After Mike Bai left behind the wounded in Ashkelon, he quickly led the remaining 800 soldiers to reunite with the royal army. Following the same route he had come, the royal forces pushed onward into the desert with relentless speed.
Although autumn had arrived, the desert's midday sun still scorched the earth mercilessly. All the soldiers removed their armor and helmets to keep their gear as light as possible, hoping to maintain their marching pace.
By night, however, they huddled around campfires, trying to ward off the biting cold that gnawed at their bones. The temperature dropped sharply, stealing away whatever warmth they had left.
The one bit of good news was that, thanks to their victory at Ashkelon, the kingdom had captured enough pack animals to carry the precious water they needed. Without these supplies, the march across the desert would have been nothing but a death sentence.
Mike Bai licked his parched lips, the dry dust of the desert still clinging to them. Looking out over the disorganized ranks, he noticed his soldiers appeared to be faring better than most. Thanks to the carts he had purchased earlier and the captured pack animals, along with the reduced size of his army after the battle, his men could ride horses and still have enough pack animals to carry more water.
The royal army, on the other hand, was struggling. The knights had their mounts and pack animals, but the countless infantrymen were suffering. They were rationed limited water supplies, forced to march under the relentless sun, and all too often, dead soldiers littered the ground.
"Padric, how much water do we have left?" Mike Bai asked, his gaze lingering on the fallen soldiers around him. His heart ached, but he still felt the need to ask.
Padric thought for a moment before replying, "At the current rate, we can last another two weeks."
Mike Bai nodded but then added, "But we must be practical. Mercy is a virtue, but it cannot be offered at the expense of our own survival."
"I understand, but we should help where we can," Mike Bai said, giving orders to have any soldiers who still had a chance of surviving placed on the wagons.
That day, Mike Bai saved more than 40 men. But the next day, a nobleman arrived, seeking water.
"Apologies, Baron Mike Bai, for the sudden visit," said the middle-aged nobleman before him. He looked every bit the part of a cultured gentleman, though the hardships of the journey had obviously taken a toll. His worn weapons and shields were well-maintained, and his retinue included a number of strong attendants, even a few Moors.
"I am Baron Godfrey Ibelin," the nobleman introduced himself, bowing slightly, his tone polite but somewhat distracted. It was clear that he wasn't the type to charm others with his social graces.
Baron Mike Bai, recognizing his unease, quickly cut through the pleasantries. "Baron Godfrey, let us skip the formalities. What is it you seek?"
Godfrey hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I wonder if you might have any extra water to spare. My men… are struggling."
Mike Bai raised an eyebrow. From what he knew of Godfrey Ibelin, he was a brave knight, not one to squander resources, and certainly not one to be caught unprepared. Yet, Mike Bai's curiosity was piqued.
"You are in need of water? Surely, one of your knights didn't lose their canteen... If that's the case, I might have a little to spare," Mike Bai said, trying to make sense of the situation.
"No, no…" Godfrey said slowly, his face betraying a moment of hesitation. "It's my pack animals. We've had too few, and with them, the water we have will not be enough to get us through the desert."
Mike Bai considered the situation for a moment. Godfrey was known to be a devout man, disciplined, and with few vices. He didn't strike Mike Bai as the sort to let precious water slip through his fingers carelessly.
"So, it's a matter of supply?" Mike Bai asked.
"Yes, Baron. If you can help, I will of course ensure you are compensated. I've heard of your business acumen, and I know you'll want something in return." Godfrey reached into his pouch and pulled out a small leather bag, handing it over nervously, as if hoping the amount would be enough.
Mike Bai didn't even glance at the money. He pushed the pouch back to Godfrey with a firm gesture. "Mercy is not something that can be bought. You are a fellow warrior, and a man of honor. We share the same cause. Take the water; it's not for sale."
"Padric," Mike Bai called out, "Please see to it that twenty pack animals laden with water are sent to Baron Godfrey and his men."
Godfrey was taken aback. "Baron Mike Bai, you are too generous! I will not forget this!"
Mike Bai smiled and waved him off. "It's no trouble. Your fight is our fight. Go, and may your men find the strength they need."
In the following days, more noblemen arrived, some desperate, others more familiar with Mike Bai's reputation as a merciless negotiator. To those of repute, Mike Bai offered help without hesitation, giving what he could. But to the opportunists and fortune hunters, he feigned illness and refused to meet them.
Seven days later, the royal army finally emerged from the desert and resumed their march north.
As they moved further, information from the frontlines began to flow more freely. News arrived that Saladin had launched raids along the kingdom's coastline, decimating settlements. His forces were now marching eastward toward Ramla, just north of Jerusalem.
Furious nobles, whose lands had been ravaged, clamored for action in council, demanding that the army strike back immediately, calling for Saladin's head. But there were also some among the nobles who sought retreat. Some, seeing the devastation, wished to return to their own lands to defend them, while others suggested negotiating with Saladin.
"Go back then!" King Baldwin's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "If you think your castles, and your pitiful forces, can withstand the 20,000 men under Saladin's command, then go back!"
His words silenced the surrendering faction for the moment, though there was little anyone could do to prevent the whispers that spread in the shadows. The king's health was worsening, and the strain of crossing the desert had taken its toll on him. More than once, he had had to be carried into council meetings.
Finally, the army set up camp north of a mountain range, where they could rest, resupply, and prepare for the next phase of the campaign. Tensions were high, and all eyes were on Saladin's next move.
Chapter 44: The Siege of Masciac Fortress (Part I)
Just north of the town of Lethe, not far from the base of a mountain, stood a small earthen fortress that looked almost comical, with its low, squat walls of yellowed stone. Its simple, rural appearance belied the importance it had in the days to come.
Atop the walls of this fortress stood a knight, scanning the southern horizon with keen eyes. Dark plumes of smoke rose into the sky, an ominous sign.
He turned to his squire. "Where are the scouts? They should have returned by now."
"They usually come back by four in the afternoon, my lord. They still have an hour," the squire replied.
"Let me know as soon as they return," the knight ordered, but his gaze never left the smoke. He could feel that something was wrong.
The distant figures of retreating soldiers soon confirmed his fears. They were disheveled, battered, their cloaks stained with blood and ash. Weapons were few, and the survivors were barely holding on. The moment they saw the fortress, they hurried toward it, desperate for refuge.
One of the soldiers limped forward, supported by others. "I am Jack, from Lethe! A knight of honor, I beg you, let us in!" he cried out.
The knight on the walls narrowed his eyes. "Jack of Lethe? What happened? Why are you here?"
The soldier, known as "One-Eyed Jack," was notorious in the area for his bravery, but now he appeared a shadow of his former self. "We were ambushed, my lord. We fought hard, but they surrounded us. I barely escaped. The fortress… it's lost. It's surrounded by Duke Richard's forces."
The knight's heart sank as he heard the name of the Duke. This was bad—very bad. Soon, it would be their turn.
"Can you recognize their banners?" the knight asked, hoping for any scrap of useful information.
"Ah..." Jack hesitated, drawing a rough diagram in the dust. "It looked something like this... three of these symbols."
The knight's stomach dropped. He recognized the symbol instantly—Duke Richard was on the move. Soon, Lethe would be under siege as well.
Just then, a soldier shouted, "Sir, they're closing in!"
The knight's mind raced. He turned to the gates. "Open them!" he commanded.
The massive doors creaked open, and Jack, along with a dozen ragged survivors, staggered inside, muttering thanks.
But just as the gates were closing, disaster struck. Two soldiers stationed by the gates were swiftly silenced, their throats slit cleanly with short swords. The "retreating soldiers" were not what they seemed.
From the tattered cloaks of the so-called "survivors" emerged gleaming blades, and their faces twisted into grins. Among them stood Mike Bai, a devilish smile curling his lips.
"Jack, you've done well," Mike Bai said, his voice low and cold. "Now, let's see if you want to die with the rest of them... or join us in victory."
Jack's eyes widened with horror. The choice was no longer his. He reached for the fallen soldier's sword, and with a sigh, he walked toward the enemy.