but since it was Abigail, they felt they had dodged a bullet.
“Do you know which way they went?” the knight asked. The servant thought for a moment: “Probably east.”
The knight immediately decided: “Then we’ll go west.” They certainly didn’t want to run into that unlucky coward.
At this time, Abigail had led Antioch’s knights some distance out. His knights tried to persuade him not to go too far. Though Damascus had fallen into Crusaders’ hands, this was still Saracen and Seljuk Turk territory, with their cavalry roaming everywhere, liable to appear anywhere.
“Then we’ll defeat them, drive them off, kill them.” Abigail said angrily. “What? You can’t? My father once boasted to me that you were the most loyal and valiant knights under him, yet now you’re repeatedly cowering, afraid to advance—this makes me doubt you’re truly as advertised.”
These words instantly ignited fury in the knights, but helplessly, Abigail was indeed the one they served. Just like those who followed the former Count of Edessa Joscelin II on expeditions—even after Joscelin II and his son died in a Saracen prison, they still fought for his honor. These knights had followed Raymond, son of Duke William IX of Aquitaine, Bohemond’s father, and elders to this day, and the current Duke of Antioch Bohemond treated them quite generously.
But such humiliation was truly hard to bear. An elderly knight exchanged glances with his escort, wanting to approach Abigail, knock him out with a knife blow, and take him back to Damascus—the Duke of Antioch would surely understand their plight.
But before they could act, a fast horse suddenly galloped up—it was their scout. Before the knights could stop him, he shouted, “Lord, we’ve spotted a Saracen caravan!”
