Chapter 76

How ironic, the Franks were shouting: "Revenge!", and the Saracens were also shouting, "Revenge!"

This thought flashed through Cesar's mind, but it did not hinder his actions in the slightest. He jumped up, one hand pressing on Geoffrey's shoulder, and light poured down like water, forming a large scale-shaped shield on the Templar's back.

The Saracens' arrows fell like a rainstorm—just like every time before, they used arrows to disrupt and kill the enemy. When the enemy was unprepared and even had women and children at their side, this method was undoubtedly quite effective, but today, these arrows all missed.

The "maid" Cesar was leaning on rolled behind the chest as soon as Cesar leaped up. Only a few "thud" sounds were heard; a few arrows grazed his hair and ears and almost pinned his cloak to the ground, but he did not suffer any harm.

Geoffrey was shouting before he stood up, and the knights immediately drew their shields from various places or hid behind the four-wheeled carriage.

This Roman-style four-wheeled carriage was generally used for transporting goods, with a semi-cylindrical vaulted roof, closed on three sides, and a door that could be opened on one side.

Now this door was opened, and four fully armed knights jumped down from the carriage. They quickly rushed to the two-wheeled carts and lifted the cowhide covering them. Under the cowhide were their weapons: hammers, longswords, and flails.

The squires on the side had already led their horses over, and they leaped onto their horses and galloped toward the Saracens!

The Saracen leader's face changed drastically; they had been tricked!

The previous ominous premonition was not groundless; the Prophet had already warned them, but he had hesitated several times between stopping immediately and one last time, and in the end, luck had defeated reason.

It was also because the scouts he sent out had already told other young people about their findings, and when he appeared again, they were already fully prepared and eager to try.

Even after he proposed the requirement that this battle must not kill or harm women and children, these lads did not show much disappointment, which made him fantasize that perhaps things were not as bad as the elder had said.

Once they finished the battle and went to demand a ransom from the Franks, they could say goodbye to their relatives and go to Damascus to find Saladin of Zengi.

He had fought under Saladin and knew he was a merciful and fair man who would not deny his subordinates' merits because of different religious sects.

Now, however, he did not dare to think about how many warriors he could bring back. The leader's desperate howl pierced the dark dome of the sky; he was calling, telling the Saracens to return to their side as soon as possible.

They had fifty-one people and held a numerical advantage, but if more than two people in this group of knights had received the Prophet's favor, then the numerical advantage could almost be said to have ceased to exist. If there were more than three, then they would inevitably be at a disadvantage...

What if there were more than five?

The leader watched helplessly as the knight galloping at the very front stretched out his hands. He was calling, and the Prophet cast his favor upon him. When he encountered the first Saracen warrior, a wide and long crusader sword was tightly gripped in his hand.

Blood was scattered along with the light, and wails echoed in people's ears along with laughter. The limbs of men and horses collapsed to the sides, and that knight, as tall as a devil, and his mount passed through like lightning!

And the second Saracen warrior who encountered him did not even understand what had happened before he suffered the same fate as his companion.

And he also saw that "noblewoman" who had always been surrounded by knights; he stood up, almost as tall as another knight.

Similarly, no, it should be said that the light filled his body even more than the sum of everyone else's. He did not hesitate to tear open the velvet robe, revealing the chainmail underneath, and mounted that white Arabian horse.

If the previous knight was an invincible sharp sword, then this young and beautiful Frank was like a giant hammer. When he came carrying the sound of the wind, the sound of the horse's hooves was also like boulders rolling down.

He rushed straight toward the leader's warriors, as if a hurricane were sweeping up fish in the sea; no one could resist or escape.

Seeing this scene, the leader understood even more that, just as he had worried at the beginning, this was an open net waiting for them to throw themselves into. He became more and more panicked, and without even hearing the elder's dissuasion, he ordered the warriors to close in on him again; perhaps by gathering everyone's strength, they could break through.

But his call instead caused a bad result. The warriors could still fight hard at first, but upon hearing his shouts, some wanted or had to continue fighting; some wanted to retreat and escape this terrible trap; and some even hesitated, not knowing what to do.

Only a few warriors were able to pass through the gaps in the battlefield and gather by his side.

The leader looked at those warriors with a pale face, and then turned to the elder. Now it was too late to say anything: "May Allah protect you."

He said, and before the elder could react, he pulled his horse's reins, forcibly turning the horse's head to the north, and then stabbed the horse's rump with a knife. The elder's horse let out a painful hiss, its front hooves leaped into the air, and it rushed out violently, running very far in an instant.

Afterward, he turned to those young people, "Escape or die in battle!?"

"Die in battle!"

"Die in battle!"

"Die in battle!"...

The leader said no more. At this time, he looked at the battlefield again, and there were only those despicable Franks left on the battlefield. Of the fifty-one, except for the elder, there were only less than ten warriors left, plus himself. Hatred and despair shot from his eyes, and he drew his longsword.

This time, both sides tacitly did not make any shouts; they collided silently—the outcome was obvious. This time, whether it was Amalric I or the other two major knightly orders, as well as the lords and masters who had come from afar, they had all determined that this battle did not need any prisoners.

And even without those knights blessed by God, they wore chainmail and held hammers and longswords, which was far better than those Saracen warriors who only had bows and arrows, wooden shields, and long knives, and could only wear quilted cotton robes or even everyday clothes.

Only the leader could wear chainmail under his deep-collared coat, a skull cap under his fur-trimmed hat, and carry a black iron mace, as well as a straight-edged sword inserted under the saddle.

But how could an ordinary 'Qaid' compare to Templars like Walter or even Geoffrey who had been blessed by God?

Although the leader was prepared "absolutely not to be the last one to die," when Geoffrey swung his hammer, smashing a young Saracen warrior off his horse, and then backhanded a hammer, knocking the leader down, he could only faint in pain.

Walter galloped over. He lowered his head and looked at the person on the ground who was clearly different from other common warriors: "Why did you keep him?"

"Amalric I asked me to do something for him."

"Oh." Walter understood. He wiped the blood off his face; in fact, this was unnecessary. He was covered in splashed blood from head to toe, all from Saracens, or rather, not only that, but also various bodily fluids and organ fragments.

He and his horse were both dyed half-red, and if they didn't wash well in the river or lake—Geoffrey felt it could attract the devils of hell to celebrate the birth of a new king.

"Where is Cesar?"

"I let him go after a Saracen who was fleeing," Geoffrey said.

"There are Saracens willing to flee?" Walter said in surprise.

"Judging by the attire, it should be their elder." The Saracen elder was their cleric; he had a pivotal position in villages and cities. He taught students, led tribes, and conveyed the will of Allah.

Although the elder sometimes participated in battle, it was not strange if he decided to let him flee.

Cesar thought he would chase for a long way, but that was not the case. In the end, it couldn't even be said that he caught up with the Saracen; it was more like he finally reined in his horse, and when he got close enough, the Saracen elder just sat on the horse, looking at him calmly.

When he saw the person's face clearly by the bright daylight, the elder first showed a look of horror, then showed some anger: "I don't know how you came, woman, I will not be your prisoner," he said sternly: "If they think they can humiliate me this way, then they are very wrong."

"I am not a woman." Cesar pulled down his headscarf—his Adam's apple had already slightly protruded, although it was not very obvious, but Damara still used that white headscarf that could cover all his hair and hide his neck for him.

However, the elder had already discovered he was wrong. Cesar had the light bestowed by the Prophet on him. Whether it was Franks or Saracens, only men held the "Selection Ceremony."

Women were not only forbidden from holding this ceremony, but even peeking was a crime—there had been a noblewoman who attempted to commit an act of transgression, but she was subsequently caught by the clerics, and even though her father was a duke, she was sentenced to life imprisonment.

"This is your scheme."

"To catch you all," Cesar said: "You have committed a crime."

"Isn't it you who committed the crime first?" the elder asked back: "When our Caliph ruled here, he treated the Isaacites and Christians with tolerance. He allowed them to do business, live in cities, and granted them permission to build their own temples and elect their own elders and scholars. As long as they were willing to submit and pay tribute, they could even retain some of their original power."

"Even if 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 temples of the Holy Land."

"And how did you treat us? When we thought that friends were coming from the other side of the sea, your longswords had already pierced our chests!"

"Look," he opened his hands, "warriors from seventeen villages gathered here, but before you arrived, they were just the most ordinary craftsmen and farmers. They lived by their own hands, prayed every day, and faced any stranger with the most benevolent heart."

"You came, you asked us for food, we gave it; you asked us for shelter, we gave it; you asked us for livestock, we gave it; then you asked us for women, for our wives, sisters, and daughters. You burned our orchards, shot down all the birds, and caught every fish."

"You are insatiable, cruel, and vicious. You are not like humans, but more like a group of giant locusts. You ate all our food, and you still want to eat us. And then, you say here that we committed a crime. What crime did we commit? To punish a group of sinners?"

The elder asked. Even after saying this, his tone was still very calm, as if he were just stating some ordinary things, but it was this calmness, like clouds containing a huge storm, that made people breathless.

"... If the ones you are punishing are indeed sinners." Cesar said.

"It is you who came to us, not us who came to you—" the elder said.

"I once persuaded them, but child, I persuaded them because I didn't want them to fall into devils like you, not because I didn't feel their pain—you felt it too, since you are here."

"I promised... those who committed crimes will receive their due retribution."

"Only the Saracens?"

"If you want to ask me..." Cesar said: "Everyone."

The elder opened his eyes slightly. He examined this young man who was as beautiful as the stars—he had just risen, he had just bloomed, he was a strong but still immature young beast, "Are you a prince?"

"No, I am not."

"Then are you a lord's son?"

"Neither."

"Then you are at least a knight's son."

"Unfortunately, I lost my memory. When I woke up, I was just an Isaacite slave, and he was about to sell me to the court of Fatima or Byzantium—it was Amalric I who saved me."

The elder did not show the look of disgust and contempt that Cesar had expected, "Pearls in the mud are always brighter than pearls on velvet... Your thoughts transcend any crown, it's a pity that someone like you..." he said: "Perhaps this is the ending written for us by the Prophet, to be completed by you."

He closed his eyes and sighed long: "Do they want you to kill me, or take me back?"

"Perhaps there is no difference between the two," Cesar said, "but you can kneel down now and pray to your gods—"

"I know Saracens also do last rites, maybe a little different, but if I take you back, they may not allow you to pray—you didn't let those girls pray either, did you?"

"But I can forgive you, because a Saracen also forgave my servant."

The elder revealed a bitter smile.

He knelt down and prayed to Allah for himself and the other Saracens.

————

"Hey, we've been waiting for you for a long time!" Geoffrey shouted: "Come quickly! There's good news!"

(End of chapter)