Eagle Byzantium

"Who is it, who is laughing!" Soon, Yagi stood on the top of the tower and roared angrily. The Bey and the slaves behind him looked at each other, indicating that the answer was obvious.

Yagi stepped hard on the brick platform of the window hole with his boots, and the dust fell straight down. Then the slaves stepped on it one after another, pulling the iron chain of Patriarch John, making it creak. Pragit in the city road below was frightened and hurriedly ran away, but the Patriarch was not afraid. His hands were pulled by the iron chain, and he slowly rubbed the wall. His dry and skinny arms were bloodless, but he was still chanting praises to the Lord in a loud voice:

This is the torture on the top of the mountain,

It is covered with blood like my miserable and shining thorns,

The world is my sorrow, and God's Mary is sad!

Then, the dishevelled old Patriarch was dragged into the tower. The Turkish slave soldiers beat him violently, whipping his back and hair with horse whips. The Patriarch rolled on the ground, curled up, with his hair and dust flying all over the ground. "Don't hit him!" Yaji stroked his long white beard and shouted in a very powerful manner, then stepped on the Patriarch's neck with his boots, "Feed this ungrateful guy with wild acorns! Let him enjoy the unclean diet of a pig!"

Bridgehead Under the three-sided barricade, the offensive and defensive battles had reached a fever pitch. The German two-handed swordsmen were still lined up in an oblique formation, defending the barricade and water trenches in front to the death, killing the Turks who kept rushing over, and they were also shot and wounded by arrows like locusts. On the other two sides, Futuwa soldiers and heavily armed Turkish warriors had already lined up, either breaking the gates or holding thorns and tree branches, climbing over the walls and entering the inner circle of the bridgehead.

The eyes under the helmet and turban looked around in horror: I saw the place where the entrance and the inner circle were connected. There were actually three more walls and a curved and narrow passage, with thorns on both sides. There were people on it again, and arrows and stones were shot down and fell, forming a slaughter trap like the bloody mouth of a monster - this turned out to be the "slaughter pit" set at the entrance of the fortress, which was what the Crescent Moon Cult was best at. Now, the Guard Brigade has learned from them. The last thing they threw was a fire pot mixed with asphalt and sulfur. The flames burned along the wall, and then many Futuwa soldiers ran out of the wooden fence at the entrance with flames, like a group of frightened beasts being hunted. Then they fell down in the trench or on the edge and died. Not to mention the group of heavily armored Turkic warriors, because the armor was not conducive to escape, they were all shot and burned to death in the inner wall, and almost no one could run out.

The bloody fight became more and more intense, inside and outside the earth wall. Both sides were picking up and throwing fire pots at each other. Life and death were a matter of a moment, and there were constantly hidden holes that were pierced by spears, piercing the Futuwa soldiers who were climbing up from the abdomen. The opponent often just crawled, then twitched all over, slowly drooped, and never moved again. Seeing this, the soldiers behind him swarmed up, holding several spears at the same time, stabbing and stabbing at the hole until blood oozed out.

On the other side of the bridge. In the brigade camp, Melo looked solemn, watching the fighting at the bridgehead not far away. Then he raised his hand and gave orders one after another,

"Reinforce 100 Italian veterans."

"Reinforce another 100. Dispatch the other soldiers of the Guard Brigade."

"Send the military servants of the Guard Brigade with axes and slings to protect the bridgehead."

Melo gradually felt that the team he threw out was getting smaller and smaller, like a Zeno chess piece that was quickly out of the plate, but this was a good thing for the chess game, but not necessarily for the war situation.

Half an hour later, the hermit Peter rode a donkey to the pilgrims' camp and mobilized nearly a thousand strong men, carrying crude weapons, many of whom even held pickaxes and sickles, to run to join Melo's camp, and then crossed the bridge to join the bridgehead. At this time, the inside and outside of the bridgehead's chevaux de frise walls were piled with corpses. Branas raised his sword and fought with the Turkish soldiers who rushed in. Everyone was fighting and rolling in the pool of blood and corpses.

Sansadonias looked at the brutal battle at hand helplessly, but all he could do was to keep throwing his own soldiers pouring out of the city gate into this furnace of flesh and blood, just like Melo.

Finally, in the dust raised by the soldiers' footsteps, Sansadonias sadly saw that there were gray-haired old men and lame disabled people, all shouting scripture slogans and rushing towards the bridgehead.

"It's over, it's over. My father and his city are over." Amid the noise and shouting, Sansadonis, holding a whip, looked at this scene with a pale face. The entire battlefield from the city gate to the bridgehead was covered with tragic corpses, and his team's ninth charge against the fortress was defeated again.

On the top of the tower, the patriarch's hands were handcuffed to the foot of the column, his head was on the plate, he was really wolfing down, laughing, eating the wild acorns in it. Yagi had the same expression, took two steps back, leaned against the column, then sweated profusely, turned around and looked at the battlefield of the bridgehead barricade below.

Countless soldiers, tiny and small, like ants, were fighting back and forth in the flames. The surrounding moat had become a red blood-stained belt filled with all kinds of dead bodies. Blood was still oozing out from their bodies. At the city gate over there, countless Franks in shining armor, riding tall horses and holding sharp swords, swarmed in.

Then, Yagi's pupils were stained with fire and blood, and the rest of his cheeks and face quickly turned blue-gray, mixed with some surging blood, and the beard on both sides and chin instantly aged. He saw: even if it was a very small outline, looking down from the tower, he still saw that the Franks on the saddle kept raising their arms aggressively, and then swung them down quickly, with the swords carrying power and momentum, constantly slashing and slaughtering the warriors he sent to besiege the bridgehead, and then the Flemings holding terrifying halberds also joined the battle... Yagi's elite troops , now completely lost their due courage and glory, they screamed like women, and were divided, destroyed, and slaughtered by the Franks and Gawain's reinforcements from the bridge. In the rolling dust, many people were squeezed and driven to the Farfa River. Previously, they were showing off their power here and ambushing the pilgrims at will, but now they have been rewarded - the ferocious Flemings and the spearmen of the Guardian Brigade treated this group of people as living targets, piercing them all with halberds and spears, killing them by the river. Blood and waves kept rising in Yagi's eyes, and then turned into blood and tears, flowing down. (To be continued ~^~)