Chapter 254: Not Good
“No.” Saladin said.
“No.” Baldwin said.
These two identical answers echoed in different halls.
Laila showed a relieved smile. Although she was a woman, she had also received an education like a man’s. Her teacher did not distinguish in this regard, with no concealment or hiding, and she did not have the responsibilities that her teacher had to bear—she was a woman, the future heir of the Eagle’s Nest, and no one else would be her.
And because of this, she could see more clearly than her teacher.
Sinan, standing before Saladin, however, drooped his shoulders as if unable to bear the heavy burden, revealing a pained expression. “Even if I completely side with the Christians, you won’t mind?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“What I mean is, Sultan,” Sinan said, almost gritting his teeth, “if you insist on driving us to the Christians’ side, I will lead all the believers in the Alamut Mountains to convert to Christianity.”
Sinan thought he would see horror and indignation on Saladin’s face. Indeed it was so; except for Saladin, everyone present changed color.
For them, the Orthodox and Traditionalists were merely internal sectarian disputes, like two brothers killing each other in a tent over their father’s inheritance.
But Sinan’s meaning was to walk out of the tent and submit to their enemies.
Saladin pondered for a moment and waved his hand.
Although still somewhat unwilling, the people around him quietly withdrew. They also took away Saladin’s three children. Then the door was closed, leaving the Sultan alone to face that fearsome assassin leader.
Although knowing Saladin surely had a trump card, Sinan couldn’t help saying, “You have taught the people around you very well.” In other words, the future he saw was indeed possible.
“I fulfill a sultan’s duty, and they fulfill a subject’s obligation.” Saladin said calmly: “There is another reason—that is, I know you still harbor luck, still hoping to get from me or from the Christians’ king a promise that allows the Assassins to continue existing.
But unfortunately, I can tell you that neither from me nor from that young king will you get any pardon.”
At this point, Saladin showed some pity: “Sinan, although you are the leader of the Assassins, you are not without opponents in the Eagle’s Nest. You exhaust yourself for the people in the Alamut Mountains, scheming in every way, but do they really understand your intentions?
Hassan has thoroughly tamed them into a pack of animals, and animals will neither heed your teachings nor be tamed.” This was also why he was certain the Christians’ king would not accept the Assassins.
“You just said you would lead the sixty thousand in Alamut to convert to Christianity. Of course, this is a shame for any Saracen.
But for the Christians’ king, it is an achievement he eagerly desires, something no previous monarch has accomplished, and he is so young. If handled properly, it could even be regarded as a miracle.” Saladin laughed. He was a tall and thin man with sharp features. Of course, he could not be described as delicate and beautiful, but he possessed the masculine beauty admired by Saracens—like a black rock standing on the red-yellow sandy land, both sharp and hard, silent, only occasionally emitting a long, monotonous sound when the wind passed through.
“If you are just seeking a way out, no problem. Even if you have offended me, I am still willing to tell you.” Saladin sat back on the carpet, bending one knee and casually resting one hand on it.
Although he was sitting and Sinan standing, Sinan felt as if a towering giant stood before him, shadows pouring down overwhelmingly.
“You have a good pair of eyes, scholar. These eyes seem able to tell you many things. I don’t have eyes like yours, but I also know why you are so urgent, acting so recklessly.” Saladin said: “The Assassins have operated in Syria for a long time. Your tentacles stretch from the south shore of the Caspian Sea, starting from the Alamut Mountains, in all directions.
You were once prosperous, once powerful. When those chieftains and scholars bowed to you in respect, did you not feel full of pride? But this is not glory, you know. It is merely a temporary compromise.
What Hassan did was turn those young men into a pack of hungry hyenas that tear at flesh upon sight. They hunt everywhere, without regard for faith, status, or position. The hatred they provoke accumulates daily, and what they await is merely an opportunity.
Whether it is me or that King of Ayyarasa Road. Once any one of us possesses Damascus and Acre, even Mosul, the Eagle’s Nest in the Alamut Mountains will be in our pocket. We will not allow this poisonous thorn to remain in our flesh; we will surely pull it out. So you have decided to go all in.
You just said you would lead the sixty thousand in the Alamut Mountains to convert to Christianity? Unfortunately, this is not a threat to me. Go look at the cities I have ruled—Damascus（Saladin was once the governor of Damascus）, Fustat, Alexandria, and now Cairo. In my cities, there are Saracens, Isaacites, Turks, and Christians.
Those heathens—even if they are unwilling to enter our temples, recite our scriptures, perform our ceremonies—I still treat them equally. They may need to pay more tax, but I believe they do so willingly. They receive my protection in my cities and nation just like the Saracens.
If they commit crimes, I throw them into prison or hang them on the gallows, but I never execute them just because they are Christians.
So even if those sixty thousand convert, so what? For me, as long as they do not violate my laws, delay my taxes, serve labor for me, or betray me and my nation, they are my subjects, no different from other subjects.”
Sinan was speechless for a good while. He thought that by changing many of Hassan’s practices, he was rebellious enough, but he hadn’t expected someone here even more radical than him.
“So now I point a way for you. Go back now, completely disband the Assassins, let your assassins return to normal lives. Whether they want to be mercenaries, craftsmen, scholars, or farmers doesn’t matter. As long as they don’t commit crimes, they can have the lives they want.
But if they think they can still force changes through intimidation and murder, they are greatly mistaken.”
Saladin calmly finished the last sentence, propping his chin with the hand on his knee, the other hand naturally hanging on the other leg. He gazed at the highest circular skylight, where sunlight poured vertically to the ground, forming a bright pillar in the air, countless dust particles dancing and sparkling within.
How much like the masses of beings this is. Saladin thought to himself. Before great power, even without malice, just a slight movement, and they would immediately tumble, scatter, rise or fall, hard to find their place.
——————
Baldwin was first speechless, then burst into laughter.
“My God, Madam, I am the King of Ayyarasa Road, not the Archbishop of Ayyarasa Road. Or even if my teacher, Patriarch Heraclius, were here, he would not agree to this absurd request.”
“Do you not believe us?”
“No, it’s not a matter of belief or not. I simply do not need power like the Assassins’.”
“The power of the Assassins is beyond your imagination.”
“No need to imagine,” Baldwin said lightly, “you are renowned among the Crusaders.”
This was truly a bit mocking.
But indeed, from the moment the Crusaders arrived at Acre, as the most dangerous Saracens, the assassins of the Eagle’s Nest had launched more than one attack on them, and succeeded.
Baldwin looked straight at her and said pointedly: “Succeeded. And then? Did you stop the Crusaders’ offensive? When the Crusaders occupied Jaffa, Acre, conquered Ayyarasa Road, Antioch, Edessa, Tripoli, where were you?
Why did you not press on relentlessly, continue dyeing your scriptures red with Christians’ blood? You retreated, and your elder Sinan even submitted to the Templar Knights of Tortosa, willing to pay him taxes to ensure the safety of Saracen pilgrims. He even begged my father to waive this tax. Are you short of a sharp dagger? Or lacking those two thousand gold coins?
No, you lack nothing. What you lack is true belief and ideals.
When I first heard how you train assassins, I found it strange—using deceitful means and base desires to induce young men to sacrifice their lives. This is not something a worthy leader would do.
So from then on, I felt you could not last long.
You were previously invincible because you encountered cowards, but when facing true braves—only you will retreat. And around me…” He reached out and patted the helpless-faced Caesar, “are all true knights.” In his heart, he silently crossed out Abigail: “They are not only brave, but pure, pious, upright.
And the soldiers under them are the same. I will lead a holy force charging on the battlefield. Do you understand? I don’t need anyone telling me I can defeat enemies through sneaky, underhanded means.
You might laugh at me. Many have said that those who achieve great things must use any means necessary. But if a man cannot even keep his own oaths, even if he becomes king, what of it? He will forge his own prison, because he knows full well how everything he has came about.
He cannot complain that others do the same to him.”
Baldwin knew that whether in Antioch or Tripoli, or other lords’ armies, they often hired soldiers of different faiths who did not keep knights’ oaths, even fallen into bandits.
The lords seemed not to care; they treated these as tools like pokers or whips. Even if all perished on the battlefield, they would not care a bit.
Is this poker filthy? Is this whip stained with blood? But what does it matter? As long as they serve their purpose. As for those unfortunate sacrifices, it can only be said to be destiny.
“But I care. I don’t want, when I point at someone and shout that this is a hateful devil, to find I am looking in a mirror. Look at me.” He unhesitatingly pulled up his sleeve, covered in spots. Laila even involuntarily stepped back, and Caesar subconsciously reached out to grasp Baldwin’s arm.
“I am a leper. People say this is God’s trial for me, others say it is God’s punishment. They think I was born with original sin and will go to hell no matter what.
But even if I go to hell, Madam, I can stand straight-backed, proudly telling any devil—even if it is Satan—that apart from these, I have no other sins to confess.”
“Do you see the Assassins as sin?”
Baldwin nodded mercilessly, lowering his sleeve: “If you insist, whether converting or not, I don’t care. But you must do the following: hand over the assassins who killed those Crusader generals. If they are dead, hand over their corpses too.”
“What will you do?”
“I will hang them on the gallows, let them suffer the punishment they should have received long ago.
Then your castles will be demolished, settlements burned, your soldiers must discard armor and weapons, kneel in submission to the Crusaders.”
“And then, will you execute them?”
“Some yes, others will be pardoned. They may be sent to labor. But the women and children among the Assassins can be preserved. They may be dispersed everywhere, but I promise, they will be treated as the heathens in the City of Ayyarasa Road are.”
“Your subjects will convince you.”
“If they are truly so cowardly, I will advise him to take his knights back to his castle, where they are safest. Otherwise, even on the battlefield, can they be sure they will forever escape death’s claws?
Even I cannot guarantee that.”
————————
After Laila left, some unrest still occurred in the City of Ayyarasa Road. Several visiting lords were assassinated, one of whom was unfortunately wounded and could only return to Francia.
Some heard that the Assassins had sought reconciliation with the king but were refused. Although they did not know the details, as Baldwin had once said, they thought temporarily agreeing to these Saracens’ requests was no big deal.
After this expedition ended, the Crusaders could drive a solid nail into the heart of central Asia—perhaps conquering all of Syria within a few years. Then they could renege—indeed, many among them had played such double-dealing tricks before.
This method was very effective against rioting farmers or stubborn bandits. They lured the latter into their castles with empty promises, then captured them, tortured and hanged them.
This is why the Assassins will not negotiate this matter with you.
Berion couldn’t help inwardly grumbling this after a banquet.
The reason the Assassins were willing to trust the young king was precisely because they knew he had a pure soul, tenacious will, and pious faith. He was the kind who, once making a promise and oath to you, would absolutely not renege or delay.
If it were Count Raymond of Tripoli or Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, the Assassins would not dare trust so lightly.
“He is too young, with inexplicable pride and near-foolish stubbornness. Now it’s good.” Bohemond laughed: “Now we have to sleep with one eye open every night.”
“One eye open is useless.” Raymond mocked: “Assassin assassins once left a dagger and a letter by my father’s pillow. He was sleeping in a tent, surrounded by his knights. Did it help? No.”
Bohemond chuckled twice, the laugh insincere and without any truth, annoying Raymond, but he then reminded Bohemond that if possible, have Princess Sibylla write to his brother soon, allowing them to return from Nalessa to the Holy Cross Castle in Ayyarasa Road. Although Nalessa’s palace was exquisite and serene, in terms of safety, it surely could not compare to Holy Cross Castle.
“And your son David?” Bohemond thanked his kindness and casually asked.
“I have called David back. We father and son will live in the same room, and on the battlefield, the same tent.” Thinking of this, Raymond grew anxious again. He couldn’t help cursing Baldwin. An immature ruler was just like this, constantly making trouble for his subjects.
And Baldwin at this time also heard some uneasy murmurs from the expedition army. Indeed, most who came here were prepared to stay on the battlefield forever.
But some ridiculously harbored luxurious fantasies, thinking they were just here to play. Even on the battlefield, they wouldn’t die, at most get injured, not even missing limbs.
When they returned home, sitting by the roaring fireplace, they could use this as winter talk to draw countless envious gazes.
It was precisely these people vigorously persuading Baldwin to agree to the Assassins’ peace request.
“Then the worry would not be ours, but our enemies’.” They said excitedly. Baldwin was speechless.
“If there really were kings made by assassination, threats, and blackmail, I’m afraid few monarchs would remain on the European Continent, all thieves, swindlers, and bandits.” He wished he could kick their asses and tell them to roll back to their mothers’ arms, but not to mention Raymond and Bohemond—even Patriarch Heraclius forbade him from doing so.
“Do you think these people will honestly state their reasons for leaving the expedition army? They will surely slander you terribly.” Heraclius said this, then saw Baldwin’s gaze fixed on a certain spot.
He felt a twinge of unease.
