CHAPTER 17 - 17: ORDER AND RENEWAL, WEALTH AND INNOVATION

The great hall of Jerusalem thrummed with an uneasy silence as the morning sun of July 16, 1177, illuminated the gathered nobles. Ethan, as King Baldwin IV, sat upon the throne, his silver mask concealing the strain of his worsening leprosy—new lesions creeping up his neck despite the chamomile-aloe-sulfur mixture. The fever had subsided slightly with willow bark tea, but the four-day journey to Gaza lingered in his bones. The recent trials and executions of Raymond, Joscelin, and the Lord of Hebron had reshaped the court, and today, he would address the aftermath. Baldwin's memories guided his authority, while his modern mind pushed for innovation—sanitation, bathhouses, farming reforms, and economic growth through a printing press for Bibles and a Templar-inspired banking system—alongside the ongoing mold experiments to save himself.

The court was a fractured mosaic. Sibylla, confined to her tower chamber, had lost her son Baldwin V to Balian's wardship, a move that silenced her influence. Her absence left a void, with barons vying for favor. Balian, now holding Hebron's estates and guarding the young heir, stood as Ethan's staunchest ally, his presence a stabilizing force. Odo de St. Amand, leader of the Templars, eyed the power shift warily, his order's loyalty secured by the hwacha's success but tested by the executions. The Lord of Sidon, enriched with redistributed lands, pledged fealty, while lesser nobles whispered of opportunity, their alliances fluid. Ethan called the assembly to order, his voice raspy but firm. "The traitors are gone, their lands redistributed to loyal houses. Jerusalem stands united—or it will."

Balian stepped forward, his tone measured. "Sire, the barons seek clarity. Some fear your rule grows too harsh, others see strength. Baldwin V's wardship under me ensures stability, but tensions linger." Ethan nodded, noting the glances toward the empty seats once held by Raymond and Joscelin. He announced new councils—Balian to oversee military, Odo for logistics, and the Lord of Sidon for trade—binding their interests to his. The hall murmured approval, though a few barons exchanged guarded looks, hinting at future intrigue.

Turning to technological, agricultural, and economic expansion, Ethan acted on his modern vision. The success of the hwacha and fortresses had proven his innovations, and now he targeted cleanliness, food security, and economic growth. In Jerusalem's crowded streets, filth bred disease, weakening his militia. He ordered the creation of street sweepers—teams of laborers with brooms and carts to clear dirt and refuse daily, starting in the city center and expanding outward over a week. The three-day ride to Jaffa would see similar efforts, with plans to train locals there. Next, he tasked Anselm with designing bathhouses, inspired by Roman and Arabic models—simple structures with heated stone floors and water channels, fueled by forges. Sketches began for a pilot near the citadel, a day's work to draft, with construction to start in a month, contingent on stone from Montgisard, a three-day journey.

Beyond sanitation, Ethan addressed farming. The canals, now irrigating fields in Jaffa and Acre, and the planned windmills for milling and water pumping, needed a system to sustain yields. Drawing from medieval crop rotation knowledge, he introduced a three-field system: one field for wheat, one for legumes like lentils, and one fallow, rotating annually. He summoned village elders from Jaffa, a three-day ride, to implement this in the irrigated lands, starting with a pilot plot near Jerusalem. The windmills, once built, would grind surplus grain, and the legumes would enrich the soil, boosting food for the militia and towns. Overseers were dispatched that day, a week's work to organize.

Concerned with the economy—trade disrupted by war and the executions' fallout—Ethan turned to innovation. He envisioned a printing press to produce books, especially Bibles, for sale, inspired by Gutenberg's later invention but adapted with wood blocks and ink from local markets. He sketched a design for a press to print illuminated manuscripts, aiming to sell them to pilgrims and churches, with a prototype planned in a month. More ambitiously, he considered a banking system, inspired by the Templars' secure deposit and loan network. That afternoon, he convened his economic advisors—merchants from Acre, a day's ride north, and a scribe—in his chambers. "We need wealth to sustain this," he said, his voice strained. "A press for Bibles to sell, and a banking system—how should we implement it based on the Templars' model? Start with Jerusalem, then branches in Acre, Jaffa, and Europe—Constantinople, Venice, Paris—over years." The merchants debated, suggesting strongholds for safes and courier networks, the scribe estimating profits from pilgrim deposits across a five-day sea journey to Constantinople. Ethan listened, his mind racing with secure vaults and trade routes, a vision to rival Saladin's resources.

The mold experiments, his personal hope, progressed in his chambers. Gerard tended jars of damp bread, green Penicillium molds sprouting after three days. Ethan, recalling penicillin's origins, instructed Gerard to apply a small sample to a lesion on his arm, monitoring for changes over a week. The sting was sharp, but he endured it, wondering if heat from a forge could enhance its effect. He ordered a low flame test, the process ongoing as he balanced hope and skepticism. His reflection in a polished shield showed Baldwin's mask, his identity blurring—Ethan's dreams of a quiet life fading into the king's duty.

A scout's report interrupted his thoughts: Saladin, after the recent losses near Gaza, was consolidating his forces in Egypt, tending to over two hundred wounded and resupplying depleted ranks. The defeat had fractured his coalition, forcing a year-long effort to regroup and rebuild, delaying any major move from his base, a ten-day march from Egypt. His scouts, a three-day ride from the Sinai, continued patrols but lacked the strength for an immediate strike. The Byzantine cataphracts and ships, a five-day sea journey to Acre, were due in a week, their arrival a day's ride north critical. Ethan ordered the militia, now seven hundred strong, to reinforce Gaza, a four-day trek, and Montgisard, ensuring hwachas and trebuchets were ready, though the delay offered a rare respite.

That evening, the court's aftermath weighed on him. Balian reported whispers of a new faction forming among minor barons, unsettled by the executions and land shifts. Ethan's consolidation of Nablus and Raymond's Tripoli lands—vast holdings a day's ride apart—had enriched him but fueled envy. He summoned Balian and Odo, planning to integrate the Byzantine force into a southern defense once they arrived, a strategy to be finalized in three days. The bathhouse designs, street sweepers, crop rotation, and economic initiatives, he hoped, would win public and noble support, countering dissent.

Alone, Ethan adjusted his mask, the mold patch itching on his arm. The experiments, sanitation, farming reforms, economic plans, and fortifications were his legacy, but Saladin's year-long delay and the court's unrest shaped his next moves. He was Baldwin IV, Ethan Caldwell—a king forging a future against disease and betrayal.