Ok, well I just read over this chapter (wrote it 5/6 years ago) and it needs a lot of work. Some very awkward sentences and word selection in there, but I like the overall tone of this chapter. It sets up the rest of the narrative and there is some imagery and dialogue in there that really captures how how I envisage the characters. It also sets up the next chapter for a major character introduction; a character I particularly like (though it takes several more chapters before Bohemond, and thus the narrative, to really recognise and feature him). The character I particularly like is not Duvaile, but he does get a couple of choice lines.
Please make you criticisms constructive or outrageously offensive. Both will be valued greatly.
4
The
reverberation from the footfall of the column of men, with its irregular
rhythms, carries dully on the air. As much as I have tried to comfort Charlotte
since the morning she continues to eye me off with a withering combination of
disapproval and frustration. The column moves past me on the windward side and
I receive a baptism of dust. I almost wish a thicker cloud, one to hide me. Oh
Lord, why did it all just become so hard? Here she is. Leading her horse just
ahead of the baggage train. I must remember to tell Robert not to use horses to
pull the wagons as they tire so much quicker than mules. Remember to tell him
again I mean – and he thinks me stubborn? She’s giving me that look again. How
can such a look make me feel so awful? It’s because she loves you and cares for
you Bohemond, and she wants to know why you so clearly hurt. But I can’t tell
her that. No. She won’t understand what I do is for the Church and God and that
my pain is nothing. Charlotte stop looking at me that way. She’s drawing level
with me. She has stopped, but not stopped her stare. Nothing good can become of
this, Charlotte you are never coming with me on campaign again.
Bohemond
dismounted his horse and held the reins loose signalling to his mount that now
was a chance to browse the roadside grass. He looked up at his wife as the
three horse-pulled baggage carts and the baggage-detailed soldiers drew past.
Charlotte and he stood alone as the last of the marching column. Charlotte
stood erect, her horse’s reins pulled commandingly taut. Bohemond waited for
her questions; ones that had been born, defeated, and resurrected between them
throughout the day. Charlotte remained mute, her form framed against the late
afternoon sun highlighting the dissipating dust cloud. She discarded her
inquisition in favour of allowing Bohemond’s clear discomfort at her stare to coax
a meaningful sentence from him. From there she hoped a conversation could
begin.
A shout went up
from the front rank of the marching men-at-arms and Bohemond broke Charlotte’s
gaze. He heard Robert call the column to a halt and saw him wheel his horse,
scanning for his commander’s whereabouts. Bohemond signalled and swung into his
saddle. As he glanced back to Charlotte she dropped her head, her eyes drawn
and lips tight and Bohemond knew he had pushed her away too many times and far
too heartlessly. He swallowed away the deep regret in his throat, hoping to
have a chance at redemption later, and cantered his horse to the front of his
men.
Robert was
standing in his saddle shielding his eyes from the glare as he peered across
the rolling plain. “Galloper. On the eastern road, just exited your keep,” he
said as Bohemond drew up beside him. Bo was startled to see the grey-weathered
sandstone walls and pennant flying watchtower of the Barony’s single keep as he
crested the slight incline. His preoccupation throughout the day had blinded
him to the usual landmarks that tripped off the distance to Liesburg keep, the
Baronial residence. He squinted against
the sun and followed the line of the eastern road he was upon as it curved from
due east, northward towards the keep. A lone rider, kicking up a heavy trail of
dust galloped hard towards them.
“Either an urgent
message is about to greet us in the next five minutes, or some rogue has just borrowed
one of your horses and has no idea that he is about to meet with the
significant portion of his Lord Baron’s standing soldiery.” Robert’s chuckle
was pulled short as he sensed the ill-aspect of Bohemond’s mood.
“Continue the
march. We will find out which of your assertions is correct soon enough.”
“Yes My Lord.”
Robert turned in his saddle and reordered the march.
The column
covered only three hundred yards before the rider had closed the two miles
between them and the keep. Bohemond’s horse pricked its ears and pawed the
ground at the new arrival. The rider pulled up short just ahead of Bohemond and
Robert. His mount was exhausted, its coat sheened in sweat and foam forming
around its mouth. The rider pulled away the cloth dust shield across his mouth
and nose and Bohemond recognised him as one of the Barony’s two fast
messengers.
Before the man
could defer his position to his Lord as was expected, Bohemond asked, “Tell me
Jean, what message is so important as to gallop one of the Baron’s horses
almost to death to meet me when you would have had my presence in another
twenty minutes?”
Jean was taken
aback by Bohemond’s frankness. “Yes My Lord… Sorry My Lord. But the head of
court judged the communiqué imperative, and expected that you would want those
extra twenty minutes to prepare.”
Bohemond creased
his forehead. “Prepare for what Jean?”
“My Lord your
father, the Lord Baron, has requested you muster all men-at-arms under your
command and rendezvous with his command in the shortest time passing.”
“My father wants
me in Jerusalem?” Bohemond replied, clearly confused.
“Yes My Lord. I
do not know details, but the head of court supplied me with the message so you
may read it yourself.” Jean dropped from his saddle, ran to the flank of
Bohemond’s mount and produced a roll of yellowed parchment. The Baronial signet
clearly imprinted in the broken grey-stained wax seal.
Bohemond unrolled
the parchment, noted his father’s distinctive heavy-handed writing, and began
to read. Robert kept his mount still as he watched Bo’s eyes flick along the
lines and widen in shock or dismay, Robert could never tell which. Bohemond
looked up from the page and let the ends roll together around his thumbs.
“The sickly king
Baldwin V of Jerusalem is dead. Guy de Lesignan and Count Raymond of Tripoli
have had a falling out. Father fears civil war over the Kingdom. The land of
the Heavenly Lord is in turmoil,” Bohemond announced distantly.
The soldiers within earshot of their
commander kept silent but knew they were some of the very few outside of the
noble courts who would be privy to the news firsthand.
Bohemond composed
himself as his horse shifted its weight and brought him out of his reverie. He
looked down at the messenger still standing beside him as he tucked the
parchment into his saddlebags, “Ride back to the keep as hard as you did to me
and inform the master of court to begin preparations, I want to be marching by
mid-morning tomorrow…”
“My Lord I must…”
Robert interrupted.
“Your protest is
noted Robert,” Bohemond spat as he shot a savage stare at his sergeant.
“Dismount Robert.”
Robert obeyed
immediately, his face an expressionless mask at knowing he had overstepped the
fine mark between the advice of friendship and the servitude of soldier.
Bohemond turned back to assess the recently arrived mount shaking slightly from
the exertion of the hard gallop.
“Jean take
Robert’s mount, yours will collapse half way to the keep if you ride her.”
The messenger
hesitated – the hard-eyed sergeant holding the reins was at his
most unapproachable.
“Now, man!”
Bohemond shouted.
Jean scrambled to
take the reins from Robert, foot himself in the stirrups and swing into the
saddle.
“You’re lucky
you’re as long of leg as me and you can sit yourself proper in the saddle, it
would be a shame if you bounced yourself out while at a gallop and smashed that
pretty head,” Robert growled as Jean wheeled the horse away with a look of
utter distress on his face. “And if anything is merely out of place in my
saddlebags, I’ll gut you and sell your sinews for lute strings to some
wandering minstrel!”
Without need of
further incentive Jean spurred Robert’s mount hard and thundered away in dust.
Bohemond grinned at Robert, his frustration at his sergeant all but gone.
“I think he’ll
ride all the harder just to put greater distance between himself and you. Thank
you.”
Robert returned
the grin, and with a most ungraceful bow replied, “I can do naught but serve
you My Lord.”
Still smiling, Bohemond
turned to his men-at-arms. “As I am sure you have all now heard from the man in
front of you, the leper-king Baldwin of Jerusalem is dead and our Lord Baron
has called us to his aid for fear of civil war, there being no immediate heir.
I know you all deserve a well-earned rest, but there will be little for we
begin our travels to the Holy Land mid-morning tomorrow.” Bohemond paused to
gauge any level of dissent before continuing. “So for your labours, you will be
paid an added bonus from the treasury of our Lord Baron.” Bohemond saw the
faces of his men soften greatly. “And I will personally supply payment for the
first round of tonight’s drinking!” Bohemond yelled as he pulled the sizable
pouch of coin from his belt and tossed it to Robert. “That is if you can manage
to wrestle a coin from the cold grasp of your sergeant! Let us get home!”
The men-at-arms
laughed and murmured amused agreements to their commander’s assessment of the
sergeant as they resumed their march. Robert offered a sly wink to Bohemond as
he retrieved the messenger’s slowly unwinding mount and began walking it
alongside the column. He was always impressed with Bohemond’s savvy, but above
all, genuine way of placating his men in poor circumstance.
Bohemond’s
thoughts spun widely as the four abreast ranks of the column moved past on his
leeward side, his body clear of the dust. The logistics of the travel tomorrow
were already forming in his mind, while his deeper concern of what had befallen
the Holy Land encircled and intermingled with it all. He swung his vision along
the men. It stopped on the solitary figure still at the end. Bohemond sat
uncertain of what to do. His head was starting to ache from lack of rest, lack
of water and all too much stress caused by the one person from whom he needed
nothing but love. And he knew she needed that same love returned.
“Bohemond! On the
crest of the road! The standard of de Montpellier!” Robert’s alarm instantly
dispelled all but the thoughts of battle as Bohemond turned his horse and spurred
its flanks.
“Halt column!
Last two ranks draw in the wagons!” Bohemond shouted and cantered once again to
the front. He looked to the crest along from the keep where the main road
dropped over the steep hill edge towards the town of Leisburg. The sharp
glint of twenty helms in the remaining sunlight as the fully armoured and
barded horsemen trotted along the road. The unmistakable heraldry of black
raven on a yellow field emblazoned on the flying standard. The dull thudding of
eighty hooves carried more through the ground than the air.
“Form battle
ranks! Four ranks breasting the road, front two with spears at the ready!”
Bohemond drew in his mount as the men-at-arms obeyed his commands with
experienced speed. “Robert, get on that weary gelding and ride to Charlotte.
She is to remain with the baggage guard under the directions of de Guilies. He
is to give up his life to continue her’s.” Bohemond locked eyes with his
sergeant, both of them knowing the gravity of his command. Robert galloped away
to the carts fifty yards behind them to relay the orders. Bohemond looked back
to the twenty-strong horse company of Count Duvaile de Montpellier sedately
approaching his position.
“Tighten up those
ranks, I want your shoulders brushing those next to yours. You will hold your
position. They will try to flank us and we will let them. On my order you will
face about and present these invading swine with a belly full of spear heads!
After we hold their charge the rearmost ranks will counter, lap around and
encircle them. It’s just like your drills, and remember these are nobles –
we’ll take full account of any surrender.” The silence of the men indicated
their compliance with Bohemond.
He looked back
towards de Montpellier, his knights still at a trot. Jean too had seen the
rival count’s heraldry and had shown good sense by abandoning the formed roads
and skirting the surrounding fields back to the keep. The freshly harvested
grain crops in the fields with the remaining stubble waiting to be claimed as
stock fodder by the herdsmen as the meadows closer to the woodlands hayed off
and lost their goodness – Focus Bohemond!
“Bohemond?”
He had not even
heard Robert return.
“Just wondering
of the fields Robert.”
“My lord, have
you taken too much sun and too little drink today? We must ready for battle!”
Robert rose his voice just enough and Bohemond forced away his stare.
Robert looked at
his commander and friend, watching his eyes narrow and jaw tighten. His
response to Robert’s words a shortening of his reins and drawing of his sword.
It glinted bright.
The minutes were
slow and gave Bohemond’s thoughts speed. Could I have garnered a better position? Will
the men hold the charge? They do not bear lances which will aid our spears. Is
Montpellier delaying for a rear-guard to advance? Charlotte will be safe?
The men were silent. The cavalry quickened as they reached the slight rise in
the road. Four hundred yards and still they come head at us. The cavalry
broke into a perfectly executed canter – all the ranks remaining even. Two
hundred yards. Wait for their call to full charge. Bohemond could feel the
tension of the men-at-arms, knew the pull of uncertainty in their guts. “Steady
men,” Bohemond and Robert mouthed in unintended sync. One hundred yards.
There’s that bastard. Duvaile. In the front rank? Is he so eager to fall on my
steel? Wait.
“Draw up your
weapons!” Bohemond shouted.
“Bohemond! They
are almost upon us!” Robert urged wide-eyed.
The men-at-arms
stood confused; spears brought half up – undecided between trust and self-preservation.
De Montpellier’s cavalry charged. Bohemond felt the hoof beats through the body
of his mount. Robert looked aghast at him. Then noise stopped.
The cavalry
reined in with utmost precision to halt five paces from the points of the
haphazard lines of spears. The broad, pale-faced and clean shaven knight in the
centre-front of the cavalry sneered as his face swept up in glee. “Well
Bohemond I see you are no less the barbarian than last we met if you great all
guests to your father’s Barony with steel points. Though the flaccid collection
you have here is rather innocuous.”
Bohemond sheathed
his sword quickly. “Perhaps you would like to test them, Duvaile, I could see
to it personally for you My Lord.”
