Chapter 155: Breakthrough
When the fully armed soldiers rushed out of the South Gate of Aleppo Castle, the people who saw this scene immediately felt greatly reassured—they thought this was the army sent by the New Sultan to quell the unrest in the city. Unfortunately, these valiant cavalrymen did not linger in the city at all, but directly pursued out of the city. The First Lady, the New Sultan Salih, and the Grand Vizier had no intention of wasting strength at this time to help those poor people.
Although according to doctrine, this was the Sultan’s right and also his duty, neither Salih nor the First Lady had such great prestige to command any Emir or Fatah to act, which meant that even to drive a single soldier, they would need to use money, and the price was obviously much higher than when Sultan Nur al-Din was still alive.
The Chief Eunuch also found it difficult to easily intervene or meddle in this matter; his alliance with the First Lady was not yet solid enough to point out each other’s mistakes. Moreover, he vaguely felt that these bandits creating chaos and disaster might have received some promise or connivance—how many people were involved, how many transactions, was hard to say.
Regardless of other matters, just the First Lady and the New Sultan Salih could save a large sum of money—if Kamal or any minister with a shred of responsibility were here, he would fiercely oppose it, even accuse them. But the group with responsibility had already left Acre, and among those remaining, even the neutral ones, seeing the New Sultan held tightly in the First Lady’s arms, would wisely shut their mouths and say no more.
————
The army pursuing behind Caesar numbered about one thousand five hundred men, and on the second and third days, the First Lady added another five hundred consecutively.
Acre is about ninety leagues（ three hundred fifty kilometers） from Damascus. That journey took them nearly half a month on the way there because they had to escort Sultan Nur al-Din’s coffin. Now they could gallop with all their might, but horses and knights both have moments of exhaustion. Although the Knights’ members had once jested that with Caesar’s blessing, they might persist all the way to Ayyarasa Road, everyone knew that was impossible.
Moreover, they encountered multiple interceptions on the road, not just from armies, but from Saracens appearing in the dust—either from nearby villages or surrounding tribes. They had been fighting Christians for nearly a hundred years, and in every encounter, there might not be time or opportunity to explain.
Occasionally Caesar would think of Baldwin far away on Ayyarasa Road.
If they could return safely, he would definitely tell Baldwin about this—he had never realized before that the other had such exceptional talent in divination. If not for Baldwin insisting on assigning him such an overly elite team for the delegation, he would surely be in dire straits now.
In this time, he had become very familiar with them; he knew their surnames, origins, ages, personalities. He had cooked for them, hunted with them, or fought bandits. They prayed under candlelight, sat around the bonfire singing and dancing. These young men would argue, quarrel, chatter endlessly, each with their flaws and virtues.
Indeed, as people expected, Caesar became the leader of this group of young men, earning their support. But likewise, it meant Caesar bore an unshirkable responsibility for them. Even in this era, in this place, death was always close at hand, especially for a Crusader knight—even a king like Amalric I died abruptly on an expedition, without warning, irretrievable.
But Caesar still dared not think about it: if he brought these men away but only half or fewer returned to Ayyarasa Road, what a scene that would be. No need for others to reproach him; he would be ashamed to the point of no ground to stand on. Fortunately, Baldwin’s excessive care made this delegation team unprecedentedly large, and large meant overwhelming superiority against others in many situations.
They routed more than once bandits or tribal warriors, and set two ambushes when pursuers closed in, routing the latter in chaos, scattering like birds and beasts, yet still unable to shake off the enemy’s pursuit and hunt—the Knights had begun some unsettling talk.
The most uneasy were of course those Saracens, once Sultan Nur al-Din’s ministers. They were either plagued by illness, physically maimed, or extremely aged; such nonstop day-and-night galloping and combat brought heavy burdens to their bodies and minds. They tried not to drag down these Christian knights, but the body sometimes does not obey the mind.
“There’s an oasis ahead,” Kamal said in a hoarse voice. “We can rest there for a night.”
“No, we can only rest for half a night,” Caesar rejected his suggestion. They had just wiped out a group of Nubian soldiers; before executing the captives, they extracted some intelligence—still no fewer than two thousand were pursuing them.
And the closest were perhaps only a day’s journey away, but they had already galloped continuously for two nights and one day. Even if his power greatly alleviated the knights’ fatigue, their spirits were nearly breaking.
There would inevitably be villages around the oasis; that was beyond doubt.
A shepherd saw them and immediately abandoned his flock, rushing toward the village. There happened to be a “scholar” who at once led the village’s warriors, swiftly mounting horses and charging toward the oasis.
To them, Caesar’s delegation was an army capable of annihilating them. As Saracens, they did not fear losing their lives on the battlefield, only worried for their wives and children. Fortunately, these Christians did not immediately attack, but sent out a young knight, and behind him on the same horse was actually a Saracen. At first the scholar thought it was a guide, then realized something was wrong.
Kamal dismounted, and upon landing, his knees buckled, his body involuntarily pitching forward. Fortunately, Caesar had also dismounted and grabbed his arm, pulling him up.
With Kamal’s explanation and guarantee, the scholar reluctantly accepted them. Of course, the other remained vigilant; that night every Saracen in the village would stay awake, weapons at hand, until they were far away—but that was no longer a concern for these Christian knights.
Upon seeing that clear lake water, they could not help but let out joyful cheers. Except for the knights on guard, the others dismounted and walked to the lakeside. With their escorts’ help, they removed their iron gloves, took off their hoods, cupped their hands to lift the cool lake water to their lips, and drank their fill.
Then they filled their waterskins with water and brought it to their mounts. The Saracens watching them then felt slightly reassured; a man’s virtue often shows in small details. If these Christian knights were unwilling to waste even lake water, there was a high chance they would not break their prior promise.
The scholar stood at the window. Though others urged him to rest, he just shook his head. He had seen those disheveled Saracens; though he might not recognize their identities, from their expressions, actions, and clothing, it was clear they were not ordinary folk—in the Zengid dynasty, men’s clothing had no stark class distinctions, and their Prophet Muhammad did not advocate men wearing jewelry or silk, but some details always highlighted those in power.
Strangely, these men all seemed as if they had just endured punishment; bloodstains, maiming, and weakness could not be concealed.
Not long ago, Sultan Nur al-Din’s coffin had passed nearby; no need to say more, the scholar guessed that something bad had happened in Acre City. He pondered long, and when the knights lit a bonfire and sent a few escorts to buy food from the villagers, he generously agreed.
Then he called the warriors and had them quickly pack needed items: “We must leave here temporarily—once these Christians and Nur al-Din’s ministers depart, we must go too.”
“What?” Hearing the scholar say this, the warriors were inevitably shocked. “Because of those Christians?” an impatient warrior said. “Do you mean they will bring their army? Then why not go out now and kill them.”
“No,” the scholar said. “What worries me is not these Christians—will you heed my words? If not, I will take my family and leave. But I hope you will follow my arrangements. Children, dark clouds are coming from Acre.”
The people hesitated for a good while, but the scholar had always great prestige among these Saracens. Even if reluctant, they returned to their homes, gathering important things—take what could be taken, bury what could not.
The Christians left before dawn, under cover of night, silently. The scholar who had been watching them immediately gathered the villagers. They carried bundles, held baskets, and quietly headed to a rocky mountain near the oasis. That rocky mountain had a natural cleft, ending in a cave hollowed by wind and sand—large enough, not for long-term living, but fine for temporary shelter.
“How long must we stay here?” the scholar’s wife asked uneasily. “Until those people pass,” the scholar said. At that time they did not know who “those people” the scholar meant. But soon, in the afternoon of the second day, a young man left by the scholar to observe the village returned pale-faced, trembling all over, drenched in sweat.
They gave him grape juice to drink, and he barely calmed down. He told them that at noon, when the sun was most scorching, a group of Oghuz Turks came to their village. They found traces left by the Christians at the lakeside and rushed into the village with weapons, searching everywhere, shouting. But because of the scholar’s warning, everyone had left, and they found nothing.
In the end, they could only angrily burn several houses in the village before sullenly departing. One could imagine what would await if the villagers had stayed.
——————
After resting, Caesar’s team galloped another day and night, and at dawn on the fourth day, they were not far from Damascus, but the most powerful pursuers had finally found them and were charging toward them.
The knights set down the Saracens on their horses’ backs. They were placed behind a dune; their fate depended on the battle’s outcome. If the Christians won, they might enter Damascus City and receive protection there. But if the Christians lost, the result was self-evident.
Since the First Lady and the New Sultan Salih had sent pursuers, it meant they no longer saw them as trustworthy subjects, and the only fate for rebels was execution.
Kamal labored two breaths, his eyes deeply sunken from these days, lips cracked, hair disheveled.
But some words he must say—”Next, Lord, if you find an opportunity, go your own way. We were never your responsibility to bear—just leave it like this. You have done what even a Saracen might not achieve; we will forever remember your favor. If… my colleagues and I have a future, we will surely repay you.”
He gazed at Caesar, placed his hands on his chest, knelt once more before this Christian knight’s horsehoof. “All praise to Allah, Lord. May we meet again.”
Caesar nodded calmly. In fact, as a Christian, he could not order his subordinates and companions to sacrifice for a group of Saracens. They had indeed done all they could; once they repelled these pursuers, it might be time to truly part ways.
