Chapter 86: Siege! (6)

Baldwin couldn't help but curse incessantly in his heart.

He had to curse William Ma Xieer. Heaven knows, when he talked to them about that little prince who was about their age, he used the words "shy" and "cute."

He really wanted to drag William Ma Xieer over from London and let him see for himself: did this guy who was charging around on the battlefield like a wild boar have even a single letter of relationship with "shy and cute"?

He also really wanted to curse Richard. That's right, the red-haired Arthur was Henry II's fourth child. He disguised himself as Arthur of Aquitaine, an ordinary French knight, took the letter of introduction written by Ma Xieer (the prince suspected Ma Xieer didn't know this was written for him by Richard), crossed half the continent and several countries to come to Arasalu, just to participate in this holy war.

Baldwin really didn't know that war could have such a great attraction to people. As the future King of Arasalu, Baldwin certainly knew that most of these knights who came to fight for his father had no fiefs or titles to inherit. They came here intending to exchange their strength, bodies, and lives—those who participated in the holy war could not only redeem all their sins but also become honored guests of various lords and kings after returning, just like William Ma Xieer.

He hadn't even truly fought the Saracens yet. People heard he had gone to Arasalu and fought for King Amalric I, so they wishedfully thought he was a knight of Christ, a pious good person. Someone had mocked him for not being able to redeem himself immediately after being captured before, but now people either didn't mention it or considered it an example of honesty and steadfastness...

But Arthur—no, who was Richard? He was a person above others from birth. After his elder brother, young Henry, left his mother's embrace, he had been living in his father's court, and there were only two elder sisters above him, and the two sisters didn't have a very good relationship with their mother, so he was deeply loved by his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine. At the age of only eleven, he was named Duke of Aquitaine and betrothed to Louis VII's daughter, Alice of France.

In '72, he became Count of Poitou and received the spear and flag emblem symbolizing his position.

Not long ago, he was still fighting his father with the support of Louis VII—it seemed he lost, but counting the time, he might have packed his bags and run all the way from Frank to Arasalu before the King of England, Henry II, and the King of France, Louis VII, had reached a ceasefire agreement.

That is to say, he had a title, a fief, and property. And because his fief and title came from his mother and his father's enemy, Louis VII, he didn't have to worry about them being stripped away.

Baldwin really couldn't think of why he had to come here to fight a group of Saracens—could he still become the King of the fifth Holy Kingdom?

But clearly, Richard was enjoying it. His weapon wasn't a long sword—although the weapon Saint Paul used in legends was a sword, this time Richard brought his favorite and most comfortable weapon: a battle axe.

He used this battle axe with traces of several weapons. For example, the hacking like a long sword, the striking like a hammer, and the throwing and sweeping like a flail.

Wherever he went, it was a mess of flesh and blood that made people's hearts tremble. And as if to make up for previous regrets, he ran very fast, taking Baldwin and Cesar away from the main force.

"Where is he going?" Baldwin asked during a gap.

Cesar knocked away a crossbow bolt shot by a Saracen for him, breathing slightly, and said, "He is running upward. He... might want to..."

They looked up together and immediately understood Richard's intention. What else could he do?

He wanted to rush to the top floor of the fortress, where there was a suspension bridge connected to Fustat.

"Have you asked him how long the holy grace he received can last?" Cesar asked.

"I asked others. He once said it could last at least for a whole day."

"I hope he isn't bragging," Cesar said.

What would people do when they encountered a fierce and cruel enemy? They would shrink back, they would flee, but some would also be stirred up to wildness, or be wrapped in fear and despair, struggling and resisting at all costs. They could feel the Saracens around them falling into this emotion.

If it were someone else, they might still retain some sanity and not chase those who were fleeing or had already surrendered, but Richard simply didn't care whether the enemy in front of him wanted to kneel or swing a sword. He shouted loudly, his face flushed, and would even laugh when he saw the enemy rushing up. Clearly, he was the kind of "knight" praised by the clerics—to him, the Saracens were not human beings, but beasts and devils.

Richard killed them not only without feeling guilty, but even, as those clerics said, killing these pagans was work done for the Lord, a precious deed.

He was also tirelessly fulfilling this vow, charging and killing all the way, leaving behind countless corpses.

And when Richard suddenly lifted off a Saracen who was biting his arm tightly, the space in front of him suddenly cleared. It turned out they had reached their destination, an empty platform connected to a swaying suspension bridge, and more Saracens were rushing toward them...

——————

At this time, people had already seen more and more Saracens rushing onto the suspension bridge connected to Rawda Island. They shouted angrily, wanting to take this fortress back from the Crusaders, but they encountered a barrier that seemed forever insurmountable, and this barrier was actually just three young knights.

They said this because someone had already recognized that standing in front of this group of Saracens were Baldwin and Cesar, and that... no, that Arthur of Aquitaine.

Amalric I stood up from his chair immediately.

He knew his son wasn't the kind of reckless and impulsive person, and Cesar had always been steady and cautious, but who knew? Perhaps the smoothness on the battlefield had also made this young man develop a trace of undue arrogance. He was displeased that Cesar hadn't stopped Baldwin—he hadn't thought of Arthur of Aquitaine.

However, the news brought by Heraclius later let him know that he had almost been influenced by a father's stubbornness and prejudice again.

"So it's not Arthur of Aquitaine, but Richard?" Amalric I only felt a splitting headache. "He actually hid his name and ran to the battlefield. Did his father not teach him how to respect the master of this place and the King?"

"I think he probably isn't the kind of good child who follows the rules," Heraclius replied, full of sarcasm. "A few months ago, he was still facing his father with swords on the battlefield."

"And according to the news I received, so far, he hasn't received his father's forgiveness. Henry II is furious. He has already forgiven the two sons who also betrayed him, granting them fiefs and castles, but he swore to teach Richard a lesson. He probably doesn't know Richard has already run to us."

"I think Baldwin has probably already discovered it."

"He should have discovered it. So he must be by Richard's side." In such a war, the Grim Reaper never looked at how young, how noble, or how valuable a person was. His scythe swept across the battlefield like wheat, treating everyone equally, even if you wore a crown.

In the siege battle that had lasted for half a day, many knights and nobles had already died.

Some were hit by thrown stones, breaking their necks and losing their lives; some were shot through the head by arrows and fell to the ground immediately; others fell from their warhorses and were trampled by hooves, wailing as they went to see God.

Just now, the King had received bad news: a siege tower built by a noble had collapsed.

When Amalric I was building various siege engines, this noble hadn't been idle either. On a whim, he drew up blueprints, paid out of his own pocket, and asked the craftsmen to build an incredibly sturdy siege tower for him. It did look very sturdy, with oak fences erected all around, covered with heavy cowhide, and it was dozens of feet high and ten or so feet wide.

But something went wrong somewhere. This siege tower was pushed to the city wall, wobbling, and before it could lower the suspension bridge, it sank into the mud under the city wall because it was too heavy, and then began to tilt. If it had fallen toward the city wall, it would have been fine, but the problem was it didn't; it fell to the other side, and the people underneath fled in panic.

Beams, pillars, floorboards, leather bags filled with sand—everything piled inside fell down like hail, burying everyone inside, including that self-smart noble, along with the deaths of nearly twenty knights.

This ridiculous mistake not only brought the enemy's mockery but also dampened the morale of his own people. The King was annoyed but couldn't say much; after all, the noble himself was dead.

Later, there was also a young knight he valued. He had once wanted to promote him to a higher position, and the knight had already learned of this news from Amalric I. Perhaps because of this, he wanted to win a merit as soon as possible. When a battering ram hammered a crack in the temporary barrier set up outside the city gate, he was extremely excited because he saw the enemy on the other side of the crack.

He shouted loudly, encouraging people to widen this crack, but at this time, several spears stretched out from the crack, piercing his chest in an instant, and he died immediately. Not only that, those hateful Saracens actually threw hooks from the city wall, hooked his chainmail, hung him on the city wall, and then cruelly humiliated his corpse. His head was cut off, put into a catapult, and thrown outside the city, and then they hung his naked body on the city wall.

People couldn't help but cry out loud when they saw such a situation. It wasn't until a long time later that his corpse was thrown down. They sewed his head and body together and dressed him in the best clothes. His face still had traces of anger and horror, but he was still worthy of being called brave and fearless. The King had decided to bury him on that most sacred hillside, and he would ascend to heaven to accompany the saints.

But inevitably, the death of this young knight made the King begin to worry about his own child.

For a long time, he couldn't see, nor did he know where he had gone—even if Rawda Island was just a fortress, it couldn't be taken in a moment, not to mention there was a wooden bridge, and the Saracens were reinforcing the defenders in the fortress from that wooden bridge and the suspension bridge.

The knights fought the Saracens for a long time before finally burning down that wooden bridge, and then, one after another, people rushed from inside the fortress onto the platform where the suspension bridge was hung—they didn't even know the Prince and Cesar, and "Arthur" of Aquitaine were here at first, and were even startled.

And even if calculated from Prime (nine in the morning) to None (two in the afternoon), they had already held their ground and fought for a full half-day. The platform couldn't even hold the corpses, which were thrown directly under the tower or into the river by them or the Saracens. The three young warriors, two of whom were still squires, were covered in blood and exhausted, even though they were deeply favored by the saints. After being received, they fell to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.

————

When Cesar woke up, he found the surroundings in complete silence. He was so startled he almost jumped up from the bed, but was immediately pressed down by a familiar hand.

"Master?"

Heraclius nodded, struck the flint, and lit a candle.

He had been treating Cesar just now. The problem was that Cesar's injuries weren't heavy, just a depletion of power—he had not only to guard Baldwin but also to guard Richard, who might be the son of Henry II... and at the same time, he had to fight the Saracens.

One person took on the responsibility of three. He was the last one to wake up. Heraclius couldn't complain about Baldwin, but he could complain about Richard. It was just a pity that Richard, this careless fellow, might be a bit sharp on the battlefield, but off the battlefield, he was a standard idiot—he couldn't understand Heraclius's look at all.

"Baldwin, and... Arthur?"

"He was just here..." Heraclius said, and then suddenly showed an extremely annoyed expression—he heard heavy footsteps, and then the tent was lifted. "Arthur" dragged Baldwin in. They had both bathed and changed clothes. "Arthur" seemed to no longer be disguising himself, wearing clothes befitting his true identity.

A white silk shirt, a sleeveless vermilion velvet coat, a gold belt, orange tights, and brown deerskin boots. A large gold cross hung on his chest, inlaid with rubies, looking like a reliquary that could be opened.

"I must apologize to you first, friend," he said sincerely. "I hid my name and identity because I preferred to rush to the battlefield of the holy war as an ordinary warrior—I am Richard. Son of Henry II, King of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou, and Duke of Aquitaine, and the Queen of England, Duchess of Aquitaine."

"Secondly, I want to thank you for your help and protection. You saved my life."

"Finally," he asked genuinely, "I have a good marriage prospect here. Would you like to try it?"

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 87 =====