The Leper King

The courtyard of Jerusalem's palace buzzed with activity, the clatter of hammers and the shouts of laborers echoing off the stone walls. Ethan stood on a balcony overlooking the scene, his silver mask glinting in the midday sun. Below, the master of the royal works, a grizzled man named Anselm, directed a team digging a shallow trench—an experimental irrigation channel to divert water from a nearby stream to the palace gardens. Ethan's heart lifted at the sight. It was a small step, but if it worked, it could transform the kingdom's agriculture, ensuring food for sieges and droughts.

His body, however, was less cooperative. The leprosy's ache lingered, though the neem-turmeric paste and frankincense oil had reduced the inflammation further, and the willow bark tea kept his fevers at bay. Brother Gerard's daily reports noted smoother skin around the lesions, a minor victory that fueled Ethan's determination. He wasn't curing the disease—not yet—but he was buying time. Time to innovate, to lead, to fight.

Anselm climbed the stone steps to the balcony, wiping sweat from his brow. "Sire, the channel is nearly complete," he said, his tone cautious. "The stream's flow is strong, but the soil is hard. It will take weeks to extend it to the fields beyond the city."

Ethan nodded, Baldwin's memories supplying context: Jerusalem's arid climate made water a precious resource. "Focus on a single field first," he said. "Prove it works, then expand. And the waterwheel—have you begun?"

Anselm hesitated, clearly uneasy with the king's unconventional ideas. "We have timber and stone, sire, but the design you described... a wheel turned by the river to grind grain? It is unlike our hand-mills. The carpenters are uncertain where to begin."

Ethan suppressed a sigh. He wasn't an engineer, but he'd seen diagrams of medieval waterwheels online. The concept was simple: a wheel with paddles, driven by water, turning a millstone. It could triple the output of flour, feeding soldiers and civilians alike. "I'll sketch it," he said, gesturing to a nearby table where parchment and charcoal waited. "The wheel must be wide, with flat paddles to catch the current. Connect it to a shaft that turns the stone. Start small, test it on a stream near the city."

Anselm's eyes widened at the king's confidence, but he bowed. "As you command, my lord. And the... stone-thrower you spoke of?"

Ethan's mind flashed to the counterweight trebuchet, a siege weapon that wouldn't appear in Europe for decades. Unlike the traction trebuchets of this era, which relied on teams of men pulling ropes, a counterweight design used gravity for greater range and power. It was a game-changer for sieges, and with Saladin's army approaching, Ethan needed every advantage. "Build a frame with a long arm," he explained, sketching a rough diagram. "Hang a heavy weight on the short end, a sling for stones on the long end. When the weight drops, the arm hurls the stone. Start with a small model—test it in the courtyard."

Anselm studied the sketch, his skepticism giving way to curiosity. "If this works, sire, it could breach walls thought impregnable. But the barons may question such novelties."

"Let them," Ethan said, channeling Baldwin's authority. "I'll show them results."