Chapter 76: To Egypt!
How sarcastic, the Franks are shouting: “Revenge!”, and the Saracens are also shouting, “Revenge!”
This thought flashed quickly through Caesar’s mind, yet it did not hinder his action at all. He jumped up, one hand pressing on Geoffrey’s shoulder, light pouring down like water, forming a large scale armor-shaped shield on the Templar Knight’s back.
The Saracens’ arrows fell like a rainstorm—as in every previous time, they used arrows to harass and kill the enemy, and when the enemy was unprepared, even with women and children at their side, this method was undoubtedly quite effective, but today, these arrows all fell short.
The “handmaid” that Caesar was leaning on rolled behind the box as soon as Caesar leaped up. Only a few clinking sounds were heard as several arrows whizzed past his hair and ears, nearly pinning his cloak to the ground, but he was not hurt at all.
Before Geoffrey stood up, he was already shouting loudly, and the knights immediately drew their shields from various places or took cover behind the carriage.
This Roman style carriage was generally used to transport goods, with a semi-cylindrical arched roof, three sides enclosed, and one side a door that could be opened.
Now this door was opened, and four fully armed knights jumped down from the carriage. They rushed quickly toward the chariot, lifted the cowhide covering it, and beneath the cowhide were their weapons: hammer, long sword, and flail.
The escorts nearby had already brought their horses. They mounted swiftly and charged toward the Saracens!
The Saracen leader’s face changed drastically. They had been tricked!
The previous ominous premonition was not unfounded. The Prophet had already warned them, but he hesitated several times between stopping immediately and one last hesitation, ultimately letting luck overcome reason.
It was also because the scouts he sent had already told some other young men about their discovery. When he appeared again, they were already fully armed and eager to go.
Even after he proposed that this battle should not involve killing or harming women and children, these young men showed little disappointment, which made him fantasize that perhaps things were not as bad as the elder said.
Once they finished the battle and demanded a ransom from the Franks, they could bid farewell to their loved ones and go to Damascus to find Saladin of Zengi.
He had fought under Saladin and knew he was a benevolent and just man who would not deny his subordinates’ merit due to differences in faith.
Now he dared not think how many warriors he could still bring back. The leader’s despairing howl pierced the dark dome. He was calling, urging the Saracens to return to his side quickly.
They had fifty-one men, holding the numerical advantage, but if more than two among this group of knights were favored by the Prophet, the numerical advantage could almost be said to no longer exist. If more than three, they would inevitably be at a disadvantage…
More than five?
The leader watched wide-eyed as the knight charging at the forefront stretched out his hands. He was calling; the Prophet’s favor descended upon him. When he clashed with the first Saracen warrior, a wide and long crucifix sword was tightly gripped in his hand.
Blood sprayed with the light, screams mingled with laughter echoing in people’s ears. Human and horse limbs collapsed to the sides, and the tall knight like a devil and his mount thundered through the midst!
And the second Saracen warrior who encountered him did not even understand what had happened before suffering the same fate as his companion.
And he also saw that “noble lady” who had always been surrounded by the knights. He stood up, almost as tall as another knight.
Similarly—no, it should be said that the light filling his body even surpassed the total of everyone else’s. He tore open the velvet robe without hesitation, revealing the chainmail beneath, and mounted the white Arab horse.
If the previous knight was an indestructible sharp sword, then this young and beautiful Frank was like a great hammer. When he came wrapped in the wind, the hoofbeats were like a great stone rolling down.
He charged straight toward the leader’s warriors, like a hurricane sweeping up fish from the sea. No one could resist or escape.
Seeing this scene, the leader understood even more clearly, just as he had worried from the beginning: this was an open net, waiting for them to fall into it. He grew more anxious, not even hearing the elder’s dissuasion, and once again ordered the warriors to close in on him. Perhaps with the power of the crowd, they could break through.
But his calling instead caused a bad result. The warriors initially fought desperately, but upon hearing his shouts, some wanted or had to continue fighting; some wanted to withdraw and escape this terrible trap; and some even hesitated, not knowing what to do.
Only a few warriors could pass through the gaps in the battlefield and gather at his side.
The leader’s face was pale as he looked at those warriors, then turned to the elder. Now it was too late to say anything: “May Allah bless you.”
He said, and before the elder could react, he yanked his horse’s reins, forcibly turning the horse’s head north, then stabbed the horse’s rump with a knife. The elder’s horse let out a pained neigh, reared up on its forelegs, and bolted forward, running far away in an instant.
Then he turned to those young men, “Flee or fight to the death!?”
“Fight to the death!”
“Fight to the death!”
“Fight to the death!”…
The leader said no more. When he looked at the battlefield again, only those vile Franks remained. Of the fifty-one, besides the elder, only fewer than ten warriors and himself were left. Hatred and despair shot from his eyes as he drew his long sword.
This time, both sides tacitly made no shouts. They collided in silence—the outcome was obvious. This time, whether Amalric I or the other two Knights, as well as the lords and lords who came from afar, had already determined that this battle required no prisoners.
And even without those knights blessed by God, clad in chainmail and wielding hammers and long swords, they far surpassed the Saracen warriors who had only bows, wooden shields, and long knives, wearing only quilted cotton robes or even everyday clothing.
Only the leader wore chainmail under his deep-collared greatcoat, a helmet under his fur-edged hat, carrying a black iron hammer-headed mace, and a straight-bladed sword thrust under his saddle.
But how could an ordinary ‘kaffir’ compare to Walter or even Geoffrey, Templar Knights blessed by God?
Although the leader was prepared “to absolutely not be the last to die,” when Geoffrey swung his hammer, smashing a young Saracen warrior off his horse, and backhanded another hammer blow that struck the leader down, he could only faint in pain.
Walter galloped over on horseback. He lowered his head and looked at the man on the ground who was clearly different from the other commoner warriors: “Why did you spare him?”
“Amalric I told me to do something for him.”
“Oh.” Walter understood. He wiped the blood from his face; in fact, it was unnecessary. His whole body was splattered with blood, all from Saracens—or not only that, but also various bodily fluids and organ fragments.
He and his horse were both dyed half red. Unless washed well in the river or lake—Geoffrey even thought it could attract devils from hell to celebrate the new king’s birth.
“Where is Caesar?”
“I sent him to pursue a fleeing Saracen.” Geoffrey said.
“A Saracen willing to flee?” Walter said in surprise.
“Judging by his clothing, he should be their elder.” The Saracen elder was their priest, holding a pivotal position in villages and cities. He taught students, led the tribe, and conveyed Allah’s will.
Although the elder sometimes participated in battle, it was not strange to decide to let him flee.
Caesar thought he would have to chase for a long distance, but it was not so. In the end, it could not even be said that he caught up to the Saracen; rather, the Saracen finally reined in his horse himself. When he was close enough, the old Saracen man simply sat on his horse, calmly facing him.
When he clearly saw the face of the newcomer by the bright daylight, the old man first showed shock, then some anger: “I don’t know how you came here, woman. I will not be your captive,” he said sternly. “If they think this can humiliate me, they are greatly mistaken.”
“I am not a woman.” Caesar pulled down his headscarf—his Adam’s apple was slightly protruding. Although not very obvious, Damara had fitted him with that kind of white headscarf that covered all his hair and concealed his neck.
However, the elder had already realized his mistake. Caesar bore the light bestowed by the Prophet. Whether Franks or Saracens, only men underwent the Choosing ceremony.
Women not only could not perform this ceremony, but even peeking was a crime—once a noble lady attempted to overstep, but was caught by the priests. Even though her father was a Duke, she was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment.
“This is your scheme.”
“To catch you.” Caesar said. “You committed a crime.”
“Was it not you who committed the crime first?” the old man countered. “When our Caliph ruled here, he tolerantly treated Isaacites and Christians. He allowed them to do business, live in the city, permitted them to build their own temples, elect their own elders and scholars. As long as they submitted and paid tribute, they could even retain some of their original power.
Even when Christians wanted to come on pilgrimage, they were allowed to pass through the Caliph’s territory and worship Allah and the Prophet with us in the Holy Land’s temples.
And how did you treat us? When we thought friends came from across the sea, your long swords had already pierced our chests!
Look,” he spread his hands, “warriors from seventeen villages gathered here, but before you came, they were merely ordinary craftsmen and farmers, living by the work of their hands, praying daily, facing every stranger with the kindest heart.
You came, you demanded grain from us, we gave; you demanded residence, we gave; you demanded livestock, we gave; then you demanded women, our wives, sisters, and daughters. You burned our orchards, shot down all the birds, caught every fish.
You are insatiable, brutal, and vicious. You are not like people, more like a swarm of giant locusts. You devoured our grain and then us. And now you say we committed a crime. What crime did we commit? To punish a group of sinners?”
The old man asked. Even speaking to this point, his tone remained very calm, as if merely stating ordinary matters, but this calm, like clouds harboring a great storm, made it hard to breathe.
“…If you are truly punishing sinners.” Caesar said.
“You came to us, not us to you—” the old man said.
“I once advised them, but child, I advised them because I did not want them to degenerate into devils like you, not because I did not feel their pain—you felt it too, since you are here.”
“I promised… those who committed crimes will receive due retribution.”
“Only Saracens?”
“If you ask me…” Caesar said: “Everyone.”
The old man slightly widened his eyes, scrutinizing this young man beautiful like a star—he had just risen, just bloomed, a strong but still tender cub. “Are you a Prince?”
“No, I am not.”
“Then are you a lord’s son?”
“No.”
“Then at least you are a knight’s son.”
“Unfortunately, I lost my memory. When I awoke, I was an Isaacite’s slave, and he was about to sell me to the court of Fatimid or Byzantium—Amalric I saved me.”
The old man did not show the disgust and contempt Caesar expected. “A pearl in the mud and sand always shines brighter than one on velvet… Your thoughts surpass any crown. It’s a pity for someone like you…” he said. “Perhaps this is the ending the Prophet wrote for us, to be fulfilled by you.”
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply: “Are they asking you to kill me, or to take me back?”
“Perhaps there is no difference between the two,” Caesar said. “But now you can kneel and pray to your god—
I know Saracens also perform last rites, perhaps a bit different, but if I take you back, they may not allow you to pray—you did not let those girls pray, did you?
But I can forgive you, because a Saracen also forgave my servant.”
The old man showed a bitter smile.
He knelt and prayed to Allah for himself and the other Saracens.
————
“Hey, we’ve been waiting for you a long time!” Geoffrey shouted: “Come quickly! Something good!”
