Chapter 82: Steel in the Wind
May 21, 1180 – Eastern Marches, Near Bosra
Dust curled into the sky like smoke trailing from a dying fire. Bohemond of Antioch sat astride his warhorse atop a crag of basalt, scanning the dry plains ahead with narrowed eyes. His forces stretched out across the rough terrain behind him—banners furled, helmets glinting under the harsh Syrian sun. The wind carried a faint scent of sweat, horses, and sun-scorched brush.
It had been three days since they crossed the Yarmouk. Three days of dust and silence.
The diversion was working—at least, that was the hope. Bohemond had led his 6,000 men in a slow, deliberate advance eastward from the Golan, aiming to appear as the primary threat pressing on Damascus. Now, they were camped in the hills near Bosra, making enough noise to attract attention but not enough to beg an assault.
A rider approached at a gallop, his mount flecked with foam.
Bohemond turned as the courier slid from the saddle and knelt, handing up a sealed letter bearing the royal crest.
"From His Majesty," the courier said, breathless.
Bohemond cracked the seal with his gauntleted fingers, opened the parchment, and read silently.
"To Bohemond, Prince of Antioch,
Though you lead the Diversion force, your role is crucial beyond mere defense. Should Saladin march toward Aleppo, you are to guard the road to Jerusalem with vigilance and harass his rear relentlessly. Prevent him from severing our line of communication or cutting off our retreat.
Stay steadfast and swift. The fate of the kingdom rests upon your watchfulness.
By my hand, Baldwin, Duke of Palestine and King of Jerusalem."