Chapter 182: Annihilating Mulai
“Is that David of Tripoli?”
Although he knew this noble, who had come to flatter him, was stating the obvious, Raymond still couldn’t help but show a hint of pride. He tried his best to conceal his pleased expression, and with forced composure, replied, “Yes, that knight is David of Tripoli, my only son.”
“What a brave and fearless young man he is! I have never seen a knight more handsome, dashing, tall, and strong than him. We should find a painter to immortalize this moment, then hand it over to the seamstresses to weave into a tapestry, to be hung where everyone can see it.”
Raymond could barely hide his smile, but he still said with solemnity, “That would not be good for a young man; it would foster arrogance. Besides, this is merely his first battle. There will be many more fierce and holy campaigns awaiting him in the future, so there’s no need for such extravagance.”
Since he had come to show his goodwill to Raymond, this noble certainly did not take such feigned humility to heart. He did not continue speaking, but instead smiled as he looked at the battlefield, having already planned how large a tapestry to commission as a gift for the Count of Tripoli.
One must admit, Raymond’s sudden change of tune had achieved an unimaginably miraculous effect.
Even he had not anticipated that he would find someone among these people, who were essentially being kept by Mulai, who not only harbored hatred for him but could also deliver a truly fatal blow. He had not left the stonemason in the town but had brought him into the army, assigning two escorts to watch over him, partly to ensure his safety and partly to verify his words.
If he dared to lie, the Count would let him know that there were far more terrifying things than hell.
Fortunately, he had not lied. When they assembled the siege engines and used the bronze ram with a ram’s head to strike the place that might be hiding a corpse, a different resonant sound indeed came. Human bodies are not like solid stone and mud and sand; although an official came to inspect at the time, if one were to rely solely on human eyes, they would not see the corpse hidden beneath layers of mud and sand.
Human organs, flesh, and skin rot quickly. Even if the bones are harder, they will not last long. They had also inquired, and the people there had indeed complained that the place was particularly foul-smelling. They searched everywhere but could not find the source, eventually dismissing it as someone having urinated there multiple times. Once the smell dissipated, no one would recall any anomaly having occurred there.
As for this stonemason, and even the Crusaders, they were fortunate.
The stonemason was fortunate that before the cavity formed by this corpse caused the ground of the city wall to collapse and the wall to deform, the Crusaders had already arrived and taken control of the town that had enslaved him. As for the Crusaders, they were fortunate that the defenders had not yet discovered this weakness and no one had repaired or reinforced it.
With the final dull thud, the soldiers pushing the battering ram stumbled forward uncontrollably. As soon as they hit the ground, they let out a joyous shout. The battering ram had pierced the city wall, and as the base was destroyed, the wall above came tumbling down like an avalanche.
Those above who poured boiling feces, stones, and boiling oil on them tragically fell with the wall. Some immediately lost consciousness, while others were still groaning. The city defenders saw this sight and rushed forward, attempting to plug the gap, but just as a flood breaks through a dam, the Crusaders had long anticipated this. They charged forward—the slope formed by the fallen bricks and stones became their stairs.
At the very front was David, clad in silver-plated chainmail, wearing a helmet with a nasal guard adorned with a cross, and over the chainmail, a loose robe with the blue Tripoli coat of arms featuring a cross. He wielded a war hammer, just as he admired Saint Clovis of Francia.
Before him, there was no match, not even a Turkish noble wearing a fur hat.
But a heart-wrenching event soon occurred. Amidst the dust-filled sky, a despicable individual shot a crossbow bolt. David dodged it, but the horse beneath him did not.
This horse, though not comparable to Raymond’s Pollo or Caesar’s Castor, was still handsome and strong. It whinnied, its large eyes wide, and fell tragically, with half of David’s body pinned beneath it. At this point, his escorts rushed to rescue their master, but before they were even close to David, a troop of savage Turks emerged from the swirling smoke and dust.
Judging by David’s attire, they knew he must be a noble, perhaps even a royal family member. Capturing or killing him would deal a significant blow to the Crusaders’ morale, or they could demand a substantial ransom.
They let out strange cries and leaped forward like a wolf pack hunting a stag. Raymond, who had been watching the entire scene, couldn’t help but change his expression. He sat bolt upright on his horse, seemingly wanting to stand up and see more clearly.
And the knights who followed David were even more anxious. Unfortunately, David had charged too quickly. However, David did not need their rescue. He did something that stunned everyone present. He broke free from beneath the horse, and moreover, he grabbed the saddle strap of his mount. While shedding tears for his loyal friend, he lifted it high and threw it directly at the Turks, instantly crushing three or four of their leaders, making them fall head over heels.
Literally head over heels.
A strong Arab horse weighs at least eight hundred pounds. Yet, David lifted it as easily as if it were a small wooden horse, and he threw it dozens of feet. The speed combined with the weight meant that those men would not have suffered a more miserable fate even if they had been crushed by a great stone.
And those behind them were not spared. David swung his war hammer, descending from the sky with a thunderous roar. The war hammer let out a sharp whistling sound. Wherever it struck, that spot would violently indent; skulls, chests, shoulders, even shields—the small round shields the Turks wore on their arms could not withstand such a heavy blow. With one strike, not only did the shield shatter into countless pieces, but the arm beneath it would be sent flying like a broken branch.
David killed about ten of the fiercest enemies. As he roared and hurled his war hammer at a coward who was fleeing in panic, the latter only stumbled and did not die immediately, but continued towards an alley and then disappeared from sight. It was then that David discovered his war hammer had completely deformed, and the handle had broken.
He refused a new war hammer from his escort, drew his long sword, and shouted, “Come on, you filthy heathens! Vile bandits! Devil’s feces! Creatures like wild dogs!” He cursed thus as he charged into Mulai’s castle.
At first, there were Turks who wanted to contend with him, for some among them had received revelations from the Prophet. But as more and more corpses piled up on the path he had taken, what he saw gradually changed from an angry face to a cowardly retreating back.
They began to flee.
But since Raymond had come for revenge this time, he would not be stingy with his military strength. He had brought enough men to completely encircle Mulai’s castle, leaving no gaps. It was just that they had ultimately underestimated Mulai’s shamelessness. Although he put on a show of defending to the death, in reality, this was merely a feint.
When the battle began, he had lost all hope for the outcome of this campaign, so he fled with some trusted confidants through a secret passage he had long since prepared.
Although they successfully captured the castle, Mulai’s disappearance cast a shadow over this great victory.
However, the news David brought afterward seemed to compensate for this deficiency.
David said he had knocked down a Turk. Perhaps it was due to David’s previous exploits, or perhaps his current appearance was too terrifying—his snow-white robe had long since been stained red, his helmet and chainmail were covered in a thick layer of dark grime, his hair was soaked with sweat and blood, dripping a fearsome liquid.
He looked like a demon, not a human. Even though the Turk’s attire indicated he was a noble, meaning he could pay a ransom for his own release, upon seeing David like this, he stammered in fear, raising his price: “He knows Mulai’s biggest secret.”
“What secret?”
“Iron ore. Mulai discovered an iron ore mine.”
No knight, lord, great lord, or even king would be indifferent to iron ore. And as the general who had conquered Mulai and his territory, Raymond could certainly demand this land as his reward.
Given how Mulai had kept this secret for so long, the iron ore mine must be very hidden. If he obtained it, he could form an alliance with nearby Armenian nobles and secretly mine the ore to forge weapons.
Even if Baldwin IV were to learn of it, it would be inconsequential.
Although he had many grievances with the young king, he had to admit that he was more generous than his father.
Raymond even thought that if he were to plead, not in his own name but in David’s name, perhaps Baldwin might make even more concessions out of their past relationship.
He left a portion of his army to garrison Mulai’s castle and the nearby town, and with the other half of his army—mostly his vassals, along with knights he deemed trustworthy—he rushed to the iron ore mine with David.
Although people always say that good fortune does not arrive in pairs, but misfortune rides alongside, today was indeed the best day imaginable for Raymond. Not only did they find the iron ore mine, but they also intercepted Mulai there.
Mulai’s failure and death were ultimately due to his greed. He had built a workshop near the iron ore mine, where some blacksmiths he had plundered or bought worked day and night forging the weapons he needed.
The latest batch had not yet been transported out. It was stored in a warehouse there; he intended to take them as capital for his future survival and advancement. But he hadn’t expected that a Turk who knew this secret had remained in the castle.
Raymond was decisive enough; he immediately abandoned all other spoils of war and headed straight for the iron ore mine.
The outcome of the battle needs no further explanation. Mulai had only one or two hundred men with him, and these men might not have had much loyalty to him. Raymond was accompanied by his most capable, loyal, and strongest knights.
In the end, Mulai was dragged before Raymond in a sorry state by the knights. The Count of Tripoli, mounted high on his horse, grinned down at him.
——————
Raymond thought he could maintain this good mood until he returned to the king. But what he didn’t expect was that his son would have an argument with him that very evening. The reason was that David wanted to release all the slaves working in the iron ore mine, even offering them money and food to return to their homeland.
Hearing his son say this, Raymond felt his vision blacken. He had just been marveling that his son would never be as foolish as Abigail, but now he realized he was much more foolish than Abigail.
“But they are Christians, and Christians should not be slaves to other Christians.” Mulai had plundered them and then forced them to work in his iron ore mine—a bandit would not be so kind as to take all your money and then let you go.
Humans themselves were a commodity. If they could afford the ransom, those captured by Mulai might still have a chance of survival. But if he could not find anyone willing to pay a sum to buy them, they would become Mulai’s goods.
Mulai would bargain with the slave merchants, selling them at a price that satisfied him. But there were always some people—men, ugly, old, at least not young enough to be eunuchs, or laborers.
Mulai kept them, not to feed and care for them well, but because even if sold to slave merchants, these people were cheap goods. Rather than selling them and then going through the unnecessary trouble of buying new slaves from slave merchants, it was better to simply make them slaves.
Thus, these people were fitted with wooden leg shackles. The heavy wooden blocks would prevent them from walking or running quickly, but they could still mine, excavate, and transport ore.
Moreover, in the mine, they did not need to walk upright; they only needed to crawl, chip away at the ore, load it into the basket behind them, and then drag the basket to the surface.
Some of them would die quickly. Even those who could endure could not be called fortunate, yet they were still an asset. If the tormented slave laborers, reduced to skeletons, were thus, the precious blacksmiths were even more so.
Many illegitimate sons of minor nobles, even if they could not gain their father’s recognition, their fathers would arrange a path for them that was infinitely better than that of commoners—most of them became blacksmiths.
Blacksmiths often had sturdy physiques and strong arms. They were skilled at striking, whether it was iron blocks or other people’s heads. Furthermore, if a blacksmith was skilled at forging weapons, you could consider him a reserve soldier—how could one forge swords that satisfied knights without knowing how to use weapons?
Many times, when great lords needed to expand their armies, blacksmiths were the first to be selected. And in previous experiences, there were not a few blacksmiths who rose through the ranks and eventually became high officials.
From this, it can be seen how precious an asset blacksmiths were to people at that time. Even in the most brutal wars, blacksmiths and their families could be preserved.
“There are seven blacksmiths here. Even if Paris had a thousand craftsmen, there would only be forty blacksmiths. Even if we don’t keep them, selling them would bring in a lot of money. How did you get this idea?” Raymond asked, utterly bewildered. “Well, even if you pity them, you could completely let them continue working for us here.
If they miss their families, we can bring their families here or give them new families. As long as we treat them with tolerance, they will feel happy. To be honest, where one works as a blacksmith is still working as a blacksmith, isn’t it?”
“But Father, if Baldwin or Caesar were standing here… they would release every single slave here.”
