Chapter 36: Mithridates Prescription
Caesar hesitated unusually.
He had once been a doctor, and in another world, people always thought that traditional Chinese medicine and Western medicine were separated by an uncrossable chasm, but in fact it was not so; their courses, practices, and theories had certain interconnections, so Caesar was very clear that some herbs used by people of this era could have significant effects on the body’s organs, and some effects would even last a lifetime, irreversible.
Of course, he still had not figured out the root and scope of application of “Chosen by Raphael”; perhaps those monks kept by the Pope or Patriarch could indeed cure liver and kidney damage, but this time was different from the previous dangers he had encountered—he had no confidence; if these potions contained large amounts of… take the most direct example—aristolochia… colchicum…
The aristolochic acid in the former could directly harm the liver and kidneys, while colchicum could lead to gastrointestinal bleeding and neuropathy.
And what was laughable was that precisely because poisonous plants could react immediately on the human body, they were instead considered effective and used widely and long-term…
“Me first,” Baldwin said, propping up his elbow and nudging Caesar, signaling him not to speak: “Caesar has to serve me.”
“Good reason.” Heraclius said, then he looked at Caesar: “And you?”
His gaze was unusually mild, and his tone flat, but Caesar’s back was already covered in cold sweat; he was unsure if he should take the risk again; he looked at Heraclius, then at Baldwin; there were only the three of them in the room.
“Lord,” he said in a low voice, so low that if Heraclius were not standing right in front of them, it would be almost inaudible; of course, if there were someone eavesdropping outside, unless they had been “Chosen by Michael” or “Chosen by Raphael,” they could not hear it: “Can I see the prescription?”
Heraclius’s expression immediately turned dangerous; if a real nine-year-old child were sitting here, they would surely be scared trembling and speechless; the priest leaned down: “Prescription? Can you understand these?”
The prescription was a small matter; the problem was that Caesar had not undergone “selection” nor been “Chosen by Raphael”; what qualification or opportunity did he have to access knowledge of medicine?
Speaking of which, it was strange; when we open scripture and some rough records, we find that the profession of “doctor” appeared very early; in the time of Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian, preaching and practicing medicine were still separate; these two martyr saints were born in AD 300, which means there were doctors back then.
But at some point, as more and more priests and monks received “Chosen by Raphael,” the Church gradually monopolized the profession of “doctor”; they even declared that those without “Chosen by Raphael,” not monks or priests, were bewitched by the devil—either wizards or possessed by hell’s bastards; they would face judgment, and then their ending would be decided based on the situation—those who could pay the fine would do confession and Mass（for a fee）; those who could not would face excommunication（usually for men） or be burned（mostly women）.
After Caesar came to Baldwin’s side, he was not yet clear about the myriad taboos of this era and once casually mentioned that they should find a better doctor for Baldwin’s illness; Baldwin’s face changed immediately upon hearing it, and he solemnly warned that such things must never be mentioned again; Caesar had lost his memory and was a man without past or support; if some ill-intentioned person heard it and reported to the monks, it would be big trouble.
Ever since Caesar came to Baldwin’s side, Baldwin had always cared for him deeply; this was the first time he had been so stern, so Caesar fully understood the weight of this issue, but he had to ask—not only for himself, but also for Baldwin.
“If I wanted, I could throw you in prison just for this question,” Heraclius said darkly; “No, I’m not telling you, boy; do you think a prescription is what? If I wanted to take it out, there are plenty of bishops and kings willing to buy it at a pound of gold per word; unless…” He saw the two children straighten their backs immediately and finally could not help laughing: “Unless they are my students…”
“I want to be your student!” Caesar said immediately, but he also had some hesitation: “But if the blessing I receive is ‘Chosen by Michael,’ or if I am not selected…”
Heraclius pondered for a moment: “Monks have also been students of knights; if not selected, there would indeed be some issues, but I don’t think the Church should be full of stupid pigs; if it comes to that,” he said forthrightly: “You can just offer this prescription; for the sake of this prescription, the Church’s examiners will also let it slide.” This was under the premise that Caesar wanted to be a doctor; if he did not, it would be even simpler—not every monk gets “Chosen by Raphael.”
There were those selected but still weak in strength, and Witt was one of them; Heraclius had already decided to kill him on the night of the Lord’s birth to prevent Baldwin from failing in the “Choosing ceremony,” where someone could use him as an issue.
Having gotten the answer that satisfied him, Heraclius straightforwardly took out the prescription; Caesar looked down and indeed saw aristolochia; fortunately no colchicum; the other ingredients could be called bizarre, like venomous snake meat and such, but at least they would not cause huge harm to the body; he checked each medicinal herb name one by one, asking Heraclius about some parts, because the prescription was written in Ancient Greek verse according to current custom. “Bitumen… St. John’s Wort, lavender, rose, saffron, mint… black pepper and cinnamon, nutmeg… myrrh, frankincense, turpentine… beaver scent, styrax… Arabian tree gum… grind the ointment, tree gum, and medicine with wine to make it fine and smooth, then add several ounces of honey.”
“Is this aristolochia necessary?”
“You really can understand it?” Heraclius was surprised: “It can be replaced with mandrake or poppy milk.”
Neither of these was good, and the latter was deeply hated in later generations: “If replaced with mandrake, does the amount need to be increased?”
“Depends on what you use; halve the seeds, no need for flowers and leaves, increase for roots and stems.”
“Can it be changed to flowers and leaves?” Caesar asked: “Will the time be enough?”
Heraclius glanced at him: “By the time you think of that, the third watch has passed（describing late）.” He smugly took out two other bottles of potion.
“Did you guess I would ask for the prescription?”
“No, these are prepared to avoid you having strong reactions.” Heraclius picked up the box under the table; as soon as it opened, rows of sparkling glass vials dazzled their eyes.
“Some people break out in rashes just touching mandrake, others vomit endlessly with aristolochia, and some cannot touch poppy milk at all—breathing difficulty and heart racing upon contact; there are also a few bottles where I changed some other main ingredients; you know, some people’s taboos are always strange…”
“You are thoughtful.” Baldwin said admiringly; what pleased him more was that Heraclius was willing to take Caesar as a student, which meant that even if Caesar could not be selected, since Baldwin was selected, his status would allow Caesar to stay by his side.
Heraclius smacked his lips; the performance of these two children today satisfied him; he pulled out a drawer from the box, took two thumb-sized cups from it, placed them on the table, opened the bottle wrapped with a cloth strip（the cloth strip was written full of tiny medicinal herb names）, and poured about a few drops into each, then told the children to drink it.
“Wait, together?”
“I believe I can handle two.” Heraclius said.
That meant the previous choice of who goes first was just the monk’s prank; Caesar was somewhat helpless; he found that adults seemed to love teasing them more and more now.
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“You’re back?”
Heraclius was startled, then recognized from the familiar voice and silhouette that the person waiting in his room was his master, Amalric I.
“Why not light the lamp, Your Majesty?”
“Darkness is sometimes better for thinking.” Amalric I turned to Heraclius: “How are they?”
“A bit feverish, vomited for a while, had hallucinations—but they were both asleep before I left.”
“Did you see the knights?”
“They will guard the tower all night. No one in or out without your orders.” After a week without seeing anyone, nominally “fasting,” but there were too many eyes and ears in the castle, and those behind them surely knew the first trial of the “Choosing ceremony” had come; Baldwin was weak, sluggish, and defenseless—those with intent would surely take advantage.
“How is Baldwin?”
“He is good, he is strong.” And full of faith and charity, with more thorough thinking than before; he had realized that his father did not want him and Caesar to become true friends; although Amalric I said to treat Caesar as a duke’s son, he still hoped Caesar would be a slave—the more Baldwin valued Caesar and saw him as an equal, the stronger Amalric I’s killing intent.
“And Caesar?”
“He is taking care of Baldwin.”
“He didn’t vomit? No fever?”
“What’s strange about that,” only Heraclius could lie calmly before a suspicious old lion: “Caesar is the prince’s attendant, right? Should I or Baldwin take care of him?” In fact, Heraclius looked after both, then they cared for each other when feeling slightly better.
“I hope he stays this loyal forever.” Amalric I pressed his temple: “I’ll go first.”
“Wait, Your Majesty,” the monk said: “There is something you need to decide—about your marriage…”
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“Amalric I’s marriage? Could Manuel I really agree? If he had exiled Prince Baldwin from the start, Manuel I might not hesitate, but he clearly wants to keep this heir; even if Manuel has several daughters—he would want every marriage to give him a strong bargaining chip… this marriage will definitely not happen.”
The Patriarch of Ayyarasa Road paced the room, muttering almost uncontrollably.
“Why not?” the visitor countered; he wore black robes like a simple monk, but the gold cross hanging inside the robe showed he was no poor man. “Manuel I has always wanted to attack Egypt; if he wants a strong alliance, marriage is the best way—”
“But Prince Baldwin…”
“He can only live thirty years, and precisely because of that, Manuel will agree— we all see Amalric I’s intentions; he newly married a wife, and he is still in his prime, he can have another son; before that child grows up, the one holding the throne for him is Prince Baldwin; the best part is, when his young son comes of age, Baldwin will be dead.”
The current Patriarch of Ayyarasa Road turned to the Papal Envoy—he had come silently, leaving no trace; when two monks brought him before him, instead of kneeling and kissing his feet, he stood proudly and presented the Pope’s seal and proof of identity, startling the Patriarch of Ayyarasa Road.
What Christians are most familiar with is the Eastern and Western Churches, Constantinople and Rome, but undeniably, the uniqueness of the Holy City of Ayyarasa far exceeds these two cities; it is the holiest place, the martyrdom site of Jesus Christ and countless saints; everywhere are holy relics; people bend down, pick up a stone, take it back to their city, and that stone from Ayyarasa Road becomes a relic, enshrined in a church or monastery.
How was Jesus Christ handed over to the cross by the priests of the Isaacites, his own people? Was it not for interests and power?
Urban II, who faithfully implemented his predecessor Gregory VII’s “supremacy of church authority” Cluniac reforms, when he went to kings and nobles, delivered impassioned speeches, using bloody threats and honey-sweet temptations to stir hearts, calling them to fight for God—surely thinking of God and saints in his heart, but definitely also of gold and land.
The First and Second Crusades could be said to be driven single-handedly by the Roman Church; indeed, they gained certain benefits: first, the Crusaders’ expeditions effectively struck at those heathens and heretics, strengthening the weakening power of the Papacy; second, the East-West trade once monopolized by the former two now became the possession of merchants and guilds of various European nations; finally, the Crusader knights brought back massive wealth and resources from the East, much of which fell into the Church’s hands.
But would the Church be satisfied with that?
No, they would not; they wanted it all, but the Crusader leaders—the King of Ayyarasa Road, the Count of Tripoli, and the Duke of Antioch—did not intend to spit out the fat meat in their mouths—especially the King of Ayyarasa Road; when the first king Baldwin I needed a coronation, even though the bishop at the time hid in a cave, he still sent soldiers to drag him out and force him to anoint（essential step of the Coronation Ceremony）.
Faced with the Church’s accusations, he would rather fight a month’s campaign, southeast to Egypt, east to Petra, than yield to the Church, shattering the Pope and cardinals’ delusion of turning Ayyarasa Road into a theocracy.
After that, every King of Ayyarasa Road upon ascending had to go back and forth with the Church; the kings were tough, the Church unscrupulous—like bribing or tempting the priest administering last rites to the king, forcing the dying king to promise to offer Ayyarasa Road to the Church…
Prince Baldwin contracting leprosy, everyone knew the culprit; Amalric I’s near-unreasonable strange reaction was more like a declaration of war against the Church.
The Patriarch was almost convinced: “But doing that would completely offend Amalric I.”
“Do you think refusing to treat his son Baldwin is not offending him?” the Papal Envoy said: “Once Baldwin dies, we can punish him with the charge of the leper desecrating the Holy Land and bringing divine retribution; to redeem his sins, he will show piety and loyalty in these years, and then… our opportunity.”
He cackled: “Don’t worry; even if he marries the Byzantine princess immediately, his child cannot grow up in one day.”
“Amalric I is not one to let it go easily.”
“That’s true, but we are far away; as for you,” the Papal Envoy tsked: “You have few choices; how about groveling at the feet of Amalric I and Prince Baldwin, begging forgiveness? Even if your priests treat Baldwin, whether it cures him is another matter; are you sure he doesn’t know who is behind his illness?”
He raised another finger: “Moreover, if he recovers, he is another Baldwin I; that was the reason we acted in the first place.”
