Chapter 94: The Death of the King (2)

Perhaps some would say Cesar's guilt was groundless; after all, were it not Amalric I and those nobles surrounding him who, full of pride and joy, walked into this trap themselves?

These people had experienced so many wars and were accustomed to the conspiracies of the court, yet they still easily fell for someone else's trick because of a little vanity. They were the ones who should be condemned.

But Baldwin was the only person who had treated Cesar with equality when he first arrived in this world. He did not know if this was Baldwin's nature or the inferiority brought about by leprosy, but he preferred to believe it was the former. Because there were plenty of patients who, having contracted incurable diseases, gave up on themselves and were filled with hatred for the whole world, especially those who were healthy and beautiful.

They should not be condemned, but it made Baldwin appear especially precious, not to mention that he had a status far higher than others.

Cesar looked at Baldwin like an elder brother looking at a younger brother, and like a friend looking at a confidant. Especially since they were compatible in certain areas, having the same concepts and views. In this era, in this place, how precious that was, it went without saying.

He had already seen Baldwin's charred hands.

Before meeting Cesar, Baldwin, like other peers, was not good at or keen on taking care of himself. A squire or knight might wear brightly colored clothes and hairnets woven with gold thread, but that did not prevent them from spitting or urinating everywhere—not to mention the younger boys, who sometimes even rolled in the mud with pigs.

And Baldwin's condition had not progressed rapidly in these few years, partly because of the ointment that Heraclius and Cesar had prepared for him, and partly because he strictly followed the various rules Cesar had set for him, from dietary requirements to adjustments in his daily routine, and then to the high-frequency, cumbersome cleaning work. It could be said that even an adult might not be able to fully comply.

But Baldwin had done it all. He was like a small tree that had been infested with insects but was still trying its best to stretch its branches and leaves to welcome the sun and rain. Cesar had watched how those yellowing, curled leaves had returned to a lush green. He knew how difficult Baldwin's life was, and how lucky he was.

No matter how heavy the Prince's studies were, how busy the squire's work was, or even if some secretly mocked his behavior of caring for his hands and face as if he were a woman, he had never wavered.

He knew that what he shouldered was not just his own health.

But today, he had completely forgotten the instructions Cesar and Heraclius had given him. He had thrust his hands directly into the flames. His silk gloves immediately caught fire, igniting the skin inside and spreading all the way to his sleeves and front.

He was the one among all of them whose injuries were second only to Amalric I's. Cesar did not dare to think about whether, if they could still walk out of this palace, there would be a Baldwin following Amalric I in death.

Taking advantage of the effort to repel another wave of enemies, other generals, nobles, and knights hurried to check on Amalric I's condition. The King's state made everyone show a look of despair, yet they had to pull themselves together.

"Are they crazy?" Bohemond spat on the ground. They had just used the curtains in the small room to put out some of the flames, but those toxic mists were still constantly pouring into the room.

This room had only one window, but they had pushed a cabinet over to block it tightly. Otherwise, Saracens—either eunuchs or soldiers—would have jumped in, trying to kill them.

"But what good does this do them?" a knight muttered.

Heraclius, who heard this mutter, looked mockingly at Shawar, who was lying on the ground.

He was already completely unrecognizable. The fire ignited by naphtha was hotter and sharper than the fire ignited by charcoal or coal, instantly penetrating the soldiers' leather armor or robes, burning straight through their skin and gnawing at their muscles.

And Shawar had once been such a plump fat man. It was hard to say whether what was burning on him was naphtha or the fat on his body.

But whether it was the noblest person or the lowliest person, the only thing they had in common was life. The noblest person would not have one more, and the lowliest person would not have one less. For these people, this deal was really too cost-effective. Even in the records of the Church, it would be said that the King of Jerusalem died at the hands of a group of eunuchs.

Moreover, they had faith. He could almost imagine what Shawar said to those who decided to stay in the city and turn themselves, along with the invading enemies, into fuel in the hellfire when he was planning this conspiracy.

He would say that no matter how lowly their status had been before, or what crimes they had committed, as long as they could completely bury the Saracens' most powerful enemy here, they would not only receive God's forgiveness but also become the forerunners of every Saracen. When they reached heaven, the glory and blessings they would receive would be something even the Caliph would envy.

Everyone on earth would have to pray to them, begging them to protect and bless them. They would leap from the mud of the earth to become the moon and sun in the sky.

As for how he knew, hey, because if he were Shawar, he would say the same thing.

With such a promise, these people would only go to their deaths with a smile. They firmly believed that they could get such a reward. Compared to the eternal kingdom of heaven, what was there to be attached to on the suffering earth?

The not-so-sturdy small room was attacked wave after wave. If the only window had not been blocked, and the fire in the hall had not been winding like a poisonous snake, they might have been killed by these hidden enemies long ago.

Fortunately, Cesar had returned to them at all costs. The favor the saints granted him seemed endless. The holy light unfolded in the room like a fine silver net, and everyone received his protection. Except for Bohemond, the Duke of Antioch, who still had a strange, half-smiling expression, even the stubborn Raymond, Count of Tripoli, had to nod slightly to him in the gaps of the fighting.

No one asked why he had left the banquet just now.

Many people had left the banquet, and some had not returned even now. It was unknown whether they had been killed or had seen the fire here and dared not approach.

Cesar not only returned but also gave these noble people the support they needed most at this time. They did indeed have blessings on them, but they were now trapped in a small room. Amalric I's life or death was uncertain, Prince Baldwin was injured, and many knights and squires were left outside, which was likely ominous.

They had come to the banquet. Out of contempt for Shawar, although they wore chainmail under their velvet and silk robes, they did not carry their most handy weapons, only daggers used as dinner knives and ceremonial long swords. Raymond did have a short spear in his hand that he had snatched from a Saracen soldier, which was just right for stabbing those guys who wanted to squeeze in from the doors and windows.

But the state of the others was much worse than his, not to mention the smoke and poison gas that made them cry constantly. They tried their best not to speak, because the high temperature had made their mouths and tongues hot, their throats dry, and even every breath felt like a handful of charcoal in their lungs. They were eager to drink water, but unfortunately, there were no water bottles in this small room.

If it were not for a bit of reason, Raymond would even have wanted to tear open Shawar's body and drink a few mouthfuls of his uncongealed blood from his blood vessels.

"Alert!" he suddenly shouted, raising the short spear in his hand. Someone was rushing through the flames and smoke toward them, but immediately after, a knight suddenly let out a joyful shout. Because the person coming did not have a turban, nor was he wearing a long robe, but was dressed in Christian clothing. When he got closer, the conspicuous red hair made them immediately recognize the other's identity.

"It is Richard of Aquitaine... Arthur!" Raymond said joyfully.

Richard cut down all the Saracens surrounding the small room, and then moved the furniture that had been used as obstacles with the others.

Seeing the people in the small room, Richard could not hide his joy. When he rushed over, he also met Stephen of Boulogne and Robert of Flanders. Among them was a team led by Cesar's servant—the wandering knight Longinus. As soon as they saw the fire in the city, they, like Richard, immediately thought that what the Grand Vizier Shawar had carefully prepared was probably not a grand banquet, but a trap.

Even so, the long journey still took them a lot of time. Fortunately, they arrived in time... —Richard's smile froze on his face the next moment. He saw Amalric I lying in the corner of the small room, and Baldwin leaning beside him.

"God!" he groaned subconsciously, but it was only one groan. The fire outside had lessened a lot, but this was not a place to stay for long. He immediately ran forward, wanting to pick up the King, but did not know how to start.

There was no good place on Amalric I's body, and Richard was afraid that a too-rough movement would make Amalric I's body fall apart directly.

"A litter, we need a litter," he said urgently. At this time, Longinus had already run in with people. His reaction was more agile than anyone else's. As soon as he saw the situation, he immediately rushed out of the palace and found the spears left by the Saracens earlier.

They quickly made two simple litters with cloaks and two spears, moved Amalric I and Baldwin onto them, and then quickly left this terrible purgatory.

Shawar's plan was considered a success. He destroyed the commander of the Crusaders, the King of Jerusalem, the hero of the Christians, at his most brilliant moment—for the Crusaders, it was a major blow. But this plan could not be said to be a complete success. The important figures of the Crusaders were not all wiped out as he had thought.

They were all carrying injuries, either light or heavy, but after only a simple treatment by the clerics, they were anxious to return to the city of Fustat, trying to gather their knights and soldiers again.

Some people thought about whether they could put out the fire, but when they passed through the archway and looked down at the city again, they knew it was already impossible.

How much naphtha did this damn pagan pile up?

No one knew, but they only needed to know that this naphtha had completely burned down the city. Looking at it, the flames had swept across the entire field of vision. Trees were burning, houses were burning, and people were burning. They might be wailing, but the sound of burning was louder—the whole city was bright. This heat and bright red, comparable to the scorching sun at noon, swallowed the air above the city, making the dim moonlight even more chaotic and unclear.

"We must leave immediately!" Bohemond shouted. Who would not think so? This city was already beyond redemption.

And when the fire first started, some more vigilant knights, or those who did not value money so much, had already retreated with their squires and servants, and had even walked out of the city. And other guys who thought they could enjoy themselves wantonly died in the fire for nothing because they drank too much wine or could not bear to part with the money they had plundered.

"We should have killed everyone in this city!" Raymond roared angrily. Bohemond just looked at him irritably. What was the use of saying such things at this time? Besides, they had not restricted the behavior of the knights after they entered Fustat. Whether they wanted to slaughter, plunder, or even commit violence and arson, they had never stopped them.

But this was, after all, a large city of 100,000 people.

Moreover, Shawar was so cunning and treacherous. Who would have thought that such a mercenary, all-powerful villain would have such courage to use the entire Fustat to set this trap that people had to fall into, and even he himself became one of the baits. They also saw the Caliph Al-Adid—some of them here had seen the Caliph, he was indeed... wait?

"Where is Caliph Al-Adid?"

"He may have already fled outside the city." At that time, none of them paid attention to this puppet of Shawar. If they still had to deal with Shawar and other people in the Fatimid court, they might still respect and value the young man on the surface. Now that even Fustat was the Christians', Al-Adid had naturally become an unimportant minor character.

"Do not worry about the Caliph," Raymond said irritably. "Gather the people and leave here."

He took the lead and walked toward the direction of the King's Gate. Along the way, they were worried about whether Saracen soldiers would rush out to ambush them, but no. It seemed that these Saracens thought that the flames were enough to replace them in punishing these hateful enemies. They walked all the way to the King's Gate. The knights jumped off their horses to push open the city gate. Bohemond frowned; he did not see the soldiers who should have been guarding here.

No torches were lit in the gloomy tunnel. Richard and Bohemond walked in front. Suddenly, they stopped. Raymond, who was walking behind and taking care of the King and Prince Baldwin, could not help but curse—the soldiers carrying the litter almost bumped into him.

And the scene that appeared before Richard and Bohemond was not so unpredictable.

On the open plain in front of the King's Gate, under the cobalt blue sky light and the silver moonlight, stood a black army that was almost one with the distant mountain peaks.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 95 =====