Chapter 156: Breakthrough
Catching up to Caesar were not the previous Turks.
Although these Turks had been assimilated by the Saracens in terms of faith and political system, their combat methods still followed the experience and rules inherited from their ancestors, that is, the knowledge they learned from beasts and prey on the grassland.
Although there were more than two thousand people chasing behind Caesar in total, they did not act together. After a brief discussion, they split into three teams. The first team would chase these fleeing ministers and Christians with all their might on the first day, the second team would follow behind at a relatively steady pace, and the third team would do the same. When the first team felt exhausted, they would stop to rest, letting the second team quickly take over. When the second team also began to tire, it would be time for the third team to exert themselves.
If someone lived on the grassland and often saw wolf packs hunting, they would notice that the strategy used by the wolf pack was almost identical, or rather, the wolf pack was the earliest enlightenment teacher of the Turks. The hunters on the grassland had long been accustomed to it—the first tracker only needed to ensure the prey was not lost, then could slow down, adjust their breathing, recover their strength, and hand over the pursuit to other companions.
The wolf pack would take turns attacking, and they did the same. Their enemies, however, could only run with all their might without stopping. It could be foreseen that when any one of these three teams caught up to Caesar and the others, the Turks, even if not full of energy and high-spirited, would still be much stronger than these Christian knights who had been galloping continuously for several days and nights.
Moreover, once they bit onto the enemy, companions would continuously arrive to reinforce, filling every Turk with faith. Although they had lost some men in the previous encounters, the remaining numbers could still bring crushing threat and despair to the enemy.
The leader of the Turks had already seen those knights. They had formed ranks, raising flags blood-red in color with an Ayyarasa Road cross on the corners. The leading knight wore silver-plated chainmail, a nasal helm, and a large surcoat, with a huge Ayyarasa Road cross on both front and back, and his mount—that incomparably magnificent Arabian, pure white all over, with only a patch of black fur on its forehead forming the shape of a star.
The First Lady had offered a bounty of one thousand gold coins—as long as someone could take the head of this Christian knight.
The leader of the Turks instinctively licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. He noticed the opponent was facing the sunlight, but unfortunately, such a clever trick was useless against the Turks. He shook his head inwardly, then pointed at the young man and shouted to his companions in Turkish, “This one is mine! His head must be taken by me!”
The other Turks let out a chorus of shouts in agreement, then they shrugged their shoulders, lowered their heads, spurred their horses, and charged toward the battlefield.
The knights opposite, however, did not show the same urgency as the Turks. Only some knights quickly advanced, while the others stayed in place. The Turks did not understand why they adopted such a posture, but for them, encountering such sluggish enemies could not be better.
The Turks’ combat style was more akin to a wolf pack than a lion or tiger. They rarely charged directly into the enemy’s formation to tear their throats with fangs and claws. Like a wolf pack besieging a flock of sheep, they relied on superb archery skills to circle around the Christian knights and shoot arrows at them.
People always had a mistaken view of the Turks’ arrows, thinking that these arrows did not have much power. This view might have been influenced by plate armor that would appear more than a hundred years later.
In front of heavy plate armor, arrows indeed struggled to achieve brilliant results. But at this time, most people wore chainmail or leather armor, both of which could certainly block part of the arrows’ power, but if they encountered a shooter with both strength and skill, the knights would still be in mortal danger.
Caesar had once heard of an unfortunate knight who was hit by an arrow—the arrow accurately struck his thigh, probably a small unprotected gap in the chainmail. This arrow went straight through his left leg, then the horse, with the arrowhead deeply embedding into the other side of his leg.
It could be said that this arrow “connected” him and his mount together. This sounds unbelievable, but it did happen.
The Turks had fought the Crusaders for so many years and had long developed tactics against them—when the knights charged at them, they immediately withdrew. Few knights could catch up, and while retreating, they could still shoot arrows at the enemy. If a knight was provoked and chased recklessly, they would lead them away from their formation, away from their provisions and supplies.
If they truly detached from the main army and were outnumbered, the Turks would turn around and attack those exhausted men and horses.
Generally, Turks carried two or three weapons: bow and arrows on their backs, scimitars or spears at their waists. Their method remained the same: ranged shots first, then close combat.
Therefore, when Caesar and the knights charged at them urgently, these Turks did not panic. They merely withdrew a bit earlier than usual. As always, the Turks quickly distanced themselves from the knights and soon vanished from sight.
The knights’ attack was grand in momentum but futile. The remaining Turks emitted sharp mocking laughter. They spurred their horses, began circling the knights still in place, and raised their longbows. But at that moment, the knights made a surprising move: they threw large pieces of silk to the ground nearby and far away.
These silks were exactly the thank-you gifts from Madam and the princes to Caesar. When leaving, Caesar had not forgotten to bring them. Back then, Geoffrey still thought he had finally reached the age of loving to amass wealth, yet he used them here without hesitation.
As soon as these silks were thrown by the knights, they refracted brilliant light in the sunlight, then fluttered down like flowers or clouds onto the scorched yellow sandy land, resembling gold and silver flowing under the horses’ hooves.
Whether leader or soldier, the first thought of the Turks was that these Christians wanted to redeem themselves with silk, but unfortunately, every one of them had a price on their head, and as long as they were killed, these things would still belong to them. But even they themselves did not notice—the rhythm had been disrupted.
Turks could pull the reins to make their horses rear and trample an infant, but they could not convince themselves to treat these smooth and gorgeous fabrics so cruelly—things equivalent to gold. Even emperors and kings included silk robes as one of the war reparations in negotiations.
Moreover, the silks here were favorites of Sultan Nur al-Din’s consorts, each one soft, delicate, gorgeous, and exquisitely crafted enough to steal the heavens’ workmanship. But what they were unwilling to trample, the Christian knights had no pity for.
Seeing Caesar’s tactic work, they cheered inwardly. They spurred their horses over the silks, instantly slaying a large group of Turk soldiers still hesitating whether to dismount and pick them up or kill the Christians first—ridiculously, even so, some Turks instinctively avoided the silk while dodging.
“Don’t be stupid, this is a trap by the Christians!” shouted a Turk soldier. He held a not-low position in this team, wearing sturdy lamellar armor. At his reminder, some Turks did gather, raising their bows and arrows to search for targets, only to find dazzling flashes leaping before their eyes.
The Christian knights pulled off the cloaks originally covering them, and blinding light burst forth from their bodies—it stung their eyes shut, throwing off their aim. Bowstrings twanged, but the arrows did no damage to the knights. Only when a Turk soldier was cleaved from his horse did he realize the knights’ glow came from fragments of copper mirrors—though he could not be sure.
These were indeed copper mirrors. In Sultan Nur al-Din’s harem, the shiniest polished mirrors were the least scarce; they were even sold outward as precious commodities from Acre. These mirrors had also been packed as gifts in boxes. And as early as when the knights were resting, Caesar had hired some people to smash all these copper mirrors into fragments and embed them onto the knights’ chainmail.
Though the method was very crude—just drilling a simple hole and fixing them with metal wire or leather straps.
These fragments indeed played a role beyond expectations—humans’ conditioned reflex to strong light could not be suppressed by any training or orders. And when the Turk soldiers uncontrollably turned their heads away, their lives came to an end.
Bows and arrows along with their owners fell to the ground one after another, kicking up clouds of sand.
A Turk shouted for the leader. He and the Turks around him were charging toward them, but as the distance closed, he saw only fear on that face—had those knights been shaken off by him?
No.
When the leader was impaled by a spear and sent flying into the air, he finally saw that special black star. The head worth a thousand gold coins passed under him. The opponent looked up expressionlessly at him, then averted his gaze, not even showing a smile. Was he not worth it?
His head was perhaps worth more than a thousand gold coins, but at least a hundred.
The leader fell to the ground. He opened his mouth, wanting to curse this damned Christian knight—Allah bless you, you will soon follow me. With every word, a large mouthful of pink thick liquid mixed with blood clots overflowed from his mouth.
He was not wrong. Though he could no longer see, the next two teams were rapidly approaching this place. These Christian knights, though composed and fierce, the leader did not believe they had much strength left to face the battles coming one after another.
Moreover, those two teams had more people enlightened by the Prophet than this team. The opponent’s barrier was already broken and would inevitably crumble before those even sharper arrows.
Thinking this way, he died full of unwillingness. And just as he had expected, before Caesar and his knights could catch their breath, they felt the air and earth faintly trembling. It was the resonance caused by countless horses’ hooves pounding the ground. Geoffrey’s face changed instantly.
The knights silently and tacitly gathered toward Caesar. Caesar looked around; the knights had no losses, though some were already swaying on their feet. But the escorts and armed attendants had suffered considerable casualties. This was unavoidable, after all. This was war, not child’s play.
He thought no more, calmed his mind, and prayed to that existence always watching over him from the beyond. Once again, holy light like moonlight and silver enveloped everyone. This time, even the escorts and armed attendants felt the endless honor and favor transmitted from Caesar to them. They shed excited tears, feeling that dying here would be completely worthwhile.
Only Geoffrey looked worried. Not only was he chosen, he had also fought alongside someone equally deeply favored for many years. Excessive seeking of holy grace would bring great consumption to the person—both physical and mental.
Some would collapse dead without warning after battle; others would be bedridden with illness afterward. Even if lucky enough to avoid those two fates, they would be unable to receive favor again for a long time, sometimes acting as if they had never been chosen.
Now Caesar was undoubtedly overexerting himself, but he had no way to stop him. He knew what kind of person Caesar was. Even if he forbade it, he could not stop him, and these men’s deaths would torment Caesar in the years to come, perhaps even leading to melancholy death.
At that moment, the two teams concealed behind rolling sand finally revealed their true faces.
One was naturally those Turks wearing furs with the lining out—they came aggressively, roaring and brandishing swords from afar, but without raising flags. The other army was even stranger: they moved in utter silence, a dark mass. Though they raised a flag, even battle-hardened Geoffrey could not recall anything similar from memory.
It was a huge black flag with a white eagle flying in the center.
