Eagle Byzantium

The sun rose on time the next day, no, it could be said that it came earlier than usual. The east side of the Nicaea Gorge Pass was full of brilliant sunshine. It was difficult to encounter such bright and warm weather in winter, and even white clouds were very rare. In the messy mountain pass fortress, when the German pilgrims slowly woke up from the killing, looting and drunkenness yesterday, they climbed up to the battlement and looked around: on the grassland to the west, their army's camp was still silent, and everyone was sleeping soundly. The relocation of the camp last night exhausted most people. Only a small number of people, without any vigilance, carried willow baskets, axes and saws, and ran to the hills and forests around the grassland to cut wood and collect firewood in groups of ten or twenty.

In the east, the city of Nicaea was bathed in the holy light. The pilgrims, whose heads were still "beating" under the influence of alcohol, burped a few times and couldn't help but imagine what an exciting scene it would be if they could immediately attack this grand and sacred city! Treasures and fame, there was no shortage of either.

But soon, they heard a clapper sound, very faint, like a mosquito humming in the corner of a room in the vast valley.

A pilgrim was not on guard at all. He staggered to the tall battlement, then stood on it, took off his pants, and then fell down towards the endless rays of light.

The urine hit the wooden and stone walls, sparsely, but two more clappers sounded in succession, and then more and more clappers sounded fiercely, and in a very orderly manner, as if someone was using this to answer each other, and instantly resounded throughout the wilderness.

Birds and catkins suddenly danced in the sky. On the slope below the castle, countless Turkic warriors wearing dark and black robes and headscarves suddenly stood up from their hiding places. The precision and consistency of their movements were astonishing. Then they raised the composite strong bows made of beast bones in their hands. The shrill whistles and the sound of thousands of arrows piercing the sky mixed together and rushed towards the curtain walls and battlements of the castle.

The sun was even covered in black.

The urinator with his back to everyone burst into blood all over his body, as if he was torn apart by countless sharp claws of beasts, and then with countless arrows in his body. He rolled a few times and fell under the curtain wall.

A full 5,000 Roma Turkic soldiers maintained their stoic discipline. Under the orders of Parkard and other officers, they silently advanced from the Nicea camp and set up the attack line one after another. Then they hid until the sun rose and the attack signal was given.

The rest of the pilgrims, some were shot, and some crawled back palely, hoping to crawl out of the range of the Turks' strong bows. The whole castle was in chaos, and the emergency drums and trumpets sounded one after another. The arrows were like a sudden downpour. The people who were drawing water, feeding livestock, and other idle people who were walking out of the castle were instantly shot to death or wounded, and there were people groaning and crawling everywhere. But the pagans' punitive arrows still shot in round after round without any gap, without any mercy.

The Sultan's flag officer Pak'ad ordered all archers to be divided into three rows, taking turns to draw bows and shoot arrows, and drive all the guards away from the battlements.

The pilgrims inside. Many brave young farmers also roared, holding stones. They bravely ran to the battlements and tried to resist the Turks' fierce attack. But most of them were shot down in the middle of the road and fell heavily on the battlefield. In an instant, the entire curtain wall of the castle was covered with arrow feathers, and more arrows flew in, so that many arrows had to pierce the feathers in front to gain a foothold. The arrows were increasing, and from a distance, they looked like layers of snow covering the castle.

With a whistle, the Armenian mercenaries in the Sultan's team, wearing armor and carrying shields, rushed out from the array of continuous arrow shooting under the guidance of flags, bravely went up the hillside, and approached the gate of the castle.

They obviously wanted to destroy the gate of the castle and then come in here to kill.

The pilgrims guarding in the middle waved flags at the foot of the mountain over there. The sound of fighting alarmed the camp at the foot of the mountain. Forche and Reinold both ran out of the tent with disheveled clothes and armor, and then mounted their horses, shouting everywhere, asking people to take up weapons and go to reinforce the castle. However, in a hurry, tens of thousands of pilgrims could not successfully gather together. The whole camp was in chaos and nothing could be done.

This panic soon spread to Chivite's camp. Knight Walter Sansavall was always uneasy last night, afraid of the disaster, but he didn't expect it to become a reality the next day! "Bring the horses, mobilize and encourage those who can still hold weapons, and go to reinforce their companions." Regardless of his old age, Walter resolutely put on armor, picked up the sword, and shouted loudly in the camp.

At this time, Walter heard many people crying, as if the world's doomsday judgment was coming. He looked back and saw that the emperor's officials, as well as the merchants and sailors from Constantinople, all slipped onto the ship, raised the sails, and began to sail towards the other side of the strait. Many women and old people rushed into the sea crying, holding their hands and babies, asking the group not to abandon the camp. Walter then saw the Greek officer, who began to loudly quote the price of taking in people on the deck: thirty silver coins for a woman, twenty for an old man, and five for a child.

In the whole sea, people threw jewelry and money onto the deck, begging for help: a few lucky people climbed up along the rope, abandoning their relatives; some were swept away by the waves, and some cried and climbed back to the shore in despair.

"Damn Greek emperor, shameless Greeks!" Walter's eyes were like a tiger, ready to spit fire, roaring and slapping his mount with his sword, wanting to lead all those who were still willing to raise the flag to fight, to resist the Sultan's sharp and fierce attack. At this moment, a young man dressed as a knight in chain mail ran to Walter, "Sir, the flag bearer, I am Dorus Lambert from the Rhineland, my father's youngest son, and I am willing to rush to the Nicomedia Fortress to ask for the emperor's reinforcements."

"Look at this scene, is there still hope?" Walter pointed his sword angrily at the Byzantine ships that left him in the chaos.

"If Nicomedia is unwilling, I will borrow a small boat from them and go to the other side of the strait. It is said that there is a Norman camp there, as well as the camps of the Frankish dukes." Dolus spoke generously and got the consent of the flag bearer. Then he rode through the chaotic crowd and headed towards the Nicomedia fortress on the other side of the valley. (To be continued ~^~)