xymnovel Chapter 123 A World Where Only Gerald Is Wounded
Chapter 123 A World Where Only Gerald Is Wounded
At Saladin's camp, this deafening commotion was merely a facade.
On the leeward slope, where the firelight did not reach, Saladin's main force was dismantling their tents and loading their supplies with astonishing order and silence, retreating northward along the pre-surveyed ridge path.
Only a small number of troops and a large number of empty flags were left on the front lines to create momentum.
As the first rays of dawn illuminated the Bekaa Valley, Guy's scouts reported incredulously: "Saladin's camp is empty, with only scattered footprints, wheel tracks, and a few abandoned and damaged supplies. The outpost below the mountain is a scorched wasteland, its embers still burning."
"They escaped!" Reinald spurred his horse into the abandoned Ayyubid camp. Although he hadn't managed to take Saladin's head, the unmistakable signs of a rout were enough to excite him. "It was a night raid! Our night raid crushed them! Saladin was scared off by the fleeing soldiers at the outposts!"
Guy rode slowly through the ruins, his reason telling him that things might not be so simple; Saladin's retreat was too orderly to be a true rout.
But at this moment, the entire army was immersed in the ecstasy of "the night raid that routed Saladin's main force".
Guy needs this victory, and the kingdom needs this victory.
He reined in his horse, faced the assembled generals and soldiers, and spoke in a loud and firm voice: "Soldiers! Our valiant night raid has destroyed the enemy's outposts and caused panic and rout throughout their army! Saladin has been defeated! This is the glory of King Baldwin, the victory of Jerusalem!"
A deafening cheer echoed through the valley.
Reynald grinned and patted the shoulders of every soldier around him, enjoying the atmosphere of being worshipped. He didn't care how Saladin had actually escaped.
Gilbert and the Templars silently organized their equipment. They had lost their Grand Master in this battle, but they had recaptured the banner. It wasn't a great victory, but they had upheld the dignity of the Knights.
"Chief Stablekeeper, what's our next plan?" Galilee's Hughesze immediately stepped forward and asked, "Continue north to Beirut?"
"Of course! Although His Highness told us not to worry, we should still check just to be on the safe side." After this battle, Guy became much more relaxed and cheerful, all his former dejection gone. He said confidently, "Saladin's retreat will inevitably take him through the Bekaa Valley. The further north he goes, the more treacherous the mountains become. Saladin will never be able to cross the mountains to attack us. From now on, our journey will be much easier."
Meanwhile, Saladin's army was resting on their way back to Beirut.
Farouk surveyed the almost intact main force, his awe for his uncle beyond measure.
"Where is Chief Hakim?" Saladin asked.
"He died in the chaos of battle from a stray arrow, and his entire retinue was wiped out," Farouk replied. "Damascus has lost a restless voice."
Saladin nodded and looked westward.
Guy got the glorious military exploits he desperately needed to boast about.
Reynard got his fill of killing last night, and he's probably bragging about it to everyone he meets now.
He himself, at the cost of a single tactical engagement, severely damaged the Knights Templar and captured their Grand Master, weakening the Frankish elite.
His main army was intact and ready to deal with the dynasty's political enemies and Aleppo in the north at any time.
"Go back to Beirut. I reckon Adil and Tagudin should have taken them by now," Saladin said to Farouk. "But before that, we need to give Grand Master Gerald a proper welcome. Go and invite him over."
Farouk accepted the order and left, while Saladin ordered a cup of water to be poured on the table, then sat down to await Gerald's arrival.
"Uncle, he's here." Farouk lifted the tent flap and stepped aside to let Gerald in, who was accompanied by two Ghulam guards.
Gerald's Templar cloak was filthy, and the simple bandage on his left shoulder was seeping dark red.
His face was pale, but his chin was still stubbornly raised, trying to maintain the last bit of dignity of the Grand Commander.
Although this air of authority seemed so ridiculous after he became a prisoner, Farouk quickly turned away and chuckled to himself.
"Please sit, Your Excellency Grand Master," Saladin said in fluent Latin, pointing to the woolen felt mats laid out in the tent.
Gerald sat down stiffly, the chains rattling softly between his wrists.
He licked his chapped lips and looked longingly at the water on the table.
He has not eaten or drunk anything since he was captured.
Saladin gestured, and a servant immediately brought over a bronze tray with a beautiful Persian gilded long-necked ewer and a matching cup.
Saladin himself held the jug and poured the clear water into the cup.
Instead of handing the cup to a servant, he stood up, walked around the table, and personally handed the cup to Gerald.
"Please," Saladin said, uttering only one word.
Gerald hesitated before taking the cup and looking at Saladin.
Saladin returned to his seat, raised his water glass, and nodded to Gerald.
Gerald drank it down in one gulp, the clear spring water flowing over his burning throat like sweet rain.
After finishing his drink, he awkwardly placed the cup back on the tray and whispered, "Thank you."
"After such a long journey and the biting mountain winds, replenishing fluids is essential," Saladin said calmly with a smile. "Just like in the desert, even the most hostile people would naturally share water. Because some things are more important than temporary victories, aren't they?"
Gerald was silent for a moment, then asked, "You could have annihilated us all, why did you retreat?"
"Because war is not a game of chess, there's no need to checkmate the opponent," Saladin said. "Today I have dealt a heavy blow to the Knights Templar, captured you, and shown the Franks that even in direct combat, they cannot easily defeat me. That is enough."
Guy will claim he defeated you.
"Let him claim it then," Saladin said indifferently. "A commander who needs victory to solidify his position is more useful to me than a deposed one. Guy owes me a favor now, and I've given him the victory he needs most."
Gerald was speechless for a moment; the man in front of him named Saladin gave him a strong sense of frustration.
It turns out that Odo had been facing this terrifying opponent on the battlefield all along.
After a long silence, Gerald finally spoke: "I will pay the ransom in a timely manner, and I hope His Majesty the Sultan will keep his promise."
"I know. I certainly know you'll pay the ransom very 'timely'," Saladin smiled. "But the problem is, right now, it's not you who can pay the ransom, but... the current acting Grand Master, or Guy?"
Saladin pronounced the word "timely" with a peculiar clarity, which stood out starkly in the quiet tent.
Gerald heard the sarcasm and mockery in Saladin's words, and his body trembled slightly.
"I saw your silence in another person four years ago, and that was Grand Master Odo. Alas, what a pity." Saladin's tone shifted slightly as he picked up the cup that the servant had refilled, but did not drink from it, only gazing at the shimmering water. "Lord Odo's health deteriorated rapidly in the later stages of his imprisonment. Was it lung disease? Or fever? Or perhaps a host of other ailments? The dungeons of Damascus in winter are indeed damp and cold, not very kind to an old knight with old wounds."
Saladin looked up at Gerald's suddenly pale face. "If we had been in a drier, warmer environment sooner, and had received better medical care, perhaps the outcome would have been different. But as you know, the war was raging, and I was overwhelmed with other duties. By the time I received the news and sent someone to take care of him while I was far away in Cairo... it was already too late."
"What...what exactly are you trying to say?" Gerald's face was deathly pale, his eyes empty and lifeless.
"Your Excellency, it seems you've misunderstood. I was merely reminiscing about the past and offering my apologies," Saladin said apologetically. "It's all my fault for not being hospitable enough; please accept my apologies!"
Silence fell again inside the tent, broken only by the crackling of the torches.
Saladin fell silent, quietly observing Gerald's reaction.
Gerald remained as still as a statue. He did not drink the second sip of water. In the long silence, his hand holding the silver cup unconsciously loosened, and the silver cup fell to the ground.
"It seems His Excellency the Grand Master is tired." Saladin gestured to Farouk. "Take him to rest. Remember, the Grand Master is our guest; be sure to treat him with utmost respect."