Chapter 100 – The Race for the Heights
June 17, 1180 | Near the Western Slopes of the Anti-Lebanon Mountains
The sun rose harsh and bright over the broken hills, casting long shadows from the columns of marching men and wagons. Baldwin IV rode in silence, his body aching more than usual. His fingers had stiffened again, and the flesh beneath the linen bandages felt hot and raw. Still, he bore it without comment. A new day brought a new test.
They were on the move again—twenty-nine thousand strong, including the knights of Jerusalem, remnants of Antioch's contingent, the Hospitallers, Templars, and levies from Tripoli and Galilee. Their destination: Baalbek, the mountain fortress that watched over the Beqaa Valley like a granite sentinel.
Baldwin's scout riders had returned the night before with troubling news: Saracen forces were also on the move, coming from the direction of Damascus. The road from the capital twisted through a series of treacherous mountain passes, the most important of which lay directly between Baldwin and Baalbek.
"We must reach those passes before they do," he had told Balian in camp that morning. "If they fortify them, we'll bleed ourselves dry trying to dig them out."
Now he watched the terrain ahead. The land was slowly rising—first low ridges and broken farms, then rockier hills, scattered trees clinging to the soil like beggars. The road narrowed as they approached the lower ridges of the Anti-Lebanon range.
A rider approached at speed, cloak flapping behind him. "My lord!" he called, reining in hard. "The vanguard reports enemy riders in the hills ahead. Small units—scouts or skirmishers."
"Where?" Baldwin asked.
The man pointed northeast. "Five miles, maybe less. They've been seen just above the Al-Bir ridge."
Baldwin looked to the sky. The sun had just begun to crest above the ridgeline. "They're feeling us out. They'll want to stall our advance until heavier units arrive."