Chapter 414 - 292: The Blessed Tomb (Part 2)

Eric crossed the market square and walked toward a larger building. It was a tavern, with a small mountain of barrels piled haphazardly outside. A few women sat on a bench, observing the market’s activity and enjoying the faint sunlight.

As Eric approached, they began to preen, clearly trying to display their beauty. The women had peculiar features: hair as black and fine as spider silk, deep-set eyes that tilted slightly upward, round cheeks as full as the moon, short and sturdy limbs, and almond-colored skin.

The building was constructed like a drinking hall, but it had an upper gallery from which people could look down on the activity below from sleeping quarters that resembled cattle stalls. Benches were placed along the walls, surrounding a large, square central hearth, with planks and supports haphazardly thrown together.

Some people sat at tables, eating and drinking; more sat on the benches, holding tankards. The entire great room was noisy, dim, and murky, for there were no vents in the walls nor a smoke hole in the roof, and everyone seemed to be shouting.

The noise gave Eric a headache. As usual, Modkai invited Eric to sit in his shop for a while.

It was a place that Eric and many of the Knights had been frequenting for the past few days, much to the confusion of Brother John, the representative of the Bishop of Le Puy. Eric had told Brother John that he was trying to convert the Jews to become Christians.

Brother John was thrilled and told Eric to bring them to him when they were ready for formal instruction.

Before the Turkic People launched their large-scale invasion of Anatolia, Modkai had been in the trade business, dealing in fabrics, jewelry, pepper, enamel, ivory, and even medicine.

He also engaged in currency trading, exchanging one currency for another to make a profit.

Now that trade had been all but terminated because of the Turkic People, it was fortunate he still had some savings. His friends and relatives who served the Turkic People would occasionally send him things.

His daughter was beautiful, with a classic Mediterranean look. Her eyes were light brown and her features sharp, but she was a dutiful daughter.

Her name was Ruth. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

The eyes of many Knights were always drawn to her, so they would constantly run to his shop, claiming they wanted to buy his goods.

The Knights sometimes saw Modkai at prayer, a woolen shawl over his head and a small object tied to his arm.

He had long side-curls, a cloth patch on his forehead, and his body would rock back and forth as he chanted.

This was all very mysterious to the Knights. Whenever it happened, they would always turn their heads away, afraid of witnessing some kind of Witchcraft.

...

Eric and Modkai talked from noon until evening, when night finally fell.

"I don’t actually like Christians much, my lord... I despise them..." said the drunken Modkai. "They are as hypocritical as any other people, but they are more prone to violence. I don’t know why. To defend, yes, they say ’to defend’..."

"I have seen those high-ranking Christians... Christians—including Priests and Bishops—invade Jewish settlements and slaughter innocent people. And as they do it, they speak the name of the King of Peace... Oh, you must believe me..."

Modkai let out a drunken burp, his whole face flushed red, and continued, "I saw it with my own eyes, my lord... I assure you."

As he spoke, he took a woman’s Cloak and a child’s linen shirt from a cabinet, placed them on the table, and smoothed them with his hand. "My first wife... and my eldest son."

There was no anger in his words, only sorrow.

Then there was silence. A long silence.

After a long while, Modkai looked up at Eric and said, "My lord, when you go to the Holy Land, please remember that my people... I... my people are not your enemy."

"I know."

Just as Eric finished speaking, Modkai collapsed onto the table and began to snore.

Just then, the door was pushed open. It was Modkai’s daughter, Ruth. She apologized to Eric and tried to get her drunken father into bed, but she couldn’t manage it at all. In the end, Eric helped her.

Just as Eric was about to say his goodbyes, she said, "Um, do you need a haircut?"

"My hair?"

"Your hair is very long now. It must fall in your face when you write."

She demonstrated by pulling a lock of her own hair over her eyes.

Eric watched her, then finally nodded.

She immediately blushed. ’Did that seem a bit flirtatious?’ she wondered.

"Forgive me, my lord," she couldn’t help but smile. "Your hair, of course, is very beautiful. Like the sun."

She took a pair of scissors from her sewing box and began to work very gently, speaking in a soft, quiet voice.

"Do you like me?"

She blushed again and stopped what she was doing.

"Do you see me as a woman?" she asked.

"Of course."

Her dark eyes sparkled. "My father says I’m still a girl."

"You are as beautiful and charming as any lady of the Nobility in Normandy."

She smiled at Eric for a long moment, then continued cutting his hair.

...

「Three days later.」

Ruth, the Jewish girl, came to the area where the Normans were staying. She brought flowers picked from her garden, bringing a breath of fresh air to the Knights and soldiers.

"These are called Sharon Roses," she said. "You can find them in the Holy Land, too."

The Knights and soldiers swarmed out to surround her, cheering for her. At first, it was a little worrying.

But in truth, it was completely different. They looked at the flowers like children, some even with tears in their eyes.

Ruth’s flowers were a small miracle, reviving the soldiers’ spirits and turning them back into country boys.

They bowed to thank her, and Brother John took the Cross from his neck and offered it to her as a gift.

She blushed and said that she was Jewish and couldn’t wear it.

"You are an honorary pilgrim," Brother John said with a smile. "You can wear it like a soldier. Don’t think too much about it, child."

She smiled, thanked him, and put on the Cross. The Knights and soldiers applauded in welcome.

Afterward, she came to Eric’s temporary quarters.

She was full of curiosity and showed a keen interest in Eric’s equipment.

She asked to touch Eric’s Sword. When she drew it from its sheath, she exclaimed, "Heavens, this thing is beautiful, but it’s made to cause harm." She held it with both hands, looking a little strange with such slender, small fingers wrapped around the hilt.

She tested its weight and nearly dropped it. "It’s too big for me," she said with a laugh.

Then Eric showed her his Chain Armor, coif, and armor. She ran her fingertips over the rough surface, her brow furrowed. "Will you die?" she asked.

"That depends on God’s will," Eric replied.

She didn’t seem to like that answer, looking down and picking at the hilt with her fingers.

Something suddenly occurred to her, and she grew excited, asking to see Eric’s crown. "People say the crowns of the Franks are very beautiful, made of gold and studded with jewels. And since you are such a great man, your crown must be magnificent."

Eric took it out. It was a gift that came with his title, bestowed upon him by Robert when he was ennobled.

He hadn’t originally planned to bring it, but Robert had insisted, saying that it could be placed in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem to receive God’s blessing.

Eric rarely wore the crown—only on holy days or when receiving visitors from the Nobility.

The crown was very simple, made of silver and set with three stars.

Eric handed it to her.

"Yes, it is beautiful," she said, gazing at it with a solemn expression. "To be honest, I was hoping it wouldn’t be so extravagant. This is more like you—simple and strong." She looked at him, as if asking for something. "Please, put it on," she said.

Eric knew she wanted him to put it on, but instead, he placed it on her head.

She froze as if struck by a sudden chill, bowing her head. "I am not worthy," she said. But she didn’t dare touch it. "Please, take it."

"Believe me, it suits you far better than it suits me," Eric said, steadying the crown on her forehead. "Perhaps wearing this crown into the Holy City would be the greatest disrespect to the Holy City.

The moment it enters the Holy Temple, it might be met with rust, not honor."

"I... I-I’ll keep it safe for you."

"Also, please tell your father I must speak with him. We are preparing to leave."

"When are you leaving?"

"On the Epiphany, the day we celebrate Jesus’s manifestation to the Gentiles.

We leave our miserable graves to go to His blessed tomb."

"Your miserable graves?" she repeated.

Her eyes were filled with sorrow.