Chapter 75

A pair of eyes peered out through layers upon layers of dense, thick reeds and papyrus leaves.

On a flat stretch of land not far from this small lake, those barbaric Franks had built a temporary camp and lit bonfires, illuminating the dark, gloomy sand and the lake water.

From the observer's vantage point, it could be seen that this party consisted of about twenty or thirty people, with only three knights wearing chainmail, twice as many squires, and three times as many armed attendants.

These attendants were also responsible for the work of grooms and servants; as soon as the campsite was decided, they went to fetch water, collect fuel, and forage for food.

Surrounded by them in the center, facing the bonfire, was a noblewoman with two maids.

They had all arrived on horseback; to say nothing of the knight lords, even the horse the noblewoman rode was a rare Arabian horse.

It had a broad forehead, a slender muzzle, small ears standing straight up, and large, round eyes that reflected the firelight as if they were burning; its limbs were long and slender with well-developed tendons, and it was a pure white horse, a color rarely seen on Arabian horses, with only a black star on its forehead.

The observer stared longingly at the horse for a long time before reluctantly looking away; in the party of these Franks, there was also one Roman-style four-wheeled carriage and two two-wheeled carts, though these were all used for carrying military supplies, as there were no flat, open roads to be found from here to Gaza-Rafa.

The noblewoman seemed to be in constant sorrow, to the point of being extremely weak, to the extent that she even had to be carried down from her horse by a knight; her maids spread thick, soft beaver fur over a chest and added a layer of shiny silk for her to sit on, yet even so, she could not sit steadily and needed to lean on a maid's shoulder.

The observer watched for a while longer before slowly sinking into the water and diving to the bottom of the lake, leaving silently without even creating a ripple.

————

"Are you certain that was a true noblewoman?"

Facing the leader's stern interrogation, the observer nodded without wavering. "Those knights served her just as the lowliest slaves serve their mistress; they handed golden cups to her and cut the best piece of meat for her. She seemed to have no appetite at all, her face full of sorrow, causing everyone in the party to become sorrowful as well."

"That, too, can be faked," the leader said. He saw the look of hesitation on the scout he had sent out; he believed in this young man's loyalty and hatred, but he also knew that those barbaric Franks were not without wisdom. They had just lost their wives, sisters, and daughters; how would they dare expose a dove to the sight of hawks, unless this was a sweet lure from the start?

"But she..." the observer said in an indescribable tone, both bitter and unwilling, "she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

The leader was stunned for a moment. "Your sister was once called by people 'crushed musk' and 'congealed morning dew.' Even though she has already died at the hands of the Franks, there are still countless people who miss her voice and her face..."

"I also want to use the most vicious words to describe her, just like those Frankish harlots we have plundered," the observer said, "but I cannot deceive my eyes, nor can I go against my heart."

The leader's expression became solemn: "Then has it surpassed your anger?"

"No," the observer placed his hand on his chest, as if to dig it out. "The more I see such beauty, the more sorrow and hatred I feel in my heart. Those Franks took away my treasure, and I will also take away their treasure, tear her to pieces, and throw her before them, letting them be as pained and regretful as I am."

"Yes," the leader said, "this is what we must do. An eye for an eye, blood for blood."

He walked away from the observer to find the elder.

This party, which was like a sharp nail in the eyes of the Franks and a thorn in their flesh, did not come from one village or one city; they were the bitter fruit brewed from the sins accumulated by the Franks.

Even though Amalric I had been trying his best to control the knights in the army, just looking at Walter, one knew he was merely one of the more influential voices in the noble military council. He could neither make laws nor punish criminals; he could only use hunting, tournaments, noblewomen, and the imminent Bilbeis, followed by Fustat, to tempt them, just like hanging a carrot in front of a donkey.

But this meant that if these donkeys grew tired of the carrot, or if they thought fresh fruit tasted better than the carrot, he had no power over them whatsoever.

To tell the truth, Amalric I was not such a cruel monarch, but the great army had come all this way and could not rely entirely on the Saracen road, Gaza-Rafa, or the fleet at sea to replenish supplies. Those livestock, wheat, barley, palm oil, and even cloth and fur were all plundered from Saracen villages.

Indeed, some knights still retained their benevolent nature; they would leave behind the necessary seeds and rations, and perhaps there would be some shortfall, but it could still support those farmers through the following months.

But most knights, when on their own lands, could squeeze the last bean from the mouths of serfs who were fellow Christians; it went without saying when they were running rampant on the lands of infidels.

And like those beasts that Longinus encountered... just as that Saracen said, they were things like monkshood, nux vomica, and cobra venom; once poured into a wine cup, no matter how mellow and sweet the wine was originally, it could only turn into terrible poison.

Every night, flames rose from villages, and every time, it ignited more hatred. It was impossible for this hatred not to be washed away with blood. They sent the women and children who had luckily escaped to other places, while they themselves stayed behind to bring the same fear and sorrow to those Franks.

But the elder did not support them in doing this. "The Prophet never taught us this. You were once a 'Qaid' (a captain managing fifty soldiers) in the army; you should know..."

"I know. The Prophet told us that even in the most terrible slaughter, one must never lose the heart of a believer. He taught us that conquest is only a means to guide people toward the truth; bloodshed and wailing were never our purpose."

"As long as they are willing to submit and pay tribute, we will not plunder their commoners, will not kill their women, children, and elderly, and will not destroy their temples. They can even continue to believe in their God. If we sign a contract with them, we will also abide by every provision in the contract."

Speaking of this, the leader revealed a twisted smile.

"But that is for humans! Not for beasts!"

"So you also want to become a beast!? And want those children to become beasts!? Or do you think I am pitying the wives and daughters of those barbarians!?"

The elder also shouted in a low voice. He leaped up and, with a speed not belonging to his age, tightly grabbed the leader's deep-collared coat, face to face with him. "No, no, no! Look, look at those young men! They originally only wanted to take revenge on the enemy, to let them know that the Saracen blade would only be sharper than theirs!"

"But now, what have they all become?! They have already become as shameless and greedy as their enemies! I beg you!"

Even at this moment, the elder still remembered to lower his voice, but every word of his was as if it had been torn from his own heart: "I beg you, take them to Fustat, to see the Caliph al-Adid. If you look down on his Grand Vizier Shawar and are unwilling to trust him, then take the children to Damascus, to find Shirkuh and Saladin of Zengi!"

"Go to their armies and fight your enemies fair and square, instead of indulging in the bosoms of Frankish women! No matter which knife you want to stab into their bodies!"

The leader stared at him, his eyes splitting. He wanted to deny it and was angry at the elder's humiliation of him, but he only gasped—had he not noticed? At first, they only wanted to let the Franks taste the bitterness they had tasted, but from when did those young people become more keen on enjoying plunder and rape?

He began to tremble in pain.

If this continued, these young warriors would truly be ruined.

"Fine, fine!" He compromised and lowered his arms. "One last time," he swore to the elder, "this is the last time. Let us kidnap that knight's daughter and then demand a ransom from him. I will not allow the lads to ruin her chastity or harm her life. Once we get the ransom, we will settle our women and children, then equip ourselves with armor and weapons, and go to Damascus!"

The elder slowly let out a breath; what the leader said was not entirely unreasonable. "This time, I am going with you."

The leader paused. "Why? Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you, but you should know why I am so terrified," the elder said. "In a dream, I saw the Prophet Musa whom I follow; he pointed at me in anger, as if pointing at a sinner who would lead you all into a dead end."

The leader was truly hesitant this time. Among them, only the elder had seen the Prophet in the temple and listened to his teachings, and every one of his previous suggestions had indeed pointed them to the most correct path.

If the elder had only blindly stopped them from taking revenge on the Franks in the same way, he might have thought it was an old man's over-worrying, but if it was a warning given by the Prophet Musa...

He almost wanted to call off this operation.

——————

Walter let out a snicker.

What is there to laugh about, Cesar thought with a stiff face; isn't this a good thing you instigated?

Fishing was never a strategy that belonged only to his world and that era; he only gave a slight hint, and Amalric I and the Templar Walter immediately realized it and thought it was a truly good idea.

It was just that in Cesar's original plan, the bait acting as the noblewoman could be played by a young squire; if he were still only nine, he might have volunteered—he did not want others to be in danger for his own schemes, but he was already thirteen now!

Thirteen is one thing, but he and Baldwin were growing very fast!

But clearly, Walter had not forgotten the loss he suffered at his hands three years ago and was always secretly wanting to take revenge. This time, he had seized the opportunity; not only did he go to persuade the King himself, but he also dragged in Geoffrey. Geoffrey was also a prankster, and they sang in harmony, actually persuading Amalric I.

He promised that if Cesar was willing to act as this bait, when he returned, he could be promoted from a squire to a probationary knight—and then, who knows how Elena's husband and her knight Gerard heard about this (Geoffrey and Walter: Don't thank us!), they rushed over to thank Cesar.

Not to mention the thanks, they heard that the King intended to promote Cesar to a probationary knight; one immediately decided to give him a suit of armor worth two hundred gold coins, and one decided to give him a longsword worth one hundred gold coins...

Cesar did not care about these, but: "How can you make those Saracens believe that a noblewoman can be six feet tall? (1.9 meters)"

"Oh," Walter laughed maliciously, "we always have our ways."

They first found two tall squires to act as "Miss Damara's" maids, and then urgently changed Cesar into a robe, headscarf, and veil—fortunately, there was not much difference between men's and women's clothing at this time; they were all inner robes, outer long-sleeved or sleeveless cloaks, tied with belts, and wrapped in headscarves...

And the noblewomen led by Damara added a gold belt inlaid with gems, ribbons tied at the cuffs and ankles, and layered necklaces, rings, and bracelets for Cesar, until Cesar said that this would affect his movement, and they stopped.

However, dressed up like this, as long as Cesar sat, he really looked like the "most beautiful lady" worthy of being offered a flower crown by the strongest knight at a tournament.

But since he couldn't stand up, in the subsequent actions, he would either have to ride a horse or just sit.

"I think I heard some sounds just now." Geoffrey walked over, half-kneeling to open a wide reed leaf, which contained some dates and juniper berries. Cesar asked while pinching a few into his mouth: "Is it people?"

"It should be, it's too big to be a fish."

"What about a crocodile?"

"Crocodiles aren't that small," Geoffrey sighed, "the birds here were either shot or scared away, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to get so close to those unfortunate people so easily."

"Will they come tonight?"

Geoffrey reached out his finger and poked Cesar: "Don't sit up, sitting up is almost as tall as me half-kneeling!"

Cesar had to continue to tilt his body, and the squire he was leaning on laughed until his body trembled.

"They won't be too far away. By the time that person goes back to report, and they rush over, it will be the best time for a sneak attack—before dawn, people are drowsy and have no vigilance—wait," he suddenly revealed a smile: "It seems that not everyone is stuck in their ways!"

Geoffrey stood up, his shadow covering Cesar, which caused Cesar to fail to see the enemy rushing out of the dense forest at the first moment, but he heard their shouts.

"Revenge!"

(End of chapter)