Crusader - novel, chapter 4

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.”