Chapter 57: Visitors From Eagle’s Nest
King, no, the moment the enemy’s commander was knocked off his horse, Count Raymond’s knights immediately erupted in cheers, their escorts and armed attendants instantly charged forward desperately, trying to drag Amalric I out from under the chaotic hooves, bind him up—how could Amalric I’s knights willingly endure such humiliation, they too madly rushed forward at once, their escorts and armed attendants also wielding axes, great hammers clashing against enemies of the same class.
This instead put the King in peril.
It could be said that if Count Raymond’s knight escorts dragged the King away and made him a captive, then he would be in the safe zone; conversely, if the King’s knights dragged the King away, then he could also return to his own safe zone to re-equip and remount for battle.
Going further, if the participants in this melee combat had not received the blessing, the danger the King faced would not be so great.
When he had seen the Hippodrome camp before, Caesar was still puzzled—the temporary structures at this time, such as the platform for receiving Princess Maria, were all built of wood, yet the Hippodrome was constructed like a city wall, broad, thick, over thirty feet high—knights who had prayed for the saint’s favor were almost comparable to hordes of iron-forged monsters.
When they collided with each other it was like exploding cliffs, when they cleaved at each other it was like crisscrossing thunderbolts, they smashed into stone walls leaving clear marks, immediately standing up to continue fighting, some knights shrouded in holy light directly spurred their horses toward the enemy lines, spears stabbing yet remaining unscathed.
But this also showed that even among knights who had equally been Chosen by Michael, the favors they received varied—some weak, some strong, some short-lasting, some long, some inclined toward offense, some toward protection—this was when the commander’s understanding of his knights and judgment of the battle situation mattered, who to charge, who to hold the line, who to break through…
In this regard Amalric I was slightly inferior to Count Raymond, almost all around Count Raymond were Franks, but because the King had invited William Marshal, several English knights had also come under the King’s command with him, they certainly did not hide anything from the King, but still could not match the original Frankish knights in proficiency.
The judge of this match, Bohemond, also noticed, the King’s horse had fallen, at least ten knights were fighting around him, while Count Raymond was entangled by several Knights of the Holy Sepulchre under Amalric I and could not notice the situation here in time.
Bohemond abruptly stood up from his seat, ordering the musicians to sound the horn.
The horn sounded, but the knights locked in fierce combat could not immediately obey and stop—their distances were too close, each had to exert full effort to defend against several enemies, dust filled the air, men and horses were neighing, escorts and armed attendants had also joined the fray, suffering even greater losses than the knights.
After all, some among them were of humble birth and could not afford the money for the Choosing ceremony—but to gain a status, even knowing ordinary people were just wheat in the grinder in such battles, they had to charge!
Their own blood, their comrades’ blood, could not shake their thirst for money and honor, especially that gleaming golden chainmail…
Even in a martial arts tournament being able to take a king captive was climbing a ladder to heaven! Especially in the poets’ mouths, it was not only knights who were admired and valued in the tournament, escorts and attendants could be too!
At this moment even if the earth cracked open and a devil emerged from the fissure, it would still get smashed by their hammers!
In this chaos, Amalric I tried to rise several times but failed, though holy light still flickered on him, it was indeed weakening.
“No!” Baldwin said urgently, “I must go down!”
“Wait!” Caesar gripped his arm, “Look!”
William Marshal smashed down the enemy before him with one hammer blow, finally reciting the last prayer, he felt Saint Baldwin’s glory envelop him as before, then let out a resounding roar, charging toward the center of the Hippodrome—he struck without distinction between friend or foe, whoever blocked his path would fight him, and before him almost no one could withstand a single clash.
Weapons shattered, knights toppled, horses fell, as if in an instant he charged into the vortex around Amalric I, pulling the King up from the ground, setting him behind himself, then like before, charging out of the battle circle like a fierce tiger.
“Stop him!” someone shouted.
On the way back to his own safe zone, William encountered more than one valiant knight, but none could hinder him, his escort followed closely behind, binding all the fallen knights and dragging them back to their master—these were all William Marshal’s captives.
Amalric I dismounted in the safe zone, somewhat disheveled, dust and blood dulling his gilded chainmail, but uninjured.
The King glanced around and saw four or five knights dragged in by William’s escort, over just a few hundred feet from the battlefield center to the safe zone, unable to hide his admiration, at this time an escort brought a new horse and offered a new broadsword, he looked at William, seeing the light on him scarcely inferior to his own, even more delighted, “Can you still fight?”
“Three days and nights more would be no problem!” William answered loudly.
“Then follow me!”
So the two charged back into the battlefield, the King’s knights were withdrawing, seeing the shining gilded chainmail they immediately rallied to Amalric I, they regrouped and once again clashed with Count Raymond’s knights, but perhaps due to the earlier oversight, guilt-ridden Count Raymond was no longer so aggressive, a team without momentum naturally could not contend with one at peak morale, as Count Raymond was cleaved off his horse by the King’s sword, victory and defeat were decided.
Bohemond let out a long breath of relief, what the host of a martial arts tournament feared most was such incidents, especially when the King or a lord was originally a valiant warrior knight—you couldn’t be sure when to stop the match… the audience would mock a timid host, the monarch would be displeased, and the knights would feel humiliated.
The problem was, blessed knights were originally battle-changers, and you couldn’t persuade them to use non-lethal weapons. In every combat, especially melee combat with dozens or even a hundred participants, if the battle stalled or old grudges existed, both sides might truly go berserk, turning a tournament into real warfare…
Caesar kept pressing Baldwin’s shoulder until it finally relaxed, “William Marshal,” Baldwin murmured: “He truly is a matchless giant.”
“We haven’t grown up yet,” Caesar would not deny others’ excellence, but he would not underestimate himself or Baldwin either: “He is over twenty, we are only nine.” And from what he had seen and felt, even as a leper, Baldwin’s strength absolutely would not pale against any peer.
Dusk fell, this was the final match, the laurel wreath rightfully belonged to King Amalric I, he remounted a fresh horse, new chainmail, spearing the wreath on his spear amid cheers and handing it to the standing Byzantine Princess, who placed it on her head and tied a silk scarf to the spear tip.
Among the knights, none was more popular than William Marshal, though Anglo-French tensions were emerging, even the narrowest-minded knight had to yield to his generosity and martial arts, moreover the saint’s favor showed his piety, even before the banquet noble ladies in the Hippodrome threw him flowers and gold rings, William accepted them all with a smile but politely declined further requests.
Seeing him refuse all the noble ladies, Amalric I asked: “Are you still returning to England?” He said: “There are four more martial arts tournaments after this, I won’t participate again, you might win the laurel wreath.”
“Did you see my coat of arms, Your Majesty?”
“I did.” Half red half green base, with a lion in the middle.
“This is the coat of arms granted me by my mistress Eleanor of Aquitaine,” William said sincerely: “I have promised her to set off for home after one martial arts tournament, when I return to London I will become King Henry’s martial arts coach and chief attendant.”
Amalric I did intend to take William Marshal into his service as a Crusader, but he had also heard that when William was still an ordinary knight, following his lord the Earl of Salisbury escorting Queen Eleanor back to Aquitaine, they were ambushed by rebels en route, the earl died, William blocked the rebels at all costs letting Queen Eleanor escape, only to be captured himself.
At that time William was a discarded second son, his master dead, no one to ransom him, severely wounded, without money he could only tear his own knight cloak to bandage the wound on his thigh, he thought he would surely die, but unexpectedly upon returning to the palace Queen Eleanor inquired about him and immediately paid to ransom him.
With such a favor, William Marshal would not abandon Queen Eleanor, Amalric I could not press him, only gifting him silvered chainmail and a box of gold coins.
To say there was no regret would be false, Amalric I had seen with his own eyes how effortlessly in a blink he downed three knights charging together plus the escort and armed attendants rushing up after their master fell, if William Marshal could be in his army he would surely shine in the coming holy war.
“You can go see more of William Marshal.” He said to Baldwin: “He is a born warrior, granted extraordinary gifts from Saint Baldwin, very much like you,” the King said: “Though I have Raymond and Bohemond to teach you, I must say they are trustworthy but in other aspects… merely mediocre—if William could stay, I would not worry so much.”
Baldwin of course would not refuse, but he thought and asked: “Can I bring Caesar?”
“As long as you wish.” Amalric I said, Heraclius had told him Caesar manifested as a “shield”, later like “chainmail”, but that was not a big issue, just as Count Etienne sensed Saint Pelagius, yet his strength could briefly become a spear or split into several small shields to protect others.
As long as Caesar’s divine favor leaned more toward “protection” than “offense”, Amalric I’s heart would be much calmer.
After Baldwin left, Amalric I summoned an attendant from Princess Sibylla’s side, inquiring about his daughter’s situation—he had not paid much attention to Sibylla before, not that he did not love his daughter, but most fathers at the time did the same—providing food, clothing, shelter without lack, ensuring personal safety, then finding her a suitable husband.
But not long ago, due to Count Etienne’s refusal of marriage, he suddenly realized his daughter could cause big trouble… he had certainly scolded and punished Sibylla, but he could hardly send her to a monastery just like that— he could only keep an eye on her.
He worried that William Marshal’s outstanding performance and his own generous rewards might make someone mistakenly think he planned to make an Englishman his son-in-law… and whether Sibylla might do something irrational, fortunately the attendant said the Countess of Jaffa had closely watched their daughter’s movements these days, and Sibylla had behaved, hardly leaving her room.
By June, Amalric I thought, he could hand Sibylla over to Princess Maria for upbringing, in a few years when the fuss died down, he could still find her a suitable husband.
He kept this light mood until midnight, returning to the bedroom, he saw a dagger placed squarely in the middle of the bed.
——————
That night’s commotion even startled Baldwin and Caesar.
They heard Amalric I was extremely angry and loudly berated those “treacherous Saracens”, but the next day another group of robed, veiled Saracens entered Holy Cross Castle.
They were a delegation from the Assassins’ Eagle’s Nest, come not as last time to explain and apologize, but to question why the King did not keep his promise.
Only when Heraclius came to teach did Baldwin and Caesar learn that during the Choosing ceremony someone in the Assassin organization had accepted a bribe and privately taken the assassination task against Amalric I—Amalric I thus held the Assassins’ “elder” accountable, and the “elder” dispatched this delegation, capturing those traitors and ending their lives before the King.
This matter should have ended there—though the inside story might not be so simple, but neither the King nor the “elder” expected that this group on the way back to the Eagle’s Nest was ambushed by Templar Knights, none surviving.
Amalric I was planning a second expedition to Egypt, for which he had expended much effort and even used his marriage as a bargaining chip, tolerating no errors—if Zengi’s Nur al-Din was an aged giant bear, Fatimid Saladin a young male lion, then the Assassins were a desert venomous snake, he would rather cede some interests to appease the snake than be bitten again someday.
But the Knights Templar clearly did not think so.
