Chapter 942 - 65: Hardships
Inside Homs City.
Faruksha’s aged face had grown even more furrowed; he was the son of Saladin’s elder brother and the Governor of the Homs Region. That he was entrusted with guarding such a strategic chokepoint showed how much Saladin trusted this man.
These days, the situation inside Homs City was worsening by the day.
The Crusaders’ assaults came one wave stronger than the last; more than half of the able-bodied men conscripted to defend the city had been killed or wounded, and they had been forced to draft soldiers from the Jewish Quarter, whose residents had previously been exempted from military service by paying extra taxes.
Fortunately, these people—who, according to Legend, had betrayed the "Prophet Eisa" worshiped by the Frankish barbarians—were never truly accepted by the Franks either. Now the two sides were thoroughly lashed to the same boat, each harboring its own schemes, yet compelled to lean on one another.
"Uncle, Homs won’t be able to hold out much longer."
Faruksha let out a soft sigh. With his servants attending him, he donned his Armor, then led the Kasaji Guard that Saladin had assigned to him up onto the battlements.
Lines of laborers stood in long queues, staring blankly, as though their souls had fled, at the great cauldron on the hearth.
In the cauldron simmered a thin gruel of legumes and a few scraps of vegetables; the ingredients had been scraped out of cellar corners—feed meant for livestock. Luckily, the beasts had already been eaten, so the feed was no longer needed for them.
In Homs today, aside from the noble lords and Clergy, all who did not work received no food.
Once these laborers finished eating, they would have to go on repairing the shattered city walls.
He had no idea where the Franks had found craftsmen capable of building giant Catapults. There were only two or three of these machines, but they posed a grave threat to Homs’s walls. Without such siege engines, relying on Homs’s Towers and high ramparts, he believed he could hold out until the last grain of food was exhausted.
On the other side, the soldiers manning the walls also began to eat. Their rations were somewhat better than the laborers’: besides the gruel boiled from animal feed, each man received a small piece of dark bread, mixed with wheat bran.
As for the elite Kasaji Guard and Faruksha’s Mamluks, their food was far better: not only bread and cheese, but figs, olives, and salted meat as well.
Even the slaves and family in Faruksha’s own residence did not enjoy such treatment.
He knew perfectly well that once Homs City fell, his family’s survival would depend on these Mamluks and the Kasaji Guard. Not only were their rations kept ample, even their mounts had never gone short of feed.
It had to be remembered that in recent days, almost every living creature in the city besides humans had fallen victim to the famished populace.
If things went on like this, it would not be long before those clawing hands reached toward their own kind.
Faruksha did not wish to witness such apocalyptic scenes. Thus, he planned to undertake a major action today—on the condition that the Crusaders did not resume their assault.
He stood atop the wall, gazing down at the Crusader Camp stretching out for more than ten kilometers, so vast its end could not be seen, and watched for a long time.
By noon, when the Crusaders still had not launched an attack, he finally became certain that the plan to prepare reinforcements must have succeeded.
Otherwise, with Homs clearly on the brink of collapse, the Crusaders would never suddenly halt their offensive.
Of course, it was also possible that the Franks had at last learned of their shortage of grain and now meant to trap them to death inside this fortress city.
Suddenly, a member of the Kasaji Guard walked along the wall and lowered his voice in reminder: "Lord Governor, the Secret Agents we have outside the city report that those Frankish barbarians broke out in a bout of infighting last night."
Faruksha exhaled a long breath.
"Good, good, good!"
He spoke the word "good" three times in succession.
"By the Holy Fire above!"
Faruksha did not care how Saladin had managed to plant confidants among the Franks and incite internal strife within the Crusaders; he only knew that Homs could finally steal a breath and that he could push forward with his own plan.
"Mahal, take your men and come with me!"
The commoners in the city had long since run out of food. They’d never had much grain to begin with; there was no way for Faruksha to levy supplies from them.
At the moment, the only possible source of grain lay with the big merchants and Saracen nobles within the city.
...
Just as Farushah resolved to raise the butcher’s blade inward and force the great clans in the city to disgorge their grain,
Losa at last caught sight of the skyline of Homs, and the Crusader Camp that spread without end.
It had taken Losa nearly twenty days to march the three hundred kilometers from Jerusalem to Homs.
Now the size of his forces had once again expanded, drawing on Greeks from Cyprus. Ever since Cyprus had been handed over to Losa, it had served primarily as a vast source of sailors, though Losa’s investment in naval affairs remained limited.
At present, word had spread that profits could be made on the Eastern battlefield, and many Greek nobles were tempted.
This was the benefit of winning battles often.
If Losa allowed it, many Mercenaries would not even need him to pay their wages; they would willingly fight for him on their own. But Losa would never permit such locust-like elements to swarm under his banner.
In truth, ending this war would be easy for Losa now.
For instance, Saladin had already lost Shemir, that formidable adversary at his side; the band of Casters he had hired at great expense were dead or dispersed—who would dare remain in Damascus and risk their lives for him now?
Cherina alone could slip into Damascus and bring back Saladin’s head.
At that point, with the Ayyubid Dynasty reduced to a pile of loose sand, even if Losa himself did not give it a shove, the Ayyubid family’s own internal struggle for power would cause that once-glorious dynasty to collapse like eroding mud.
"So, my lord, why will you still not let me go?"
Cherina asked again, voicing the doubt in her heart.
Losa’s expression flickered: "It seems that what I have no wish to do, someone else is keen to use against me."
...
The Assassin headquarters lay at the Eagle’s Nest in the Persian Region, but their influence had long since spread into Syria.
This cancer of Western Asia was due to be excised.
At that point, with the Ayyubid Dynasty reduced to a pile of loose sand, even if Losa himself did not give it a shove, the Ayyubid family’s own internal struggle for power would cause that once-glorious dynasty to collapse like eroding mud.
"So, my lord, why will you still not let me go?"
Cherina asked again, voicing the doubt in her heart.
Losa’s expression flickered: "It seems that what I have no wish to do, someone else is keen to use against me."
...
The Assassin headquarters lay at the Eagle’s Nest in the Persian Region, but their influence had long since spread into Syria.
This cancer of Western Asia was due to be excised.
At that point, with the Ayyubid Dynasty reduced to a pile of loose sand, even if Losa himself did not give it a shove, the Ayyubid family’s own internal struggle for power would cause that once-glorious dynasty to collapse like eroding mud.
"So, my lord, why will you still not let me go?"
Cherina asked again, voicing the doubt in her heart.
Losa’s expression flickered: "It seems that what I have no wish to do, someone else is keen to use against me."
...
The Assassin headquarters lay at the Eagle’s Nest in the Persian Region, but their influence had long since spread into Syria.
This cancer of Western Asia was due to be excised.