Chapter 116 – Siege of Damscus 6
Damascus – August 7th, 1180Morning after the breach
The city still groaned from the previous day’s violence.
Ash clung to the alley walls like a second skin. The rubble of broken stone and charred timber smoldered in the streets of the eastern quarter. The breach—now widened by further bombardments in the night—gaped like a wound torn open in Damascus’s proud defenses. And from it, the Kingdom of Jerusalem bled in.
By dawn, Baldwin’s army held firm inside the city. Three full blocks had been secured behind the breach—tight quarters, won house by house, room by room. Scorch marks painted the walls of homes. Blood slicked the cobblestones. The first hour of sunlight glimmered against shattered glass and twisted iron.
And yet it was quiet. Too quiet.
King Baldwin IV sat astride a light mount, just within the shadow of the breach. His eyes scanned the street ahead—beyond the cleared lane that led to the marketplace square near the Hammam Gate. The fighting had diminished during the night, but his instincts warned him the Saracens were not done.
"They’ll counterattack at noon," Balian of Ibelin said beside him, armored and grim. "They’ll try to throw us back out before we push further."
"They’ll try," Baldwin replied, adjusting his gloves. "But they will fail."
He turned to the riders waiting behind him—Templars in bloodstained white surcoats, Hospitallers bearing red crosses, and knights from every corner of the Christian world: Sicily, Antioch, Tripoli, France. Their lances had been rearmed. Their horses watered and fed.
They were ready.
Last night, his engineers had quietly cleared more of the corridor leading west toward the mosque square. He’d ordered debris removed, wooden doors reinforced with planks to support charging hooves, and alley walls shored up to prevent collapse. The path wasn’t wide. It wasn’t elegant.
But it would do.