Chapter 83: Siege! (3)

The precious map lay at the center of a table made by joining several others; it may have been an entire hide stripped from a sturdy young bull, with no seams or glue marks. Heraclius washed his hands and changed his outer robe under Baldwin’s service before approaching the table, and as he leaned down to study it, Baldwin and Cesar could clearly see the map.

In another world, few people could not read maps—except perhaps the elderly who had never received compulsory education; anyone who had taken geography knew how to distinguish position, direction, and elevation.

But maps of this time and place resembled crude landscape paintings: the cartographers faithfully depicted houses, castles, mountains, forests, and rivers—yet finding roads among them was difficult, and they lacked contour lines, relying only on the relative size of buildings and terrain to suggest altitude.

Some cartographers even painted animals and human figures…

Beyond these, such maps invariably bore ornate patterns, saints and angels drawn to invoke their protection for the owner; the cardinal directions were marked by a globe, with Adam and Eve being expelled from Eden on its right side—since Eden lay at the far east, while on the opposite, western side, stood the Pillars of Hercules at the Strait of Gibraltar.

At the center lay Alasal, for these people, no place could rival the Holy City as the world’s true center.

This map was no exception; place names were marked not only by text but also by symbols—for example, Fustat was drawn as a tent, because in the Saracen tongue it meant “tent,” and around it were several buildings, peaks, and a prominent river; the river’s vast expanse allowed one to identify it as the Nile.

The great city of Fustat stood directly beside this broad, mighty river; when the Saracens built it, they cleverly oriented one section of the wall toward the swift current, shaping it like a sheer cliff—any attacker attempting to scale it would find no foothold.

You might ask: what if the enemy used a fleet? Siege engines like ballistae could be mounted on ships too. So the Saracens built an arrow tower on the island of Laude across the river.

This tower served two purposes: surveillance and warning, and raising the iron chains suspended between the tower and the city wall to block enemy ships entering this narrow stretch from the Nile’s mouth.

After Zangi’s Shirkuh arrived, he personally oversaw the construction of the Laude fortress, which encircled the original arrow tower, then stretched iron chains to raise a drawbridge—this one elevated; below, they linked boats together as a river crossing.

What angered Amalric I was clearly not this simple bridge, easily burned—on the map were two fresh, inked scratches, not one. “Who was the merchant who surveyed this region?” Amalric I roared. “If they dare come again for a reward, seize them immediately, confiscate all their wealth, and throw every last one into the Nile!”

“Let us discuss this later,” only Heraclius dared interrupt him. He examined the new bridge’s location again: “The stretch between Laude and Fustat is too long and straight. It’s not impossible they could hide it—merchants can’t enter Laude, nor stand beneath Fustat’s walls to look down.”

“Have we confirmed it’s a stone bridge?”

“Our men saw cavalry riding across it,” Bohemond answered Heraclius. Heraclius’s face darkened instantly; it was no wonder Amalric I had lost his composure.

Their original plan was to attack Fustat’s Royal Gate and Victory Gate; the third gate—the Market Gate—faced the Nile’s mouth. Per agreement, when the siege began, Byzantium’s Manuel I would send his navy upstream to pressure Fustat from the river.

So what did the sudden appearance of an island connected to Fustat mean? It meant Fustat now had a satellite fortress, hard to take. Once battle began, they’d not only have to watch the other two gates, but also guard against Saracens emerging from the city, crossing the island bridge, and attacking the siege forces.

Worse still, the island’s western side faced the vast Nile. Egyptian cities stretched along its banks; though others might lack the wealth of those in the Delta, they could still supply Fustat. Thus, the siege force’s greatest fear—the nightmare of uncut supply lines—was about to materialize.

But the situation was set. They now had to decide: attack Laude first, Fustat first, or both at once.

The problem was, not everyone wanted to attack Laude. Laude was a true military stronghold—meaning little treasure inside, and since the Saracens had built fortresses and towers there, it wouldn’t fall easily. Worse still, before even reaching the fortress, they’d have to cross one or two bridges.

What was the most famous battle of the Hippic Wars? Undoubtedly—the Battle of Thermopylae. There, the Greek Spartan king Leonidas I led three hundred elite Spartans and allied Greek forces to resist Xerxes I’s Persian army, repelling four assaults over three full days—though the reason was that the Greek city-states were holding the Olympic Games… we need not dwell on that.

Yet from this battle, one sees the immense advantage of terrain—especially bridges, which are even more perilous and brutal than narrow cliffside paths.

First, crossing these narrow bridges limits troop numbers; horses cannot gallop; spears are hindered; knights lose nearly all their advantage here.

Second, on open ground, even if dismounted, knights can leap up and fight on. But if they fall into water, chainmail—though not extremely heavy—is still about sixty pounds, plus plates, surcoats; even the best swimmers might not float.

Third, enemies will surely build arrow towers on both sides of the bridge. Even if stone is too slow, wooden ones will do. From above, they rain arrows down, forcing knights to advance slowly hundreds of feet through a storm of projectiles.

“We could burn them first.”

“That means we must fight Laude’s garrison first—they can charge out anytime from the fortress, and Fustat’s troops are close by, near the Royal Gate.”

So the problem returns: they must attack both places at once. Otherwise, Laude, linked to Fustat, can strike them from behind. Likewise, if they attack Laude and ignore Fustat, Fustat becomes a threat!

While men hesitated, Amalric I made his decision: his army would split into two forces—one to attack Fustat as planned, the other to assault Laude. He generously took on this burden himself—the heavy responsibility fell to him, the Crusade’s commander and Lord of the Holy Land. Cesar clearly saw several lords exhale in relief.

After all, each brought his own knights. They came to the Holy Land with noble reasons, and told others so—but everyone knew they came to obey Amalric I for their own honor and tangible gain.

Fustat had been held by the Saracens for seven hundred years. Who didn’t know how the infidels adorned their palaces and temples with gold and gems? The caliph’s purple robes filled chests and rooms lined with cedar, while armor and weapons piled like mountains.

At Bilbays, they had already received their first reward; just that alone made the journey worthwhile.

But who wouldn’t prefer to reduce knightly losses? After returning, they’d still face the greedy Church, Amalric I, and other lords. In a crude analogy, they were beasts hunting abroad: one hand must fill their bellies, the other must avoid injury (to preserve strength), or other beasts would swarm and devour them.

————

Having made his sacrifice, Amalric I satisfied the others, who dispersed. Beforehand, they reconfirmed positions: who led, who followed, who guarded the perimeter, who held the center, how many units, which sectors each commanded, who managed the reserve, who oversaw tents and logistics, and the hired soldiers and laborers… and the noblewomen and wives accompanying the army…

Such matters were always tedious but vital—on the battlefield, allies often turned and walked away over disagreements. Fortunately, Amalric I had Heraclius beside him.

What could Heraclius do? He had long expected this day. Beyond Amalric’s affairs, he must arrange all sacred rites: fasting, holy processions, collective prayers, sermons—these rites must be held not only at Bilbays but again outside Fustat.

Worse still, he must watch carefully: schemers would sabotage these ceremonies and blame the victims they wished to poison.

His fears were not unfounded. Cesar found hallucinogenic herbs in some spices; he spotted wax-sealed cracks on the sacred vessels carried during processions; Baldwin’s horses during the procession were not as healthy as they appeared; Cesar also discovered mercury had been added to the wine (the Holy Blood) meant for distribution.

These schemers might be Saracens—or Christians like themselves. Heraclius had told them plainly: don’t assume Baldwin’s leprosy healed by God’s blessing means all is safe.

Until Baldwin has his own child, everything is wasted—he could not speak of Princess Sibylla, but marrying her meant acquiring a kingdom, that was undeniable.

And now, everything Amalric I did—was it Baldwin’s fortune or his death sentence?

After performing the rites and securing God’s blessing and approval, the army finally marched in full force toward Fustat.

From either Saracen or Christian perspective, this host was awe-inspiring, orderly, and devout: monks bore icons and crosses, knights held spears like thorns encircling sacred faces.

These young men—strong, faithful, gifted in battle—dressed like flowers or birds. Though they couldn’t wear gilded or silvered chainmail like Amalric I and the lords, they could inlay gems and pearls into their helmets or hairnets; their surcoats and shields blazed with color, their horse trappings no less splendid.

The upright spears gleamed bright, reflecting sunlight like flames. Those who had become knights and bore banners fixed their flags to the spear shafts; golden silk cords and silver tassels fluttered in the wind.

By the time they reached Fustat’s outskirts, some barracks and tents were already erected. Romans built their camps sturdy to endure their brutal winters, but Amalric I had little concern here—even in the coldest January, temperatures were merely uncomfortable. His plan was to capture Fustat within three months.

“I hope to hold Baldwin’s coming-of-age ceremony in Fustat,” he told Heraclius.

From this alone, one saw Amalric I’s ambition—a tradition inherited from the Romans: when one conquered a new land, one could claim its name as part of one’s own.

Soon, envoys arrived from Fustat. But by now, everyone knew Amalric I would not relent—this was merely ritual. He asked the envoy’s rank, and laughed to find he was merely a minor court scribe, trembling, stammering, certain he’d be dragged out and executed.

“You may return to Shavar,” Amalric I smiled. “He always amuses me.”

He let the envoy go unharmed. On his way back to Fustat, the envoy saw many Christian knights galloping before the city walls, utterly fearless of the crossbows mounted above. Two youths, still unshorn of their knightly tails, stood out: one wore gilded chainmail, the other silvered, glittering in the sun.

Perhaps this act angered some Saracen with equal courage and pride—he loosed an arrow at the youth in gilded mail. The latter, either bold or careless, pulled his horse to a complete stop.

Only when the arrow neared did he casually swing a spear—somehow appearing in his hand—like swatting away a few bothersome flies.

The arrow fell to the ground; the knights behind him cheered.

But the enemy seemed unsatisfied. When the defenders, enraged, fired a crossbow, he pulled the youth in silver mail before him, and arrogantly ordered him to turn his back to the wall.

The Saracen seemed to make a helpless gesture. The massive bolt—strong enough to pierce a boar—whistled through the air, covering hundreds of feet in an instant, striking his back!

Both Saracens and Christians cheered—but the next moment, the Saracens saw the bolt had not pierced him. He turned his hand, caught it firmly in his grip.

He showed the bolt to his friend, then casually tossed it to the ground.

The cheering from the wall vanished.

————

“All of you, pray through the night!” Heraclius said.

(End of chapter)