Chapter 22: The Knight and the Squire

Richard was drenched in a cold sweat. It was not the loss of coin that troubled him, but the crossbow bolt in Carlo’s hand, which remained leveled steadily at him, filling his heart with dread.

He looked at Carlo, his eyes brimming with supplication, his voice trembling as he spoke:

"Kind Lord Carlo, whatever amount you name, I shall pay. My father, Baron Morley, will surely provide the ransom for me!"

Carlo burst into laughter and issued an order to those nearby:

"Quickly, help our future baron to his feet."

Two men immediately stepped forward, one on each side, to hoist Richard up. Richard felt a flicker of vanity at being addressed as the "future baron."

"Lord Carlo, you fought this battle quite well. However, I am now weary and thirsty. Pray, have your attendants treat me with the courtesy due a knight." Richard attempted to strike a noble pose, despite his disheveled and wretched state.

Carlo pondered for a moment before turning to Resarit:

"Lord Resarit, may I have the right to dispose of this man as I see fit?"

Resarit, who held Carlo in high regard, replied without hesitation:

"This victory is your doing; he is your prize. Do with him as you wish."

Carlo turned back to Richard with a smile:

"My future Baron Morley, I do not yet know your name. I shall treat you with the courtesy befitting a baron, though I hope you will not mind that our surroundings here are quite modest."

Richard replied hastily:

"Of course, of course, Lord Carlo. My name is Richard."

Carlo nodded. "Very well, Lord Richard. I must trouble you to write a letter to Baron Morley. The ransom shall be three hundred pounds; any more would make me seem shameless."

Richard was overjoyed at this news and quickly agreed: "Very well, very well, I shall leave it all to your arrangements, Lord Carlo."

A short while later, at Carlo’s request, Richard composed a letter stipulating a ransom of three hundred pounds and arranging for his release at Kortrijk—a French city near Tournai.

The others busied themselves, carefully piling valuable items onto the wagons. As for the wounded horses, they had no choice but to slaughter them and load the meat onto the carts. To clear space for these, they were forced to slash open sacks and discard a vast quantity of grain. The abandoned grain, soaked in a mixture of rain and blood, began to swell, scattering messily across the ground in a scene of utter ruin.

Under such conditions, reclaiming this grain later would be nearly impossible.

Carlo took the letter from Richard with a calm expression. He then added a few lines to the document, his movements subtle enough that no one around him could see what he had written. Once finished, he turned to Resarit and asked in a low voice:

"Lord Resarit, how shall we go about delivering this letter?"

Resarit considered this for a moment and replied:

"Pick one of the captives to deliver it, or perhaps find a local villager. A few pennies as a reward should suffice."

Carlo frowned slightly, and after a moment, said:

"These are captives we captured with great effort; I am loath to let any of them go. If I send a local, I fear they might encounter trouble on the road or be harassed by the enemy. Lord Resarit, I have heard that warhorses possess a unique ability—that they can find their way home. Is this true?"

Resarit nodded gently: "There is indeed such a claim. Warhorses can, in certain circumstances, rely on instinct to find their way back. However, this letter is of great value—worth three hundred pounds. It would be most unfortunate if it failed to reach its destination."

Carlo laughed carelessly, his gaze drifting toward Richard:

"If it does not arrive, then so be it; consider it an experiment. Besides, my lord, you said yourself that he is my prize, so the decision of how to handle this must surely fall to me."

Having said this, he handed the letter to Resarit. Resarit took it, nodded in agreement, and selected an uninjured horse. He carefully tucked the letter into a leather pouch and tied it securely to the saddle. Once everything was prepared, he gave the horse a gentle pat on the rump and said softly:

"Go on, lucky horse; you should know the way home."

The horse seemed to understand, letting out a soft whinny before setting off with a steady gait, disappearing into the distance.

Carlo then ordered the captives, including Richard and a dozen others who had survived, to be brought back to the battlefield. The site was still thick with the pungent, cloying stench of blood, as if the scent had seeped into every inch of the soil. Bodies lay strewn about in chaotic, naked heaps, lifeless and twisted, bearing silent witness to the cruelty and ruthlessness of war.

Broken weapons and shields lay scattered everywhere, some stained beyond recognition by blood, others half-buried in the rain-soaked mud. Blood, rain, and mire mingled into a murky, foul liquid that flowed sluggishly across the blighted earth.

Carlo turned slightly, his gaze fixed upon Richard, and asked:

"Richard, you say you are a knight, is that correct?"

"Yes, Lord Carlo. I was knighted by King Edward himself." Richard’s tone carried a note of pride.

Carlo’s eyes sharpened as he pressed further: "Then can you still recite your knightly vows?"

Richard faltered, then gave a dry laugh, attempting to ease the tension: "Haha, Lord Carlo, I am a man of great learning, but perhaps we can discuss these matters when we reach the city. It is dreadfully cold here; shall we be on our way?"

Carlo’s face darkened. He locked his gaze onto Richard and raised his voice, his tone imbued with an irresistible authority:

"I told you to recite your knightly vows. Do you not understand?"

Richard, panicked and overwhelmed by the oppressive atmosphere, stammered out the oath:

"I swear by my honor to always uphold a heart of justice. I swear to treat the weak with kindness; I swear to bravely oppose tyranny; I swear to combat all that is wrong; I swear to fight for the defenseless. I swear to assist any who call upon me for aid. I swear never to harm a woman. I swear to aid my brother knights. I swear to be sincere with my friends. I swear to remain faithful to my beloved until death. I shall dedicate my life to upholding these vows, defending honor with the spirit of a knight, and guarding justice until my very last breath."

Carlo listened intently. Just then, a thunderclap shook the air, and his voice, blending with the roar of the storm, rang out with formidable power:

"Richard, do you still dare to call yourself a knight?"