xymnovel Chapter 157 Kochbury
Chapter 157 Kochbury
Chapter 157 Kochbury
In mid-February of 1183 in the Julian calendar, Saladin's large army camp stretched out like a brown cloud on the riverbank terrace.
It was early spring, and the river was turbid and turbulent, carrying melting snow from the northern Armenian mountains as it rushed south.
The camp was orderly, yet a sense of anxious waiting permeated the air.
The Sultan himself, along with Tajuddin and Farouk, was under the shade of the canopy outside the commander's tent, gazing northward in the direction where dust was rising—the direction Kochbury had promised to come from.
Tajudin frowned and asked in a low voice, "Uncle, the matter in Damascus has been resolved cleanly and efficiently."
But—Ibn Muqadam of Baalbek remains in his position. With our army campaigning north, our rear is vulnerable. Is it too risky to leave this threat unchecked? What if he learns of his people's fate and rises in rebellion—”
Saladin's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, his expression calm as still water: "Tagudin, the assassination of a Sultan and blasphemy against Allah, even if an attempt, is a grave stain that must be erased from any dynasty. I have strictly ordered a news blackout, forbidding anyone from discussing the crimes of the Muqaddam family in public." His subjects knew they had committed an unforgivable crime, and his silence, in their eyes, was to maintain the dignity and stability of the Ayyubid dynasty. This tacit understanding would form an invisible wall. Ibn of Baalbek would not hear the exact death knell from Damascus anytime soon.
"But the truth will eventually come out!" Tajudin insisted.
Saladin finally turned his head, his deep eyes seeming to gleam with insight into human nature: "I rarely misjudge people, Tajuddin. Ibn Muqadam is a cautious and pragmatic man, even somewhat indecisive. He understands the costs better than his ambitious elder in Damascus. Rebellion? That means he will lose everything he currently possesses—the Baalbek fiefdom, the survival of his family, and even his life. He needs irrefutable evidence and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity before he will gamble everything. The success or failure, and the speed of our northern expedition, will determine whether he has the opportunity to find out, and whether he dares to act once he does. This expedition is not only a campaign against Zengi, but also a test of his loyalty. We shall wait and see."
Farouk, standing to the side, looked completely bewildered. He hadn't participated in the previous private conversation with Almorin and couldn't understand the riddles his uncle and cousin were talking about. He could only blink in confusion.
Just then, a scout rode up to report: "Sultan! A cavalry force has arrived from the north, bearing the banner of the Emir of Kochbury!"
All eyes turned to him instantly. Saladin gazed into the distance, calculating the size of the smoke and dust, the density of the banners,
The height of the dust kicked up by the horses as they travel —
"At most—five or six hundred cavalry," Saladin said slowly, his voice revealing neither joy nor anger. "And their armor is rudimentary, mostly leather with sparse iron plates. It's far from the fifteen hundred elite cavalry that Saul mentioned."
Upon hearing this, Farouk's youthful and impetuous face immediately flushed with anger at being deceived: "Uncle! This liar! How dare he bluff and deceive you like this! How can we make an alliance with such a faithless person? He should be expelled immediately, or even—"
Saladin raised his hand to stop his nephew's outburst.
His gaze remained calm as he scrutinized the approaching, shabby yet ruthless team that exuded the aura of desperate outlaws.
"Faroock, to judge a person, especially one who extends a helping hand to you in dire straits, don't just listen to what they say, but also observe what they do and why they had to say it. The truth will be revealed after an interview. Remember, generosity is for those who deserve it, while authority must be imposed on any behavior that needs to be regulated."
The cavalry stopped a short distance from the main camp.
The leader dismounted swiftly and decisively, his movements even carrying an almost humble eagerness.
He strode forward alone, and when he was two thousand paces away from Saladin, he knelt down and bowed deeply.
This man was none other than Kochbury.
According to Saul, he was only in his thirties, but his face was sculpted by the northern winds and hardships, with sharp features and dark, rough skin, making him look like an old man in his forties or fifties.
Only his eyes shone brightly, burning with a kind of almost obsessive flame.
His armor was indeed simple, but it was meticulously tidied up. The scabbard of his curved sword at his waist was severely worn, yet it shone exceptionally bright.
"Your Majesty Sultan, Sword of Islam, Eagle of Syria and Egypt—your humble servant Kochbury pays homage to you and begs for forgiveness!"
His voice was deep and resonant, each word sounding as if it were being squeezed out of his chest, with a harsh, teeth-grinding quality.
Saladin remained silent, simply gazing calmly at him with his eyes that could see into people's hearts.
Kochbury touched his forehead to the ground and continued, "The 1,500 riders that Saul reported to you were what I ordered him to say. I have deceived you. All my men who are still able to ride and draw their bows and wield their swords are here—only 573 riders. We do not have good armor, enough spare arrows, and our warhorses are not all fine steeds."
He raised his head, his eyes showing no pleading, only a desperate optimism and a bottomless pain.
"Because I am afraid, Sultan. I am afraid that you will look down on me like everyone else because of my weakness and poverty, and gently extinguish my last hope of revenge. I have wandered too long among the grasslands and ruins, lost too much, and all that is left is this name and this knife, and the hatred etched into my bones."
He bowed deeply again: "If my deception has shamed or angered you, I, Kokberi, have no complaints. Please blind me, cut off my hands and feet; I will accept it willingly. I have no other desire in this life than to see Zaindin fall from the throne he stole, and to reclaim everything that my father bequeathed to me, that rightfully belongs to me! For this, I will pay any price, including this broken body!"
Silence reigned before the camp, broken only by the roar of the Euphrates River and the fluttering of the flags in the wind.
Farouk was so shocked by this straightforward and almost tragic self-description that he temporarily forgot his anger, while Tajudin narrowed his eyes and scrutinized this man who looked like a wounded lone wolf.
Suddenly, Saladin burst into a loud and genuine laugh.
The laughter broke the heavy atmosphere and made Kochbury look up in surprise.
"Hahahaha! Revenge? What crime is that!" Saladin strode forward and personally helped Kochbury up.
He patted the other man's strong yet thin shoulder, his gaze piercing: "Kokberley, your honesty is more precious than fifteen hundred false promises. Betrayal by blood, loss of home—this is the fiercest fire and the deepest pain in a man's heart! If I, Saladin, were to be angered by such sincerity, wouldn't I be an unreasonable man?"
A look of disbelief flashed in Kochbury's eyes, revealing an almost converting excitement. His lips trembled, but he could not utter a word.
However, Saladin's tone shifted abruptly, becoming gentle yet undeniably firm: "But, Lord Kochbury, commanding an army is like balancing a scale. On one side is mercy and understanding, on the other, unwavering discipline and justice. Your deception of military intelligence may be understandable, but this practice cannot be allowed to continue. How can I face my law-abiding and outspoken soldiers if I do not punish you?"
He gazed into Kochbury's eyes: "I admire your courage and hatred, and I'm willing to give you a chance for revenge. But mistakes must be paid for. I won't take your eyes, nor your hands and feet. I'll forfeit thirty percent of your pay for the next year, distributing it among the dutiful scouts. From now on, you'll be a loyal general before me. What do you say?"
A resolute glint flashed in Kochbury's eyes: "The Sultan's justice shames me deeply! But can the sin of deception be redeemed with money?"
Before he finished speaking, he swiftly drew his dagger and slashed at his left hand.
"Pfft—"
—"
With a muffled thud, a calloused finger fell to the ground, and blood gushed out instantly.
Kochbury's face turned pale, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead, but his body stood as straight as a javelin, and not a single subconscious tremor could be seen.
He quickly tore off a corner of his headscarf and skillfully and forcefully wrapped it around the wound to stop the gushing blood. The whole process was eerily silent.
He then knelt before Saladin again, gritting his teeth, and declared, "I swear on this broken body that Kochbury will never utter a word in this lifetime!"
The entire hall erupted in uproar, and a flash of shock and a hint of resistance crossed Saladin's eyes.
God does not condone any act of self-harm, and as a Muslim leader, Saladin should not have openly supported Khokberi's behavior.
But he quickly restrained himself, knowing that morale and public sentiment were more important than blame at that moment.
If Kochbury is this ruthless to himself, how will he treat his enemies?
The proud generals behind Saladin were all deeply moved.
Tajudin nodded slightly, while Farouk completely abandoned his contempt.
Saladin approached Khokbari, personally removed his own woolen cloak from his shoulders, and draped it over Khokbari's shoulders: "Rise, my general. Your blood has testified to your oath and our covenant. Now, let us discuss how to reclaim all that is yours, and—to expand the territory for Allah."