kingdom of nations

Chapter 274 Spreading Wings (10)

When the Saracen leader, the Emir of Fayoum, stepped into the tent, he saw a throne standing quietly in the center of the tent, but empty, and Count Edessa standing to the right of the throne.

He immediately felt humiliated.

"We are here to negotiate, not to seek peace, Christians. You have not defeated us, nor are we in a state of defeat. I have come for those precious lives, whether your knights or our warriors, and you seem to care nothing for them—if you insist on this, then I can only conclude that you have no sincerity in negotiating and merely wish to humiliate us."

I will accept this humiliation and repay you a hundredfold, a thousandfold, ten thousandfold in the battles to come.

"Please calm down, my lord," Cesar said calmly. "As the saying goes, kings face kings, and ministers face ministers. The only one who can get King Arrasal to sit across the negotiating table is your Sultan Saladin."

Where is Saladin?

If he were to come here, our king would surely greet him with the same courtesy and hospitality as an elder brother, and speak with him face to face. But you are merely an emir; you are not worthy of such treatment—you should have heard of my name, and my presence here is the greatest sincerity King Arazarus can offer.”

Otherwise, you'll be facing Abigail.

Of course, Cesar didn't say the second half of his sentence. He stood there neither angry nor laughing, and the purple silk robe he wore made Emil's eyes sting.

Among the Saracens, purple robes held no particular significance and were not particularly feared by the Crusaders. But this particular robe was unusually magnificent—deep purple silk inlaid with gold ribbons and white pearls.

Today, Cesar even wore his Count of Edessa crown, a rare occurrence for him.

This crown was a new one made for him by Baldwin; the original one was long gone. He wore a gold belt, with jeweled daggers and longswords hanging from it. Beneath the gold, jewels, and silk was silver-plated chainmail. He stood there, looking every bit the young king.

The Emir of Fayoum, however, felt deeply humiliated. The Christians had dressed their negotiating messengers in such solemn and magnificent attire, not merely for show—the Crusaders, who had long dealt with the Saracens, were certainly familiar with a law prevalent among them.

Their prophets had decreed that their men should not wear silk, so among the Saracens, apart from a few vain individuals who might wear silk undergarments under their robes, or embellish them with one or two inconspicuous silk laces, no one dared to violate this law.

However, there is one exception to this law, which is also written in their scriptures: when a caliph, sultan, or emir goes to meet an enemy he has defeated, he may wear a silk robe and even dress extravagantly to show the demeanor of a victor.

What now lay before Emil was a rare and beautiful sight, but every glance felt like a poisoned needle piercing his heart. Could he really refuse the negotiations as he claimed and turn back to his tent?
Of course not, and the people around him wouldn't allow him to do that.

Even as Saladin fell, they were still jubilant and elated. After all, their numbers were almost twice that of the Crusaders, and they had an absolute advantage in terms of terrain. Meanwhile, the Crusaders had suffered two major defeats under Amalric I. They thought this victory would come easily, and with Saladin's promise in hand, they blindly rushed into the battlefield like a pack of wild bears chasing honey—and the outcome is self-evident.

They were defeated, though not completely. In every meeting, they blamed each other, vying to shift responsibility, and striving to secure more benefits for their tribes and cities. Even without Damascus, let's not forget—there were still supplies, provisions, and slaves.

These were all amassed by Saladin using the full power of the Nile Delta, and for them, they were a considerable fortune.

But if they continued fighting the Christians, their warriors would die, and their precious cloth and food would be quickly depleted. Some tribes had offered to give them a share of the supplies so they could return home. They refused to participate in this fruitless war, since all promises were just empty words if they couldn't take Damascus.

“We can clear the road to Damascus for you, but we must get something in return.”

"Get a reward?" Cesar almost laughed. "That doesn't seem right, sir. Aren't you supposed to give us gold to buy our freedom?"

"Our soldiers are still as numerous as birds in the mountains and forests."

"Unfortunately, their nests are also densely packed—the birds only fight against eagles and falcons for their nests and chicks. They don't understand what faith is. That thing can't quench a thirsty throat, can't ward off the cold of winter nights, and can't fill an empty stomach."

Fayoum's face turned noticeably pale, but then flushed with anger. He quickly regained his composure. "But why did you come here? Wasn't it for Damascus? If you continue to entangle us, we won't gain anything, and you'll also face a huge debt. I know that every expedition you need to borrow money from the Isaacs—a large sum—and you also have to increase taxes on your commoners, often struggling to recover for years."

We're essentially giving Damascus to you now. What you're paying is just a drop in the ocean compared to the enormous profits you'll reap after acquiring Damascus..."

"You mean to send...?" Cesar asked hesitantly.

The Emir of Fayoum blushed and retorted, "If it's not ours, is it yours, Christians?!"

“It will be soon,” Cesar replied.

This answer enraged Emil. His face flushed red, he clenched his fists and jumped up, glaring down at the young man who had spoken so recklessly. The young man was so young; even his youngest grandson was no more than that age.

At this time, however, he represented King Arazarus, acting as the chief negotiator on equal footing with him—no, it should be said that he was even subtly superior to the Saracens.

And he certainly has the qualifications.

“If we still had Saladin!” Emil roared, but then he saw the Christian knight raise one eyebrow in surprise, and he felt as if he had been slapped in the face—even if the expression was mocking or disdainful, he would not feel this…despair.

“Yes, if you still have Saladin, where is your Saladin?” This was the second time Cesare had raised this question.

Emil was speechless for a moment. He wasn't a participant or the mastermind behind the conspiracy, but he had indeed managed to remain neutral. They despised this Kurd, who had once received favors from Zengi (here they conveniently omit the fact that the Ayyubid family had taken him in and rescued him when he faced a life-or-death situation), yet he had brazenly betrayed Sultan Nur ad-Din after he had been granted immense power and an army.

Not only that, he also usurped the throne, killing their Caliph al-Did and seizing the title of Sultan, even though he never called himself Sultan, but what did that mean?
The victorious titles Saladin used in his writings and self-identification seemed more like a mockery of them.

He would also comfort himself by saying that if Saladin couldn't even escape such a conspiracy, it meant that he was not the king whom God had chosen.

He had even fantasized about becoming Sultan... but the facts have proven that they were just a bunch of useless trash. Without Saladin, they were just a bunch of crabs pulling each other along. No one had Saladin's perseverance and talent to reunite them and forge them into a sharp scimitar.

Cesar never looked away.

He stared intently at the Saracen messenger, watching him shift abruptly from anger to dejection.

Cesare had met Saladin and even spent some time with him. In every respect, he felt that Saladin was the most trustworthy and admirable king he had ever met.

Baldwin was still somewhat naive. The former Amalric I... Cesar couldn't possibly be unaware of what he had done to him, but he had overlooked all of that for the sake of Baldwin and Amalric I's initial kindness in saving him. However, he did remember it.

Saladin, however, chose to forgive a formidable enemy on several occasions because he valued his talent.

Even though he had only spent a brief time with Saladin in Damascus, Cesare heard many things about him, including not only his kindness, wisdom, and bravery, but also some discordant voices. He believed that these voices were not only circulating among Christians, but that, like Cesare's or Baldwin's enemies, Saladin's enemies maliciously twisted kindness into cowardice.

It now seems that Saladin faced no fewer difficulties than they did, and they may have inadvertently contributed to Saladin's downfall. He smiled, but without much resentment—even towards those short-sighted Saracens.

It was because of these people that he and Baldwin had a chance to catch their breath.

Saladin will be their most formidable enemy in the future, and perhaps not even one of them.

(End of this chapter)