Khamîrasgirên
Chapter 10
1200 - 1208
The Kings' Crusade
Rabī' al-Awwal, Anno Hejirae 596
I received another letter from Vizier Isa today. Most of it is only the usual badgering, to work hard at my studies, to continue training with sword and horse, to avoid overexerting myself. This time, however, he did also tell me that the Crusaders have finally made their landing, somewhere near Cilicia, some three weeks past.
It's so exciting, I wish I could be there with him. Wadi Muhabbar says that the Vizier has had extensive military training, and that we all must place our trust in him, that he's our only hope, but it doesn't really seem that way to me. I've been listening in on almost every Regency Meeting over the past week, and all that the old men ever yammer on about is how hopeless the odds are, that they had to start preparing for negotiations. Apparently, each Kurd is outnumbered by five of the infidel, and the Crusaders have already wrested control of the Mediterranean from us, smashing our navy three times within the space of a month. And to add to that, the infidel are barbarous creatures, there are always stories circulating about their ungodly cannibalism and hedonistic debauchery. I even heard Physician Zia say that, if the crusaders ever got ahold of him, Vizier Isa would be as good as dead.
Still, I wish I could be there. I would be good on the field, I know it, and men ought to see their king before they die. Again, this was Vizier Isa's doing, constantly fretting about how frail I am, or how I need to eat more, how I need to do this or do that. He never lets me have a say in ruling; in fact, he downright refused me when I demanded that I be allowed to visit my own palace at Baghdad. I never got to grow up with my father, but even a cursory glance in my books will tell me that a shah, and even more so, a Khalifa, simply cannot be refused. Somehow, it seems, the word of a single lowborn man is enough to outweigh that of a Khalifa.
But that doesn't matter anymore. I've looked at the numbers myself, and the Council is right, there is little chance of Isa winning this war, though I have no doubt he will give it his best shot. It will be a humiliating loss for him and his council, obviously, but perhaps an opportunity for me. I'm still only eleven years of age, but if Vizier Isa can keep the Crusade going on for a few years yet, then I will be coronated before his return. And when he does make his inevitable return to Namuthij Al Rua'a, failed in his mission as Vizier and Regent-Protector of Kurdistan, that'll be when I strike.
I swear it, by Allah and Muhammad and Ali. The man he returns to find will not be the boy he had left behind.
The Third Crusade was undoubtedly the most effective of all the military expeditions launched by the Popes of Catholicism against the heretic and infidel. It was called after Pope Gregorius VIII reached an agreement with the Basileus of Constantinople, who had requested aid in repelling the advancing Kurdish hordes, or more specifically, the Shahdom of Rûm. The Pope saw this as an opportunity to launch a two-pronged attack on the already weakened Kurdish states, who'd been embroiled in civil war and religious strife over the past few decades, and seize the Holy Land for Christendom once more.
Pope Gregorius gave speeches and appealed to the Catholic kings of Europe in an attempt to sway the public in favour of the Crusade, promising absolution of sins and a guaranteed place in Heaven in return for the swords and life of the knightly class. Much of Catholicism, similarly to previous crusades, answered this call. In the summer of 1200, the Kings of France and Andalusia met at Marseille to discuss the possibility of a joint venture into Kurdistan, debating the split of the number of men and the funds between the two of them. The Pope himself presided over the negotiations, anxious that a settlement be reached before the Kurds had time enough to react or form alliances.
Whilst the kings argued with one another over the finer details of their alliance, however, several minor German lords and a handful of their knights had already set our for the Holy Land, sailing from Venice in August of 1200 and making their landing at Tripoli a couple months later. Without hesitation or deliberation, and in the absence of a single commander to lead them into unfriendly territory, the Germans struck out in every direction.
Needless to say, this was not the wisest of decisions. The Kurdish Council, who still ruled as Regents to the young Shah Khamed II, gave supreme command of the Kurdish forces to Vizier Isa, chancellor of the Council and Protector of the Realm. The Kurds did not underestimate the threat that this Crusade posed, they'd heard of the catastrophic fall of the Umayyad Empire of Hispania some years past, and were determined to avoid such a fate for themselves. Thus, fearing the numbers that the infidel could bring to the field, the Regency Council also allocated Vizier Isa with significant funds to raise a tried and tested mercenary band, in addition to the Kurdish Army, which was made up of peasantry and trained retinues.
Vizier Isa began his march west towards the end of the year, and though he conducted frequent raids and attacks along enemy supply lines, the first major engagement of the Third Crusade was not met until three months later, in early March of 1201.
The 13000-strong Kurdish Army attacked a Crusader force of similar strength from the north-east, whilst Vizier Isa himself led the mercenary company to engage them from the south, trapping the Crusaders between themselves, a powerful fort in the east and the Mediterranean beaches on the west.
The battle proceeded in regular enough fashion, with Kurdish archers raining arrows down on the Crusaders for about an hour before the Vizier-Commander Isa ordered a general advance, drawing first blood. The infidel forces, greatly outnumbered, called on nearby German and Aquitainian forces to provide some relief. By the time the reinforcements had arrived, however, battle had already been met and the Syrian ground was drinking up spilled blood. Even after the Crusaders had grouped together in an effort to withstand and counter-attack, their novice commanders were distrusting and wary of their own allies, many holding their father's foreign grudges against one another.
Vizier Isa made full use of this very apparent flaw, commanding his cavalry to thunder through and open up a small gap in enemy lines, whilst the Kurdish infantry attacked the Germans and the mercenaries pushed forwards to meet the smaller detachment in close battle. The German lines faltered before coming to a halt, and once the Kurdish cavalry circled around the field to strike them in the rear, the infantry pushed forward again and broke their lines. Turning their backs and fleeing the field, Vizier Isa ordered his cavalry to pursue and harass them whilst his remaining forces dealt with what was left of the Crusader force.
In all, the battle lasted almost two days and claimed a great many lives, most of them Christian. Once the bodies were counted and piled into small hills, the final count came to ten thousand dead Catholics and seven thousand fallen Kurds. A considerable loss for both sides, but it stung the Kurds a good measure more, considering their already lacking numbers.
Still, the battle was a victory, and Isa gave his men a day's respite to rest and celebrate. Before night had come, however, a messenger thundered into his camps with news from the south. An hour later, the army was back on its feet and on another march, this time towards Jerusalem. The Regency Council, who'd appointed the scouting divisions to scour the coast of the Mediterranean, sent word to Vizier Isa that three more Crusader armies had made their landing near Darum, before striking east and forcing the sudden capitulation of two important forts.
The first Crusader force Isa came upon had already managed to secure the castle at Ascalon, a strategically decisive location necessary for any further incursions into Jerusalem. His army were in dire need of supplies and rest, but as ordered by the Council, Isa commanded them to ready themselves for another battle before the week was out. There could be no rest or recuperation, not whilst the infidel held Ascalon, it had to be retaken before reinforcements could dock at the harbour and restock city stores.
So, in early September of 1201, the Kurds once more attacked a Crusader force. Again, they were numerically superior, but this time the enemy had a friendly fort to fall back and re-organise in, and this would be the bane of any attempt to force a pitched battle. The crusader army was in command of a fairly well-known general, Count Badouin, a Frenchman given command of a small force and ordered to scout the coast in anticipation of the oncoming French Army, but the man had proven himself to be an able and decisive commander, smashing two small armies raised by local lords and somehow breaching and seizing Ascalon before Vizier Isa could arrive. Now, he was in the advantage, able to come out and meet the Muslims at his own discretion.
The Kurds, on the other hand, could not afford to wait and risk the arrival of more Crusaders, so after lingering for a week without Badouin showing any signs of attacking, Vizier Isa decided to take the initiative. He began an assault of the easterly section of the walls in the early of dawn, on the 6th of October, but without any siege engines or scaling ladders, instead opting to try and force his way through the gates by way of battering ram. This was when Count Badouin finally sprung into action, him and his cavalry regiment exiting the fort from the northern gates and wheeling about in an arc to drive into the midst the disorderly Kurdish forces, easily cleaving them apart and beginning the Battle of Harbijah.
Three hours of bloody duelling followed, with the Crusaders heaving rocks and raining arrows down from the parapets of the castle whilst the hand-to-hand combat raged, neither side able to gain enough momentum to spur themselves to victory. Vizier Isa could not remain so close to the enemy lines, however, his men were ceding ground to the infidel, slowly being pushed further and further back as the day progressed. As midday approached, Isa finally called off the assault and ordered a retreat, and the Kurds fled
en masse.
Not a complete defeat, but again, the Kurds would suffer the more from it.
Vizier Isa fell back to Jerusalem, where he knew the Crusaders could not yet pursue him, and took stock of his remaining options. He was out of money, unable to pay even the salaries of his own men, so the mercenary groups had abandoned him after the defeat at Ascalon. His own army was exhausted, their morale shattered and the fear of God put back in them, with no hope of raising further troops from the depopulated and strained countryside. To make matters worse, the infidel had carried a particularly rampant strain of consumption with them from the west, quickly spreading through their armies before it infected his own, significantly smaller, forces.
Already, it was apparent that any hope of repelling the infidel was quickly collapsing and vanishing, and the Kings of Europe had not even arrived yet.
Vizier Isa sent word to
Namuthij Al Rua'a, trying to convince the councillors that the only way to try and salvage a half-favourable outcome was to treat with the leaders of the Crusade now, before the extent of their own weakness became known. It took weeks for the Council to send their reply, but when they did, it was only with a pouch of Jewish gold and a short letter ordering Isa to either throw the Christians back into the Mediterranean, or face the consequences at Baghdad.
Isa, knowing that both choices would lead to the same fate, resolved to try and mount one more offensive against the Crusaders. Before he could even begin planning for another council of war, however, news reached him of further losses in the north.
King Adrien of France had finally arrived, it seemed, with the now-famous Count Badouin leading his forces. 22000 thousand more men landed over the following weeks, to the 4000 that Vizier Isa had remaining, four thousand that were supposed to somehow defeat an army six times their size. The odds were not in Isa's favour, obviously, but before the year was out another letter arrived from the east, ordering him to meet the enemy in combat before all of Syria fell.
Vizier Isa, in agreement with his generals, decided that the only way to gain some leverage was to meet and defeat each Crusader army separately, cutting them off from their allies and smashing them decisively. He needed to be mobile and critical, so he hired another small mercenary band of cavalrymen from the steppes, hoping an advantage in horse would be enough to outflank any opposing army and force them to capitulate quicker than otherwise.
And so, in the summer of 1205, the Kurds once again rode out to meet the infidel in battle. Surrounded by hostile forts but quick enough to outrun any larger army, Vizier Isa engaged a 2000-strong German force on the eighteenth of December, using his cavalry to their greatest possibly capacity by constantly pulling them back and redeploying them where the fighting was thickest. The Germans, caught by surprise, were completely overrun before they were able to even outfit themselves for battle, with Isa personally leading a charge through their camps.
The battle ended in victory for the Kurds, with minimal losses, but it went on for longer than Isa had intended. Only slighter longer, but still too long.
Once the Germans were either dead or chained, Kurdish scouts sent word that the French were on the march to try and reinforce the battle, so Vizier Isa ordered a complete retreat. He needed to get back into Syria proper before the French could pin him down and annihilate what was left of his forces.
Unfortunately, that was not to be.
A series of skirmishes and raids, launched from the surrounding Christian-held castles, brought the Kurdish army to a crawl, enabling the French forces to quickly catch up to them and force them onto the field, where they obviously held a massive advantage. Count Badouin took charge of the cavalry, whilst King Adrien himself (along with his numerous generals, no doubt) engaged the Kurdish infantry head-on, screams in Latin and Kurdish rising up to the heavens as the two religions clashed.
The battle was long and bloody. Beginning on the 8th of August, 1205, and coming to an end almost a week later, the fighting was composed almost entirely of a constant advance from the French, slowly pushing the Kurdish infantry back whilst their allies rushed up from the south to reinforce them, throwing open the flood gates. Despite the considerable numerical superiority, however, the Kurds did manage to hold a rigid line and repel attack after attack from the French infantry, with the mercenary cavalry more than able to keep their opposing counterparts occupied.
Eventually, however, Count Badouin led a charge that finally managed to break the Kurdish line. Hundreds poured through the breach and fought the Kurdish army from the inside to out, cutting down thousands of men as one of the most versatile and disciplined war machines in the entire world collapsed, the shimmering blades of Christendom glowing a luminescent red in the morning sunlight.
This was the end. There was nothing that could be done now. The Kurdish Army had been utterly dismembered, there wasn't a single coin in the Royal Treasury, the state was drowning in debt, and the Sunni populace were seizing any possible opportunity to rise up against the Shia.
And now, the last of the Crusader Kings had landed at Ascalon, seizing nearby forts and preparing for their first forays into Jerusalem proper. Sixteen thousand Spanish, fifteen thousand Frenchmen, ten thousand Germans, and a thousand Italians. Against such numbers, there is simply no hope for any resurgence or comeback... the Kurdish Shahdom had suffered its first significant territorial loss since its very inception.
And the following months and years only compounded the helplessness of Vizier Isa and the Regency Council. News of constant losses came in droves and floods, word of the execution of chained prisoners of war at Ascalon, reports of the assault and sack of Jaffa, tidings of further military losses as local emirs attempted to halt the Christian advance, and rumours of the havoc and cruelty enforced upon the heathen population of any seized provinces.
From Beirut in the north to Hebron in the south, the Crusaders rampaged and pillaged, burning villages and viciously crushing any resistance. The forts at Chastelet and Banyas fell after just weeks of siege, the defenders too few in number to actually make full use of the stalwart fortifications, making it easy for the Crusaders to find a relatively weak section of the wall and breach it within hours of assault.
Darum held out for longer, being well-supplied and defended, it repelled the infidel for almost a year before they managed to scale the walls and force an opening. Its defenders were treated harshly and without mercy, the victorious Crusaders raping and looting and killing their way across the city for its stubborn opposition, and after tales of their cruelty reached the surrounding sheikhs and emirs, most surrendered or submitted without any further opposition.
It was only in February of 1208 that the entirety of Oultrejordain was under foreign occupation, and the infidel surrounded and began the final siege of their crusade, prepared to seize the ultimate prize: Jerusalem. The Holy Land, which had been conquered and ruled by Muslims for centuries, was now gripped by Christendom.
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King of Petal and Stone
It had to be one of the most beautiful places in the entire world, from Andalusia to the Empire of Cathay, not even the most imaginative of minds could ever paint a picture so pristine, so exquisite, so graceful and elegant. This heavenly palace had a name,
Exemplar in Magnificence, ten acres of rich land pruned and trimmed to perfection. The exact epicentre of its beauty was not difficult to pinpoint, though many might nod towards the colossal Great Mosque, or perhaps the vast expanse of marble and jewelled calligraphy that structured
Namuthij Al Rua'a, but for Vizier Isa, it was these gardens that held the wonder and opulence that so defined Kurdish civilisation.
His pace was slow, Isa liked to take his time walking down the pathways, especially since he'd not seen these gardens in years. All around him, the splendour of colour leapt at him, a thousand beauties vying for his attention, drawing his eyes and seducing them in a way no woman could ever hope to do. The air was heavy with citrus, clouding the scent of other fruits, and the Vizier breathed in the richness of it as he walked. Dark vines wound across and around the trees flanking the walkway, climbing from wood to stone as they twisted and snaked about the countless archways, rising to the white-gold sky before descending on the other side of the pathway, embracing the thick oaken trees that lined the solid stone.
The character within the gardens still astounded Vizier Isa, the histories say that Shah Aurang had been a great lover of beauty in art, but this went above and beyond anything ever attempted before, and will probably outclass anything undertaken for centuries yet. The sea of flowers stretching as far as the eye could see, the plump fruit and shimmering colour hanging low on branches, the wrenching poetry intricately carven into the very path atop which the Vizier now walked, they said everything here was created with the image of Paradise in mind... a bold statement; if anything, it was paradise that fell short.
But the true masterpiece of the gardens, and of the entire estate, was the Valley of Stone Kings. Vizier Isa quickened his pace, tearing his eyes away from the alluring distractions to try and focus on the task at hand, however difficult it might be. The pathway, wide enough for two carriages to travel abreast, gradually opened up to vast, roughly spherical valley, at least a mile in diameter. Here, much of the greenery and fruit-bearing trees came to an abrupt end, with massive hedges travelling along the circumference of the valley instead, thick and stocky, but still interwoven with colourful foliage. Florets were all good and well, however, the true magnificence lay in the exact centre of this great circle: the Fountain of Shahs.
Appropriately named, it was fountain of gigantic proportions, essentially a lake in and of itself. Isa did not know the specifics, but he did recall being told that the architects of the fountains were actually forced to divert a breakaway river from the mighty Tigris itself, using the powerful current of the lifegiver to fuel the ever-running waters of the fountain. It was arranged in a staggering fashion, whereby concave dishes encrusted with jewel and gem were seemingly floating in the air and atop the surface of the lake, spewing water from hidden taps into wide arcs, crossing one another in midair and showering down on the statue of kings surrounding them.
This, as Vizier Isa had expected, was where the young shah was standing. Khamed, son of Hezar and grandson of Aurang, the head of the noble House of Khamîrasgirên and the Shah of Kurdistan. By God, how had so much fallen to a single child?
He was studying the statue of his ancestor and namesake, Khamed the Founder. Stories about that one were always abound, they made good tales for the night, children loved hearing about the wicked Mad Shah, about the brave man who dared stand up against him, about how God himself whispered in his ear, about how he led a violent and bloody revolution that toppled the Ankooshi tyrants... it was the stuff of legends.
And now, standing before him was the last of his bloodline. Khamed the Young, his subjects liked to call him, but his name was where any resemblance to his famous ancestor came to an end. The seventeen-year-old king was thin, very thin, Isa doubted he would be able to hold a blade straight without keeling over, and his face was damn near mortifying to look upon. He'd only gotten taller and ganglier since Isa had last seen him, some five years past, but no doubt he was the same timid child that the Vizier knew in every other respect.
"
Sayyidi..."
Slowly, the Shah turned around, his dark eyes meeting Isa's and holding them for a long moment.
"My good Vizier Isa... it has been a long time... four, five years, since I last saw you?" His voice was surprisingly deep and static, unbetraying in its intention or emotion.
"Wars do not fight themselves, my Shah," Isa replied, jerking down in a bow.
Khamed turned away from the statue of his namesake, striding over to the edge of the fountain and taking seat there. After a moment of hesitation, Isa followed, somewhat unsure as to what was going on. As he walked, he continued, "
Sayyidi, I do not come bearing good news, as I'm sure you're well aware..."
A few seconds passed with no answer, so Isa pressed on, "The infidel come in waves, my lord, and with every passing day more flood onto our shores. Jerusalem has been captured and raped by them, but we don't have the manpower or the money to field an army for much longer, so... so it is my belief that the time has come to consider... perhaps meeting with their leaders, King Adrien of France and his chief general, Count Badouin..."
Now the Shah, jaw clenched as he stared into the hedges, finally replied, "What you mean to tell me, good Vizier, is that you have failed. Failed me in your oath, failed yourself in your duty, and failed Kurdistan in your inability."
Isa blinked, surprised. Khamed spoke slowly, but surely, his voice monotone but his eyes hard and angry. This was not the boy he had left three years ago, still barely out of childhood, frightened and nervous at the prospect of being abandoned... he would have to be careful, God knows who's voice it was coming out of the Shah's mouth.
"My lord, I do not know what the Viziers Ahmed and Ibrahim have been telling you, but-"
A short, curt laugh cut him off. After chuckling for a few moments, Shah Khamed's mask-like face suddenly returned, his grey eyes stormy and hard as steel... almost cruel. "Oh, do not worry about the respected treasurer and mullah, I had them executed months ago, after they'd failed me one time too many."
Isa's jaw dropped, but before the Vizier could reply, the Shah continued, "Nevertheless, I understand your...situation. Before I say anything else, however, I have but one question for you," Khamed turned fully, again drawing Isa's eyes into his own, and the Vizier suddenly realised just how much his young ward had changed since he'd left for the west. "You have never come for my permission before, have you? You've always acted of your own accord, without care for what I, your rightful shah, might desire or require... so why have you come to me this time?"
Isa was not just surprised, he was astonished, shocked into silence. He tried to open his mouth in venomous retort, this was a mere child attempting to scold him, but as he stuttered and gawped Khamed raised a hand, silencing his vizier in a single motion.
"I know why," the young shah whispered, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "My Council refuses to accept a defeat, but you have already signed the treaties against their consent and without my approval... so you come back to me, hoping I can... what, persuade them against executing you?"
Affronted and humiliated, Vizier Isa forced himself to keep a closed mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat. After glaring at him for a few moments longer, Khamed stood up again, walking towards another one of the gigantic statues and staring up at it. This one was a depiction of his grandfather, Shah Aurang the Magnificent, who'd built the very palace in which his eternal likeness now stood. The stone king was holding a golden sword in his right hand, raised towards the sky, whilst his left clasped a thick tome against his chest. The white marble eyes were smooth, almost seeing, cut to perfection by those who'd known Aurang the best...
After what seemed like an hour, Khamed finally tore his eyes away from his grandfather. He stole one more glance at his Vizier, who was glowering at the polished floors, before turning away from him and striding back down the pathway. Just as he was about to exit the Stone Valley, however, he came to a halt, speaking one last time without facing his former regent.
"I will do as you plead and ensure that you do not die, despite your failures. But you must prepare yourself, the Baghdad that you've returned to is not the one you left five years ago... a new age is dawning, my old mentor, and a storm is approaching. The Kurds will have to adapt before it hits us, or perish as our world collapses around us. I do not know about you, vizier, but I do not intend to be yet another victim of fate."
And with that promise, Shah Khamed the Younger began striding down the path once again, brushing past the plump oranges and through the archway.
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