Spring in Jaffa should have been a gentle time, the sea breeze sweeping over the city walls, carrying the scent of the Mediterranean Sea into its streets and alleys.
Yet, the port city was now shrouded in the clouds of war, a turbulent undercurrent churning beneath its veneer of calm.
Atop the city walls, the defenders of Jaffa City were the remnants of Aziz's forces, though it was now more accurate to call them supporters of the Fatima Dynasty.
They gripped their Curved Sabers and Grassland Bows, their gazes fixed on the distant camp of the Seljuk Turks. Under the moonlight, their banners unfurled, pressing down on Jaffa like a storm.
A month ago, this band of Seljuk Turks had effortlessly crushed a Fatima relief army of ten thousand men arriving from the south. That army had launched a night raid, but victory had ironically fallen to the side being attacked.
