kingdom of nations

Chapter 286 Broken Wings (4)

"brute!"

"devil!"

"No! No, you can't treat me like this!"

"Please, please, Sultan!"

"An enemy of Allah!"

"You despicable scoundrel!"

"traitor!"

As more and more people were bound and thrown onto the sand in front of the tent, the various curses, pleas, and rants grew louder and more mixed. These were the once prominent figures in the Fatimid court—even under their rule, as Egypt weakened, became impoverished, and repeatedly fell into internal strife, they still considered themselves virtuous.

Their backs were as supple as willow branches when facing Caliph Atid or the Great Vizier Shawar, but as hard as steel when facing tribal chiefs and commoners, and they were unwilling to even bend down slightly to listen to their cries.

Even for the Shirkul uncle and nephew who had traveled a long way to help them fight the Christians, this was the case, or rather, it was even worse. To them, the Kurds were nothing more than servants who were slightly better than slaves.

In their eyes, this system, this court, and this power will continue forever.

To achieve this goal, they have always been ruthless. If Nur ad-Din were still alive, they might have been more cautious, but now that Nur ad-Din is dead, Saladin is nothing more than a stray dog. Even though he became the Sultan of Egypt with his army, in their eyes he is still a petty opportunist.

They were confident. So what if it was Saladin? He could execute one, two, ten rebels, but could he kill all the emirs and viziers?
But today, this villain suddenly revealed his true, ferocious nature, like a beast lurking in the darkness finally baring its fangs.

The attack occurred after the army had already moved far away from the Christian forces, who had come dejectedly to Saladin to beg for his forgiveness. The Sultan did indeed pardon them and did not pursue the matter, nor did he immediately demand the return of the spoils they had divided.

In private, they said that the Sultan only trusted his two thousand Mamluks, and he was unwilling to use the original Kurds and Turkmen. He still needed us as his last resort. But even the people who spoke knew how weak and powerless this argument was. Some smart people had already decided not to return to Egypt and would find an opportunity to lead their soldiers away halfway.

As for whether to continue to Apol, or to seek refuge with the Seljuk Turks or even the Christians, those were things to consider later.

But Saladin did not give them that opportunity. They kept a close eye on the Mamluks' movements but forgot to guard against those around them.

The riot came unexpectedly. Several emirs had their throats slit by their guards while they slept in their tents, while others ran out naked, only to find raging fires and crisscrossing scimitars and daggers. Arrows lashed down from the dark night sky like the whip of God, and people fell around them. They found that they had no choice but to kneel and beg the enemy, who had appeared out of nowhere, to spare their lives.

Two or three groups may have escaped, but they were then hunted down and intercepted by tribal chiefs from the vicinity of Damascus, the very Fatahs who had been driven away with almost nothing. They returned with their soldiers, demanding compensation and the enormous interest that came with it—a debt they would have to pay with their lives.

Kamal walked past the panicked and desperate crowd without changing his expression, looking at each of their faces, and then adding them to the neatly arranged heads in the sand—his memory was excellent, and he was certain that no one had escaped this time.

The minister entered the tent. There were no candles or torches lit in the large tent—the fighting had been going on for a day and a night, and the sun was already setting in the west. The light that entered the tent, filtered through the leather, was a heavy, mixed, and murky red. This red enveloped Saladin, who was wearing a black robe, making him look like a rough weapon unearthed from the furnace.

He just sat there, seemingly oblivious to the disgusting curses outside.

"Is it all there?"

“They’re all there,” Kamal replied respectfully.

"Then let's kill them all."

"Kill them all?"

"I thought you would still want to say a few words to them."

“I never waste my energy on useless things, you know that, and it’s not like I didn’t give them a chance.” After receiving Lazis’s plea for help, Saladin genuinely wanted to rescue Damascus, but only if his own rule was not shaken by the rescue.

Perhaps this is God telling him to give those despicable fellows another chance—after all, they all believe in the same God and the Prophet. If they truly regarded him as a Sultan… no! Even if they only regarded him as an enemy with whom they had to cooperate in the face of the greater good, Saladin would not let them end up like this.

To his disappointment, these people's thirst for power and wealth seemed to have surpassed their faith. Not only did they intend to instigate a rebellion during the expedition, but they also colluded with tribal leaders around Damascus, as well as the Seljuk Turks and Armenians, to besiege Saladin.

If Saladin hadn't pretended to be seriously wounded by the Assassins and used Damascus as bait, he might now be a corpse in the wilderness.

"I will treat them the way they treated me," Saladin said simply.

Kamal bowed and accepted the order. A short while after he left the tent, the shouting outside ceased. Blood soaked the sand, heads rolled everywhere. Saladin, emerging from the tent, casually picked up one and examined it closely, searching in those now cloudy eyes for some truth he couldn't fathom.

"How is the situation in Damascus?" he asked.

“Everything is going exactly as you predicted,” Kamal said. “Lazis carried out your orders very thoroughly, and the Christians were indeed at their wits' end, both in terms of supplies and morale. Although they knew the bait might be poisonous, they still swallowed it without hesitation.”

"But I don't understand why you insisted that Lazis demand the Christian knight become the governor of Damascus?"

Although everyone knew that Saladin greatly admired this young man, they were still enemies, and Saladin might not have been so generous as to give away a city like Damascus even to his own son.

“For Damascus, for the Saracens, and for me.” Saladin laid down the head that lay there with its eyes wide open in death. “Damascus sent more than just one letter of aid to me under the threat of the Crusaders; I believe many places received his letters. So why did they remain inactive and watch Damascus fall?”

"They are selfish."

"It was also for their own protection and to rescue Damascus. It was not only about repelling those enormous and highly motivated Crusaders, but also about holding Damascus from their own covetous kin."

Do you think any of those people—Holmes, Apole, Haqqama…—could do it?

"If those left behind by the Fatimid dynasty could work with me, I could do it." Saladin sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, they would rather kill me than any Christian—it's ridiculous that they are so courageous when facing me, yet so stupid and cowardly when facing Christians."

And anyone who dares to answer Lazius's call thinks the same way; we are not only afraid of Christians.

The fall of Damascus was inevitable. He walked forward. Kamal followed silently behind him. "But no one who gains it can keep it for long."

Rather than the Saracens killing each other, I would prefer they have a more worthy enemy to face.

"But aren't you afraid that Damascus will become another Arrassat?"

"Therefore, Laziz's surrender had to be timed perfectly; he couldn't surrender when the Christians first began their siege. At that point, the Christians would only think the Saracens were cowards, and they would naturally and without hesitation reject any of Laziz's requests."

Even if the Saracens in Damascus are not completely slaughtered, they will be driven out. If that happens, Christians will become the main inhabitants of the city, making it difficult to take it back in the future.

He also couldn't try to trade with them when the Crusaders had suffered too many losses; he couldn't afford their anger and greed—they would surely retaliate.

Every pure and steadfast Saracen is a treasure, a treasure that takes twenty or even thirty years to accumulate again.

"But I've also heard that the Count of Edessa governed Cyprus quite well after becoming its ruler."

Saladin laughed at this remark, "Are you worried that Cesare will completely conquer Damascus? Indeed, for the common people, faith is not the most important thing; what matters most is profit—to put it simply, the bread they eat and the clothes they wear."

Cesar had previously held a seven-day, seven-night "mourning" for his first wife—but Cyprus is now so stable and compliant, partly because people fear his blade, but more so because of the taxes he abolished. Even though it was only for a year and only some miscellaneous taxes, it was enough to give these poor people a breather for a while.

The people's demands were that low. I think the people of Damascus, whether Christians, Isaacs, or Saracens, would be no exception.

"So……"

"But some people—who would rather not see such a scene than we do—God is quite fair; He never puts fools and wicked people in the same place. What we have here, Christians certainly have too."

Moreover, there's something you might not know, and of course, very few people know it, not even Noordin's First Lady.

Kamal paused for a moment.

“Regarding Edessa,” Saladin said with a smile, “the reasons for the county’s downfall are not as simple as they seem on the surface. Yes, just as you think.” He saw the change in Kamal’s expression and knew that he immediately guessed why Saladin had so readily ceded Damascus. Those people would not allow Cesar to obtain Damascus, whether as governor or lord.

Cyprus, Bethlehem, Damascus—if these three places were completely controlled by one person, the wealth, power, and army they brought could even surpass those of Arrassa. What would that mean? It would mean that if the Earl of Edessa wanted revenge, there would be almost no obstacles or hesitation, not to mention that King Baldwin of Arrassa was his blood relative and close friend. There would be no doubt which side His Majesty would stand on.

"Does that person already know?"

"When his sister Natia left the Sultan's harem and went to the crowd at Holy Cross Castle, loudly proclaiming that he was the son of Count Josephine III of Edessa and the heir to the Count of Edessa, the crowd would surely know."

He probably didn't expect that Cesar would receive two such enormous gifts so quickly..."

As he said this, Kamal couldn't help but raise his eyes and glance at him, as if to confirm that his lord was indeed saying those words. "A bit shameless, indeed," Saladin laughed. "Although the initial intention was not so pleasant, you have to admit that it was indeed a heavy expectation."

"So heavy it could crush him."

"That depends on God's will."

If God truly desires such a young man to be His messenger in this corrupt world, He will grant him protection and guidance. Conversely, there are countless young people in this world possessing exceptional talent and abilities; they flash through our sight like shooting stars, and this is merely one more—not something to be overly surprised about.

“You are a very strict person—they will not let Cesar get Damascus, they will definitely take action.”

"This is another kind of war. Of course I hope that the child can win as he has every time before, but this victory will not be easy."

Of course, during this time, we will also be able to rebuild our army and court, and my child will grow into a qualified regent.

"At that time, I will lead my army back to this place."

Saladin looked at Damascus with regret. He didn't need more; even if he had ten thousand or five thousand Mamluks, he would have dared to take the risk. But unfortunately, time is the same for everyone. It doesn't give the Saracens much time, nor does it give the Christians much time.

"Anyway, I've finally gotten rid of one of my worries," he said without any hesitation. "We can go back to Egypt tomorrow."

If it weren't for the need to completely eradicate these dissenting thoughts and voices, they wouldn't have needed to linger in the Jordan Valley for so long—and when Saladin returned to his tent, he met an unexpected person, his brother Turanshah—he had thought the scene outside his tent would be enough to terrify his brother and make him stop in his tracks.

Surprisingly, he remained remarkably composed.

“Because I know what kind of person I am, and I know what kind of person you are,” Turansha asked, “but what I want to know is, can you keep Emina?”

“I could not keep her,” Saladin said calmly. “She was following the will of God and the requirements of the Prophet. A wife should indeed return to her husband, and neither the Sultan nor the Caliph can disobey this.”

"Then...then from now on...Holmes..."

“She said she was no longer Saladin’s sister, but the wife of the Governor of Holmes,” Saladin said, his expression turning somewhat somber. “They should be... at the location of Mount Rumana by now…”

Mount Rumana is closer to the Seljuk Turks' territory: "But Emina has letters written by my own hand, so they should not be disturbed, and I have instructed them to disguise themselves as a caravan."

With a pass and identification personally written by Sultan Saladin, both the Emir and the Caliph would grant passage. Even if they encountered bandits, the hundred Mamluks would be more than enough to hold them off.

Saladin gazed at the map, a copy of the one he had found on Cesare's servant. Without the scriptures and illustrations, it no longer looked as exquisite, beautiful, and pious, but it was much more useful.

Saladin's fingertips traveled north along the Jordan Valley. It can be seen that they made a large detour after passing Damascus, and only began to head west when they reached a point parallel to Homs.

Even if Christian troops were sent, they would likely not encounter them.

(End of this chapter)