The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 124 The Great Victory of Beirut

In mid-January of 1183 (Julian calendar), off the coast of Beirut, Prince Adil was gazing at a nautical chart on a table in the stern of the Egyptian naval flagship, the Raven.

Atal'abok of Egypt, Saladin's most trusted brother, was in a very good mood at this moment.

The Egyptian navy blockaded Beirut's port, cutting off any possibility of receiving reinforcements and supplies from the sea. Coupled with the siege of Beirut by Tajuddin's 10,000-strong army on land, it was only a matter of time before Beirut was captured.

"Your Highness," a guard knocked and entered, "the port watchtower has spotted a small fleet led by a light warship named Salandi, flying our flag, and requesting to enter the port."

Adil paused for a moment, then quickly walked onto the deck. In the morning mist, a battered warship was slowly approaching.

When Adil saw the person standing at the bow, he looked surprised: "Tughtakin? I thought you had something come up and wouldn't be able to come. And you're not on the same flagship as before. What's going on?"

Tughtagin climbed onto the Raven along the lowered gangplank, his movements slightly stiff.

He opened his arms to embrace his brother, and Adil could clearly smell a mixture of sea salt and blood on his younger brother.

"Brother!" Tughtagin exclaimed excitedly, almost exaggeratedly so. "I encountered the Frankish fleet off the coast of Jaffa, fought a bloody battle for a whole day, and finally defeated them! This ship is the spoils of war!"

Adil's gaze lingered on Tughtakin's face for a moment.

The younger brother's eyelids were swollen and his face was pale. Despite his efforts to straighten his back, the subtle movement of his right hand unconsciously pressing on his abdomen did not escape his eyes.

Adil casually put his arm around his brother's shoulder: "Let's talk inside. You don't look well; did the rough seas take their toll?"

In the warm cabin, Tughtagin vividly described a naval battle that never actually took place, such as how he fought against overwhelming odds, how he cleverly set up an ambush, how he sank three enemy ships and captured the Sarandi warship, and so on.

Adil listened quietly, his gaze occasionally sweeping over his brother's slightly protruding belly and swollen eyes, and thus he had no doubts.

"So," Tughtagin concluded, "I offer you this trophy, along with the supplies on board, in the hope that it will help you capture Beirut soon."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Tughtakin." Adil patted his younger brother's shoulder affectionately and casually asked, "This ship looks quite special; it even has a ram. When you captured it, was there anything special on board?"

Tughtagin said, "Brother, you're overthinking it. This ship was clearly captured by the Franks from some Saracen pirates and then by me. Frankish nobles would never use this ship, nor would they leave anything important on it."

Adil nodded: "Well, in that case, let's add this ship to the fleet. You can rest for the night and return tomorrow."

"No, no, too many supplies were lost in the battle with the Frankish navy. The little I'm bringing now is hardly enough to cover Beirut's expenses," Tughtagin waved his hand, politely declining. "I'll return to Egypt immediately after the handover and won't stay here any longer."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Altaïr has been lying in wait in the lower deck of Zahir's Sarandi warship for two days.

This hidden space is the masterpiece of Venetian shipwrights, originally used for smuggling valuable goods. The entrance is behind a pile of ballast stones in the cargo hold, making it extremely secretive.

Zahir is a real veteran pirate.

As Altaïr pondered this, he sat cross-legged, his breathing slow and almost stopped.

He overheard part of Tughtagin's meeting with Adil through the gaps in the bulkhead.

I had assumed that Saladin's two brothers were wary of each other and engaged in open and covert struggles, but it seems that it was just Tughtajin's jealousy on his part. Adil clearly cared for his brother very much, without a doubt.

At midnight, the port was completely silent except for the sound of waves crashing on the shore and the occasional footsteps of guards.

Altaïr emerged silently from his hiding place, dressed in a dark assassin's robe, his face smeared with charcoal ash, only his eyes shining brightly in the darkness.

He first reached for the wheelhouse at the stern and slipped a small package wrapped in oiled paper into the gap in the wheel chain. The package contained a mixture of phosphorus powder and sulfur, which would spontaneously combust if exposed to moisture or subjected to vigorous friction, but it would take time.

When Leon told Zahir, Jacob, and even himself, who was already hiding on the ship, about the plan, Zahir jumped around and wailed pitifully.

"My ship! My precious Salandi! Your Highness Lyon, do you know how many years this ship has been with me? Twelve years! Twelve—"

"I'll compensate you with two new ships afterwards, plus five hundred dinars."

"...Indeed, out with the old, in with the new; Your Highness is truly wise!"

A faint smile flickered across Altaïr's eyes as he reminisced before his departure.

Goodbye, someone's precious ship.

He gently stroked the bulkhead, quietly bidding farewell to the warship that had carried him into enemy territory, then climbed out of the porthole and silently plunged into the dark sea.

The seawater was still icy cold in January, but he didn't care.

He took a breath with a hollow reed in his mouth and swam like a fish toward Adil's flagship, the Raven.

He took out a short rope with hooks and a specially made suction cup at the end from a waterproof leather pouch at his waist.

He began to climb like a gecko, and when he reached the deck, two sailors on watch were dozing against the mainmast.

Altaïr flicked out his hidden blade, cleanly slicing the necks of the two men, and headed towards the catapult tower and sail and cable warehouse at the bow of the ship.

On the ground floor of the tower, he found grease cans and spare bowstrings used for maintaining the catapults.

He carefully poured the grease onto the pile of ropes and wooden parts, but instead of lighting it, he took out several small ceramic bottles from his pocket, removed the corks, and dripped the viscous black liquid inside onto the grease.

This is diluted Greek fire liquid that Lyon brought back from Constantinople. Unfortunately, there isn't much of it, but it's enough to set the enemy's flagship on fire and throw them into chaos.

He followed suit and placed "gifts" in the same positions on the two escort ships next to the flagship.

Finally, he swam back to the vicinity of the Sarandi boat, but instead of boarding it, he dived to a patrol boat at the port entrance, set up incendiary devices there as well, and then returned to the Sarandi boat.

Altaïr stood on a high point on the ship, his right arm outstretched. A moment later, the sound of flapping wings grew louder as they approached.

A dark brown young eagle flew through the night and landed precisely on his right shoulder, where he wore a leather arm guard.

Altaïr took a small piece of cured meat from his pouch and fed it to his companion, gently stroking its back feathers and whispering a few words.

The young eagle tilted its head and rubbed against his fingers, then flapped its wings and soared into the dark sea outside the harbor.

He took a deep breath, submerged again, and swam towards the designated evacuation point. Next, he would wait for the flames to ignite, and then, amidst the chaos, board one of Jerusalem's warships.

The sound of a young eagle flapping its wings had barely touched the dark sea when three Sidon speedboats, lurking in the shadows of the reefs outside Beirut harbor, immediately sprang into action.

The sailors spotted the fleeting shadow of the eagle and quickly lit their specially made windproof signal lights, sending a signal to the sea to the southwest.

On the sea to the southwest, Earl Raymond, leading the kingdom's navy, spotted the signal in the distance and smiled, "Your Highness has quite a few secrets."

"Raise the sails," he commanded in a deep voice. "Sail at full speed to the Port of Beirut, according to the planned schedule!"