The last infantryman had left Hama West Gate, and the great gate was shut once more. Most of the infantry took over from the cavalry, continuing to slaughter the Saracens in the camp. They set fire to everything combustible, and flames and chaos quickly spread through the Aleppo encampment.
Eric wheeled his horse around in an instant, viciously digging his spurs into Torturer’s belly and urging it to accelerate again.
At the same time, he aimed at a dark figure not far away and flung the Knight’s Sword from his hand. The sword streaked through the night and accurately pierced the back of a Turkic Cavalryman charging toward the southern tower. The heavily wounded cavalryman lost his balance and fell from his horse. His ankle, however, remained caught in the stirrup. He was dragged for over a hundred meters until his body was mangled beyond recognition.
"Knights, follow me! Knights, follow me!"
Belem and Stephen rallied their own knights, unhorsing most of the Turkic Cavalry before quickly falling in behind Eric’s contingent.
They swiftly returned to their original formation, closing ranks until their stirrups were nearly touching, and advanced side-by-side in columns of four.
Eric reined in his Warhorse slightly, ensuring he didn’t pull too far ahead of the slower mounts.
The Crusader Knights’ column moved faster and faster, becoming nearly unstoppable—short of a spiked trench lying in their path.
Eric and his men raced toward the southern tower. They had to be fast—so fast the enemy wouldn’t have time to react.
....
「Beneath the southern tower」
"What? These Heretics actually dare to raid my main camp?" Sharafi stared at the Arab messenger in disbelief.
"We were caught off guard. By the time we realized what was happening, the mobile cavalry units were already wiped out. Many men weren’t prepared for battle."
"Not prepared for battle? What were they doing? I ordered them to defend the camp! Half of them were supposed to be on watch!" Sharafi roared, his eyes filled with fury.
After all, he’d seen with his own eyes that at least half the men were on guard when he led the army out of the main camp.
’Damn it. Was it all just an act?’
"..." The Arab messenger lowered his head in shame, remaining silent.
As if echoing Sharafi’s anger,
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Several vicious whip lashes struck the messenger’s face. He collapsed, clutching his face and screaming in agony as the tip of the whip split his cheek open.
The man wielding the whip was a Turkic noble named Kakuyid. He was one of Tutush’s generals, temporarily assigned as Sharafi’s deputy. Most of the Turkic Cavalry were under his direct command.
Despite the Arab messenger’s desperate pleas for mercy, Kakuyid was relentless, continuing to lash him without pause.
"Look at you! You reek of alcohol, you useless bunch! Have you forgotten what the Quran says? ’Wine, gambling, sacrificing to idols, and divination are all the work of the Demon.’ Do you even remember you’re a believer in Allah?
Have you forgotten you are an Arab? That the ancestors of your Kilabi Tribe hail from the Gulwest Tribe—the great tribe that gave birth to the Prophet!"
Kakuyid wore a triumphant smile as he righteously admonished the soldier, yet his eyes glinted with cold delight.
The expression of an Arab noble beside Sharafi turned foul. He was Abu Zaydah, chieftain of the Kilabi Tribe, and the messenger was one of his own tribesmen.
Abu Zaydah and Kakuyid had a long-standing grudge.
Three years ago, Abu Zaydah had united the Arab Tribes of Syria and dealt a heavy blow to Kakuyid and his master, Tutush. Kakuyid had been utterly defeated in that battle, forced to flee in disarray. But that was three years ago.
Tutush was backed by the entire Seljuk Empire, and in the end, Aleppo could not escape the rule of the Seljuk Turks.
"Enough. Kakuyid, this flogging is meaningless. Let him save his strength to suffer on the battlefield. Let him fight to atone for his sins against Allah and the Prophet."
Though Sharafi was seething, the sight of a Turkic man whipping an Arab disturbed him. And so, he put a stop to Kakuyid’s actions.
Abu Zaydah breathed a sigh of relief and gave Sharafi a grateful look.
Their only small consolation was that the Seljuk Turks had appointed Sharafi, an Arab, as the Emir of Aleppo.
Sharafi, at least, still had his Arab pride.
"Emir, if we go back now, it might not be too late. Their army doesn’t outnumber us. If we turn back now, they’re probably focused on looting the camp. We could catch them by surprise," Abu Zaydah said to Sharafi.
"To provide relief, we’ll need cavalry," Sharafi said, looking at Kakuyid.
The only way to reach the camp in time was with cavalry. Sending the more numerous infantry back on foot would take too long; by the time they arrived, it would be all over.
Sharafi had sent most of the cavalry from the Kilabi and other Arab Tribes to the north. Since this tower was in the south, for this special operation, he had only mobilized the Turkic Cavalry stationed in the south. The mobile cavalry at his side were also mostly Turkic.
The Arab chieftains with him had few of their own cavalry.
Kakuyid smiled. "Ah, Lord Sharafi, there’s no rush to relieve the camp. We’ve already found a way into Hama. The moment our advance party opens the gates and our cavalry charges in, the war is over, isn’t it?
The Christian army is distracted by our camp, which means the city’s defenses must be weak. Once we open those gates and charge in, we’ll be unstoppable!
What’s the harm in waiting a little longer? War is full of sacrifice, isn’t it?
If you’re afraid of sacrifice, why be a soldier? Why fight a war?
Every Turkic Warrior from the steppes steps onto the battlefield having already accepted this. Do the Arabs not possess the same courage?
The real way to rescue them is to wait here, to ensure the assault on the city is foolproof once the gate is open.
Besides, if we’ve gotten the news all the way down here in the south, surely the Arab Cavalry stationed up north have noticed? For all we know, they’re already on their way to relieve the camp. They might not even need us."
’The main camp was mostly Arabs. There were some Turkic people there, sure, but they weren’t under his command.’
Thus, Kakuyid had no interest whatsoever in rescuing a bunch of Arabs.
As ruthless as Kakuyid’s words were, they held a certain logic. Besides, given the incidents of the past few days, sending Turkic troops to rescue Arabs was not a wise move.
Sharafi could only pray that the advance party would quickly open the South Gate.
But it had been an hour since the first advance party, led by the "Traitor," had scaled the tower, and there had been no progress whatsoever.
Sharafi had scouted the route himself; it was no more than a half-hour walk from this tower to the South Gate. They should have reached it by now, no matter what.
The "advance party" on the walls kept demanding more men be sent up.
In that time, over a hundred men had been sent up in groups, but the South Gate remained quiet.
’Could the Christians have heavily reinforced the South Gate?’
Time trickled by. Another half hour passed.
The chieftains of the Arab Tribes grew restless. One after another, they implored Sharafi to dispatch troops to relieve the main camp.
After a moment’s thought, Sharafi finally agreed, handing over the few mobile Turkic Cavalry units under his command.