Chapter 95: The Death of the King (3)

"It is Shirkuh and his nephew Saladin," Bohemond whispered, as if afraid of startling something extraordinary.

Richard opened his eyes wide and asked in surprise, "Did they not already retreat to Damascus in accordance with the decree of their Sultan Nur ad-Din? How can they still be here?"

Clearly, whether bribed by Shawar or out of their own ambition, this Kurdish uncle and nephew did not follow the decree of Sultan Nur ad-Din or the hope of Amalric I to abandon Fustat and retreat to Damascus.

The merchants they sent to gather information were either deceived or bought off—the news they sent out was false. This uncle and nephew and their army might have been hiding in Giza or some nearby city all along.

They waited quietly, like an experienced and patient hunter. They watched them attack Fustat until the city fell, and then, like a signal, the fire rising in Fustat indicated that Shawar's conspiracy had succeeded, and what they had to do was to block the way between them and Bilbeis when the Christians were retreating in a sorry state.

"Are we going to retreat?" Richard asked. Although he had sworn to kill every Saracen he saw, his great-uncle and his uncle were still lying on the litter behind him. Once the two sides engaged in battle, not only would they certainly die, but the people behind would not even have a chance to escape.

"Wait a moment, the situation might not be that bad," Bohemond said.

After a while, they saw an Arabian horse run out of the cavalry team opposite. Even with only the sky light, one could see that its coat was shiny and its four hooves were strong and powerful. The Saracen sitting on it wore a black robe and a turban of the same color. Although he was tall, his hair was gray and his beard was like frost.

"Shirkuh," Bohemond reminded, and then spurred his horse forward.

In the previous campaign (Amalric I's first attack on Egypt), they had seen each other on the battlefield, but they had not directly engaged. At that time, the one fighting Shirkuh was Amalric I, who was lying on the litter behind.

Shirkuh scanned him up and down with eyes as sharp as a falcon's and nodded slightly, but did not salute. This arrogant posture made Bohemond angry but helpless.

They were clearly at a disadvantage now. If the Christians did not still have Bilbeis, they might have already become prisoners or ghosts under the swords of these Saracens.

"Shirkuh," the other party simply stated his name. Bohemond hesitated for a moment: "Bohemond, Duke of Antioch."

"Where is your King?" Shirkuh asked. This question made Bohemond's heart churn with dense poisonous thorns. He showed a malicious smile: "Do you want to see our King? It is a pity," he said, "probably not," he gestured slightly behind him, "he is almost like a dead man now."

Shirkuh was slightly startled. He knew Shawar's plan—Shawar had not hidden his thoughts from him, wanting to let these hateful Christians walk into the trap themselves. Shirkuh and Saladin could not continue to stay in Fustat.

Of course, Shawar would rather see them both suffer. Unfortunately, Shirkuh and Saladin were never the kind of people whose thinking was so rigid as to be near stupidity. They were loyal to Nur ad-Din of Zengi, but like two strong leopards following a fierce lion, their obedience was limited to when Nur ad-Din was still a strong man.

Since they came to Fustat for the second time, Shawar could be sure that these two Kurds were no longer so afraid of Nur ad-Din, who was far away in Syria.

Indeed, Nur ad-Din had once been a brilliant monarch with great talent and bold vision. Unfortunately, he was too old. He was now in his fifties, nearly sixty, and it was said that he had been plagued by serious illness. The most terrible thing was that he had no successor.

Yes, he had sons, but none of his sons could compare to him, not even one-tenth. They had never set their sights outside the court, only craving what was in their father's hands. But this could not be blamed on them; after all, Nur ad-Din owned too much—Syria, Damascus, Edessa...

Such a vast piece of land, let alone Nur ad-Din having only three sons, even if he had thirty, would be enough for them to divide and enjoy to their heart's content. And their stupidity and Nur ad-Din's weakness were first discovered by Shirkuh and Saladin. Nur ad-Din seemed unable to rest easy keeping them by his side, which was why there was the first and second distant assignment.

So if Shawar wanted them to go out of the city and fight the Crusaders, who were in high spirits, Shirkuh would not listen to his deployment at all. But as long as he saw the fire rising in Fustat, he knew that this was the time when this expeditionary army was at its most panicked and weak.

It was just that Amalric I's serious injury, or even impending death, was beyond Shirkuh's expectations. He thought that even without Cesar, those people should be able to ensure the safety of their monarch—what a bunch of useless guys. He thought in his heart, or it could be the mutual infighting and calculation of these Christians.

At least the person in front of him had no respect for their King, and it could almost be called vicious. He easily told Shirkuh that the Christian King was dying—Shirkuh glanced behind him and indeed saw the two simple litters.

"Two?"

"There is also one belonging to our Prince Baldwin. He is not dead yet, but he is also seriously injured—how ridiculous, they were not injured in the fierce war, but were poisoned by you in a base conspiracy," Bohemond said in an overly calm tone: "But if you think you can win without a fight, Saracen, that is wishful thinking," he said firmly.

Although Amalric I had lost the ability to lead the army in battle, they still had Raymond, Bohemond, and other noble military personnel. And during the time they were talking, the knights who had been walking out of the city gate one after another had already regrouped and raised their flags.

Under the reflection of the fire, they were as silent as Shirkuh's army. But in this silence, there was a pressure that was hard to resist. Shirkuh knew that these knights must be full of anger. Although they were the invaders, did they think that the resistance of the people of Fustat was a matter of course?

Of course not. They would only be surprised at the stubbornness of the residents here and swear to kill every Saracen they saw in the future.

The victimization of Amalric I and his successor Baldwin could not be said to be entirely good news, even for the Saracens—these knights should have been full of indignation, thinking only of avenging their monarch who had been meanly calculated. Once the war started, they might gain an advantage, but they would also inevitably suffer heavy losses.

Moreover, there were still some Crusaders left in Bilbeis. Not to mention that their purpose was not to kill these Christians in the first place.

"Then, negotiation?" Bohemond asked. After a long while, he saw Shirkuh nod coldly: "Negotiation."

Subsequently, he turned his horse around and ran back to his army in the rolling dust.

Bohemond saw him say something to a younger Saracen (who should be his nephew Saladin). The other party pondered for a moment and then nodded, indicating agreement, before he suddenly relaxed, only feeling dizzy.

The posture he had just taken was deliberately put on.

Bohemond knew very well that the continuous siege battles, the slaughter and feasting after entering the city, and the fear and shock brought by the fire had long caused most of the knights to lose the courage to fight.

He admitted that there were some good young men among them with firm will and bold temperament, but he also had to admit that more were some idiots who even he found annoying. He could not be sure if they would collapse at the first blow if they really engaged in a head-on battle with Shirkuh and Saladin.

And the war with the pagans was completely different from the war with the Christians. He might be captured, become a prisoner, and then, as his stepfather Raynald of Châtillon and he himself had suffered, be locked in a Saracen prison for ten or twenty years.

It was also possible that he would not have such good luck and would be killed by the Saracens directly on the battlefield, or fall under the hooves and be trampled to death.

It was even more likely that in order to appease the people in Fustat, he would be brought out and have his head cut off under their gaze. Such things had not happened before.

Richard watched Bohemond turn his horse around. Although he would not fear any war with the pagans, at this time, he also hoped to negotiate.

Without him saying it, even when Raymond got this result, his heart was full of mixed feelings. In the morning, he was still happily looking down at the city, and even had an arrogant idea of wanting to stay in Bilbeis.

Fustat naturally belonged to Amalric I, there was no doubt about that, but he did not think that Bohemond, the weakest and most cowardly among them, could shoulder the heavy responsibility of Bilbeis.

But the mockery of fate always came so quickly. In just one day and one night, their honor, city, and spoils were all burned to ashes. He could not be sure how many knights had escaped from Fustat, nor did he know how to tell other generals about this—this was naturally the work of the cunning Saracens, but it was also true that they were too arrogant and negligent.

With a restless mood, he looked at Amalric I, who was still lying on the litter in a coma, and finally set his eyes on Baldwin. The Prince had been watching his father with concern.

Although it was determined to negotiate with the Saracens, Raymond was not sure what kind of result could be negotiated, not to mention that he was not the King—when Bohemond looked over, Raymond turned his head away. He did not want Bohemond to see his face at this moment.

Because he remembered that Bohemond had once said that if Amalric I died and Baldwin also died, then the person closest to the throne was him.

"Father!" Baldwin suddenly shouted. They found that Amalric I had woken up.

Although he had been treated by the clerics, the fire poison had penetrated deep into the King's skin, muscles, and even bones. As soon as he woke up, he felt so much pain that he wanted to faint immediately, but as soon as he saw the tunnel illuminated by the knights' torches, he knew what had happened.

He recognized this place. When he rode his horse through here, he had looked at it carefully and seriously, just like every time he walked into the Jaffa Gate.

He wanted to speak, but his voice was so hoarse that no one could tell what he was saying, only watching his lips move.

Fortunately, Heraclius had jumped off his horse and walked over quickly. He held Amalric I's hand—taking care not to touch the wounds that were still flesh-rolling—and then whispered the general situation to him—they had escaped from the palace, Baldwin and others had suffered some injuries, but their lives were not in danger.

The knights, squires, and servants who survived the fire, as well as other Christians, were heading to the King's Gate. As it stands, at least one-third of the knights managed to escape. This could not be said to be good news, but it was much better than the whole army being wiped out.

Amalric I pulled out a ferocious smile. His eyeballs turned slightly, and he saw Baldwin, who was leaning over. His hands were wrapped in snow-white bandages, which instantly stung Amalric I's eyes.

The King still remembered what his son had done—at that time, only Baldwin had rushed over, regardless of the burning of the flames, just wanting to separate him from Shawar—he wanted to comfort this child, but he had more important things to do at this time.

Amalric I raised his finger. Heraclius followed his movement and saw the signet ring worn on that finger, which had the seal of the King of Jerusalem. He placed his finger on the ring and, seeing that Amalric I had no objection, took the ring off and held it in his hand.

"And..." Heraclius looked around and whispered: "Raymond?"

Amalric I shook his head. Heraclius understood what he meant: "Bohemond."

The King nodded unhappily. He did not like Bohemond, but at this time, only these two people could still be trusted. Compared to others, they also knew the Saracens better, especially Shirkuh and Saladin.

The Saracens and the Christians soon set up a large tent in front of the King's Gate. This tent would serve as the negotiation site, while Amalric I and Baldwin were temporarily moved to another tent, not far from the negotiation location.

Before the negotiation, Heraclius specially performed the last rites for Amalric I, and even anointed him, so that Amalric I would not suddenly die because he could not persist during the subsequent negotiation process.

For people at this time, dying without the last rites was the most terrible "necrosis." Not to mention that Amalric I would go to hell in the future, even all the clerics present, including Heraclius, would be held accountable by the Church.

The most serious situation was that they might be stripped of their holy orders and excommunicated because they did not fulfill their duties and left a dying person alone.

Heraclius walked out of the tent. The King stared at the lowered tent door for a while, then suddenly shouted: "Cesar!"

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 96 =====