Chapter 88: Assault On The City!
This edict is not an end, but a beginning.
Those who have not personally experienced war always have an illusion—that war is stimulating, intense, exhilarating, and filled with madness, joy, and sorrow—but the truth is not so, and can even be said to be the exact opposite.
By the eighth day of the siege warfare, Caesar and the other young knights had lost their initial fear and excitement, and an unprecedented weariness enveloped them, a weariness that could not be alleviated by sleep, eating and drinking, or a priest’s treatment; it came from contempt for life and indifference to death.
When Geoffrey suddenly slaughtered those commoners without warning, just to have a place to shelter in the snowy night, Caesar found it hard to accept, though he had no choice but to bear this bloody favor.
But after that, even if Geoffrey showed him sufficient goodwill, he still felt unable to let it go; even without Baldwin, he thought he could not calmly accept the olive branch extended by the other.
Now, he still could not say he had accepted it, only that he could now understand why those battle-hardened knights treated others’ and their own lives so lightly.
Every day, every hour, every moment, as soon as they opened their eyes, whether in daylight or night, whether intercepting relief forces from other cities, escorting supply caravans, or going to rescue some reckless lord or pilgrimage group, they were only constantly killing and being killed.
Accompanying them were only nerves perpetually on edge, chainmail that reeked of blood no matter how much it was scrubbed, weapons blunted from too much cleaving…
The young knights who used to frequently joke around, tell jokes, and quarrel over which noble lady was more noble, more pure, more beautiful gradually became quiet.
Back in their tents, they either drank nonstop until they passed out drunk; or knelt before holy images in prayer and confession, muttering to themselves until dawn; or stayed with their friends, like Baldwin and Caesar, reading to each other, playing chess, acting as much as possible according to their former life patterns.
Some inexperienced knights had already begun to lose control—they even lashed out at companions or pilgrims; if not for the ever-calm Caesar always in their group, who knows what they would have done.
“I’m actually a bit envious of Richard now,” Baldwin said.
“He’s different from us,” Caesar said, shaking his head.
Richard had been tempered by the battlefield, but that was not the most important thing; there were also those in their group who had been tempered on the battlefield but still felt overwhelmed, while Richard was truly like the wild boar Baldwin had described: blood caked on his body was not a burden to him but a badge and shield; he always held his head high, proclaiming how many heathen “devils” he had killed in his combats.
Caesar was glad, at least, that Baldwin shared his thinking; though if they could see the Saracens as “non-human,” the burden on their hearts would undoubtedly be much lighter.
“How’s the situation in Fustat?” Caesar asked.
“Still in a stalemate,” Baldwin said, showing a worried expression: “Some have already started slacking and neglecting their duties, and others want to attack Fustat their own way.”
“Haven’t they had enough of the previous lessons?” Caesar moved the “siege tower” on the chess board.
That noble who thought himself clever, designing and building a siege tower himself, not only died but also lost the twenty knights who came with him; fortunately, there was no one like William Marshal among those knights, so it did not hurt too much—but it did give the Saracens a big laughingstock and brought bad luck to their own people.
Not only that, but the previous night, a noble had sworn to the king that he had bribed an Isaacites merchant inside the city, arranging that when night fell and people could no longer see clearly under the city wall, a Crusader squad should infiltrate to the left tower of the Victory Gate and call to him in Greek; as soon as he heard, he would throw down a rope.
They could climb up the rope, enter the tower, kill those inside, then try to seize the other tower, and finally open the Victory Gate.
But he also said they must be very quiet and quick, because there were always patrols on the city wall holding torches in turns to check everywhere; if they showed cowardice or hesitated, not only would they themselves be doomed, but even that Isaacites merchant would be exposed.
Of course, no one would care about that Isaacites merchant, but from Amalric I to the other military leaders, all felt the chance of such a flaw existing was slim; after all, the people in Fustat city knew the nature of Isaacites merchants well—they should have locked them up or even killed them long ago, so how could they let a merchant out to sell them such a secret?
But there are always some reckless, impulsive people; though this noble’s proposal was rejected, he stuck to his idea, managed to recruit about a hundred knights, promising them rewards from God and mortals; when some knights were puzzled, he even said they were not going to die, but to happily be with Christ, receiving the eternal life He granted, not a fleeting moment like morning dew.
His words convinced them, so a hundred knights, shields raised, long swords at their waists, carrying rope ladders made of cowhide, approached the left tower of the Victory Gate under cover of night; they called out, and the agreed signal quickly came from the dark window of the tower, the rope was thrown down, then the cowhide rope ladder was hoisted up, and the first batch of about twenty climbed up.
But after they climbed up, there was a short silence; those waiting below inevitably felt anxious and fearful, thinking they had been betrayed by the Isaacites merchant and were all dead; but soon, someone poked his head from the crenellations, telling them all was safe, encouraging and urging them to hurry up.
So the remaining eighty also climbed up one after another.
“You know what happened after that,” they were all wiped out, their heads cut off and loaded into catapults to be hurled over the city wall, their naked corpses hung outside the tower, “They even wanted to call you along then—fortunately, father refused.” Baldwin moved the “king,” saying with some relief.
Not counting the fortress on Laudae Island, Caesar had fought side by side with the knights many times after that—many knights could provide protection to others, but none was as steadfast and enduring as him; they even found that as long as they were roughly in range of Caesar, everyone could receive his help.
The best part was that the glow like scale armor or a shield could resist enemy attacks, but their own actions had no burden or hindrance.
More than just Richard had “borrowed” Caesar from King Amalric I, but so far only he had succeeded, thanks to his kinship with Amalric I and being the son of Henry II, and Baldwin often acted with him too—but Amalric I was not keen on letting Caesar leave Baldwin.
“Tomorrow we might go up the siege tower,” Baldwin said.
“Mm.” Caesar had expected this; Heraclius had already come to warn him.
This was also because the siege warfare had reached its most intense phase: “I heard the teacher say we’re all going up the tower.”
“That’s father’s proudest siege tower; he calls it the Tower of David.”
——————
The Tower of David stands by the Jaffa Gate on Ayyarasa Road, about fifty feet high, while Amalric I’s “Tower of David” is twice that height, nearly a hundred feet, its drawbridge at the top level with Fustat’s city wall when lowered.
It is made of sturdy oak, covered with cowhide and sheepskin soaked in vinegar, hung with leather pouches filled with sand; moreover, on the side facing the city wall, Amalric I spent a fortune to affix iron plates sufficient to arm five hundred shield-bearing infantrymen, showing how much hope he placed in it.
The base of this siege tower is equally spacious, easily accommodating twenty fully armed knights standing inside.
Caesar only felt his body swaying, and vibrations coming from underfoot; such a colossal thing required over a hundred soldiers to push, positioned on both sides of the siege tower, with comrades ahead holding shields and wicker fences to protect them from arrows shot by Saracens or stones hurled by catapults.
But inevitably, some grunted or cried out as they fell, followed by chaotic footsteps as they were dragged away, with soldiers following the siege tower promptly filling in; the closer they got to the city wall, the more frequent and intense the vibrations, and through gaps in the siege tower walls, Caesar could see ignited flames and stone fragments bursting through, lacerating a knight’s face.
Yet he seemed suddenly numb, making no move to wipe the blood or check the wound; Richard saw, reached out to wipe it for him: “Don’t tense up,” he said: “We’re about to have a feast.”
Perhaps only Richard would think so; the distance this siege tower traveled might be the longest these young knights had ever traversed—they had seen plenty in the past week of siege towers smashed to pieces by stone projectiles, collapsed, or set ablaze by Greek fire, burning fiercely; if lucky, the knights could escape, if not, they became part of the siege tower…
The Saracens’ voices grew clear, the stench of blood and gunpowder thickening, as if in the next moment the siege tower shook violently with a thunderous crash; a knight cried out in panic, but was immediately slapped by Richard to snap him alert—”The time has come!” Richard shouted: “For Christ! For God’s cause!”
He was the first to rush out, with Baldwin and Caesar right behind, climbing narrow wooden ladders up seven levels, the soldiers dropping the drawbridge as soon as they saw them.
Richard leaped onto the still-shaking drawbridge in one step, met head-on by Greek fire in earthenware pots that burst on impact, flames from the petroleum naphtha, sulfur, saltpeter, and other substances igniting immediately on the drawbridge and Richard’s body.
Crusaders had said Greek fire was like God’s lightning, and against it, there was nothing but kneeling in prayer—perhaps a slight exaggeration, but partly true: it was not easily extinguished by water, stuck to solids, and once burned, survival chances were slim.
And those Saracens did shout in joy, but almost simultaneously, Richard charged into the crowd, swinging his battle axe; Saracen heads rolled in the air and on the ground like thrown dice, the flames still around him failing to burn him but harming many Saracen soldiers who did not react in time.
Someone immediately shouted: “This is a Christian knight who received the Prophet’s revelation!”
Then a bearded, fierce-looking Saracen warrior met Richard, wielding a short-handled heavy mace with an onion-shaped, gilded silver-inlaid head gleaming in the sunlight—no, wait! As Caesar caught up to Richard and covered him with another layer of protection, the Saracen warrior’s mace had already struck Richard flying!
Richard instinctively cried out, crashing into the city wall, but found only intense pain, no serious injury.
With no time to thank Caesar, he sprang up and clashed again with that Saracen warrior.
“There are some here too—Saracens who received revelation.” Caesar stepped back to stand with Baldwin, saying softly.
He had already seen several warriors rushing toward them, each surrounded by astonishing light.
Ever since receiving the saint’s favor, he had asked Heraclius this question: if Crusaders, or Christ’s knights, could receive God’s blessing, what about their enemies? Their enemies should have ways to foresee and counter it, or else Amalric I should have taken Egypt long ago, even earlier Baldwin III or Baldwin I could have.
Indeed, Heraclius said that among the Saracens, there was something corresponding to the “Choosing ceremony” called the “Path of Ascension”; they called it that to commemorate how their Prophet Muhammad, at age fifty-two one night, accompanied by the angel Gabriel on a flying steed, journeyed from Mecca to Ayyarasa Road, there “ascended,” toured the seven hidden heavens, reached “heaven,” viewed “Hell,” met ancient “prophets,” and returned to Mecca at dawn.
Their selection method was very similar to the Christians’ “Choosing ceremony”: before adulthood, spending a day and night in the temple, awaiting the Prophet’s arrival, then listening to his teachings and receiving revelation…
In the battle for the fortress on Laudae Island, they had also encountered Saracens who received “revelation,” but clearly, the Fustat people had kept their sturdiest shields and sharpest spears here.
Baldwin and Caesar simultaneously sighed and charged forward!
