CHAPTER 78 - 78: SMOKE AND GOLD

May 1 - Aleppo

The sun rose pale and veiled behind a wall of dust and smoke, casting Aleppo in a strange amber light. Its ancient skyline—once so proud—was marred by the scars of war: breaches in the outer walls, the splintered gates, and the bodies of defenders still lying on blood-darkened stones. The crack of iron-shod boots echoed through narrow streets as the army of Jerusalem moved carefully, house by house, clearing pockets of resistance that had refused surrender.

King Baldwin IV, or rather Ethan inside Baldwin's withered body, stood at the heart of it all. His armor was splattered with dried blood, his silver mask reflecting the light as he surveyed what was once one of the crown jewels of northern Syria. Now, Aleppo was his. But it had not yet fully submitted.

"Third cohort, form a cordon along the eastern district," Baldwin ordered, his voice firm but raspy through the mask. "Sweep the old merchant quarter. Burn out any snipers or stragglers."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" came the reply, and the soldiers moved with practiced efficiency. Pikemen marched in tight formation, flanked by crossbowmen scanning the rooftops. Stormracks were hauled forward—mechanized crossbows mounted on carts—already bloodied from their use at the breach.

Behind the forward lines, engineers moved quickly to repair the gatehouse and fill in the worst craters from mangonel and trebuchet fire. The King had no intention of staying long, but he needed Aleppo secure, and more importantly, functional. Looting had been tightly controlled, only allowed after the surrender of each quarter, and even then, under direct supervision.

Inside the old palace complex—half-collapsed from fire and catapult damage—his senior officers gathered. Richard the Lionheart stood at Baldwin's side, helm off, his blond hair matted with sweat and grime, but his eyes sharp.

"Scouts report some defenders fled north, perhaps toward the mountains," Richard said, his voice low. "No organized resistance remains within the city, but the locals are hostile. There've been skirmishes in the alleys."

"They'll simmer down," Baldwin said. "Or they won't. Either way, we don't stay long enough for their revenge. Is the treasury secured?"

"It is, sire," said William Marshal, entering the chamber with a scroll. "We've found the city vaults beneath the eastern wing of the citadel. Gold, coin, and more spices than I've seen in my entire life."

"How much?" Baldwin asked.

William unrolled the parchment. "Preliminary inventory: twenty-seven chests of dinars, seven more of silver dirhams, plus emeralds, Persian silks, ivory statues. One vault we've yet to open—it was sealed with a spell according to one of the captured scribes."

Baldwin raised an eyebrow. "A spell? Or a trap?"

"Could be both," Richard grinned. "Shall I go break it?"

Baldwin chuckled despite the pain radiating from his joints. "Not yet. We'll have my physician look at it. If it's alchemical, we'll want someone who understands more than swords."

William added, "We've also captured a large store of grain, dried meats, olive oil, and wine. Enough to provision half the army for a month."

"Excellent. Requisition half of it for the march south, and store the rest. Leave guards. I want the supplies untouched for now."

Outside, the clang of steel and the cries of soldiers echoed through the streets. Pockets of resistance had dug in near the old mosque district, some using the basements as tunnels to mount surprise attacks. The 5th Cohort, made up of veterans from the Siege of Tyre, advanced methodically, torching buildings after giving warning. The scent of ash and blood filled the air.

Then came the moment Baldwin had awaited with careful calculation: the capture of Aleppo's grand mosque. Soldiers broke down the heavy wooden doors, revealing the vast interior — high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate calligraphy and mosaics, light filtering through stained glass, dust motes dancing in the air. The prayer carpets were trampled, stained with dirt and blood.

Baldwin entered with his knights, the silver mask glinting amid the quiet murmurs of his men. Priests from Jerusalem followed close behind, their faces a mixture of awe and resolve.

"We will consecrate this place anew," said one priest, a stern man with a graying beard. "A temple for the cross, a church for Christ's worshippers. It will symbolize the light of Jerusalem in this city."

Another added, "A bold statement. But the people will resist. It will take time, but our mission is not merely conquest—it is conversion."

Baldwin nodded, seeing the opportunity. "It is as much a spiritual victory as a military one. The mosque stands as a monument to the city's heart. Transforming it will claim that heart for us."

Elsewhere, Sir Eudes de Montfort reported, "The resistance in the western quarter has been crushed. Some leaders captured or executed. Aleppo's streets now belong to us."

"Good," Baldwin replied. "Order the city to be secured. We must avoid unnecessary destruction. This city is a prize, not a ruin."

He turned back to his commanders. "I will appoint Sir Gerard of Nablus as governor and commander of the garrison here. He is loyal, steady, and understands the stakes. Let no man question his authority."

Sir Gerard bowed solemnly. "I shall not fail you, my king."

As the day faded to dusk, soldiers hoisted the banners of Jerusalem atop the citadel towers. The golden cross against the deep red fluttered in the warm wind. In the quiet of the evening, Baldwin allowed himself a brief moment of hope. The road ahead was long and perilous, but today, a key jewel had fallen into his hands.