After leaving the wounded behind at Ascalon, Norn led his remaining 800 men to hastily join the royal army. Following the same route he had taken, the royal army embarked on a forced march straight into the desert.
Though it was already autumn, the scorching sun in the desert still mercilessly baked the earth during the day. All the soldiers had stripped off their armor and helmets, trying to stay as light as possible to maintain their marching speed.
But at night, everyone huddled around campfires for warmth, as the piercing cold wind and the sudden drop in temperature continuously sapped the soldiers' heat.
The only good news was that, thanks to the victory at Ascalon Fortress, the kingdom had managed to capture enough packhorses to carry sufficient water. Otherwise, this desert crossing would have been nothing but a joke.
Norn licked his dry lips, inadvertently swallowing a lot of dust. Looking around, he saw a loosely formed army slowly advancing. His own soldiers were in decent shape. Thanks to the wagons he had purchased earlier, the captured packhorses, and the reduced number of troops after the battle, his men all had mounts to ride and could spare quite a few packhorses to carry more water.
But the royal army was not so fortunate. The knights were better off, as they usually had their own mounts and packhorses for baggage. However, the numerous infantrymen suffered greatly. They were only allocated a limited amount of water each day and had to march under the blazing sun. As a result, one could always see soldiers collapsing along the way after a stretch of marching.
"Patrick, how much water do we have left?" Norn looked at the fallen soldier beside him. His heart ached, and he couldn't help but ask Patrick.
"Given our current consumption, it should last us half a month," Patrick replied after a moment of thought, but then he added, "My lord, compassion is a virtue, but it must be exercised within reason."
"I know, but let's save as many as we can," Norn instructed, ordering his troops to pick up any soldiers who still had a chance of survival and put them on the wagons.
Just that day, Norn managed to save over 40 men. But the next day, a nobleman came seeking water after hearing the news.
"Apologies, Baron Norn. I come unannounced," the middle-aged nobleman before him appeared very refined. Despite the dust of travel, it was hard to conceal his long-standing good habits. His weapons and shields, though old, were well-maintained, and his attendants were all strong and capable, including a few Moors.
"I am Baron Godfrey of Ibelin," he first placed his right hand on his chest and greeted Norn with a bow. After some small talk with Norn, it was clear that he was not a socially adept noble. His mind was obviously preoccupied, and even a fool could see that he had something on his mind.
"Baron Godfrey, let's skip the tedious formalities. What brings you here?" Norn said directly.
Caught out, Godfrey hesitated for a moment, then said somewhat embarrassedly, "I was wondering if Baron Norn might have any spare water."
Norn looked curiously at Baron Godfrey. From what he had heard before and judging by what he saw now, Godfrey was not in the best financial situation, but he was very brave. Moreover, he was reputed to be a devout believer, very self-disciplined, and unlikely to have wasted his water.
Curious, Norn asked, "Did one of your knights perhaps lose their water skin by accident? If so, I do have some here."
"No," a flicker of hesitation crossed Godfrey's eyes, but he slowly said, "My packhorses are insufficient. With just this amount of water, my men will hardly be able to cross the desert."
"I ask for Baron Norn's assistance. Of course, it won't be without compensation," Godfrey had long heard of the reputation of the Windmill Baron, Norn. It was said that this young man was extremely money-minded. He would even go to the merchant guild to conduct business, and even the shrewdest merchants would be defeated by his sharp tongue.
Godfrey handed over a purse, feeling anxious inside, worried that this amount of money might not be enough.
To his surprise, Norn pushed it back without even looking, "Compassion is a requirement of our Lord, and besides, Baron Godfrey is my comrade-in-arms. There's no question of taking money."
"Patrick, arrange twenty packhorses filled with water for the lord to take back," Norn waved his hand and simply dismissed the matter.
"I am truly grateful, my lord Norn," Godfrey was overjoyed and bowed to Norn again.
Norn quickly returned the gesture and began chatting with Baron Godfrey. The atmosphere became much warmer this time. When they reached a particularly amusing part of the conversation, Norn simply had wine brought over.
Seeing Godfrey staring intently as he poured the wine, Norn guessed that the baron was also having a tough time. He directly handed the wine jug to the other side, "I've long heard of your remarkable capacity for drink. How about you help me out a bit and have some?"
Godfrey did not refuse, and he drank heartily, clinking the jug three times before finishing. Only then did he wipe his mouth with a smile. Now the two of them were truly enjoying each other's company, talking freely. If it weren't for his young age, Godfrey would have wanted to become sworn brothers with Norn.
Finally, Norn escorted Godfrey outside the camp. Before parting, he said, "Baron, please keep tonight's matter confidential. If anyone guesses, just say that you bought it."
Looking at this young baron who was very much to his liking, Godfrey nodded and agreed with a smile.
In the following days, Norn continued to treat the wounded along the way, and some other resourceful poor nobles also came to him for water.
If the requester had a good reputation, Norn would naturally squeeze out a portion from his stock and give it with kind words. But if someone came just to sponge off him, Norn would simply pretend to be ill and disappear.
Seven days later, the royal army finally emerged from the desert and continued marching north.
Once out of the desert, the previously stagnant intelligence began to flow smoothly again. Battle reports from the front were sent one after another: Saladin had let his troops plunder, and half of the kingdom's coastal settlements had been ravaged by war. Now they were moving eastward towards Ramla (about 13 kilometers north of Jerusalem).
Many nobles whose settlements had been plundered were furious, clamoring for an offensive at every war council, eager to flay Saladin alive. However, some nobles whose territories lay in Saladin's path began to waver. Some hoped to return to their lands to organize a defense, while others simply begged the king to negotiate peace with Saladin.
"Go back! If you think your castle and pitifully small forces can withstand Saladin's 20,000 troops," King Baldwin's words temporarily suppressed the ideas of the capitulationists, but who knew what was going on behind the scenes, especially as King Baldwin's health was deteriorating. The forced march across the desert had taken a toll on him, and several war councils had to be attended with him being carried on a litter.
Finally, the army set up camp on the north side of a mountain, where all the troops could rest and gather their strength, waiting for Saladin's arrival.