Chapter 122

"This is the breath of God, the words of God, the seal of God."

When the head eunuch beside the Sultan suddenly heard his master say this, he just silently placed his hands on his chest and did not echo or say any words of praise, because he knew his master, the great Nuerding, did not need it—he was a simple and pious man who always prayed quietly alone at night while constantly reviewing the mistakes he had made during the day.

And such prayers became more frequent after leaving Aleppo. From the eunuch's understanding of his master, he could probably guess that this expedition might be the only thing Nuerding did for himself in his life.

While longing to offer his last bit of wisdom and strength to God, he was also afraid that he would become a sinner of the Muslims for this wish—although his ministers and generals were all saying that this was the best time to retake Jerusalem.

"Isa (Jesus), the son of Maryam (Virgin Mary), once listened to God's will here, summoned the apostles, and performed miracles—that was the power God bestowed upon him, allowing him to walk on water, calm storms, and feed thousands with five loaves and two fish," Nuerding said, pointing to the water of Taibaliehu (Sea of Galilee). The moonlight was bright tonight, and silver light flickered on the lake, which could not be seen to the end, just like the Sultan's army.

"I once sought the Prophet's revelation, hoping he could descend before me as he did forty years ago to point out the path for the Saracens, but He never gave me a reply. My prayers were like stones falling into water, never to be seen again—I cannot help but think, do the various undertakings I have done for God meet His expectations for me? Have I already gone astray, destined to enter the fire of hell?"

"Sultan!" the head eunuch had to speak, "Why would you think so? From Mosul to Aleppo, from Aleppo to Damascus, from Damascus to Alexandria, from Alexandria to Cairo, who does not know that your heart of justice is like sunlight, spreading over the earth?

You have never formulated any laws that violate the canon, nor have you ever made anyone perform any corvée labor that violates the Prophet's teachings, nor have you ever collected even one illegal tax. Your reverence for God and the Prophet is known to all, whether he is your own child, your most trusted general, or an Isaacite or a Christian.

You are so noble and so incorruptible. Every bite of your food, every piece of your clothing, every item you use, even your residence, horses, and weapons, come from your spoils of war, just like any soldier in your army. If your wife has any complaints, you would rather transfer your own shop to her than let her take a coin from the kingdom's treasury.

And your courage is even more unparalleled. Which battle have you not charged to the front yourself? You must know, every time you do so, we have to kneel down and pray for you. If we lose you, who should the Saracens be led and protected by?"

"God, before me, after me, at this moment He is also with us," Nuerding said with a solemn expression: "Shams, there is only God, and there is no other god besides Him. Everyone walking here, whether he is a caliph, a sultan, or a vizier, is nothing more than someone He has chosen to act and speak on His behalf."

"I have spoken out of turn, Sultan."

Nuerding made a gesture, signaling the head eunuch who was prostrate on the ground to stand up. He knew that what the head eunuch said came from his heart, but no matter what, mortals must not overstep—he turned his gaze back to the lake, "We are all morning dew; only God is eternal and supreme."

Carrying unspeakable feelings, the master and servant walked along the edge of the Sea of Galilee (Taibaliehu), stepping over those rugged boulders, walking in silence until the bright moon hung high. The head eunuch looked up at the position of the stars: "You should rest."

"I know," Nuerding said, "It's strange, I am clearly exhausted, but I have no sleepiness—ah, Shams, I understand, it's because I'm old. I once saw my father unable to sleep all night, and at the time I just thought it was strange... but I really should go back. How many eyes are watching us."

Nuerding was not wrong. In his army, there were tribal leaders from the Arabian Peninsula and their soldiers, as well as mercenaries like Bedouins, Kurds, and Oghuz Turks, and slave soldiers like Ghulams and Mamluks—although they possessed the same faith, their skin color, status, and treatment were completely different, and their desires also had different outlets.

They were here, obedient, only because of the authority Nur ad-Din had accumulated over the past thirty years and the bait hanging in front of their eyes—Jerusalem.

But before they had walked a few steps, Nuerding suddenly frowned. He smelled the fresh scent of blood, and then the head eunuch also saw it. Not far away in the reeds, a long, narrow fishing boat was overturned, and on its protruding hull lay a naked boy, and beside him was a slightly older girl, but she also had not grown up, and they would never have to grow up.

These were fishermen near the Sea of Galilee. After stripping off their outer clothes, it was impossible to confirm whether they were Christians or Saracens, but what did that matter? Although Nuerding was a just man, his justice was only within the canon and only within his territory. If the expedition was on enemy land, anything could happen.

The head eunuch immediately called the soldiers following behind to bury them, not out of pity, but because if the corpses rotted in the lake water, it would easily trigger a plague—they had to walk out of this great lake that was one and a half times the size of Jerusalem, which would take at least two more days, and before that, there were plenty of soldiers drawing water, fishing, and swimming in it.

After this incident, although he returned to the tent and lay on the soft low couch, Nuerding still could not fall into a sound sleep as he had hoped. It was not out of guilt—but out of worry that this would become a bad omen. He knew that this kind of thinking was harmful to the current situation, but he could never stop it from lingering in his mind.

When those Emirs (commanders) and Fatahs (thousand-man unit leaders) came to see him the next day, they saw a Sultan who was more majestic and fearsome than ever. They greeted him with fear and trembling, praying that God would bless this most respectable elder. After a good while, they reported some things that had happened during the march, as well as the movements of the Crusader main force they had been closely watching.

"They are still heading north. The vanguard has already reached Alexandretta and boarded ships. They might disembark at Tarsus in Armenia—"

Hearing this, everyone in the tent smiled.

"What about Mleh? Did he follow his oath and send his army? What about Sultan Tughrul II? His envoy told me that he would give those arrogant Crusader knights a fatal blow? Has his army moved to a suitable position?"

"That Armenian (Mleh) is indeed ready for battle," indeed, others could shirk and avoid, but only Mleh could not. He was now the mortal enemy of the Christian countries. If he betrayed his second master again, he would have no place to go in the Saracen world. Both sides had to capture this guy who had blasphemed their faith and tear him to pieces: "Sultan Tughrul II seems to be still waiting..."

Nur ad-Din nodded without joy or anger. If it were him, he would do the same. If he could surround Jerusalem before the Crusader main force reacted, Sultan Tughrul II would not mind taking advantage of the fire to rob, chasing after the Crusaders to take a bite. But if he failed to achieve the expected goal, then Sultan Tughrul II would certainly be happy to watch him and the Crusaders tear each other apart. After all, the Zengi dynasty was also built on the ruins of the Seljuk dynasty.

Nuerding's father, Zengi, was originally just a Turkic slave of the Seljuk Sultan, but relying on his own wisdom, loyalty, and strength, as well as the favor of God and the Prophet's revelation gained through piety, he was able to establish his own dynasty. Even so, although people called Nuerding Sultan, his and his brother's title was still Atabeg (meaning regent and grand tutor).

The last Bedouin leader stepped forward and said a small thing, which was that their light cavalry had discovered an Isaacite settlement while scouting the road ahead. In the wilderness of Qumran, there were three villages with a population of about two thousand.

"I have heard of them," Nuerding said: "They belong to the 'Hermit Sect' among the Isaacites, gentle and obedient, only engaged in planting and breeding, never lending money or trading."

"Then?"

"Kill them all." Nur ad-Din gently sentenced these two thousand people to death. If they were in Aleppo and Damascus, he would allow them to live or even protect them, but not here. This was too close to Jerusalem.

——————

"Run! Run! Run!"

The sage's wild shouting still lingered in his ears. Haridi's throat, eyes, and ears were filled with the scent of blood. He could not see the road ahead, could not hear the wailing. His chest felt as if it were being torn apart, and he did not know if this pain came from his lungs or his heart.

The saint's protection could allow the sage to foresee crises and opportunities in advance, but even if he heard the long blast of the horn symbolizing death, how could he convey the warning into everyone's ears? Moreover, it was in the middle of the night, and there was no sign at all.

There were even ignorant people who said that they had lived in the wilderness of Qumran for hundreds of years. Except for officials and soldiers collecting taxes, and some merchants, no one had ever disturbed them. They had also used money to redeem the qualification not to serve. Whether it was the wolf-like Saracens or the lion-like Crusaders, they had never bared their fangs at this group of obedient lambs.

They could certainly leave, but what about this furniture, what about these houses? Wild beasts would soon occupy this place and ruin it beyond recognition. And what about their grapes, wheat, and olive trees...

And even if they went to other settlements, the Isaacites there would be willing to accept them, but they had nothing but the clothes on their backs. How would they rent houses, furnish them, and buy food? Were they to violate the doctrine they had followed until now and live by deception like other Isaacites?

Arguing with these foolish people was meaningless, especially for Haridi. He had gone through the catastrophe of Fustat and certainly knew that when disaster struck, it was like thunder, caught off guard and deep into the bone marrow. At this time, any hesitation or delay would lead to the most tragic end. He did not hesitate and immediately took his wife, daughter, and others who were willing to follow him and ran out of the village.

But how could human feet compare to four-hoofed horses?

Moreover, those chasing them were the swiftest and most agile light cavalry in the Saracen army. They wore wide cloaks, long robes, pressed their headscarves with black hairbands, and covered their faces with black gauze, revealing only glowing eyes and blades. Those crescent-like scimitars, as they galloped past, were like invitations thrown by the god of death, and not a single strike missed.

And even more terrifying than these Bedouins were the black-skinned Nubian slave soldiers wearing sleeveless light-colored tunics and wide-legged pants. They were also called Berbers, with long hair tied into braids standing on top of their heads. In the dark night, they were like headless devils, making hair-raising sounds. Everyone rode one horse and carried two or three replacement horses.

They didn't even need to dismount to change horses; they just jumped directly from the horse they were riding to a new one.

It was these hateful hyenas that had been chasing Haridi. Haridi's reaction was already the fastest of all. He and the sage rode a camel, and then tied his wife and daughter to another camel, giving the other mounts to his neighbors—in the face of the slaughterers sweeping in like a storm, flight was the only resistance they could make—there were no warriors among them.

They had even once been proud of this...

Haridi lay on the camel's back, using his body as a shield for the sage. Peculiar "whooshing" sounds swept past his ears. From his body, the saddle, and even the camel, came chilling vibrations—he did not know if he was injured, only that from a certain moment, one side of his body suddenly lost its strength. Fortunately, the sage grabbed him tightly, so he did not fall off the camel.

How long they fled in the desert, he did not know himself, until the morning sun rose and the earth was filled with golden light. The camel he was sitting on let out a mournful cry and collapsed, and he and the sage hit the sand heavily together.

For a long time, they did not move. Haridi woke up from the darkness, his face covered in tears from the sunlight. He climbed up with difficulty to check the sage's condition. The sage was already an old man with white hair and beard. After the torture of this night, he was already gasping for breath, and although he was still breathing, it was so weak that it was almost imperceptible.

Haridi turned around and saw a hideous wound on his thigh. It did not look like a long sword, but more like a hideous mark left after being hit by a javelin and then torn during the bumpy ride. He was also a blessed person—only then could he persist until now, otherwise he would have died from blood loss long ago.

He also saw the camel that was motionless and had turned from warm and soft to cold and hard. He remembered tying the reins of the other camel to its saddle, but he did not find the one his wife and daughter were riding. He did not know when that rope had broken.

Haridi put down his worry for his wife and children and returned to the sage. The sage supported himself against the camel, his face gray, his eyes full of regret and hatred: "It's the Saracen army," he said: "Alas, child, how dull I was.

I was like an ant rolling in the gravel, and when I saw two giant beasts fighting each other, I actually thought this was just their business—little did I know, for those of us who are lowly, even the slightest change is a disaster."

"I am going to hell, child," he grabbed Haridi's hand: "But you are still alive, this may be the best thing. Take this bad news and go there. I know you are not willing, and you are worried about their prejudice against you, but it doesn't matter. Take the treasures I once pointed out to you, give them to them, and they will forgive you..."

His breathing became rapid: "Haridi, this is not just for you, but also for those most precious things. Take them... don't let them be destroyed in the flames of war... don't let them fall into the hands of the infidels... Haridi!"

He shouted Haridi's name one last time, straightened his body, and died.

Haridi prayed for him, pushed the camel's corpse, and pressed it on his body as a simple grave. After doing all this, he was exhausted and had to lie on the spot to rest for a while. Afterward, he took the water bag and food bag from the camel and staggered forward. Not long after walking out, he saw another camel lying behind a sand dune.

Before he could feel joy and hope, he saw his wife lying prone on his daughter, and two javelins stuck in her back. He turned her over and picked up his daughter. The daughter was unharmed, but she was already cold and stiff. She might have died from the cold, or she might have died from fright.

In short, she was also dead.

(End of chapter)