Crusade against the Pope

Chapter 435 What can I do to save you?
Not many, and there won't be many.

By the time Nasser and Sebastian arrived, the unrest had already ended.

What Nasser faced was a group of Egyptian peasants who were being beaten to the ground by another group of peasants led by local landowners.

Nasser found it difficult to describe the scene before him as reactionary.

Rather, it was more like they were trying to rebel when they could no longer tolerate it, but they were afraid of making a big fuss, so they didn't even kill anyone. They just took farm tools and knocked on the door of the landlord's mansion, trying to force the landlord to collect less rent this year.

The landlord, frightened by the gathered peasants, hurriedly sent messengers to beg the nearby garrison to come and provide support.

The size of this gathering of farmers was clearly exaggerated in the messenger's words.

The number of participants increased from about a hundred to a full three thousand.

Three thousand people—what a huge number.

Nasser turned to look at Sebastian, who was also riding a horse, a man from England who had traveled thousands of miles across the Mediterranean to Egypt. His face showed only mockery and a hint of annoyance.

Nasser knew why.

Sebastian was actually quite startled when the messenger delivered the message to the garrison camp.

After all, even after Sebastian carefully deducted the exaggeration from the number three thousand—that is, after removing the zero—there are still three hundred people.

As a centurion, he had only 80 men at full strength. After deducting those on leave, on duty, and guarding the barracks, he could immediately mobilize only 60 soldiers.

Even though the legion's soldiers can basically fight 5 against 1 during riot control and still suffer no losses themselves.

But there are always some risks involved.

Therefore, they appealed to Nasser, who had come from Alexandria, for help, asking for as many people as possible.

But the result?

When Sebastian led his men, along with allies like Nasser, on a half-day march under the scorching sun, they arrived at their destination only to find that the enemy had less than three hundred men, just over a hundred.

What made Sebastian even more uneasy was that when the landowner calmed down from his panic and realized that he was surrounded by a rabble, he gave them some money, hired a few thugs, and contacted the villagers who were unwilling to riot. He then easily defeated the "rioting" peasants.

In the chaotic fight involving about a hundred people, everyone acted with great restraint, and surprisingly, not a single person died!

Those who were most seriously injured only had their hands or legs broken.

If things were to be resolved so easily, then what was the point of Sebastian coming here?
He traveled such a long way just to see the landlord boast about his achievements.
Look at the bewildered expressions on the faces of those elderly Egyptian farmers.

Please, Sebastian wants military merit.

Military merit!

Without military merit, you have nothing.

He cannot climb the social ladder, he will not gain glory, he cannot fill his pockets, and he cannot marry a white woman to continue his bloodline!
Under Nasser's watchful eye, Sebastian dismounted. He first went up to the landowner, who was beaming with excitement after successfully demonstrating his martial prowess, exchanged a few pleasantries, and learned more about the details.

He then gestured for Nasser to come aside so they could discuss something.

"No, this won't do! If my colleagues knew I'd made a wasted trip, they'd definitely laugh at me!"

"So, what do you plan to do?"

Nasser adopted a slightly more humble stance.

Although they hold the same position, their backgrounds are different, which means that what Sebastian can think and do does not mean that he can act recklessly.

Sebastian made two very direct gestures. First, he poked his hand, clearly indicating that he wanted money.

Then he gestured at his own neck, indicating that he wanted to get some head.

Nasser lowered his gaze and nodded.

"We need to have a proper discussion with that Bai."

Seeing that Nasser did not object to his idea, Sebastian patted Nasser on the shoulder.

Nasser was not a centurion of Damietta. As a centurion on loan, if he really disagreed with this matter and it got out, it might become a laughing stock in Alexander's ears.

Therefore, even though there is a difference in their status, Sebastian will still "respect" Nasser's opinion.

Of course, these things are not suitable to be done directly in public; it is more convenient to make deals with the local rich man at the banquet at night.

As the convoy entered the village, Nasser once again scanned the faces of the villagers.

Those standing there, those kneeling there, those lying there...

Whether their faces showed confusion, resentment, or disappointment...

Even Nasser and the soldiers behind him, weren't they all the same kind of people? Weren't they all Egyptians?

Those standing there were smug, while those lying there were groaning and complaining, and those following Nasser were swaggering around.

They were all Egyptians, yet not Egyptians; they were simply "Fira".

Fila?

Correct.

In the name of Sebastian and other British people, it is simply a transliteration of the Arabic word Fellah.

This word refers to a person who cultivates farmland, or a farmer.

Of course, the word "fella" in this day and age does not yet have the special connotations it carries in later generations.

If Gellés were here, one could say that if Liu Zhongjing hadn't introduced Spengler's concept of "fella" into the Chinese internet, the term "fella" might not even exist.

Let's leave Liu Zhongjing aside for now.

In Spengler's interpretation, Fera were not savages but rather the remnants of a "dead culture." They lived on the ruins of a once glorious civilization, inheriting the forms but lacking the inner spirit. Their religion became ritual, their laws became bureaucracy, and their morality became custom.

These people no longer identify with the country, no longer identify with the nation, and even their class consciousness has faded.

When freedom is presented to these people, they shrink back, appearing both fragile and docile, violent and uneasy.

Spengler wrote: "Ferra is a creature that no longer belongs to history. He neither desires freedom nor understands it. He is no longer willing to fight for any ideal, nor to sacrifice himself for his nation, country, or God. He simply lives, nothing more."

As Nasser passed through these crowds, he unconsciously stomped the mud with even greater force.

For some reason, Nasser felt a growing hatred for the land beneath his feet. This land had nurtured such people, and it seemed only natural that such people would suffer so much oppression in their misery.

I am angry at their lack of ambition and saddened by their misfortune.

"How can I save you? My 'mother'..."

(End of this chapter)