Chapter 14: In the Name of the Knight

On the various small hills of Buwen Village, across the open fields, the soldiers immediately sprang into action, bustling about like a swarm of busy ants. Some began erecting tents, expertly setting up the frames and swiftly pulling up the canvas with practiced ease and order. Others dug trenches around the perimeter, dirt flying with every stroke of their shovels.

Carlo, Roberto, and Ressarit joined the camp-building efforts. Carlo and Roberto swung their shovels vigorously, digging trenches, sweat beading on their brows and glistening in the sunlight. Roberto muttered under his breath, “This is truly exhausting work.”

Inwardly, Carlo grumbled, “Who would have thought? At the start, I was just a laborer under guard, without any freedom. Now that we’ve reached Tournai, I’m a knight’s squire, and yet I’m still doing the work of a builder!”

Meanwhile, Ressarit directed the soldiers from nearby, barking orders, “Move faster! Dig the trenches deeper! Arrange the trees evenly—no gaps allowed!” His commanding voice left no room for slackening, and the soldiers obeyed without hesitation.

Amid the bustle, Carlo lifted his head and surveyed the scene. Countless soldiers were hard at work, tents pitched side by side like a vast, colorful sea. The trenches and trees formed a formidable defensive line that inspired awe. He couldn’t help but reflect, “Such a massive army, such meticulous defense—surely the French cannot lose this time. But if we’re trapped inside this camp, trouble would be impossible to escape.”

Suddenly, a flood of terrifying scenarios played out in his mind. “No, I must find Ressarit and suggest something. I’ll petition to form a small unit on the outskirts for some peace of mind.”

Setting down his shovel, Carlo strode swiftly over to Ressarit. His steps were firm and resolute, carrying an unyielding determination. Roberto watched in astonishment, his mouth agape, uncertain of Carlo’s intentions but sensing a flicker of unease.

“Lord Ressarit, I earnestly ask you to convey my request to Her Ladyship, the Countess. Now, amidst this vast army, we bear the solemn duty of defending France.”

Carlo’s voice rang clear and crisp amid the noisy camp. “The chivalric spirit stands for bravery, loyalty, and honor. As a knight’s squire, I yearn to embody this spirit in battle—to shed my blood for the King and for France.”

He straightened his chest and clenched his fists tightly.

“I do not wish to be confined here as a mere builder. I ask permission to fight on the front lines! For the glory of France! For the King’s honor!”

Roberto’s jaw dropped further in disbelief, almost hitting the ground, yet he was speechless. His eyes brimmed with shock and admiration; he had never imagined Carlo could possess such courage and resolve. He stood frozen, his shovel abandoned at his side.

Ressarit regarded Carlo quietly, a flicker of approval in his eyes. Carlo truly embodied the qualities of an exemplary knight.

“Your courage is commendable, Carlo. I will relay your story to Her Ladyship, the Countess. As for your request to join the battle, leave that to me!”

“I will fight alongside you. Remember always—wherever and whenever—you must uphold the knightly spirit: bravery, loyalty, honor. For France, for the King, fight valiantly!”

Soon after, Ressarit presented the petition to Jeanne, Countess of Artois. The Countess paused, pondering silently: Was Ressarit mad? The English forces advancing numbered well over a hundred thousand. Their knights were clad in heavy armor, fierce and fearless in battle. The notorious longbowmen were deadly accurate, their arrows striking fear into all. Then there were the Flemish crossbowmen who had betrayed their lords, and the vast mercenary bands hired by Edward, composed of nobles from the Netherlands and Germany.

The sheer momentum was like a surging tide, overwhelming. In such a tense atmosphere, for him to propose not to remain with the hundred thousand troops entrenched in the camp, and instead boldly declare his intention to confront the English—it was shocking.

Yet, in the next moment, the Countess found herself admiring Ressarit’s courage quietly. Perhaps this was the true glory and responsibility of a knight. Still, she suspected Ressit mentioning Carlo was merely an expression of knightly humility.

At the thought of Carlo, a faint smile involuntarily curved her lips. That rash boy was unforgettable—a radiant youth exuding the vigor of spring. When they first met, he was so nervous he even stumbled over his own name, stammering before her like an adorable fawn. From that moment, the boy who wished to serve her as a squire was etched into her memory, and she found herself paying him special attention.

The Countess shook her head lightly, uncertain why she suddenly smiled. Her eyes brimmed with excitement and admiration, as if she already foresaw the moment when, before Philip VI, she would bask in the glory of victory.

Suddenly rising, she waved her hand decisively, her clear voice ringing through the tent: “Ressarit, I approve your petition!”

She quickly approached the table, picked up a pen, and swiftly penned an order, which she handed to Ressarit. “Take this writ and select any men you require from my camp.”

Ressarit’s unit was soon formed, numbering fifty strong. Each man was equipped with two horses and two crossbows. The squires donned new brigandine armor—short leather jackets stitched with overlapping metal plates that glittered under the sun. The Countess generously granted the small detachment double pay and rations, boosting their morale.

A gentle breeze stirred the flags, which fluttered loudly. Carlo followed closely behind Ressarit, eyes on the tents fading behind him, a flicker of unease stirring within. Nervously, he glanced around, worry shadowing his gaze. Thoughts of historic battles like the burning of the camps and the Battle of the Nest made his skin crawl.

Carlo felt keenly aware of his own cleverness. Not only had his equipment and weapons been upgraded, but he had also been rewarded with a gold franc.

Mounted on horseback, Ressarit turned to Carlo and asked, “Carlo, since this plan is yours, what do you intend to do next?”

Carlo pondered briefly before replying respectfully, “Lord Ressarit, the great Julius Caesar once said: ‘In battle, one should never speak of advance before speaking of retreat.’ I believe we should find a reliable campsite nearby, one that is geographically sound and well-supplied.”

Ressarit’s eyes brightened as he savored the wisdom in the words. “Carlo, I didn’t expect you to know Caesar. That is truly a wise military insight—worthy of Caesar himself.”

Roberto’s face shone with pride. “Lord Ressarit, Carlo has studied widely since childhood and received the finest education in Florence. His wisdom and insight are exceptional.”

The soldiers nearby, hearing Roberto’s praise, cast admiring and expectant glances at Carlo. Amid the tense atmosphere of war, Carlo’s suggestion seemed to kindle a faint glimmer of hope.

Ressarit nodded, scanning the group before speaking solemnly, “Then we depart at once to find that suitable campsite.”

The men responded in unison, spirits lifted. Under Ressarit’s lead, they moved cautiously forward, carefully observing the surrounding terrain.