CHAPTER 81 - 81: THE ROAD TO VENGEANCE

May 14, 1180 – En route to Northern Syria

The wind swept dry dust across the trail as banners flapped in rhythmic pulses, bearing the black standard of the House of Ayyub. The great host of Saladin marched northward from Damascus with measured urgency. Weeks of tension had coiled like a serpent in his chest, and now—at last—it struck. The fall of Aleppo had shaken the caliphate to its foundation, a blow not just of military significance but of spiritual humiliation. The city once claimed as a stronghold of Islam had fallen to the Franks—and worse, it had fallen with little resistance. That fact burned most of all.

Saladin rode beneath a canopy of layered clouds, the sun straining through in strips of pale gold. The rhythm of hoofbeats and the clank of steel echoed endlessly behind him, a reminder of the immense power he had gathered. Still, his thoughts were grim.

The army was vast, the largest he had mustered since his victories in Egypt. Over 26,000 troops rode or marched with him now, though not all were seasoned warriors. The force included:

12,000 cavalry, many of them mamluks and tribal riders from Egypt and Syria

9,000 infantry, made up of disciplined levies and city garrison troops from Damascus, Hama, Homs, and the Orontes valley

3,000 archers

, many from the Kurdish highlands and Bedouin clans, skilled in both horseback and foot tactics

2,000 auxiliaries, responsible for baggage, siege preparation, and support

Saladin had left another 5,000 troops in Damascus to maintain order and ensure no surprise assaults from the coast or other rebel emirs.

He had already sent messengers to his loyal emirs in Mosul, urging them to prepare for possible contingencies, though he dared not wait for their support. Aleppo's loss had created a political crisis: voices of protest echoed in court halls, and whispers of dissent carried through the ranks of the military elite.

Now, as the army passed the foothills of the Anti-Lebanon mountains, they paused near the ruins of an ancient Roman fortress beside a stream. Tents were pitched swiftly, and Saladin summoned his inner council to a war council at dusk.

The War Council

Within the command pavilion, lit by hanging bronze lamps and the low fire at the center, Saladin sat cross-legged on a fine Persian rug. Around him stood his most trusted advisors and military commanders: Emir Saif al-Din of Homs, Qadi al-Fadil the chancellor, Taqi al-Din (his nephew and one of his fiercest cavalry commanders), and Emir Izz al-Din from Hama. The room was thick with incense and tension.

Saladin opened the discussion with grim determination. "Aleppo has fallen without a siege. We underestimated the Franks—and they outmaneuvered us."

Qadi al-Fadil's fingers curled over the hilt of a rolled map. "Their true army bypassed our scouts entirely. Damascus was never their target. They used Richard and his diversion to hold us in place. We were played."

Saladin frowned. "I should have known. They struck with the same fury as when they ambushed us at Jacob's Ford. Their king is not a fool. He thinks with a mind shaped by something unnatural..."

"By something foreign," Izz al-Din muttered. "His instincts are unlike the other Franks."

Saladin stood and paced near the low table bearing trays of figs, honeyed dates, and water. "Now, we march to reclaim what has been taken. We cannot allow them to hold Aleppo. It is not merely a city—it is a beacon of Islam, a symbol of our strength. If we do nothing, the tribes in the north may rise against us or bend their knee to Jerusalem."

"But to attack now," Saif al-Din said cautiously, "is to do so on their terms. They are entrenched in the city and will have a garrison in place. Their supplies will be plentiful, and their morale high."

"Even so," Taqi al-Din interjected, "we cannot let this go unanswered. The Ummah expects a response. The longer we wait, the stronger they become."

There was a moment of silence.

"Then we force them to battle," Saladin declared. "But not at their gates. We will draw them out. We must find terrain that favors us—wide plains for our cavalry, or rolling hills where we can trap them between wings."

He turned to the map Qadi al-Fadil unrolled. "Here," he pointed, "south of Aleppo, along the route to Ma'arat al-Numan. There are fertile valleys and ridges we know well. If we can lure them from the walls or threaten their line to Jerusalem, they may be forced to meet us."

"And if they remain within Aleppo?" Izz al-Din asked.

"Then we surround them and starve them. But I do not believe they came to sit behind stone. This King Baldwin is a man of action. If he believes we aim for Damascus or his own capital, he may split his forces."

The others nodded in agreement, and Saladin gestured to his scribes. Orders were to be written at once. Scouts would ride ahead, searching for terrain with narrow valleys, choke points, and defensible ridges. Ambushes would be prepared. Harassment teams would slow the enemy's foraging efforts, and all local wells and springs would be watched.

March Discipline and Morale

Outside the pavilion, the army made camp with swift discipline. Each division had its place—banners and insignia clearly marked, with clerics reciting the Qur'an aloud to steel the resolve of the men. Horses were brushed, chainmail repaired, and archers drilled in the dry fields under the setting sun. By torchlight, messengers from the rear arrived with further reports: reinforcements from Homs would catch up within five days, bringing another 1,500 troops, mostly spearmen and light cavalry.

Despite the setback at Aleppo, morale was high. The presence of Saladin himself—calm, pious, and unwavering—acted like a pillar of stone in the heart of the army. His men trusted him. Many had followed him from the deserts of Egypt to the gates of Jerusalem and back again.

But Saladin knew better than most that faith alone would not win the coming battle. The Franks had stormed one of the great cities of Islam, likely without siege engines or drawn-out assaults. That alone suggested their audacity and discipline had grown sharper since their defeats years ago.

He returned to his tent late in the evening, scribes still recording the orders dictated hours earlier. He sat before a small oil lamp and opened a sealed report from his spy in Antioch—nothing new, but troubling nonetheless: no activity from Bohemond, no signal of a new front. Baldwin was consolidating his hold on Syria.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing on the flame.

"This war is no longer a defense," he whispered to himself. "It is a reckoning."

And with that, Saladin rose and offered his final prayers of the day. Tomorrow, the march would continue north. The Ayyubid host would arrive on the plains below Aleppo in less than ten days—perhaps sooner if the roads remained dry. Whatever the Franks were planning, they would not find Saladin idle.

Not again.