Chapter 311: Rebirth
The Envoy stood smugly in the council hall of the Governor’s Palace.
The crowd here was divided into three parts, with the most distinct being Nathia and Boscia in the main seats, surrounded by the officials and knights—they were all of the lord’s faction.
And standing opposite them were the Envoy and the Templar Knights who had escorted him to Nicosia.
And scattered between them, standing mainly were the Cypriot nobles and commoner representatives, their expressions varied but united in silence.
This Envoy was a handsome young man, who through this face had an unclear relationship with the current Alexander III, and thus at this age was already clad in a red robe; after Alexander III issued the Great Excommunication Decree, he volunteered to take on this seemingly dangerous task.
But was it really dangerous?
He did not think so, otherwise he would not have fought for it—the Cypriot nobles were originally just a group of cowards terrified by the Saracens, and after Caesar’s “seven days of mourning,” they had become a flock of meek lambs at the mercy of others; if Caesar were in Cyprus, he would absolutely decline this work.
But this lion was already detained by conspiracy in Bethlehem and could not return.
Even if he returned, he would be driven out by the allied army of the Templar Knights and the Byzantine Emperor; now remaining in the Governor’s Palace were only two women, one his sister Nathia, the other his wife.
The former need not be mentioned, just a lowly person who had been a female slave in the Sultan’s palace for nearly ten years, this was known to all; the Envoy’s disdainful gaze swept over Nathia, no doubt she was like those unchaste whores, skilled at fawning over any man she saw.
As for Boscia, the Envoy’s gaze only lingered on her for a moment before leaving.
Boscia’s appearance was not what people now admired; she was coarse like a farm woman.
He thought to himself, especially seeing her extraordinarily large abdomen not even covered by a tight garment, as he muttered in his heart that Venetian women were indeed wanton and unrestrained, he reluctantly proclaimed the Pope’s Great Excommunication decree.
In this decree, there were inevitably some frightening words commonly used by Church people, like blasphemy, hell, exceedingly grave crimes, no possibility of ever receiving forgiveness—and then some stern warnings, warning this sinner’s all friends, kin, and those with economic and political dealings, not to approach him again, nor allow him to approach them, all previous contracts and documents related to him were no longer valid, including his previous two marriages and the oaths the knights swore to him, and the oath he swore to the King—when speaking here, the Envoy particularly emphasized his tone, and glared at the two women in the main seats and the knights behind them.
He seemed to say, why have you not yet wept, knelt, and appealed?
And those knights—you are all members of the Crusaders, how can you still stubbornly serve a devil? Do you want to go to hell?
But in the end he remembered the most important thing.
“…Although you have also become the devil’s womenfolk, servants of Satan, but if you were deceived, coerced. Then… as long as you now kneel on the ground and confess, you can obtain the Holy Father’s mercy.”
“The Holy Father is willing to forgive us?” Boscia asked doubtfully; she wore a very heavy and thick cloak, crossed at the chest down to her ankles, covering her hands and abdomen.
“Yes, only this. Praise my Lord, praise the Holy Father, what a generous and benevolent man he is?” the Envoy said sincerely, completely ignoring the disgusted expressions of the bystanders, then he revealed a malicious and cruel smile: “You must follow me to Rome, confess your wrongs in a monastery and accept the purification ceremony performed by the priests for you; hope your prayers and asceticism can wash away the sins on your bodies, even a little bit.”
Boscia laughed.
Although spoken grandly, the Envoy’s demand was undoubtedly to make them two hostages; these despicable villains still had some fear of Caesar and those supporting him, and behind Boscia there was also Venice’s Dandolo; even if Dandolo could not persuade Venice’s council to dispatch a fleet, they could still blackmail Dandolo for a large sum over Boscia.
Moreover, just by seeing where the Envoy’s hostile gaze fell, it was clear they would not allow Caesar’s child to live.
This child living would mean he still held power over Cyprus, Bethlehem and Damascus, even Ayyarasa Road, “I understand.” Boscia said.
The Envoy nodded reservedly, not at all surprised that this woman had finally submitted; the situation was settled—excommunication was such a terrible thing, if they still insisted on following that sinner, they would be despised witches, thenceforth destitute and starving.
Then he saw that “female slave” leaning forward to remove Boscia’s cloak for her; he was about to rebuke her for changing clothes at this time, did she not know she was already a sinner now?
And his anger instantly froze on his face, making him look as comical as a clown.
Boscia was about to give birth, her belly was indeed large, but not as exaggerated as he had seen.
The reason the bulge under the cloak was so large was because she was tightly gripping a crossbow; this crossbow might not be more powerful than a siege crossbow, but at a distance of only ten steps or so, this difference was enough to negate.
The Envoy’s mouth gaped open; he perhaps wanted to declare his identity, or perhaps appeal, but all vanished in that soft “thwip”…
Boscia’s shooting skill was personally taught by her grandfather Dandolo, who even had a lighter and smaller crossbow custom-made for her—this crossbow came with her to Cyprus as dowry; Caesar never stopped her from continuing training in this, and even hired the best crossbowman among the Crusaders as escort to teach her precise shooting.
The crossbow bolt pierced the stagnant air, straight into the Envoy’s throat; he raised his hand in disbelief to clutch his throat, one hand still trying to pull out the bolt embedded in flesh, but after several tries, he could only make gurgling sounds like chickens and ducks awaiting slaughter, blood filling his hands, unable to change any fact.
After a few breaths, he fell backward; in his final moments, he cast his gaze toward the Templar Knight beside him. Why not stop her? Why not protect me? He could not understand.
The Grand Master of the Knights Templar had clearly already submitted to the Pope’s orders.
When he landed at Pendaya, the Knight Commander of the Knights Templar controlling that city not only personally came to greet him, but knelt before him and kissed his ring.
When he pointed out this Templar Knight to him, he also said he was the most valiant and skilled among the Templar Knights; even if the Governor’s Palace had a thousand heathen soldiers, he could bring him out safely, which allowed him to speak so boldly, and under the knights’ glaring eyes declare to take away their two mistresses.
Of course he was prepared; if things truly became irredeemable, he was not above kneeling to beg mercy, even swearing that once back in Rome, he would exert himself to petition Pope Alexander III to change this terrible decision and withdraw the Great Excommunication Decree.
Of course, this was just him saying it offhand; anyway, as long as he could safely exit here, he could do anything—even if they demanded he bare his rear and dance with the devil.
But he never imagined Boscia’s response would be so swift and fierce, and the Templar Knight beside him did not even move, even when the other Templar Knights behind him placed hands on their sword hilts, he stretched out both hands and pressed down, signaling them not to act rashly.
Then the other slowly removed his face mask.
“Walter?” Arban, the knight beside Boscia, who was one of the veteran knights who had once followed Joscelin II, exclaimed in surprise; he had fought alongside Walter, and after Joscelin II was captured, he had even sought out Walter, hoping he could persuade the Grand Master of the Knights Templar to find a way to ransom Joscelin II.
Of course this request was refused, but Walter still sponsored him some money privately, so he did not live too destitute, but they had not been in contact for a good ten years.
Nathia had even heard of the name Walter; Walter and Geoffrey were Caesar’s friends in the Knights Templar; when Caesar first came to Ayyarasa Road, they had given him different help in various aspects.
Caesar had once said that for monarchs, priests, and pilgrims, these two knights’ character was reliable（for commoners and heathens it was hard to say）; even so, in the Crusaders they were still rare “good people”.
The attendant beside took the crossbow from Boscia’s hands; Boscia gazed at Walter, “Why did you not stop me?”
“The task I accepted was only to escort him safely to Nicosia; after that the Grand Master did not say.” Walter shrugged.
Whether the Envoy or the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, both thought that since Walter accepted this task, he should understand their meaning—he temporarily became the Envoy’s attendant, to obey his arrangements and commands, no matter how shameless the demands.
This Templar Knight, once pinned with infinite hopes by the Envoy, tilted his head, narrowed his eyes and grinned at the corpse on the ground, “Little one, this is all I can do for you.”
Then he bent down, hoisted the Envoy’s wide-eyed corpse over his shoulder like carrying a sack of wheat, and strode out of the council hall as if no one else was there; those present exchanged glances, but no one dared—or needed—to stop him.
Walter’s words seemed addressed to the dead Envoy, but everyone knew who he was really speaking to; people’s expressions, especially the Christians’, became even more complex.
They had indeed heard that Caesar had an extremely lofty and pure reputation, highly respected among knights, and previously had considerable friendship with two Knight Commanders in the Knights Templar. Unexpectedly, they would take such a risk, allowing his wife to assassinate the Envoy; this completely exceeded their prior estimates.
Boscia sank back into her seat; even though trained, she was now still a ten-month pregnant woman about to give birth; this assassination had consumed much of her vitality—if it were another woman, even lifting a cup at such a time would leave her panting, yet she had killed a man.
Boscia slumped in the chair, face pale, lips purple, but she raised a hand to refuse others’ support.
“So, Your Excellency the Archbishop of Cyprus, are you now willing to accept my request?”
The Archbishop of Cyprus gravely emerged from a small chamber screened by a curtain, “Are you sure? Child?”
“What is there to be unsure about? The Pope of Rome has issued the Great Excommunication, shaming my husband, me and our future child, and his sister Nathia, even though we bear no sins, all for his selfish sake.
We are no longer Christians.”
At these words, those present could not help looking toward the Venetians and knights beside her.
The Venetians were one thing; they had originally turned to the Catholic Church out of necessity, which was one reason the Roman Church was dissatisfied with them; even politically, they still leaned toward accepting the rule of the Byzantine Empire’s Emperor; now for them to convert was not difficult, but those knights…
And the knights led by Arban showed no change in expression.
Indeed, under the Great Excommunication Decree, the excommunicated person was thenceforth expelled from Christian society; as Crusader knights, they of course could no longer offer him loyalty, but while Christians cannot contact or speak with one excommunicated, there was no problem contacting or speaking with heathens.
In Syria, though they were always fighting the Saracens, they had more than once been hired by Seljuk Turks, Saracens and Byzantines, even heathens of unknown faith and origin, and even Isaacite caravans had hired them—as long as they had shiny little gold things, did they hesitate?
Not at all, as long as the other side did not ask them to plunder and slaughter commoners—this Arban always insisted on, whether Christian or Saracen commoners; he knew well that doing evil was like a beast tasting human flesh, once done, one would never forget the taste.
Of course they also could not attack Christian armies and cities.
Beyond that, they did not disobey.
Now they still belonged to the Lord of Cyprus; only this lord had changed from a Crusader knight to a Byzantine purple-robed noble.
The Archbishop of Cyprus did not answer immediately; he turned to look at those Cypriot nobles—some showed surprise, some frowned tightly, more… more yet showed joy?
