Chapter 105: The Storm of Baalbek
June 24th, 1180 – Afternoon, Baalbek
The breach at Baalbek's eastern gate had widened into a gaping wound by mid-afternoon. Smoke curled upward from shattered towers and burning rooftops, turning the sun into a molten disc above the mountain valley. The eastern quarter of the city, once a maze of narrow alleys and homes, had become a battlefield choked with bodies and blood.
Baldwin IV pressed forward on foot now, walking behind his standard amid a column of knights and sergeants. His mail shirt was darkened with ash and sweat, his sword already bloodied. He had left his horse outside the city walls—there was no room for cavalry in the chaos that now reigned inside.
"Push through to the mosque!" he ordered. "We break their morale if we take the square."
Ahead of him, the sound of battle was deafening—shouting, steel striking steel, cries in Latin and Arabic, and the crackle of fires spreading unchecked. Men fought hand to hand in the alleys. Some of the defenders had withdrawn into fortified homes, hurling stones from balconies and stabbing down with spears. Franks responded by kicking in doors, clearing rooms one by one with axe and sword.
Balian of Ibelin joined Baldwin at the corner of a scorched bathhouse. His helmet was dented, and a streak of blood ran down his cheek.
"The southern postern gate is ours," he reported. "We lost forty men taking it. Resistance there is collapsing, but they're falling back to the central quarter. The garrison's trying to regroup around the mosque."
Baldwin nodded grimly. "Then we cut them off before they can."
To their right, a squad of Hospitallers charged into a courtyard, shields up, spears level. A group of Saracen infantry tried to hold a fountain there, but the Frankish knights crashed into them with brutal efficiency. Men screamed as they were crushed against the walls, some trampled underfoot. Blood flowed through the cracked stones like rainwater.
Above them, an archer let loose from a rooftop and struck a sergeant in the neck. He fell gurgling. Baldwin pointed. "Bring up the bowmen. Flush those rooftops."