Chapter 293: Broken Wings
Like most people, Lego appeared extremely pious in his words and actions—he had never missed a single sacrament, prayed constantly; he was not overly stingy during burnt offerings; and when witnessing a miracle, he would tremble all over, tears streaming from his eyes, and at least in that moment—he truly thought about offering everything to God.
But in fact, when the fanatical mood calmed down and he returned to this Mortal World, the first thing he considered was himself.
To avoid possible trouble, he poured the lake water, said to have been drawn from the place where Jesus Christ appeared, into the sewer without the slightest hesitation; he had already recorded that Hebrew text, ensuring no mistakes when re-engraving it.
Then, he put away the earthenware pot and went to sleep, but this sleep was very restless; perhaps an angel was indeed watching this sinner reproachfully in the unseen, as he woke up in the middle of the night, feeling cold all over, limbs aching, and his head foggy.
Lego grew worried and hurriedly found some herbs from his satchel and stuffed them into his mouth; these were bought from peddlers or Saracens, and not knowing their efficacy, he knelt before the cross and prayed devoutly, vowing that upon returning to Nalessa, he would immediately go to the synagogue to perform an atonement sacrifice to redeem his sin.
Whether due to the herbs or the sincere prayer, Lego fell asleep with an uneasy heart, and when he woke up, that discomfort had completely passed.
The sunshine was bright, the breeze warm, “What a fine day this is,” he said to himself, then hurriedly went out to visit his former friends and current enemies.
——————
The same sunshine shone on Damascus; this time heading to Bethlehem were only the King of Ayyarasa Road, Patriarch Heraclius, Bishop Andrew, and Knight of Bethlehem Caesar; they did not need to follow the vast army, so their speed would be much faster.
As for the still unsettling Damascus, it was temporarily handed over to Count Raymond and his son David.
Now the master of Bethlehem was Caesar; Bishop Andrew had no intention of interfering in his governance of Bethlehem, and as the Provost of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, second only to the Grand Master, he also had the qualification and duty to ensure that the miracle in Bethlehem encountered no mishaps.
Moreover, he still had to officiate his nephew’s wedding.
Also returning with them was Grand Duke of Antioch Bohemond; the saint he hoped for was not Saint Jerome, but he too wanted to witness the miracle with his own eyes and then pray to the saint who might have descended here for a miracle.
Everyone knew that his son Abigail had been in poor condition ever since his arm was severed by an Assassin.
He would fever intermittently and babble nonsense, claiming that the arm already buried in the earth was still on his body and constantly causing intense pain.
He demanded that people remove it, but since it no longer existed, how could they? The monks could only mix some poppy paste into milk for him to drink, so he could barely sleep for a while.
Grand Duke of Antioch Bohemond’s expression was absolutely genuine; anyone seeing him knew this man was heartbroken, and people could understand his previous severity toward Abigail and his current gentleness—he was a father after all—they all said so.
Heraclius turned his head and looked back; Damascus had gradually become a small dot in the distance.
His heart gradually calmed; compared to the ownership of Damascus, he cared more about these two children of his: Baldwin, whom he had watched grow up, and Caesar, his student brought to him like an angel.
He urged his horse between the king and Caesar and gently patted Pollux’s neck, making the black horse move farther away.
“I have some words to say to Caesar alone.”
Baldwin could only ride over to talk with Gian; originally, David’s position should have been there, but David was left behind by his father; Raymond thought it a rare opportunity, as David’s Mersin was full of heathens, even comprising most of the population—this reason was impeccable—David felt regret but could only stay.
Gian was returning to marry Damara; he was full of energy and smiling broadly. If not for the constant presence of monks and priests around him, he might have declared that Saint Jerome came to bless him and Damara.
“I chose Saint Jerome back then,” looking at the young man, Heraclius said softly, “because he shares certain similarities with you.”
“Similarities?”
Caesar certainly knew the saint he hoped for was not Saint Jerome; in fact, he had never clearly seen His face, He had not told him His name, and the vision he encountered was hard to associate with any saint—and that saint must be a powerful figure.
Sometimes the people in the Holy City would jokingly mention that the favor Caesar received far exceeded what Saint Jerome had ever shown.
The saints hoped for by knights and priests were mostly related to their original identities or experiences, like a king or king’s son, or a great lord; people would expect him to hope for the most revered Saint Knight George.
If that saint was more skilled in preaching and debate, or had treated the sick, then the priest who hoped for him should also have such talents and abilities.
Though there were some strange deviations, like the knight skilled in communicating with small animals, or a priest who liked farming, but basically similar.
“Saint Jerome was not a rule-abiding, obedient priest. On the contrary, people agreed that he had extremely novel and abrupt understandings in many aspects; of course, such people were not welcome in the Church. That is why, though he served the Bishop in Rome, he was ultimately exiled to the Monastery of Saint Jerome in Bethlehem for the rest of his life.
But this change was perhaps not a bad thing for him; he was always enthusiastic about translating ancient texts and scrolls—those of Ancient Greece and Ancient Romans—and you know, they inevitably included many heretical doctrines strictly forbidden by the churches…”
Heraclius glanced at Caesar—his student was not as mild and steadfast as he appeared; if he showed any trace, Heraclius could use some of Saint Jerome’s behaviors as explanation.
“And he once encountered a lion in the wilderness, which removed a thorn from his foot; this can be interpreted in two ways.
If a monk hoped for him, we could say he would inevitably get along harmoniously with beasts, or be skilled in treating bleeding wounds; but since you are a knight, it can only be interpreted as you becoming a Guardian—and you know, Amalric I was always somewhat suspicious, perhaps because of those previous servants; though they deserved their sins, the matter indeed left Amalric I both shocked and angry.
You understand my meaning.”
Caesar paused, then nodded. Indeed, for Amalric I, aside from his blood-related children, others were cattle and horses or tools—whether cattle and horses or tools, suddenly gaining their own consciousness and daring to lord over the master was completely unacceptable to him.
So when he noticed Caesar’s attitude toward Baldwin was not one of fear and utmost respect, he even thought of eliminating Caesar.
“He never imagined you and Baldwin would be so close; this closeness comes not only from the relationship between you, but from the same blood flowing in your veins.” Heraclius sighed deeply.
In these two children, he had already seen the unpredictable changes of destiny; he was not skilled in prophecy, but a sense of foreboding lingered in his heart, “I only hope I can continue to protect you for a few more years.”
If Caesar only had Bethlehem, it would be fine, but now he also had Cyprus and Damascus—even the usually prudent Heraclius could not help but entertain a wild thought.
Now it seemed that Sibylla and Abigail’s marriage could not bring a suitable heir to the Kingdom of Ayyarasa, while Caesar’s wife was about to give birth to a child.
If this child was a boy—of course, he could not immediately bring the child to Holy Cross Castle as Baldwin said, but he could let Caesar’s son spend the following years on Cyprus, and when he was six or seven, with his body grown and mind steady, bring him to Ayyarasa.
By then, if this child could become the next King of Ayyarasa Road, the support he gained would be far stronger and richer than that of any previous Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre.
But this would inevitably stir up a storm of blood; those with inheritance rights were not just Caesar, and he thought of Princess Sibylla, who had always hoped to become another Melisende, but he was not optimistic about Sibylla—not to mention Sibylla, not everyone approved of even Melisende’s actions.
Moreover, with Grand Duke of Antioch Bohemond’s mother Constance, wife of the Count of Edessa, and Caesar’s grandmother ahead—one sacrificed her son, the other sold out her country—female rulers found it hard to gain recognition from the Crusaders, even if only regenting for her son.
Gian was still excitedly describing his aspirations for married life, while Heraclius pondered whether the apparition of Saint Jerome could be used on the child soon to come.
The saint hoped for by the father bestowing a blessing before the child’s arrival—what a beautiful and holy thing; people mentioning this child would think he was designated by God and the saint…
The king.
“Teacher?” Seeing Heraclius silent for a long time, Caesar asked softly, “Nothing, I’m considering things after entering Bethlehem—after all, a miracle is no small matter.”
The Patriarch’s envoy had sent a secret letter; to them, this miracle was very likely real, and even if fake, what was the point of forging Saint Jerome’s miracle?
Unless the monks of the Monastery of Saint Jerome intended to attract more pilgrims to it—churches or monasteries had done this before, and in most cases, the Church would appropriately stay silent. After all, the wealth accumulated by a church or monastery with a saint’s apparition would snowball with the influx of pilgrims, and a large portion of this income would go to the Church.
Generally, such deceptions were not exposed.
Unless fabricated by laypeople or so crude that even a farmer could see it, damaging the Church’s reputation.
But since the two envoys sent saw no obvious signs of forgery, it indicated the chosen one’s involvement. Then this apparition could hardly be described as true or false; after all, they borrowed the power granted by the saint, and the saint allowed it, does that not mean the saint’s permission?
“You may need to fast for a while, change out of knight’s attire, wear a monk’s hemp robe, and devoutly repent and pray in the monastery, but it won’t be too long—basically, continue asceticism for a week after the apparition signs fade.”
Of course, to show piety, some knights would extend this to a month, even a year.
But Caesar still held the position of Governor of Damascus; though David promised to urge his father to act per the king’s decree, prolonged delay would indeed cause worry.
——————
“The people sent by the Patriarch seem not to have discovered us.”
“Of course,” a priest quickly agreed: “The favor they received is not one ten-thousandth of yours; how can fireflies compare to true stars? Your radiance is enough to illuminate the earth.”
The ascetic praised by this priest merely turned his head; those gray eyes held little human emotion, chilling the priest’s spine, but he was accustomed to the ascetic’s coldness and oddity—these were secret weapons controlled by the Roman Church; they revered only one person, the Pope of Rome.
The King of Ayyarasa Road and Patriarch Heraclius probably did not expect—Alexander III was indeed old, soon to heed God’s calling to heaven.
But though aged, like all tyrants, even as life neared its end and body decayed, their desire for power could still burn down the entire City of Rome; they clutched everything tightly until the last moment.
Even if to others his demand for Cyprus territory seemed absurd, how could such vast wealth be obtained by a mere decree and an identity-unknown illegitimate daughter.
But to Alexander, his child—or illegitimate daughter—had already made concessions; without Cyprus, his illegitimate daughter could have married a duke or prince.
Reasoning with him now was useless; if he felt humiliated, he would retaliate recklessly, and since he would not linger long in this world, even if the King of Ayyarasa Road led an army into Rome, he would not live to see it.
“Follow me.” The ascetic said in a dry voice, extending his hand to a child who had been sitting in the other corner of the room; though dressed in monk’s clothes, he seemed only about ten years old; he took the ascetic’s hand forward, and the ascetic leaned down, whispering in his ear, “Can you feel the presence of those little lives?”
The child nodded, “Many, but still very small.”
“Only in one place, or in many places?”
“Many places.”
The ascetic straightened up and said no more; their first step in the plan was complete.
Lego was not the only one; there were many like him, some Isaacites, some Christians, and even some Saracens; they flooded in from all directions, bearing Pope Alexander III’s courteous greetings to the Knight of Bethlehem.
