kingdom of nations

Chapter 42 The Chosen One (Part ) (Special thanks to the Alliance Leader for the extra chapter!)

Its daybreak.

A lot had happened the night before, but unlike us today, people back then wouldn't have dared to "watch the fun." They were like timid rabbits or guinea pigs with keen senses of smell. At the slightest sign of trouble, they would duck their heads, curl up in their nests, and not dare to move.

But when the wind and sea calm down and the weather is fine, they will be eager to stick their heads out and look around for news.

This kind of temperament led to the "Human Leg" tavern - the tavern with the emblem of two saints, St. Cosmas and St. Damian, and a human leg, being crowded early in the morning.

The tavern owner was a shrewd man. When the noise was still frequent in the middle of the night, he called his son, wife and apprentice, and they worked together to move the empty barrels into the store and added a narrow wooden board as a stool. To be honest, there were already quite a few stools, but he just kept saying it was not enough, not enough, and needed more.

Then, while it was still quiet, they put up a flagpole in front of the door, which meant that not only was there expensive wine, but also new ale was ready. "But father," said his son foolishly, "the ale isn't ready yet."

Malt liquor is a light drink that is simple enough to brew with just a few hands. Because it, like beer, originally used malt, the two are often confused.

However, the main ingredient of malt liquor is much less than that of beer. Usually, brewers will add some vegetables or fruits with strong smell to make up for it, and it does not necessarily take time and firewood to boil - the final product is more like water with alcohol taste than wine.

Unfermented ale is probably just... water.

The innkeeper immediately took up his poker and silently beat his son until the idiot stopped showing off his cleverness.

Meanwhile, the boss's wife had already lit the stove and was cooking a pot of bran and meat soup on it, adding so much water that the whole hall was filled with steam.

This way, visitors won't see the thick dust and grease on the table, the food scraps on the floor, the human and dog feces, and maybe one or two fingers, ears, and noses - it's not uncommon for drunk customers to resort to knife-wielding for trivial matters.

Then, the tavern owner knocked on his neighbor's door with a bottle of wine. The neighbor was a goldsmith. Because he often dealt with the stewards and servants of nobles, he was also a well-informed person. After hearing his purpose, the goldsmith asked for two silver coins, one for reward and the other for handling.

The two silver coins were not wasted, as the goldsmith actually found him a poet.

At first, the tavern owner was not very satisfied.

This poet had white hair, a hunched back, cloudy eyes, and several missing teeth when he opened his mouth. His clothes were not very bright, and the velvet robe of unidentifiable color had passed through the hands of who knows how many people. He only had a small pipa that made some decent sound. It was really hard to believe that he was a guy serving a noble.

But he said he could recite by heart "the things of France," "the things of Rome," and "the things of Britain," that is, the deeds of Charlemagne, Aeneas (the founder of Rome), and King Arthur.

The tavern owner just pouted critically, looked at his little lute, and guessed that even if the son knew how to play other instruments, he couldn't play a harp or a flute. As for singing... the owner would say that the screams his son made when he was beaten were more beautiful than the old bacon that had obviously been smoked countless times.

"Can you do somersaults and handstands?"

The poet looked at his arms and legs, which were as thin as sticks, and shook his head.

"Can you imitate animals or do puppetry?"

"An old goat is already standing before you, what more do you want?"

The boss laughed and said, "Oh, you have a talent for jokes. I'll give you a glass of ale, and that's it."

"I want thirty silver coins."

"This is the price of a savior," the boss said disrespectfully, "It's too expensive. I can't afford to hire you." He was ready to ask for the two silver coins back immediately.

"I can convince you, a miser, with just one word," said the poet.

The boss held his head high, crossed his arms, and looked like he was saying, "Come and give it a try."

"I am one of Gérard de Redfort's followers. He is a noble lord and a brave knight. I am responsible for reading letters to him and writing contracts..."

"For God's sake, hurry up, I have some things to do."

"I know everything that happened last night, because my master was one of the knights who were summoned. I followed him closely the entire time, not missing a single movement."

The tavern owner showed an expression of disbelief: "Are you sure?"

"If I'm lying, may the ground immediately open up into a crack, and the devil immediately drag me down!"

"If you're telling the truth, I'll give you these thirty pieces of silver, even if I have to borrow money from the Isaacs and use my breast flesh as collateral." The innkeeper glanced at the golden light surging in the sky and stopped bargaining. "But if you even make up a single word, I'll beat you with a stick and you won't get a cent."

Then he immediately called his son and apprentice over and sent them to spread the news everywhere. Before the sunlight illuminated the entire flagpole, people flocked to the place. The tavern owner glanced at the poet from time to time, thinking that if he was just lying and wanted to cheat people out of money, he should panic now.

There are many cases where the audience is dissatisfied with the performance and drags the actors off the stage and beats them to death.

The poet showed no sign of alarm. Instead, he sat down at the best table in the middle, next to the stove, and asked for a chair.

The innkeeper brought him a glass of cloudy ale.

When the tavern was packed, he clapped his lute vigorously, making it emit a clear sound that attracted everyone's attention. Without any pretense or procrastination, he praised God and said directly, "A terrible battle took place here last night."

Everyone was somewhat surprised because they were not massacred or plundered.

“Not all wars are fought with fanfare and grandeur,” the poet patiently explains. “Sometimes, conspiracy and deception are like a crossbow, drawing criticism and contempt, but the arrows it fires are powerful and deadly.”

"Is it the devil, or is it a pagan?"

"Both are there," said the poet, "on the highest hill, in the most brilliant and glorious palace."

"What did they do?"

"They have tried to kill the king," said the poet, and all present gasped and cried out, "May God bless him!"

"Thank God, they did not succeed. Amalric I was the strongest warrior of Christ. He was like an angry beast, stabbing the assassins to death one by one.

"Those cowardly and despicable accomplices, seeing the danger ahead, and hearing that the king's son, Prince Baldwin, was being tested in the church by God and the saints, fled from his presence and set fire to the temple, intending to burn the child to death and break his father's heart."

The people cried out in surprise. Although the Patriarch said that Prince Baldwin was guilty, and Amalric I was guilty too, most people still felt some sympathy for the young prince. Even those with hardened hearts said that since his father was fighting for God, his sins should be forgiven. Even if there were still some who doubted Prince Baldwin, others refuted him by saying that the "little saint" of Alaska had stood by his side from beginning to end.

Then people started talking about the priest who had lost his hand and his life. The strange thing was that no one thought that he was harmed by Cesar. After all, this pious child was so compassionate and gentle that the whole city benefited from him. People even vaguely felt that he rejected the patriarch because of his noble character and strong will.

"Honestly," a vendor said sincerely, "if the Patriarch, no, even a priest, held out his hand to me and asked me to come to him, I would go there immediately. I wouldn't even need those adults to invite me. No, there's no need for an invitation. As long as they are willing to accept, I will immediately crawl under their robes."

Becoming a priest or a monk may be the only way for these poor people to move up a social ladder. Although Cesar is the prince's attendant, everyone can see that Prince Baldwin's position is not stable. If he becomes the prince's attendant, he still has to become a monk. It is better for him to go to the patriarch.

Judging from his appearance and character, he is definitely qualified to be a priest of the fourth rank or above.

"So you're still selling cabbages here," one of the craftsmen sneered loudly, causing laughter and ridicule.

The Patriarch did enjoy a modicum of respect in Alaska, but compared to the Pope in Rome, this respect was like a midnight firefly compared to the midday sun—completely insignificant. Whether common people or knights, their greatest faith lay in King Amalric I.

The tavern owner offered the poet a glass of clear beer.

"So," the craftsman asked, "since the pagans have set fire to the temple, does that mean the ceremony will fail?"

As he said this, everyone's smiles faded. They knew that once the selection ceremony began and the gates were closed, they could not be reopened. If they were opened prematurely and the person being tested had not yet received the blessing, the trial would be in vain, and there would be no second chance.

"That's because life is important." Someone emphasized.

"I think that the presence of the child by his side shows that God's blessing must still be there, and he should be safe." The other person was obviously on the side of Prince Baldwin and Cesar, and found such words irritating.

"Indeed," the poet banged the table hard before the two started arguing, bringing them back to the original topic: "Amalric I was like a lion, driving away the wolves, and the knights were like hunters, setting nets and traps, wielding clubs and swords, leaving these frightened beasts with nowhere to go. Seeing that there was no way to escape, they set fire to the temple porch, and flames rose, and blood, smoke and curses poured into the temple..."

"The poor child must be frightened," said a stout woman. Women were rare in the tavern, but there were exceptions, such as a butcher's daughter. She looked almost like a man, even more wild and robust than a man, but her heart was still soft. "They should be taken out immediately, wrapped in blankets, given a glass of wine and a piece of hot lard."

“Someone did suggest that,” the poet sighed. “But the king said, perhaps this is a test from God.

Abraham once sacrificed his firstborn son on the altar. Today, I will also sacrifice my firstborn son on the altar. God is merciful. He could not bear to see Abraham's firstborn son die, so He replaced him with a lamb.

I believe He will show the same mercy to my eldest son.”

The poet took out a feather and plucked the strings of his harp. "He refused and simply stood guard outside the door. He did not open it, nor did he allow anyone else to open it."

Now, not only the knights and nobles surrounding the king at that time, but even the audience could not help but frown and be filled with worry. Although they felt that the two children should be safe - after all, God is so merciful, how could He bear to see His pious and brave warriors suffer such heartbreaking pain?

There is another reason for the public's acquiescence.

Behind the Temple Church, in the Omar Temple we mentioned earlier, there is a huge stone with a depression in it. Although pagans say that this is the mark left by their prophet when he ascended to heaven on horseback, Christians still firmly believe that this is the altar where Abraham sacrificed his firstborn son.

There is such a meaning. And there is the king's oath, so no one can say: Open the door.

They waited until the time of morning prayer, when the door was opened and people rushed in eagerly. But no matter how they searched, even if they knocked down the wall and climbed up the beams, they could not find the two children. Where had they gone?

There are thousands of eyes and ears here. Each witness checked before opening the door. Only the edges of the wax seal on the door were slightly melted, and the rest of the door was intact. The names of each witness signed with a stylus were neatly arranged on it.

Afterwards, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar and the High Priest took out the keys from their chests and opened the door together.

The king was extremely anxious, and people scattered and searched everywhere.

"So that's how it is!" someone suddenly exclaimed with an epiphany, "I was woken up in the middle of the night and was terrified, thinking that I owed taxes, stepped on someone's dog, or that my appearance scared some nobleman." When people looked, they saw that he really had an extremely ugly face, and they also laughed.

The man said seriously, "When the soldiers drove me out of my house, I was terrified. I thought I was going to be hanged from the rafters. Fortunately, they only looked around in my room."

Oh, these gentlemen are really wronged.

My room was dirty, shabby, smelly, and small. If I had known then that they were looking for those two distinguished people, I would have told them not to waste their time. My room couldn't even accommodate multiple dogs, let alone two children.

"Could it be that the devil has carried them off?" someone interrupted.

"Alas," the poet interrupted him immediately, "do not utter such blasphemous words. This is the Holy City. Don't you think it was God, rather than the devil, who rescued them and delivered them from this dangerous situation?"

“Hurry up and tell us, hurry up and tell us,” people urged. “We can’t wait any longer.”

The poet continued, "The nobles and their knights searched everywhere in vain, feeling very frustrated, but they had no choice but to report to the king. The monk beside the king thought for a moment and asked, 'Are you sure you have searched everywhere?'
They said yes, we went everywhere, even to the bird's nest or the fish's nest.

But the monk said, no, there is one place you haven’t been to, and that is the most sacred place.

They looked at each other in confusion, and someone said, there are three gates leading to that most revered place. Now is not the time for people to worship, and the locks on the three gates are not opened. Who can send the two children in?

They didn't believe it, so they went together to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The monks there had just finished their morning prayers, and three distinguished pilgrims were waiting outside the pine door of the Passion Square - they would be the first to enter this sacred temple accompanied by the priest - and they were quite surprised to see so many people escorting King Amalric I in, and after hearing his humble request.

So they said, let us also bear witness.

The priests opened the first pine door, but they did not see the two children in the square where the Savior was crucified; the priests opened the second cedar door, but people walked around but still could not find the two precious treasures; finally, the priests opened the third ebony door, but the hall was still empty.

Just when they were feeling disappointed, a priest suddenly said, "Look, look! The Holy Sepulchre is glowing!"

They flocked to the Holy Sepulchre, like the women saints who anointed the body of Jesus after the Sabbath, and they all prostrated themselves. A priest boldly lifted the woolen cloth draped over the Holy Sepulchre. As soon as it was opened, flawless white light filled the entire hall. It was as if they had seen the Kingdom of Heaven descend to earth in an instant.

At this moment, a person suddenly jumped up.

He had accepted the first ring handed to him by Cesar during that grand parade, and with the money he got from the ring, he saved no less than a hundred people, many of whom were his relatives and friends.

When he heard that everyone saw a holy light in the holy tomb, he couldn't help but shout, "Is it the little saint?

It's the little saint!"

(End of this chapter)