kingdom of nations

Chapter 347 The Death of Count Raymond of Tripoli

The moonlight shone on the boundless desert. Looking around, there was no firelight, no human voices, no houses or towers. What they saw was more like a frozen sea, with gray waves rising and falling, rolling and churning, and dewdrops on the grass and trees reflecting a bubble-like glimmer.

But if you look up at the sky and observe the stars, you will know that sunrise is not far away. And when the sun rises and the sunlight shines through the curtain, Governor Holmes, who has awakened from the embrace of strong liquor and women, will surely discover his wife's betrayal and escape immediately.

Not only that, she also took away his most valuable hostage.

Judging from the man's temperament, he would surely be furious and stop at nothing to capture them. At that point, the cavalry that swarmed out of the gates of Damascus like wasps would scatter like pearls, searching everywhere.

Therefore, they could not continue walking on the main road.

The road was a scar carved by the Romans in this gray and black wilderness, shining like white satin under the stars and moon, where any stain could be easily noticed.

Needless to say, David knew that if the cavalry found them, the most likely outcome would not be to take them back to Damascus, but to kill them on the spot. Their heads would be taken to Ibn, the governor of Homs, and after being circulated and boasted about, they would be placed in a gilded bronze box and sent as a gift to the Crusaders who had traveled thousands of miles.

This will be a humiliation, and a warning.

However, even after leaving the main road and entering the wilderness, they were not necessarily safe. There were always shadowy figures following them along the way, and they didn't know whether they were wolves or bandits.

On seemingly flat ground, sharp stones may be hidden among the weeds, and deadly currents may lurk beneath the mud. Hidden beneath fallen branches and leaves may be an empty hole or a broken weapon. All these things could injure a horse's hooves, causing it to stumble and bringing misfortune upon the rider.

To make matters worse, the Count of Tripoli's condition was deteriorating. Although he had been treated by Saracen scholars and his fever had temporarily subsided, and they had left him some pills, those pills did not seem to have the desired effect—he started to have a fever again.

David carried his father on his back and bound them tightly together with ropes. But how painful and difficult it must have been to carry an unconscious man on horseback is something that no one who has never experienced it can ever describe.

David felt as if he were carrying a mountain or a bucket of boiling water on his back. Raymond's head slumped over his neck, and the breath he exhaled from his mouth and nose could almost burn his neck. He was filled with worry, but he knew that he could not stay at this time, so he could only grit his teeth and keep up with the group.

Lyra's mount was a nimble stallion, as light as a deer. She was a skilled rider and thus led the procession. But after a short while, she quickly returned and stood beside David, looking him up and down at Raymond, who was lying on her son's back.

She and the others were sent by César, and were of course César's men (including two Saracens). In any case, they would not have any goodwill toward Raymond—regarding what Raymond had done to their master or the evil he had done to Damascus.

In that instant, David's body suddenly swayed—luckily, Lyra was right beside him and grabbed Raymond's arm, pulling him up with all her might, so that David didn't fall heavily with his father.

“He has a fever,” Leila said.

Even through the rough linen clothes, she could still feel that the other person's skin was burning hot.

“This won’t do,” she said. “We have to find a place to rest.”

But David did not speak. He looked back at the way they had come from, where he could still vaguely see the minarets standing in front of the temples of Damascus, and the round dome, which was now bathed in moonlight, appearing as a dark and soft brown, but would become brilliant and bright when the sun rose.

But such a beautiful view also signifies their doom.

He moved his lips, as if to tell them to abandon him and return to Cesar's side first.

But he soon realized that it was simply an absurd statement.

Lyra, however, had no time to consider David's concerns. Although she disliked Raymond, she knew that David was also a young man of high moral character, so she did not continue to make things difficult for him. Instead, she ordered everyone to turn towards a hill, where several low olive trees grew on the leeward side, forming a shelter that would not be easily noticed.

Then they found several bolts of silk in the baggage carried by the horses. The colors and patterns of this silk were unlike anything David had ever seen before, and he couldn't quite understand it—silk tents were always for showing off, and their practicality was nowhere near that of cowhide or cotton.

But if you're going to use it to show off, it's too ugly. The silk is dyed, but it's in large, mottled, dark, and messy patches of color, yellow, brown, and dark green, like twisted worms or fruits.

Leila draped them over the horses, and together they formed a small, lightweight but sturdy tent.

The two men helped David carry Raymond into the tent, and then wrapped themselves in the strangely colored silk and waited outside. "I must hurry back to my master," Lyra said, "so he can come and meet you."

After saying that, she jumped onto her horse and galloped away.

David felt utterly exhausted. There was no time to start a fire, so a servant gave David a water pouch, some rock sugar, and some dried meat. David drank some water and then fed some to his father.

Then, he chewed up the dried meat and rock sugar and put it into his father's mouth.

Raymond's eyes were closed. At first, he couldn't even chew on his own. But as the water and pure sugar flowed into his throat, he seemed to be revitalized. He grabbed David's hand and snatched the jerky and rock candy from his palm. His yellowed teeth bit David's hand, which instantly filled him with joy.

"Father, Father, are you feeling better?"

He asked in a low, tense voice, and after waiting for a while, David heard a call that sounded like a divine voice from beyond the heavens.

David bent down with overwhelming joy, "Father?"

Raymond said a few words, but David couldn't hear a single one, or rather, he couldn't understand what was in his words. He hesitated for a moment, then took out the things Lyra had left him from his pocket.

That thing looks like dried dates or jerky, but it is actually a medicine made by Cesar from an oriental plant. When they are besieged, being hunted, or need to carry out covert operations without food or water, they can take it out and put it in their mouths or chew it to temporarily nourish and replenish their bodies.

Leila and those who came to Damascus with her all had this. Some had already used it, while others, unable to bear the torment suffered by the residents, gave up their share. Leila left her share for David, hoping that Raymond could at least survive until their arrival. After all, a living Count of Tripoli and a dead Count of Tripoli are two completely different concepts.

Lyra's gift worked exactly as David had hoped. About fifteen minutes later, Raymond awoke. Though awake, his soul seemed to have left his body. He looked around in confusion until he saw David, at which point a joyful smile appeared on his face. "David? David? My son, where are we? Why... am I in so much pain?"

“We have escaped Damascus, Father, from that terrible Saracen. Now we are in the wilderness outside the city, waiting for Cesar to come and rescue us.”

If he hadn't mentioned César's name, things would have been fine, but the moment he did, his father's sinister face contorted into a ferocious expression. His eyes widened, his beard bristled, and he revealed an expression that even David found unfamiliar.

"Damn it, who are you calling a jerk?!"

If he hadn't been too ill to speak loudly, it would have been a thunderous roar: "He came to save us? Who is he? What right does he have to save us? He's just a slave!"

“Father…” David was completely stunned. Although he knew his father didn’t like Cesar much, how could such fierce cursing and such a hateful expression appear on his father?
In his memory, his father had always been a taciturn, steady, and aloof person.

He was Amalric I's most trusted brother, known among his ministers for his majesty, justice, and ruthlessness. Knights held him in high esteem and fear, while the people regarded him as a trustworthy and valiant king.

But his current demeanor is like that of a shrew who rolled on the ground after failing to gain a few coins.

"Get him out of here! Get him out of here!"

Raymond gritted his teeth and shook his head: "Don't let him come, don't let me see him!" He then suddenly grabbed David's arm: "Go kill him!"

David, he is your enemy, he will steal your crown. Quickly, go and kill him! Don't let him return alive to the road of Arazars. Let his blood flow in the wilderness of Damascus, let the hungry jackals devour his body. Quickly, go and take up your sword!

David!

He roared madly, while David trembled all over. He could hardly believe that his father was saying these words. He felt that the "thing" inside this body was a devil, yes, it must be a devil.

He had indeed heard that when some people become extremely weak, the devil takes advantage of their vulnerability. Yes, that must be true, he told himself repeatedly. It would be alright, it would be alright. As long as he took his father back to Arrassa Road and asked Patriarch Heraclius to hold a Mass for him, perform an exorcism, and give him some holy water, he would be fine.

If all else fails, under the light of the true cross, what kind of devil can continue to run rampant?

David opened his mouth, breathing heavily, listening to the demon inside his father still rambling incoherently, inciting him to kill his own blood relatives and friends.

His hands groped haphazardly on the ground, trying to find his short sword. He didn't intend to kill Raymond; he just wanted to knock him unconscious by striking him on the neck with the hilt.

Just then, an urgent voice suddenly came from outside the tent, "Sir! There are bandits!"

This couldn't be worse.

David turned around, intending to raise his hand, but saw Raymond, after a hysterical outburst, collapse with his eyes rolled back.

David scrambled forward to check his breathing and, finding him only unconscious, breathed a sigh of relief. Then he leaped up, grabbed his short sword, and rushed outside. There were only four people outside, making a total of five including David.

The bandits turned out to be a small group of Turks wearing leather hats. Fortunately, they were just bandits roaming outside Damascus, not pursuers from inside the city.

Unfortunately, there were about a dozen of them, each armed with a bow and arrow, and carrying a mace and a scimitar.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

When Cesar arrived with a squad of knights, guided by Lyra, the battle was already drawing to a close.

In fact, among the five, only David was able to intimidate the bandits. The other four were ordinary people who had become Cesar's eyes and ears based on their knowledge of Damascus. They were not good at fighting and could only barely ensure that Raymond in the tent was not affected by the aftermath of the battle.

Even so, two people were seriously injured. If the priests who came with Cesar had not rushed forward to treat them, they probably would not have survived.

Of course, David was the most seriously injured. He had suffered many tortures at the hands of Governor Holmes of the Saracens, and it was only through his will and determination that he had managed to get here.

He was already exhausted and had barely had a chance to rest before facing a group of powerful bandits. Although none of these bandits were the chosen ones, he was still covered in wounds and bleeding profusely. As soon as he saw Cesar and felt that familiar power brushing against his body, he immediately relaxed and fainted.

The priests rushed to treat him, and when the white light appeared, they checked on David again and nodded to Cesar, indicating that David was at least not in mortal danger.

Cesar was relieved. The knights he had brought had already captured and killed the remaining bandits, but the priest who came out of the tent shook his head solemnly, "His condition is very bad, we need to perform the Last Sacrament for him."

He rummaged through his pack on horseback and took out holy oil—something every priest carried when going to war—along with scriptures, a cross, holy water, and other items. He went into the tent, but soon came out again.

"He wants to see you, Your Highness."

Cesar entered the tent. He didn't know if it was because he had grown up or because dying people shrink. He remembered Raymond as a tall man whose shadow had once covered David, Baldwin, and Cesar, but now he just looked like an ordinary old man, wearing only a rough linen robe and a sheepskin cloak.

Raymond opened his eyes, panting.

He seemed to see it—

After ascending the throne, Baldwin IV's health deteriorated. Those around him, whether his teachers, sisters, or wives—wives, was he married? No, no one was willing to marry a leper who was destined to be childless, and he remained alone.

The Byzantine princess gave birth to only a daughter, not a son, for Amalric I.

He watched coldly as Baldwin's body rapidly weakened, from barely being able to ride a horse to barely being able to walk, and then only being able to reach his desired destination by lying down and being carried in a sedan chair. In the later stages, his thinking became confused and his speech became incoherent. The smell of decay emanating from him was as unbearable as a slaughterhouse.

He always wore a mask, gloves, and wrapped himself tightly in a robe, but when he occasionally raised his hand, revealing the gap between his gloves and sleeves, or when his headscarf fell off, people could see the terrible scars and sores on his body.

In the end, even his breathing became difficult.

He summoned his sister, but Abigail and Hibil still had no son. The knights had long harbored resentment towards this weak king, even though he had won before.

Now he is a terminally ill sinner. Did they not heed Baldwin's dying words and instead gleefully and enthusiastically place his son on the throne of Arazarus?

David also carried the blood of the Flanders family. He was so young, so strong, so full of vigor, with a bright future ahead of him. Tripoli and Arrasaro were united.

After that, Abigail died, and Hibern, as his widow, took Antioch.

Then he arranged for David to marry Hibernath, and finally, the three remaining Christian kingdoms were united into one vast and powerful nation. His David would be the most exalted king of this most sacred place. But in an instant, the scene before him changed again. The one wearing a crown and robes was no longer his son David, but himself. Beside him was the incomparably beautiful Princess Hibernath, her belly high and round, bearing their child. He still loved David, but David could only be the master of Tripoli, and the new fruit borne on this old but sturdy branch would be the future king of Allazarus.

As he rode out of the palace, he saw endless wheat fields, olive groves as green as the sea, caravans stretching like mountains, and a vast, loyal populace, with knights and their squires standing among them, far more numerous than ears of wheat and fruit.

And of course, there were soldiers, countless soldiers, as numerous and dense as grains of sand in a wilderness, whose banners were raised high. His name was with Jesus Christ, and he led his army through Damascus, Homs, Hamas, and Apollo, through the hills, plains, and mountains belonging to the pagans, to the very ends of the earth.

His achievements were even greater and more magnificent than those of Alexander the Great. The Holy Roman Emperor led his horse and set off his stirrups, the King of France put on his shoes, and the King of England draped his robe over him. The popes and patriarchs of Constantinople, Rome, and Arazars presented him with an imperial crown. They were so respectful that it was not he who knelt before them, but they who knelt before him.

He let out a hearty laugh from his chest.

He had just had a beautiful dream, and was still somewhat unable to distinguish between dream and reality, until he saw Cesar. His pupils contracted violently, almost trembling to the size of pinpoints. He let out a frantic howl and waved his hands frantically, as if trying to drive the person in front of him away.

"Devil! Devil! You terrible devil!" Then he looked around frantically, "Where is David?" He didn't see David. David should be by his side. A greater fear swept over him, sweeping away his last shred of reason: "David, where is David? Where is David? What have you done to my child?"

The priest looked puzzled.

Not to mention that David and Cesar had a harmonious relationship, or even could be considered friends, they were both subjects and knights under King Arazarus, and were comrades-in-arms fighting side by side. How could he possibly think that Cesar would be a threat to David?
He should be happy, because if Cesar came here, it would mean that David would be safe and sound, especially since he himself had asked to see Cesar.

"Please, please, give David back to me! Whatever sins our fathers committed, they have nothing to do with this poor child!"

Cesar lowered his eyes, and the atmosphere in the tent suddenly became tense. The priest realized that he might have overheard some incredible secret, and he knelt there, not daring to move.

“Let David go. I will tell you what you want to know.”

The priest looked at Cesar in alarm, only to see Cesar slightly close his eyes and nod. He scrambled out of the tent and couldn't calm down outside. He kept pounding his chest, but he didn't say a word to his companions' questions. He even pulled the priest with him a little further away.

Cesar walked up to Raymond and sat down cross-legged. His expression remained calm, as if he had not heard any earth-shattering secret.

What do you want to tell me?

"Swear it, and I'll tell you."

What kind of oath do you want me to make?

“I, I don’t force you… to hurt Baldwin, but I want you to swear that after Baldwin’s death you will not compete with David for the crown of King Alassa – and not only that, if they propose someone else, you will stand by David’s side, support him, push him, and let him sit on the throne.”

Cesar looked up, seemingly wanting to laugh but holding it back, then cast a sharp glance at him. "I won't swear." He leaned down and looked into Raymond's cloudy eyes. "I have found a cure for Baldwin. He will become healthy, live a long life, marry and have children. His bloodline will continue for generations in this most sacred place. His name will resound throughout history books, and everyone who mentions him will do their best to praise and extol him."

As for David, he is an upright young man.

Although he has you as his father, that may be his only stain. I assure you, whatever achievements he makes in the future, we will not strip him of his title or ignore it. He will be the Count of Tripoli, and he will have Melsin. He will inherit everything from you, and we will not hinder him. However, if he makes a mistake, we will not forgive him.”

"No, you can't do that. Don't you want to know who that person is?"
"The one who betrayed your grandfather Josephine II, who allowed your father Josephine III to grow up in the enemy's fortress, and who never even saw Allassar and Edessa again—don't you want to avenge them?"

In fact, Cesar already had a rough guess. After all, no matter how flawless or ingenious a conspiracy may be, there is one thing you can never hide: the beneficiaries. If you investigate the beneficiaries, you can always find some clues.

"The Crusaders will soon take Damascus, then Holmes, Hamar, and Apollo, and Baldwin has promised me that I will have his and the Crusaders' support."

Recapture of Edessa may take some time, a year, two years, or three years.

But Edessa fell in 44, and only forty years have passed since then, spanning a generation. I believe I can still find some evidence, even witnesses, regardless of what the culprit hiding in the shadows is thinking—whether he wants to cover up past crimes or eliminate them completely.

I will expose all of this to the light of day. I will make him regret, suffer, and have nowhere to escape. He will not be able to die peacefully and with dignity. He will die miserably amidst people's ridicule and mockery. His blood will flow in the dust, just as his honor will fall to the ground and can never be retrieved.

His descendants will be disgraced. Of course, if he has any descendants at all.

These words made Raymond tremble all over. Of course he was afraid. Although Cesar said he would treat David fairly, he couldn't believe it. People can change.

He himself was just like that. He was once an upright young man and a loyal subject. He served Amalric I wholeheartedly. Although they had conflicts from time to time, he never disobeyed the king's orders. His ambition was born in an instant. After that, he became more and more unable to control himself and only thought about going further and further until he reached the pinnacle of the world.

Cesar and Baldwin, especially Cesar, were so young, so young that it was enviable. Fate had given him decades more to live, and even as a child, he was able to manipulate power with unparalleled skill, easily winning the favor of the king, the bishop, and the entire population of Arazarus. In the end, he gained the loyalty and followers of countless people.

If such a formidable figure were to truly rise to a position second only to the emperor, or even leap directly to the throne, would he really show David any mercy?

No, he wouldn't. Even if he could have kept his promise at first, would he really let David spend the rest of his life in such a state of constant fear and uncertainty? He absolutely couldn't bear it.

Raymond struggled violently.

"No, you can't, you can't do it..."

“You know I can do it.” Cesar paused. It was a secret, but there wasn’t much of a problem in telling this poor, wretched man at this moment. “My saint of prayer is not Saint Jerome.”

Raymond's eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“I don’t know who He is, but I’ve never had His name,” Cesar said, looking down at Raymond. “Who do you think He is?”

Raymond's face was ashen.

Will you repent?

"Repentance? No, I will not repent to you. I won't!"

"Then die with your resentment and ambition."

Cesar stood up, walked out of the tent, and didn't turn around no matter how much Raymond called out to him.

The priests who were standing nearby saw him come out and rushed in immediately, but he immediately let out a scream. Raymond was dead. He died in a terrible way. His eyes were bulging, his face was contorted, and his hands were convulsing like chicken claws. The monks hurriedly rubbed holy oil on him, prayed for him, and comforted themselves by saying that a Crusader knight like him should be able to ascend to heaven.

Only César knew that his soul would fall into hell.

Forever, forever, forever.

------

The monarchs did not seem to have much of a reaction to the death of the Count of Tripoli.

Richard disliked Raymond purely because of César's affair. Philip II was not familiar with the man, having only heard of his name and some stories.

Frederick I, a seasoned soldier and an ambitious emperor, would never respect a negligent lord. He didn't conquer Damascus. Well, even if it was just for power, he had plenty of ambitious people around him—but the problem was that he made a complete mess of things and lost Damascus without any warning.

David now faces two paths: one is to abandon the holy war and return to Tripoli with his father's coffin.

The other option is to remain in the army and fulfill the duties of a subject.

He was no longer the heir to the Count of Tripoli, but the Count of Tripoli, a vassal and minister of King Arrassal. David chose the second path without the slightest hesitation.

People say he is seeking revenge for his father, but only David knows how ashamed and terrified he felt when his father revealed his true feelings on his deathbed.

Everything from the past—the devout, the pure, the sublime—collapsed before him.

He recalled that time... Facing the victims, his solemn vows, his righteous indignation, his care, his worries, and his promises all became a joke. He knew that his father was a sinner, and he was the son of a sinner. He stayed here not for revenge.

Rather, it is atonement.

He didn't even dare to look Baldwin and Cesar in the eye. He couldn't tell whether they knew about the previous conspiracy or whether they knew his father was involved. You can't say that Cesar's eventual safety or escape from danger was due to the conspirators showing mercy. He only had the opportunity to turn the tables because of his accumulated honors and merits.

If it were anyone else, anyone else... David wouldn't even need to use anyone else as an example; he could simply put himself in that situation and know that he would have almost no chance of resistance. But he was still the heir to Tripoli, and even if he was excommunicated and exiled to the desert, his father would surely send people to follow and protect him.

But what about Cesar? The Patriarch was still ill at that time, and Baldwin... His father was plotting to drive Cesar away, precisely because he stood by Baldwin's side, so that they couldn't do anything to Baldwin.

The Shield of the Holy City truly lives up to its name.

David bent over, howling in pain, but he had to stuff his fingers into his mouth to keep himself from making a sound.

However, the patrolling knights did not find it strange when they passed by his tent. After all, the young man had just lost his father. Only Baldwin and Cesar vaguely sensed David's guilt and pain, and they intentionally did not disturb him so that he could spend this time in peace.

“I also had a time like that,” Baldwin told Cesar. He went through a lot of torment when he realized that Count Raymond of Tripoli and Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch were no longer his uncles and trusted elders. Not everyone can accept the betrayal of their closest relatives so easily.

"Now I wish David were a scoundrel like Abigail, maybe he could have it easier."

“Oh, don’t say such unlucky things,” Cesar immediately interrupted him. “By the way, Abigail and Hibil…”

“I ordered them to return to Antioch before we set off, and he did return,” Baldwin said, ignoring Abigail’s incessant cursing. Although Princess Hibil had sincerely admitted all her mistakes, it did not change Baldwin’s mind, and he ultimately sent her and Abigail back to Antioch.

As for their previous plan, Patriarch Heraclius had already prepared people to carry it out.

Chiraclius wouldn't allow them to interfere. "I love you because you are as pure and innocent as snow, and although this is Bohemond's due reward, I don't want you to be affected by this matter."

My children, I hope you understand that while scheming may be a shortcut in many situations, you cannot achieve all your goals through scheming.

Chirac also did this for the sake of his two children.

He raised his hand, signaling the two to stop asking questions; the less they knew about this, the better.

"Ah, you're all here, that's wonderful, Your Majesty, Your Highness, and His Excellency the Patriarch..."

Frederick I's son and knight Henry the Younger entered: "My father and Richard I have had some disagreement. Could you go and mediate?"

------

To be honest, this is not a big deal.

Generally speaking, before a siege, the attacking side will send an envoy to demand that the defending side surrender the city. Usually, this envoy will not be harmed—he may suffer some humiliation, but his life is basically safe.

But some Christians in Damascus had already been killed, their bodies hanging on the city walls, and Ibn had just lost his wife and most important hostage; heaven knows what this guy might do.

Frederick I insisted on sending envoys to appear dignified, while Richard I felt that doing so would be of no benefit other than wasting the lives of a few knights, unless they could actually persuade Ibn to surrender Damascus.

"I will send my son to be the messenger!" Frederick I shouted!

“I can add a rooster,” Richard I retorted. “That way, at least they’ll have company when they put your son on the fire!”

(End of this chapter)