kingdom of nations

Chapter 12: Fight between Servants
"I." A voice answered, startling several people who were about to step forward. Then they saw Prince Baldwin, wearing a veil and gloves, walking towards them in the crimson afterglow.

"Tell your servant to go to the stable and get the pony with white fur and a black star on its forehead." He said to Cesar without waiting for the others to greet him. "But it's not lent to you, Cesar. Remember when you first came here, your father promised you a pony? This is it."

"White fur, black stars," the young man, who had been hiding in the shadows, with delicate features but a gloomy expression, cried out, "Isn't this the horse His Majesty gave you?"

"My father's horse and an Arab horse had two foals, and they were connected by the umbilical cord. They are brothers," Baldwin said without responding to the teenager: "I give it to you."

"But you promised to give it to David," the young man said unwillingly.

"That was in the past, Abigail," said Baldwin. "He is no longer my squire."

"But we are still..." Abigail paused, "friends."

"Don't meddle in matters that are not your responsibility." Baldwin's tone was still very gentle, but those who knew him knew that he was beginning to get impatient. "Of course, it won't benefit you either."

This sentence was basically a slap in Abigail's face, and David frowned. He didn't like Abigail, even though Abigail was speaking for him on the surface. But he knew that Abigail had said a lot of false things in private that were not in favor of the new servant. Now he said this just to stir up his jealousy towards the black-haired boy.

But Abigail should also be aware of one thing, that is, although he does not approve of such a stranger of unknown origin being by the prince's side, if the other party shows the qualities that a knight's descendant should have, he will not be so cowardly as not to admit it.

"Let's get started," Baldwin said. "I'll be the referee."

Compared to the contest between knights, Cesar's proposal was much safer and simpler. David rolled the dice with him and won by three points, so he was able to mount the horse first. Because there was a time limit, this was undoubtedly a good sign. Most of the servants were shouting, stomping their feet and applauding for him.

Baldwin took the reins from the servant, but did not give them to Cesar immediately: "If you regret it..."

No matter what David said, he and Baldwin received three years of squire education, from riding to martial arts, while Cesar only received three months at most.

Not to mention, David, like his father, Raymond, Count of Tripoli, was a large, sturdy man. Although he was the same age as Baldwin, he was already as big and strong as a true knight. Although Cesar was tall and slender, he still gave the impression of being too slender. In a duel like target practice, a thin person obviously cannot compare to a strong person.

But in other words, if Cesar defeated David, who had a vague leadership status among the young servants, he could save himself a lot of trouble in the future.

Cesar shook his head and mounted his horse.

David kept staring at Cesar until he came to his side, then he rushed out. The young man was indeed very skilled. It seemed that in an instant, his long wooden stick hit the shield squarely, making a sound like thunder.

The wooden boards wrapped around the iron frame bent and flew, the crossbar rotated, and the sandbag rolled towards David's back, but he just turned his upper body to the side and avoided the blow by a hair's breadth. The servants cheered loudly, and he turned around to look at Cesar, only to find that the white pony had already rushed towards the other shield like a cloud pushed by the wind.

Cesar did not choose David's direction, even though it would be easier to attack the other shield in one direction. He struck the long wooden stick in the opposite direction. The kinetic energy from the shield was transmitted along the stick to his hands, forearms, shoulders and entire upper body. He trembled slightly and almost couldn't hold the stick anymore, but the result was obvious to all. The crossbar was accurately controlled before it started to spin wildly. It shook violently at first, and then slid unwillingly to the other side.

David gripped the pony's belly and swung the stick. With a loud "bang!", the shield and sandbag almost simultaneously passed over Cesar's left shoulder. Then he urged the pony on and made an obvious gesture to prevent Cesar from repeating the same trick.

Cesar could only choose the same direction as David, chasing the second shield and hitting it. The horizontal bar's rotation speed suddenly became extremely fast, and so did the sandbags. They had gone from hanging to tilting outwards. By the time David hit the third time, the sandbags were parallel to the ground. At this time, the shield fixed on the horizontal bar was also so fast that it was difficult to catch with the naked eye. Together with the sandbags, they broke through the air with a whistling sound like the cry of a wild beast.

The duel game that could have ended peacefully suddenly became dangerous. In the dim light, the riders galloping around the target stakes could no longer calmly capture the position of the shield. They could only stab by instinct in the rotating ribbons. Not only that, they could only stab the edge of the shield. If they hit the middle of the shield, they would not be able to retract their sword in time. The sandbags that followed would hit the wooden sticks and drag the riders off their horses.

Fortunately, the last trace of ominous red light was about to disappear at this time. Amid the almost continuous "ping-pong" sounds, Baldwin was about to order them to stop when he heard Abigail screaming sharply, "Seven! David, he's six! You win!"

By this time Cesar was reining in the pony, and David heard it, and it was like pouring grease on the burning wood. If Cesar had only hit one or two, he would have been willing to admit that he had won the victory.

But six? Don't forget he was the first to strike. He should have had one more than Cesar. Thinking of this, not only did he not stop, but his blood boiled even more. Looking at the glimmer of light reflected by the edge of the shield, he leaned his body without hesitation and stabbed out with the wooden stick.

Almost immediately, he knew something was wrong.

He missed the target, and the wooden stick was swept towards the center of the vortex by the huge force. His body was also grabbed by an invisible giant hand and thrown towards the shooting post that was like a devil's mouth.

Cesar's reaction was far better than any other moment during training. When Abigail yelled, he dropped the stick and ran to David's side. When David leaned sideways toward the shooting post, he had already reached out his hand - he grabbed David's cloak. Although he could not completely eliminate the consequences of his recklessness, at least he prevented the young man from being caught in the rapidly rotating crossbar and being continuously hit by shields and sandbags.

Now David has just fallen from grace.

The other servants came running over and surrounded him. After about half a quarter of an hour, David finally sat up from the ground. His nose was crooked and his mouth was full of blood, but he still struggled and said, "...I lost."

"You clearly hit him one more time, no, two more times!" Abigail shouted.

"I missed the last shot," David said firmly, "I should have given up a piece when I had the first move." And... no matter what he said, this match was not fair to Cesar.

The heir to the Count of Tripoli wiped the blood from his face and looked towards Cesar in the gloomy sky. He couldn't see clearly. Cesar was wearing a gray-black coat that almost blended in with the dusky city walls, but Prince Baldwin had already approached his new attendant. Since being diagnosed with leprosy, Baldwin's clothing had shifted from extravagance to simplicity, often wearing a humble white robe. He was talking to Cesar and examining his hands.

Cesar's right hand hung limply. Just now, in order to hold David, he had no time to consider the posture and the way of exerting force, and his wrist was dislocated. David looked at them blankly, remembering that long ago, he was injured in martial arts class and Baldwin had also seen his injury in this way.

"It's nothing serious," Baldwin said. "The monk will be here soon."

As expected, the knight who had been supervising nearby quickly summoned the monks. They were not allowed to, nor did they have the ability to, cure Baldwin's leprosy, but they could easily treat Cesar's dislocated joint, David's broken nose, and his missing teeth. After David's bleeding stopped, he pushed aside the monks and his companions and walked straight to Baldwin. "Your Highness," he said, "let me come back. I am not afraid of leprosy."

Baldwin looked at him for a moment and said, "Don't say such useless things."

If losing to Cesar was like a heavy blow to him, then Baldwin's words were like a dagger stabbing into his heart, revealing all the filth inside to the light of day. David wrinkled his nose, bit his lips, and tears could not stop flowing down. These were tears of guilt and pain for his despicableness.

After being rejected once by Amalric I, his father, the Count of Tripoli, never mentioned the matter of returning to the prince. David knew that this was not only because of leprosy, but also because Baldwin might be deprived of his inheritance and sent to a monastery to be a monk.

How could the master of a county become a servant of a monk?
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Word of this quickly reached Raymond, Count of Tripoli. Raymond wasn't concerned about David's loss. After all, knights spoke almost exclusively with their swords. How could a mere mortal ensure his invincibility? As for that annoying servant... Heraclius had already warned him.

Since both Amalric I and Baldwin had made their promises, as a subject he should not interfere. At least he should give the other party due respect before the other party tarnished the honor of the knight.

He worried about how to face his son David. If he inherited half of his grandfather, Raymond IV of Toulouse, he was even more stubborn. Raymond, who had once been proud of having such a brave and virtuous child, now had to worry about his integrity.

David had much to say. Baldwin had treated him so well, almost like a blood brother. Amalric I had treated him like his own son. As a future knight, he should have given his loyalty and compassion to the master he had sworn an oath to.

But when he saw the deep wrinkles on his father's face, his short black hair mixed with silver, and his complex and incomprehensible eyes, he was speechless.

Count Raymond of Tripoli is only 35 years old now. His old age is caused by war and hard work, and he gave up everything just to ensure that Jordan of Toulouse can pass on his bloodline forever on the Arabian Peninsula - Baldwin is the only son of Amalric I, so how could he not be the only son of Count Tripoli?
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry, but Dad, I miss Baldwin. I miss him so much."

Count Tripoli took a deep breath, walked forward, and held David's head tightly against his chest, "How could this happen?" He asked himself, God, and the unpredictable fate countless times, but he never got an answer.

At this moment, David suddenly had an idea: "Dad," he raised his head and asked eagerly, "Can I become a brother of God's witness with Baldwin?" He remembered that he and Baldwin had not yet held the selection ceremony.

Raymond hesitated for a moment. "I'm afraid not," he said. "Baldwin's selection ceremony may have to be held earlier." Amalric I must have been dissatisfied with their hesitation. He used them to test new servants and attendants, but no longer allowed their son to become someone Baldwin trusted again.

He didn't look at his son's disappointed face, sighed, returned to his desk, and plunged into endless official duties, hoping that the troubles they brought could replace these unresolved worries.

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"idiot!"

Abigail was slapped to the ground, her ears were ringing, her eyes were swollen, and her mouth tasted sweet and fishy.

"If you soil my carpet," Bohemond, Duke of Antioch, said softly, "I'll whip you!" He watched Abigail hastily cover her mouth with her hands, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. "I thought you'd done something good! So this is it?"

Abigail secretly used her velvet sleeve to absorb the blood that was about to overflow. She hurriedly and incoherently explained, "But... Father, as long as they fight, no matter who wins or loses, it will only benefit us, not harm..."

He did his best to explain his thoughts: "If David wins, Baldwin will definitely hate the slave who brought him disgrace and alienate him; but if the slave wins? As we have seen, David will lose all his face, and the slave will never be able to get the Count of Tripoli's favor in the future..."

When Bohemond heard this, he actually let out a sharp laugh. This laugh did not represent approval, but was full of sarcasm.

He strode up to his son, bent down, and the two extremely similar faces leaned together.

We have said that Amalric I was like a lion that was no longer in its prime but still powerful, the Count of Tripoli was like a calm and strong giant bear, and the Grand Duke of Antioch was like a combination of a cheetah and a fox, agile and clever. His appearance was the most commendable among the three, but no matter how handsome his face was, it would become extremely terrifying under the torture of disappointment and rage.

"Say it again," he ordered.

"That...that...they started fighting..."

"Not that," Bohemond said coldly. "'Slave, that slave, that slave'... Poor little fool, you've said 'slave' so many times, and you haven't noticed?" He added with pity, "You've put the Count of Tripoli's only son on an equal footing with a slave by instigating him to duel with him!"

(End of this chapter)