The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 87 Catching a Turtle in a Jar

Farouk, who was overseeing the battle from the rear, had a furrowed brow.

The crossbow bolts fired by the defenders on the city walls were far more effective than he had anticipated. Those deadly arrows not only had incredible penetrating power, but their range was also far greater than that of the Frankish crossbows he had previously encountered.

The Mtatawi skirmishers became easy targets, while the better-equipped Damascus militia, under constant and precise fire, found their shields unable to hold up, and casualties gradually increased.

"Order! Have Mutatawi and the militia withdraw! Heavy infantry, advance!"

Farouk was unwilling to expend too many of his precious regular troops in the probing, but the setbacks he was facing forced him to commit more combat-ready forces to maintain the offensive and to probe the strength of the defenders.

The bugle call changed, and the lightly armed troops at the front retreated like a reckoned person. In their place came heavy infantry, wearing iron helmets, long cotton robes, and short chainmail covering only their upper bodies, carrying long axes and shields.

Their formation became even more disciplined, and with shields raised, they surged towards the city walls once more with resolute steps. The siege ladders were re-erected, and the soldiers climbed upwards fearlessly.

The resistance from the city walls seemed to remain stubborn, with arrows and stones falling continuously.

But Farouk noticed that the defenders' counterattack seemed to have weakened somewhat. The density of arrows was no longer so suffocating, and they were mainly focused on dealing with the heavily armored soldiers climbing the siege ladders, which had much less of a suppressive effect on the troops in the rear.

"Hmph, it seems their crossbows aren't inexhaustible, or... operating those powerful crossbows takes time?" Farouk wondered, a hint of disdain replacing his previous seriousness. "After all, they're just some city militia, and besides, I marched here hastily. The Franks were probably caught off guard. How can they compare to our elite heavy infantry!"

So he ordered the Ghulam elites to also join the city walls to support the heavy infantry who were climbing the siege ladders.

With Ghulam joining the battle, the morale of the heavy infantry climbing the ladders soared even higher.

The battle lasted for about an hour, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Ghulam and his heavy infantry nearly scaled the walls several times, but were repelled by the tenacious defenders. However, the defenders seemed to be paying a price, as the defensive forces in some corners of the walls were clearly weakened.

Just then, Farouk noticed that the garrison seemed to be in disarray on a section of the city wall near the main gate of the castle.

A Jerusalem cross flag lies askew, and a brief struggle can be vaguely seen between the defenders and the Ghulams pouring onto the battlements.

Subsequently, the defenders on that section of the city wall seemed to have lost their morale and began to retreat into the city.

Even more surprisingly, a crack opened in the main city gate amidst the chaos.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" Farouk's heart skipped a beat.

He suspected a trap, but the temptation was too great—the city gates were already wide open, and breaking through them would be much faster and less damaging than climbing the walls.

Moreover, the Franks first exhausted their crossbow bolts, and then suffered a partial rout under the Ghulam's offensive, all of which seemed to be consistent with the behavior of a defender whose defensive strength was gradually depleting.

"Praise be to God! Warriors, the city gates are open! Charge in with me!" Farouk no longer hesitated. He drew his scimitar and let the Turkmen cavalry, skilled in mounted archery, enter the city first.

He personally led the remaining elite Ghulam troops, who had not yet been deployed to the battlefield, riding Arabian warhorses and wielding lances, closely following the Turkmen vanguard, like an iron torrent rushing straight towards the alluring city gate.

He had no doubts. Even if the cunning Franks had set a trap, the city walls had been occupied by the Ghulam and heavy infantry, and the Turkmen, swift as the wind, were scouting the city gates, it was virtually foolproof.

The Turkmen cautiously approached the city gate and tentatively fired arrows into the gate. Seeing no reaction, they continued to venture deeper.

There was no resistance at the city gate, and the Turkmen easily broke through the not-fully-open gate and poured into the city.

Farouk led Ghulam close behind, charging in on horseback.

However, upon entering the city gate, the sight before him instantly sent chills down his spine.

This was not the inner courtyard of a castle or a street, but a huge barbican surrounded on three sides by high walls and with an open top. The Turkmen who had arrived earlier were crammed into this narrow space, bewildered.

Meanwhile, countless figures that Farouk had never seen before suddenly appeared on the surrounding city walls, which should have been occupied by the Ghulams and heavy infantry who were supposed to be the first to arrive.

On the city wall, tall and burly Danes swung their giant axes at their feet, the sound of bones breaking echoing. The Danes bent down slightly, lifting the severed heads with their left hands, with javelins half a person's height still stuck in the skulls.

These heads originally belonged to Ghulams and heavy infantrymen under Farouk's command!

Bohemian soldiers worked together to yank the headless Ayyubid soldiers' bodies off the battlements, and countless Ayyubid corpses crashed down like hailstones onto the sandy ground surrounding the Turkmen.

In fact, due to the overcrowding, some Turkmen were unable to dodge in time and were knocked off their horses by the corpses.

"We've fallen into their trap! Retreat!" Farouk roared, abruptly reining in his warhorse.

Fortunately, he was in the middle of the group and hadn't gone all the way in. Almost at the same time he shouted, a heavy thud came from behind him.

The heavy iron-clad wooden gate crashed down, about to completely isolate him and his Ghulam and Turkmen men from the main force outside the city.

At the same time, another gate inside the barbican was also quickly closed, completely blocking the path to the interior of the castle.

Because of his position at the rear, Farouk, at the last moment before the gates closed, relied on his warhorse's agility and his exceptional reflexes to narrowly escape through the gate opening and return to the outside of the city. However, half of the Ghulams he personally led, more than a hundred men, were completely trapped inside the barbican.

The next moment, the crossbowmen, who were already prepared on the battlements surrounding the barbican, stepped over the Danes and Bohemians and revealed their crossbows.

Without any command, a dense rain of crossbow bolts rained down from all directions upon the Ghulams and Turkmen huddled together inside the barbican.

Turkmen and their mounts fell in droves. The armored Ghulams erected a shield wall, trying to struggle with their heavy armor and shields, but the shields and armor were rendered useless by the crossfire from above and the sides. Screams, the sound of crossbow bolts whistling through the air, and the clanging of metal echoed within the barbican.

Farouk stood outside the city, his eyes bloodshot with rage as he watched everything unfold. He could hear the desperate cries of his men and see them fall like harvested wheat. He swung his sword to strike the gate, but the heavy wooden-clad iron structure remained unmoved.

In the end, Farouk could only suppress his grief and humiliation, and roared to the main force behind him, "Retreat! The entire army retreats to camp!"

Farouk knew the situation was hopeless; remaining beneath the walls would only make him a sitting duck for the defenders' new, terrifying crossbows. He had to hold his ground and lead his remaining troops to safety before Guillaume could mount a counterattack.

Inside the castle, Guillaume de Saint-Eume watched the massacre gradually subside within the barbican, breathed a sigh of relief, and then looked at Lyon beside him as if seeking instructions.

Lyon breathed a sigh of relief and immediately ordered, "Clear the barbican and fortify the gates. Send a messenger to Jerusalem to report the victory! At the same time, continue to closely monitor enemy movements in case they have reinforcements and launch an even more frenzied attack!"