Chapter 25: The Stone Bridge over the Mako River

After three more grueling days of travel, Baron Morley led his two thousand men, dragging their weary feet, finally back to the encampment. Throughout the journey, both men and horses had been overcome by exhaustion; the sound of hooves had become sluggish and listless, and the dust stirred up seemed to carry the heavy scent of fatigue.

The moment Baron Morley stepped into the camp, his resentment surged like a turbulent tide, while grief clung to him like a shadow, wrapping him tightly in its embrace. At that moment, his body felt drained of all vitality, and every step was heavy and arduous. In his eyes, a profound despair resembled an endless dark abyss, and his helplessness, like a biting, icy wind, was enough to make one shudder.

Yet, fate seemed unwilling to let him be. Just as he had steadied himself and had not even had the chance to draw a deep breath, soldiers hurried to him, leading a horse. On its back sat yet another letter, one that filled him with both hatred and dread.

"You scoundrel Morley, trying to ambush me again with your troops, are you? The ransom is now 3,000 pounds! Noon, three days from now, at the windmill in Brabant!"

Upon reading the letter, Baron Morley’s eyes widened in fury, and he roared, "Three days from now? That means today! That bastard Heinrich, how dare he toy with me like this!"

He felt as though he were losing his mind; the fire of anger in his heart burned ever more fiercely, threatening to consume his very sanity. Disregarding all else, he rushed to the Duke of Brabant to cause a scene. His eyes were red and swollen like overripe peaches, and his voice rasped like a broken bellows as he shouted, "Your Grace, you must give me an explanation! What is the meaning of all this?"

The Duke looked at his bloodshot eyes, a flicker of pity stirring in his heart. After listening to his rambling account of the miserable experiences of the past few days, the Duke felt only a splitting headache, as if countless flies were buzzing in his ears. But after all, Baron Morley was a favorite of Edward’s, and he had borrowed a great deal of money from the King—with the Baron’s help in securing the collateral—which he would need the Baron to assist in repaying later.

Consequently, the Duke summoned all his generals to inquire about Heinrich. The generals looked at one another, shaking their heads in ignorance. Finally, the Duke said helplessly to Baron Morley, "He must be some sort of mountain bandit. Baron Morley, rest assured, I will certainly help you find your son and hang that audacious Heinrich."

However, after a full day of frantic searching, even with the Duke of Brabant mobilizing most of his army and turning Brabant upside down, they found nothing. Baron Morley’s frantic behavior in the English camp had even reached the ears of Edward, who offered him some comfort while also placating the Duke of Brabant, who had grown weary of the constant questioning. The story of this "Heinrich" thus spread, eventually reaching the ears of Lezalit and Carlo in a tavern in Kortrijk.

Lezalit narrowed his eyes and whispered to Carlo, "Hey, do you think that Baron Morley is the one we heard about? Was that Richard fellow really his son?"

Carlo pulled at the corner of his mouth and replied with a chuckle, "Heh, that sounds about right. I never imagined that every time I deliberately wrote something and sent it to the English camp, it would cause such a stir. It’s truly amusing."

Lezalit nodded, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face as he added, "Haha, it really is. With all this fuss, he’s in for a miserable time, and the English camp has certainly become much livelier. It’s quite entertaining."

An image of Countess Jeanne suddenly appeared in Carlo’s mind. She was an extraordinary woman, as bold and magnanimous as if she could embrace the entire world, her beautiful face exuding an exaggerated, radiant charm.

*Jeanne... no, Countess Jeanne will surely lend me a hand.*

Carlo pondered to himself, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness. *I must perform well; I must make her look at me in a new light.*

"Lord Lezalit, let us go and borrow troops from Countess Jeanne of Ypres. I have an idea!"

...

That night, as Baron Morley lay in his tent, he tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. His mind was foggy, filled with longing for his son and the agony of his loss. He couldn't help but wonder: if his son was gone, what was the point of all his striving?

Just then, a guard shouted from outside the tent, "My Lord Baron, another horse has arrived, and there is a letter for you!"

Baron Morley bolted upright, shouting, "Damn you, Heinrich! How much money do you want to return my Richard to me!"

He didn't even have time to dress; he rushed out and snatched the letter. It read:

"Faithless Morley, always bringing troops to ambush me! Did you think I wouldn't know? This morning! Meet me at the stone bridge over the Marke River, south of Tournai, with your Richard! 5,000 pounds!"

Accompanying the letter was Richard’s sword—a blade Morley had specifically commissioned for his son from a master blacksmith in Milan. He recognized it instantly; there was no mistake.

"Aaaah! Heinrich, I will make you pay for this!"

He roared at his soldiers, "Form up! Form up!"

Afterward, he hurried to several noblemen he knew well to borrow troops. It was already the dead of night, and the nobles and soldiers were utterly exhausted. They were convinced that Morley was being played for a fool. His restless behavior had caused them great resentment, and they no longer wished to cooperate. Furthermore, the stone bridge over the Marke River was too close to the French army’s main camp, and many were gripped by fear, unwilling to take the risk. However, since Morley was a wealthy baron and a favorite of Edward, they felt they could not completely disregard his face, so they scraped together some eight hundred men.

In the dead of night, the exhausted force set out. They struggled through the darkness for the entire night, finally reaching the stone bridge. It was a narrow, long bridge that could only accommodate four horses abreast. The surroundings were deathly silent, save for the sound of their footsteps and heavy breathing.

By then, the sky was beginning to break, but a thick, impenetrable fog descended, shrouding the world like a heavy curtain. The mist swirled like a rising tide, seeping into every corner, as if to swallow everything in its hazy embrace. The dawn’s light struggled to pierce the fog, casting only a dim, weak glow that rendered the environment even more somber and mysterious. The rays of light refracted and scattered through the mist, creating eerie shadows. In this dim, hazy light, everything became surreal.

Baron Morley and his soldiers were immersed in this environment, the dense fog obstructing their vision. Morley led a few heavy cavalrymen cautiously at the front, while the main force, unable to set an ambush in time, could only follow quietly behind.

Baron Morley led his troops slowly across the bridge, peering nervously in all directions, but encountered no one. He shouted in rage, "Search everywhere! You damn Heinrich, are you playing me again?"

Just then, a resonant voice came from behind him: "Baron Morley, have you brought the 5,000 pounds?"