xymnovel Chapter 126 A Treaty of Surrender
Chapter 126 A Treaty of Surrender
On the night of the attack on the Egyptian navy in January 1183 in the Julian calendar, Taguedin stood on a high platform outside Beirut for the entire night.
The fire that lit up half the night sky in the direction of the port behind Beirut burned from midnight until it gradually dimmed before dawn.
The firelight reflected on his young face, which looked tired from the nearly half-month siege, creating shifting images.
There were no expected naval battle horns, no shouts of battle from the fleets, only the silent yet surging flames and the thunderous sound of the burning wooden planks.
His 10,000 soldiers were also watching with unease. The final combined land and sea offensive, which was supposed to be launched before evening, had been canceled. The entire army whispered among themselves around the campfire, speculating about the truth behind the mysterious fire at the port.
The scouts sent out by Tagudin reported for the third time: "Lord Emir, there is still no news from Prince Adil."
Tajudin waved silently. He knew that land and sea communications were already difficult, and in the face of such a dramatic change at night, complete severing of contact was commonplace.
He pressed his chapped lips together, his gaze fixed like nails on the dark outline of Beirut's city walls.
Prince Adil was exceptionally capable, commanded an elite navy, and enjoyed the Sultan's deep trust and reliance... but the fire was too bizarre, unlike any ordinary naval battle.
As dawn broke, remnants of black smoke still lingered over the port.
Tajudin rubbed his sore eyes, stepped out of the tent, climbed the watchtower, and habitually glanced at the city walls of Beirut facing the land.
His breathing suddenly stopped.
Before yesterday evening, the garrison on the city wall had suffered heavy casualties, was exhausted, and had inconsistent equipment; many conscripts were even dressed in plain clothes.
However, at this moment, in the dim light of dawn, he could clearly see that behind all the crenellations of the city wall stood countless soldiers, dressed in uniform and excellent full chainmail.
Most of them were crossbowmen wearing pointed nasal helmets or saddle helmets, and there were even some knights wearing veiled helmets. The coats of arms on their shields were varied, the most common being the blue and white cross of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the coat of arms of the Earl of Raymond of Toulouse, as well as the banners of Lucinian and Grinier of Sidon...
More importantly, their mental state was completely different; they stood tall and vigilantly patrolled outside the city, showing none of the dejection of an army besieged for a long time.
"Reinforcements... reinforcements from the sea..." Tajudin murmured incredulously.
The worst fears were confirmed. Adil's navy not only failed to stop the reinforcements, but it likely suffered heavy losses itself, and perhaps... the fire actually burned Egyptian warships!
Without the naval blockade, Beirut transformed from a dead zone into a fortress with a constant supply of provisions.
In order to quickly cross the Dog River and reach the city of Beirut, he did not bring enough heavy siege equipment with his 10,000 infantrymen.
Without the suppressive firepower of heavy catapults and the combined assault of battering rams and siege towers, attempting to storm a fortified city that has received reinforcements is simply a pipe dream.
"Fortify the camp! Scouts forward three miles, closely monitoring all roads!" Tajudin roared the order, his voice tinged with a panic he himself didn't realize. "Wait...wait for the Sultan's main force to arrive!"
A day later, Saladin's army surged to the gates of Beirut like a rolling sandstorm.
Saladin's victorious army was well-organized, its banners obscuring the sun.
Although the Battle of Bekaa Valley was not a complete victory, the result of severely damaging the Knights Templar and capturing their Grand Master filled every Ayyubid soldier with the confidence of a victor.
Saladin rode his white Arabian horse alongside his nephew Farouk at the forefront of the army, with the Sultan's guards on either side holding golden Sultan banners that fluttered in the wind.
Seeing the Beirut city walls still standing tall, flying the Jerusalem cross, and the suddenly uneasy Ayyubid camp below, Farouk scoffed contemptuously, "We've all returned from the south, and Tagudin still hasn't knocked on this door. I think his excessive caution has turned into cowardice!"
"No," Saladin shook his head slightly, his gaze like that of a hawk scrutinizing the quiet city in the distance and the somewhat chaotic camp of his own forces, "It could also be... that they encountered some changes we are unaware of."
Although he could be considered the winner of the Battle of Bekaa Valley on both strategic and tactical levels, one question remained unanswered.
Why were the Franks able to guess his ambush in the Bekaa Valley, and even risk the fall of Beirut to outwit and outmaneuver him?
The decision-maker behind this was different from any of the nobles of Jerusalem he knew.
A vague unease crept into his heart.
He suddenly gave the horse a light nudge to its belly, and the magnificent white horse shot forward like an arrow.
Farouk and his personal guards were caught off guard and hurriedly spurred their horses to catch up.
At the front of the army, the sentries that Tajuddin had set up watched in astonishment as the solemn-faced Sultan sped past, and they all bowed in salute—they had never seen the ever-composed Saladin so eager.
Upon receiving the urgent report, Tajudin rushed out of the camp to greet Saladin. Before Saladin's horse had even come to a complete stop, he had already rushed forward, his voice trembling with anxiety: "Uncle... Uncle, the port... the port... the fire..."
Saladin reined in his horse, his brow furrowed. He had never seen Tagudin, known for his composure and elegance, so out of control.
"Calm down, Tajuddin." Saladin's voice was as calm as an ancient well, yet it carried a power capable of suppressing all chaos. "Take a deep breath, think it through, and speak slowly."
"The port fire... burned for half the night, it was very strange!" Tajudin tried to calm his breathing, but his voice was still very low, as if afraid that the enemies on the city wall would hear him. "The city wall... suddenly a large number of elite reinforcements appeared overnight! Uncle Adil... has disappeared without a trace!"
Saladin's slight smugness slowly froze, then turned into surprise and doubt, and finally into a deep solemnity.
The pleasure derived from controlling the battle losses in Bekaa Valley and capturing Gerald was now shattered by this sudden bad news.
The navy was his trump card, which he invested heavily in and entrusted to Adil to manage. It was the key to his control of the eastern Mediterranean coast and the division of Frankish power!
How could the navy, and Adil, possibly be defeated overnight in a blockade war where they held an overwhelming advantage...?
"Did you see the banners of the reinforcements?" Saladin interrupted Tajudin, his voice tinged with urgency.
"The flags were mixed, including the King of Jerusalem's banner, the Tripoli banner... and some that were indistinguishable. But the armor was extremely fine, and they were by no means ordinary lord's private army."
Saladin asked no more questions. He spurred his horse forward, reined it in a short distance away, and his deep gaze swept across the Beirut city walls like that of a hawk.
He was identifying, thinking, and analyzing.
Which Frankish commander, and by what means, achieved this seemingly impossible victory? Guy? No, he should have been facing me to the south at that time.
Raymond? He was on a diplomatic mission to Constantinople and hasn't returned. Even if he arrived in time, given his style, this couldn't possibly be his doing, at least not the decision-maker...
Could it be that King Baldwin, who was always sickly but always managed to create miracles, personally went north?