Chapter 180: Annihilating Mulai
The shape of the Anatolian Peninsula very much resembles the head of an eagle looking sideways toward the Mediterranean.
The beak and lower jaw are the Byzantine Empire, the eyes and cheeks are the Sultanate of Rum, the small patch of skin under the cheeks is Armenia, the four Christian countries are a swath of feathers extending down from the juncture of the head and neck, and the vastest Syria becomes the back of this eagle’s head.
Caesar lightly placed his finger on this map.
This map is the most precious item in the armory of Holy Cross Castle. Of course, according to all the cognition, ideas, and faith of people in this era, it is also drawn as a brilliantly colored religious painting, with portraits of saints surrounding it and occupying most of the blank space like uninvited guests, the actual map portion only half of it, without any details, only serving as a reference.
Not to mention, from the castle to the hills, from the fields to the river, the draftsman used detailed depictions throughout, even drawing pilgrims with shells dangling from their hats on the roads and the Templar Knights escorting them.
However, compared to it, the several other maps placed nearby are much more detailed and accurate. These were drawn en route by several priests and knights in the Knights Templar whom Caesar had taught, when they escorted pilgrims from Francia or Apulia to the Holy Land.
Curiously, the knights’ technique in drawing maps surpassed that of the priests. This is because the priests usually copied scripture too much; even after learning from Caesar how to draw a map accurately, they still couldn’t help adding various decorations.
There are dozens of maps here—before they began drawing, Caesar outlined the rough peninsula contours and divided it into segments. After all, whether knights or priests, ensuring the safety of pilgrims on the long Pilgrimage Road is their foremost duty.
Drawing maps is merely another task, important though it is, but not one to be prioritized. But if divided into segments, each knight and priest need only complete their own part.
Even so, this map took several years to complete. Caesar had always wanted to find a few trustworthy people to verify it, but never had the opportunity. Now is a good time.
When Baldwin entered the tent, he saw Caesar lost in thought over the map. He walked over, looked at it carefully, and immediately understood. They were now in the port city of St. Symeon of Antioch, preparing to sail from here to the Byzantine Empire, then onward to the battlefield of Manuel I and Arslan II, to provide aid and strike.
“There is the latest news. Now they are besieged in an abandoned military fortress. Although Arslan II’s army is not yet sufficient to swallow a force of thirty thousand men in one bite, the Turks are moving everywhere, intercepting their provisions trains.”
Baldwin set down the map and walked to the seat on one side. He glanced at the low table nearby with the silver pot, picked it up, poured himself a cup, then poured one for Caesar. Only when he brought it to his lips did he realize it was not wine, but rose water of similar color. He made a face—Caesar still disliked drinking.
But rose water was not bad either, sweetened with honey, fragrant with roses, and with ice cubes in the silver pot, it was sweet and refreshing to drink.
“It seems we must first open a path.” Caesar said. He walked over and sat beside Baldwin, taking the cup of rose water Baldwin handed him, and sipped lightly.
“Let me guess what you want to say.” Baldwin said: “Mulai?”
Caesar smiled. “But we need to first convince Raymond, and the two Grand Masters of the Knights.”
Baldwin let out a loud snort. “Do they have room to object? A year ago they led a great army north to destroy Mulai’s power here. Everyone thought it would be an easy task, but in fact they didn’t even see Mulai’s face before falling into his schemes and under his poisonous hand. To this day Raymond and Bohemond have not repaid the debts they incurred in that campaign.
Mulai has entrenched himself here for a decade or so, surely amassing no small fortune—if we can defeat him, Raymond won’t be hounded by those merchants to the point of not daring to return to Tripoli.”
He once greatly respected these two elder lords and regarded them as his uncles and elder cousins, but they always disappointed him.
And after ascending the throne, the tough, towering, unshakeable image they once projected before him was gradually fading and peeling away. It was as if he had suddenly realized he no longer needed to look up or levelly at them, but down upon them.
“I think,” Caesar said after pondering a moment, “you should entrust this task to Raymond.
After all, he is an old warrior who has fought on battlefields for twenty or thirty years, surely possessing advantages we have not noticed. At least his experience is far richer than ours. Er, though any old horse can stumble, one moment’s success or failure does not define his life.
Moreover, if persuaded this way, things will be much simpler. He will surely want an opportunity to wash away his shame. As for Your Majesty,” he looked at Baldwin, “your battlefield should be in a broader place.”
“You mean… perhaps you are right.”
————
Raymond did not know of the conversation between Caesar and Baldwin, but upon hearing the King willing to entrust him with attacking Mulai, he of course obeyed without question, even somewhat moved.
Mulai’s territory happened to lie on their line of march, and Byzantine provisions caravans might pass through here too. If they ignored Mulai, he would surely crouch meekly in his castle, unmoving—after all, this was a fellow extremely skilled at reading faces and trimming sails to the wind.
But precisely for this reason, he incurred much hatred. Christians need not be mentioned; even Saracens despised him utterly. The pilgrims and caravans he plundered were not solely Christians— in fact, he treated all prey equally.
His previous brazenness was because he had a powerful protector in Sultan Toghrul II.
But who let the Sultanate of Rum’s Arslan II, after shaking off the threat of Syria, choose his benefactor and protector as the first target? In a few short months, Arslan II’s army had thoroughly crushed this sultan’s forces, seizing his palace and fortress for themselves. Though Mulai had tried to fawn on this new master, Arslan II did not accept it—perhaps he was weary of this two-faced villain. After all, when Mulai was rampant before, he had not spared his subjects.
Now it was only because he was still at war with the Byzantine Empire’s Manuel I that he had not yet attended to Mulai.
So this was the best time to strike—if Raymond could defeat Mulai, his prior shame would be washed away by at least half, and there would be Mulai’s territory and spoils of war…
But after hesitating a moment, Raymond raised a rather strange question. He asked the King whether he could take the spoils of war due to him.
Baldwin was somewhat baffled. He did not understand why Raymond would make such a request. Had he ever withheld this subject’s spoils? Impossible—not to mention whether it had happened, he had never fought alongside Raymond. This was their first time on the battlefield together—as commander, with Raymond as general.
“I heard that after the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, you distributed all the spoils belonging to you, as well as the gifts and money from the Saracens, to the knights and soldiers under you. Even those around you…” He paused, recalling that Caesar was no longer merely an attendant. “The Count of Edessa did the same…”
Baldwin laughed ha-ha. “That was merely our personal choice.” No matter what, in the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, those knights had taken no small risk—if Nur al-Din or any emir, Fatah, could control those around them and mount a counterattack, they might have been annihilated: “You need not do so. No one needs to. Arrange your spoils as you wish.”
“That is best, Your Majesty. Of course it is a good thing, and one should not be too stingy. But as an elder, I must remind you: such practices can only be occasional. If you always do this, what are others to do?
They have their own knights, castles, horses, wives and children… to support.”
“Very well,” Baldwin said helplessly, “I will try to reduce such gifts in future.”
“Not just you, but those around you.” Raymond said: “Do you know that the Count of Edessa—back then he was merely a Knight of Bethlehem—once, on the road to Damascus or even Acre, generously distributed the money that belonged to him to those around him?”
Baldwin’s gaze turned wary, and Raymond felt a wave of irritation too. He had long harbored deep prejudice against Caesar, considering him a petty villain of base character.
He had seen plenty of such types who clawed their way up from the dust, sparing no means to climb higher. Even though Caesar’s status was now confirmed, he still doubted his character—after all, no one could prove Caesar had received proper knightly education before. He was not raised in a Christian castle; his character might have some flaws.
Yet people always praised him to the skies, and the King’s trust in him was like a deeply rooted tree, unshakable for now. He could only warn obliquely,
“Then do you know that some knights even want to leave their Knights and their lords to join the Count of Edessa?”
As said before, a knight being loyal to multiple lords simultaneously was not rare. Some lords had meager assets, unable to afford salaries for multiple knights; knights, to sustain their non-productive lives, had to serve other lords.
Though such behavior was not praised, it could be understood. The problem was, among these knights were some from the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller—this was harder to accept. They were akin to Martial Monks, having sworn oaths to God to maintain a monk’s piety, poverty, and humility.
But the Count of Edessa was a secular lord no matter what; if they wanted to leave the Knights to serve him, it was tantamount to breaking their oaths to God, bound to displease zealots.
Raymond was one of them. He even told Baldwin plainly that many believed those young knights wanted to abandon the Knights they had sworn to serve and instead serve Caesar because, when he was being escorted by them to Acre, he granted them great freedom, utmost indulgence, and large sums of money.
These young men loved him so because he allowed them to fall into vice—Raymond thought. Of course, he did not say this clearly. He knew how much Baldwin doted on this brother of his. He merely warned the young King that a king’s generosity was no matter—after all, all were his subjects, to be led and rewarded or punished at his will.
But a minister doing so was intriguing. Perhaps because he was still too young, and his father and mother had suffered such tragedy. Moreover, the territory he should have inherited was in Saracen hands. “He may have some overly eager delusions.” Raymond’s eyes lifted slightly, observing the King’s face in a way hard to detect.
If the one before him were not Baldwin, but another monarch—king, sultan, or caliph—he might well be swayed. Which young man, after ten-plus years as a servant, suddenly finding himself heir to a count, would not be shaken in the slightest?
He would inevitably be desperate to reclaim everything: his title, his subjects, his territory.
But now Edessa had long fallen; to retake it, he needed an army. Even if Baldwin lent him one, it could not be now—he could not casually recruit knights, though he had the territory of Bethlehem, and the no-longer-extant Edessa; knights would accept service from a lord without territory.
But the problem was, these wandering knights were neither trustworthy nor respectable, like those who once mocked Longinus—called knights, they were tantamount to bandits, with all manner of vices.
But knights in the Knights were different. They were originally nobles, and elder knights had nearly all undergone war’s trials. The young knights, though effectively abandoned by their families, had been raised from youth without want, well-educated, tall and sturdy, vigorous, and valuing honor.
Such a delicious dish placed before a starving man—Raymond had to say, if he were in Caesar’s position, he would be greatly tempted.
Moreover, entrusting those ninety knights to him was the King’s decree.
Would the King refuse? The King would not.
But with these dozens of knights, he could instantly transform from a count in name only to a true lord with an army.
——————
When Raymond exited the tent, he brushed past Caesar. Caesar could feel it: he made a rather abrupt dodging motion—as if not wanting to see him, or speak with him.
He entered the tent and placed the steaming silver cup before Baldwin. Baldwin took it and drained it in one hearty gulp, only then noticing Caesar looking at him with an odd expression.
“What is it?”
“Do you know what you just drank?” Baldwin then noticed the taste in his mouth; his face wrinkled like a walnut.
“Er, why didn’t you remind me.”
“I thought it didn’t need reminding.” That pungent smell, sticky texture, bitter taste, and amount not finishable in one gulp.
Had Baldwin really been so absent-minded?
“What did Raymond say to you?”
Baldwin set down the cup.
