Chapter 89: Siege! (9)

The "Tower of David" did not disappoint Amalric I. Just like Baldwin and Cesar, they stood back-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder, in the identity of two youths, and in their first battle, they achieved a record that people simply couldn't believe—they led knights as young as them and tore a small crack in the direction where the Saracens were as firm as iron and stone!

It was so small, but Richard discovered it immediately. He immediately abandoned the enemy in front of him, rushed over to consolidate this crack with Baldwin and Cesar. The knight responsible for scouting on the siege tower immediately blew his horn, and the Crusader knights immediately turned to this position to attack with all their might.

They rushed up to the top floor of the "Tower of David" like an ant colony, further expanding the previous results.

And the moment they suppressed the Saracens, the battering ram at the bottom of the "Tower of David" finally let out its first roar.

It was made of a rare olive wood, about nine feet in diameter. People said it might have grown in the olive groves around Fustat for a thousand years. If people didn't need it to pry open Fustat's city defenses, it might have existed for another thousand years.

Its length was also twenty feet, surrounded by twelve circles of hard iron hoops, and the end was a giant ram's head.

This ram's head had curved horns, a protruding nose, and exposed fangs, looking more like a demon's head. Perhaps that was the craftsman's original intention.

Before hanging it up with iron chains, people poured vinegar on it. This practice was the same as soaking the cowhide and sheepskin on the siege tower in vinegar. The main material of "Greek fire" was naphtha, and only vinegar could prevent its spread.

Originally, Amalric I wanted to use a torque winch to enhance it, but gave up because there was no leather rope that could control this giant object—what was used to push it was still more than a hundred strong soldiers.

They all had knotted muscles and broad shoulders. Under the command of the knights, they pushed the battering ram toward the city wall time and time again—these people also needed to be very agile and careful.

When the battering ram swung back due to the power returned by the thick city wall, if one wasn't careful, it could knock people flying in an instant. The person knocked flying was just like those unfortunate people directly hit by stone projectiles or crossbow bolts; their chests were sunken, flesh and blood were blurred, and they died immediately.

However, they were at least luckier than the previous soldiers, because the Saracens above them had already been cleared. They didn't have to worry about arrows, stone projectiles, or even burning feces falling on them, nor would anyone throw bags filled with straw and grain husks to dissipate the battering ram's power, making them waste their strength in vain.

Under the most brilliant sun at noon, the battering ram under the "Tower of David" finally erupted with the most intense impact. As if in an instant, the outer wall of Fustat's double-layered city wall was destroyed. Suddenly, on the gray stone city wall that seemed forever impossible to break, there was a huge and terrifying hole.

The soldiers operating the battering ram fell one after another, and before they understood what was happening—mainly because the previous few hours had been too exhausting and painful—the battering ram swung back blankly like a knight who had lost his target.

What woke them up were the Saracens' terrified screams. They immediately jumped up, full of energy because of the merit and reward that was destined to be obtained.

After breaking the outer wall, what was exposed was the passage and small cave rooms inside. Sometimes there were soldiers passing through or waiting for the enemy in these spaces.

But before they could act, the small catapults and crossbows prepared on the side threw stone projectiles and arrows. They were immediately bloody and fell to the ground, and then the Christians rushed up, moved away the broken stones, and pushed the battering ram toward the deeper places.

The inner city wall was not as thick as the outer one. A moment later, a crack appeared. A few Saracens on the opposite side of the crack were shouting to their companions. They used a small ignited battering ram to hammer anyone who dared to want to widen the crack, and then stood this battering ram upright, letting it fall toward the opposite side, expecting to use this method to ignite the "Tower of David."

"Hold on, hold on!" someone shouted loudly. The Christians wanted to finish it in one go, while the Saracens were fighting to the death. They poured cartloads of rubble at the crack position and constantly poured oil and ignited it, burning the stones until they were red-hot to block the attack.

And at this time, more Saracens rushed onto the city wall, fighting the knights regardless of everything, and those small catapults and crossbows fixed on the city wall were dismantled and moved here, becoming a new threat.

Baldwin and Cesar had already been replaced. Even if they received the saint's favor and could block a hundred people with one person's power, could they block a thousand or ten thousand? Besides, being too conspicuous wasn't a good thing.

Richard sat beside them, drinking ice-added wine heavily. Even so, he was still as hot as a charcoal fire. The wine didn't seem to be drunk by him, but poured into the charcoal fire, "hissing" and disappearing!

"Don't mention it," he smacked his lips. "Those guys are too useless!"

Baldwin didn't approve of Richard's words. If he had to say it, it was because Richard, and he and Cesar, performed too prominently—making the subsequent people who came to support look a bit dim.

But what they lacked wasn't courage, but talent.

Furthermore, some tricky guys also appeared among the Saracens later—those "blades" who had also received the prophet's enlightenment. They were transferred to this city wall because of Baldwin, Cesar, and Richard, but at that time they had already left.

The knights who climbed the city wall later had certainly received God's blessing, but compared to them, they were a bit mediocre—so much so that they couldn't withstand such an impact. They were either killed or fell off the city wall, and only a few retreated to the "Tower of David." At this time, the "Tower of David" had already retreated, lest it become the Saracens' trophy.

Even so, there were still Saracens jumping into the air, landing on the suspension bridge that hadn't been retracted yet with a fearless posture, continuing to fight the knights.

"Useless is useless, do you still need to find any excuses?" Another voice intervened. It was the Templar Walter, who was also covered in blood and dust, his chainmail damaged everywhere, his hair disheveled, and his eyes red.

He walked into the tent. Richard handed him the cup in his hand. He nodded, took it, scooped a large cup in the wooden box filled with crushed ice, and added a full cup of wine to it.

"My place is also a group of cowards, ptooey, cowards, rabbits, rats!" he said in a series.

"I saw the Saracens going to the King's Gate, so I hurriedly told them to set up ladders so we could climb the city wall together. Fighting the Saracens and taking their city, I didn't expect that I called several times, and they only hesitated..." He drank it in one gulp and clenched the cup. "Good timing is fleeting!"

The Templar Order was responsible for the Victory Gate. Richard heard this and also felt it was a pity. But to be honest, not everyone had the courage to sacrifice their lives just to get God's grace. More accurately, this grace was useless to secular people.

"But these Saracens still lied. They hung some people down from the city wall, wanting to talk to us."

"Who?" Baldwin asked. He seemed not to have seen the Saracen envoys by Amalric I's side.

"They have all been killed by me," Walter said. "Although it's a pity I couldn't take the King's Gate directly, but children, we can all see that breaking the city is just a matter of these few days."

The city wall broken by the battering ram couldn't be repaired so easily. Even if the Saracens had materials and manpower, Amalric I had long ago arranged ballistae and catapults. The bags filled with straw and grain husks they had hung on the city wall before were also confiscated. These were all sent to the tunnel entrance near the city gate.

Long before the official siege, Amalric I had arranged for people to dig tunnels. Now the tunnels had been dug to the underground near the city gate. People used oak as support, filled the sizable cave with hay, branches, and other flammable materials, and then poured tens of thousands of jars of olive oil and lard, just waiting to be ignited.

When to ignite? Just look at when people cheered.

The outer city wall on the left side of the King's Gate hadn't been repaired, and the city wall on the right side of the Victory Gate collapsed amidst smoke and high heat. This gap connected the outer city wall and the inner city wall. Every Saracen was wailing in despair, and the Crusader knights and soldiers couldn't wait to rush forward. They killed each other crazily at the gap. Blood flowed more than the olive oil before, and the corpses piled up into hills.

Victory was in sight, and Amalric I's authority rose to a new peak. Now he had become gentle and humble instead. He didn't even let Baldwin and Cesar go to those most dangerous places, because they had already proven their bravery and piety, and should leave the opportunities to others.

The facts were indeed so. The Saracens were still resisting, but this resistance was like seeking an opportunity to perish with the enemy. This atmosphere of despair certainly couldn't compare to the high morale of the Crusader knights—everyone knew that perhaps in the next dawn, they could possess this beautiful and wealthy noblewoman.

Yes, but not at a dawn, but in the middle of the night.

Cesar and Baldwin, who had already fallen asleep, were suddenly woken up. They were asked to wash and change clothes, dressing as gorgeously as possible. Then, they were hurriedly taken by Amalric I's attendants to that huge tent—it was already brightly lit.

Amalric I also seemed to have just woken up from his bed, wearing only a loose linen robe, without wearing any jewelry, which was in stark contrast to Cesar and Baldwin, who were requested to be dressed gorgeously.

But at this time, what clothes or jewelry did Amalric I need to decorate himself? He had already obtained the laurel wreath he had always dreamed of. Kneeling before him in an incomparably humble posture was none other than the Grand Vizier Shawar.

Baldwin hadn't seen him, but he had heard of his appearance. Just as his father had described in resentment and anger, he looked very much like a cunning fat pig, bloated, and hideous. He had a pair of shrewd small eyes and fat ears, but at this time, those eyes were also red and swollen from fear and anxiety, without any luster.

When he saw Baldwin, he immediately recognized this heir, although he hadn't seen Baldwin before—he immediately knelt and crawled over, accurately pressing his lips onto Baldwin's boots. Baldwin almost jumped up and almost screamed.

He had indeed heard that some people would kiss the Pope's toes, but when this kind of thing happened to him, he didn't feel it was interesting at all, and even felt a bit disgusted.

Amalric I let out a mocking laugh. Just as Shawar had guessed, his embarrassment made the King very happy.

Shawar, of course, wasn't here to chat with Amalric I. He had intended to seek peace with Amalric I before. It was just that at that time, Amalric I no longer believed his words.

Today he came here, also facing a huge crisis. After all, he had fooled this winner—the return of two million gold coins he mentioned was impossible to be fulfilled.

The national treasury of the Fatimid dynasty had long been empty, and he himself might be able to come up with one million gold coins—before, he had bribed Shirkuh and his nephew with two hundred thousand gold coins, but didn't succeed.

He was now willing to hand over all this money, along with this city, just asking to be able to leave Fustat safely.

Amalric I was noncommittal. "I don't want to bargain with you," he said, "nor do I want to trade with you for things I can definitely get."

"The people of Fustat have decided to fight you to the death," Shawar said. "I know you are a kind and generous person, especially to your Christian compatriots. Yes, at this time—you are very right, this city can already be considered yours."

"But before this, how much more will you lose? Those brave knights and soldiers, even if you don't begrudge their lives, you should begrudge your own money. Besides, do you think you will be satisfied if you get Fustat?"

"No, you won't. You need to get more, Giza, Alexandria, and later perhaps Damascus. Your vision is so far-reaching, and your ambition is so vigorous. Instead of wasting them in this battle that can already see the ending, why not let these respectable warriors win more merits in another place?"

"What I ask for is not much. You can even take the Caliph's life, or keep him in your palace. You can dispose of everyone in Fustat city as you wish, from men to women, from old to young. You want to kill them all, kill them all; you want to keep them as slaves, keep them as slaves; you want to sell them, or release them, it's all up to you."

"And what I hope for is only such a small forgiveness."

"You really are a despicable and shameless person," Amalric I sighed. "But you have already made me lose so much. If you were willing to surrender, you should have surrendered at the beginning."

"Then I also have to see that this city really has no hope before I can be sure what I should do?" Shawar said shamelessly, but his words did hit Amalric I's heart.

He had already seen that the people of Fustat were not those of Bilbeis. They didn't have such docility, nor were they corrupted to the deepest level, to the point of no salvation.

They still had spirit and backbone. He could certainly continue to order his knights to attack Fustat as planned, but this was meaningless. Fustat was not the end. In his lifetime, his horse's hooves would tread on more pagan lands.

"Then you mean you will open the city gates of Fustat for me."

"Open the King's Gate for you, this was originally the place you should step into," Shawar said incomparably humbly. He put his hands on the ground and rubbed his face against the carpet on the tent.

"Alright," Amalric I said. "If you do it, Shawar, I will spare your life."

"Is he credible?"

After Shawar left, Heraclius asked.

"Credible or not, what does it matter? As long as the city gate opens, the next step is our move," Amalric I said.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 90 =====