xymnovel Chapter 153 Surprise Attack on Mecca
Chapter 153 Surprise Attack on Mecca
Chapter 153 Surprise Attack on Mecca (Part Two)
In late April of 1183 in the Julian calendar, the deserts of Transjordan were sweltering under the blazing sun.
A caravan far larger than any other was winding its way southwest toward the Red Sea coast along the ancient Nabataean trade route.
The camel bells rang monotonously in the deathly still air, masking the slight clattering of the oddly shaped long, tightly wrapped bundles of cargo on the camel's back.
Reynald of Châtillon rode a tall Arabian horse, his mouth and nose covered with a sweat-soaked turban, revealing only a pair of eyes filled with hatred as he surveyed the endless yellow sand and the horizon.
Walking alongside him was Zahir, the former Mediterranean pirate captain and now Lyon's personal captain.
Zahir wore a loose Saracen linen robe, his skin tanned a deep brown by the sea breeze and sun, and his left eye, covered by a scar, was habitually squinting.
"Two more days to the designated bay," Zahir said casually, spitting out a grain of sand from his mouth. "The Sudanese tax collectors and patrols are mainly located near the port of Aqaba in the north. The landing point we've chosen is an abandoned pearl divers' cove with steep cliffs, difficult to access by land, but by sea—humph, I hid my goods there fifteen years ago."
Reinald snorted and glanced at the long caravan of camels.
He spent two years having the best craftsmen he could find work in sections, crafting these treasures in the cellars and caves of Calleburg.
He carefully numbered and marked every keel and every piece of plank.
Now, they lie on the camel's back like the remains of saints.
"Reinald, this operation must succeed, failure is not an option!" Reinald uttered a low, menacing whisper, as if it were a vow squeezed from the depths of his chest.
Zahir tilted his head to look at him, a hint of amusement flashing in his scarred eyes: "Your Grace, your enthusiasm for this operation is like a young man rushing towards his first love. But I heard that you were captured by Nur ad-Din in Aleppo and imprisoned for over a decade? Hatred burned brighter than the flames of faith, didn't it?"
Reinald turned his head sharply and stared intently at Zahir.
Zahir faced his self-illumination without flinching.
After a few seconds of suffocating silence, Reynald suddenly burst into a raucous laugh that echoed across the empty desert.
"Hahaha! Zachary, is that it—you've got some nerve!" His smile vanished, his voice lowered, yet it grew even more chilling. "Yes, you're right, it's hatred. They locked me in an iron cage like a wild beast, displaying me to the scum of Aleppo. Humiliation, hunger, beatings—every day was like torture in hell. I swear to God, if I get out alive, I'll spend my entire life making them pay a thousandfold!"
"Faith?" he scoffed. "Faith is the ladder to heaven, but revenge—it's a flame that burns through hell and reaches the heart of the enemy!"
Zahir grinned and said, "Your Grace is so straightforward, I like that. Much better than those gentlemen who constantly spout 'Christ' and 'God' while secretly scheming for ransom and land."
Late on the tenth night, the caravan successfully infiltrated the western shore of the Gulf of Aqaba, a forgotten corner at the northernmost tip of the Red Sea.
This place used to be a small fishing village, but it was destroyed in a tribal feud a few years ago, leaving only ruins.
Zahir's two old subordinates had been waiting there for a long time.
Over the next eight days, the ruins were transformed into a frenzied and highly efficient open-air shipyard.
Renard's accompanying craftsmen, carpenters, and blacksmiths, under the command of several experienced pirates familiar with ships brought by Zahir, began assembling the warships day and night.
Without a dock, they drove wooden stakes into the beach and used the tides and logs to move the heavy components.
The sounds of hammering, sawing, and pulling ropes were strictly controlled to a minimum, and work was almost completely stopped at night to prevent the sound and light from leaking out.
Soon, the outlines of five galleys gradually appeared in the starlight and the dim light of torches. Compared with ordinary galleys, they were more slender and had a shallower draft, making them more suitable for sailing in the Red Sea. Each of them could carry about fifty people.
On the eve of the operation, the five ships were finally launched and floated quietly on the dark waters of the bay.
Reinald gathered all 180 men on the beach. He drew his sword, Satyrone, and with a booming voice carried on the sea breeze to everyone's ears: "Tomorrow, we will sail out of this bay. Many of you do not know where you are going or what you are going to do. Now, I will tell you."
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across each face etched with the marks of sea wind and weariness. "We're going to the Red Sea! To Saladin's supposedly safe backyard! To the veins that carried their gold, spices, and pilgrims!"
"Remember, we're going to do only three things on this voyage! Burn, kill, and loot! Burn, kill, and loot! Burn, kill, and loot!" Reinald roared, pointing his sword to the sky, each word seemingly burning with bone-deep hatred. "Take every dinar, burn every ship that can float, and send those infidels heading to Mecca and Medina to meet their prophets!"
"Someone told me, oh no, this is not chivalrous at all." To hell with chivalry! There is no chivalry in this world. Anyone who believes in chivalry is a eunuch bowing and scraping around a lady's skirt!
"The infidel Sultan has sent his army to plunder your fathers and kinsmen. Beirut, Ramla, Darrum—where hasn't this infidel ravaged? Saladin must pay! If Saladin cannot pay, then I will repay him a hundredfold, his people, his faith, and his holy land!"
"Are you afraid?" Reinald surveyed the crowd, scrutinizing each person's expression. "If you are, disembark now and swim back, and I'll pretend you were never here. As for what remains—the glittering dinars, the gleaming pennies, the rainbow-colored jewels—take as much as you can! I swear in the name of Reinald of Châtillon, eighty percent of what we gain on this journey will be yours! I only want twenty percent, and the wails of the heretics beneath your swords!"
Before Reinald could finish speaking, a frenzied growl quickly spread through the crowd.
No one chose to leave, and Reinard nodded in satisfaction.
He waved to the crowd to disperse and get ready, then walked over to Zahir, who was inspecting the rudder blade of the last ship.
"Zakari, who taught you your helmsmanship and Saracen navigation skills?" he suddenly asked in a seemingly casual tone. "I can tell you're not a good guy. What made you convert to Christianity so readily?"
Zahir didn't even look up, using his dagger to chip off a rough piece of wood: "I learned it from the sea. You can't survive without knowing how. Your Grace, at sea, trusting the wind is more useful than trusting God. I've seen devout believers swallowed by storms, and I've seen scoundrels drift ashore on a sip of wine and a rotten plank."
He finally turned his head, his scarred eyes gleaming coldly in the moonlight: "I converted because His Highness Lyon gave me an entire fleet, a helmsman's position, and a reward no less than what I received as a pirate."
"My god is here," he patted the bulging money pouch at his waist, "As for the prophets and Christ—"
Can they change the direction of the sea breeze, or make the arrows bend?
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