kingdom of nations

Chapter 254 Not good
“No,” Saladin said.

“No,” Baldwin said.

The two identical answers echoed in different halls.

Lyra smiled with relief. Although she was a woman, she had received an education just like a man. Her teachers had not made any distinction in this regard, nor had they concealed or hidden anything from her. And she did not have the same responsibilities as her teachers—she was a woman, the future heir to the Eagle's Nest, and no one else would be her.

Because of this, she actually understood things better than her teacher.

Sinan, standing before Saladin, slumped his shoulders as if overwhelmed by the weight of the situation, a look of anguish on his face. "Even if I completely sided with the Christians, you wouldn't care?"

"What do you want to say?"

“What I want to say is, Sultan,” Sinan said, almost through gritted teeth, “if you insist on driving us to the Christian side, I will lead all the believers in the Alamut Mountains to convert to Christianity.”

Sinan expected to see shock and anger on Saladin's face, and indeed, everyone present, except Saladin, paled at the sight.

For them, the orthodox and traditional factions were merely internal sectarian disputes, like two brothers fighting each other in a tent over their father's inheritance.

Sinan, however, meant to step out of the tent and submit to their enemies.

Saladin pondered for a moment, then waved his hand.

Though still somewhat unwilling, those around him quietly withdrew. They also took Saladin's three children with them, then the door was closed, leaving the Sultan alone to face the terrifying leader of the assassins.

Although he knew Saladin would definitely have a trump card up his sleeve, Sinan couldn't help but say, "You've taught those around you very well." In other words, the future he saw was indeed a possibility.

“I am fulfilling the duties of a sultan, and they are fulfilling the obligations of a subject,” Saladin said calmly. “There is another reason, which is that I know you still harbor hope, that you still expect to get a promise from me or from the Christian king that will allow the Assassins to continue to exist.”

But unfortunately, I can tell you that you will not receive any pardon, neither from me nor from that young king.

At this point, Saladin revealed a hint of pity: "Sinan, although you are the leader of the Assassins, you have many opponents within the Eagle's Nest. You have devoted yourself to the people of the Alamut Mountains, making countless plans, but can they truly understand your intentions?"

Hassan had completely domesticated them into a herd of animals, and animals cannot be taught or tamed. This is why he was certain that the Christian king would not accept the Assassins.

"You just said you would lead 60,000 people in Alamut to Christianity. Of course, that would be a disgrace to any Saracen."

For the Christian king, however, it was an achievement he desperately sought, something none of his predecessors had accomplished, and he was so young that, if handled properly, it could even be considered a miracle. Saladin laughed. He was a tall, lean man with deep-set features; he couldn't be described as handsome, but he possessed the kind of masculine beauty admired by the Saracens. He was like a black rock standing on the reddish-yellow sand, sharp and hard, silent, only occasionally emitting a long, monotonous sound when the wind passed through.

“If you’ve only come seeking a way to survive, that’s fine. Even if you’ve offended me, I’m still willing to tell you,” Saladin said, sitting back down on the carpet, bending one knee and casually placing a hand on it.

Although he was sitting and Sinan was standing, Sinan felt as if a towering giant was standing in front of him, casting an overwhelming shadow.

“You have such good eyes, scholar, and those eyes seem to tell you a lot. I don’t have eyes like yours, but I know why you are so eager and why you are acting so rashly,” Saladin said. “The Assassins have been operating in Syria for a long time, and your tentacles stretch out in all directions, starting from the southern shore of the Caspian Sea and the Alamut Mountains.”

You were once prosperous and powerful. When those chiefs and scholars bowed to you in respect, did you feel a surge of pride? But this was not glory, you know, it was merely a temporary compromise.

Hassan's actions turned those young people into a pack of ravenous hyenas, ready to tear apart any flesh they saw. They hunted indiscriminately, regardless of faith, identity, or status, accumulating hatred every day, and all they were waiting for was an opportunity.

Whether it's me or that King of Arrasal. Once either of us possesses Damascus and Apollo, or even Mosul, the eagle's nest in the Alamut Mountains will be ours. We will not allow this thorn to remain embedded in our flesh and blood; we will pull it out. That's why you decided to take this gamble.

You just said you wanted to convert 60,000 people in the Alamut Mountains to Christianity? Unfortunately, that's no threat to me. Go and see the cities I once ruled—Damascus (where Saladin was governor), Fustat, Alexandria, and now Cairo. In my cities lived Saracens, Isaacs, Turks, and Christians.

Those pagans—even if they are unwilling to enter our temples, recite our scriptures, or perform our rituals, I will treat them all the same—may need to pay more taxes, but I believe they are doing so willingly, and they are under my protection in my cities and country just like the Saracens.

If they commit a crime, I will put them in jail or hang them, but I will never put them to death just because they are Christians.

So even if those 60,000 people convert, so what? To me, as long as they don't break my laws, don't delay paying my taxes, serve me, and don't betray me or my country, they are my subjects, no different from any other subjects.”

Sinan was speechless for a long time. He thought that he had already changed many of Hassan's practices, which was already unconventional enough. He did not expect that there was someone even more radical than him here.

"So I'm going to show you a way. Go back now and completely disband the Assassins, so that your assassins can return to normal life. Whether they want to be mercenaries, craftsmen, scholars, or farmers, it doesn't matter, as long as they don't commit crimes, they can have the life they want."

But if they think they can still force people to change through intimidation and murder, they are sorely mistaken.

Saladin calmly finished speaking his last words, then lifted his chin with the hand that was resting on his knee, while his other hand hung naturally on his other leg. He looked up at the highest circular light-emitting hole, through which sunlight was shining vertically onto the ground, forming a bright pillar in the air, with countless dust particles dancing and shimmering within it.

"How much like the masses of humanity," Saladin thought to himself. Faced with overwhelming power, even if the opponent harbored no ill intentions, the slightest movement would cause them to tumble, scatter, rise, or fall, finding it difficult to find their place.

------

Baldwin was speechless at first, then burst into laughter.

“Good heavens, madam, I am the King of Arrassa, not the Archbishop of Arrassa. Even if my teacher, Patriarch Heraclius, were here, he would not grant this absurd request.”

Don't you trust us?

"No, it's not a matter of belief or disbelief, but rather that I don't need power like the Assassins."

"The power of the Assassins is beyond your imagination."

“No need to imagine,” Baldwin said lightly, “you are renowned throughout the Crusaders.”

That's actually a bit ironic.

Indeed, from the moment the Crusaders arrived in Acre, the most dangerous Saracens, the assassins of the Eagle's Nest, launched more than one attack against them, and succeeded on several occasions.

Baldwin looked her straight in the eye and said bluntly, "You succeeded. And then what? Did you stop the Crusader advance? Where were you when the Crusaders captured Jaffa, Acre, Arrassal, Antioch, Edessa, and Tripoli?"

Why don't you continue to stain your scriptures with the blood of Christians, one after another? You have retreated, while your elder Sinan once yielded to the Templars of Tortosa, willing to pay him a tax to ensure the safety of Saracen pilgrims. He even pleaded with my father to have this tax waived. Are you lacking a sharp dagger, or are you lacking two thousand gold coins?
No, you have none of that. What you lack is true faith and ideals.

When I first heard about your methods of training assassins, I found it very strange. Using deception and base desires to lure young people into risking their lives is not something a worthy person would do. Therefore, from that time on, I felt that you wouldn't last long.

"The reason you were so successful before was because you encountered a bunch of cowards, but when you encounter true warriors—you will be the ones who retreat. And those around me..." He reached out and patted the helpless-looking Cesar, "are all true knights," he silently crossed out Abigail in his mind: "They are not only brave, but also pure, devout, and upright."

And their soldiers are just like them. I will lead a sacred army across the battlefield, do you understand? I don't need anyone to tell me that I can defeat the enemy through those sneaky, underhanded means.

You might laugh at me, saying that many people have said that those who achieve great things will inevitably resort to any means necessary. But what good is it if a person can't even keep his own vows? He will build a prison for himself because he knows exactly where he got everything from.

He can't complain that others treat him the same way.

Baldwin knew that the armies of Antioch, Tripoli, and other lords often employed soldiers of different faiths who did not uphold the knightly oath and had even become bandits themselves.

The lords seemed indifferent to these things, regarding these people as tools like fire pokers or whips, and they would not care if they were all lost on the battlefield.

Is this fire poker filthy? Is this riding whip stained with blood? But what does it matter? As long as they serve their purpose, that's enough. As for those unfortunate victims, it can only be said that it was fate.

“But I care. I don’t want to point at someone and yell that he’s a horrible devil, only to find that I’m looking in a mirror. Look at me,” he said, unabashedly pulling up his sleeve, which was covered in spots. Lyra couldn’t help but take a step back, and Cesar instinctively reached out and grabbed Baldwin’s arm.

“I am a leper. People say this is God’s test for me, and some say it is God’s punishment for me. They believe that I was born with original sin and that I will go to hell no matter what.”

But even if I go to hell, ma'am, I can stand tall and proud before any devil—even Satan—saying that I have no other sins to confess besides these.”

Do you consider the Assassins sinful?

Baldwin nodded without hesitation, lowering his sleeves: "If you insist, I don't care whether you convert or not. But you must do the following: hand over the assassins who killed those Crusader generals. If they are also dead, please give us their remains."

What would you do?

“I will hang them on the gallows and subject them to the punishment they should have received long ago.”

Then your castles will be demolished, your settlements burned, and your soldiers must lay down their armor and weapons and bow down to the Crusaders in repentance.

"And then, will you execute them?"

"For some, perhaps, while others will be pardoned, though they may be sent to labor. But the women and children of the Assassins will be spared; they may be scattered to various places, but I can promise that they will be treated the same as the pagans in Arazari."

“Your ministers will persuade you.”

"If they are truly so cowardly, I would advise him to take his knights back to their castle, where they are safest. Otherwise, even on the battlefield, are they really sure they can escape the clutches of death forever?"

Even I can't guarantee it.

--------

Even after Lyra left, some unrest still occurred in the city of Arrasar. Several foreign lords were assassinated, and one of them was unfortunately injured and had to return to Frank.

Some had heard that the Assassins had sought reconciliation with the king, but had been refused. Although they were unaware of the details, as Baldwin had once said, they thought it wouldn't hurt to temporarily grant the Saracens' demands.

By the time this expedition ends, the Crusaders will have driven a solid foothold into the heart of Central Asia—and perhaps conquer all of Syria within a few years, at which point they can always back out—indeed, many of them have played this double-dealing game before.

This method is very useful in dealing with rebellious peasants or troublesome bandits. They lure the latter into their castles with empty promises, then arrest them, torture them, and hang them.

That's why the Assassins won't talk to you about this.

Berrian couldn't help but mutter this to himself after a banquet.

The reason the Assassins were willing to trust the young king was precisely because they knew he possessed a pure soul, unwavering will, and devout faith. He was the kind of person who, once he made a promise or swore an oath, would never go back on his word or delay.

If it were Count Raymond of Tripoli, or Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, the Assassins would not have dared to be so trusting.

"He was too young, with a strange sense of pride and an almost foolish stubbornness, and now look what's happened," Bohemond laughed. "Now we have to sleep with one eye open every night."

“Opening one eye won’t help,” Raymond scoffed. “An Assassin once left a dagger and a letter by my father’s pillow. He was sleeping in a tent surrounded by his knights then. Did it help? No.”

Bohemond chuckled twice, a laugh devoid of sincerity and meaning, which annoyed Raymond. However, he immediately reminded Bohemond that, if possible, Princess Hibern should write to his brother as soon as possible, requesting permission for them to return from Naresa to the Holy Cross Castle on Arrassa Road. Although the palace in Naresa was exquisite and tranquil, it certainly could not compare to the Holy Cross Castle in terms of security.

"And what about your son David?" Bohemond thanked him for his kindness and then asked casually.

“I’ve called David back. We’ll be sharing a room, and on the battlefield, we’ll be sharing a tent.” Thinking this, Raymond felt a surge of anxiety. He couldn’t help but curse Baldwin; that’s what an immature ruler is like—always causing trouble for his subjects.

Baldwin also heard some uneasy discussions coming from the expeditionary force. Indeed, most of those who came here were prepared to stay on the battlefield forever.

But some people ridiculously harbor extravagant aspirations, thinking that they are just here to play a game, and even if they go to the battlefield, they will not die, at most they will be injured, and they will not even lose an arm or a leg.

When they return to their hometown and sit by the roaring fireplace, they can certainly use this as a topic of conversation in the winter, attracting countless envious glances.

These are the people who are trying their best to persuade Baldwin to accept the Assassins' request for peace.

“It’s not us who are worried, it’s our enemies,” they said gleefully, leaving Baldwin speechless.

“If there were truly people in this world who could become kings through assassination, threats, and extortion, there would probably be very few monarchs left on the continent of Europe now; they would all be thieves, swindlers, and robbers,” he thought, wishing he could kick these people’s backsides and send them back to their mothers’ arms. But not only Raymond and Bohemond, even Patriarch Heraclius strictly forbade him from doing so.

“Do you think these people will honestly tell you why they left the expeditionary force? They’ll definitely slander you terribly,” Heraclius said, then he saw Baldwin’s gaze fixate on a certain spot.

He had a bad feeling.

(End of this chapter)