Chapter 416 - 294: A Conflict-Ridden Combined Army

"When it comes to partitioning Cilicia, Robert will have to consider my opinion. I am the Supreme Lord of Pisa; the Pisa Fleet answers to me," Eric said.

"You mean the Marchioness," Belem corrected with a smile.

"Close enough." Eric waved his hand dismissively.

....

Events developed beyond Eric’s expectations, and his run of bad luck was far from over.

On the second day after leaving Mamistra City, a vast army of knights caught up with Eric and his party.

Leading this army were the Count of Pontieu, the Count of Boulogne, Count Evler, the Count of Ghent, and of course, Stephen, the Count of Blois, who had come along for the excitement.

They led over a thousand knights, along with a dense swarm of attendants and sergeants.

They claimed to be under orders from Robert, sent to support Eric’s attack on the Antioch Turks.

Eric guessed almost immediately that Robert must have buckled under the pressure. Unwilling to simply bow to their wishes, he had sent out this entire flock of nobles who were constantly chattering in his ear and telling him what to do.

"If you want land, then go prove your devotion to God! Do not petition me, but God, for our very expedition here is by His will.

Those were His Majesty Robert’s exact words," Stephen told Eric, repeating what he was told.

"How about we find a way to shake them?" Belem said to Eric. "This army is already massive. We have every reason to ask them to take another route, and then we can use the opportunity to put some distance between us. We can make up any excuse. After all, this land is foreign to us—we’ve only been here a month, so getting lost would be perfectly normal. We even manage to get lost back in England."

"That would just annoy them, and it would give them all the more reason to side with Odo. Next time, the one leading an army to ’support’ us might even be Rufus. Besides, they’re completely unfamiliar with this place and have never fought together. Their army has men who speak Norman French, some who speak Breton, Occitan, or Low German.

If we run into an organized Turkic Army, the situation will become dire.

If they’re going to die, they should at least die for something meaningful." Eric shook his head, rejecting Belem’s proposal.

"Fine, just you wait then. An eagle does not listen to another eagle’s cry! No count is willing to be commanded by another count.

Dammit, that bastard Robert has already drowned himself in some woman’s arms! God knows if those two fat legs of his can even get on a warhorse anymore!"

Belem cursed, whipped his warhorse a few times, and spurred it to the front of the column, roaring loudly.

Of course, the target of his roaring curses was not Robert, but the Turkic People.

His voice drew cheers from some of the knights, and their noise startled the azure-winged magpies in the forest, which flew out from the trees with panicked cries.

On the first day the armies joined, the counts all remained respectful of one another. Eric’s feat of conquering Cilicia in such a short time kept them from provoking him immediately, but this was undoubtedly temporary.

....

It was now January. Winter in Cilicia was warmer than in Normandy, but the chill was still unsettling.

Fortunately, it grew much warmer when the sun came out. It also seemed that snow was rare here; even though it was January, there was still no sign of it.

Eric advocated for a conservative marching pace to ensure the horses could conserve their strength.

Eric dispatched Hook Eye to lead the scouts and reconnoiter ahead. Eric himself led from the very front of the column, while Belem and Leif supervised the counts’ movements from the middle of the army. At the rear, Stephen, the Count of Blois, and another of Eric’s subordinates guarded the formation to prevent any knights or infantry from falling behind.

They halted their march in the evening when the chill was at its strongest, set out shortly after sunrise, and made camp before dusk.

This was completely different from the lightning-fast assault the counts had been expecting. The pace had slowed to a crawl, so much so that even the clergy and merchants could easily keep up.

Some of the barons and knights, feeling their status and honor had been slighted, began to voice their complaints.

"Can someone tell me if this is a Holy War or a holiday! My grandmother moves faster than this with a cane!"

"I can’t even tell I’m riding one of the finest Spanish warhorses! I spent twenty goddamn pounds on this horse!"

"My warhorse has never moved this slowly in its life! God knows if it will even remember how to run when we get back to Ghent!"

"For fuck’s sake, I’d rather be an infantryman! At least the infantry get to jog a little every now and then!"

"Isn’t that the truth? I’ve counted the hairs on my horse’s ass a hundred times already!"

"That’s nothing! I’ve been counting the rings on my chain armor! I could tell you where each one is with my eyes closed!"

"...."

"Count of Pontieu, I urge you to be prudent," Leif said. "This is the best way to march. Our numbers are too great; this is to prevent an outbreak of plague in the army."

"What does that matter to you and your stinking brothers? You northern heretics," the Count of Pontieu snarled at Leif. "Only cowards delay."

This angered the Man Island Warriors.