Chapter 80: Isaacites And Isaacites
The noisy place was not far from where Baldwin and Caesar were, separated only by three houses and one alley.
The knight, similarly drawn by the noise, had already begun to grow impatient. He glanced at the Templar Knight leaning bored against the wall, planning to settle this troublesome matter swiftly and cleanly—he didn’t care about justice or good and evil; after all, this city had tens of thousands of Saracens, who were both piggy banks and powder kegs, and there wasn’t much time for them to waste.
But his escort suddenly ran over and whispered a few words to him. He was first stunned, then pulled the torch from the wall and walked out.
The others in the courtyard couldn’t help but stop talking, looking uneasy and unsure of what had happened.
Soon, the knight led another group in. The leader of this group was two young novice knights, dressed more nobly than the escort, but their spurs were still silver.
In the flickering firelight, both novice knights had dark hair, though one was darker than the other, almost black. The black-haired novice knight had a pair of green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness, while his friend had gentle blue eyes, but with more solemn composure than the former.
They saw the Templar Knight, who was arrogant enough to disregard everyone, suddenly lower his hand, walk up to the blue-eyed novice knight, bow his head in salute, and then reach out to pat— the green-eyed novice knight stepped back, dodging the pat with a salute. The Templar Knight muttered something like “spiteful little bastard” and stepped aside.
“What happened here?” Baldwin asked.
Caesar, meanwhile, observed the situation. This was a very common two-story small building in Bilbeis: the top was a platform for drying grain and clothing, the second floor for the master and family to live in, the ground floor a workshop or shop. Walls extending from both sides of the small building formed a small courtyard, with a large olive tree planted on one side, its branches heavy with golden and green fruits.
And the people gathered under the olive tree surprisingly included all the groups in Bilbeis: Christians as victors, Saracens as losers, and Isaacites despised and excluded by both. Especially strange was that the usually clannish Isaacites were clearly divided into two factions here, glaring at each other angrily.
Baldwin was waiting for someone to give him an answer when a man suddenly threw himself at his feet. He almost thrust his sword— fortunately Caesar timely grabbed his arm. Looking down, it was an Isaacite dressed as a Frank: pointed shoes, trousers, short robe, and outer cloak… What identified him as an Isaacite was the small round hat he wore, which in Hebrew was called Kipa, meaning “covering,” used by Isaacites to show reverence for God.
“Isaacite?” Baldwin frowned. He moved his foot away and asked the humble, fawning face: “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Please allow me to appeal to you, Your Highness,” the man said. “I am an Isaacite, but also your father’s servant. I follow his orders to buy him wheat, barley, beer, and beans. I am called Rabhan. If you have ever heard of me, you surely know I am the most honest and loyal man.”
This statement made everyone present laugh.
Rabhan was not at all offended. He placed both knees on the ground, clasped his hands tightly— seeing Baldwin was not the type to enjoy humiliating others, he said obediently: “I came to save my clansmen but was obstructed by others. If you are willing to see justice done for me, Your Highness, I will repay your favor with a suit of chainmail and three silk robes.”
This reward was enough to bribe a knight or official. Though Baldwin was a prince, he was not yet of age, with no territory or knights of his own— not to mention, as a young man, he had plenty of expenses.
But to this Isaacite’s disappointment, though the prince was young, he had maturity and caution beyond his years. He was not swayed by Rabhan’s promised reward, just waved him to the side, then looked around: “Besides him, does anyone else want to speak?”
“I…”
“Hadri…”
Unexpectedly, two people stood up at the same time to speak. Baldwin glanced at them: one was a middle-aged man dressed in traditional Isaacite style, the other a Saracen.
“You speak.” He pointed at the Isaacite.
The Isaacite stepped forward, wearing a multi-pointed hat, a shawl, a loose robe, and brown cowhide sandals. “Your Highness,” he bowed, then said with some sorrow: “I am called Hadri, just an ordinary goldsmith, living by my craft in Bilbeis through the grace of God and the Caliph— and now also through the pardon of King Amalric I…”
“He, his wife, and two daughters are all my captives.” The Templar Knight, whom we already know as Sir Geoffrey, interjected. This was to remind Baldwin and Caesar… these were not the king’s property.
“Yes, yes, this Knight Master captured us outside the city…” Hadri said. “But he is a merciful man; he allowed us to redeem ourselves.”
“It’s not the time when Ayyarasa Road was breached anymore, is it?” Geoffrey said, thinking himself witty, but the cold joke only made most in the courtyard shiver involuntarily.
To make captives pay their own ransom was of course impossible, just like in a martial arts tournament: when a knight is unhorsed and captured by another, his horse, armor, even clothes count as spoils of war, and he must pay separately to redeem himself— same here.
“He told me,” Geoffrey said, “though he left Bilbeis, he didn’t take all his money; some was hidden in a secret place, in his residence. He could take me to get it— I agreed. God bless, I’ve been in a good mood these days, but…” He raised a hand, pointing at the small building, the meaning obvious.
The small building had long been looted clean: furniture, furnishings, vessels, silk rugs… even doors, windows, mosaics, torch and candle holders had been removed, leaving only whitewashed walls and herb patterns painted on them— but one could still see what a warm and peaceful residence it had been when the master was here.
“No, no, no,” Hadri said hastily. “I swear I didn’t deceive you. I hid my money in a place absolutely unknown and undiscoverable—” He turned to Rabhan. “But before leaving, I told this place to my most trusted friend, or so I thought…”
“I don’t care about that,” the Templar Knight muttered. “If you can’t produce the money, I’ll have to find another buyer.”
Baldwin frowned. Caesar asked: “Do you want us to help you recover this money?”
Haridi shook his head. He knew full well: when he met this Templar Knight, he thought himself surely dead. That the knight allowed Haridi to redeem himself and his family was already a joyous surprise, let alone following him into the city— when he found the secret room empty, it was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. But he still had reason, knowing further begging would be pushing too far; the Templar Knight not killing him was already saintly.
“Oh,” Geoffrey said, “it’s like this, Caesar. I was about to take them away and hand them to anyone,” he meant the slave merchants of course, “then,” he looked at the Saracens, “they came out demanding to redeem these people from me.”
Caesar’s gaze turned to the Saracens, about five or six, all wearing headscarves. The leader had dark skin, wearing a Saracen robe like the one he met earlier at the market, but linen-colored instead of black. On the cowhide belt, a hook for hanging a scimitar was faintly visible, probably hastily removed before negotiating with the knight to avoid unnecessary conflict.
But this suggested that even if not on King Amalric I’s list, he was no ordinary Saracen commoner.
“How much?”
“Not much,” Geoffrey touched his face. “Ninety gold coins.” He nodded toward Haridi: “He has two daughters like flower buds.”
This price was really not high, but seeing it this way made Caesar even more puzzled. A standard suit of chainmail cost at least forty gold coins for the body alone, a silk robe eight to nine gold coins. What Rabhan had promised Prince Baldwin alone equaled this ransom…
“We already agreed,” the Saracen said, suppressing anger. “We came too hastily without enough money and have sent someone to fetch it.”
“Who knows what you’ll do with my clansmen after buying them?” Rabhan jumped up from the ground, saying viciously. “I’m willing to pay three times the amount!” Turning to Geoffrey, his tone softened: “Knight Master,” he said respectfully, “you don’t even need to wait; I’ll bring the money now.”
“My husband’s money…” Haridi’s wife said angrily.
“Don’t talk nonsense, woman! The devil should pull out your tongue!” Rabhan said sharply. “Your husband didn’t leave me any money!”
He turned his face again, showing an innocent expression to Caesar and Baldwin: “My lords, think about it: if a man decides to flee this city, abandoning his wife, daughter, house, industry, and everything, why would he leave money for me?”
“This money wasn’t left for you!” Haridi finally couldn’t hold back and shouted: “It was because I wanted to leave, but some clansmen insisted on staying. I feared that if…” He paused. “If something happened, you could take this money to help them escape suffering!”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Rabhan said mockingly. “Listen, listen, what a saint…”
Geoffrey chuckled.
Rabhan paused, looking at them puzzled, not yet realizing a real “Little Saint” was right here, so he continued: “So what’s it now? You abandoned your clansmen but failed to escape, so you regret it and plan to use this money to save your own life?”
This was moral blackmail, though the term didn’t exist yet.
But though Haridi was not eloquent, he was clearly a clear-headed man who knew his own mind. He stepped forward, eyes sharp: “If a man doesn’t love even himself or his family, but claims to love others, that’s truly… being bewitched by the devil.” He lowered his eyes slightly. “Though it does stray from my original intent, I am just a mortal after all.”
“How much money do you have hidden here?” Caesar asked.
Haridi hesitated: “Fifty gold coins, but also a few gemstones worth over forty gold coins, and a roll of deep blue silk, needed for a reliquary a customer ordered from me.”
Geoffrey smirked, staring at Rabhan, almost certain this guy took it, plotting to pry it out of him later.
“You are Saracens, right,” Caesar asked again. “Why are you willing to pay such a large sum to redeem an Isaacite?”
“Haridi is our friend,” the dark-skinned Saracen said. “Though he is an Isaacite and adheres to his people’s law and faith, he has always been honest and upright. He has lived here twenty years, never quarreling, never lying, never lending even a copper plate…” He glanced at Rabhan: “Completely unlike his clansmen.”
“Moreover,” he continued, “he is a scholar; he teaches our children mathematics, Latin, and astronomy.”
Saracens greatly respected scholars, especially one willing to impart such important knowledge to their children.
“You are a teacher?” Baldwin asked.
The teachers here were not like modern ones; among Isaacites, the word meant a teacher of oral law— similar to priests in the Christian Church or elders among Saracens.
“Of course not!” Rabhan stepped forward first, answering angrily on his behalf: “He’s just a craftsman!”
Haridi pursed his lips.
“Your relationship with him is not good,” Caesar asked, “yet he’s willing to use nearly three hundred gold coins to redeem you?” Nearly a tenth of a count.
“Not for free,” Haridi said. “Isaacites cannot make Isaacites their slaves, but if I owe him a debt, I must repay with my workshop and labor. Three hundred gold coins would last me till death, and…”
“And?”
“And he has always wanted to marry my daughter. As far as I know, he has a friend as violent and vile as himself. He arranged that once he marries my eldest daughter, he’ll help marry my youngest to his friend, for which the latter will give him a handsome reward.”
Baldwin instinctively glanced at Rabhan. Rabhan wasn’t ugly, but seemed older than Haridi. His build wasn’t short, but when he hunched his back, he looked as repulsive as a hyena.
Rabhan didn’t refute; Haridi’s words sounded reasonable, but Caesar still felt something was off.
“Can you make a judgment now?” Geoffrey yawned boredly. “I want to go back to sleep.”
