Chapter 126: First Battle
Later generations, when speaking of this war, could almost be said to have ten thousand different views—they dissected the war from various channels, angles, and individual standpoints, using every means and exerting every effort to find the smallest evidence to prove their arguments.
But one point is certain and universally acknowledged: before this surprise attack hidden in the boundless night occurred, every action taken by either the Ayyarasa Road side or the Sultan Nur al-Din side followed a predictable pattern.
Perhaps some would mock the greed and shortsightedness of the real power figures among the Crusaders at the time, Count Raymond of Tripoli and the Duke of Antioch Bohemond, but from their experience, although Ayyarasa Road was internally vulnerable at that time, the situation had stabilized, and it was the Pilgrimage Road becoming unsafe again that truly caused concern.
They did not believe that a senile Sultan Nur al-Din, who had no successor, and who had been fighting another governor of Syria just months earlier, would suddenly muster a large army to march south and attack Ayyarasa Road.
Perhaps some would ask, didn’t Amalric I also change the course of the war with his own death? No, completely different.
If Amalric I were already nearing sixty, he simply would not dare, nor would he leave Ayyarasa Road; that would be irresponsible to both him and the Crusaders. When he left Ayyarasa Road, he was only in his forties, in the prime of life and strength. If not for Shawwar, notorious for his cunning and selfishness, who schemed against him with his own life and the entire Fustat, his second expedition would have ended perfectly.
As for the Sultan Nur al-Din side, we can now certainly understand his unwillingness. He was only the second son of Zengi. Although Zengi divided all his possessions equally between his two sons, it was obvious that his share was somewhat lacking compared to his brother, and his brother happened to be a mediocre and incompetent man.
One must know that the person he revered most was none other than the Prophet Muhammad, but a single Syria was far from enough for him to catch up to this man’s footsteps.
And the wars, struggles, and intrigues of the past few decades had made him increasingly aware that—to firmly unite the scattered forces of the Saracens like loose sand—there was only one way, as the Prophet Muhammad had done: faith, and only faith.
And if he were to pick up the authority dropped by the Prophet on the ground and set off again toward his goal—what could he use to convince everyone?
The Holy City.
Ayyarasa Road was once a city of Canaanites, Isaacites, Romans, and Saracens. It was also the sacred place where their Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven at night, but it had been seized by outsiders, and successive sultans and caliphs all wanted to take it back.
If Sultan Nur al-Din could accomplish this at the very end of his life, he could kneel at the feet of the Prophet Muhammad upon ascending to heaven and report this proud merit to him, and his descendants would become heirs to the Prophet’s authority and ideals, just like the four great caliphs Abu Bakr, Umar ibn al-Khattab, Uthman ibn Affan, and Ali ibn Abi Talib in the past.
Precisely because of this, upon discovering that he was terminally ill, this elder immediately hid this secret tightly. He did not, like a mortal, try every means to prolong his life, whether through rest, treatment, or prayer…
Instead, he immediately made a choice—he would die in Ayyarasa Road.
Those foolish Crusaders indeed thought as he expected, though more out of his underestimation; even though he had once been renowned for his military achievements, he was now old.
They believed he lacked such courage, but Nur al-Din proved with actual action that he had it, and it was great courage.
At that time, Ayyarasa Road could almost be called an empty city; the main force of the Crusaders had almost all marched north. Although some knights and soldiers were left behind, this force certainly could not compare to the over ten thousand troops brought by Nur al-Din. But at that time, no one expected that the young Baldwin IV would actually leave the Holy City and happen to encounter the Sultan outside Makab Castle.
This event could only be said to be that the goddess of fate seemed to like twirling the threads on her spindle at such critical moments, directing this river full of possibilities to flow in another direction.
Sultan Nur al-Din’s army advanced majestically, like a rampant flood overwhelming everything in its path. They may have spotted those Christian knights, but they paid no attention, just like Nur al-Din’s light cavalry, who once spotted a Templar Knight emerging from Makab Castle but thought he was just one of the ordinary guards.
If Nur al-Din had paid slight attention, he would have noticed that Makab Castle suddenly had many more knights, horses, and attendants, and with a little deduction, he could have guessed that Baldwin IV was in this castle. If so, the story we know now would have to be completely rewritten.
But he did not.
And when night fell, their army had to rest by the Sea of Galilee, and due to the narrow terrain there, they were forced to form a long, thin strip shape.
This “strip” was distinctly divided based on the composition and status of the personnel, and the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Philip, experienced in fighting Saracens for many years, could immediately identify the location of the Sultan’s camp.
After Baldwin IV and Caesar tore open a gap, he immediately commanded the other knights and escorts to charge into this breach and widen it, precisely to separate the Sultan’s camp from the other camps.
At the same time, knights and escorts temporarily recruited from other castles and cities, along with armed attendants, were responsible for dispersing the roughly twelve thousand Nubian slave soldiers in the rear; they had four thousand cavalry and about eight thousand infantry, and in terms of numbers, it was almost crushingly superior.
But it was deep night at the time; these Nubians, lacking organization and training, on one hand could not see in the darkness, and on the other were thrown into panic by the firelight, screams, and chaotic shadows, not knowing what to do. They had come originally for money, with no faith, law, or anything else to restrain them, so they unhesitatingly chose to flee.
In fact, if they had been willing to stand up, calm down, and look carefully, they would have found that the people galloping on horseback, howling loudly, constantly throwing torches, shooting crossbow bolts, and wielding swords among them numbered only about a thousand, including knights and escorts, and some were even residents from nearby cities.
Although they did not live in Ayyarasa Road, they knew the principle of “when the lips are gone, the teeth feel cold.” If the Saracens took Ayyarasa Road, at least expulsion awaited them; Nur al-Din had little tolerance for such heathens, and even if he did, the emirs would not allow it—otherwise, where would they go to slaughter and plunder?
And what Baldwin IV asked them to do was not difficult, not even dangerous. They just needed to create a commotion to make these black-skinned heathen bastards think a large army had suddenly arrived. Sure enough, apart from a few unlucky ones who were accidentally injured or fell from their horses, the casualties were not heavy.
These Nubians would even throw away their only weapons, abandon their horses, and flee desperately. Some even lost their bearings in the night and jumped headlong into the Sea of Galilee; if they could not swim, they would soon drown, and even if they could, in such panic they might go the wrong way—this was the lake water at night; if they kept swimming downward toward the bottom instead of the surface, they would eventually drown.
The most troublesome were of course the emirs and Fatah; unlike the Nubians, they had faith and loyalty. But at this point, something strange happened: several people dressed in Saracen robes with headscarves on their heads rode into the camp on horseback, shouting loudly, “The Sultan is dead!”
“The Sultan is dead!”
“The Sultan is dead…!”
At this moment, the harm of a dynasty ruled solely by the absolute dictatorship of a caliph or sultan among the Saracens became apparent.
If it were among the Crusaders, even if a king like Amalric I died, the expeditionary army could immediately elect a new commander through a meeting and negotiation, but the Saracens could not.
When the Sultan was alive, everyone here could be said to be his slaves, and they would become slaves to the Sultan’s son in the future. Which slave would dare to take command of this army upon the Sultan’s death, unless he was certain he would become the next Sultan—otherwise, what awaited him was annihilation by the Sultan’s army in his territory, or entering the Sultan’s palace alone and kneeling submissively to be strangled by his chief eunuch.
Even Saladin, who would become the next Sultan, still did not dare appear before Nur al-Din to this day.
At this point, the tribal leaders among the Saracens, Kurds, and Turks immediately panicked; some anxiously wanted to rush to the Sultan’s tent to investigate; some wanted to retreat quickly back to Damascus or Acre; even if some smart ones guessed it was the enemy deliberately spreading rumors to shake morale, how could he convince the others amid this chaos?
And taking advantage of this gap, the elite led by Baldwin IV had caught up with Nur al-Din’s forces. Nur al-Din had a personal guard of two thousand men, the hardest shield and sharpest spear in this campaign. But as on every previous battlefield, no enemy could stand against or entangle with Baldwin IV and Caesar.
They advanced toward Nur al-Din.
“Who is that?” Nur al-Din asked, and his chief eunuch vaguely guessed the identities of these two—the spear and shield of Ayyarasa Road. This reputation had long spread across the battlefields, and a wise man like Nur al-Din immediately thought of it—he had once heard that the young Baldwin IV was out on tour, and at that time, he thought it would be like the second Count of Edessa: when Zengi attacked Edessa, the lord of Edessa happened to be away.
The Sultan showed a smile full of regret. “Makab,” he murmured. They had once encountered each other at Makab, but at that time the young Baldwin IV had seen him, while he had not noticed Baldwin IV. He had not expected this monarch, young to an astonishing degree, not to flee or return to Ayyarasa Road to prepare for a siege, but to choose such a reckless course.
Even more astonishing was that he actually succeeded, but so what? This was perhaps destined; their battlefield was not in Ayyarasa Road, but here. Nur al-Din’s eyes shone brightly, his blood boiling; everything before him seemed covered in a layer of bright red fine sand—here he still had two thousand men, while the enemy could muster how many in haste? Three hundred? Or five hundred?
Victory still stood by his side. “Allah…” He wanted to pray but could not hear his own voice. He looked at his hands in surprise; the long knife fell from his hand. He saw his chief eunuch rushing anxiously toward him, mouth agape, seemingly shouting something.
The Sultan’s memory ended there; he fell from his horse.
At this point, the battle was decided.
————
The Sultan fell to the ground, and everyone was surprised—except for one “Saracen” quietly blending into the crowd—he wore a smile of vengeful pleasure, tears streaming down his face.
What followed needs no elaboration: the Saracens lost all fighting spirit and fled in all directions; the Christian knights pursued all the way to Damascus before barely stopping—they truly were not many in number, and this undeniable victory left even Caesar somewhat dazed, let alone Baldwin.
He would occasionally push Caesar awake—they originally lived in separate rooms, but later Baldwin always wanted to confirm and talk with Caesar; exasperated, Caesar pulled out the wheeled bed from under his own bed, just like when they were still prince and attendant, and temporarily lived together with him.
“God,” Baldwin sat on the bed, his hair disheveled, “did we win?”
“Yes.”
“We’re not in a Saracen prison, but in, in…” He looked up and around…
“In Bethlehem; we’ll return to Ayyarasa Road tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Baldwin said, “so we won; we defeated Sultan Nur al-Din and his soldiers.”
“Indeed, fully ten thousand of them.”
“Nur al-Din…”
“He’s still alive, but not for much longer.”
“…”
“Sleep, Baldwin; they’re planning a triumph for you.”
“What?”
“You know, paint your face red, stand you on a two-wheeled carriage, then find a black-skinned Nubian slave to stand beside you and say ‘you too are only a mortal’…”
The room fell quiet for a moment.
“You’re mocking me.”
“Correct.”
——————
There was of course no triumph, but upon entering Ayyarasa Road, the cheers from the welcoming crowds nearly lifted Baldwin and Caesar into the air—even the lowliest beggar knew what their victory meant: no one in this city would lose their life because of the Saracens!
Nur al-Din was placed in a sealed carriage; Baldwin had no intention of humiliating this elder, but on the first night after arriving in Ayyarasa Road, he died.
His corpse was properly preserved, and the news of his death quickly reached Acre. No matter what thoughts his three sons harbored, they first had to retrieve their father and the Sultan’s remains from the Christians as quickly as possible, hold a ceremony, and bury them. Thus, the negotiation team was almost summoned that very night, along with some “gifts.”
When the black-haired girl was dragged out of the room by the eunuch, her expression was still relatively calm—compared to her companions, the former First Lady looked at them: “You once danced and played music before the Sultan; if not for his preoccupation at the time, you would long since have been his consorts…”
Hearing this, those golden-haired and brown-haired girls were already terrified and limp; two even started crying—although the Saracens had no custom of live burial sacrifices, no wife would like her husband’s concubines. Now the First Lady was the sole mistress of the harem, and no one would object to however she treated them.
“But the master would not want me to do so… but I don’t want to see you anymore either, so,” the First Lady stood up, “go with the envoy to Ayyarasa Road, and serve the Christian king.”
