Chapter 187: War Begins
After Baldwin committed the reserves to the battlefield, some unusual activity also stirred in front of the Turks’ main camp.
They saw the double-headed eagle banners being raised, but they still stood tall and began to move.
“It is Sultan Arslan II of the Turks.” A general beside Baldwin said in a low voice.
At this time on the battlefield, whether Sultan, Caliph, King, or Emperor, personally leading the charge—meaning truly coming to the battlefield to fight—was very common.
They certainly had the duties of commanders on the battlefield, but when the battle was deadlocked, they also had to throw themselves into this torrent of steel and flesh.
A group of splendidly dressed Turkish nobles charged out, but they did not directly enter the battlefield; they advanced in a staggered formation, as if clearing a path for their monarch, while more light cavalry galloped around that massive square formation, driving away those lowly and miscellaneous soldiers—whether Christians or Turks.
The Sultan’s movement was not fast. He wore a helmet with a pointed top, and under the helmet was a fur hat, fastened with a large round gold brooch inlaid with a large diamond that shone on the Sultan’s forehead like a miniature star, and his armor and helmet were both gilded, draped with a fur cloak faced with deep red velvet.
His mount was a thoroughbred red Turkish horse; though not as elegant as an Arabian, nor as tall as a Frankish horse, it possessed a dignity and strength unmatched by the latter two, and its body was covered in layered armor plates and splendid silk horse blankets.
Arslan II raised the long whip in his hand, pointing high into the air, then whipped it down forcefully; the sharp crack of the whip seemed to pierce the entire battlefield, reaching Baldwin.
Baldwin smiled; this was a monarch’s invitation, and a monarch’s invitation could never be refused, whether for negotiation, feasting, or combat.
This time, no one would come to stop him. Baldwin spurred his horse through the central square formation, facing the Sultan from afar. He took the spear handed to him by an escort at his side, and in an instant, the spear was covered in a layer of light more scorching and brilliant than sunlight, as if it were a signal, a calling.
As the knights escorted their king, slowly charging forward, Caesar had already galloped to the king’s side. They did not speak or make eye contact, but in hundreds of battles, they had cultivated an understanding unmatched by others.
Baldwin could feel the favor sought by Caesar pouring unsparingly onto him; his body suddenly became light, as if a fresh strength had been injected into it, and even his numb left hand seemed more acute and flexible.
“In the name of God!”
He shouted loudly and charged forward forcefully. Arslan II led his Turkish nobles and cavalry, colliding with Baldwin’s army with equal fearlessness and determination to win—upon impact, the Christian knights immediately felt the pressure transmitted from the opposite side—it was so surging and vast, no wonder Arslan II had agreed to compete with Baldwin on the battlefield; perhaps this Sultan also anticipated such a moment.
Arslan II had of course also received revelation from the Prophet; the revelation he obtained was far more powerful and vast than others’, and like Caesar, he could extend his own power to those around him. However, what he granted them was not protection, but blessing.
The knights who received Caesar’s protection were fortunate. Though they were forcefully thrown to the ground by those Turks and trampled by horses, at least they could reclaim their lives; some knights even leaped up, drew their long swords, and continued fighting the enemy. But those who, for various reasons or sudden cowardice, were not so lucky.
They thought their hesitation and retreat would ensure their safety, but it backfired. These enemies with ferocious faces and terrifying roars crushed toward them like rocks.
Though they had the favor granted by the saint, they could not match it at all. Upon first contact, blood sprayed and wails rang out.
Geoffrey, who had been watching the king, saw this scene and hurriedly sent an attendant from his side to call back Walter, who was in high spirits. Upon the reminder, Walter glanced at the battlefield beside him. “Pah,” he spat a bloody glob onto the ground. “What useless lot!”
But no matter how useless, they could not stand idly by. He had no choice but to lead a dozen Templar Knights to turn toward those fools about to be routed, using the strength granted him by Saint Paul to halt the Turks’ assault.
Meanwhile, the Noble Legions on the left wing had no choice but to move; after all, the king was already fighting the Turks’ Sultan, and if they maintained this unhurried pace, it would be perfunctory, cowardly.
Regardless of how others would judge them after the battle, the king himself could hold them accountable for it.
As long as Caesar was by his side, Baldwin, wielding Saint George’s Spear, could be said to have an unfair advantage against anyone.
Even if Arslan II had monks providing him protection. But as people still did not know, Caesar could also bear part of the damage and pain for those he protected. For Baldwin, though he had felt this before, it had never been this good; not only illness, but even the enemy’s slashes, thrusts, and hammer blows felt weak and powerless.
He felt no pain at all, no numbness; his movements showed no hindrance. He could barely hear sounds, only see Arslan II before him.
Arslan II was much older than him, a middle-aged man like a mountain. He wielded a war hammer commonly used by Turks; the hammer head was neither round nor square, but like an unopened flower bud, also gilded and inlaid with gemstones. Facing the valiant Baldwin, there was no fear in his eyes, only fighting spirit.
They fought desperately, and those around them could find no opening to intervene.
Except Caesar.
Caesar even ignored challenges from several Turkish nobles; as long as they did not loudly call his name like the previous noble, he could pretend not to see their gazes fixed on him. At this moment, he dared not shift his sight from Baldwin. Before Arslan II collided with Baldwin, Arslan II had already felled several Christian knights, and his war hammer was as terrifying as Walter’s two-handed sword, far more than the combat power he granted others.
Every hammer strike did not merely knock people from their horses, but turned the spot into a blank space. It was as if something explosive had been buried there, bursting with a bang upon the hammer’s impact; skin, muscle, bones, or internal organs all became countless tiny blood specks, spraying into the air like a vivid mist.
The light on Baldwin’s body brightened and dimmed, dimmed and brightened. Several times, Caesar, unable to contain his worry, wanted to rush into the fight, but Walter, who had arrived, grabbed him. “Your king is about to win.”
Walter’s judgment was correct; the favor Caesar obtained compensated for Baldwin’s greatest weakness—his frail body. When he became strong and agile, the already elderly Arslan II could not gain the upper hand in prolonged combat.
With Walter’s words, Arslan indeed revealed a tiny flaw—Arslan II’s mount was not as attuned as Baldwin’s mount Pollux. After another fierce impact, the horse’s hooves trembled slightly, causing Arslan II in the saddle to involuntarily tilt, and Baldwin seized this opening.
He suddenly leaped from Pollux and cleaved down with his sword.
Arslan II had already noticed his imbalance and was about to fall from his horse; he only had time to throw his war hammer, knocking the long sword away, but could not stop Baldwin from grabbing the strap on his chest and pulling him down along with himself from the mount; they tumbled into the dust.
The Sultan still wanted to leap up and fight again, and his cavalry were rapidly charging here, but before he could stand, another short sword was at his throat.
This short sword had a strong Saracen style, its blade covered in deep black intricate patterns. It was a gift Caesar had brought Baldwin from Damascus; Baldwin had drawn it from his side when pulling Arslan II from his horse.
Arslan II’s attendants saw this and instinctively reined in their horses, not daring to move, lest they cause a misunderstanding and their master be beheaded on the spot.
A trace of regret flashed in Arslan II’s eyes, regretting that the victory he expected had ultimately turned to illusion. But he quickly let it go; no matter how much he lost in this gamble, it would not be more than Manuel I of the Byzantine Empire.
Caesar had also dismounted and placed a hand under Arslan II’s arm, helping him stand.
As a monarch with great ambitions, the Sultan could not possibly make a contemptible spectacle; he remained very composed. Though the battle around him continued and lives kept fading, he still nodded slightly. “I have lost, King of the Christians.” He turned and gestured to his attendants; the Turkish nobles saw it too—though unwilling, they obeyed Arslan II’s command well. The double-headed eagle banner was slowly lowered, and a long horn sounded from the Turks’ main tent.
The Christians could not understand the meaning of this horn, but the enemies before them changed expression upon hearing it; they no longer entangled with the foe, but swung casually in the air a couple times to block attacks, then retreated slowly and orderly.
Arslan II still stood on the battlefield, his attendants and some nobles gathering around him.
“Come to my side, Caesar.”
Baldwin said. Caesar glanced at him and quietly returned to his king’s side.
Arslan II showed a faint surprise. “Young king, are you not afraid I will go back on my word?”
“I believe you are not that kind of person, and besides, you will surely get what you want.” In fact, Arslan II had previously agreed to the terms of Manuel I of the Byzantine Empire, willing to surrender the territory he had conquered, but—half out of his own anger, half out of his own greed—Manuel I had rejected his peace offer.
Now the Crusaders who had come to relieve Manuel I did not wish to continue expending their strength here; even if the Crusaders won this battle, Baldwin and the others would gain nothing valuable—they could not reach so far, nor continue entangling with these Turks for Manuel I’s territory; they still had heathens in Syria and Egypt to deal with.
And Baldwin’s previous plans were carefully concealed… Arslan II was not as easy to deal with as he had imagined.
A nearby monk came over and gave the Sultan a brief check. Apart from bumping the back of his head on a stone when falling from the horse, causing some bleeding and swelling, Arslan II had no serious wounds, at most some abrasions and bruises.
He and Baldwin exchanged a final glance, then each withdrew to their own main tent.
Caesar looked up at the sky; they had begun the battle at sunrise, now the blazing sun was at the firmament’s zenith, the dust swirling around them gradually settling, covering the corpses of fallen men and horses. Priests rushed out, kneeling or prostrating, whispering scripture in the ears of those knights, escorts, or mercenaries, anointing their foreheads.
Though they died in war against heathens and their souls should ascend to heaven, performing the sacrament was still better than not.
There were also priests who were Chosen by Raphael; they were busier than ordinary priests. Though they could not heal the wounded instantly, they could prevent the injuries from worsening—followed by further treatment and long recovery.
Baldwin could not wait for the priests to send the list of wounded; he hastily instructed the Provost and several trusted priests, left part of the army to protect the wounded from harassment by nearby Turks or Saracens, and led the main force toward the castle where Manuel I was besieged.
