kingdom of nations

Chapter 28 Wolves and Jackals (Part )
What happened next was completely beyond people's expectations.

It was understandable that the guide chose to kidnap Count Etienne. Among so many people, he was the only one who was a "noble lord" and also had the title of Louis VII's special envoy to the Holy Land. In any case, he would not be the one to be abandoned.

The best part was that he had just prayed for the favor of Saint Pelagius a few moments ago and was weak and powerless - taking him hostage would be much simpler and safer than taking anyone else hostage.

Count Etienne and his attendants were stunned for a moment. Excessive fatigue and tension did affect their reaction speed. The Count was knocked straight down by the guide. The guide stretched out his hand, trying to strangle his neck with one hand and holding a "Mercy" dagger with the other.

The name of this dagger comes from its purpose - when a knight in full armor falls to the ground, breaks his back or ribs, and seems hopeless, his enemy or friend will pull out this triangular-section dagger, stab him through the gap in the armor, and kill him.

The guide certainly didn't hold this dagger out of any damn mercy. The biggest advantage of this dagger was its sharpness - it was like a pointed awl, so it didn't take much effort to stab it to the bottom...

As a man who had fought in more than one battlefield, Count Étienne's instincts were always faster than his thoughts. Although the guide knocked him to the ground, he still firmly grasped the guide's arm when he rushed over, and raised his knee to press against the guide's chest.

The guide's eyes flashed with malicious flames - if he failed to catch the count, then only the gallows would be waiting for him. He did not think he would be as lucky as the Isaac named Witt.

"One of us has to die!" He shouted these words with his throat rolling. Facing death and unwillingness, the thin man burst out with unprecedented strength. He twisted his shoulders, dragged the earl's cloak, and tightened it with all his strength. The earl once praised his goldsmith for being able to make the brooch gorgeous and sturdy, but now he hoped it was not so strong. He was suddenly tightened and his eyes went black.

The servants and the Knights Templar had already rushed over, but the two men had already started fighting. Geoffrey, holding the hatchet, hesitated for a moment and found that the two men rolling on the ground suddenly disappeared.

Everyone present felt their hair stand on end. The two soldiers following the Templar Knights even subconsciously pulled out the "holy medal" (a small statue of a saint consecrated by a priest) hanging around their necks and held it in their hands.

At this time, Count Etienne's nephew showed extraordinary courage. He rushed over with a torch and shouted "Sir". Then he slipped and almost fell down if he had not been caught by César.

"What is that?" Geoffrey stretched his head to look. The monk next to him carefully bent down and brought the torch close to the ground. Now they could all see clearly that it was a long, narrow and deep crack. It had been hidden under the fluffy pine needles and thin ice, invisible to anyone, just waiting for someone or a beast to walk up - this was a natural trap.

Count Etienne's nephew was instantly terrified, and the monk's face paled. He stood up, holding the torch high. In the deep darkness, the torch's light illuminated the person holding it rather than the path and surroundings—but he didn't want others to see anything. He simply pointed the torch toward the previous camp, then toward the hills on the other side. Geoffrey took a few steps and glanced at the faint light in the distance. "It's the stream. It's dried up."

He walked back, took the torch from the monk's hand, and threw it down. The torch fell into the darkness and then hit something, sparks flying. Then it stumbled down for a distance, leaving behind a fleeting glimmer of light along the way, and finally stopped somewhere and stopped completely.

Geoffrey bowed not only to his knees but also to his face on the cold, wet earth, as if he were paying homage to the suffering Savior on Good Friday. He lowered his head, looked down, and listened with all his might.

After a while, he stood up, his face as grim as the monk's: "This is not just a stream, it's the devil's mouth."

As soon as the word came out, everyone present couldn't help shouting "Jesus Christ". The monk was staggering, and Count Etienne's nephew couldn't help crying.

Cesar hesitated, not knowing whether he should ask what the Devil's Mouth was at this time. The sergeant beside him shook his head and explained it to him, and he finally understood - the so-called Devil's Mouth is a crack on the ground without obvious displacement caused by an earthquake.

Sometimes these fissures close up after swallowing up people, animals, trees and houses, and sometimes they remain.

People at that time could not understand what an earthquake was.

In ancient Greece, Aristotle overturned the hypothesis that earthquakes were caused by weather phenomena such as droughts or floods. He believed that earthquakes were caused by narrow passages or cracks throughout the ground. When the wind rushed through these "pipes", it would cause the passages and cracks to vibrate, thereby triggering earthquakes.

Later scholars also had their own theories, such as the comet theory, the poison gas theory, and the dragon theory...

After the Christian Church took over most of the world, explaining earthquakes became much simpler. No more research or debate was needed. People only needed to know that when an earthquake occurred somewhere, it must have been caused by some unspeakable sin that had made God intolerable. All they had to do was hold holy images and crosses in processions, or go to church for mass. At the very least, they had to hang portraits of saints on all four walls, and they would be safe and sound.

Of course, we all know that these acts of repentance are of no help to the victims of the earthquake. Even worse, there was a place where when an earthquake struck, people who ran to the church to pray were buried together with the collapse of the church.

"Devil's Mouth" is the name given by Christians to the cracks in the ground caused by earthquakes. They don't understand what earthquakes are, and of course they don't understand how this derivative appeared. This crack can swallow everything and disappear in an instant. Even if it leaves something behind, it is beyond their understanding. For survivors, isn't it like the devil's mouth?
This "Devil's Mouth" is incredibly cleverly hidden. When the stream still has water, it appears as a "lake" hidden beneath the calm waters. In winter, when the water dries up, it freezes, and dry, fluffy pine needles fall onto it. Over three or four months, they mature into a thin layer of humus. This humus then collects more fallen leaves, twigs, animal fur, and dirt, ultimately forming a trapping hole so sophisticated that even the most experienced hunter might not be able to detect it.

No one knows how deep the "Devil's Mouth" is, even if you throw down torches and ropes, you can't be sure.

A crack like this can never be as smooth as cheese cut with a knife. If someone could draw a cross-section of it, you would find that the cross-section is as crooked and undulating as a sawtooth. Sometimes, the crack will become narrower or twisted due to protruding tree roots or buried rocks.

They lit more torches (thankfully, this was a pine forest), and their hearts sank even more when they inspected the crack. The chasm was only about half the width of Geoffrey's shoulders. The count's attendant dipped a piece of coarse underwear in oil, lit it, and lowered it to investigate. He could only see a depth of five or six feet, and at that point, the chasm was only wide enough for one person to pass through. They shouted into the depths of the chasm, hoping to hear something, a groan or a curse, but they heard nothing except the sound of the wind, which came from an unknown source. Geoffrey shuddered, thinking that the wind sounded more like the devil laughing.

"Fortunately, you have already rubbed him with oil." said the Templar Knight. His words made the Count's monk smile uglier than crying. "Is there no other way?" he asked.

Geoffrey remained silent. These people, all veterans of the battlefield, knew that a wounded knight would have a hard time escaping death. Furthermore, Count Étienne had fallen into a crevice they couldn't see or hear. He might already be dead, and even if he wasn't, he wouldn't have the strength to climb out by the ropes...

They were all unlucky, as they had to bear the wrath of Amalric I, while Count Étienne's entourage had to be held accountable by Louis VII.

"I might... have a way."

Everyone looked over and saw that the person who spoke was the youngest among them, his green eyes sparkling in the light of the torch.

A bit of impatience rose in Geoffrey's heart. It was true that he liked the child a little, but at this time, it was a bit annoying for him to make his own decisions.

The Templars did not think he could offer any good advice. Cesar was only nine years old, not yet an adult, and not even qualified to be a knight's squire. If he had been "selected" and chosen, then perhaps there was still a little hope - not to believe in him but to believe in the saint he had visions of.

"Tie me with a rope and let me down." He could search along the bottom of the crack little by little.

The Earl's monk was first stunned, then surprised.

Of course they had ropes, which were a must for every traveling team. The Earl had some, more than one bundle, and the Templars had some too, which added up to at least fifty royal feet. As long as this rift did not lead to hell, his suggestion might not be considered the ignorant ravings of a child.

But this approach carries great risks. Those who stay at the edge of the rift are likely to encounter thieves, pagans, or returning wolves and other beasts. They may be forced to abandon this place, leaving him to call in vain in the darkness.

He might have broken his leg, been hit on the head by a stone, been bitten by a poisonous snake, stung by a scorpion, or gone mad because of the darkness and claustrophobia; it was also possible that Count Étienne was dead or unable to move, while the hateful traitor and bribed guide was still alive, and if he saw César, he would definitely stab him in the chest with a dagger.

Geoffrey frowned. His affection for César was not strong enough to make him willing to give up Amalric I's reward for him. "Are you sure?" He was worried that this child showed courage in words but became a coward in actions. He had seen such people before. In almost every battle, there would be a few followers who went to the battlefield for the first time and became the laughing stock of everyone.

Cesar didn't say anything. This was no longer his home court, so he could only wait for these people to make the decision.

The Earl's entourage had a brief discussion with the Templars - they couldn't refuse. After all, they would only lose a young servant at most, and even if Prince Baldwin asked, the Templars could say that he was dragged away by a wolf or died of a sudden illness on the way.

The count's monk did consider whether to let someone else do this task, not out of love for César, but because he had the same worry as Geoffrey. He was afraid that César would be overwhelmed by fear before he even landed on the ground, and would cry and shout for them to pull him up, which would waste their time and energy.

But among these people, Cesar is definitely the thinnest. Even a servant must be at least twelve years old, and a squire must be fifteen years old, not to mention the knights. They have broad shoulders and strong bodies. Even if they can enter the crack, they may get stuck there after falling for a distance.

The monk brought a bottle of wine. Now was not the time to consider the harm of alcohol. The crack was much colder than the ground, and there was a cold wind that penetrated into the bone marrow. Cesar took it and drank it all with gritted teeth.

Geoffrey took off his sheepskin robe - Templars were not allowed to wear luxurious furs, but because the winters in Alaska and the surrounding areas were so harsh, they were allowed to wear sheepskin - César hesitated, took it, and put it on. The sheepskin robe was much too big, and the hem was enough to touch his ankles.

Geoffrey looked at it and laughed. "How interesting," he said. "It looks very Templar."

They said the Lord's Prayer fifteen times (it was obligatory!) and then passed the rope under Cesar's arms and legs, fastened it with a strong buckle, and fixed one end to a tree, while two strong knights held it.

The monk gave César a bell and agreed on a signal with him: shake it once, which means everything is going well, but nothing has been found; shake it continuously, which means they have encountered an insurmountable obstacle or danger and need to pull him up as soon as possible; shake it once, shake it again, and continue shaking it, which means good news - he has found Count Etienne!

"It has begun," said Geoffrey.

The light in front of Cesar's eyes grew dimmer as the rope was lowered inch by inch. He held the flint and knife given to him by Geoffrey in his hands, with the torch tucked into his waist. He closed his eyes slightly - he couldn't see anything anyway, so he could only rely on his senses to determine the situation around him.

(End of this chapter)