The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 116 Battle of Beka Valley

Mid-January, 1183 in the Julian calendar, Bekaa Valley.

The Bekaa Valley connects the Lebanese mountains and the Outer Lebanon Mountains, forming a narrow, fertile strip.

Saladin cleverly utilized this terrain, deploying his main forces in the oasis on the western side of the valley, thus controlling the supply lines extending from Damascus.

In addition, he also set up a watchtower at the highest point at the southern end of the Lebanese mountains, with a view covering the lower reaches of the Litani River all the way to Bedford Castle.

Inside the Sultan's central command tent, a huge and detailed map of the Bekaa Valley was spread out on the table, and Saladin and his nephew Farouk stood facing the map.

"Uncle, how much longer are we going to have to wait here?" Farouk asked absentmindedly, looking irritated. He pointed to the location of "Sidon" on the map and said, "The terrain from Sidon to Beirut isn't some narrow mountain road. Even if they really fell for our trap..."

"Given the Frankish tradition, they'll undoubtedly come out in full force this time. In terms of sheer numbers, we simply can't possibly wipe them out in one fell swoop," Farouk said. "Why don't we concentrate our forces and take Beirut... and Sidon as well?"

Saladin glanced at Farouk, then lightly tapped the mark "Beirut" on the map, his tone calm, as if analyzing a chess game for a younger generation: "Beirut sits at the northwest corner of a triangular cape, the rest of the cape plain covered by fertile fields and orchards. From south to north, only a narrow passage runs down the coast to this area. From a military perspective, it is indeed a strategically vital and easily defensible location..."

Farouk interrupted rashly, "You see, you admitted it yourself, so we need to concentrate our forces to attack Beirut..."

Saladin shook his head slightly: "You need to think more, Farouk, you need to think more."

"When Count Raymond went to Constantinople, he took away Tripoli's elite troops. As a result, the Lord of Tripoli transferred a considerable number of his troops from Beirut to guard against our army and... the infiltration of the Assassins." Saladin said earnestly, "Therefore, Beirut was poorly defended. I sent Tagudin across the Dog River under the Sultan's banner. The Beirut garrison was completely unprepared and caught off guard. Furthermore, Adil's Egyptian navy blockaded the port, providing mutual support. It was only a matter of time before Beirut was captured."

"This is a deal with no cost or risk." Saladin's eyes were sharp, and he was confident of victory. "If Beirut does not receive reinforcements, our occupation of Beirut will not only divide the Frankish kingdom in two, preventing the two parts from sending troops to aid each other, but it will also provide a safe port for our fleet on the Syrian coast."

"If reinforcements arrive on a forced march, our well-rested and refreshed army will decisively defeat the exhausted force, drastically reducing the Franks' fighting strength." Saladin turned to Farouk, "Farouk, do you understand?"

Farouk suddenly realized: "I understand! I understand, Uncle! This is an open strategy. No matter what, we'll win. We'll either take Beirut or take a big bite out of the Franks!"

Saladin nodded, sizing up his nephew with a meaningful look. Farouk was a fierce general, though his thinking was too dull and he was reckless by nature. However, he was honest, humble, and eager to learn, and he was a promising military talent who needed further training.

At that moment, a scout outside the tent reported: "The lookout tower has spotted the Franks; their strength is initially estimated to be over 15,000, including over 5,000 armored knights and soldiers!"

"They're here!" Saladin mounted his warhorse and gave the order. Farouk and the Emirs obeyed and set off, their respective troops moving in an orderly fashion, like a winding python climbing the pass of the Lebanese mountains.

Saladin himself, surrounded by Farouk and his important generals, ascended the watchtower, his gaze piercing through the dissipating morning mist as he stared at the Frankish column winding along the western mountain road.

The Sultan's expression gradually changed from initial satisfaction to solemnity.

"No," Saladin whispered.

Farouk followed his uncle's gaze and saw the Frankish army marching along the mountain path in a loose formation.

The knights were scattered in twos and threes, forming a long column, while the infantrymen walked with faltering steps, their banners askew, presenting a picture of a weary army.

"Uncle, they've been tricked!" Farouk exclaimed excitedly. "Judging by their appearance, they must have been on a forced march..."

"Quite the opposite," Saladin interrupted him, pointing to several key positions in the ranks. "Look at the Templars in the vanguard. Although their formation is loose, their horses move steadily, and the knights' armor reflects a uniform sheen in the morning light. This shows they carefully polished their equipment last night. A truly exhausted army wouldn't have the leisure for that."

Farouk squinted and observed carefully, and indeed found something amiss.

Saladin, his eyes sharp and his expression composed, continued his analysis: "Look at the infantry formation in the center. On the surface, the individual soldiers' steps appear disorderly, but if you look closely, the distance between each hundred-man squad is almost uniform. This level of discipline cannot be achieved during a weary march."

"They're acting," Farouk realized.

"Yes, a carefully orchestrated play," Saladin mused. "But I find it puzzling... how were they so certain our army was lying in ambush here? And why would they risk the fall of Beirut to stage this?"

Farouk thought for a moment and said, "Uncle, hasn't Guy always been at odds with Count Raymond? Beirut is Count Raymond's fiefdom, so Guy, as marshal, making this choice is quite reasonable."

"Is he settling a personal score? Guy may be mediocre, but he's not stupid. He won't be willing to tear off the mask of civility..." Saladin thought about it more and more and felt something was wrong. Where exactly did things go wrong?

"Uncle, look!" Farouk exclaimed, pointing to the Frankish army below the mountain. "They're moving this way!"

Saladin looked around and, sure enough, the Frankish army became more and more scattered with each step it took. The vanguard of the army was like the top of a pile of stones, teetering on the verge of collapse, and gradually leaning towards the Lebanese mountains on the right.

However, Saladin saw this wavering as irrefutable evidence of the Franks' acting, even suggesting it was overly deliberate.

Saladin gazed at the Frankish vanguard, the flags of chartyon and white with red crosses appearing and disappearing in the hazy morning mist.

"Could it be that Reinald and Gerald have sidelined Guy? Are these unusual actions by the Franks on their orders?" Saladin's doubts lessened slightly, and he murmured, "Reinald has never hesitated to assume the worst of me, so it's not surprising, it's not surprising..."

"No matter what methods the Franks used, they must have known about our ambush." ​​Saladin's lips curled into a smile of admiration mixed with coldness. "Reinald, it seems I underestimated you, you madman. If I had known this, I would have killed you back in Caleb..."

"Shall we cancel the attack?" Farouk asked.

"No." Saladin turned and walked down from the watchtower, his steps firm. "Since the enemy has set the stage, how can we not go on stage and perform? But we must rewrite the script."