CHAPTER 104 - 104: THE STORM BEGINS

June 24, 1180 – Outside Baalbek

The sun had not yet crested the ridge of the Anti-Lebanon mountains, but already the air was warm with the promise of another punishing summer day. Baalbek, cradled in its high-walled defenses and flanked by the mountainous terrain, loomed ahead like a lioness with claws drawn. Its ancient stone towers, built on the bones of Roman temples, had withstood both time and war—and now they faced yet another siege.

King Baldwin IV stood beneath a broad canvas awning, surrounded by his generals. His leprous body was hidden beneath layers of linen and chainmail, but fatigue clung to his eyes and his movements were slower than before. Still, his mind was alert, sharp as ever, and today he meant to break the will of the defenders of Baalbek.

"They've refused every parley," Balian of Ibelin said, motioning toward the city with his gauntleted hand. "Even after two days of bombardment."

"Pride or desperation," Baldwin replied. "Either way, they will regret it."

Around them, the great siege camp buzzed with movement. Nearly 29,000 men had marched from Homs—Frankish knights, mounted sergeants, infantry, Gascon crossbowmen, and engineers who had labored for days to bring the siege towers and trebuchets into position. By now, the machines stood like grim sentinels outside the walls, their baskets loaded with stone, their frames groaning under the tension of wound rope.

Baldwin turned to Garnier of Nablus, the Hospitaller commander. "Are the Hospitaller companies ready?"

Garnier nodded. "Fully armed and standing by. The men are eager."

"And the siege towers?"

"The eastern and northern towers will reach the walls within the hour. The third is delayed by the slope—it will take longer."

Baldwin's pale fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. "Then the main assault begins from the north and east. Hold the southern wall with archers and feigned movements. We draw their strength where we intend to strike, then break through."

His war council dispersed quickly to carry out their roles. Drums began to echo down the valley, steady and slow at first, then rising to a tempo of urgency. From the center of the camp, horn calls stirred the sleeping ranks into action. Knights pulled on their hauberks and cinched their belts, archers took up their quivers and bows, and infantrymen strapped shields to their backs as they trudged into position.

The great siege towers, creaking on wheels wrapped in damp hides, began their ponderous roll forward.

Atop the city's walls, the Saracen defenders—perhaps three thousand at most—scrambled into place. Their banners whipped in the wind: green, black, and red pennants bearing the crescent moon and Arabic script. Cries in Arabic rose in defiance, and arrows began to streak down, thudding into shields and dust.

The first wave of Christian infantry moved forward under raised pavises. Crossbowmen followed, dropping to one knee and loosing bolts at any exposed head or arm. The sounds of war returned in full: the clash of steel, the whistle of fletching, and the crack of stone on stone as trebuchets launched fresh volleys. One struck a parapet on the northern wall, sending a section of crenellation toppling down with a crash.

Baldwin watched from a slight rise, flanked by his standard-bearer and a corps of mounted guards. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the motion of enemy troops on the walls.

"They're shifting more to the north," he said. "Good. They think that's the main push."

From his right, Hugh of Tiberias nodded. "When the tower breaches the eastern curtain, we'll find them thin on that side."

"They'll realize too late."

Within the dust-choked field, the first tower reached the northern wall. Arrows raked its face but glanced off the wet hides and oak planks. With a final lurch, it slammed into the stonework, its drawbridge poised for release.

"Go!" came the cry, and a cheer rose from within the tower.

The drawbridge slammed down, and a surge of mailed infantry rushed out into the breach, screaming the name of Saint George and the Cross. The defenders met them with spears and scimitars, the clash echoing above the battlefield like thunder.

To the east, the second siege tower rumbled into range. Ladders were being hoisted elsewhere, and the garrison split their attention to meet the multiple threats. Smoke from firepots and torches began to drift through the gaps in the battlements.

"The breach is coming," Balian said at Baldwin's side. "But it will not be easy."

"It never is," Baldwin said softly. His jaw clenched against the pain that throbbed in his joints. "They had their chance to surrender. Now we show them the price of defiance."

Catapults began launching pots of burning pitch. Some burst short of the walls, setting scrub and brush alight. One caught on a battlement tower and spread along the wooden scaffolding the defenders had hastily constructed.

Screams echoed from the city wall as the flames leapt higher. The smoke and confusion began to work in the attackers' favor.

"We'll hold off the final push until they've burned themselves out," Baldwin said. "We let them bleed while the towers do their work."

On the right, ladders were pushed forward. The Saracens tried to topple them with hooks and poles, but some stuck fast. One ladder fell, spilling men into the ditch below. Another stayed up, and Franks began to scramble toward the battlements, swords drawn.

"They resist well," Balian muttered.

"Yes. But they are outnumbered. Surrounded. And the moment is slipping from them."

Another explosion of stone—this time from the eastern trebuchet—smashed into the base of the wall, cracking it. Dust and mortar filled the air, and a section of defenders collapsed in panic.

Baldwin allowed himself a grim smile. "When that section gives, we send in the reserves. No mercy."

"Yes, my king."

As dusk fell over the mountain valley, the fires on the wall glowed brighter, and the screams of the wounded mingled with the chants of priests behind the lines, praying for victory. The city had not fallen yet—but it was bleeding.

And Baldwin meant to drive the sword home.