Patriarch Antiochus, though he had been abused for so long, was not mentally delirious, and he knew at once what these men were here for: the leader ran very fast, holding the key in his hand, and the back spoke in a loud voice in Turkic or Saracen, and brandished a machete in his hand, and he had come to execute himself!

Then the Patriarch immediately howled and struggled, like a goat in a pen to be slaughtered, and the chains on the walls were straightened and made a violent noise with the bars of the prison, "Murder, all Orthodox believers, come to my rescue, O Lord, come to my rescue!" The Patriarch jumped nimbly within the radius of the chains, but the masked executioners stood calmly, with their knives in their hands, waiting for the door to be opened, and the sound of the key and the lock was like the murmur of death that flew down quickly.

Suddenly, there was a buzzing sound, and a crossbow arrow shot sideways from the door of the dungeon, piercing the temple of one of the executioners on the very edge, and before the blood could spill out, it flowed backwards into the wound from the crossbow arrow, and the man fell to the ground with a grunt.

As soon as the rest of the executioners turned around in surprise, they were knocked down by a dense stream of crossbow arrows, and they fell on the spot, either clutching their stomachs or carrying their chests, and the execution knives in their hands fell to the ground one by one, and they were all shot in less than two seconds.

There was only one one who picked the lock, his eyes glazed, and the key in his hand was still in the lock, staying in place and shivering.

Footsteps sounded, and several soldiers in chain mail, cloaked in cross-patterned robes, and carrying torches, walked in to see the dead bodies all over the ground, and then the middle of them dragged the locksmith under the wall over there, pressed him to his knees, and then took out his dagger, and cut his trachea neatly, and then the sound of the lock, with the dying screams of the lockpicker, the iron bars of the prison were opened with a bang, and then the iron cords of the patriarch were lifted. "My child, my child!" The desperate Patriarch pounced on him and kissed wildly at the Christian soldiers who had come to his rescue, tears streaming down his face.

Then the frail Patriarch was carried by several red-handed soldiers, and the members of the Brotherhood were beside him carrying jars and baskets, constantly feeding him wheat cakes and hot soup, and the Patriarch was dragging his feet on the ground and chewing food on the other side of his mouth, first out of the prison, then through the winding stairways and corridors, and finally out, the Patriarch covered his face miserably and cried out, "Oh my God, I have been in the dungeon for too long, and it seems that my eyes have been greatly damaged." ”

"Venerable first seat, your eyes are fine, it's dark outside." At this moment, an officer dressed in a heraldic smock and shaved monk's mushroom hairstyle came out very kindly and said to him.

The Patriarch's eyes blinked and squeezed hard, and finally returned to normal, as the heraldic officer had said, it was the middle of the night, and the sky was full of stars, but the black smoke had obscured their light a lot.

A four-legged bed was dragged over, and the soldiers settled him and draped him in a blanket to protect him from the cold. At the door of the prison house, the Patriarch finally leaned back on the soft embroidered pillow cushion, and with tears in his eyes, he sighed and smiled, constantly stroking the belts and scabbards of the soldiers around him, expressing his blessings and thanksgiving to them.

"This is what we should do, His Royal Highness the Grand Duke of the Empire Gawain ordered us to come to the rescue of you as soon as the city was broken, and let you return to the temple immediately and act as the first seat of the entire diocese." The heraldic officer half-knelt down and held John, who couldn't help but nod. Oakhill's hand, reminding him of the name of the real savior.

Soon, the Patriarch, who had regained his sight, knew that he had come out of hell, but the pagans of the entire Acropolis, civilians and soldiers alike, had gone into a terrible hell - pilgrim soldiers with bloody heads walked through the streets in droves, colonnades, pools, stables, and backyards, and Crescentists were constantly being searched, and the victors first forced them to hand over their valuables, and then slaughtered them with swords or spears, and the walls were densely covered with slain corpses.

At first, there were still cries, but later, when the Crescent Cultists were searched, they were dragged around the torture ground by the soldiers with a numb face, and died in silence.

Later, the Patriarch was horrified to see that the pilgrim soldiers were no longer satisfied with killing with their swords, which would damage their precious weapons.

Several Provençal soldiers walked to the house across the street in front of him, and shouted a few words to the red-handed soldiers on this side of the street, and the red-handed soldiers threw over a few iron rods and sticks, and the Provençal soldiers who took it were very skillful planted a small cavalry flag on the door, indicating that they had occupied the place, and then separated, sealing the front and back doors of the house, and the rest rushed in, and the howl rang out, and the patriarch knew that all the people hiding in the cellar had been killed.

But the Provençal people grabbed a little girl wrapped in a robe and with blood on her face, about seven or eight years old, crying and writhing violently, turning her head and shouting something into the house.

Then several soldiers engaged in a fierce and brief argument in front of the door, about whether to take the girl or get rid of her.

The bearded leader shook his hand to prevent further argument, most likely disgusted that the girl was too young, and then raised the iron rod in his hand and struck the girl twice on the back of the head.

John. Okhilt saw that the girl's eyes were smashed out, and her brains flew so high, that she couldn't help but shrug her whole body, and then felt that her teeth were fighting. But the red-handed soldiers next to them watched all this silently, commonplace.

At the west gate of the Acropolis, the Red Hand Cavalry in pursuit of them cursed that there were so many dead bodies in front of their horses' hooves that the small narrow streets of the Acropolis were clogged up and bloody, and that many Frankish soldiers who had crossed the border were walking up and down and bending to pick up the spoils from the corpses, which made the situation even worse.

By the city gate, in front of the dimly lit porch of a mansion, when Gawain came with his guards, many Crescent women with their children in their arms sat on their knees, crying in mourning, their pale hands all stretched out to Gawain and begging for mercy, and jewelry made of gold was scattered all over the floor.

Most of them are either noblewomen or noblewomen's handmaidens, "and here the banner is planted." Gawain pointed to the porch, and Dim stepped forward and leaned his flag against the doorpost, and a drunken Frankish soldier, drunk and carrying a bloodstained axe, approached, causing the women to scream, believing that they had come to slaughter.

Several members of the Brotherhood stepped forward and pushed the soldier back a few times, and the soldier muttered a few curses and glared at Gawain before turning away. (To be continued.) )