Date: March 29th, 1180Location: Eastern Mediterranean, south of Cyprus – Aboard the Regina Trionfante
The sea rolled dark and endless beneath the Sicilian fleet, its blue-black depths glinting under a cloudless spring sky. Thirty-seven warships stretched out across the eastern horizon—sleek dromons and round-bellied cargo ships, their sails full, their hulls bristling with men and arms. Painted prows bore the crowned leopard of the House of Hauteville, while smaller banners flapped above the decks—crosses, anchors, eagles.
At the heart of the formation, the flagship Regina Trionfante sliced through the waves like a spearhead. Aboard her stood Admiral Matteo de Lecce, a wiry man with a hawk's nose and burnished armor beneath a blue surcoat. His face was wind-worn, and his eyes fixed eastward, toward Egypt.
To his right stood Count Ruggiero di Marsala, commander of the landing force—a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a scar that split his chin. He leaned over the railing as gulls screamed above them.
"Still no sails from Alexandria," he said, scanning the southern horizon.
"Good," Matteo replied. "That means our departure was not tracked. And even if it was... they'll be watching for a blockade, not a lightning raid."
The two commanders walked together across the deck to where a map had been secured beneath weights and rope. The parchment bore the jagged curve of the Nile Delta, inked with red marks on Damietta, Rosetta, and Tanis.
"We strike here first," Matteo said, pointing to Rosetta. "Their smallest coastal fort. Minimal defenses. We take the port, destroy the harbor installations, then pull back before their cavalry can respond."
"And then Damietta?" Ruggiero asked.
"If the tide and wind favor us, yes. But the goal is not conquest—it's chaos. Burn their granaries. Sink their coastal ships. Drive their people inland. Make Saladin believe Egypt is vulnerable."
Ruggiero nodded. "He'll have no choice. He can't ignore Egypt burning behind him."
"And while he's looking south..." Matteo's eyes turned cold, "...Baldwin takes the north."
The fleet had been provisioned for a six-week operation. They would strike quickly and rotate their ships so that no harbor would trap them. Each landing party consisted of:
400 Sicilian marines, armed with bows, short swords, and siege axes
300 Norman heavy infantry, equipped with kite shields and spears
200 archers, largely Saracen auxiliaries recruited from Palermo and Malta
Engineers and sappers for quick demolitions—trained to burn supply stores, scuttle ships, and collapse fortifications
Chaplains and scribes, not only for morale but to record any intelligence they could gather
Their ships carried Greek fire, cauldrons of pitch, and a cache of lime for sabotage. Light siege equipment—small mangonels and scaling ladders—was strapped down between barrels of wine and salted meat.
"We leave nothing behind," Matteo emphasized. "No garrison. No fort held. We strike and vanish like a phantom."
Ruggiero frowned. "What if we run into the Egyptian fleet?"
"Then we engage and break them," Matteo said. "Our ships are faster, and our men better armed. And if they chase us, they chase us away from Syria—which is Baldwin's aim."
He looked toward the southern stars now faint in the sky. "But even if we perish, the message will be sent. Egypt is not safe."
Ruggiero's voice grew quiet. "The bait must bleed to lure the wolf."
Below deck, soldiers sharpened blades and muttered prayers. The chaplains had walked the rows of benches the night before, blessing each man in the name of Saint Michael and Saint George. A Sicilian priest read aloud from Psalms as the fleet creaked around them.
"O God, the nations have invaded your inheritance. They have defiled your holy temple, reduced Jerusalem to rubble..."
Above, Matteo watched the sun dip lower toward the horizon. The coast of Egypt lay still out of sight, but it waited—green and gold, full of grain and fire and war.
"Sound the signal," he said. "Prepare all captains for briefing. At dawn, we row."