kingdom of nations

Chapter 181 Annihilation of the Murray (Part 2)

Remarkably, this time Raymond did not resort to their usual methods—besieging the castle with his army and sending envoys to make a declaration to the enemy, which, simply put, was to publicly declare all his power and condemn the enemy's mistakes in order to undermine their morale.

But Mullah didn't need that. From the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, from Byzantium to Syria, who didn't know the wolfish nature of the Armenian prince Mullah? Not to mention, he was also a traitor who had abandoned his own beliefs, a lump of mud who dared not fight people head-on, a dog cowering under the robes of a heretic.

Even more so, Raymond felt resentment over the previous defeat, but he had little fear or hesitation. He still firmly believed that if he hadn't been tricked by the guide and led his army into the swamp and wasteland, Murray would have been their prisoner a year ago, and his soul would have been in hell long ago, subjected to hundreds of tortures.

Another reason was that they had maps.

After accompanying Amalric I to several battlefields, Cesare realized that people's use of maps at that time was still at a very superficial level.

Although maps have always been treasures in the hands of kings and generals, they did not dare to rely entirely on these beautiful drawings on parchment that combined religion, astronomy, and geography during marches and battles. More often than not, their existence was merely to demonstrate the authority and legitimacy of all.

So when an army arrives at a place to prepare for battle with another army, they choose to select a guide from among prisoners of war or local residents. What is even more puzzling is that if they could be like some armies in later times and not harm the civilians, that would be one thing, but in reality, no army can guarantee that the civilians will not flee in fear when they see them arrive.

They possessed such courage and confidence that the guide they had captured would not betray them...

But this time it was slightly different. The king sent a map of the Murray territory and the surrounding area. Raymond had heard before that the king had indeed recruited some people to draw maps and paid them a considerable sum for it, but this style of map was something he had never seen before.

Although he had never seen one before and had never been taught by anyone, he could tell at a glance that this was exactly what he needed right now. However, he was unusually cunning and did not ask who had drawn such a map. He had even mocked the Grand Masters of the Knights Templar for falling for such a trick. The Knights Templar did not need to flatter the king, but they still sent priests and knights to learn mapmaking from a boy. Was this something that a boy of ten or so years old could master?

"what happened?"

Unfortunately, his silence was broken by his son David, who exclaimed excitedly upon seeing the map, "Isn't this the map drawn by César?"

“How could this be a map he drew? He’s always been on the Alaska Road, Bethlehem, or Damascus and Apollo,” Raymond retorted, not too pleased.

“Then he must be his student,” David praised without reservation. “He is truly a selfless and generous man.”

“Like this…” He tilted his head, thought for a moment, and considered how to describe it. Was it knowledge? Or technique? He really didn’t want to describe it as a craft: “In short, if a priest drew up such a map, he would absolutely not teach it to anyone without exchanging a bishop’s position for it.”

“Cesar is not a priest.”

“Even if he were a count, he could exchange that for several knights or a territory.”

Raymond glared at his son, annoyed by his lack of tact. He was actually glad that Abigail was there, otherwise, people would probably be mocking his son David the most. But he couldn't blame the young man.

He knew that since Amalric I's death in Egypt, his mindset had undergone a terrible change. He didn't even dare to look into the mirror at night, for fear of seeing an angry face in it, the face of his former self, accusing him of having unfaithful thoughts and mocking his excessively greedy delusions.

Now, David stands before him like another mirror, and sometimes he wonders if he too ever had such a pure and upright time.

David looked at his father with a complex expression—a mixture of relief, hesitation, and pain. He didn't know whether his father was weighing the options between raising his son into a paragon of chivalry and pushing him toward the throne of Alassa Road. In the end, Raymond gently placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Suit yourself," he thought to himself. "Anyway, I'll do what you're unwilling to do."

“Let’s look at this map.” He stopped arguing with David about who had drawn the map, and the father and son sat down side by side at the table. They rarely had such an opportunity to be so close, and even David couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his heart. He leaned close to his father and realized for the first time that his shoulders were already as broad as his father’s.

His height and weight have also increased rapidly in recent years, and there is no sign of it slowing down. He is now even taller and stronger than Baldwin and Cesar, and people say that he will grow into a giant like Walter the Templar.

David was overjoyed at this, but sometimes he would miss the days when he could still snuggle at his father's knees, when his father was gentler with him, or rather, more amiable and affectionate with Baldwin, for they were blood relatives after all.

But after Baldwin ascended the throne—he didn't know whose fault it was, it seemed that only the bond between ruler and subject remained between them.

He didn't quite understand many of his father's ideas.

Even if he cannot remain in Arathal as regent, he is still one of the most trusted ministers of the King of Arathal, and David will eventually take over his mantle and become Baldwin's indispensable right-hand man.

"Did you see this?"

Raymond's words brought him back to reality. David looked down and saw a town marked on the map. It should be a small Armenian town, though he didn't know if they were purely Armenian. David meant that towns in such triangular locations often adopted a fence-sitter approach to avoid war, welcoming anyone who came; collecting taxes from any tax collector; and having churches, temples, and even Isaac's synagogues in their towns.

Their lords or town administrators don't need to be particularly brave or intelligent, but they must be shrewd and adept at social maneuvering.

"This is the closest town to Murray's castle. Let's head there first."

David was confused. "Why should we go there first?"

"What do you think?"

David pondered for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Is it because that place should belong to Murray?"

“That’s right. A town so close to Murray’s castle must have an inextricable connection with him.”

Mla's territory was not rich; it was close to the coastline and mostly consisted of pine-covered hills, sandy lands, and rivers. He led his Turks and Armenians to live almost entirely by raiding, but whether they raided pilgrims, merchants, or villages and cities elsewhere, they could not have everything they needed.

Therefore, it became inevitable that they would convert these things they didn't need at the moment into money or necessities like food, armor, and weapons. However, the merchants who traveled from place to place couldn't meet all of Murray's needs. After all, they only passed through Murray periodically and couldn't stay for long.

So who would Mle choose when he needs to make a trade?

A permanent market. Raymond's guess proved correct; as soon as their army reached the edge of the town, the administrator came to greet them with unparalleled enthusiasm. He prostrated himself on the ground, kissed Raymond's iron boots, and treated the crusaders with unusual deference, allowing them to ask for money, women, supplies, horses, armor, or anything else they desired.

Raymond, mounted on his horse, looked down at the broad, thick back. “How strange. You have no solid city, nor are you near any wide avenues or long rivers. You have no vast fields or lush orchards around you. You don’t even have a single product that merchants would seek out—glass, porcelain, silk. You have nothing, yet you can tell me so brazenly that you have everything.”

He ignored the middle-aged man who had begun to tremble and led his army into the small town, which was so prosperous that it was almost abnormal. Its city walls were so low that they were almost negligible. The guards scattered and fled as soon as they saw them, while some of the people inside fled and others just stood there blankly.

But those who escaped were quickly captured, and Raymond couldn't be sure which of them had usable ears or eyes, so he couldn't let them go.

Once everyone had been gathered in the square, he began asking questions.

The method was simple: his servants loudly inquired whether any of them were familiar with Murray's castle, "...You may come forward yourselves or nominate others, but we will compare his statements with those of others repeatedly. Those who cannot convince us will be locked in the battle cage and made to stand until they die."

The battle cage is a long, narrow cage, only wide and deep enough to hold one person standing upright. Once a person is inside, they are either abandoned by the roadside or hung on the city wall. The person inside can only endure the wind and rain, the sun and birds pecking at them without moving. They may not die so quickly, but before they die, they can only defecate on themselves.

The filth will attract a large number of insects, which will lay their eggs on them and grow.

After they die, if the person who gave the order does not say to let them down, they will still be standing there. No priest will perform the Last Sacrament for them. Their souls will go to hell, and their bones will stand in the battle cage day after day until they turn into white bones and finally decay into fragments and fall down.

Only then will they be free.

The cages were readily available; the town was small, but it had dozens of cages.

Before Raymond could grow impatient, a man stepped forward. Judging from his appearance, hat, clothes, and beard, he was an Isaac. Raymond didn't even bother to speak to him personally, but instead called a servant to come forward.

The servants asked him and learned that this Isaac man actually knew a lot about Murray's castle. He was a merchant of wine, spirits, and beer, and wagons loaded with barrels of liquor always made it in, where he and his helpers would carry the barrels into the cellar.

But he also said, “My esteemed sir, I can write down what I know to you, or tell you what I know. But now Mly must have sealed off the castle, and all the passageways will be closed—a month ago, he refused to let merchants in or out, and he no longer accepts any gifts.”

This approach was perfectly in line with Murray's cautious nature. The attendant looked at Raymond, but Raymond simply waved his hand and asked, "Is anyone else here?"

This time, a Christian emerged. He was a blacksmith, and while there was a blacksmith in Murray's castle, he had also recently commissioned a batch of weapons and armor in town.

This intelligence was somewhat useful, but it didn't satisfy Raymond. He needed a complete, undeniable, and exhilarating victory to wash away the previous humiliation. He waited a while longer and found that no one was willing to come out anymore, so he simply threw a small bag of cute, golden trinkets in front of everyone. This time, the commotion was even more pronounced than before.

“I need something more useful,” Raymond said. “Whoever can give me those, I’ll give him these.”

Sure enough, for people at that time, money was far more valuable than life. A seemingly ordinary man stepped forward. He was short but strong, and looked like a solid brick.

It's a pity he was missing one arm; otherwise, if he had approached any knight, that knight would at least have been willing to let him be his armed squire.

He glanced uncertainly at Raymond, then gave him an awkward bow, "Sir, may I ask where you come from?"

“From Yalasa Road”.

"Are you King Alassaroo's men?"

The title made Raymond frown, but he nodded nonetheless.

But he had already decided that if this guy could only offer some dubious and useless things, he would specially order an iron cage, put him in it, and hang it on the clock tower in the city so that he could have a good look at the boundless scenery around him.

“I am a stonemason, sir,” the man said. “Mrley is an outsider; none of his castles were built by himself.”

He originally belonged to a Byzantine official, then to a Fatah, but Murray seized him and renovated and expanded him,” he licked his lips, pleased to see Raymond’s interest. “And during the expansion, at the base of the new wall, there’s a weak point. I can point it out to you; you can break through his defenses from there and storm his castle.”

"How do you know this? They must be monitoring it very closely."

“It’s very well-prepared. But the problem is,” the man grinned smugly, “we weren’t hired, we were captured. They ordered us to build the walls for them, but wouldn’t give us a single penny, and they withheld our food and water.”

My brothers and I worked and worked, from day to night, and before we could even close our eyes, they would wake us with their whips. We were so exhausted. Someone said, "We'll just die of exhaustion if we stay here. Why don't we take a risk, kill the guards, and escape?"

"Did you succeed?"

"No, sir. If I had succeeded, why would I still be here? But I wasn't discovered either, otherwise..." He made a gesture, but everyone understood that if he had succeeded, he certainly wouldn't be here; if he had failed and been discovered, he still wouldn't be here. He would have been executed by the guards of Murray long ago as a warning to others.

“We did kill a guard, the fiercest and most vicious of us, who did something quite despicable to one of our brothers, completely contrary to the doctrine,” he spat on the ground, “and the devil should drag him down.”

However, it was enough for us to do this. After killing him, we originally wanted to escape, but before we had gone far, we encountered a patrol of cavalry. We immediately ran back to where we were, but we didn't know what to do with the body, so we threw him into the gap in the city wall.

He gestured, and everyone present was a knight. They knew what he meant, of course. Those wide city walls, which could accommodate two or even three horses galloping side by side, were not solid, or rather, not made of solid stone bricks—the sides were made of stone bricks, but the middle was filled with gravel and silt, and then tamped down.

"We threw it into the interlayer of the city wall, then poured mud and sand over it, making it so that no one could see it. His disappearance did arouse suspicion among some people, and we were all whipped, but not very severely."

They seemed to suspect that the guard had escaped on his own and had little to do with us, or perhaps it was because we remained where we were and didn't flee. In any case, we survived and stayed here.

"They don't know the crimes we've committed, but they'll randomly cut off someone's arm or leg to see what kind of work we do—we're slaves to the people here," he said, ignoring the angry glares from some, and unabashedly lifted his robe to reveal the chains around his ankles. "Only craftsmen receive this treatment, sir."

(End of this chapter)