novelSusiti Chapter 127 A Treaty of Surrender
Chapter 127 A Treaty of Surrender
Just as Saladin was deep in thought, two figures appeared on the widest section of the city wall above the main gate of Beirut, facing the land.
On the right is a middle-aged nobleman with slightly graying hair and a refined appearance; he is none other than Count Raymond of Tripoli.
Saladin had known him for many years and knew him well as a rare rationalist and peacemaker among the Frankish nobility, fluent in Arabic and Islamic customs, and a respectable negotiator and close friend.
And the person on the left...
Saladin's pupils contracted slightly.
That was a child!
He looked to be just over ten years old, too short to be fully visible through the crenellations of the city wall.
He wore a well-fitting dark blue velvet coat with intricate Jerusalem cross embroidery on the collar and cuffs, and a simple cross-shaped longsword hung at his waist.
His slightly wavy brown hair shone brightly in the sunlight, and his face had the delicate features typical of Latin children. But when those deep blue eyes looked over, there was no trace of the timidity or vacillation that a child should have. Instead, there was a kind of calm that made him uncomfortable and... a sense of all-knowing insight.
Count Raymond stepped forward and shouted in clear and loud Arabic to the people below the city: "Peace be with you, Your Majesty Sultan Saladin Yusuf ibn Ayyubid."
Saladin suppressed his surging doubts and responded with equally impeccable courtesy: "May God grant you peace, Count Raymond of Tripoli. It is gratifying to see you safe and sound, and have returned from Constantinople. May I ask who this young gentleman beside you is?"
Raymond stepped aside, giving Leon ample space, his voice carrying a formal solemnity: "It is my honor to introduce you to His Highness Leon de Anjou, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and brother of His Majesty Baldwin. His Highness was in charge of planning and directing the relief operation for Beirut."
Despite the vague rumors, Saladin felt an unprecedented shock when the title and such amazing achievements were directly linked together and overlapped with the image of the boy in front of him.
Baldwin defeated him at the age of sixteen in Montgissa, already a remarkable young talent, and was widely celebrated in the Latin and Muslim worlds.
And this child in front of us... this child who looks like he should still be learning Latin and the basics of swordsmanship, actually managed to plan and successfully execute a complex military operation that defeated Adil and turned the tide of the entire war in northern Levant?
But Saladin was Saladin after all; the shock only lingered in his eyes for a moment before turning into a deeper scrutiny and vigilance.
He nodded slightly and used the title reserved for members of the royal family: "So you are His Highness Lyon. I have long admired Your Highness's intelligence, but meeting you today, I realize that the rumors are far from accurate. To have achieved such accomplishments at such a young age is truly astonishing."
Lyon, standing on the city wall, calmly accepted the praise.
He replied in fluent and clear Arabic, still carrying a hint of childishness: "Your Majesty the Sultan is too kind. It was merely due to the soldiers' bravery, Count Raymond's effective execution, and a bit of luck. Compared to Your Majesty's strategic planning and ambush of our army in the Bekaa Valley, judging from the actions of Your Majesty's soldiers, the victory must have been remarkable. My little maritime speculation is truly insignificant."
An ambush? A resounding victory?
Saladin's emotions were slightly stirred.
The sea route they took, the attack on the Egyptian navy, and their arrival in Beirut were only two days apart. Guy's report of victory could not have come so quickly. How could they have known about the ambush and battle in the Bekaa Valley?
Saladin's mind flashed back to the unbelievably successful ambush and counter-ambush in the Beka Valley. Could it be that his actions there had been anticipated or anticipated by this child to some extent? How could that be?
Lyon, seemingly oblivious to the fleeting panic and wariness in Saladin's eyes, naturally cut to the chase: "Speaking of the results, seeing His Majesty the Sultan's army well-organized and in high spirits, I imagine they achieved considerable success in the Bekaa Valley, capturing many of my Jerusalem soldiers, didn't they?"
He sighed, a perfectly measured look of worry on his face: "To be honest, Beirut has been besieged for a long time, and our food supplies are limited. Although we managed to enter the city last night, we couldn't bring much food with us. Now the city's population has increased dramatically, and we're already stretched thin."
He paused, then looked at Saladin with clear eyes: "I've heard that both Islamic doctrine and chivalric traditions instruct us to treat prisoners of war kindly. Rather than letting our precious warriors die needlessly in hunger and despair, how about we make a deal?"
"A deal?" Saladin vaguely guessed Lyon's intentions.
Lyon gave a seemingly harmless smile: "That's right, a deal. We exchange prisoners; you return our soldiers to us, and we return your warriors to you. It's an act of mercy for both sides, and for life itself."
Saladin's mind was filled with alarm bells.
The suggestion itself was reasonable, but coming from a kid who had just caused his navy a great loss, it made him feel that there was a scheme behind every word.
He quickly began to weigh the pros and cons.
His biggest bargaining chip was Gerald and over a hundred Templar Knights, the elite of the elite, whose value was extremely high both politically and in terms of the ransom itself.
The enemy, on the other hand, mostly had ordinary navy personnel, sailors, and low-ranking soldiers, which were of unequal value.
The other party mentioned "food shortages," and Beirut was indeed under lockdown for half a month, so it may not be entirely an excuse.
"Your Highness's proposal is quite benevolent," Saladin said slowly. "I also wish to see our warriors return home. I wonder how many of our people Your Highness commands?"
Lyon smiled slightly: "To demonstrate integrity, openness and transparency are best."
He turned his head to signal. A moment later, several captured Ayyubid officers were brought up the city wall and placed in a conspicuous spot.
Although they were bound, most of them had a stubborn expression.
"Gentlemen," Lyon said to the prisoners in a kind tone, "please truthfully tell your Sultan your identities, your affiliation, and the approximate number of your fellow captives that you know of. With the Sultan here, no one will harm you for telling the truth."
The prisoners looked at each other in bewilderment. Finally, an older man who looked like a captain straightened his chest, shouted in Arabic towards the city, and recited a long list of names.
"Among the captured brothers I saw were more than 360 sailors, more than 150 soldiers, and... and eleven captains!"
With over five hundred men, Saladin felt somewhat reassured. While the number wasn't small, it was insignificant compared to the value of the Templar Knights…
It was Saladin's turn to show his chips. He paused for a moment, then waved his hand.
A group of Mamluks escorted a man in shackles, wearing a tattered white robe with a red cross, to the front of the formation, stopping at a distance where his face could barely be seen.
Gerald looked ashen and lowered his head.
"Show some respect, you infidel!"
Gerald glanced at the nobles and soldiers on the city wall who were all looking at him, and was so ashamed that he could only mutter a curse at the Mamluks escorting him to barely maintain his pitiful dignity and self-respect.
"Grand Master," Saladin looked at Gerald as if he were a clown, his voice calm and unwavering, "tell the people on the city walls who you are."
Gerald's body trembled, and he raised his head with great difficulty to look at the city wall.
When he saw Earl Raymond and the Crown Prince, whom he considered thorns in his side, a complex and unfathomable look flashed in his eyes, a mixture of shame, fear, and despair.
More than a decade ago, when he first arrived in the Holy Land, he was a mercenary who joined Raymond's forces.
At the time, he had his eye on a wealthy female lord and hoped that Raymond could act as his matchmaker.
Raymond verbally agreed, but then went back on his word.
He became enemies with Raymond, joined the Temple Order, and climbed step by step to the top, becoming the Grand Master.
He invested in Guy, sided with Guy, and used every means to retaliate against Raymond.
He vehemently opposed anything Raymond agreed to.
He resolutely supports anything Raymond opposes.
But now, everything is ruined.
Even now, his enemies are looking down at him from their superior position.
He spoke in a hoarse voice, almost squeezing it out between his teeth: "The Knights Templar... Grand Master Gerald."
He was even ashamed to reveal his surname.
Then, he closed his eyes, as if using his last strength to add: "One hundred and thirty-seven Templar Knights were captured with me."
"Templar Knights!" the soldiers on the city wall exclaimed.
Count Raymond also looked shocked as he gazed at Lyon.
Lyon was slightly surprised; he hadn't expected the losses to be so severe, but given Gerald's past actions, it seemed to make sense.
Saladin keenly observed that there was no real surprise in the child's eyes, but rather a knowing "I knew it" kind of understanding.
Now, the value is completely unbalanced.
Trading over five hundred ordinary sailors for over a hundred of the most elite Templar Knights? Any commander would feel it's a loss.
Lyon, feigning difficulty, said to Saladin, "Your Majesty, you have heard it yourself. Your side has captured loyal and brave sailors and warriors, while ours has captured... the kingdom's most prized knights. Logically speaking, this exchange seems..."
He paused deliberately, then changed the subject, his tone becoming helpless and strained: "But as I just said, Beirut's food supplies are limited. If we can't exchange them, for the sake of the city's soldiers and civilians, I have no choice but to...
"Sultan! Don't worry about us!"
On the city wall, Captain Ayyubi suddenly shouted excitedly, "We are willing to sacrifice ourselves for Jihad! Do not exchange the warriors of Allah for those pagan knights!"
The other prisoners also rose up in cheers, expressing similar loyalty and willingness to die for their cause.
The scene was somewhat tragic, but Saladin's face grew even more somber.
He was moved by the loyalty of his subordinates, but precisely because of this, he could not openly agree to Lyon's "no other choice" way out; he could not let his soldiers' hearts grow cold.
He slowly exhaled, his sharp gaze fixed on Lyon on the city wall.
Lyon also blinked innocently at Saladin.
"Your Highness Lyon," Saladin finally spoke, his voice regaining its usual composure and authority, "I understand your predicament. How about this: one hundred and thirty-seven Templar Knights can be used to exchange for our captured soldiers. As for Grand Master Gerald…"
He glanced at the dejected Gerald: "His situation is special, involving ransom and a higher-level agreement. He cannot be included in this exchange. If the Kingdom of Jerusalem wishes for his return, the ransom matter must be negotiated separately."
This is the biggest concession Saladin can make, and it's also the bottom line for preserving the greatest value.
Exchanging the Templars for their own soldiers was politically justifiable. Keeping Gerald on the table preserved their most important bargaining chip and face.
"this……"
On the city wall, Lyon exchanged a few quick, whispered words with Count Raymond, his face showing an expression of struggle and deliberation.
Finally, as if having made up his mind, he raised his head: "His Majesty the Sultan's words are reasonable. Very well, I agree. One hundred and thirty-seven Templar Knights in exchange for all your prisoners. As for Grand Master Gerald..."
He looked in Gerald's direction and raised his voice: "Please, Sultan, ensure his safety and dignity. The Kingdom of Jerusalem will raise the ransom 'as soon as possible' to welcome back the Grand Master!"
Lyon’s promise sounded solemn, but he emphasized the word “as soon as possible”.
"What a cunning little devil!"
Saladin glanced meaningfully at the bewildered Gerald beside him, thinking to himself, "What goes around comes around."
An agreement was reached, and both sides sent representatives to the open area in front of the two armies to supervise the proceedings.
Squads of exhausted Templar Knights, their eyes now filled with renewed hope, passed by squads of excited Ayyubid prisoners shouting "Long live the Sultan!" before returning to their respective camps.
After the last prisoner was exchanged, Saladin took one last, deep look at Lyon on the walls of Beirut.
Saladin felt an unprecedented sense of dread.
This child is more dangerous than his brother Baldwin.
He appears to be forced into this exchange due to a shortage of supplies, but every step he takes has been at a point where he has no choice but to confront it.
The naval defeat, the doubts surrounding the Bekaa Valley, and now this humiliating treaty... it seems as if an invisible thread is subtly connecting them all.
"Withdraw the siege." Saladin no longer hesitated and ordered Tagudin, "Retreat to Damascus."
Saladin's army began to slowly turn around, and Tagudin's besieging army also began to break camp and withdraw.
A deafening cheer erupted from the top of Beirut.