Chapter 27: Wolf And Jackal
Now Count Etienne and his attendants each had to face about ten mouths with sharp teeth, dozens of howling cries rising and falling, and hundreds of flickering eyes. They were not lacking in bravery, nor did they greatly fear death, but humans always had an innate disgust toward these apostles of demons.
If asked, the Count would say that if time could be turned back, he would rather walk back to the Holy Cross Castle of the King of Ayyarasa Road and accept the challenges of those young knights—one on one or one on ten, dying under the spear of a Christian would always be more noble than dying in the mouths of these beasts.
The most hateful thing was that if someone had put on armor or chainmail, they could try to rush out from here, mount a horse and ride out to report the news. Even if he couldn’t find anyone, or found someone unwilling to rescue them, at least he could collect their corpses, anoint them with holy oil, so they wouldn’t suffer harm from demons and also be cast into hell for not receiving last rites!
But who could have known their ship would run aground? They were certainly safe in life, and had brought out horses, wine, and some food, but their bodies were soaked through with seawater. Several attendants about to be promoted were wearing chainmail（ to adapt to their weight as soon as possible, they had been wearing chainmail）, but fearing the chainmail would rust from moisture, they had taken them off, oiled them, and hung them on nearby branches.
The monks and knights wearing leather armor and armor had done the same.
These beasts called demon servants were so clever, as if they knew that once humans put on armor, they would be helpless against them. So from the very beginning, they had dispatched some strong members to obstruct them from retrieving and donning their armor.
And the horses—if they hadn’t tied the horses together, the frightened horses would have scattered and run off long ago. Now it was unknown whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Wolf packs and jackal packs were very familiar with these large animals similar to deer. They cautiously weaved between the horses’ hooves, biting the horses’ tails and legs; there were also wolves good at jumping that, with the help of companions, leaped onto the horses’ backs, tearing the horses’ hindnecks until blood flowed profusely.
They dealt with horses just like they dealt with people, trying to make them fall. Once fallen, the wolf pack’s main force would immediately shift attention and change hunting targets, because at that point, the horse would have no chance of counterattacking or escaping.
There were also wolves and jackals that were too slow to react and got trampled by hooves or thrown off the horses’ backs, but this small sacrifice was completely worth it.
Count Etienne heard two consecutive wails. With a quick glance, he saw one attendant being dragged away by a wolf, and the other voice sounded like the monk in their group. In that instant of distraction, the alpha wolf bit his long sword. The wolf’s teeth grated against the steel with a screeching sound; even as the blade cut its tongue and gums, it did not let go.
It was the first time the Count had locked eyes with a pair of living wolf eyes at such close range. The wolf’s eyes were yellowish-brown with enormous pupils. Count Etienne hoped it was his illusion—he seemed to see endless abyss within them, burning embers, hell—it was hell! he shouted in his heart.
“Help me, Lord Jesus, save me!” he shouted hoarsely, but everyone here had exhausted their strength. The wolves and jackals had cut them off, ensuring only one person was surrounded and attacked in each area.
“If this is God’s will!” Count Etienne shouted madly: “Protect me, Saint Pelagius! Protect your apostle, protect your followers! Saint Pelagius!”
He called upon the name of the saint he had as his patron, who in the 9th century had discovered the tomb of Saint James and a shield held by an angel. This shield was later venerated by the Roman Church as the Shield of Saint Pelagius, said to protect humanity from all evil demons.
With the Count’s prayer, scorching flames suddenly rose from under his feet. They first pierced the wolf pack’s encirclement like a spear, then abruptly spread out, enveloping everyone. The knights and monks reacted swiftly, forcefully repelling the wolves in front and beside them, rushing toward the Count. The flames illuminated their faces and hands, igniting some wolves and jackals, yet harming not a single human.
But at the same time, Count Etienne felt a wave of weakness bursting from deep within his body. “I’m done for,” he said softly. Now, even if a knight helped him onto a horse’s back, he couldn’t hold the reins or keep his feet in the stirrups. He knew he definitely couldn’t leave today; he only hoped his nephew, and perhaps others, could escape. “Anoint me with oil,” he said. His vision was a blur of red; he couldn’t see anything clearly and could only grope for the person beside him.
He felt his hand gripped firmly by another. “Praise Jesus Christ!” he said, but instead of anointing him with oil, that person took the sword from his hand. Other hands took hold of him. Someone sighed, then fingers brushed his forehead. The Count took a deep breath. He was about to instruct the monk to anoint the others too, when he felt the knee of someone half-kneeling on the ground trembling. He found it strange, for there was no fear in his heart, but he immediately thought of a possibility.
This was the vibration of hooves striking the earth, one of the sensations knights knew best!
He raised his head. Though he couldn’t see the scene clearly, he could hear the people around him cheering—someone had come to save them!
——————
Geoffrey’s previous actions had not earned Caesar’s approval. Though he had received this Templar Knight’s favor, his conscience always tormented the heart that did not belong to this era. But these complicated feelings immediately dissipated in the howling gale after Geoffrey knelt for the fifth time, recited the Lord’s Prayer, and requested guidance from his patron saint, Saint Hilarus.
“Thanks be to Jesus Christ! Thanks be to Saint Hilarus!” This elder knight stood up, shouting with exhilarated expression, “We found them—it was we who found them!” He immediately mounted his horse and charged forward like an arrow from a bow, his speed so great it surpassed flying birds. Behind him, no one lagged; even Caesar, who had only practiced horsemanship for a few months, kept up.
On this outing, he of course could not ride the pony Castor that Baldwin had given him. It would surely become an excellent steed in the future, but in this weather, with day-and-night galloping, it required a strong adult Percheron or Marwari horse.
Caesar was riding a Percheron horse, which the Gerard family had given him as return gift for the bucket and mop upon hearing he was leaving the castle—this horse had glossy deep brown hide, with only hooves and tail white. It certainly couldn’t compare to Castor, but Caesar liked it at first sight.
As for how this horse took a liking to Caesar, it was of course because Caesar unhesitatingly offered all the fruits, vegetables, and molasses candies from his share.
The feeling of riding an adult horse was completely different from riding a pony, and the sensation of a horse galloping versus walking slowly was vastly different. In an era when riders were still needed to carry messages, it was common to see horses utterly exhausted after long journeys, with riders on the verge of collapse—because when a horse gallops, a person can’t simply sit on it unless willing to shatter all their bones.
Caesar’s teacher was Baldwin, who taught him: When a horse gallops, you cannot tell yourself, I am riding on a horse. You should tell yourself, I am standing on a small boat. Your feet must firmly press into the stirrups, keeping you steady on the horse’s back like an anchor. Your knees must bend, rising and falling with the horse’s motion like waves. Your hands must tightly grip the reins, just as a sailor hauls on the ropes of the sails. Only thus can you steer this spirited small boat through hurricanes and storms, rather than being swallowed by them.
And in these past days, Caesar had truly felt how precious this teaching was—though it might not be Baldwin’s own words, but borrowed from his previous martial arts teacher（ this person was even Count Raymond of Tripoli or Amalric I himself）.
At first, he was somewhat clumsy, his legs often injured from impacts and friction. If not for this body of his not being like an ordinary boy’s… he meant, strong, quick to heal, low pain sensitivity, he would have been abandoned by the Templar Knights long ago for being unable to move.
Geoffrey had not liked him from the start.
Only when he tried riding according to Baldwin’s guidance did he truly feel the thrill and joy of riding a horse. The small rift between him and the horse vanished into nothing, their understanding like one person. Though traveling on land, it was as if passing through rolling waves, the wind an invisible sea tide—he even caught up to Geoffrey, following closely behind, and he also saw that flicker of light that seemed about to go out at any moment.
He heard Geoffrey loudly calling his patron saint’s name as he charged toward the light, like a heavy hammer striking hell’s iron net. His horse lowered its head and ears, leaping with full force, landing straight in the center of the wolf pack in one bound.
Caesar saw it too; he was not panicked. He had joined several hunts before—as long as one was on horseback, medium-sized beasts like wolves and jackals posed no threat. On the contrary, even untrained horses would instinctively trample and kick.
He seized the reins, lifted his body, made the horse rear its forelegs, and stomped down heavily. This struck a large wolf’s chest; it wailed once and died. Caesar felt only a slight jolt as the horse snorted, turning this way and that in the area, constantly shaking its body.
The two sergeants and attendants who followed also arrived. The precarious balance between wolves, jackals, and humans was finally broken—but not as the alpha wolf had hoped. The scales did not tip toward the wolf pack, but the other way. It hid in the darkness, assessing human strength and the pack’s power, though by now the favor Saint Pelagius had granted Count Etienne was exhausted…
The initial goal could no longer be achieved. It threw its head back and let out a long howl; the wolf pack’s assault immediately lessened. Experienced old wolves even abandoned their foes, seizing jackal corpses from the ground and fleeing swiftly into the darkness. The other wolves followed suit, and the jackal pack sensed something wrong too. The alpha jackal roared in anger, but was helpless.
The beasts abandoned a ground strewn with corpses and left without hesitation. Count Etienne’s group, survivors of the ordeal, collapsed to the ground one after another, limbs trembling, minds dazed—only the Count, supported by attendants, walked toward the Templar Knights.
“Hail the brave knights!” he said, gasping. “I thank you. Without you and your attendants（ now he could see some things clearly）, we would all be done for!”
“Thanks be to God, thanks be to the Virgin Mary, thanks be to Their Holy Child, and thanks be to my patron saint Saint Hilarus too. Without Their protection, we couldn’t have found you, let alone come to help!” Geoffrey surveyed the battlefield, confirming no cowardly bastards here, his gaze finally stopping on the guide.
“King Amalric I of Ayyarasa Road heard your ship had suffered a shipwreck, so he sent us to find you,” he said to Count Etienne. This statement was of course highly suspicious. With countless shipwrecks, even if other survivors reached villages or cities and reported it, and a messenger rushed to report to Amalric I, it would take at least ten days round trip—how could they be found so quickly?
But since the Templar Knight said so—the guide realized this might be his only chance to escape. He hid behind the monk, slowly inching toward a dark spot that wouldn’t draw attention. But just as he was about to slip away, he heard a “clink.”
A gold coin fell, landing precisely on a broken short sword. The sound was clear and loud; everyone heard it.
Everyone instinctively looked over. The guide gazed at them in terror. Instinctively, he clutched his money bag of gold coins, which had been securely tied to his belt and hidden under his leather armor. But after being continuously bitten and clawed by wolves and jackals, even the toughest cowhide couldn’t hold; it had torn in several places. The previous coin was just the start—now, any movement from the guide would send these shiny little things spilling out one after another.
The Count’s monk was first to act, picking up several gold coins that had fallen at his feet before the guide could. He weighed them, examined them—these were standard Roman gold coins of Ayyarasa Road, each over 4 grams as we mentioned before. One hundred fifty Roman gold coins were enough for a knight to outfit himself fully—regardless, a guide shouldn’t have such a fortune…
He looked at the guide, slowly gripping his hammer handle. The guide retreated in terror, dropping more gold coins—but where could he flee?
No one noticed the guide’s eyes shifting from terror to ferocity. No one expected him to shrug his shoulders, bend his knees, feign cowardice to build momentum, then twist his body and lunge at Count Etienne!
