xymnovel Chapter 50 The Nest
Chapter 50 The Nest
In early April of 1182 (Julian calendar), the Ayyubid Sultan's army, in dense formation, met the army of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, personally led by Baldwin IV, at the foot of Caleb Fort. A silent struggle filled the air, but ultimately, swords were not drawn. Saladin's army, like a tide bypassing a reef, began to move to the right of Caleb Fort, continuing their journey towards Damascus.
Reinald stared intently at the dust billowing from the rear of the Ayyubid army until the last wisp of smoke disappeared on the horizon. Only then did he let out a long sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing. He spurred his horse, turned, and galloped towards the kingdom's army, which seemed to have descended from the heavens like divine warriors.
Baldwin IV sat astride his warhorse, draped in a deep blue robe embroidered with the Jerusalem cross, his pure white marshal's cloak billowing gently in the wind. He wore no helmet; his signature silver mask concealed all his expressions. He held the reins with only one hand, and his horse moved slowly and steadily. Guy of Lusignan, Gerald, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Roger, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller, and Baron Balian of Ibelin, all fully armed, stood guard on either side of the king.
As Reynald galloped towards them, Baldwin gently raised his hand, and the entire army behind him stopped almost simultaneously.
Reinald rushed forward, nimbly dismounted, and bowed. When he raised his head again, his face was contorted with grief, his lips twitched unnaturally, and he even wiped away non-existent tears with the back of his hand.
Guy and Gerald exchanged a glance, their lips twitching as they barely managed to suppress a laugh. Roger simply relaxed and lay back on his horse's neck, watching this clumsy farce with great interest. Only Balian kept his gaze intently fixed on the King, while his peripheral vision warily scanned Guy and Gerald's every move.
Baldwin remained silent, his gaze behind the mask calmly fixed on Reinald, quietly awaiting Reinald's performance.
"Your Majesty!" Reynald squeezed out invisible tears, his eyes dry as he stared at Baldwin's mask, his voice trembling, "Saladin... that despicable bastard! He pretended to invite me to talk, but then took the opportunity to attack me, holding a knife to my throat!"
He let out a hoarse wail: "I almost died! Really! Luckily the king didn't abandon me... If you had come any later, the knights who fought bravely for you in Montgissa would have been called by the Lord and left you forever!" He lowered his head deeply, almost to his chest.
Baldwin waited quietly for him to finish his performance, until he had run out of new words, before speaking in a flat, emotionless tone: "I don't need your gratitude. The kingdom's army received the plea for help and marched here hastily. They are exhausted and need to rest for the night in your castle."
"Huh?" Reynald looked up abruptly, startled. He had assumed the king's arrival, like Saladin's, would be to interrogate him, but the reaction was so calm. This only made him more uneasy. The king's thoughts were unfathomable; perhaps he wanted to enter the castle and punish him in front of all his soldiers? Even more terrifying was the possibility that his secret plan might be discovered…
Thinking of this, he bowed, his tone hesitant: "But... Your Majesty, my castle is small and dilapidated, the guest rooms are in disrepair, and the roof has several large holes, it's really..."
“I don’t need a room,” Baldwin interrupted him. “I can sleep with the soldiers.”
Reinald was completely at a loss. He forced himself to bend deeply, and through gritted teeth managed to squeeze out a sentence: "That...that won't do! If Your Majesty doesn't mind, please stay in my room..."
A barely perceptible snort of triumph escaped Baldwin's mask. He ignored Reinald, spurred his horse, and led the lords and knights past Reinald at a leisurely pace. Barrian followed closely behind, seemingly oblivious to Reinald's farcical performance. Roger passed by, covering his mouth, but his puffed-out cheeks betrayed him. Guy and Gerald rode closer, exchanging knowing glances and whispering, "Aren't you going to get back to your room and tidy up? And cover up your secret plan while you're at it!"
Reynald, his mind in turmoil, glanced at the king who was about to enter the castle, hastily mounted his horse, and without even bothering with etiquette, bypassed Baldwin's group and rushed into the city gate first.
Baldwin watched calmly as Reynald ran wildly inside, offering no comment, as if it were all expected. He followed closely behind with four lords and a dozen or so royal guards into the castle, while a large contingent of knights and infantry began to camp on the left flank of Calleburg, near the Jordan River.
Lady Stephanie, Reynald's wife, was already waiting to greet them in front of the main tower of the castle. Under her guidance, the king and his entourage went to their rooms on the top floor. Contrary to Reynald's claim of being "dilapidated," the rooms were exceptionally clean and tidy, like a brand-new house.
Reinald spent the entire evening in a state of anxiety. He had prepared a grand feast, but the king, accompanied by Reinald, merely made a symbolic inspection of the city walls and guards before returning to his room to rest. The expected reprimand and punishment did not come. He couldn't help but wonder if he was being paranoid—after all, the king had clearly advocated war at the banquet a year ago; perhaps… he had tacitly approved of his plundering?
The daytime hustle and bustle finally subsided as night fell, and Kallerburg fell asleep, with only the tireless sound of the wind weaving and whistling between the towers and battlements.
Balian closed the door silently, the heavy oak making no sound. He wore a dark, tight-fitting short coat, covered by an inconspicuous gray cloak, completely blending his figure into the shadows.
He avoided the main passageway illuminated by torches, choosing instead the narrow staircases used by servants and the open corridors connecting the various defensive points. His boots trod on the rough stone, as light as a cat's. Occasionally, he could hear the heavy footsteps of patrolling guards and the scraping of armor coming from the distant walls. He would immediately stop, pressing himself against the wall until the sounds faded away.
On the west side of the castle, near the northern cliff, an area was under expansion. During the day, it was bustling with activity, but now it was deathly silent, save for haphazardly piled timber and stone. Balian's gaze swept across the area, finally settling on a huge opening in the cliff face, partially obscured by wooden scaffolding and tarpaulins. A peculiar odor, a mixture of fresh wood, asphalt, and other strange smells, wafted faintly from that opening.
He waited patiently for fifteen minutes, and after confirming that there were no guards around, he passed through the wooden barrier, lifted a corner of the thick rainproof cloth, and slipped inside.
Beyond the cave entrance was not the narrow passage he had imagined, but a downward slope carved along the natural rock face. The smell in the air was even stronger. He carefully made his way along the slope, and as he rounded a bend, the view suddenly opened up before him, a sight that made him hold his breath instantly.
This is a huge cave formed by hollowing out the mountain, almost half the size of the castle square. Deep inside the cave, a faint firelight flickers.
Balian approached cautiously, and in the torchlight, the outlines of several enormous structures gradually became clear. Although they still looked like scattered giant components, Balian, whose fiefdom was adjacent to the port of Jaffa and who was used to seeing ships, recognized them at a glance—these were complete structural components enough to assemble five galleys.