The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 119 Battle of Beka Valley

Gerald and Reinard quickly took the opportunity to retreat back to the front lines, reorganize their formation, and advance the prepared mounted knights to the front to form a deep defense with the foot knights.

Both men were wounded; Gerald had three arrows stuck in his shoulder armor, and Reinald had a new, bleeding knife wound on his face.

"Damn it, why did they retreat?" Gerald was furious. "Fallen infantrymen charging into the Bedouin ranks were committing massacre! We were so close to winning!"

"After all that fighting, all they sent was Ghulam? Saladin still hasn't shown up!" Reinald spat, then, remembering Gerald's earlier actions, he cursed, "You, Gerald! You only know how to order me around, but you yourself couldn't resist Saladin's bait, could you?!"

"Shut up, Reinald!" Gerald gritted his teeth, staring at the Ghulam who was becoming clearer as he approached. "Even if it's not Saladin, the one leading this Ghulam force is at least an Emil. Focus on the enemy!"

Just as Reinald was about to reply, the sound of horses' hooves from the northeast was already deafening.

The two hundred Ghulam heavy cavalry at the forefront had already set up their lances and formed a wedge formation, charging straight at the remnants of the Templar Knights who were fighting on foot.

The banner held by the leader, Ghulam, fluttered in the wind, its green background and silver moon dazzling in the sunlight.

"Emir's Banner!" shouted the infantry knights with their lances.

Ghulam drew closer and closer, the flag drew closer and closer, until its texture could be seen.

The next second, the expressions of several sharp-eyed old knights in the gun formation changed drastically.

"Wait... what about the cross base at the top of the flagpole..."

"There are words on the side of the flag! Latin!"

As they drew closer, the faded inscription became clear in the sunlight:

Eudes de St. Amand.

"Grand Master Odor..." an old knight with a scarred face murmured, his right hand, gripping his lance, trembling slightly, "That's the banner of the former Grand Master!"

The entire Templar camp instantly erupted in cheers.

"They dared to change the Grand Master's banner into a heretical style!"

"My God, how dare they defile it like this..."

"Take it back! We must take it back!"

The Templar Knights who were waiting in the rear and had not yet participated in the battle also realized something from the shouts of their comrades in front, and stared intently at the green flag fluttering in the wind.

They saw the Islamic crescent covering the original cross pattern, and Arabic calligraphy replacing the Latin proverbs, but most glaring was the line of Latin names that were not completely covered.

Those were the names of the people they had sworn to serve to the death!

They began to stir restlessly, pleading in unison with Gerald, "Grand Master! That's the former Grand Master's banner! Order a charge! We must take it back!"

"That's right, Commander! Charge!"

Gerald's face turned pale; of course he recognized the flag.

Saladin, oh Saladin, you killed him by destroying his spirit...

"Calm down!" Gerald struggled to compose himself, trying to suppress the knights' agitation. "This must be Saladin's trap!"

"So you're just going to let the heretics continue to tarnish the Grand Master's banner?!" The knights' eyes blazed with fury. "Grand Master Gerald, you haven't fought a single battle in your three years in office, and now that you finally have such a golden opportunity, you don't even dare to reclaim the relics of the former Grand Master?"

Gerald felt a chill run down his spine.

He looked around and saw that the eyes of more than a hundred Templar Knights were burning with anger and doubt, all focused on him.

Those gazes held doubt, anger, and something deeper—judgment.

During his eight-year tenure, Odo fought countless battles, and the old members of the Knights were all his former subordinates, who were already dissatisfied with their Grand Master who had not achieved any merit.

In addition, for the past three years, a voice has been circulating within the order that if Odor had paid the ransom promptly, he might not have died in prison.

If we retreat now, a mutiny is imminent.

"Brothers, Saladin must have an ambush..." Gerald tried to persuade the knights in an extremely humble voice, "The matter of capturing the flag needs to be discussed more carefully..."

"Then crush the ambush!" the knights shouted. "Servants of the Lord need not consider gain or loss; as long as they hold honor in their hearts and fight for the Lord's cause, they will naturally be invincible!"

"Take back the flag!"

"Avenge Grand Master Odo!"

"In the name of God!"

The shouts went from sporadic to unified, from hesitant to resolute.

What is the honor of a knight?

Gerald could recite the standard answer to this question when he was young: loyalty, courage, upholding faith, and protecting civilians.

But he doesn't consider himself a particularly honorable person; he cares more about practical matters, the practicalities of real money.

At this moment, the Templars' thirst for honor enveloped him. If he submitted to the knights, he would likely die in this doomed charge, losing all the painstaking planning he had put in over the years. He had finally climbed to this position, and he was unwilling to accept it.

But if he refuses, he will only retain the empty title bestowed upon him by the Papacy, and he will completely break with most of the knights of the order.

On the mountain, the Ghulam cavalry's charge was already close, but they did not rush directly into the human defense line of foot knights. Instead, they suddenly turned around thirty paces away, and the flag bearer deliberately slowed down, allowing the flag to fully unfurl in the wind.

The Latin inscription on the side of the flag was as glaring as a mockery, and with each second it remained, the knights looked at Gerald with a growing sense of unease.

"Templar Knights—" Gerald finally made up his mind. He gritted his teeth, drew his longsword, and his voice trembled with humiliation and fear. "Charge with me! Reclaim the banner!"

The foot knights retreated to their positions, mounted their spare warhorses, and together with the other Templar Knights who were already prepared, a total of more than four hundred men, dressed in white robes and red crosses, charged out of the positions like an avalanche, their target being the name of the former Grand Master on the green flag that had been desecrated by heretical symbols.

Of the five hundred Templar Knights, only a few dozen remained with Reynald, as they were too wounded to join the main force in the charge.

"Are you fucking insane, Gerald?!"

Reinald, who was standing nearby, witnessed the whole thing. He didn't want to get involved in the Templars' domestic affairs, but he didn't expect the Templars to lose control so suddenly. By the time he realized he needed to stop them, it was too late.

Fifty steps, thirty steps, ten steps...

Just as the knights' lances were about to touch Ghulam's backline, the flag bearer suddenly accelerated and led his team into the right-hand valley entrance.

Gerald's heart sank, but the arrow was already on the bowstring and had to be released. His Templar Knights, their eyes already bloodshot, chased after the enemy into the valley like bulls drawn by a red thread.

The situation was completely out of control.

"This is bad, this is bad..." Even a fool could guess the enemy's intentions.

That is a valley formed by the confluence of the Lebanese mountains and a tributary of the Litani River. It is extremely narrow, with towering cliffs on both sides, making it a natural military dead zone.

This valley wouldn't have posed any threat to them at all, because few generals with a sound mind would willingly venture into it. What the hell were Gerald and these Templars thinking?!