Chapter 74: To Egypt!
As soon as Damara saw the cloak lifted, she immediately pounced forward, cradling Elena’s head in her arms and bursting into loud sobs once more.
Among the handmaidens serving Princess Sibylla, Elena was one of the older ones, because her family had an in-law relationship with Gerard, and they took great care of Damara, who regarded her as a sister; for the head of her beloved, she felt no fear, only excruciating pain.
The little girl’s crying had completely gone off-key, and by the end, it sounded less like sobbing and more like roaring; if that Saracen who had ravaged and killed Elena were in front of her at that moment, she would use a knife if she had one, and if not, she would tear with her fingernails and bite with her teeth to ensure that person met their end.
In the world and era Caesar had once lived in, ordinary people rarely encountered such horrors, not even in a piece of paper or a picture.
But ever since coming here, he had seen far too many such cold, stiff remains—slashed to death by swords, pierced by spears, crushed by stones, burned by fire, shot by arrows…
Some with hideous faces, others bewildered, and some even smiling as if they had already seen heaven…
Among these deaths were even quite a few he had brought about.
But he thought he would never get used to or accept them.
Upon seeing Elena’s body, Prince Baldwin immediately understood why Elena’s husband cherished her so, and yet she had been left exposed like livestock even after death.
The undamaged parts were like shattered marble sculptures, those statues once placed in the palaces or temples of Ancient Rome emperors, snowy white and delicate, lifelike, with every detail so appealing one wanted to kiss them, even stained with dust and bloodstains, they were like artworks worth tens of thousands of gold coins.
And the damaged parts, those cut by knife, burned by fire, gnawed, strangled by rope, evoked the image of a lamb that had been plucked and scrubbed, roughly and wastefully prepared by someone who scorned as worthless rags everything others regarded as treasures.
Baldwin stepped forward, took the husband’s cloak, and covered the unfortunate lady’s body again.
“I will speak to my father,” he gave the husband the answer he most desired. “Damara,” he turned to the little girl still holding Elena’s head, “let her rest.”
Damara just shook her head, “Anoint… anoint her…” meaning she wanted to perform the last rites for Elena, lest she go to hell.
But the monks present all showed troubled expressions, after all, Elena and the other noble ladies’ remains had been discovered by patrolling soldiers in broad daylight, and they could hardly prove that anyone had performed the sacraments for them before.
“Were the last rites performed for those saints who unfortunately martyred?” Caesar suddenly said; hearing this, Elena’s husband and Damara’s eyes both lit up with sudden realization and then overwhelming joy.
Indeed, up to now, most martyred saints had not received last rites, for if they were martyred, it meant at the moment of death they were surrounded by either guards, executioners, or the officials judging them.
They certainly would not perform such acts that could get them in trouble too.
And before this, there had been cases of multiple martyrdoms, such as Saint Ursula, who was a princess of Britain.
A lord who had migrated from Britain to Gaul-Brittany proposed marriage to her, hoping she would bring some Christian girls as dowry so his knights could form families and propagate.
Ursula gladly agreed; she not only brought ten handmaidens, but each handmaiden brought a thousand maidservants; unfortunately, after boarding the ships, they encountered a shipwreck, the ships ran aground on a beach, and this was right in heathen territory.
Facing the heathens’ swords, the girls showed no fear, singing as they disembarked, each calmly going to their death.
Of course, such legends from priests’ mouths always have some exaggeration and may not be entirely true, but it did not matter; if Elena and these noble ladies’ deaths could be deemed “martyrdom,” they would not go to hell but to heaven.
At this, even Gerard de Ridford, who had been weeping on the side, cast a grateful look; he was already a member of the Knights Templar, and though Elena had absolved him of the oath he swore to her, Gerard truly had feelings for her.
He was absolutely determined to avenge her, but as for martyrdom and such, his mind was not up to it.
Elena’s husband knew Caesar, the prince’s closest friend, bloodless brother, and student of Patriarch Heraclius; if he said so, it meant there would be no issue with the Patriarch.
Of course, money would still be needed, but having a martyred saintess was good for both families, and they would not begrudge that bit of gold.
He came forward and tightly gripped Caesar’s hand.
Caesar sighed softly, then helped Damara up; the little girl put her full weight on him, and even through their clothes, he could feel her body burning hot from crying.
When he reached to take Elena’s head, she reluctantly but did not refuse; Caesar returned the head to Elena’s husband, and the next moment, Damara seized his arm—those tiny fingers actually piercing his flesh through the chainmail.
“You are my knight,” Damara said softly. “Now, I want you to do something for me.”
“I would do it even if you did not say.”
“No, I want something else,” Damara trembled, but her voice was hard as steel. “Not one of them can live.” She looked up at him, lips deathly pale, eyes brimming with tears. “I know you are a benevolent man, but when you want to forgive them, think of Elena and me.”
“I promise you.”
Damara wanted to say, “I trust you,” but before she could utter it, she fainted in Caesar’s arms.
————————
Caesar took Damara back to her father; Damara’s father had originally not wanted her to come along, and now he was even more worried, but Damara insisted she would not return to Ayyarasa Road without seeing those Saracens’ heads, so he had to let her stay, though he went with Caesar to hear the king’s decree.
This tragic event drew much attention; when they arrived at the tent, the Grand Masters of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, Hospice, and Knights Templar（ Amalric I, who was the Grand Master） of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre and Provost, were there, as were Patriarch Heraclius and the priests, along with visiting and Holy Land lords and nobles all gathered, each in shining armor, expressions grave, and many willing to go into battle.
But according to the intelligence they gathered, those Saracens had no fixed base, no villages, no cities, no castles.
They were like a pack of hyenas roaming outside, never clashing with armies that clearly were not easy to handle, only attacking lone pilgrims or noble ladies and attendants who were imprudently far from camp.
“We once sent people to find them, but they are very cunning and extremely familiar with the terrain; as soon as they see the glint of armor and swords, they immediately flee into dense forests, swamps, or reed beds.”
Gentlemen, do not think that Egypt at this time was just a land of dust everywhere, barren and desolate; if so, how could Amalric I be so obsessed and unwilling to let it go?
With Fustat at the tip of the Nile River valley end, and Alexander and Damietta as the two corners, the Nile Delta has been called the “granary of the Mediterranean” since a thousand years ago.
The Nile River carries countless mud and sand, depositing into a fan-shaped fertile land at the mouth, with dense river networks and crisscrossing canals, plus Egypt’s abundant sunshine; the wheat and rice produced here can easily sustain millions and still be exported.
And from Ghazalafa to here, what Caesar saw along the way was either clear skies and blue waters or lush woods; October was the season for dates, figs, and pomegranates, and though the fresh fruits were not preserved in honey, they tasted just as sweet.
And in this place Egyptians likened to a “lotus,” there were countless lakes, like dewdrops on petals, large and small, clear and bright.
The largest, Lake Manzala, was like a small sea; the smallest no bigger than a pool.
Some saltwater, some freshwater, lakesides thick with reeds and dense vegetation, white and brown waterfowl occasionally taking flight or landing; sometimes a “dead log” would rise from the water—that was a Nile crocodile’s head and back.
When the Crusaders previously attacked Fustat, they preferred starting from Damietta, but that required crossing four Nile River tributaries to reach Fustat.
The Saracens would build fortresses at both ends of bridges, hindering the army with arrow volleys like torrential rain; it was not impossible, but too disadvantageous for the attackers.
Because of such concerns, and having previously occupied Bilbeis, Amalric I still took the route once used by Alexander the Great for his expedition, just not departing from Pelusium beside Damietta.
This avoided rivers and bridges, ensured the army’s provisions, and had no shortage of water, but the problem was that these abundant marshes and woods also served as shields and hiding places for their enemies.
“Then let us burn all the villages and kill everyone we see; I don’t believe those hiding rats can still find enough food!” Walter said gruffly.
This suggestion might sound a bit cruel, but it was not a bad idea.
Although Amalric I, after gathering enough grain, did not completely destroy those Saracen homes, without support from the villagers, these persistent raiders could not have lasted so long or evaded the Crusaders’ searches.
This seemed the only way, and Amalric I’s hesitation was not due to his scant remaining mercy, but because he still had to attack Bilbeis afterward.
Bilbeis’s defenses certainly could not compare to Fustat, but it was still a large city; he worried that starting mass slaughter here would make the residents inside rise up in resistance when attacking Bilbeis.
Moreover, this expedition had gone unexpectedly smoothly so far, but if doing as Templar Knight Walter suggested, they would spend a long time here.
If winter came, the Crusaders would face problems with no fuel for warmth, and if continuing to attack Fustat afterward, the cold would also be a hindrance.
At such a war council, Baldwin and Caesar had no right to speak; Baldwin looked to his usually resourceful little friend, wondering if he could come up with a good plan.
He propped up his elbow and nudged Caesar.
Walter saw it and grinned, but said nothing.
Once the people dispersed, before the king could speak to his son, Walter came back in.
Amalric I showed no good face to this annoying fellow—Walter had previously embarrassed him, nearly ruining his treaty with the “Eagle’s Nest,” but thanks to the Grand Master of the Knights Templar and the Provost’s mediation, he had to abandon the idea of hanging Walter and his knights.
Though Walter had been captured and imprisoned by the king, it did not stop him from receiving treatment befitting a knight in prison; a year later, the Templar Grand Master personally brought his ransom to the king to redeem him—just before the expedition, Amalric I had to agree.
For him to strut so boldly before the king… without any gratitude; if Amalric I could shoot arrows from his eyes, he would have become a porcupine long ago.
“What do you want?” Amalric I asked coldly.
“Well…” Walter scratched his nose. “More precisely, I’m not here to do something, but to ask something.”
“What do you want to ask me?”
“No, not you,” Walter said. “It’s that little guy behind you. Do you still remember me? Caesar?”
“Unforgettably.” Caesar slightly bowed his head; after all, Walter had agreed to his request back then, saving thousands from slaughter.
“Are you still so kind-hearted?” Walter asked out of the blue. “But those guys are not Christians; they are Saracens, our born enemies. Don’t deny it, I saw you frown—when I made my suggestion.”
“I just…”
“Just what?”
Now even the king looked over, while Baldwin nervously drew closer, as if to lend his friend some support.
“Even by your method, we may not find them; the army must continue advancing, and the knights’ energy cannot be guaranteed to sustain weeks of searching, arson, and killing.
Though those Saracens deserve it, we are not familiar with here, and the villages are scattered far and near.
We also cannot find trustworthy guides or messengers; if they lead our knights into swamps or dense forests, our losses would be greater.
Perhaps you would say they can band together, but that might slow them even more… perhaps by the time the army triumphs, the knights are still searching aimlessly here…
And they came here more to serve God.”
Walter stroked his chin. “So, do you have a good plan?”
“I am not yet a knight,” Caesar said humbly.
Amalric I waved his hand. “I know you are a clever child, and Heraclius has said that children occasionally spark ideas that rigid adult minds cannot.”
“I have heard a story…”
——————
A few days later, a group left the army’s camp; according to merchants, it was Miss Damara of Gerard—because of that previous tragedy, her father insisted on sending her back to Ayyarasa Road.
