CHAPTER 14
Cutnose's footsteps echoed along the squat stone homes. His feet were numbing beneath him, unwilling conspirators in his escape. Blood soaked his hands, and he stripped his monk's cowl, tossing it upon the street in haste. Tancred put a dagger through my heart. The betrayal cut deeper than the flesh, piercing his soldier's loyalty to a good lord, no matter his age. He thinks you're a monster. A demon. A thing to be burned at the stake. There is no absolution but a fiery inferno. And one of the Order. They may track me even now.
He regained his composure, slowing and allowing the shadows to provide him concealment. Blood dripped from the bottom of his tunic, splatting on the street. He cut down an alley and checked over his shoulder. Nothing moved in the distance, but these men were trained hunters. He hugged the walls a bit closer, his mail coat scratching along the stone, trying to hide his movements. I must tell them. Will they want my head? Who doesn't at this point? Bugger them all.
He hurried down an alley then weaved across another street, avoiding a chapel. His neck began to throb, and he grimaced as he rubbed the base of his skull. The scent of smoke thickened. Not the putrid meat smell of the bodies but the rich scent of burning timber. This struck him as odd. Almost nothing was made of wood in the city. If a structure did burn, it was intentionally done by men.
Smoke hung in between the homes of the alley running adjacent to Hugh's. The alley was devoid of all people. Shields hung outside a few of the homes, marking them as occupied by a new crusading resident. His heart pounded with his boots, and his mind called in the background, knowing the truth before he rounded a corner.
Yellowish-orange flames leapt for the sky. The fire danced, pouring out of windows and the doorway of the home. Armored men watched from a distance, torches in hand, swords and spears in the other. A rank of crossbowmen eyed their surroundings, waiting to feather anyone willing to intervene. Two knights sat a horse, one with heads dangling from his saddle, his hammer resting on his shoulder. His face absent of emotion. Bors.
The pressure in his neck intensified. In the flight from Tancred, Cutnose had ignored it. Now with the man in front of him, it drummed his skull with pain. Can he feel me as well? Cutnose knelt in the shadows. This is the beast I am to bring to heel. He felt for his axe and found nothing on his hip, not even a knife.
Weaponless, staring at two dozen armed men, he'd finally located the man to enact his revenge upon. The man whom he and all his comrades needed to die. "Shit situation," he muttered. He scanned the rooftops expecting to see them preparing to strike back, but found only forgotten clothes whipping on lines, and black smoke. To charge in would be to die a foolish death and put all this madness to rest. He spied a shield painted blue-and-red stripe cutting the shield diagonally. He took it down from the door next to which it hung and shoved his arm through the straps, grasping the handle.
Then he waited for an opportunity. The soldiers were on high alert near replicas of the emotionless knight. Not one made off-hand remarks. They only watched with benevolent eyes as they performed God's righteous work.
A slender knight, more spear shaft than man, spoke to Bors. "You think he will come out? Or submit to a coward's death?"
"He will come out. It is not in their nature to just die, Brother Alymere."
"Yes, of course, Brother Bors. My men are ready for when the time comes."
"You did well to get here so quickly. This Hunted has been a thorn in our side, especially after the untimely departure of Percival."
"It is dire news indeed. The Order will miss his wisdom beyond his years."
"More than you know."
Hooves galloped, and Galahad led an additional twenty mounted brothers and sergeants into view. He clenched a fist as he neared, drawing them to a halt. Cutnose would make it no more than a few paces before he was impaled upon a dozen spears, then hacked to bits by the footman.
"Where've you been?" Bors said with vitriol.
"Negotiating a deal."
"Always dealing," Bors said. "Never doing your job."
Galahad dipped his head. "It is necessary for our mission."
"You missed the hunt. Young Alymere tracked the beasts to this humble home."
"You have my thanks, Brother Alymere," Galahad said.
"He should. His value grows by the day. Uthur will hear of his fine work."
Galahad's eyes pierced Bors. There was tension and a rivalry there. "We are all thankful to have him in our ranks." He waited a moment as they watched the fires. "There is another Hunted."
"Another?"
"He attempted to assassinate Tancred."
Bors lifted his nose in the air. "I thought I smelled more. Smertrios guide our swords."
"As far as I can tell, he is not fully blooded."
"A pup? Easily brought down."
"I believe you may know of him. He was a mercenary in Tancred's employ."
The large knight's brow creased. "One guarding the temple?"
"Goes by the name Cutnose."
"That bleeding slit whose throat I ripped out? No man could live through that."
"It walks, and it talks."
"He should be a fly-covered corpse."
"Yet he's not." Galahad inspected his hand. "Threw a knife at me."
"It could not have been me. Must have been one of the others."
"Must have," Galahad said, his eyes betraying his disbelief. The tension grew between the two knights. "You're sure?"
Bors snarled at him. "Of course, I am."
Cutnose shook his head in confusion, not understanding to what they referenced. Silently, an arm wrapped around his neck, the point of blade pricking the side of his throat.
"What have you done?" Marya hissed. "Have you betrayed us? Speak true or I'll take your head."
Cutnose gulped, his impending death was a flick of the wrist away. "I haven't."
"Did you turn us over to the Order? Did you lead those bastards here?"
"I did not, I swear it." The blade remained in place, pressing slightly deeper. He gulped painfully. She released him with a shove and took his place peering around the corner. "A whole company of them all at once. This is no coincidence." She regarded him over her shoulder. "Did you see you Hugh or Agatha?"
"They wait for them to come out."
She eyed the doorway of Hugh's home. "He wouldn't just die. Not him. Ulf or Arnulf?"
"I haven't seen them."
"Our path forward is a jagged one. I cannot take Bors by myself, especially not with so many brothers at his back. Even with your limited help."
"Where have you been?"
"Looking for you. You disappeared. Where did you go?"
"To speak with Tancred."
She pointed her sword at him. "To what end?"
Cutnose lifted a hand from his chest, showing her the ebbing flow of blood through his mail coat. "Ran me through."
"Men are slow to learn and quick to anger." Her dark eyes flashed green. "You must heed my advice if you wish to survive." Shaking her head like a disappointed owner of a dog, she studied the congregation of armed soldiers.
Cutnose knelt next to her. "Anger only gets a man so far in a fight, and I didn't survive this long by not learning from my battles. Tell me."
"Just do as I say. Starting with being quiet so I can think."
He did as she bade until the sound of a large mounted entourage carried down the street, hooves striking stones. Cutnose recognized the man in the lead, gray hair flowing, stern intelligent eyes, white surcoat with a red cross over his coat of mail. He wore no helm and held no shield. His face clear. Godfrey of Bouillon with two dozen knights of his personal guard.
"Sir Bors, I trust your expedition has ended well," Godfrey said.
"We have slain some and now use fire to smoke the last one out."
Godfrey eyed the humble abode. "Why not let it burn? Accomplishes your quest does it not?"
Bors gave him a stiff nod. "It does, Lord Godfrey."
"I would have my city wiped clean of all traitors before the Fatimids decide to show themselves again. You have done well to bring this nest of insurgents to my attention."
"As you wish, lord." Bors nodded to two sergeants, and they rushed forward to light more of the building on fire.
Godfrey grinned a flat smile and turned his horse to view the burning interior of the home. There was no hope now. The leading lord of Jerusalem and the entire crusade wanted them dead. Tancred wanted him dead. The Order's forces multiplied each day. As a veteran of countless battles both great and small, he knew there was little hope for defeating them in the open, or at all, for Marya and himself were only two warriors versus at least a hundred, of which one was the deadliest warrior he'd ever seen.
A noise behind drew Cutnose and Marya's attention. Three men on horses approached, an additional mount trailing behind. Marya leaned behind her buckler and pointed her curved sword. Cutnose raised his shield.
Ulf's scale armor glittered in the flames, his eyes a burning ocean, his voice a gathering swell. "There is no time. We must leave." He handed off the reins to Marya, and she bounded atop the mount. Arnulf nodded, his longbow in hand. A blackened soot-covered man kept his head down in the back. His clothes had been scorched into blackened rags. Hugh.
"Do not stand flat-footed, Cutnose. Mount with Marya," Ulf ordered.
Cutnose eyed the elder warrior. There would be no returning to his past life but was there ever really a chance to go back?
"Where is Agatha?" Marya asked.
"They're gone," Hugh said, his voice croaking. "They slaughtered them while they slept like the cowards they are."
"You will have your vengeance, old friend," Ulf said. "But not this day. It will only lead to your demise."
"That is all a man like me has left."
Ulf faced his friend. "I make this oath of blood to you now. Your kin will not go unavenged. Blood for blood until my last breath."
"Blood for blood." Hugh gulped, wet lines streaked his soiled face.
Cutnose turned back toward their enemies, all gathered in a single place for them to kill. He instinctually rubbed the tip of his nose. Death awaits you if you choose to accept. It would only be a matter of how many he could take with him before they finished him off. There was no delusion of surviving a fight this night. If he fought, he would ultimately fail in his quest for vengeance.
"Cutnose!" Ulf growled. His voice held less care than he had for Hugh. It was a command, soldier to soldier. "Death will come for us another day. Tonight, we ride."
"All the men we need to kill are here. I can feel him in the back of my skull throbbing. Oft times you do not get a second chance to kill a man." Ulf nodded to him and removed Cutnose's hand axe, offering it to him handle first.
"I took your weapon for fear of you returning for it before it was time."
Cutnose took it. The handle fit his hand like a glove. He spun it around in a circle warming his wrist. It was a good weapon, strong, held an edge, and reliable.
"You are no fool. You have two eyes that can see. I see over a hundred trained warriors and two of the Twelve worth fifty men each. You want that fight? The five of us versus that?"
"I weigh the odds more than most men. I can see it's a shit fight. But there's always a way to win. Even with those odds." Cutnose had weighed each scenario over and over, seeking a way to find vengeance and survive. Each time the scenario ended in a quick death. "If I don't end this now, I could end up a monster." He gave Ulf a morbid smirk. "That's if you don't take my head first."
"This war is far from over. Fate will see to it that we cross blades with them again."
"And if it doesn't?"
"We will bend the strands of fate to our will."
"And if we don't?"
"We will kill as many as we can."
Cutnose eyed Godfrey sitting in his saddle with his household knights, Bors flatly staring at the flames. Dozens of crossbowmen and footmen stood in rank. He felt robust enough to best ten men without even trying. He shoved his axe through his belt. "You just make sure we get our chance."
"You will get your chance, and if you should fall, your quest will become my own."
Cutnose grinned through the smoke. It was the way in which a man made his oath that told Cutnose he was worth following, and this elder warrior, whoever he truly was did not make oaths that he did not intend to keep. And if he lied, it mattered little, he would just be another man to kill or Cutnose would be dead. "I accept." He eyed Hugh, his eyes glistening with the tempest of rage. He nodded to Arnulf and grabbed the saddle, pulling himself behind Marya. Her hair smelled like dusky wildflowers.
"Stay quiet," she said.
He didn't speak. His choice had been made. The warriors tugged their reins away from the fire and quietly left the Christian quarter, walking their horses. They reached David's Gate, one of the two major access points to the city on the western wall, the one nearest the Mediterranean Sea.
While connected to the walls, the gate stood taller and was made with thicker stone, a squat tower in itself. The stones near the base were widely cut, and as the gatehouse traveled skyward, the stones became smaller as if the base had stood the test of time while the upper floors had been rebuilt. It was one of the last fortifications surrendered to the crusaders and would have cost many lives had it come to a fight.
Drunken guards diced by torchlight. They didn't look up from their game until a captain yelled at them from the gatehouse window. The threat to the city was from the outside, not within. Ulf spoke quietly and a bag of coin clinked into the guard's hands. Two guards disappeared inside the gatehouse and the gates that were normally closed at night were opened, granting them access to Jerusalem's countryside. The guard gave them a gap-toothed smile as they passed squeezing his newfound fortune in his palms. His men laughed loudly when he returned to the wall nearest the torch, and a new wager was put forth. The five warriors heeled the flanks of their mounts and disappeared into the countryside.
CHAPTER 14
Cutnose's footsteps echoed along the squat stone homes. His feet were numbing beneath him, unwilling conspirators in his escape. Blood soaked his hands, and he stripped his monk's cowl, tossing it upon the street in haste. Tancred put a dagger through my heart. The betrayal cut deeper than the flesh, piercing his soldier's loyalty to a good lord, no matter his age. He thinks you're a monster. A demon. A thing to be burned at the stake. There is no absolution but a fiery inferno. And one of the Order. They may track me even now.
He regained his composure, slowing and allowing the shadows to provide him concealment. Blood dripped from the bottom of his tunic, splatting on the street. He cut down an alley and checked over his shoulder. Nothing moved in the distance, but these men were trained hunters. He hugged the walls a bit closer, his mail coat scratching along the stone, trying to hide his movements. I must tell them. Will they want my head? Who doesn't at this point? Bugger them all.
He hurried down an alley then weaved across another street, avoiding a chapel. His neck began to throb, and he grimaced as he rubbed the base of his skull. The scent of smoke thickened. Not the putrid meat smell of the bodies but the rich scent of burning timber. This struck him as odd. Almost nothing was made of wood in the city. If a structure did burn, it was intentionally done by men.
Smoke hung in between the homes of the alley running adjacent to Hugh's. The alley was devoid of all people. Shields hung outside a few of the homes, marking them as occupied by a new crusading resident. His heart pounded with his boots, and his mind called in the background, knowing the truth before he rounded a corner.
Yellowish-orange flames leapt for the sky. The fire danced, pouring out of windows and the doorway of the home. Armored men watched from a distance, torches in hand, swords and spears in the other. A rank of crossbowmen eyed their surroundings, waiting to feather anyone willing to intervene. Two knights sat a horse, one with heads dangling from his saddle, his hammer resting on his shoulder. His face absent of emotion. Bors.
The pressure in his neck intensified. In the flight from Tancred, Cutnose had ignored it. Now with the man in front of him, it drummed his skull with pain. Can he feel me as well? Cutnose knelt in the shadows. This is the beast I am to bring to heel. He felt for his axe and found nothing on his hip, not even a knife.
Weaponless, staring at two dozen armed men, he'd finally located the man to enact his revenge upon. The man whom he and all his comrades needed to die. "Shit situation," he muttered. He scanned the rooftops expecting to see them preparing to strike back, but found only forgotten clothes whipping on lines, and black smoke. To charge in would be to die a foolish death and put all this madness to rest. He spied a shield painted blue-and-red stripe cutting the shield diagonally. He took it down from the door next to which it hung and shoved his arm through the straps, grasping the handle.
Then he waited for an opportunity. The soldiers were on high alert near replicas of the emotionless knight. Not one made off-hand remarks. They only watched with benevolent eyes as they performed God's righteous work.
A slender knight, more spear shaft than man, spoke to Bors. "You think he will come out? Or submit to a coward's death?"
"He will come out. It is not in their nature to just die, Brother Alymere."
"Yes, of course, Brother Bors. My men are ready for when the time comes."
"You did well to get here so quickly. This Hunted has been a thorn in our side, especially after the untimely departure of Percival."
"It is dire news indeed. The Order will miss his wisdom beyond his years."
"More than you know."
Hooves galloped, and Galahad led an additional twenty mounted brothers and sergeants into view. He clenched a fist as he neared, drawing them to a halt. Cutnose would make it no more than a few paces before he was impaled upon a dozen spears, then hacked to bits by the footman.
"Where've you been?" Bors said with vitriol.
"Negotiating a deal."
"Always dealing," Bors said. "Never doing your job."
Galahad dipped his head. "It is necessary for our mission."
"You missed the hunt. Young Alymere tracked the beasts to this humble home."
"You have my thanks, Brother Alymere," Galahad said.
"He should. His value grows by the day. Uthur will hear of his fine work."
Galahad's eyes pierced Bors. There was tension and a rivalry there. "We are all thankful to have him in our ranks." He waited a moment as they watched the fires. "There is another Hunted."
"Another?"
"He attempted to assassinate Tancred."
Bors lifted his nose in the air. "I thought I smelled more. Smertrios guide our swords."
"As far as I can tell, he is not fully blooded."
"A pup? Easily brought down."
"I believe you may know of him. He was a mercenary in Tancred's employ."
The large knight's brow creased. "One guarding the temple?"
"Goes by the name Cutnose."
"That bleeding slit whose throat I ripped out? No man could live through that."
"It walks, and it talks."
"He should be a fly-covered corpse."
"Yet he's not." Galahad inspected his hand. "Threw a knife at me."
"It could not have been me. Must have been one of the others."
"Must have," Galahad said, his eyes betraying his disbelief. The tension grew between the two knights. "You're sure?"
Bors snarled at him. "Of course, I am."
Cutnose shook his head in confusion, not understanding to what they referenced. Silently, an arm wrapped around his neck, the point of blade pricking the side of his throat.
"What have you done?" Marya hissed. "Have you betrayed us? Speak true or I'll take your head."
Cutnose gulped, his impending death was a flick of the wrist away. "I haven't."
"Did you turn us over to the Order? Did you lead those bastards here?"
"I did not, I swear it." The blade remained in place, pressing slightly deeper. He gulped painfully. She released him with a shove and took his place peering around the corner. "A whole company of them all at once. This is no coincidence." She regarded him over her shoulder. "Did you see you Hugh or Agatha?"
"They wait for them to come out."
She eyed the doorway of Hugh's home. "He wouldn't just die. Not him. Ulf or Arnulf?"
"I haven't seen them."
"Our path forward is a jagged one. I cannot take Bors by myself, especially not with so many brothers at his back. Even with your limited help."
"Where have you been?"
"Looking for you. You disappeared. Where did you go?"
"To speak with Tancred."
She pointed her sword at him. "To what end?"
Cutnose lifted a hand from his chest, showing her the ebbing flow of blood through his mail coat. "Ran me through."
"Men are slow to learn and quick to anger." Her dark eyes flashed green. "You must heed my advice if you wish to survive." Shaking her head like a disappointed owner of a dog, she studied the congregation of armed soldiers.
Cutnose knelt next to her. "Anger only gets a man so far in a fight, and I didn't survive this long by not learning from my battles. Tell me."
"Just do as I say. Starting with being quiet so I can think."
He did as she bade until the sound of a large mounted entourage carried down the street, hooves striking stones. Cutnose recognized the man in the lead, gray hair flowing, stern intelligent eyes, white surcoat with a red cross over his coat of mail. He wore no helm and held no shield. His face clear. Godfrey of Bouillon with two dozen knights of his personal guard.
"Sir Bors, I trust your expedition has ended well," Godfrey said.
"We have slain some and now use fire to smoke the last one out."
Godfrey eyed the humble abode. "Why not let it burn? Accomplishes your quest does it not?"
Bors gave him a stiff nod. "It does, Lord Godfrey."
"I would have my city wiped clean of all traitors before the Fatimids decide to show themselves again. You have done well to bring this nest of insurgents to my attention."
"As you wish, lord." Bors nodded to two sergeants, and they rushed forward to light more of the building on fire.
Godfrey grinned a flat smile and turned his horse to view the burning interior of the home. There was no hope now. The leading lord of Jerusalem and the entire crusade wanted them dead. Tancred wanted him dead. The Order's forces multiplied each day. As a veteran of countless battles both great and small, he knew there was little hope for defeating them in the open, or at all, for Marya and himself were only two warriors versus at least a hundred, of which one was the deadliest warrior he'd ever seen.
A noise behind drew Cutnose and Marya's attention. Three men on horses approached, an additional mount trailing behind. Marya leaned behind her buckler and pointed her curved sword. Cutnose raised his shield.
Ulf's scale armor glittered in the flames, his eyes a burning ocean, his voice a gathering swell. "There is no time. We must leave." He handed off the reins to Marya, and she bounded atop the mount. Arnulf nodded, his longbow in hand. A blackened soot-covered man kept his head down in the back. His clothes had been scorched into blackened rags. Hugh.
"Do not stand flat-footed, Cutnose. Mount with Marya," Ulf ordered.
Cutnose eyed the elder warrior. There would be no returning to his past life but was there ever really a chance to go back?
"Where is Agatha?" Marya asked.
"They're gone," Hugh said, his voice croaking. "They slaughtered them while they slept like the cowards they are."
"You will have your vengeance, old friend," Ulf said. "But not this day. It will only lead to your demise."
"That is all a man like me has left."
Ulf faced his friend. "I make this oath of blood to you now. Your kin will not go unavenged. Blood for blood until my last breath."
"Blood for blood." Hugh gulped, wet lines streaked his soiled face.
Cutnose turned back toward their enemies, all gathered in a single place for them to kill. He instinctually rubbed the tip of his nose. Death awaits you if you choose to accept. It would only be a matter of how many he could take with him before they finished him off. There was no delusion of surviving a fight this night. If he fought, he would ultimately fail in his quest for vengeance.
"Cutnose!" Ulf growled. His voice held less care than he had for Hugh. It was a command, soldier to soldier. "Death will come for us another day. Tonight, we ride."
"All the men we need to kill are here. I can feel him in the back of my skull throbbing. Oft times you do not get a second chance to kill a man." Ulf nodded to him and removed Cutnose's hand axe, offering it to him handle first.
"I took your weapon for fear of you returning for it before it was time."
Cutnose took it. The handle fit his hand like a glove. He spun it around in a circle warming his wrist. It was a good weapon, strong, held an edge, and reliable.
"You are no fool. You have two eyes that can see. I see over a hundred trained warriors and two of the Twelve worth fifty men each. You want that fight? The five of us versus that?"
"I weigh the odds more than most men. I can see it's a shit fight. But there's always a way to win. Even with those odds." Cutnose had weighed each scenario over and over, seeking a way to find vengeance and survive. Each time the scenario ended in a quick death. "If I don't end this now, I could end up a monster." He gave Ulf a morbid smirk. "That's if you don't take my head first."
"This war is far from over. Fate will see to it that we cross blades with them again."
"And if it doesn't?"
"We will bend the strands of fate to our will."
"And if we don't?"
"We will kill as many as we can."
Cutnose eyed Godfrey sitting in his saddle with his household knights, Bors flatly staring at the flames. Dozens of crossbowmen and footmen stood in rank. He felt robust enough to best ten men without even trying. He shoved his axe through his belt. "You just make sure we get our chance."
"You will get your chance, and if you should fall, your quest will become my own."
Cutnose grinned through the smoke. It was the way in which a man made his oath that told Cutnose he was worth following, and this elder warrior, whoever he truly was did not make oaths that he did not intend to keep. And if he lied, it mattered little, he would just be another man to kill or Cutnose would be dead. "I accept." He eyed Hugh, his eyes glistening with the tempest of rage. He nodded to Arnulf and grabbed the saddle, pulling himself behind Marya. Her hair smelled like dusky wildflowers.
"Stay quiet," she said.
He didn't speak. His choice had been made. The warriors tugged their reins away from the fire and quietly left the Christian quarter, walking their horses. They reached David's Gate, one of the two major access points to the city on the western wall, the one nearest the Mediterranean Sea.
While connected to the walls, the gate stood taller and was made with thicker stone, a squat tower in itself. The stones near the base were widely cut, and as the gatehouse traveled skyward, the stones became smaller as if the base had stood the test of time while the upper floors had been rebuilt. It was one of the last fortifications surrendered to the crusaders and would have cost many lives had it come to a fight.
Drunken guards diced by torchlight. They didn't look up from their game until a captain yelled at them from the gatehouse window. The threat to the city was from the outside, not within. Ulf spoke quietly and a bag of coin clinked into the guard's hands. Two guards disappeared inside the gatehouse and the gates that were normally closed at night were opened, granting them access to Jerusalem's countryside. The guard gave them a gap-toothed smile as they passed squeezing his newfound fortune in his palms. His men laughed loudly when he returned to the wall nearest the torch, and a new wager was put forth. The five warriors heeled the flanks of their mounts and disappeared into the countryside.