A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”Maybe the Pisans made him an offer. For example, could a heretic warrior sell for ninety pounds? I’ve always wanted a heretic slave; if the quality’s good, I’d be willing to pay that. Of course, I’d pay double for a young girl,” Stephen chimed in.

”Anyway, I only saw Odo on Cyprus, and it was hardly a pleasant meeting. I’d rather spend time with our Prince William than with Odo, but he wasn’t on Cyprus either. He was leading some Knights on a raid near Antioch. Maybe he heard you were planning to make peace with Suleiman Shah.

As it happened, that Brinyos fellow had also been left on Cyprus by Robert. He didn’t want to be around Odo either, so I hitched a ride on his Greek Ship to come find you. I ran into Leif in Shazha, and he told me about your predicament.” Belem clapped Eric on the shoulder, grinning wickedly. ”But don’t worry about it. War is a gamble; sometimes luck is all that matters. It’s like you said, a matter of timing. If King William hadn’t been caught in that storm, delaying his landing in England by a month, Harold might not have lost to us.”

”I know, I know. Can we please drop it? You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to put that out of my mind,” Eric waved his hand dismissively.

Eric peered down from the battlements. Once he confirmed the patrol was gone, he led his men down a wooden ladder into the alley beside the Mosque, then headed for the small square in front of the castle gate.

The castle’s main gate was wide enough for a farm cart to enter the courtyard, but a smaller postern was set into one of the main doors. Eric walked up to it and knocked sharply.

A moment later, footsteps approached. A voice from the other side asked who was there.

Eric didn’t answer, only knocking again. The guard, assuming it was his companion returning from the tavern, unhesitatingly drew the two bolts and opened the door.

Eric stepped inside. The light revealed the guard’s surprise at seeing a stranger in the castle so late at night. The guard was still staring at him in confusion when Eric suddenly punched him in the face, then drove a fist into his gut.

The guard stumbled back against the wall, and Eric instantly clamped a hand over his mouth.

Belem, Stephen, and the others slipped inside and bolted the door behind them.

The guard was still struggling, so Eric brought up his knee, forcing a muffled scream from the man.

”Check the guardroom,” Eric ordered.

Belem raised his Crossbow and pushed open the door to the entrance chamber.

Inside, a guard stood by a table laden with a Leather wineskin, two dice, and a scatter of Coins.

The guard gaped at Belem’s cheerful expression, his mouth still hanging open as the Crossbow Arrow struck him squarely in the chest, slamming him back against the wall.

Belem was right behind it, drawing his knife. As he slit the guard’s throat, blood sprayed all over Stephen.

”Did he have to die?” Stephen growled, fighting back his anger as he felt the foul stench of blood on him.

”He was looking at me funny,” Belem said, flicking his showy, newly-grown long hair. ”Like he’d seen a ghost. I found it offensive.”

As he spoke, Belem casually scooped the money off the table and stuffed it into his pocket.

”Should I kill this one?” Belem asked, nodding toward the first guard.

”No,” Eric said. ”Tie him up.”

”What if he makes a sound? It’d be better to knock him out,” Stephen said.

”Don’t worry. I guarantee that before any sound can escape, I’ll have his throat torn out. I know how to drive a sword through an eye and into the throat in one clean motion.” Belem flashed a pleasant smile, deliberately speaking the last half of his sentence in Arabic.

It was one of the few phrases he’d learned in Arabic.

Eric walked to the guardroom door. He knew the garrison consisted of eighteen soldiers. He also knew one was dead, one was captured, and at least eight more were at the tavern. That left a possible eight remaining.

Eric glanced into the courtyard. It was empty, save for a farm cart piled high with bales of straw and barrels. He then walked over to the weapon rack on the guardroom wall and selected a Short Sword.

He tested the blade and found it sufficiently sharp. ”Do you speak Arabic?”

He asked the captured guard.

The man nodded, too scared to speak.

Eric left one Knight to guard the prisoner.

”If anyone knocks on the gate,” Eric said, ”ignore them. If he makes a sound—”

Eric pointed at the prisoner, ”—kill him. Don’t drink. Stay alert.”

With that, Eric signaled for the others to follow.

”Stay quiet,” Eric told them. Then the three of them crept quietly into the courtyard.

It had been too long since Hama had seen war.

The garrison was small and complacent. Their duties mostly consisted of levying taxes on goods entering the city and delivering the revenue to the castle, their Lord’s residence.

They started in the castle’s cellar. It held six dungeons that reeked of rot and filth. In the warden’s room, illuminated by a flickering oil lamp, they found an exceptionally obese man and his equally obese wife.

The pair were both asleep.

Eric pricked the man’s neck with the tip of his Sword, drawing a bead of blood. He then had the couple escorted to a dungeon and locked inside.

A girl’s cry came from another cell, but Eric’s low hiss silenced her.