"CHAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGE!" Battle cries sounded from both sides of the dirt path and from beyond the darkness of the surrounding woods.
Baldwin flexed his right arm, bracing his sword; with his left he held a shield and controlled the reigns tightly. Before they had traveled moonlight, allowing her sickly glow to guide their path but now all the atrocities that lay in front of him was lit cruelly by the two remaining burning broken wagons.
The undergrowth around them sprung to life in a violent explosion with frightful suddenness. Darkened shapes of men sporting mud painted skin leapt out among the villagers cutting each down one at a time. To his horror Baldwin realized that they held not swords but scythes! Field tools sharpened to a keen edge chopped and hacked with terrifying ease.
One by one, heads disappeared from his view without so much as a warning and the cries of pain filled the heavily charged air. The King let out a sharp sound of anguish. Instead of leading the villagers to safety he had unwittingly fed them straight into a slaughter.
With vehement anger for his grave mistake the King stormed into the melee. With no remorse he pinpointed every mud-covered shadow. With precision he identified them by the swinging glint of the scythe and cut them to the ground. Likewise his Crusaders fought with a passion of their own but skilled as they were, no battle could be won when the people whom they sought to protect fell beside the bodies of those they fought.
Baldwin would fight till dawn and beyond till every last ravager lay dead if only it could save the people.
If only…
It was one wistful thought and maybe even a prayer though he knew it would not be answered. Many of the villagers lay dead at his feet and no amount of bloodshed could ever bring them back.
I promise that for as long as I stand no harm shall ever come to your village or this land ever again.
How empty his promise sounded now. How stupid, how boastful…how contrived? That peasant had every right to be scornful. Distractedly he wondered where she was now; did she too lie among the gathering bed of the dead beneath his feet? Another nameless face to die under the hands of the King.
He could not let this battle go on but at what price would it take to stop? His life? The lives of his Crusaders? If it were simply his own he would gladly surrender but what of the rest? The Crusaders, men who fought for their country deserved deaths of honors and honor was nowhere to be found on this dark night. In the eyes of his mind he weighed the two hands. He and the Crusaders could escape by abandoning the area but what of the people?
Many questions plagued his mind yet he could not draw sense or conclude with reasoning so Baldwin did the only thing he could, he answered with his heart. Silently he asked for forgiveness for what he was about to do.
"STOP!" He roared. The crashing of swords continued, as did the screams and shouts of attack. "STOP!" The King kept yelling until his voice was hoarse-
Without warning rough hands unseated him from his horse and he fell to the moist ground in a crash of heavy armor. Rolling to avoid the following downward swing of a sword of his assailant he found himself atop of a man.
The fallen man might be missing a limb, he might have been gutted but there were only two things that Baldwin registered in that split second. The man wore a brace; he was one of the few he witnessed fighting the day before and that the same man was praying now. His white lips opened and closed to a rhythm of a prayer, his eyes moistened with emotion.
"Get up!" Baldwin ordered, unable to bear his face. "Get-" The barest detection of a flicker behind his ear alerted him-
-A jolted heartbeat threw Baldwin upright-
-An axe swung down with lightening speed missing his forehead by a single breath of air-
A wet squelch reached his ears, swiftly followed by a dull but solid thud of the axe meeting the ground-
-The body beneath him convulsed, spilling thick entrails-
-It continued to twitch almost severed in half by the axe-
Baldwin staggered to his feet screaming murder. Instinct had saved his life but had stolen another…and another…and another…
He heaved his sword and the sharp edge found itself in the thin space between the helmet and chest plate of the axe carrier with an angry force. The King was on his feet even before the head fell. The axe remained embedded in the body; the headless enemy teetered before slumping to the ground-
Baldwin stared at the two bodies that lay before him; one decapitated and the other gutted. The acrid taste of mockery sprung at him, closing its putrid fingers around his throat and squeezing until it burned. What have you done? The dead demanded. Under your protection I die at your feet.
His vision turned red, his body swayed with nausea; there were too many, too many fighting and too many dead. For a brief flicker of a second Baldwin could hear nothing but everything that his eyes perceived became intense. He could not hear the brutal clang of swords to blades or the wails of pain but he saw each of his Knights clearly. Separated into individuals they each waged a war of their own but how long could it last? The King shook the ghostly haunting whispers off before the guilt could debilitate him entirely. If he were to achieve anything with his life he would save his men and his Kingdom. He had to stop this. He will stop it.
"HALT!" He bellowed. Hacking his way, carving a path out of flesh. Flesh into flesh; bone into bone. "STOP! STOP! STOP!" Swordsmanship was a fine art but there was no art in killing. With a heavy hand and a heart of stone he sliced and hewed until he reached a burning wagon that now resembled a funeral pyre. On top of the crackling pyre he yelled once more and kicked pieces of burning debris into the crowd until he was heard.
"STOP!"
The battle eased though Baldwin suspected that it was because victory was painfully clear. With a pounding heart he surveyed the scene before him. Of the Crusaders he could no longer see Guy de Lusignan but the rest continued to grapple with the enemies. "I SAID STOP!" He roared once more. The Crusaders heeded at once and began pushing through to the burning pyre where their King stood. They formed a semi circle, swords drawn breathing heavily.
"Bring me your Leader!" Baldwin ordered to the nearest mud-covered barbarian. "The King has words to exchange with him." A ripple of surprise carried through the survivors and any last hand-to-hand struggle ceased.
Godfrey looked up with alarm. "My Lord-" He began with concern, who knew what lawless men would do with the King in their filthy hands? If only he could have reached the King sooner. Too rash was the young sire to reveal his title. Tiberias also entertained similar thoughts, for throughout battle he had desperately tried to wade his way to the King. Unlike the King, the Marshal fully understood that the battle was long done and the blades of a mere few could not sway victory to their side. His duty was to protect the King even if it meant leaving every last villager behind for what use would there be in protecting the people if they lost the King?
"It is the only way." Baldwin said moving his hand in a placating gesture. "If it takes my life to exchange for everyone's then so be it."
Godfrey shook his head in disappointment. He was not a perfect Knight but he believed that a perfect King ruled him. A young idealistic King, who had yet to learn that the ones who won the battle were not the ones to have victory, but the ones who survived. Similarly, on a battlefield there were no individuals but merely numbers of expendable soldiers, what counted was which of the leaders lived.
Wary, the Knight tightened his sword hand ready to give his last breath for the perfect King.
The crowd parted, a tall broad man wearing a heavy sword at his side advanced towards Baldwin with a hammer swinging loosely in his hand. "Are you the King?" He asked, his voice booming over the lingering moans.
Baldwin answered with a curt nod.
"Then come, our Chief will speak to you."
"Wait Your Highness!" Tiberias shouted but the large messenger quickly barred his way with the crudely formed hammer.
"The Chief gives his word, the battle will cease until he has spoken to the King." He said in his loud monotone voice. Stopped short, Tiberias retaliated with a sword. Godfrey seized the momentary disruption to mouth a single word to the King.
"Guy." Baldwin understood immediately; Guy had escaped. He gave a faint nod. Reinforcements will arrive, until then they will have to take steps, as they became available.
Baldwin reached out and clasped Tiberias by the shoulder. "I shall hold their leader to his word but do what is necessary if I am not successful." He hoped that his Marshal understood his words and for good measure he also sent a significant glance to Godfrey who stood close enough to hear his whispers. "I will return soon." He promised and wordlessly followed the messenger.
Into the dark undergrowth they went. The ground sloped and crunched underfoot. The darkness was encompassing, he could barely make out the broad outline of the man in front who managed walked inhumanly quiet while he clanked and prodded along in his armor.
Sometime during the slaughter Baldwin had discarded his helmet preferring to have full view and now as he ran a hand on his sweat moistened hair he found blood. Another exploratory touch confirmed that it was his own and when he drew his brows together he could feel the skin pull. He dropped his hand as they reached a single lonely tent lit up from within.
The messenger lifted a corner of the stained rough material and the King ducked under. A single lamp burned brightly inside. It sat alongside a thin pile of tatty books and a stringy man perhaps five years his senior.
Baldwin reflexively assessed the physical threat that the man in front of him posed. Standing at full height Baldwin would be perhaps a finger's width taller although the man held considerably less mass than he.
He sported a mane of blonde hair tied loosely by a leather thong and wore heavily stained travel gear and was apparently unarmed. Although unshaven and rough he appeared nothing like the barbarian he had in mind of meeting. He'd imagined a thickset man, with a towering presence or at least a demeanor that coined him a thug with little morals, instead the man who sat leisurely in front of him resembled a run down scholar. Despite appearing painfully thin it that did not overshadow the fact that his arms were tightly muscled.
Baldwin's hand strayed surreptitiously close to his sheathed sword. Too easily had they allowed him to walk in armed, either they were foolishly confidant or there was more at play than meets the eye.
Blue intelligent eyes took in the full length of the King before he stood up from his makeshift bed with a yawn. Baldwin's eyes narrowed, what kind of man can sleep while his men heinously slaughtered just beyond the woods?
In truth Corlet Unwine had been rather surprised when the King stepped in. At first he thought it was a joke or maybe his men and been fooled and brought the wrong man because this person carried nothing of how he'd imagined a King to be. Unwine had spent his whole life on the borders of the Kingdom and knew little of Jerusalem and her King. When was the last throne ascension? He honestly did not know and assumed that the ruler was some fat old man who liked to point and order from the safety of barricaded walls.
What was this boy doing here under the name of the King? With interest he decided to see what would come from this 'King'.
"Your Highness," He greeted. "Never in my unworthy life would I ever imagine meeting royalty and especially here in a battle field." He said and offered a mock bow. "But then royalty means very little to us men."
Baldwin folded his arms across his chest. "This is no battle field and men protect, not prey upon the weak." He corrected.
A nasty smirk fixed itself upon the Chief's face. "Such honor." He continued to say, his disdain evident from his ill-disguised sarcasm. "I hardly believe that men like yourself and your dogs…pardon me, the Crusaders live just and peaceful lives, after all men still need to survive. I do not think that we are too different."
Baldwin bristled visibly at the insult to his Knights and from under his dirt blasted and blood encrusted face his eyes burned. "You know nothing of honor."
Unwine spat. No longer was he as dubious to who it was that stood before him. Only a King who thought himself to be above all would place so much value in honor. Give him a week, nay! A day of living in the real world where living could not be taken for granted and he will soon change his mind.
"Only the rich can afford to talk about honor." Unwine said. He moved towards him, stopping less than a foot from the King who resolutely stared ahead completely unfazed. If the skinny ruffian wanted to intimidate him then he had far to go. They stood close enough for Baldwin to smell the mustiness from Unwine's unwashed clothes and for him to smell the coppery blood from his.
"But that isn't what you've come here to discuss is it? So tell me, what are the terms that you propose?" he said at last.
"Let the survivors and the Crusaders go. They have a war to fight on the front. If any part of you has any pride left in your land then you would understand how crucial they are to a victory."
"Pride is best left discarded beside honor." Unwine said, "Especially since your terms are going to be costly."
"What is it that you want?"
"My men and I are simple, we want food, wine and a warm bed to return to each night in a secure home-"
Baldwin's deep laughter filled the tent. The root of this amoral man lay bare; he was nothing more than a common thief with greedy ambitions and a bloody sword. "So nothing that monetary means cannot give you. It can buy the very souls of the wicked." He said darkly.
"I would sell my soul for all its worth." Unwine replied frankly.
"Of that I have no doubt."
"So we have an agreement?"
"Name your price and you shall receive it."
"I warn you now, it will not be a small-."
"If it buys the freedom of my men and the villagers it will be worth it."
Unwine could not believe his ears, in his experience even the richest of men bartered but this boy, this King wasn't even trying. Like many men accustomed to the wiles of people, Unwine was highly suspicious of receiving things too easily surrendered. "I will need your presence here with us until we receive full payment." He said, setting a leverage in his favor.
"Naturally." Baldwin replied his sarcasm so light that it may have been undetected. "But my men and the villagers are to be released."
"Naturally." Unwine echoed with equal grace. "Then we've come to terms. You will come with us and we will leave the people untouched."
Baldwin stared hard at Unwine before offering his answer. He'd always been a sound judge of character and now he was positive that this foul if intellectual character was not to be trusted, but it seemed that he had little choice. "You have my word."
Unwine appeared pleased with reservation. "Who shall I send to retrieve payment?"
Baldwin thought carefully before giving a name. "Godfrey of Ibelin. He is one of my most trusted and he will know what to do."
Whether the King intended it or not Unwine did not like the double tone his words carried. With some thought he spoke. "That is fine, but on the condition that we will contact him when we are ready, until then you ride with us. I do not want to risk unnecessary…exposure. It would not do to release one man and he returns with a thousand."
Unwine was crafty, if he and his men moved it made them hard to track and harder still to pursue with an army. Baldwin did not even bother to grace him with a remark and Unwine left the tent not long after feeling sufficiently satisfied with the outcome.
"Borchat, take two others and guard that tent." He ordered, "Nothing goes in and he certainly does not come out. The King is armed but I doubt he would soil his pricey sword on our blood." He said loudly for his royal audience.
Borchat frowned and growled. He was a life hardened man fast approaching mid-life and his attitude was bitter at the best of times, but his pessimistic and outright cynical forecasts in all events made him an invaluable asset to Unwine. Nothing could ever sweep you into unpleasant surprise if you expected the worst and Borchat was a firm believer of this.
"I wouldn't be so cocky." He said hoarsely voicing his misgivings. "You have not seen him fight."
"I do not think that I need to." Unwine replied carelessly. "Any man can get dirt and blood on himself."
"He fights with passion." Borchat insisted. "You did not see-"
"Every man fights with passion when his life is at the question of a sword's edge."
Under the drying mud, Borchat's heavily lined face sagged with disappointment in what he thought was Unwine's apparent misjudgment in the seriousness of the matter. "Are you so lost in a heady perfume that you have become a senseless fool? We have attacked Crusaders and you have taken the King for ransom! Death bears our very names!"
Unwine pretended that he hadn't heard Borchat's warning and bent to tie a loosened lace on his boot. A man like Borchat did not understand; could not understand. He didn't have family, he didn't know what it was like to watch them starve and die one by one. In this life only the strong lived and he intended to be strong so that those he loved may survive. He did not choose who died under his sword but if it saved those he loved then it did not matter in the least.
He stood swiftly. "He can keep my name." He threw back and stalked away.
Borchat fell back watching him go. There was no question in his loyalty but doubts hung too strongly this time. "Do not lead us to our deaths." He said aloud and shivered with what felt like old age in his bones.
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A/N: Dear all, sorry for the gap in updates. I would just like to thank you all for reading this story and reviewing!