CHAPTER 72 - 72 - THE PHANTOM HOST

Late March, 1180 – Jerusalem

The spring sun rose over the city of Jerusalem, casting a golden light upon the stone walls of the royal palace. In the high chamber overlooking the city, King Baldwin IV stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the horizon. The room was silent but for the soft rustle of parchment and the low murmur of advisors nearby. A rider had just arrived from the coast, and his message had changed everything.

The Sicilian fleet had struck with ferocity and precision.

Reports confirmed the destruction of the port of Damietta, the looting of Tinnis, and the sack of Alexandria. In each case, the Moslem defenders had been taken by surprise. Gold, grain, supplies, and weaponry had been taken by the Sicilians, their ships overflowing with plunder. Fires had gutted key structures, including warehouses, dry docks, and in one case, a great mosque that had stood for centuries. Panic had swept through the Nile Delta, and word was spreading quickly through Egypt, fanning fear like a wildfire.

Baldwin—Ethan—read the report twice before slowly setting the scroll aside. Around him stood his closest advisors: Balian of Ibelin, Reginald of Sidon, Humphrey of Toron, Joscelin of Courtenay, and now, newly arrived, the famed Prince Richard of England—already known for his boldness in Aquitaine and his strength on the battlefield.

"So," Baldwin said softly, his voice muffled slightly beneath his silver mask. "The Sicilians have lit the flame. And Saladin burns."

There was a murmur of approval in the chamber.

"We've done it," said Reginald of Sidon, leaning forward. "He'll be torn between defending Egypt and holding his northern borders. It will force his hand."

"Unless," added Balian cautiously, "he sees through it. We cannot underestimate him."

Baldwin nodded. "True. Which is why the next step must be executed with precision. Richard," he said, turning to the young English prince, "you've seen what disinformation can do to an army. We have a force of six thousand heading east. The goal is to make it seem like ten—no, fifteen thousand. Suggestions?"

Richard stepped forward, armored in mail and bearing a red cross across his chest. He looked every bit the soldier-commander, yet his mind was as keen as his sword.

"We use light, sound, and speed," he said. "Double the number of fires at night. March and counter-march along visible routes. Spread rumors in every village between here and the Jordan. Let them see dust clouds and hear horns. Make the enemy believe this is the main force."

"Would you split the cavalry?" asked Joscelin.

"No," Richard said. "We need the speed to suggest a larger cavalry presence than we have. Small teams riding in wide arcs, with flags and banners, letting themselves be seen. But never engaged."

Humphrey of Toron pointed to a map of Syria. "Saladin will be watching the road to Damascus. If we make it look like we're preparing for a siege there..."

"...he'll divert his forces," Baldwin finished. "And that is when the main army, thirty thousand strong, will sweep toward Aleppo."

There was a long pause as the gravity of the plan settled over the council chamber. It was daring. Risky. But it just might work.

Baldwin paced slowly, boots thudding against the marble floor. "The main force will follow a path through Galilee, then north along the Bekaa Valley. We'll move in stages, using the terrain to mask our numbers. Siege engines are already being assembled in Acre and Tyre, and supply routes are being fortified."

"Pikemen?" Richard asked.

"Five thousand," Baldwin said. "Armed with long spears, drilled relentlessly over the last year. They'll form the core of our infantry squares. Behind them—crossbowmen and heavy infantry. Our cavalry will move on the flanks."

"We'll need bridge engineers too," Balian said. "The Orontes may be flooded from the spring melt."

"Already arranged," Baldwin replied. "And we're stockpiling timber near Baniyas for pontoons and mobile siege towers."

Outside, bells rang faintly across the city, calling men to prayer. Baldwin moved to the window, watching the bustle of Jerusalem—carts full of supplies, merchants trading fabric and steel, monks copying orders and gospel alike.

"I want our men unified," he said at last. "The new lords arriving from Europe—those who've pledged fealty—must be organized into cohorts as they arrive. No freelancing. We'll assign commanders from within our ranks to lead them—men we can trust. Every cohort must be balanced: knights, archers, pikes, support."

"And Richard?" Joscelin asked.

The young prince raised his chin. "Let me lead the diversionary force. I'll give them a ghost army they'll never forget."

Baldwin chuckled softly behind the mask. "Tempting. But I need you in the main host. At the point of the spear."

There was a pause, then a nod of agreement from the prince.

At that moment, another messenger was brought in—a lean Templar scout who had ridden from Damascus. He dropped to one knee, panting.

"My lords," he said, "Saladin knows. The raids in Egypt have reached him. He's sending riders south, but he remains in Damascus for now. His northern command is unsettled—emirs argue among themselves. Some blame him for the inaction."

A glimmer of opportunity flickered in Baldwin's eyes.

"Good. We'll stoke that fire. Have our agents continue spreading rumors—tell them Saladin is withholding gold, playing favorites, or secretly cutting deals with the Sicilians. Let each emir believe another is being favored."

"And what of Egypt?" Humphrey asked. "Will he send troops?"

Baldwin turned back toward the map.

"He might. But not enough. If he draws too many men south, he risks losing Syria. If he keeps them in Syria, he risks losing the Nile. That's the trap."

"The raids were perfectly timed," Balian said. "Saladin is stretched thin. If we move quickly, we could strike before he's able to consolidate."

Baldwin nodded again, this time slowly. "And that's what we'll do."

He turned back to the council.

"Prepare the orders. The first march begins in two weeks. The diversionary force will ride ahead. The banners will fly, and every whisper from Homs to Baalbek will speak of our siege of Damascus. And when Saladin rides to stop us..."

"...we take Aleppo," Richard finished.

There was silence, broken only by the crackle of torches on the stone walls. Then Baldwin straightened, turning to each man.

"This is the moment we've prepared for. No more defense. No more waiting. We take the fight to them."

And with that, the council dispersed—knights and nobles hurrying to their assignments, parchment and ink flying through the scribes' hands, war drums echoing faintly from the training yards below.

The Lion had joined the Lamb.

And soon, the storm would break.