CHAPTER 16 - 16: MOLD AND MIGHT, TREACHERY UNVEILED

The morning sun filtered through the narrow windows of Ethan's chambers in Jerusalem, casting shadows over a cluttered table strewn with parchments and a newly arrived stack of Arabic medical texts from Saladin's captured supplies. Ethan, as King Baldwin IV, sat hunched over them, his silver mask hiding the exhaustion etched into his face. His leprosy had worsened, new lesions spreading across his arms despite the chamomile-aloe-sulfur mixture Brother Gerard applied daily. The fever lingered, dulled only by willow bark tea, and the four-day journey to Gaza had left his body frail. Yet Baldwin's memories urged him to act, and a flicker of modern knowledge sparked a daring idea: could molds, like those that birthed penicillin centuries later, combat his disease?

Ethan flipped through the texts, his bandaged fingers tracing descriptions of fungal remedies. He recalled a history podcast mentioning how ancient healers used moldy bread to treat infections, a precursor to penicillin's discovery in 1928. Leprosy wasn't bacterial in the same way, but his 21st-century mind wondered if mold's antifungal properties might slow its progression. Bread left in damp conditions could grow Penicillium molds—available in Jerusalem's humid storerooms. He ordered Gerard to experiment, culturing molds on damp bread in a sealed jar, to be tested on a small lesion in a week. The risk was high, but desperation drove him. Could heat from forges enhance the mold's effect? He jotted a note to explore this, clinging to hope.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Balian of Ibelin entered, bearing a sealed letter. "Sire, an envoy from Byzantium brings word from Emperor Manuel I." Ethan broke the seal, reading: "To King Baldwin, your terms are accepted—quarter of Acre's port revenues and a minor relic for six hundred cataphracts and ten ships. May our alliance shield the Holy Land." Relief washed over him. The Byzantine force, a five-day journey by sea from Constantinople to Acre, would arrive in two weeks, bolstering Jerusalem's defenses against Saladin. He sent orders to prepare Acre's harbor, a day's ride north from Jerusalem.

The day's triumphs continued at Montgisard, where Ethan oversaw the refined hwacha prototype. After the misfire, Anselm had crafted metal tubes, reinforcing the cart with iron. Ethan, despite his frailty, rode the three-day journey north, resting frequently, to witness the test. Anselm lit the fuses, and this time, all six tubes fired, launching oil-soaked arrows two hundred paces, igniting a target in a burst of flame. The knights roared, Odo de St. Amand nodding approval, though Joscelin's scowl persisted. "A weapon at last," Ethan said, his voice raspy. "Build ten for Montgisard and Gaza. Train the militia to use them." The success bolstered his credibility, and he envisioned windmills for Jaffa's coast and latrines for Jerusalem's streets, sketching plans during the return journey.

But the horizon darkened with a scout's report: Saladin's scouts, a three-day ride from the Sinai, had increased activity near Jerusalem, probing the southern roads. The militia, now six hundred strong, patrolled the outskirts, a day's march from the city, but Ethan ordered reinforcements to Gaza, a four-day trek, and Montgisard, reinforcing the fortresses with trebuchets and hwachas. The threat loomed, a ten-day journey for Saladin's main force if they marched from Egypt.

In the court, treachery festered beyond the initial sabotage plot. Sibylla and Raymond, emboldened by the Gaza raid's cost, had expanded their schemes with growing excitement. Beyond planning to weaken Montgisard's walls during construction, a three-day ride from Jerusalem, they conspired with eager grins to bribe garrison commanders at Gaza to open the gates during a future siege, a four-day journey south, to forge letters implicating Ethan in treason to turn the Templars against him, to poison key supply lines to Acre, a day's ride north, and to incite a baronial revolt in Galilee, a two-day ride north. Raymond's eyes gleamed as he outlined the revolt, his voice rising with anticipation, while Sibylla nodded enthusiastically, her fingers tracing the forged letters. Joscelin and several barons, including the Lord of Hebron, aided them, meeting in secret to draft these plans.

Ethan, tipped off by a loyal squire who overheard the meetings, acted swiftly. That night, he led Balian and a dozen trusted knights to a shadowed hall where Sibylla, Raymond, Joscelin, and the conspirators gathered. Bursting in, Ethan caught them mid-discussion, parchments of forged letters, bribe agreements, poison plans, and revolt strategies scattered on the table. "Treason!" he roared, his voice cutting through their stunned silence. "You plot my downfall and Jerusalem's ruin."

Sibylla paled, Raymond's excited grin faded, but Ethan's guards moved first. The conspirators were seized, their weapons confiscated. Ethan, his fever flaring, ordered their arrest. "Take them to rooms befitting their station—comfortable but guarded," he commanded. Sibylla was confined to a well-furnished chamber in the palace tower, her son Baldwin V torn from her arms and placed under Balian as a ward to secure the royal line. Raymond was held in a similar suite in the citadel, both stripped of all titles and powers. Joscelin and the barons were held in separate quarters, their lands revoked and redistributed—Balian received Hebron's estates, and loyal knights like the Lord of Sidon gained smaller fiefs, while Ethan retained Nablus's rich lands and claimed Raymond's extensive Tripoli holdings for himself, consolidating his power.

The trials began the next day in the great hall, a somber affair under the gaze of the court. Ethan presided, his voice weak but resolute, supported by Balian and Odo. Sibylla, veiled and defiant, faced charges of inciting revolt and forgery, her pleas of familial loyalty dismissed as evidence of her forged letters—complete with her seal—was presented, her wails for her son ignored. Raymond, still carrying a trace of his earlier excitement now turned to defiance, was accused of bribery and sabotage, his defense crumbling under testimony from bribed commanders who confessed under threat of torture, their voices trembling as they recounted his eager promises. Joscelin, sweating and stammering, admitted to rallying barons, his role as coordinator exposed by intercepted letters. The Lord of Hebron, pale and silent, offered no defense, his signature on poison and bribe documents sealing his fate.

The verdicts were swift. Sibylla was sentenced to lifelong confinement, her powers and lands stripped, her room a gilded cage, her son now Balian's ward. Raymond, deemed too dangerous, faced death alongside Joscelin and the Lord of Hebron. The executions followed at dawn on the city's eastern gate. The Lord of Hebron, a burly man with a scarred face, was first, bound to a post as the executioner—a hulking figure in black—raised his axe. The blade fell with a sickening thud, severing the baron's head in a single blow, blood spraying onto the cobblestones as the crowd gasped, some turning away. The head rolled into a basket, eyes still wide with shock, while his body slumped, twitching briefly. Raymond, his defiance unbroken, stepped forward next, his head held high; the axe descended, and his head toppled with a wet crunch, blood pooling as the crowd murmured, his Tripoli lands now Ethan's. Joscelin, trembling and pale, was last, his neck stretched on the block; the axe fell, and his head rolled, the executions lasting from sunrise to midmorning, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the weight of fear.

Alone that night, Ethan's health crisis deepened. The sulfur mixture stung, offering no relief, and his reflection in a polished shield showed Baldwin's mask, not Ethan's face. Was he losing himself? The mold experiment began, Gerard culturing green molds on damp bread, to be tested in a week. Ethan's modern mind pushed for innovation—could forge heat sterilize the mold application? He'd explore it, desperate to save himself.

The Byzantine alliance, hwacha success, and crushed plot were gains, but Saladin's scouts and his health threatened all. Ethan adjusted his mask, his resolve hardening. Windmills and sanitation would follow, but first, he'd fortify Jerusalem against the coming storm, a king forged in treachery and disease.