Chapter 44: The Falcon
"Halt! Rest where you are!"
The dust-covered Kurdish cavalry troop stopped in the barren desert. With not a single leaf to offer shade, it truly wasn't a good place to rest.
Abdullah, his expression grave, tilted his head up and said, "That eagle has been circling above us for a long time now."
Above the troop, an eagle circled back and forth. It had indeed been there for quite some time.
Lothar inquired, "Can we shoot it down?"
"No, that beast is very cunning; it's flying too high." Abdullah unslung the bow hanging from his saddlebag, tried to aim for a bit, then shook his head.
"It seems we're in for a bloody battle next. Hopefully, it's just a coincidence."
"No, Lothar. There's no such thing as coincidence on the battlefield. If there is, treat it as the enemy's plan. Besides, falconry is an Arab tradition. In this desert, apart from specially trained hunting falcons, no bird of prey would circle over a moving group of living people."
"I understand." Lothar readily accepted the advice and immediately shouted his orders, "Reorganize the troop, switch to fresh mounts, prepare to engage the enemy!"
Nominally, he was the commander of this Kurdish cavalry unit, and he never shied away from issuing commands, even though he knew that if Abdullah gave the word, this cavalry troop would instantly abandon him, their nominal commander, and obey Abdullah instead.
But he still, like a sponge, absorbed experience and lessons from this precious practical opportunity. He hoped to quickly learn how to be a qualified cavalry commander and how to fight in this desert.
Abdullah was also well aware of this and had been unreservedly teaching Lothar. Of course, if Lothar had been an arrogant, conceited, and opinionated scion of a Crusader noble family, he would certainly not have received such treatment. If he had excessively bossed them around and given haphazard orders, he might even have been unhesitatingly killed in this desert by these nominally "subordinate" men.
Lothar took out the fine fodder from his saddlebag to replenish his mount's strength. After continuous travel, this magnificent Arabian warhorse was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, a large patch of its mane soaked through; it certainly couldn't carry him in another charge. Even the remount, which hadn't been carrying a rider, was in far from good condition at this point.
"How can this exhausted troop face an enemy?" Lothar's brow furrowed tightly. He looked at the Swallowtail Banner on his lance. With it, a desperate dash to shake off the enemy wasn't impossible.
But the problem was, what if they encountered more enemies later? They weren't far from the Ayyubid heartland in Syria.
Just then, Lothar's expression suddenly changed. "They're here, as expected."
In the distance, dust filled the air. The heavy thudding of hooves made the sand and gravel on the ground tremble slightly.
The system's notification sound chimed.
[Milestone Activated: ''One Horseman Against a Hundred'' (Single-handedly successfully break through a cavalry unit of over one hundred men).]
Lothar cursed inwardly: 'To hell with your "One Horseman Against a Hundred"!
Abdullah stood firm beside Lothar and said in a low voice in Gallic, "A commander must not let his joy, anger, sorrow, or fear show on his face. No matter what, you must have confidence."
Lothar was suddenly startled, realizing his oversight.
Over a hundred cavalrymen, trailing billowing yellow dust, halted not far away. Their iron armor glinted, their blades and spears like a forest. Behind the cavalry troop, a large camel train followed slowly, accompanied by the melodious sound of bells.
Clearly, this cavalry troop had traveled by camel and only recently switched to warhorses. In the desert, camels possessed far greater endurance and carrying capacity than warhorses, making them more suitable for long-distance travel. This meant their mounts' stamina was still abundant.
Lothar carefully observed the enemy's armor and equipment. Seeing that it was mostly disorganized, he breathed a slight sigh of relief. 'Not elites like the Mamluks.'
This cavalry troop was a mixed bag, their equipment a motley assortment: short spears, maces, sabers, straight swords, bows, kite shields, round shields, golden lamellar armor, black scale armor, earth-yellow cloth armor.
They were by no means an elite force like the Mamluks, who had highly standardized equipment and tactics. But this didn't mean they would be easy to deal with.
Lothar glanced back at his men. As expected, the faces of these battle-hardened Kurdish cavalrymen were all etched with gravity. They knew very well that their exhausted troop would find it difficult to contend with an enemy that was fresh, waiting at ease, and far outnumbered them.
It was obvious: Kaukab's men had used a falcon to notify this enemy force to intercept them.
Lothar just didn't understand one thing. Why, in this borderland between Sasanian and Ayyubid territories, where most were opportunists, would someone risk Saladin's wrath to intercept their elite troop? The potential gains were completely disproportionate to the investment!
"By the Holy Fire! We are cavalry under King Saladin! Who are you?" Abdullah rode forward, his resonant voice echoing across the Gobi.
The enemy leader, a man in golden lamellar armor, urged his mount forward slowly. He raised his riding crop and berated them angrily, "So it is you, Saladin's running dogs! This is Imperial territory under the rule of Shahanshah! You have trespassed across the border and assassinated an Imperial governor—a crime that cannot be pardoned! If you hand over the wealth you plundered from Kaukab, perhaps I will spare your lives."
Lothar urged his horse forward and shouted, "Coward! Do you dare to state your name? Not far ahead is the territory personally garrisoned by Lord Sa'd al-Din! If you dare to attack us, Lord Sa'd al-Din will not forgive you!"
Lothar had completely abandoned the idea of fleeing, because once their mounts' stamina was exhausted, the entire cavalry troop would lose all ability to counterattack. Moreover, Sa'd al-Din's territory wasn't that close to them, and they weren't truly under Saladin's command.
But the enemy leader clearly didn't know this; his expression turned somewhat grave. The "Lord Sa'd al-Din" Lothar spoke of was Saladin's nephew, and also Saladin's appointed Governor of Syria. Not long ago, he had even marched towards the former territories of the County of Edessa, subduing several Turkic princes. In this region, his reputation was formidable.
"That clumsy Kurdish, you must be a Frank, aren't you? Since when does Saladin's army let a Mamluk call the shots?" the enemy leader said with a sneer.
"Frank" was actually the Arab term for French, English, and German people. Lothar hadn't expected his painstakingly practiced Kurdish to be so easily identified as clumsy.
As for why the other party mistook him for a Mamluk, it was because a considerable number of Mamluks under Saladin at that time were Franks who had been captured and sold into slavery, especially from the Peasant's Crusade. They possessed nothing of value; their only wealth was themselves. Thus, after being plundered by Turkic cavalry entrenched in Asia Minor, they were often sold as slaves to Sasanian, Ayyubid, or even North African princes and nobles.
Lothar said no more. He exchanged a glance with Abdullah, signaling him to stall for time, then retreated back into the ranks.
The highest realm of a lie was to make oneself believe it. At this moment, Lothar almost saw himself as Sa'd al-Din's trusted subordinate, his sole objective to delay for time and wait for Sa'd al-Din to send reinforcements.
"Sir, are you truly determined to make an enemy of my lord?" Abdullah drew the Damascus scimitar in his hand. "It only took us a quarter of an hour to conquer Kaukab's castle. How long do you think it will take you to deal with us?"
The enemy leader's brow furrowed deeply. He opened his hand. A clear bird's cry. The falcon descended from the sky, its sharp talons gripping the leather vambrace on his arm.
Abdullah added fuel to the fire, "There are so few of us in total; how much wealth could we possibly carry away? The truly valuable things still remain in Kaukab's wooden fort. If you are a wise man, sir, you should know how to choose now. Will you try your hand at us, a small but tough bone to chew, or will you go for the truly fat and tender fresh meat? The choice is entirely yours."
The next moment, the Kurdish cavalrymen all drew their swords, blades, and cavalry spears, shouting a phrase in Kurdish in unison. There was no trace of fatigue from days of travel on their faces. A wave of fierce valor emanated from them, making the enemy opposite involuntarily take notice.
*****
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