Chapter 262: Parallel Armies
As the people on the ground lit bonfires, raised torches, and lit candles, the pitch-black earth suddenly glowed faintly everywhere, with specks of starlight, as if reflecting a mirror of the night sky.
The army on the expedition to Damascus set out on the feast day of John the Baptist （June 24th）. They traveled north along the Jordan River, which was likely the only route they could choose. Just as Nur al-Din had done before, his army would have passed this way as well—if they hadn’t been routed at the Sea of Galilee.
Although the Crusaders often used ships to transport their knights, there were over thirteen thousand men in total. Even though the Venetians were now akin to half-allies of the Crusaders, they could not procure enough ships to transport them north. Moreover, embarking from ports in Ayyarasa Road to Jaffa or Acre, then crossing through Antioch to reach Damascus, would have been a complete loss.
After all, for such a massive army, the daily consumption was a staggering astronomical figure, not to mention the large number of horses they carried—the consumption of horses was considerable.
Caesar gently patted Castor’s neck.
Castor, of course, could no longer be called a small horse. It consumed no less than its master’s daily portion of grain and drank ten times the amount of water its master did to maintain its vigor and swift stride.
Even if Castor were an exception and other horses only needed half the amount of grain, with the rest supplemented by hay, it would still be a formidable consumption. Any commander with a modicum of intelligence would hope to reduce this consumption by at least a day, or even half a day.
Castor nudged Caesar’s chest with his head, as if asking why Caesar wasn’t riding him, now that he was already wearing chainmail.
“You can’t ride horses in the camp…” Caesar gently pushed Castor’s large head away. “This isn’t a march to battle; I’m just going to patrol the camp.”
Ever since he joined Amalric I on an expedition, Caesar learned that, by ordinary people’s walking pace, the army’s advance was still considered slow, even for the knights.
They did not wear armor while marching but had their armor unloaded onto carriages or carried by their servants. Of course, some knights, being straightforward and willing to temper themselves, still wore their armor, but this was rare, almost only seen among the three holy orders—the Templars, the Hospitallers, and the Holy Sepulchre.
After all, the weather was getting increasingly hot in June. Helmets pressing on the brow would obstruct vision, and the extra weight would exhaust the horses. If this was the case for the knights, the infantry and laborers who followed on foot would be even slower and more sluggish.
Moreover, most of them could not see in the dark, which forced the army to stop and set up camp in the afternoon. This was because they needed to take advantage of daylight to chop down trees to construct temporary defensive walls, chevaux de frise, and high watchtowers on all sides of the camp.
None of these could be transported from Ayyarasa Road all the way to Damascus. The provisions along the way already filled the shoulders, necks, and side pockets of every laborer, as well as the baskets on the carts. Only the heavy and intricate siege engines were treated like silent knights, meticulously cared for.
Caesar grabbed a handful of animal feed and put it into Castor’s manger. Castor looked at it and, displeased, snorted at him. Caesar could even feel a gust of air hitting his chest. Helplessly, he took out another handful of dried mulberries and placed them inside. As he turned to leave, Castor bit the cloak on his shoulder.
“No, Castor… no…” Although he said this, Caesar ultimately offered Castor a small cloth bag filled with rock sugar, paying the “farewell tax,” before he could finally break free.
The knights by the stable had already witnessed this amusing scene. Some chuckled softly, while others made faces, but no one accused Caesar of being too extravagant. A warhorse is a knight’s second life, their friend, their brother, even closer than their wife. Indeed, many knights would rather sleep in the stable with their horses than in the same bed as their wives.
Today, the patrol squad had an unfamiliar face. The young man looked at Caesar, his eyes sparkling, his face flushed red, appearing as if he was trying hard to suppress his excitement.
Caesar’s gaze lingered on the other’s face for only a moment before someone stepped forward to introduce him.
This was the nephew of Bishop Andrew, son of Count Magigo, Gian of Magigo.
And the future husband of Damara.
Caesar had sworn an oath to Damara, but there was no romantic connection between them. He saw Damara as a younger sister he had watched grow up. Damara couldn’t be called very beautiful, but she was very charming, and quite intelligent and decisive.
It could be said that in the incident involving Count Etienne, if Damara had not promptly brought news, that matter might have indeed escalated into a major disaster, at least questioning the authority of King Amalric I and his heir.
Her accompanying her father on the expedition to Egypt was often mentioned and praised.
Caesar naturally hoped that Damara’s future marriage would be happy. Under his gaze, the young man seemed a bit flustered but still straightened his back and lifted his face, a slight shyness in his smile.
He appeared shorter than Caesar, which was not surprising. Caesar’s current height was such that only a few knights among the Crusaders, known for their tall stature and strength, could rival him. This young man seemed even sturdier than Caesar, with very broad shoulders and long arms, which was a good thing for a knight. After all, whether on horseback or on foot, when they fought, whoever’s sword blade touched the other’s throat first was the winner.
His chest was prominently developed, his waist was sturdy, and though his legs weren’t so long as to earn him the nickname “long-legged,” they looked harmonious, and that was enough.
He had not yet grown a beard, his face was smooth, and his hair was covered by a hairnet. In the firelight, it could vaguely be seen to be light brown. What made Caesar and others unable to look away were his two thick eyebrows, which had almost become the focal point of his face, making his bright eyes, broad nose, and full lips go unnoticed at first glance.
Caesar extended his hand to him.
At this time, knights also had the custom of shaking hands, or grabbing each other’s hands, pulling them close, and embracing them; these were all normal.
But this young knight, upon seeing Caesar make this gesture, knelt down in excitement. Even though only one knee touched the ground, it startled Caesar. Not to mention that he raised Caesar’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Gian, are you swearing an oath?!” someone shouted loudly. The knights roared with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Caesar clasped his arm and pulled him up.
Hearing that, the knight’s face flushed crimson. “I am kissing the hand of someone I revere!” he shouted. “How dare you insult me and the Knights of Bethlehem like this?” His voice still had a slight sharpness from his changing voice. The other knights also stopped smiling momentarily and exchanged glances.
The knight who misspoke lowered his head in shame. He was Gian’s friend and perhaps only intended to tease him, forgetting Caesar’s status and past achievements. Perhaps it was because Caesar had been living and eating with them, treating them gently, and occasionally making them food that they had lost their composure due to overfamiliarity.
“I challenge you to a duel!” Gian shouted loudly, even placing a hand on the belt of his chainmail gloves. Caesar certainly wouldn’t allow such an accident to occur in the camp. He reached out and grasped Gian’s wrist.
Gian immediately felt as if he were bound by a black iron shackle, unable to move. Caesar could feel the pressure from his hand, indicating that the young man was indeed angry and not merely blustering.
Since that was the case, he could not relax further. He turned his head to the knight and said, “Apologize.”
This knight had also realized his mistake.
He hurried to Gian and Caesar, first bowing deeply to Gian and promising to offer a horse as compensation for his mistake. He then knelt before Caesar, expressing his willingness to accept a whipping and pay a ransom of armor for his forgiveness.
Caesar nodded and then turned to Gian. “Do you accept?”
Seeing the knight act this way, Gian knew that his previous words were indeed unintentional. He also admitted that his actions had been impulsive, so he lowered his eyes. “I don’t need a horse, but you must swear to take the hair of a Saracen and offer it to the Virgin Mary.” This form of atonement was common among the Crusaders, and the knight quickly agreed.
Caesar did not mind his rashness, but he postponed the whipping until after the expedition. “As for the armor, if you can obtain three sets of Saracen armor during the expedition, I will exempt you from the whipping.”
However, during the patrol, this fellow wisely fell to the rear of the squad. Caesar’s excellent hearing could detect his other friend following behind, constantly hitting him on the head to ensure he remembered this profound lesson. It was also Caesar’s usual magnanimity; had it been other lords, especially those old knights who were particular about hierarchy, he would have truly been whipped or even expelled from the camp.
And that young knight who had erupted in anger before the man’s careless words was now quite shy before Caesar.
Bishop Andrew had told Caesar that his nephew, while still in Magigo, Francia, had already held him in high regard. After arriving in Ayyarasa Road and personally witnessing Caesar’s valor on the battlefield, he could no longer contain his admiration. He even wanted to become Caesar’s escort, but since he had already been knighted, he could not go back.
Caesar was somewhat astonished.
He didn’t feel he had done anything extraordinary along the way.
“How can you say that? Any single deed you’ve accomplished could be a legendary tale for any knight in Francia, told from twenty to eighty years old. If he were to approach a castle or palace and loudly announce his name, the lords and kings there would immediately don their finest attire to welcome him.”
“Countless people would vie to become your student. During Communion, at banquets, and on the hunting grounds, your position would be second only to the most esteemed person present.” He paused briefly. Caesar probably didn’t realize that, in the heart of this straightforward Frankish knight, any lord would hope to arrange a favorable marriage for his daughter, and the mistresses of every castle would gladly accept his allegiance.
At martial arts tournaments, every noble lady would go mad for the wreath Caesar carried on his spear, even breaking the strict rules they had previously observed. It wasn’t that his appearance was as perfect as his virtue; even if his face were as ugly as a devil’s, this scene would not have changed in the slightest.
And Caesar’s act of disguising himself as a noble lady and leading knights to defeat an entire Saracen army for Damara was something Gian had replayed in his mind countless times. He only regretted that he was not yet Damara’s fiancé at the time, unable to join Caesar on the expedition, nor had he personally witnessed this noble and heroic battle.
However, based on the minstrels’ descriptions, he had preliminarily sketched the general scene. After he married Damara and returned to Magigo, he would commission someone to weave it into a tapestry and hang it at the highest point of the great hall in his castle, so that every guest attending a banquet could see it upon looking up.
Damara had volunteered. However, after seeing Damara’s embroidered handkerchief, he immediately abandoned the idea. Gian certainly loved his fiancée, but this fiancée did have some amusing little flaws.
He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the torch Caesar handed him. “My apologies, Lord.” He immediately apologized.
“It’s nothing. Just don’t get distracted anymore. Patrolling the camp is not an easy task.”
Caesar’s vigilance was not unfounded. This might be the first record of military discipline that later historians could trace back.
The previous armies, whether laborers, mercenaries, armed servants, escorts, or knights, had no discipline whatsoever.
Don’t think that wanton slaughter and plunder were things only mercenaries could do.
Knights were more adept at it. Moreover, in territorial wars between lords in Francia or other parts of the European continent, knights might have had some restraints.
Even so, deliberately involving civilians was something knights often did.
Never think that Knight Masters had no way of obtaining anything from these poor peasants or craftsmen. In times of scarcity, even a bag of dried beans could be used to feed horses. There were also cruel knights who allowed their hunting dogs to chase and bite villagers.
This was how they were “free” in their daily lives; they wouldn’t change overnight in a different place for a different purpose. And sometimes, those lords and kings didn’t care much.
Sometimes, it was because they couldn’t pay their wages, so they allowed the knights to do as they pleased, offering them some compensation to prevent them from turning their swords against themselves.
Some people wanted to control them, but it was difficult. In Heraclius’s lectures, the bishop once mentioned a trustworthy good man who issued an order prohibiting knights from plundering at will. The knights’ response was to kill one hundred and thirty-six civilians in just seven days, all due to “crimes,” until he revoked the order.
The first two situations were considered more merciful than the third.
Because the third type was conscious, organized plunder, carried out methodically and progressively. It was as meticulously planned as a huge net cast over a lake.
If the villages previously plundered by mercenaries and knights were like forests after a fire, from which new saplings and hope could grow with time,
then places subjected to the third type of plunder were like land salted, requiring decades, even centuries, to recover their original vitality.
Caesar and Baldwin were resolutely opposed to such atrocities. Their advantage over other lords was that these knights could not openly claim to be there for power and money.
At least in name, they fought for God.
Although the Templars had also created a “record” of cleansing an entire Ayyarasa Road, the current warfare was not as tragic and bloody as before. Moreover, they passed through Christian cities and villages. Expelling and killing infidels could earn them absolution, but the same actions against Christians were truly sinful.
Although some knights didn’t care, as soon as they arrived in Ayyarasa Road, the King of Ayyarasa Road had issued a decree. They could choose not to obey, but they would be expelled from Ayyarasa Road and the expeditionary army.
Regardless, Baldwin was the King and commander here. He certainly had the right to decide what kind of country and army he would have.
Although many people gossiped in secret, everyone who saw it had to admit that this army was indeed much purer than before.
Therefore, the establishment of the position of Provost Marshal and the team to supervise knights and escorts was necessary. Baldwin had only received Saint George’s Spear, not the eyes of an angel that could oversee all directions. While he was in his tent, he had countless state affairs to handle and endless meetings to preside over. This task could only be entrusted by Baldwin to the person he trusted most.
Moreover, Caesar was also an advocate of this measure; he had even participated in drafting some content related to military discipline.
Knights would not willingly submit to such constraints.
But at this time, there was still a very direct and effective method: among knights, only strength would speak.
Knights would periodically challenge other knights, whether for their king, a noble lady, or even just some provocative words, all of which could lead to a duel. Only fists and swords, and God’s favor, could persuade them.
So, when the Provost Marshal system was established, Caesar unhesitatingly brought William Marshal into his camp.
Of course, Marshal was the deputy Provost Marshal. As the chief officer, Caesar undoubtedly received more challenges, whether in tournaments or in private. Fortunately, few people made excuses for themselves; losing was losing, whether it meant losing one’s armor and horse, or losing to the Provost Marshal in a duel, one could only abide by the rules he set. If they violated them, they would have to pay compensation or be whipped, and they could only accept it dejectedly.
However, during the nightly patrols, the Provost Marshal and the knights under his command could not avoid occasional collateral damage. Sometimes it was not intentional, but during brawls or conflicts, people often got carried away and disregarded everything.
Previously, a patrolling knight was unfortunately hit on the head.
And according to the old law, if a dispute occurred, no one was allowed to rush forward with a weapon （whether to assist or mediate）. To avoid further harm, they could only carry clubs, and the Provost Marshal was no exception, but they could wear armor, carry shields, and wear helmets.
Gian held a club and turned it over with some unfamiliarity. “You can hit hard,” Caesar said. After all, if it were just bruises, broken arms, or ribs, there were plenty of priests in the camp who could treat them.
Of course, the injured knights would have to pay for it.
The camp of thirteen thousand men covered a vast area. For this reason, Caesar had to discuss a zone with William Marshal. However, contrary to what people might think, William Marshal had to deal with the Crusaders from the Holy Land, while Caesar had to deal with the knights from other regions.
This was not intentional obstruction, but during the previous martial arts tournament, both Caesar and William Marshal had keenly perceived that someone was attempting to exploit the conflict between locals and outsiders to disrupt the expedition. This was indeed short-sighted, but selfish people were everywhere, and they did not need to consider why the other party was doing it, only to be more cautious.
After leaving Caesar’s tent, they were met by a vast expanse of consecutive… thatched huts.
Tents could only belong to a few lords and wealthy nobles. Even knights had to temporarily shelter in huts made of branches and straw mats, or simply use the sky as their blanket and the earth as their bedding.
Fortunately, it was already the end of June, and the weather was no longer very cold.
When night fell, people lit bonfires and hung an iron pot over them, cooking their dinner or late-night meal. Some knights and escorts, having eaten early or only eaten bread, simply put clean water in the pot—this was also necessary, as it could be used to cook soup or as a substitute for Saracen tea.
Some people found two stakes and fixed them, stringing a rope between them, on which were hung wet clothes haphazardly. However, such sights were uncommon. Knights generally paid little attention to personal hygiene, especially when on campaign. More escorts were busy feeding horses, polishing armor, sharpening weapons, or attending to their masters’ rest.
For Gian, this was a completely new experience. He followed Caesar closely, his round eyes wide open, curiously observing everything around him. He had participated in battles before, but those localized skirmishes involving only a dozen knights were incomparable to an army of this size.
Before long, they encountered their first dispute. It turned out that a wild boar had accidentally stumbled into a knight’s hut, smashing several wooden bowls and tearing the “walls” woven from leaves. As it rushed out, it was scented by another knight’s hunting dog, which broke free from its leash and rushed forward, engaging the boar in a fight.
Although this wild boar was not large, perhaps only a little over a year old, it was like a hedgehog covered in armor. It charged and weaved through the camp, causing overturned shelters and curses wherever it went.
And the hunting dog kept pace with it, knocking over more brushwood shelters.
Its owner ran breathlessly behind, shouting encouragement to his dog and cocking his crossbow.
He shot the wild boar in the hind leg with an arrow. The boar, in great pain, lost most of its mobility and could not escape, turning to wrestle with the dog.
In a short while, the hunting dog’s owner and the owner of the tent arrived. The tent owner drew his sword and lunged at the boar, while the hunting dog’s owner, to free his dog, also drew his sword and advanced. Together they killed the boar, but then a dispute arose over the distribution.
“My dog found it first! I shot its hind leg too, otherwise how could you have caught it so easily?”
“When this wild boar entered the tent, it destroyed my shelter and smashed my bowls and pot. This wild boar meat should be given to me as compensation. Moreover, according to knightly law, whoever first stabbed this beast with a sword should be its owner!”
They argued fiercely, but at some point, the surroundings became quiet and bright. The tent owner looked up and saw Caesar approaching with a torch. He instinctively lowered his head and stopped shouting.
The hunting dog’s owner also noticed Caesar’s arrival and respectfully turned and saluted.
Before Caesar spoke, no one spoke up first, and their expressions softened, as if they knew that Caesar would surely deliver a just judgment.
Caesar first asked the tent owner, then the hunting dog’s owner. From their answers, it was clear that the owner of the tent （actually the hut） was primarily lamenting and regretting the destroyed utensils, while the hunting dog’s owner was more eager to boast about how brave his dog was.
So, he asked the hunting dog’s owner if he was willing to compensate the tent owner for his losses, which were not substantial—a few wooden cups and an iron pot.
In return, the tent owner should give the wild boar to the hunting dog’s owner. The hunting dog’s owner readily agreed; the boar was large enough to feed him and several knights.
Moreover, the boar’s tusks and hide could be hung on his tent as spoils of war to boast of his achievement.
The two happily accepted Caesar’s proposal.
Some might say this was simple: just ask about each person’s needs and then make a decision.
However, in reality, people at this time, even educated knights, might not be able to clearly and systematically see the origin, process, and impending outcome of an event, let alone judge the needs of both parties, mediate, or perhaps they thought it was unnecessary and they lacked the authority.
Gian had never judged right or wrong for knights, but he had accompanied his father to the lord’s court in the countryside. When the peasants complained, they wouldn’t listen to you; they would just swarm forward, pouring out their troubles and accusing others of wrongdoing. At such times, if the guards didn’t beat them with clubs, they wouldn’t quiet down.
And the knights were not much better than these peasants; they would truly dare to challenge princes and punch those they looked down upon.
Finally, the tent owner brought a silver cup, and the hunting dog’s owner cut off a leg of the pig, wanting to give it to Caesar as a reward, but Caesar refused. He knew these knights always forgot, or were dismissive—as Provost Marshal and his squad, they, like his knights, were not allowed to accept any gifts, lest anyone suspect them of bias after accepting bribes.
However, he suggested that the two knights could exchange gifts and perhaps become friends through this opportunity.
The two knights exchanged glances and followed Caesar’s suggestion. They finally shook hands, and the hunting dog’s owner immediately invited the tent owner to his place for a meal of wild boar. The tent owner also promised to bring a bottle of wine. Such a harmonious ending was naturally what everyone wished to see.
But what followed was not so pleasant.
A merchant set up a small market on the edge of the camp. The goods he sold were plentiful, and the prices were reasonable. Many knights sent their escorts to buy what they needed from him. But when they opened them upon returning to camp, they discovered that only one or two peppercorns were real; the rest were made of mud.
When they went to find the merchant, he had already fled or hidden himself elsewhere.
After hearing the complaints of the victims, Caesar immediately led out a small dog with shiny fur. It sniffed and wiggled its way through the merchant’s goods, sneezing several times before returning to Caesar’s feet and looking up at him.
A knight beside Caesar stepped forward.
This was the knight who had earned considerable merit in the Battle of the Sea of Galilee. He bent down and communicated something to the little dog. The dog immediately shot through the night like an arrow, heading outside the camp. The knights followed it effortlessly and found the merchant in a convoy. The merchant’s own escort recognized him at once, and several counterfeit goods were also found in his luggage.
“A dog’s sense of smell is much more acute than a human’s.”
Caesar explained to Gian.
They were already outside Ayyarasa Road, where enemies and bandits could appear at any time. The merchant had just made a large sum of money and would not dare to wander outside the main body of the army in such circumstances; he could only hide.
After all, in such a dark night, even if the knights had the energy, they couldn’t search very far. He would just wait a few days, disguise himself, and go scam others.
Gian’s family also had hunting dogs for hunting. But he didn’t expect dogs to be useful for this. In fact, Caesar had also considered training hunting dogs, not for hunting, but for guard duty and search. But it required time, so here he took a shortcut.
In the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, a knight had once used his ability to bond with small animals to bring them the news that Sultan Nur al-Din was not long for this world. He received due commendation after the battle, but because this favor could only achieve unexpected results at necessary times, he remained an unknown figure among the knights.
Caesar requested this man from Baldwin, and he and his hunting dog indeed became another covert and powerful defense. No one would pay attention to a dog running around the camp.
The merchant’s fate was beyond doubt. He was severely punished: first by whipping, then shaving all his hair, and finally branding his cheeks as a warning to others not to do business with him.
His screams were agonizing, but he deserved it.
Caesar picked out some of his goods that could still be sold and compensated the swindled knights. His illegal gains were also returned one by one.
They continued forward, leaving the merchant’s wails behind them.
Later, they dealt with a servant who had stolen another’s wine. His master had to pay two silver coins for the wine and swore to Caesar that he would discipline him and ensure it wouldn’t happen again.
Then there was a servant who “mistakenly” identified his master’s horse and brought it into his master’s tent.
What displeased Caesar the most was that near the edge of the camp, a knight had deliberately set up a small tent that could only accommodate two or three people. This behavior was rather strange, so the Provost Marshal’s squad went over without hesitation. Even before they got close, they could hear groans coming from the tent.
A moment later, the knight emerged with a flushed face. He was not wearing armor, nor even the padded cotton armor underneath, but only a loose long shirt. It was obvious he hadn’t been doing anything good.
The merchants surrounding the camp did all sorts of business, and women were one of them.
However, there was a strict rule in every campaign: knights could leave the camp to enjoy themselves to their fullest, but they were not allowed to bring women into the camp. Knights who violated this rule would be subject to very severe penalties, from confiscation of all their belongings—horse, armor, weapons—to expulsion.
But this was not the first thing that made Caesar hesitate. What he found unacceptable was that the woman brought in would be subjected to the punishment of having her nose cut off.
And the people around him would only pity the knight. Although no one pleaded for him, they said he must have been a good person. No one cared about the prostitute, but for her, having her nose cut off meant not only that she could no longer engage in prostitution, but also that she couldn’t work as a servant or a laborer. As soon as people saw her face, they would know she was a criminal.
And for people of this era, a woman who had committed a crime was almost equated with a witch. Even if she were lucky enough to survive somewhere, the people there could always accuse her of being the source of disaster and imprison or burn her.
A knight was escorting the woman for punishment, but with a shrill cry, a priest ran over quickly. He quickly pinched the nose, pressed it onto the original wound, and began to pray.
“She’s just a prostitute,” Gian couldn’t help but say.
“Precisely because she is a prostitute,” Caesar thought to himself. If she were a noble lady, he would not have intervened at all; a noble lady would not receive such cruel punishment, at most she would be mocked by others.
Moreover, if a noble lady appeared in a knight’s tent, she was most likely there voluntarily. A prostitute, however, lacked such boldness, or was there for money and food.
He had seen those women; they had lowered their survival needs so much, yet they were still often hungry.
They walked silently through the huts and tents, between the bonfires and the swirling smoke. The ground was muddy, and the air was damp. But even so, Caesar caught two men urinating carelessly.
Here, Caesar had to complain. Since the barbarians eventually defeated the Western Roman Empire and seized all their territories and crowns, why didn’t they inherit more of the culture of the Ancient Romans?
He knew that when the Ancient Romans marched, they would set up temporary latrines in their camps. These looked like trenches, at least nine feet deep, with stone and wooden covers. If they camped for more than a month, they had to divert water from rivers for flushing.
This practice undoubtedly greatly reduced the incidence of epidemics in the army, and also helped control the soldiers’ movements and guard against infiltration by spies.
Unfortunately, the so-called successors of today completely ignored these things; feces piled up in their palaces and cities, and their military camps were also filled with people releasing their natural instincts.
And making knights behave and go to the latrine properly was also a problem. Even if trenches had been dug, wasn’t it simpler and more convenient to just pull down their pants outside the tent and relieve themselves?
These two knights were each fined one silver coin, and two laborers received five copper coins. They were responsible for digging up the knights’ feces along with the mud and carrying it to the trench to discard it.
“I did hear that when the armies of Count Raymond of Tripoli and Duke Bohemond of Antioch attacked Mulai, dysentery broke out in their army due to the curses of those heathens,” a knight said to himself.
“Indeed,” Caesar had learned to express himself in the local way and continued naturally, “They could have avoided this disaster.
If they had been willing to maintain cleanliness, as God required.”
“Does God have such a requirement?”
“Of course. Otherwise, why would people place newborn infants in baptismal fonts? This is the initial cleanliness. Maintaining the cleanliness of both body and soul. While the cleanliness of the soul is important, if the body is not clean enough, the devil’s curses can penetrate your body through those dirty things.”
Gian was clearly startled. “R-really? But those ascetics…”
“Do you have their piety?”
“No…”
Caesar smiled. This young man was indeed charming. Although he himself was not much older than Gian, he had a sense of an elder looking at a junior.
To the other knights, this was not surprising. At this time, it was generally believed that those of noble status received more favor from God; they would be more beautiful, intelligent, and young.
A king of three years old would certainly possess more wisdom than a sixty-year-old farmer—if the latter lived that long.
Gian was still only the son of a count, and in the Crusades, he was a novice young knight. However, Caesar had campaigned many times and, due to King Baldwin’s unreserved promotion and care, he stood beside the King, in a position second only to him.
Although he was with his knights, when he stood in the Imperial Court, he was indeed standing with their fathers or uncles.
As the knights were thinking this, a servant of the King rushed to find Caesar. When he arrived at the King’s tent, he saw a group of distinguished ministers marveling at a map as large as an adult male’s outstretched arms.
This map was made from a whole ox calf hide and depicted nothing other than the map from Ayyarasa Road to Damascus.
Caesar’s mission to Acre at that time was also for this purpose.
From then on, it would be difficult for the Crusaders to pass through these cities with the guidance of Saracens.
Although they could not explore or record freely under Saracen surveillance, Caesar’s sensitivity to numbers and three-dimensional space was beyond that of people of this era. Every day, after returning to his room, he would dip his pen in wine and draw maps on bedsheets, memorize them firmly, and then burn them.
Even during the return journey, when he collapsed in Damascus from exhaustion and fell unconscious, he still redrew these maps after returning to Holy Cross Castle.
As he walked into the tent, a noble lord was enthusiastically exclaiming, “Look, this is a born general, gentlemen,” he turned to Baldwin. “Please, tell us quickly. You said a knight presented you with this treasure, that he personally drew the map. Tell us, but please, don’t let it be a priest.”
“What if it’s a priest?” another count replied rudely. “Go to the Church and tell them this priest is renouncing his vows. I can pay his ransom.”
“Go to hell! I can afford that money too, but he has to come back to Magigo with me.”
“Stay in that small place? Can your territory fill a quarter of this map?”
“…”
The people argued incessantly, except for Raymond and Bohemond. Raymond wished he could roll his eyes, while Bohemond wore a smile that was almost frozen on his lips. They all knew who had drawn this map…
When the people in the tent saw Baldwin walk in, smiling and with his arm around Caesar, they let out a sigh and groan of regret—who didn’t know the loyalty of the Knights of Bethlehem?
They didn’t even try.
“Does Joscelin II have such talent?”
“He lost Edessa and was captured by the Sar [Truncated: Max tokens]
These people were certainly not fighting over a painter; one without sufficient combat experience, without a keen sense for war, and without an innate talent for warfare would be incapable of drawing such a map…
On the map lay several gold coins; Caesar recognized the coins bearing Baldwin’s likeness as belonging to the Crusaders, and the others as Saladin’s gold coins—representing the Saracen army.
“They march alongside us,” Raymond exclaimed.
Isn’t that the case? When they decided to attack Damascus, what they looked forward to most was that the Governor of Damascus would receive no response to his plea for help, and they could take advantage of the opportunity to take the wealthy and crucial great city with ease.
But Saladin responded and indeed mobilized a large army, which meant they had to fight Saladin to the death to continue attacking Damascus. Otherwise, while they were besieging the city, Saladin could seize the opportunity to launch an offensive from the rear, and the people of Damascus could counterattack, leaving them like turtles in a jar.
But to be honest, everyone present could not be sure they could defeat Saladin with half or fewer of their forces, but the arrow was on the string and had to be shot; no one could bear such humiliation and loss.
“Have you found Saladin yet?”
“His army should have departed a month before ours, but initially there might only have been two thousand men, and he continuously reinforced his forces from the tribes and city-states around Damascus—our plan has become an opportunity for him,” Bohemond said gloomily.
Damascus does not refer to just one city, Damascus. In fact, it also encompasses many surrounding city-states and tribes. These chieftains have not yet sworn allegiance to Saladin. They are either waiting to be bought, expecting a new master who can offer them more, or they are displeased with Saladin’s betrayal of Nur al-Din.
Saladin originally intended to remove these unsightly nails one by one to open the road to Acre, and now the plea for help from Damascus has given him a better excuse…
Bribes, persuasion, coercion, threats, inducements… Saladin was already very adept at exploiting any favorable conditions; now, if those “Fatah” tribal leaders were to refuse him, they would have to provide a sufficient reason.
But what could be the reason?
– Am I a coward?
“Do you know how many people there are?”
“There may be twenty thousand people in the end.”
It is indeed so; after all, this land originally belonged to the Saracens. Although there were contingents that joined the Crusaders midway, they certainly could not compare to Saladin.
“Should we go reconnoiter or raid?”
“Scouting may be possible, but when it comes to harassment, how many people should our team send out?
The proportion of warriors in Saracen tribes and city-states was quite high; entering there would be like falling into the enemy’s nest, and there was the Jordan River separating us, so we would need ferries.
“Do we have a ferry?”
“No.”
Even if there were, transporting knights and horses onto ships and safely delivering them to the other side would not be an easy task.
“It seems we can only … here … engage in a true head-on confrontation.”
“If we can face them head-on, I actually think it’s a good thing.” Baldwin’s hand rested on the map as he looked around. “Are any of you feeling cowardly about this?”
“No, how could that be?”
“I couldn’t ask for more!”
“I can fulfill the oath I made to God.”
“I can make these Saracens shit their pants!”
The tent immediately echoed with voices, varying in pitch but all resolute; indeed, those who could remain in this tent would not, even Bohemond and Raymond, fear combat with the heathens.
After the people dispersed, Baldwin and Caesar should have rested, but now neither of them felt tired. “Do you want to see Saladin’s army?” Baldwin asked.
Caesar certainly would not refuse, and the two young men climbed to a high place as if they felt no fatigue at all.
The Jordan River originates in Syria, flowing south until it empties into the Dead Sea, and on either side of it are the river valleys carved out by its waters.
If I had to describe it, this region is like a person’s spine, with the arched back muscles on both sides, the spine hollowed out in the middle, and the army of the King of Ayyarasa Road advancing along the left side of the spine. Saladin’s army, with tacit understanding, advanced along the right side of the spine, and anyone standing on high ground could see the fires stretching for miles.
“I wonder if they are also watching us,” Baldwin sighed.
“Perhaps,” Caesar suddenly turned his head to look at Baldwin. “I have a request, and I hope you can grant it.”
