Episode 163
Khalifa had envisioned a scene where the Mongol siege would falter at the sight of Ayub’s reinforcements, boosting the morale of the defenders.
Of course, Ayub’s forces alone couldn’t drive the Mongols away from Baghdad.
But even a small disruption in the siege could be significant. In war, morale was everything, and news of reinforcements might inspire other Muslims to take courage.
Reality, however, was starkly different.
The long-awaited reinforcements did arrive, but not in the way the people of Baghdad had hoped.
The Mongols, ever so considerate, launched the bodies of Ayub’s soldiers over the walls with catapults, ensuring everyone could see.
Calling them bodies was generous; they were mangled remains, unrecognizable after crashing against the walls. The sight was so gruesome it was unbearable.
“Ahhh! Another one’s coming!”
“Ugh! Someone, please, get rid of it!”
“Run! Get out of the way!”
Launch. Smash.
Horror and terror.
In half a day, Baghdad’s walls became a grotesque landfill of hardened blood and rotting flesh.
It was a method beyond human imagination, yet paradoxically effective.
The bodies were unidentifiable, but the Mongols helpfully included armor and ornaments to hint at their identities.
Thud!
“Those insane bastards!”
“They’re devils… true devils. No human could do this.”
“How could they kill nobles so brutally…?”
In battle, nobles might be killed, but usually with some semblance of dignity unless there was deep-seated hatred. Even during the Crusades, such rules applied. Executions happened, but bodies were not desecrated, and most nobles were ransomed.
Especially royalty.
Yet, the bodies of Ayub’s forces hurled at Baghdad mocked all previous norms, with high-ranking individuals’ belongings found among the remains.
As much as they wanted to look away, they couldn’t. Leaving the bodies would lead to disease, forcing them to clean up and inevitably identify the dead.
“These demons… what grudge do they hold against us?”
“Why does God allow such people to exist?”
There was no historical enmity between the Mongols and Islam to justify such desecration of nobles.
Even the atrocities committed by Christians over decades of war paled in comparison to what the Mongols were doing now.
Was this a message to open the gates and surrender, or a mad threat that they would all end up like this?
Whatever the reason, the soldiers’ morale, once lifted by Khalifa’s speech, plummeted into despair.
Even worse…
“What did you say? Among the bodies, there might be a descendant of Saladin?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Al Kasab’s hands trembled as he delivered the grim report, unable to hide his agitation despite his efforts to remain calm.
The same was true for An-Nasir, who heard the report.
Whose body did they launch?
A descendant of Saladin? A son? A nephew?
How could such a thing even happen? His mind refused to comprehend.
“That… that can’t be… There must be some mistake. No matter how mad they are, they wouldn’t commit such an atrocity.”
”…But the symbols and evidence found on the bodies make it almost certain.”
“So, you’re saying the Mongols killed Saladin’s descendants who came as Ayub’s reinforcements and catapulted their bodies here?”
“Yes… We suspect it might be his second son and a nephew.”
An-Nasir staggered, losing his balance at the news.
It made no sense. This was madness.
Fear, beyond shock and anger, began to creep in.
The most terrifying thing in the world is not knowing what someone might do next, and this was one of those moments.
“What do you think? What could be their motive for doing this?”
“I don’t know. Whether it’s a simple threat or a declaration to kill us all…”
“Could it be that if Saladin learns of this, he might lead a massive army in anger? Then they’d be digging their own grave.”
“I don’t know. Saladin’s fury would be immense, but he’s too old and not one to rush.”
Nothing was certain, and it was driving him mad.
One thing was clear: the reinforcements they had hoped for wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.
Like it or not, Baghdad’s forces would have to hold out for several more months.
They could do it, but confidence was hard to muster.
Logically, nothing had changed in Baghdad’s situation since the bodies started flying.
Yet, none of the subordinates who had confidently claimed they could hold out for half a year were saying the same now.
He wished someone, anyone, would offer a glimmer of hope, but all he heard were tales of despair.
“Your Highness, if we stay like this, our morale will continue to drop. If the fortresses across the river fall, Baghdad could be in danger. We should at least fortify those positions…”
“How? The city is nearly surrounded.”
“But we have 20,000 elite cavalry. It’s enough to strike at the Mongols targeting the fortresses. As you said, Saladin’s anger over his son’s death won’t be trivial, so we must buy time.”
How much longer could they delay?
An-Nasir wanted to vent his frustration but held back with superhuman restraint.
Everyone here felt the same helplessness, and anger wouldn’t change anything.
As Al Kasab suggested, all they could do was stall for time and hope for a helping hand.
“Then let’s send out the cavalry to disrupt the Mongols. Kasab, you’ll lead them.”
“Understood. I’ll carry out the mission with my life.”
“Please do.”
As Al Kasab resolutely walked out, the hopeful eyes of Khalifa and the other nobles followed him.
What they needed wasn’t a decisive victory.
If they could just turn the tide, even once.
Anything to halt the Mongols’ barbaric actions would suffice.
But at that moment, a nagging sense of foreboding crossed Khalifa’s mind.
What if this was the last time he saw Al Kasab?
He shook his head to dispel the thought, but unfortunately, such ominous premonitions often proved accurate.
He hoped, for once, to be wrong, but Khalifa and most of the nobles were becoming increasingly aware that hope was fading.
Two days after the Mongols began their gruesome catapult strategy.
Genghis Khan stood, a mocking smile on his face, gazing at the distant walls of Baghdad.
He couldn’t see inside the walls, but he could easily imagine the chaos within.
“The effect is remarkable. I can almost hear them trembling from here.”
“Yes. By now, they must be regretting not accepting the Great Khan’s mercy.”
“Indeed. If they had surrendered when told, they would have been spared. But they chose stubbornness over strength.”
“This proves once again why the Great Khan despises those who live by status and lineage. They only learn through bloodshed.”
Subutai’s sharp words made Genghis Khan nod in agreement.
His loyal followers understood well why he loathed the nobility.
For Genghis Khan, life was a constant struggle, a series of battles.
Complacency led to defeat, and defeat meant death.
Frankly, luck played a significant role in his survival through several defeats.
Had fortune not favored him, Genghis Khan might not have stood here today.
With such a background, watching the antics of foreign nobles filled him with disdain.
“I can’t understand it. What makes them think they can survive defeat?”
“They call it tradition.”
“Ah, I’ve heard that. When you capture royalty, you’re supposed to treat them with respect? Did the one you captured say something similar?”
He couldn’t recall the name, but he remembered the face.
He was the kind of fool who strutted around, claiming to be the second son of the Sultan of Ayyub and demanding treatment befitting his status, even after surrendering.
“Yes, originally, I intended to deal with him on the spot. But since he is a prince of an enemy nation, I thought the Great Khan should see him at least once, so I brought him here.”
“Good job. Thanks to you, our troops’ morale has soared.”
Was his name Usman?
Recalling the look on his face when Subutai dragged him in, utterly convinced he wouldn’t be killed, brought a smirk to my lips once more.
“Believing you can survive even after losing a battle and being captured is why those fools holed up in Baghdad dare to wage such futile wars. If they didn’t want to see blood, they should have surrendered.”
Of course, I’m not some bloodthirsty demon.
Even if they fought without surrendering, if they showed real talent, I’d try to win them over as subordinates.
And if they surrendered before the fight and prostrated themselves, I’d treat them well.
At least that would prove they had the sense to assess the situation correctly.
But both the so-called son of the Sultan and the Caliph of Baghdad squandered the chances they were given.
So why should I show them any mercy?
“I’m curious. That Caliph, who claims to be God’s representative, boasted loudly. I wonder if his God will change his fate for him. If such a miracle happens, I might consider converting to his religion.”
“In that case, I’ll follow the Great Khan and convert too. Hahaha!”
“Shall we bet on how the Caliph will react? I’ll wager he’ll react just like that Usman fellow.”
“I’ll bet on that too.”
“I’ll place my bet with the Great Khan as well.”
With everyone betting on the same outcome, the wager couldn’t proceed.
At Genghis Khan’s wry comment, Boorchu and Tiraun quickly changed their bets, predicting the Caliph would meet his end with dignity.
With a chuckle, Genghis Khan discussed future plans, his interest in Islam rapidly waning.
None of those who claimed to be descendants of gods or spoke of divine will had ever proven to be of any real substance.
So, could the Ayyubids or the Christians above them meet his expectations?
The ruler of the steppes, who had resolved to reject everything built by these feeble civilizations, decided to burn and plunder the city before him and then contemplate his next move.