A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Chapter 432: Chapter 308: The Sultan’s Falsehood and Truth

As they walked, Turandot remarked to Eric how wonderful it would have been if he had come to the estate during the summer, and he began to enthusiastically describe the previous year’s summer.

That was Turandot’s first time in Antioch, visiting the Sultan’s residence there. Back then, it was still Greek, a place of Byzantine extravagance, where devout reliefs of Saints had not yet been replaced by the minarets of the Crescent.

There were dense, flourishing orchards, a sparkling river, and a woman swimming naked in a lake, flinging her hair into the hot wind.

“Isn’t this scene the very image of Heaven, just waiting to leap from a painter’s brush? So I decided, even if my lakeside beauty was just a fantasy, even if reality is cruel and ugly, even if this chilly night is my last, I will never hate this city.”

Turandot gushed to Eric.

When in the company of nobility of equal or higher rank, Turandot was an emotionally expressive man, never shying away from revealing his true desires.

“My Lord, I implore you, do not take to heart the ramblings of that arrogant and ignorant poet. His words are nothing but foolish, ignorant grandstanding, utterly worthless. Our His Majesty the Sultan, whether in wisdom, reason, or justice, far surpasses any other Turkic Lord…

His mercy and tolerance are unprecedented; even the wise and brilliant Monarchs who once ruled Syria cannot compare. His Majesty the Sultan is not only adept at governing the state but also wins the hearts of the people with his immense magnanimity, so that all pledge their allegiance and look to him with reverence.

From the officials in his court to the common folk on the distant frontiers, all have deeply felt his vast benevolence. Tell me, how could such a Monarch, possessed of both virtue and talent, be angered by the foolish words of an arrogant man? Such base attacks are but a clumsy response to his great renown.

As long as they never cross the line, the merciful Sultan is always happy to tolerate them. For treating such meaningless words as mere dust is enough to demonstrate his extraordinary bearing and wisdom.

After all, the clear wind does not contend with floating dust, and the bright moon need not be sullied by the mortal world. We should set our sights further, focusing on what truly matters: strengthening the nation and pacifying the people, expanding our territory, and consolidating this golden age…”

It was as if Turandot had been suddenly ignited. Once he started, the words flowed uncontrollably, as if from a court Jester, not a battle-hardened general. His tone was even sycophantic, making no effort to conceal his praise for Suleiman Shah. He was just short of breaking into a paean.

Eric’s brow furrowed, and he decisively cut off Turandot’s torrent of words. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand courtesy, nor did he intend to offend, but at that moment, he simply couldn’t muster the slightest interest in listening to a middle-aged man so fervently praise a Turkic ruler he had never met.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate compliments; on the contrary, if these words had been directed at him, he might have listened with relish. Unfortunately, these words of praise had nothing to do with him, and they were delivered with a strange fervor that made the whole scene both awkward and comical.

Eric raised a hand to rub his temples and muttered in French, “Honestly, I’d rather listen to the Hail Mary for a whole day.”

Turandot was taken aback by the sudden interruption, clearly not understanding what was wrong with his heartfelt and sincere speech.

“Sometimes I trust my eyes more than my ears. A group of people brazenly and matter-of-factly bullying a poor man like Jaber.” Eric patted Turandot’s shoulder. “You know, Turandot, your endless speech just now made you sound like a poet—the very profession you despise.”

“The wrongdoers have been punished, Lord Eric. They had their…” Turandot didn’t get to finish before he was interrupted again.

“The punishment wasn’t because they did wrong, but because I requested it. Turandot, if you want to tell others about your Monarch and make them believe in the qualities you describe, don’t do it as a powerful court official. Do it as an ordinary man, an ordinary Arab—if you still remember what it means to be one,” Eric said.

Turandot opened his mouth as if to retort, but ultimately chose to keep it shut.

He lowered his head, seemingly recalling something. After a moment of silence, he said slowly, “My lord, you are right. Yes, they are Turkic People, Seljuk Turks, and I am an Arab.”

He knew. He had known for a long time. Almost from the moment his memories began, his first impression was of them.

Before they replaced the weak master of Baghdad, the King of the Faithful, and became the hegemons of the Muslims of Asia, they had invaded the city of his birth—Mosul.

The great panic they caused at the time became a terrifying memory that haunted the locals for generations.

Turandot decided to tell Eric about that memory.

…..

It happened ten years before Turandot was born. The people of Mosul awoke one morning to find themselves surrounded by a Turkic Army.

That Turkic Army was led by two cousins: “The Falcon,” Tughrul Beg, and “The Flying Eagle,” Kutalmish Beg.

The two of them were the undisputed overlords of the steppes at the time, having only recently converted to the Crescent Sect.

At that time, the nobility in Mosul City all heard a rumor from the Turkic People: [I hear your men are proud and that sweet water flows in your underground channels. If you attempt to resist us, your channels will be exposed to the light of day, and your men will be buried deep in the earth.]