kingdom of nations

Chapter 278 Farewell to Damascus (Part 1)

"What week is it today?"

The monk, who was writing furiously, looked up. He was somewhat surprised, but still answered Count Raymond of Tripoli's question respectfully: "It's the seventh week, sir. Today is the fifth day of the seventh week."

“That means it’s been almost two months,” Raymond said in a hoarse voice, as he walked into the tent and lay down on the cot without any decorum, amidst the smells of gunpowder, grease, and blood.

He never felt old—at least not before the siege began, when his entourage came in to help him remove his armor, but he waved them away.

"I'll just lie here for a while." When he felt another pair of hands on his shoulders, seemingly trying to remove his neck brace, he turned away in even greater weariness—if it were his somewhat clumsy squire, he would have been slapped for it, but the man dodged it very nimbly.

Raymond opened his eyes and saw that the person who came was his son David. He smiled slightly. David was sometimes so stubborn that he didn't know what to do, but in this battle, everyone from the king to the servants praised David's bravery and fearlessness. Even William Marshall, who was considered a model of chivalry, praised David highly, and they even became good friends.

At the banquet, they sat side by side, drinking from one cup and eating from one plate.

Of course, Raymond would have preferred to sit next to the king, but seeing his son's joyful smile, he thought that perhaps this wasn't so bad.

David placed his father's helmet aside and brought him a cup of tea. Raymond frowned and looked at it for a while: "Give me a cup of coffee instead."

David immediately went to change, and his unusual submissiveness made Raymond smile. "What mischief are you up to now?" He sat up, took a big gulp of his coffee, and had to admit that the bitter drink was indeed very effective—he could feel the lost power returning to his body. "Is it what I wouldn't agree with?"
“I think…” David hesitated for a moment, then rubbed his fingertips together and made that somewhat excessive request to his father: “I think—I want to give those Englishmen some food…”

"What happened to them?" Raymond paused, but did not immediately refuse.

"It's like this... Father. I just went to see them... and it's really not good..."

He had gone to invite William Marshall to dine with him—the army's supplies were not very plentiful at the moment, and William would usually have agreed—perhaps to save some food—but this time he refused. This paragon of chivalry simply could not bring himself to feast while his comrades were still hungry.

The situation for the British is not good.

Henry II did not participate in this holy war; the highest-ranking among them was only an earl. Their supplies had been provided by merchants, but they probably did not expect the expedition to last so long.

When they obtained Busra without bloodshed, these Englishmen were still full of confidence, thinking that the battle could be ended in ten days or so, and they would return home in triumph with the king's rewards and honors.

They had no idea that Damascus was as tough, stubborn, and unshakeable as the steel it produced. Even with Cesare's use of Greek fire, which he had forged, the city gates had long since been fortified with bricks and stones.

The people of Damascus must have already stockpiled enough food and water. They adopted an extremely resolute stance, as if they would fight them to the end of time. In fact, it didn't need to be the end of time. By the third week, some foreign knights had already begun to waver.

As we mentioned before, warhorses need the same amount of food and water as their masters, but several times more.

Meanwhile, the surrounding areas of Damascus had long been subjected to a scorched-earth policy in a different form. After so many harassments, not only were the grains, olives, and grapes in the fields cut down, but even the fruit trees had been completely cut down. You couldn't even find a single bean or grain of wheat in the wilderness.

Hungry people began to eat grass like horses, and because there was no fuel, they even stuffed the unripe grass leaves directly into their mouths.

They also ate the horses and the livestock that were originally used to transport supplies—donkeys, mules, and camels—as well as the dogs—the hunting dogs that used to run around the camp and at feasts, barking loudly, were now nowhere to be seen, and their owners could hardly blame the thieves.

There were already people who cut open the tents, soaked the cowhides or donkey hides until soft, and swallowed them. They had even discovered a groom stealing horse dung. The warhorses belonging to the lords and knights not only did not become food for the people, but they still enjoyed three to five liters of grain every day.

Sometimes the animals weren't fully digested, so the grooms would rummage through the feces to find any identifiable beans or wheat to eat.

Theft and robbery continued to occur in the camp, and even though those who violated the laws were punished with whipping or even hanging, the problems persisted.

In fact, if they hadn't gathered under the True Cross and sworn an oath before setting off—which stands in the center of the camp, watching over them on behalf of God—some of them might have already run away.

The Grand Duke of Antioch and the Count of Tripoli, however, were able to receive some supplies because their countries were not far from Damascus. Although the supplies were not much, they were at least more plentiful than those of the outsiders.

David's fear was not unfounded. If it were before, Raymond would have certainly scolded him, thinking he was being reckless. It wasn't about the relationship between the British and the French; even if they were on good terms, Raymond would have been protecting those who had sworn allegiance to him. But now he had a different idea. "Provide that our soldiers don't go hungry, you can spare some food for the British," Raymond said, holding up one finger. "But I have a condition."

David tensed up.

Raymond smiled. "You have to let them know that this is the help given to them by the son of the Count of Tripoli."

“Of course they will know,” David said with delight. He didn’t see his father’s intention; he was simply happy for Raymond’s rare generosity. He couldn’t wait to leave the tent and tell William Marshall the good news.

Disturbed by David, Raymond could no longer sleep peacefully in the tent.

He went outside and immediately heard a cheer—he had assumed the Englishmen were gathered at the entrance to his tent, waiting for his son to bring back a reply.

A hint of displeasure crossed Raymond's mind; he suspected that David had been manipulated by William Marshall.

But when he looked up, he saw a long line of carriages coming from afar, and he immediately noticed a red flag with a striking gold cross on it. Raymond's face darkened, and he quickly walked toward that direction.

The knights, whether English, French, or German, were all gathering here and constantly spreading the good news, and those who heard it would let out a loud shout.

Amidst these shouts, Raymond clearly heard the names of the Earl of Edessa or the Lord of Cyprus, and immediately tensed up.

He watched as a wagon, clearly laden with wine or other beverages, drove past, followed by another wagon carrying sacks of wheat and beans—he saw the grain spilling out with each jolt of the wagon, and two young squires desperately crawling into the wheels to pick it up and chew it.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, grabbing one of the knights who had come with the carriage.

“Cyprus,” the other person answered without hesitation. He knew Raymond and even took time out of his busy schedule to bow to him.

Indeed, it's already the end of September. Wheat, barley, and beans have all reached maturity and are ready for harvest. There's also a new grape harvest, as well as lemons and olives. Even before the harvest, Cyprus has entered its annual tax collection period.

He had already heard that, in order to appease the people of Cyprus, César had announced that no miscellaneous taxes would be levied that year, and that the poll tax and land tax that needed to be paid could be paid by farmers in kind, so as to avoid them being exploited by merchants again.

It now appears that these "taxes" have already been transported here.

Raymond took two steps forward and saw his foolish son standing side by side with William Marshall, cheering for the supplies sent from Cyprus, completely unaware of his father standing to the side.

The Count of Tripoli was willing to allocate some supplies to the English in order to build David's reputation among knights, but now his rare generosity has become a joke.

In the long, dark night, it would be best if someone lit a candle, but what if someone lit a bonfire that soared into the sky? No one would even notice the candle's existence.

Leaving aside Raymond's resentment, at this moment, Longinus was standing before Cesar and the king, reporting on his previous work. Yes, ever since that incident, Longinus had never wanted to leave his master again, but in this expedition, he had no choice but to take on the task entrusted to him by his master, after all, this task was so important that no one but him could complete it.

"Did you foresee back then that this siege would last so long?" Baldwin couldn't help but ask.

“I’m not sure,” Cesar said, flipping through the ledgers and estimating how long the supplies would sustain the army. “But what good is it to let them just sit in my warehouse?” “You can exchange them for gold coins.”

“I’m not a dragon, so they don’t mean much to me, but Damascus is different.”

"But this is your money."

“Then let’s just consider it as you borrowing money from me,” Cesar said casually. During this period, it was not uncommon for kings to borrow money from ministers, lords, and even merchants to fund wars. Moreover, between him and Baldwin, money was the least important thing.

Sure enough, Baldwin clapped his hands and said cheerfully, "Okay, consider it a loan from me. I'll repay you tenfold later."

“Then there will definitely be even more people cursing me. They will surely say that Count Edessa is even more despicable than those Isaac merchants—the Isaac merchants only ask for fifty percent interest when they borrow money from loan sharks, not a thousand percent.”

Baldwin burst into laughter.

He then composed himself and asked seriously, "So, with these supplies, how long can we hold out?"

“If we supply everyone,” Cesar estimated, “we might be able to hold out for about a week. After a week, if we still can’t take Damascus, we might have to retreat.”

“We can’t wait a week. They came for me, and I can’t let them leave empty-handed.”

Baldwin was referring to the foreign knights and lords who came to participate in the expedition. If they were allowed to return empty-handed this time, then next time when people needed to be gathered for an expedition, there would probably be few people willing to travel from afar.

“I can’t stay in the tent any longer. I’ll go up the tower with you for the rest of the battle,” Baldwin said. Cesar’s quill paused slightly, leaving a black dot on the parchment.

Longinus watched and listened. Their conversation was very ordinary, yet so intimate, but they were discussing major events that had far-reaching consequences.

"When?"

“Three days from now. Many knights are exhausted and hungry. I will order them to slaughter all the remaining livestock, including mules and donkeys, as well as some wounded warhorses and packhorses, so that our knights and soldiers can be well-fed. In three days, we will have a decisive battle. Oh, and let David come with us.”

Cesar nodded.

He knew that at this time, having David closely follow the king was Baldwin's way of showing Raymond his attitude.

After all, Raymond did indeed shoulder his share of the responsibility in this expedition.

"Have Grand Master Philip of the Knights Templar attack from another direction—Thomas Gate in the east, with the Knights of the Good Faith providing support from the side, and William Marshall in charge of Caesars Gate..." Baldwin gave the orders methodically, sketching out a map of Damascus in his mind.

Of course, the final battle plan would still be decided at the meeting, but by this time the decisive battle three days later had already taken shape. He did not mention Cesar, but both Longinus and anyone else knew that Cesar would definitely be by the king's side at that time—the spear of the holy city and the shield of the holy city, they would combine into the sharpest and most terrifying force to break through Damascus's last defense.

“And what about Abigail?” Cesar’s reminder made Baldwin’s expression turn into one of unbearable displeasure. He glared at Cesar as if to say, “Don’t mention that unlucky fellow!”

But since Abigail had a father who was the Grand Prince of Antioch, and Abigail walked with a noticeable limp, Bohemond still managed to get him into the expeditionary force. Clearly, Bohemond didn't intend to let him miss this important performance.

However, Baldwin also confessed to Bohemond that it wasn't that he wanted to reject Abigail—the problem was that even though Abigail had learned his lesson and was no longer afraid of battle and death—there was no doubt that they would be facing the most powerful and fierce warriors of the Saracens, warriors who had also received their prophetic revelation, whom even Baldwin and Cesar dared not underestimate.

Even with Cesar there, he couldn't be sure if Abigail would be able to return safely.

“Cesar’s protection is strong,” he patiently advised, “but it is limited; it is not endless or indestructible.” Otherwise, he would be the ruler of all nations by now, and even the most formidable enemy would be unable to withstand an army that would never be wounded or killed: “Abigail has not yet been able to have a son with my sister.”

This is the most important responsibility of the Abi.

Although Baldwin didn't say it aloud, Bohemond understood what he meant—he responded with a forced smile and a nod, "Then, let him stay with me."

As always, the Grand Duke of Antioch respectfully took his leave from the king and stepped out of the tent. As soon as he turned his head, he saw Raymond and his son David. The father and son seemed to have had another argument. Raymond was very unhappy, but David was still as stubborn as ever.

Bohemond stood in the shadows, watching silently as their argument escalated into a full-blown fight, then Raymond struck, and David yelled at his father before turning and leaving.

Only then did he slowly walk towards Raymond.

"Raymond?"

"Bohemond?"

Raymond was getting impatient. He always felt that Bohemond was trying to make a fool of him, and he had indeed been made a fool of many times. But when he thought of Bohemond's son, he became happy again. Not to mention David, even David's horse was more useful than Bavig.

“Let’s talk,” Bohemond said simply, taking Raymond’s arm—though Raymond was not so willing—and leading him into his tent, dismissing all the servants with a single glance.

Both he and Raymond were blessed knights, and the commotion around them could not be hidden from their eyes and ears. They could guarantee that no one would hear them speaking here.

Bohemond personally poured Raymond a cup of coffee and a dish of rock sugar.

Although Raymond privately enjoyed this novel food, he had just argued with David and felt annoyed at the sight of it. He pushed the rock candy away, only to have Bohemond push it back, saying, "Why get angry at something? Things are innocent."

"But the person who made it was a despicable guy."

Raymond said casually, without any hesitation. He could complain and vent without restraint in front of Bohemond, after all, Cesar was now in the position of their son, whether it was Abigail or David.

"You hate him so much you'd rather he just disappear, right?"

Raymond let out a mocking laugh. "Do you think he's still that nameless, backgroundless little servant?"
"He's now the Knight of Bethlehem, the Earl of Edessa, and the Lord of Cyprus," he said, spreading his hands dramatically. "His territory is now larger than both of ours combined. The Knights Templar and the Knights of the Goodwill would support him without hesitation, even for the sake of Cyprus, not to mention our King—who's practically sharing his kingdom and throne with that little slave."

"How enviable."

"Indeed, look at what people are saying—the little saint, hey! The priests' tricks! Even though many are praising him to the skies, I still think he's too obsequious as a knight—after all, he didn't grow up in the castle, but in a Saracen village like a peasant's child, and then spent a few years as a slave. What happened during that time, none of us know, and I've always worried that he might have some negative influence on the king."

"Unfortunately, our king is too stubborn. Young people always value the first thing they get too much."

He still lacks the awareness of being a monarch.

At this point, Raymond unconsciously lowered his voice. "You're right." Bohemond chuckled and sat down next to Raymond. "So I have an idea."

(End of this chapter)