Chapter 72: To Egypt!
Longinus heard someone shouting “cowardly.”
Of course, a sneak attack is indeed a cowardly act, not to mention that it targeted that man’s most important spot.
But what else could he do? He had fasted for several days before, and was forced to sleep one night on the stone slab floor of the cathedral. When he woke up, he was starving, thirsty and hungry, and had only hastily drunk a few mouthfuls of water beforehand.
Moreover, he was only wearing leather armor—Caesar had picked out a complete set of chainmail for him from his own spoils of war, but he had cherished it and kept it in the box without wearing it, and now it was too late for regrets.
Now he had to face three knights who were not only wearing chainmail with steel plates fixed at important spots, but were fully armed, while he only had a short sword and a dagger.
And to him, that guy who treated a single silver coin as a great reward had, for convenience in doing things next, lifted his chainmail that reached down to the knee and tucked it into his belt, exposing a large expanse of pale thigh and the “short horn” barely covered by the linen long shirt, and he even forgot to let it down when raising his long sword—this wasn’t blatantly tempting him to commit a crime?
—Just as they would inevitably say, their crime was also because this Saracen girl had tempted them.
Longinus always went along with the flow. And he had tangled with those filthy thieves for so long before, so he didn’t care about face or anything like that.
Taking advantage of bending down to pick up the silver coin, he did a forward roll, rolling between that Knight Master’s legs, and in the momentum drew his dagger and gave him a slash.
That shameless and stingy bastard immediately let out a long howl, like an injured mule bellowing at the top of its throat. Longinus, who had darted behind him, immediately jumped up and stabbed into his nape.
That monk seemed to have been on the battlefield too. Though he let out a scream, he actually remembered to lift that Saracen girl to block himself in front, gripping her hair tightly and pulling down hard, a look of pain appearing on the girl’s face.
She shouted loudly something, but unfortunately no one present could understand, and she soon realized this, struggling even harder, kicking with her feet, clawing with her hands, not caring about her own safety at all.
But no matter what she did, she couldn’t overpower the guy behind her, just as when she had been grabbed. The disparity in physique between man and woman, plus the age difference（she was probably only thirteen or fourteen）, and the world of difference between her linen robe and chainmail, doomed her to be a feeble prey rather than the hunter.
But the turning point came in an instant. Perhaps worried that using only this girl as a shield wouldn’t intimidate Longinus, the priest drew his small dagger and held it across the girl’s neck, trying to scare him off with that.
He didn’t see the sudden spark of joy in the girl’s eyes as she eagerly slammed into that blade flashing with cold light. Longinus could even hear the sound of skin, blood vessel, and thin muscle tearing under the cold metal.
The gash was so deep, so wide, that even if someone deliberately hacked at it, it might not be as gruesome as this.
The girl’s head tilted back, blood spurting. The priest suddenly found the body in his hands growing heavy, slanting to one side, the hair in his grip becoming hot, wet, and slippery, before he realized he had lost his biggest bargaining chip.
Longinus didn’t hesitate. He gripped his short sword and thrust it into the girl’s chest, piercing her body, then through the priest’s stinking hide, linking this most beautiful body with the ugliest one.
His eyes bloodshot, he panted as he pulled out the long sword, then couldn’t help cursing.
Because he saw the third knight already standing up from the ground, a not-so-thick but definitely present glow floating around him—he was a knight who had received a blessing.
“Don’t those saints in heaven have eyes?” Longinus let out a sigh exactly like Caesar’s once had, and charged with his sword.
After just one clash, the experienced wandering knight knew things were bad.
He simply couldn’t stand against this knight full of brute strength and vigor.
Longinus felt a wave of weakness.
He knew this was a symptom brought on by fear, but he had to rally his spirits—he could imagine what this sole surviving knight would say if he died here.
He would only say that he and his companions had heard a Saracen woman’s scream on the road. When he arrived, he found a wandering knight about to rape her. He and his companions sternly tried to stop it, but were met with the villain’s insults and attack, so they had to fight back and kill him.
Everyone knew he was Caesar’s servant. If that happened, not only would his death be wrongful and inexplicable, but even Caesar’s reputation would be affected—he had a hard enough time standing by Prince Baldwin, and Longinus didn’t intend to give him more trouble.
He thought at least to take this knight down with him, but that was too difficult. He could only keep circling with this knight. The opponent’s double-edged sword was as heavy as a long bar hammer with blades on both sides; if it hit him anywhere, it could tear open the fragile leather armor, along with the muscles and bone inside.
And his short sword and dagger could barely parry, unable to get close to the knight. Even if he got close, short sword and dagger posed little lethal threat to someone clad head to toe in chainmail. He could only run for his life in this small space, dodging the opponent’s increasingly fierce attacks while racking his brains for his weakness.
Longinus several times wanted to escape this too-cramped space—someone might think a narrow space favors the one with short weapons, but in fact if the other is fully armored, it’s no different from a bare-handed man fighting a giant bear—the knight sensed this too and intercepted precisely every time.
Longinus was gasping for breath, his legs growing heavier.
The knight seemed to see this too, baring a ferocious smile in the shadows as he swung his long sword from above down. He could almost already see this arrogant brat howling and falling, blood gushing, flesh torn open, bones broken.
He did hear something break, but it wasn’t Longinus’s neck or shoulder. In this life-or-death moment, the wandering knight made a decision hard to imagine—he placed his short sword across his shoulder, right at the spot about to be hit by the double-edged sword.
This suicidal move actually found him a way out of desperation. The double-edged sword, carrying the breath of death, struck straight down on the short sword. The short sword snapped, and the jumping blade scraped off a large chunk of flesh from his neck, blood flowing, but not hitting anything vital.
Longinus’s left shoulder immediately collapsed, but by then the dagger in his right hand was stabbing toward the knight’s thigh.
But unfortunately, just as he had foreseen, the chainmail effectively guarded against the dagger’s thrust. Those layers of small iron rings only caused the knight some pain without bleeding; he let out an angry grunt, raised the double-edged sword, and thrust toward the gap at his side.
His judgment was correct, but Longinus had already seized the chance to roll miserably away from him toward the door.
In that moment, many thoughts flashed through his mind, finding none useful. He now only felt regret, deep regret—he should have prayed properly and earnestly in the Church of St. John the Baptist, instead of sleeping there.
If he could have sensed a saint, he might not be so passive now.
He even thought of just jumping straight into the well. Though suicide was an indelible sin, he quickly dismissed it—if he killed himself, the knight would only say he was a coward, a scaredy-cat, a sinner, and no one would believe Caesar anymore.
No, wait, he could still hide in the well.
Even if the knight cut the rope, he could float in there for a while. Now that he was slim, wearing leather armor had its benefits—a big guy couldn’t squeeze through the narrow well mouth, but it was possible the knight would smash him with stones.
But Longinus couldn’t care less. Ignoring his pain, he ran toward the octagonal stone well and swiftly grabbed the rope to leap down.
The knight saw it too and guessed why. He roared as he charged the stone well, but now he only saw ripples in the water. That damned guy was clinging to the rope, looking up at him. He did cut the rope. But what use was that?
Staring at Longinus with a chilling gaze for a while, the knight raised his double-edged sword. He could throw it straight down to maybe kill him, but the knight didn’t want to lose his handiest weapon before the fight, so he shook his head, turned, and went into the ruins to search for stones and bricks.
Longinus waited in fear and trepidation, struggling to remove the damp leather armor from his body and hold it over his head, hoping not to get his head bashed open too soon.
He waited a long time; the knight’s footsteps seemed to always hover nearby. Was it that hard to find a stone? Longinus muttered.
But then he cheered up, because he heard the opponent’s fearful shout. He was shouting—Saracen.
Then he heard a steady voice say, “Yes, a Saracen.”
They began to fight, the sounds of swords clashing unceasing. Longinus felt both worried and disappointed—if it was an upright knight who came, he might luckily survive.
But since it was a Saracen who came, he wouldn’t save a Christian. The only consolation was if this Saracen killed the knight and him, or ignored him to let him drown from exhaustion.
When people found him, they would only think he was killed by a Saracen, and his death wouldn’t implicate his little master.
Longinus listened tensely, but down in the well, he could only hear faint chaotic sounds. From the knight’s several especially loud shouts, this Saracen was no pushover and quite steady.
Aside from declaring his Saracen identity, he barely spoke a word, just attacking relentlessly.
The stab Longinus had landed on the knight’s thigh, though not fatal, hindered his movements. Those dragging footsteps were his; the Saracen must have noticed and made good use of it.
The knight retreated to the stone well edge. He might have thought he could rely on this solid barrier to counterattack or hold out, but it seemed useless, only letting Longinus hear more clearly. He heard the knight appealing, heard the knight say: Let me pray, let me pray, don’t send me to hell.
But that Saracen only said, Did you let Saracens pray?
Then came the sound Longinus knew all too well, of sword piercing flesh and a human’s final sigh. He hoped this Saracen wouldn’t find him, but it was not to be.
Moments later, heavy footsteps approached from far to near, and a head appeared at the well mouth.
Longinus suddenly remembered how he had once stuck his head out of a well to deliberately scare his little master and Prince Baldwin—so this was truly retribution.
He couldn’t see the Saracen’s face or expression, and the other just glanced at him and turned away—he could only await the final judgment.
When the Saracen appeared at the well mouth a second time, he thought he was surely dead this time, but the other just tossed down a sturdy rope. “Can you still hold onto the rope?”
Longinus of course couldn’t hold on, but he could wrap the rope around his waist, then tugged it to signal the other could pull him up.
The Saracen indeed pulled him up. Longinus climbed out of the well mouth with one hand, fell to the ground, and collapsed, sprawling his limbs and gasping desperately.
Luckily it was September, the wind still carrying the daytime heat, so he wasn’t shivering from cold all over.
The Saracen took a leather pouch from his belt, unscrewed the cap, and held it to his mouth. He smelled the sweet fragrance of honey and immediately pressed forward, drinking desperately several mouthfuls.
Then the Saracen even dragged him up to lean against the well wall. “I saw that girl’s corpse,” he said. “Tell me what happened here?”
Haven’t you already guessed most of it? Longinus grumbled inwardly, but he didn’t dare go against this man’s will. Aside from this man being able to save or kill him, this man looked like a superior, his tone carrying an unyielding firmness and authority.
Longinus thought for a moment, then told him everything from start to finish—what had happened after he arrived here.
Right, he prudently didn’t reveal his identity, didn’t say he was Caesar’s servant or here for the Choosing ceremony. He was just a wandering knight who happened to pass by, wanting a drink of water, but found a shameful crime occurring here.
“Crime?” The Saracen slightly raised the corner of his mouth. “You think it’s a crime too.”
“I didn’t used to think so,” Longinus said honestly. “But I followed a benevolent master, and to him, it is a crime. At any time, the strong should protect the weak, not bully the weak.”
“But she was a Saracen.”
“Does it make a difference? I don’t think a girl less than five feet tall could bash three Knight Masters to death with a bucket.”
He heard a cheerful laugh. “You see, as an ancient Eastern proverb goes, things take after their master.
Knight, you are a cup of turbid wine. If you mix in honey, it becomes a rare fine brew. If you mix in aconite, it becomes a bottle of poison bringing death.”
He stood before Longinus and said, “You have a good master. That’s your luck.”
Then without waiting for Longinus to ask his background and status, he strode into the collapsed bathhouse. He heard the man praying, in the Saracen way.
Then he saw the other wrap the girl in his black cloak, sling her over his shoulder, and gradually disappear from Longinus’s view.
Longinus promptly fell asleep, or rather passed out.
When he woke again, he felt the light dazzling. He wanted to raise his hand to shield, but found he couldn’t move.
“Longinus?” A man reached out a hand to him.
