kingdom of nations

Chapter 43: Ten Thousand Years of Indulgence
Baldwin also saw the look in Cesar's eyes. He thought he would be ecstatic. If contracting leprosy was like being sent to hell, then "being chosen" was undoubtedly a thread hanging from heaven. He did not dare to harbor the extravagant hope of being cured in an instant, but at least there was a little hope.

But when it finally arrived, he searched again and again but could not find any excitement or joy.

What went wrong?

In any case, Cesar should be more qualified than himself.

Was it the destruction of the icons? Was it the departure from the temple, the original site of the ritual? Or was it the falsification of the miracles?

More likely, it was because he insisted on staying with her, with a leper who was cursed or punished? !

Compared to Baldwin's panic and anxiety, Cesar was much calmer. Before the ceremony, Heraclius publicly acknowledged that he was his student, and that his original background was as a monk or priest.

Thinking about it now, Heraclius's move was certainly due to his admiration for him, but it was more to stabilize his mentality. After all, there were only him and Baldwin at the selection ceremony.

Everyone loses control sometimes, without exception.

Cesar was about to try to calm Baldwin, who looked completely panicked, but was suddenly stuck.

He saw the same light in Baldwin's pair of sapphires.

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The poet cursed inwardly at this reckless fellow who had completely interrupted his rhythm. However, the other party was a large and burly man. When excited, his clenched fists seemed bigger than his head. He didn't want to test the hardness of that thing. He could only take several consecutive breaths before he said reluctantly, "Prince Baldwin has been blessed."

As soon as these words were spoken, the tavern suddenly became quiet. Most people looked disappointed, and the poet was even more unhappy.

Since he could become a scholar, his father would not be a stupid and humble farmer. If traced according to blood relationship and surname, their family could be related to a master.

Even without the knight's instructions, he would not have mentioned a small servant on purpose. Hey, what little saint? Only these lowly guys would praise an Isaac slave like this!
But now he couldn't keep it to himself, so he hurriedly added: "The attendants around him were also blessed."

The man showed a look of joy, then quickly confirmed: "Is it Cesar, the kid with green eyes and black hair?"

"Yes Yes."

The poet drew a deep breath, and cried out in his loudest voice, "They are all chosen, Prince Baldwin and his squire, Cesar!"

He expected people's cheers, but what he got was a strange silence, so quiet that the poet thought he had done something terrible.

Could it be that his eyes were blinded by the spirits, and instead of walking into the tavern on earth, he fell into a trap in hell? Surrounded by demons, he was so angry after hearing the news that he didn't feel happy or relieved?

of course not.

When great joy comes, people will also seem at a loss, until someone accidentally knocks over the wine glass on the table. The wooden cup falls to the ground with a bang, then rolls far away and is finally blocked by the threshold. Only then does someone let out the first hearty shout, followed by more screams and blessings.

People stamped their feet and clapped their hands, but soon such simple movements could no longer express their rich emotions, so they jumped onto the table and danced on it.

Under normal circumstances, the tavern owner would have scolded them, saying that these poorly made tables could not withstand several people jumping on them, but this time he also jumped onto the counter and danced among the hanging dried meat and pots.

How worried and depressed they were at the beginning, now they were as happy and excited. Soon, someone rushed out to tell others the good news.

The poet then let out a long sigh and sat back in his seat tiredly, holding his pipa.

The innkeeper, as if waking from a dream, handed the poet a large glass of mellow wine. The poet drank it all in one gulp and pinched his ears - the cheers of the people were piercing his ears. His mission was completed, and he had to go to the next place.

There are hundreds of poets like him, and they are like seeds sown by the king and fall into every corner of the holy city.

Amalric I and Heraclius wanted to spread this story throughout Alaska and even further within a day.

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While the poets were tirelessly promoting this new miracle, the patriarch hurried to the papal legate's room, and their plans were all in vain. Next, the vengeful Amalric I would definitely not let him go, and he needed his accomplice to come up with a second plan as soon as possible.

Should he declare penance, the kind where he won't see anyone?

Or should they continue to maintain a tough attitude? Tell people that this is the last chance God has given Amalric and his son, and that they should be more pious, more docile, and more humble, instead of relying on the army and power God has given them to wantonly threaten His shepherds.

But before he could kick the servant lying at the doorway, the door flew open. The Patriarch's heart sank. He rushed into the room, only to find it completely empty. The envoy wasn't there at all. He rushed to the bed, but it was cold. This meant the envoy had slipped away hours earlier.

Not only did he slip away, he also took away all the valuables in the room, from gold and silver utensils to rich furs, to silk curtains... The patriarch was so angry that he kicked the servant in front of the door several times.

"Are you a pig? Are you a dog? They just left like that and you didn't even notice!"

But the servant just stared at him, as if completely unaware of his meaning. He might have drunk quite a bit of wine—the priest beside him whispered a warning, "Get rid of this useless guy!" The Patriarch said hoarsely, quickly adjusting his emotions, letting them fall from the boiling point to the freezing point.

There seemed to be frost in his eyes as he looked at the servant. The priest did not dare to disobey him and had to hurriedly order the two guards to drag the unfortunate guy away.

The Patriarch made an immediate decision. He dismissed those who wanted to follow him, called only his two most trusted students, and began to hurriedly pack his own luggage. The students hesitated, as packing was no easy task, but the Patriarch simply waved his hand and said, "Only the gold, silver, holy relics, and jewels."

That is, the smallest, heaviest, and easiest to carry items, leaving everything else behind. Although this made his heart bleed, he also knew that once the holy relics created by Amalric I spread throughout the city, he would be the second "important thing to do," and he didn't have much time to waste.

At this moment, a servant came running in and said, "Sir, someone wants to see you, sir."

"Who!?" The Patriarch's voice was like a taut bowstring, sharp and trembling.

"To buy indulgences."

The Patriarch's heart leaped from heaven to earth, then leaped back into his chest. "I'm not seeing anyone now."

Logically, the servant should have retreated obediently at this time, but he still looked hesitant. "But he came to buy indulgences."

"Even if he comes to buy your life, tell him to get out."

"But he will buy indulgences for ten thousand years, at the count's price, my lord."

The Patriarch paused as he was gathering up the documents.

Count Etienne had used a five-hundred-year indulgence to atone for his sin of breaking into a church and abducting his bride; Baldwin and César had done twice as much to destroy icons; and when Amalric I hinted to Heraclius to burn the Temple and the Church, he also promised Thomas a thousand-year indulgence.

Ten thousand years of indulgence, that was such an astonishing figure, even the Patriarch had never seen it before - how could one person come up with such a large sum of money at once.

An interesting thing is that indulgences were not originally priced like this.

Although the prices varied from region to region and from bishop to bishop, in the Troyes region of Frankish France, for example, murder: 8 gold coins, blasphemy: 7 gold coins, witchcraft: 7 gold coins, forgery: 6 gold coins, adultery with another person's wife: 5 gold coins...

The less serious the crime, the lower the price, even a few copper coins is acceptable.

But please note that this is the price for civilians. If nobles, lords and kings commit crimes, it depends on how many zeros the bishop and the pope will add after consideration.

But after people bought indulgences and heard the priests' sermons constantly condemning all kinds of sins in the world, saying that adultery would burn in the lake of fire for 500 years, blasphemy would burn in the lake of fire for 800 years, murder would burn in the lake of fire for 1,000 years... and so on and so forth. Some mischievous people secretly said, "Isn't this just an indulgence for 500, 800, or even 1,000 years?"
Those who needed indulgences seemed to feel that it was more elegant and appropriate to express the time of punishment rather than saying how much an indulgence cost, and this term gradually replaced the original price tag.

Ten thousand years of indulgence is equivalent to being able to kill ten people, commit adultery twenty times, and, oh, yes, marry your sister thirty times.

Under normal circumstances, the Patriarch might not have met anyone who wanted to buy indulgences at such a critical moment, but the Pope's envoy had extorted a large sum of money from him, and hiring the Assassins cost him another sum of money. What hurt him most was that if he took his current assets to Rome, they would shrink by more than half.

He touched the letter on his chest. In this letter, the Pope promised him that no matter what the outcome of his action would be - if Amalric I really lost his son, or if he himself died... at the very least, he was unable to recover, and if he could take the opportunity to turn Alasarus into a theocracy, the Roman Church would fully support him in holding on to this position.

Perhaps in the future, the Roman Catholic Church will send a new bishop, but at least in this generation he is the ruler of the Holy Land, a king in robes.

But if the devil plays tricks on him and prevents this thing from being accomplished, he still has a way out.

The papal envoy brought a handwritten letter from the Pope, which gave him two dioceses and a bishopric. Of course, compared with the position of Patriarch of Alaska, the weight of this chip was obviously very light, but it was precisely because it was so light that the Patriarch felt at ease - if the Pope was unwilling to give even these leftovers, what credibility would he have?

But once he arrived at the diocese and received ordination, the money he had to pay for the upkeep, taxes, and various church expenses would definitely not be small. The Patriarch's heart ached when he thought that his treasury would be empty for a long time.

"Okay, ask him to come in, but tell him that I have something very important to do and I can't give him much time. Please ask him to be as quick as possible."

Before the uninvited guest stepped into the Patriarch's room, the Patriarch called two guards to stay by his side as a precaution, and then sat down at the desk. However, there was no chair opposite him, which showed his contemptuous attitude.

The guest strode in, carrying a large box. He was wearing a set of polished leather armor, a silver belt, and a hooded robe. He bowed respectfully and tried to kiss the Patriarch's ring, but the Patriarch waved him off, saying, "You are still a sinner, sir."

"Then I'll just stand here," the guest replied gently, which made the Patriarch feel a little relieved. "I heard you need an indulgence for ten thousand years."

"Yes, I need it very badly, and urgently."

"What crime have you committed?"

"It's an extremely heavy sin, but I must complete it."

"For a woman?"

"Do not."

"For a fortune?"

"Do not."

"For a title?"

"Do not."

"For a grudge?"

"Do not."

"That's very strange. You spend all that money, and what for? You don't necessarily want to kill someone for no reason."

"It can't be called without reason."

The guest placed the heavy box on the ground and opened the lid. The dazzling golden light inside made the Patriarch dizzy. He almost reached out his hands from his eyes and grabbed them into his arms.

"If you don't tell me what crime you are going to commit, how can I write your crime on the indulgence?" said the patriarch, his tone much gentler.

Indulgences were not, as some people believed, something that was mass-produced like banknotes or notes.

Like all passes and charters, it was a sheet of parchment, a foot long and half a foot wide, with exquisite patterns and images of saints painted around it by hand.

At the beginning and middle of the paper is the handwriting of the bishop or pope who signed the indulgence, which tells about the person's sins, followed by an explanation of how they forgive this person and ask him to atone for his sins according to the requirements of God, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Finally, it explains how he will atone for his sins, how long it will take, and what he must do to atone for his sins.

Then there is a signature on the lower left corner and a seal on the right side. Only such an indulgence is effective. It is not something that can be dismissed by simply writing "I forgive this sinner".

"Then write this," said the guest, "I am going to kill a villain who has usurped a high position."

The Patriarch's eyes lit up. "Very high?"

"Very high."

The Patriarch whispered, as if afraid of being heard by someone, "Is it a count? Or a duke? Or a prince?" He guessed all the way up, biting his lip when he guessed the last word, and was even about to laugh.

He looked at the man carefully. He was tall and even with his hood down, his face hidden in the shadows, he still looked elegant and impressive. Such a man could easily walk up to Amalric I and kill him.

This was exactly what the Patriarch wanted. But asking him to give up some of his own interests was even harder than asking a dog to give up the fat meat in its mouth.

He simply wrote down the man's sins on an indulgence and, in the name of God, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, forgave him, but he required him to build a chapel to atone for his sins and to perform ten years of penance.

After writing, he signed his name with a big stroke of his pen, then turned the ring on his hand over, dipped it in the ink and stamped it.

He inserted his quill, sprinkled sand on the parchment, blew on it to shake off the sand, and handed it to the guard by a corner, who passed it on to the man who came to ask for indulgence.

The man took the parchment from the knight and read it carefully. After making sure there were no mistakes, he rolled up the parchment, stuffed it into a small copper tube, and carefully placed it in the purse at his side.

The Patriarch was even more pleased when he saw that the purse was hung on his belt with a strong iron chain and covered with iron rings like chain mail.

He saw the man bow deeply to him again. He thought he was saying goodbye to him - and he was right, he was indeed saying goodbye to the Patriarch, but it was a farewell forever.

The guest took advantage of this posture to draw the dagger at his side and rushed straight forward. The Patriarch's guards immediately rushed forward to meet him, but what could be said? The man was stronger than them, his reaction was quicker than them, and his courage was greater than those who were just taking the money. He was not afraid of being injured or dying at all.

We all know that a person who is not afraid of death is less likely to die easily.

The two guards died quickly. After a few exchanges, they tried to escape first, leaving their backs to the guest. He stabbed one, then the second.

The Patriarch was horrified when he saw this. He screamed and crawled, trying to run out of the bloody room. He almost succeeded.

But the guest just kicked the open money box, and the golden, round coins poured out with a crash, just falling on the patriarch's path. He stepped on those little things that he once loved so much and immediately fell to the ground.

The guest walked up calmly, stepped on his back, stabbed him in the back with a sword, then grabbed the patriarch's sparse short hair, lifted him up, exposing his throat. He embedded the dagger into the layers of fat and cut the throat and blood vessels with one blow.

Amid the patriarch's eyes filled with hatred and pleading, and the sound of blood flowing, the guest stood up and patted the purse hanging on his waist with satisfaction. Inside was an indulgence that could forgive his serious sin.

Then he stepped over the patriarch's fat body and walked out the door leisurely. No one dared to run out to stop him along the way.

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"So, you can be the patriarch," said Amalric I.

(End of this chapter)