CHAPTER 39 - 39: THE LION’S PATH

The August wind moved restlessly across the highlands of Galilee, lifting dust from the limestone ridges and rustling the olive groves that dotted the hills. The sun burned low in the western sky, gilding the land in fire-colored light, while the heat of the day clung to the stones beneath Ethan's feet.

He stood on a stony rise northeast of Acre, overlooking a distant bend in the Jordan River. To any other man, it was just a scrubby, uneven stretch of land divided by the winding thread of water and guarded by narrow hills. But to Ethan—now King Baldwin IV—it was a hinge upon which the fate of his kingdom might turn.

Jacob's Ford.

"I don't like the look of those slopes," muttered Balian, shading his eyes. "They'd give an enemy a fine perch to rain fire down on us. But if we take them first..."

He trailed off. He didn't need to say it aloud.

Ethan nodded slowly. "It's a bottleneck. A necessary crossing for any army pushing westward from Damascus. There are other ways through the region, but none so reliable year-round. If we hold this place, we can stall any advance—or draw it toward us."

To his right stood Odo of St Amand, Grand Master of the Templars. The man had a soldier's bearing, his arms folded across his chest beneath the stark white cloak marked with the red cross of his Order. His face was granite, unreadable, his expression sharpened by a blend of suspicion and tactical interest.

"A bold claim," Odo said at last. "Fortifying that ford would invite war. It is too close to Saladin's heartland. Too provocative."

"That's precisely why we must do it," Ethan replied. "Every time we let him dictate the battlefield, we lose ground—or time. But here, we can choose both."

Odo's brow furrowed. "You would bait him? With a castle?"

"I would offer him a prize so tempting he cannot refuse it. But one that will cost him dearly."

Back in Jerusalem – The Strategy Room

By the time they returned to the city, a dry wind was carrying the first hint of autumn through the narrow streets. Inside the stone keep of Jerusalem, Ethan had his scribes unroll a fresh map of the northern kingdom. Candlelight flickered over parchment covered in careful ink strokes—rivers, roads, topography, and marked positions of known fortresses.

Ethan circled Jacob's Ford with a piece of charcoal. "Here. It lies directly between Caesarea Philippi and Banias. It sits near enough to Tiberias that we could reinforce it in under a week, and close enough to Damascus that Saladin cannot ignore it."

Balian leaned over the table, tapping the area with a calloused finger. "If we build, we must build fast. The ford is exposed on all sides."

"We'll need a fortress with inner and outer walls. Strong curtain defenses. A dry moat and reinforced gatehouses. It should be built with defense in mind first, comfort second."

"And how do we pay for it?" asked Odo, ever the realist.

Ethan gestured to the scrolls stacked beside him. "Donations from the Italian communes, gifts from sympathetic lords, and contributions from the incoming settlers. I'll offer land grants around the fortress to those who help raise it."

Balian raised an eyebrow. "You mean to plant a village there?"

"In time, yes. A permanent community of loyal families. With a fortress to guard them, fields to feed them, and roads connecting them to Tiberias and Acre. If Saladin destroys it, he'll destroy a Christian colony—not just a castle. The symbolism matters."

Odo was silent a long moment. Then he said, "The Order will send stoneworkers and guards. But we'll not be drawn into an overreach. This fortress must hold."

"It will," Ethan said quietly. "Because we'll build it as though it must."

Designing the Fortress

For the next two weeks, Ethan shut himself away in a chamber converted into a planning workshop. Tables were covered in scrolls, sketches, and stone samples. Engineers, masons, and scribes came and went like bees to a hive. Every morning began with a reading of the latest terrain surveys from the Jordan Valley; every evening ended with another sketch, another refinement.

He envisioned a concentric castle

, something the current age barely understood. A central keep surrounded by multiple layers of curtain walls, each higher than the last, with flanking towers to cover every blind spot. Ethan had the walls angled to deflect siege projectiles, and planned for internal stairs that allowed rapid movement between levels.

Instead of thin parapets, the walls would be walkable, with recesses for arbalesters. Beneath the keep would be underground storage chambers: dry food, grain, tools, and arms.

Freshwater was crucial. Ethan ordered that the builders locate a spring—or failing that, dig a cistern connected to rainwater channels from the fortress roofs.

Every detail mattered. From where the stables would be placed (near the inner wall, but not within the central keep) to the shape of the battlements (he opted for rounded merlons to better deflect arrows). A guard tower on the east would have a fire beacon—visible from both Tiberias and Safed.

The centerpiece was the northern gatehouse. Built not merely as a door, but as a killing zone, with a drop-floor murder hole chamber, portcullis, and internal traps. Ethan's innovations made it a fortress designed to bleed an attacker slowly and break sieges with time and attrition.

Construction Begins

By mid-September, caravans rolled out of Acre with the first shipments of timber, lime, and quarried stone. A Templar column escorted them—footmen, mounted knights, and baggage carts packed with tools. Camps were erected near the river's edge, initially just canvas tents, then palisades, and by October, wooden scaffolding stretched over the rocky hills where the foundations were being dug.

Ethan sent an order that no building stone be reused from ancient ruins. "Let this castle rise new," he said. "Let it be born of our generation—not borrowed from the bones of Rome."

Hundreds labored: Frankish masons, Genoese engineers, Armenian carpenters, and local converts seeking royal favor. Women tended fires and fetched water. Children brought nails and pegs from carts. The ringing of hammers echoed through the valley from dawn to dusk.

Work was slow at first. The terrain was unkind—sloped, uneven, and plagued with summer rockslides. But Ethan had anticipated this. He divided the work crews into rotating shifts and instructed them in more efficient pulley systems based on what he called "compound rigging." His innovations baffled the local engineers, but they could not argue with the results: blocks rose faster, scaffolding held stronger, and fewer backs gave out from hauling.

Twice a week, Balian visited the site and sent back detailed reports. Once, he returned with a small bundle of dried flowers and a note written in a dialect of Arabic.

"Found near the northern hill," he explained, laying it on the table. "Scouts believe Saladin's eyes are already watching."

Ethan studied the note without speaking.

"They'll come," he said at last. "When they're ready."

Council of War

In early October, Ethan gathered his advisors in Jerusalem once more. The war table was now crowded with updated maps, parchment elevation plans, and inked diagrams of the Jacob's Ford project.

Balian leaned over a model of the curtain wall. "The outer wall is nearly waist-high now. They expect it to reach full height before winter."

"What of arms?" asked Odo. "We must begin stockpiling. If Saladin tests it before it is finished..."

Ethan nodded. "I've already instructed Tyre and Beirut to begin rotating crossbow shipments to the site. We'll arm the initial garrison with both crossbows and pikes. Not light militia pikes—but ten to twelve-footers. Square formations. Braced to receive cavalry."

"An infantry wall," Odo said, clearly impressed. "Good. Even Saladin's mamluks won't charge into a forest of iron."

"We'll also mount fixed artillery once the tower is complete," Ethan added. "Counterweight trebuchets. Two on the east, one west-facing."

"Stone throwers?"

"Yes. Range of over 300 meters, with specialized troughs for quick reloading. They'll be buried into the platform for extra protection."

"Ambitious," Balian said, smiling faintly. "Let's hope Saladin gives us the time to finish it."

Ethan looked around the table, eyes narrowing behind the silver mask.

"Then let's not give him the time to act first."

Signs and Portents

By late October, smoke rose daily from the fortress site—signals of construction fires and night watch beacons. Patrols along the Jordan increased. Some reported distant riders, others found tracks near the escarpments.

One patrol intercepted a merchant caravan from the Hauran. Its driver, a grizzled Syrian Christian, whispered that Damascus itself stirred with rumor.

"They say the Franj king is building a fortress like none seen before. That he means to use it not just to defend, but to strike. Some fear you'll move on Bosra or even Damascus if they don't act."

Ethan received the report in silence. Then he dismissed his court and went to his balcony alone, standing in the amber light of late afternoon, watching the sun fall toward the hills beyond the Jordan.

He did not smile. But neither did he frown.