Chapter 422: Not Unto Us

Chapter 422: Chapter 298: Not Unto Us

Eric’s personal guard knights began to assess the battlefield, as Eric was the nominal commander of this mixed force.

They were surprised to find they had killed a total of six hundred and seventy-eight Turkic Cavalry Archers. Leif also sent a Knight to report the results of the battle in the valley to Eric.

Adding the two together, the results of the battle were clear.

Facing an enemy supply train guarded by over eight hundred Turkic Cavalry Archers and more than two hundred Guram Cavalry, Eric and the other counts had killed six hundred seventy-eight Turkic Cavalry Archers, one hundred twenty-seven Guram Cavalry, and an uncounted number of regular Turkic soldiers.

Meanwhile, the total number of deaths on Eric’s side, including common soldiers, was less than one hundred. Knight casualties were: 16 dead, 58 lightly wounded, and 16 seriously wounded.

Soldiers and Attendants: 78 dead, 16 lightly wounded, and 26 seriously wounded.

Of course, the majority of the Knight casualties were a direct result of Count Evler’s flawed tactics.

The close-combat prowess of the Guram Cavalry was no less than that of the Western European Knights. In fact, compared to some of the arrogant Western European Knights who prided themselves on their individual martial skill, the Guram were more experienced on the battlefield and had a better understanding of coordinated tactics. Count Evler had clearly underestimated this.

Even though they were trapped in a narrow valley, hindered by the supply train, and attacked from both front and rear, they still managed to carve a bloody path out and successfully retreat with nearly a third of their men.

Fortunately, Leif had mobilized his troops in time to strike the Guram Cavalry from the rear.

….

The Count of Pontieu, shot in the thigh by a Turkic Cavalry Archer, was being supported by his attendant as he made his way back to his tent to rest.

When he noticed Eric nearby, he looked a little awkward. His first instinct was to lower his head, but then he remembered his pride as a Count. He stiffened his neck and tried to appear calm.

But when Eric’s gaze fell upon him, he feigned nonchalance and coughed twice. To his dismay, Eric had no intention of speaking to him and simply continued to direct his Knights in clearing the battlefield.

The count glanced around, pushed his attendant away, wrung his hands, and after coughing twice more, said:

“Perhaps… I should apologize for my earlier rudeness. You are undoubtedly an outstanding commander, even if your ideas are sometimes… unconventional, Lord Gloucester.”

With that, the Count of Pontieu extended his hand to Eric.

Eric was a little surprised by the Count of Pontieu’s change in attitude. He paused for a moment before finally taking the count’s hand.

“When we all took the same oath before the Cross, when we promised the Priests that we would bear it until the Holy Sepulchre is reclaimed, revering it as we revere Christ Himself…

…I came to believe that whether we are Normans, Flemish, Franks, Germans, Saxons, or Bretons, we are all destined to become brothers on our journey to the East.

This bond will be purer and more sacred than any pact sealed by blood, for it is forged entirely for the glory of our faith, entirely for the call of freedom, entirely for the vision of peace, entirely for Christ on Earth, and entirely for Yahweh in Heaven.

It is also because we have sworn to fight for the souls crying out from their suffering, sworn to bring freedom and faith to all who yearn for the light.

So, my brother, I say to you.

On this road to Jerusalem, we have more than enough time to find our common ground and ample opportunity to hear the voice of God in one another.

Just as God spoke through Pope Gregory at Clermont, He will now speak through us, for we wear the Cross and journey to His tomb.

This victory is a grace from God, not a testament to our own skill.”

“Indeed! Indeed, it is so!” The Count of Pontieu gripped Eric’s hand with both of his own, visibly moved. “God is with us! God is with us! We praise You, Father in Heaven! The victory and the glory are Yours!”

The Count of Pontieu then roared at the attendant beside him, “Pass the order! No Knight is to boast of his own victory! Anyone who dares to steal this glory, which belongs to God, will be severely punished! Have everyone sing ‘Not Unto Us’ and ‘Praise God,’ and bury the dead with mercy!”

“Ye-… Yes, my Lord!”

The attendant was so startled by the count’s sudden shout that his helmet nearly fell off. He scrambled into the crowd and began loudly proclaiming the order.

Eric gave the same command to his own attendant. Once he had, he noticed another figure: Eustace, the Count of Blois. He was the young man who had placed his trust in Eric, forcing the Count of Pontieu to yield.

In truth, it would have been impossible for Eric not to notice him, for he cut a very striking figure.

Eustace was kneeling beside his longsword, prostrated with his forehead pressed to the muddy ground, hands clasped, chanting a prayer for forgiveness. “My sin! My sin! This is my sin! I declare my sin to You; I do not hide my wickedness!

O God, create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from Your presence, and take not Your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me with Your free Spirit…”

As he recited the prayer, he beat his chest, tears streaming down his face.

Then, he let out a long, sorrowful wail like a wounded beast, grabbing two handfuls of mud and flinging them into the valley.

His actions moved several of the Knights, who began to follow his example and pray for forgiveness.

It even created a subtle sense of panic, and some men began to look to Bishop Admar of Le Puy for help.

Just as this somber mood began to take hold, a wave of angry shouting cut through the air.

It was Count Evler and the Count of Ghent, along with their respective Barons.

Count Evler was accusing the Count of Ghent of failing to support his attack, thereby causing more casualties.

The Count of Ghent, in turn, accused Count Evler’s reckless charge of having alerted the Turkic People.

“Ghent, you coward! Your hesitation on the battlefield was like a mouse fearing its own shadow! It was your cowardice that showed the Turkic People our weakness and led to this slaughter!”

“Hah, Evler! You call your charge Courage? It was nothing but stupidity! You’re like a maddened beast, rushing at the enemy without a thought. Don’t you realize a blind attack only sends more men to their deaths?”

“The deaths of those soldiers are on your hands! Your cowardice and hesitation were like a viper coiled around our necks! I hope this war teaches you the meaning of bravery, because all you do now is talk!”

“Talk? You self-righteous fool! I would rather be calm and composed in battle than rush about like a headless chicken! Your brand of recklessness will only make us a laughingstock for the enemy!”

“A laughingstock? What’s truly laughable is you, you old fossil who knows nothing of strategy! I doubt you even have the courage to continue leading our soldiers. Or will you just hide in your tent like a turtle in its shell?”

“At least I don’t treat the lives of my soldiers as a game! If not for Sir Lief, we would all have been drowned in blood under your leadership! I hope you can learn something from this tragedy instead of continuing to live in your fool’s dream!

Go explain yourself to your lord and master, you arrogant fool!” With that, the Count of Ghent strode to Eric’s side and said in his clumsy French, “Lord Gloucester, if that idiot is appointed cavalry commander again, I would rather lead my Knights to attack Baghdad by myself.

Because it is far better to die in a glorious duel with the King of the Heretics than to be wiped out in some nameless skirmish under the command of a self-important fool! At least the former will be sung of in sagas, while the latter will only earn the scorn of future generations.”

Without waiting for Eric to respond, the Count of Ghent spat viciously on the ground, glared at Count Evler, and snarled in German, “If French weren’t a foreign tongue to me, I’d have fucking verbally flayed you alive, you self-righteous prick!”