Chapter LXXVIII: Retreat
7 June 1609
The banner which combined Castille, Leon, Aragon, The Two Sicilies, Granada, Portugal, France, among others was now dragging against the desert wind as those holding it fled southward. Nearly two thousand Spaniards rushed along the western circuit of the city wall forming a dust cloud behind them that rose high in the air as hundreds of feet pounded on the ground in desperate route.
The Persians, breaking through the biting sand like locusts from a swarm made chase on the breaking line despite the casual projectile cast in their direction from the militia manning the walls. Roaring in a triumphant row, the Persian flank distended into a scythe like formation as those chasing after the retreating men near the walls advanced further than those on the desert-side of the wing.
Inebriated with the recent tactical victory, the Persian lines began to catch onto the heels of the fleeing Spaniards. Already, the entire length of the Jerusalem wall on the west side was circuited by the two divisions until the southern crest greeted them with a hail of gunfire and some cannon fire or two.
A strange thing, however, the Spaniards halted suddenly and were swift to reform ranks. The west gate, unbeknownst to most of the Persians had just opened and a thunderous surge of horseshoe to ground subtly arrayed itself on the Persian rear. The cavalry division, which the Persian commander Jafar had thought was on the other side of the Jordan, had been waiting inside the gates of the city all along. The Spanish retreat turned into a trap.
Coalescing into action on the south point of Jerusalem, the hammer of the one thousand horse smashed the Persian rear while the anvil of the Spanish reformed tercios provided the stable guard to the now panicked force. Superior still in number the Persians persisted, but not against a double pronged attack. Most broke rank, and, well outside of the reach of their commanders on the other side of the city, noisily succumbed to the bloody edge of the eager Spanish swords.
Within a matter of minutes, the Persian flank was decimated. Most fell at the initial charge of the cavalry as the rear had not even had time to turn their weapons to bear on the incoming cavalry. Worked on both sides, it only took another a few minutes before hundreds were dead, hundreds wounded on the ground, and hundreds more fleeing southward. It was at this point that General Schenkhuizen’s line still engaged on the east side of the city could now feel the Persian center division finally rounding about their Right flank in order to envelope them against the Eastern wall.
“Hold, Hold!” he called out. With his standard bearer directly behind him, the General cut down anyone who dared come close to his fighting radius to contribute to his force’s tenacity… just a few more minutes. Already, the group was uneasy… any moment now…
The Persian flank, having to take the long way around their flank was now ready to bear on the Spanish far right. It was at this time that the victorious force hidden behind the south wall now emerged onto the eastern side of the field with no Persians in chase. As the Persian far right flank now began to advance on the Spanish, so did the Spanish left switch hands with its counterpart and formed the far right flank of the line meeting the oncoming Persians. On some parity of line, the
coup de grace emerged from behind the far right infantry as the thousand horse now rounded about the Persian’s far flank.
Risking extending his lines to the very hills, the General gambled on the effectiveness of his cavalry to now take the pressure off the main lines. Ripping into the rear of the main Persian force, the shock forced a route on the entire enemy line. Persians, right and left, disabled by the news of their right division decimated and attacked in the flank by enemy cavalry quickly fell apart and fled northward once more. General Schenkhuizen had engineered another miracle…
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They had tried to avoid the Turkish vessels for a day or so by sailing as close to the Anatolian coast as they could, but it did not stop three of the dozens of the mighty warships from heading towards the unarmed merchant vessel. There could be no retreat; with their backs to Persian occupied Acre, the crew of the merchant vessel and the towed boat behind them had to find a way to get through the Turkish fleet.
Having spied the merchant ship from afar, three of the Turkish ships had made their way to identify the craft. They were surprised to find a red standard flying atop it. Was it a Turkish merchant boat? When they brought one of their warships alongside the smaller one, the captain of the lead ship looked down to inspect the opposite deck.
“Can I help you, sir?” a voice called out to him in Turkish. As if emerging from some trap door, the captain could now see two of his countrymen ascend to the top deck. Aside from them, there seemed to be westerners working the rigging.
“Identify yourselves,” was the gruff question from the captain. The voice, although hidden in the tongue more acquainted with the barking of orders, nonetheless seemed to betray urgency.
“We are just a trading vessel bound to Constantinople,” the younger of the two Turks responded to him. “We came from Alexandria and—”
“What kind of cargo are you carrying?” the captain interrupted him. This captain, while terse, was also a stout man with a face as seaworthy as a staggering cliff defying a strong tide. His features, although cavernous, enlisted an authority that could only come from a corsair.
“Nothing much,” the younger Turk again responded. The captain looked towards the older one and perhaps deduced that the taller one was an enforcer of sorts for this minor sea captain. “The Spaniards have been distracted by the conflict in Jerusalem so we were not able to get many goods,” the younger one added.
“Have you not heard, then?” the captain called out—one could almost hear the bubbling of the deep sea somewhere in the man’s throat. “No merchant vessel is allowed to trade with Alexandria not while hostilities exist between the Empire and Spain.”
The captain noticed a moment of surprise between the two on the top deck. They looked at each other with a confused look but the younger one was able to face him again with a stern response. “I understand. We had not received word since we left Constantinople several months ago. We will comply immed—”
“It also means I must verify your permit to sail in these waters,” the captain again interrupted as the marines on his deck began to peek their heads above the edge of the vessel and look down towards the small craft. “Otherwise we will have to board and inspect—”
“That will not be necessary, captain.” It was the younger Turk’s turn to interrupt. With a swift motion into the folds of his garment, the young one produced a slab the size of his palm and held it up against the sun of the day. It shimmered against the sunlight like samples of lightning.
The captain looked at the object with obvious fascination. Although permits were usually of some different material, it was the first time he had spied a silver one. He was immediately convinced that perhaps not only was the trip of this group licit, but that it was officially sanctioned by the Porte. “Very well,” he said before quickly motioning with his arm like the swiping of a sword. The three warships began to disperse.
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Raul’s Turkish was very poor but he nonetheless kept his ears pointed upwards to where he had heard Zeren speaking. Abdullah quickly peeked his head into the darkened cabin. “We have managed to convince them that we may pass,” he said, “but please, most of you continue to stay below until they are out of range.”
Madeleine nodded with a half amazed look on her face while Renault acknowledged the news by stepping out into the light of the main deck. Riku remained quiet at one of the tables of the cabin and Willem could not help but follow Renault out. Raul, on the other hand, made his way to a chest and started to unwrap the Arabesque costume they had worn as a precaution lest they should be boarded and need to impress the Turks into believing them to be Mameluk slaves.
While Raul undid the dusty costume, Madeleine made her way to Riku’s seat. Her young eyes greeted the young man with a relieved decompression. “Made it out again,” she said to the young man, but as she said so, something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention: Raul had started to change his tunic.
It was not so much that Raul’s boyish frame was handsome enough to make any normal girl blush just at that silly chance of watching him change garments, but there was a discolouration along Raul’s side that startled her. It was not just there either, but several parts of his otherwise concealed body contained mars and scars that left a tapestry of strangeness and mystery. After Raul slipped his regular tunic on and concealed his skin, Madeleine immediately turned to Riku.
“I’m afraid if you’re looking for answers, I do not have them,” Riku whispered to her while his face was still turned away.
Her question anticipated, Madeleine nonetheless pressed and asked, “Is it from previous missions?” Perhaps part of her wanted to make sure that she was in the right profession. If anything should happen to her beautiful skin, she mused…
“Something like that,” was Riku’s only response, “but Van Axel and I learned early that answers will come in time. All I know about those things is that they were caused by some kind of burning—a burning without fire.”
“A burning without fire…” Madeleine repeated with a pocket of air in her throat like some nervous half gasp.
“Riku, could you go down and secure the baggage for us?” Raul asked as he turned around now fully dressed in his regular clothes.
“Sure,” Riku obeyed passing a consoling smile towards the young lady in the room before making his way into the lower hold. Raul began to make his way to a window to take a look through the murky glass at the distance of the other ships.
“Does it hurt?” Madeleine asked from behind him. Raul did not care to move from his window spot but nonetheless felt the question paralyze him for a second. He realized that he had inadvertently shown the young lady what he had forgotten only the other young men had grown accustomed to.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said under his breath with a greater frustration at his own indiscretion than at the one who asked the question.
“Oh I don’t worry about it at all,” Madeleine said with a pretend laugh, “my question was just pure curiosity.”
Chafing under the teasing, Raul squeezed his right hand into a fist for a second before becoming satisfied with merely stiffening his jaw. “There are some mysteries that young girls shouldn’t mess with,” he responded coldly.
Raul immediately heard an audible “hmph!” followed by, “and which of these young girls brought you out of Jerusalem, hm? Really!,” she exclaimed, “to think you’d be so ungrateful; I should just tell my uncl—”
“Your uncle is the one who keeps one of the Timepieces, doesn’t he?” Raul ignored the other conversation.
The question quieted Madeleine just enough to have her squeeze her forehead in even greater curiosity. “Yes,” she answered cautiously, “it’s being kept safe in the New World. Why are you asking?”
Raul, ignoring the girl’s question, smiled at the positive response. In the middle of his thoughts and as his vision was greeted by the heavily diffused glass liquid image of water and ships disappearing out of sight, he dismissed Madeleine’s question once more with, “It’s something young girls need not understand.”
Raul had heard the steps behind him just in time to turn around, but already a hand made contact with his cheek hard enough that he stumbled backward against the wooden wall. His eyes shot upward in a rage as his left arm propped a spidery hand over his left cheek.
“Your insolence is outrageous,” he was being yelled to. “Don’t you even understand it? You call me a young girl, Raul, and perhaps that is true. But you are something worse. You’re just a young boy. A real man is not as disrespectful and spiteful as you are and while everyone can protect and cherish young girls, young boys are only troublesome and worthless as men.”
“Don’t pretend to under—” as Raul spoke and began to stand up straight from the wooden planks, another swing of Madeleine’s palm was nearly averted with the help of Raul’s quick hand blocking her wrist.
“I don’t care for what love you’re attempting to search after,” Madeleine let out with an exasperated highness to her voice, “or who this girl of yours is, but the way I’ve seen you treat Riku, Willem, and myself is not forgivable! Did your mother and father not—”
Madeleine stopped herself and lowered her hand. Being the astute de Fronsac that she was, solving puzzles also meant having a key insight into the massive lock which is the human face behind which the intellect resided and the soul makes a winter residence. It was not that Raul’s anger finally halted her, but it was in those last words that she said that forced Raul to suddenly hold back tears. Mother and father, she thought. Raul is this way because… would cry about those words because…
Before Madeleine could even apologize, Raul turned from her and stormed out of the chamber.
When the SUV containing the men and woman exited the bunker chamber entrance, a storm outside had already begun to send down heavy libations of water. Taguchi was strapped in one of the rear seats while the paramilitary man was driving, his cousin was in the passenger’s seat, Pablo and Carlos were in his row while Lara, Tom, and Rodrigo occupied the very rear row.
“We’re past the blockade,” Hayato told everyone as he tapped on his laptop which apparently notified him of their present location along a grid map. Hayato also passed back an empty plastic container for Carlos to relay back to Lara or Rodrigo to place in the storage area—it was those same containers that they had brought their water sensitive material. In one of those bags that Taguchi had brought his mobile, wallet, and other things that he deemed ‘essential.’ Among the items the others brought, what scared him the most were Captain DeWitt’s weapons that he had put in his allotment—a small arsenal of automatic rifles and handguns as well as certain explosives.
“We’ll be at the hospital in half an hour,” Hayato said to the group as darkness dominated the inside of the vehicle and the air conditioning brought a crisp touch to the cabin. “I’ve already prepped Dr. Feher on Tom’s condition.”
“The anti-venom we gave him should keep him stable, but Dr. Feher should be able to figure out what to do with the residual effects,” Rodrigo said from the very back.
Taguchi could feel the bumps from the off-terrain road that they issued from. The unconditioned terrain was most likely to keep secret the exit point of the Great War era bunker’s vehicle garage. Nonetheless, he held onto the doorway’s handle with great care to stabilize himself. Pablo, sitting opposite to him with Carlos in between, was preoccupied watching the water pitter patter against his tinted window with a strange abandonment. What was going on in that boy’s mind? Then again, what was really going on in his own mind? Taguchi reminded himself.
For a moment, Pablo turned towards Taguchi as well and they both noticed the same kind of strange bewilderment that was overtaking them although for Taguchi, it was something reflecting off of Pablo’s darkened face. It was strange, however, no matter how dark it was, the scar that ran along Pablo’s lip was still visible. That mar; that strange reminder somehow bit at Taguchi’s soul, but he could not place the reason why.
Perhaps it was also because it was not the only scar on Pablo that he had noticed. Once in a while, when getting ready for class and exchanging turns in the bathroom, Pablo would exit as Taguchi entered, but would do so only with a towel around his waist. Indeed, Taguchi just remembered what it was that seemed so strange—Pablo’s body had many scars tucked and hidden in different parts of that older and stronger frame.
For Taguchi, it had made him think Pablo had gone through fire and that the scars were a visible reminder of dancing flames attempting to consume his body.
Chapter LXXIX: Scars (coming soon)