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The Crusader Chronicles - Volume I: Deus lo Volt!

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April 12, 1189 - Dawn - The Camp

The sun's rays were just starting to creep over the rooftops of Venice. As light splashed over the West field, a young man was revealed lying on the ground near the assorted tents of the hopeful Crusaders. The young man looked at the city for a few moments before slowly rising to his feet. Sheathing the dagger he had been fiddling with, he walked over to the large tent which housed Erik von Stark. Poking his head inside, he called softly,

"Uncle Erik?"

Hearing no reply, he called again, loud this time. Inside, there was some shifting around, then a muffled voice asked,

"What is it Paul?"

"You asked me to see that you were awake at dawn."

"Ah yes...of course." Erik said sleepily as he sat up. "Go wake Alexandre and Walker. They've a busy day ahead of them."
 
April 12, 1189 - Dawn - The Camp

Lorenzo was awakened by the rays of the sun entering his tent. For a second, he considered not getting up but thought better of it. He popped his head out of the tent and almost inmediately regretted it as the brightness of the outside surroundings temporarily blinded him.

Opening his eyes again a moment later, he saw his horse Faran neighing in greeting. Moving back into his tent, he found one of the few remaining apples left in his tent and tossed it out to his horse.

As Faran happily chewed on his apple, Lorenzo washed himself up and prepared himself for another day of hard training.

Nearby, Sir Henry was also out of his tent. Waving a greeting, Lorenzo moved over to him.

"Care to join me for breakfast?" Asked Lorenzo. Henry nodded and the 2 of them moved over to where the chefs was doling out breakfast.

Both of them got their food and they made their way to a corner where they can eat in peace.

"Looks like only half the camp is awake. I can still the snoring in many tents."

"I am not surprised. It was a hard day of training yesterday."

The 2 men continued to chat as they ate their meal.

Halfway through their breakfast, the bellow of Lt Walker broke the peaceful silence of the camp, “NOW WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS? ONLY HALF THE MEN ARE HERE GETTING FATTENED UP FOR THE WINTER. BETTER GO FIND YER ASS AND GET THE OTHER HALF OF THE COMPANY UP BECAUSE LORD KNOWS TODAY AIN’T A SLEEPING IN DAY. IF I’M UP EVERYONE IS UP. NOW MOVE YOUR ASSES BEFORE I MAKE YOU SWIM TO THE HOLY CITY!!!”

Suddenly the camp was a whirl of motion as men scrambled. The 2 knights stared at each other. Without a word, they quickly gulped down the rest of their breakfast and made their way to where Lt Walker was busying kicking people out of their tents.
 
April 12, 1189: Dawn--The Camp

An ear piercing shriek echoed through the camp. Sir Alexandre du Kayne was busily scraping his blade over the steel front of his shield, creating the god awful racket. Men bolted out of their tents, weapons in hand, wiping sleep from their eyes. Well, those who weren't already awake eating breakfast, that is.

Walker eyed the senior lieutenant with some distaste. The heavy drinking he had done the night before would no doubt keep his temper to a finely honed edge of disaster for the first man to cross him.

"Good god, man!" Walker exclaimed," That's purely horrible!"

"I couldn't find a good thumping drum," du Kayne shrugged," This ought to work though."

Walker shook his head.

"Wake up you lazy bums!" du Kayne bellowed," You're in the crusades now, not lying abed at home! Get yer arses up and let's get some training in! If you haven't eaten yet, too bad! You should have been up earlier!"

"You heard him!" Walker shouted with some glee," Get to the FIELD NOW!"

Men began throwing clothing on and grabbing what armor and weapons they could and started running for the training field. Those who had squires were being quite a bit slower. Alexandre walked over to one knight and stared at him for some time before the man deigned to respond.

"What is it?"

"I don't give a damn who knighted you," du Kayne hissed between clenched teeth," But when I give an ORDER I EXPECT IT TO BE OBEYED!"

The man blinked," I'm a knight! Not a peasant!"

"You are here at my sufferance!" du Kayne growled," I have ultimate authority on which knights I choose to take to the Holy Land. The Captain wants only the best, and I fully intend to give him just that! But by GOD YOU HAD BETTER DO WHAT I ORDER OR YOU'LL BE LEAVING VENICE, AND NOT BY SHIP TO THE HOLY LAND EITHER!"

The man gazed at du Kayne in astonishment," You can't talk to me that way!"

Suddenly du Kayne's sword was at the man's throat," REALLY? I THINK THIS WEAPON SAYS DIFFERENT!"

The man's adam's apple bobbed nervously as his eyes focused on the blade that was just a hair's breadth from cutting his neck wide open. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his eyes began to dart wildly in hopes someone else would come to his aid. Those other knights who were in sight were already cantoring away toward the field. The man looked at du Kayne in anger.

"You have to sleep some time," he rasped.

"You could be eternally sleeping in mere seconds," du Kayne reminded him, drawing a drop of blood from him.

"You can't kill me in cold blood," the man screeched.

"Don't worry," du Kayne smiled, although that smile never reached his cold cold eyes," Your blood won't cool for a least a few minutes until after you are dead."

The man searched Alexandre's face to see if there was even a hint of mercy. He found none. The weather beaten, browned face was hard as granite, and the eyes. The eyes were like chips of frozen obsidian, hard and flinty with not even a slight hint of warmth. He shivered as he realized he was a mere moment away from death.

Alexandre held his weapon without even a bit of strain. He waited patiently for the man to decide his own fate. Life or death. How he chose would also affect whether he would be allowed to go on crusade.

The man lowered his eyes finally and nodded slowly and carefully.

"Yes, Sir du Kayne," he nearly whispered," I shall do as you say. Please pardon my earlier bravado about you having to sleep some time as well."

The sword was rammed back into the sheath with an audible clang," Fine. Get yourself and your mount to the field. Let's see if you are a better fighter than you are a thinker."

"Yes, Sir!" the man quickly mounted his beast, which his terrified squire had held for him.

Du Kayne watched closely as the humbled knight trotted toward the training field.
 
The shouting roused him from his sleep. Someone was being very loud very
early in the morning. Amerigo rolled over in his bed and attempted to ignore
it. The noise kept coming. Suddenly he wished that he had gone home for
the evening. Explaining himself to his father was almost worth the extra
sleep. After a while the noise moved down the field. Amerigo settled back.
He could get in a few more hours of sleep. Suddenly Paolo entered the tent.
He quickly ran to Amerigo's side and shook him awake.

"What is it you annoying little man? Let me sleep." Amerigo said, pushing
the servant away. It wasn't after noon yet, he didn't need to be up.

"Sir, the knight is calling for everyone to awake." Amerigo sighed, why did it
have to be so early...

"Alright, I am up. Get my clothes, and my armor. Find those boys to get me
ready." After a few minutes, Amerigo was pulled from bed and exited his
tent. He arrived in time to see Du Kayne walk by. He was about to complain
to the knight when he heard another knight speak up. Du Kayne's reaction
silenced the knight, and made Amerigo reconsider his complaint.

Amerigo slowly approached the angered crusader from behind.

"Sir Du Kayne, if I may. Would you really have slit that man's throat? It would
seem counter-productive. To kill fellow Christians. Especially in such a day
as this. Saracens I understand, but to kill a fellow knight in cold blood?"
Amerigo asked, before realizing that perhaps Du Kayne was not in the mood
for questions.
 
April 12, 1189: Dawn--The Camp

Henry was beginning to choke down breakfast with Lorenzo when Walker began to bellow, and then du Kayne. He bolted down the rest of the questionable food, talking to Lorenzo in between swallows. "That Walker . . . chomp . . . and du Kayne may just be . . . gulp . . . the men to take us to Jerusalem!"

He leapt up, gathered his armor from the squire. It gleamed nicely in the ruddly dawn light, he noted. "Good job, Christoph. If they decide I can join this merry band, perhaps I can have to assigned to me." The squire nodded silently, and helped him put on his armor.

Henry was on his way over to check on his horse when du Kayne pulled his blade on the laggard knight. Christ have mercy, he thought, the man is mad. He watched in sick fascination as the blade met throat, as a small amount of blood spilled, and then it hit him. In the desert, that knight may have gotten us all killed. du Kayne knows that. He really may be our best chance in the field.

With that he mounted up and rode across the field to where du Kayne and Walker were assembling the soldiers. The fop was just beginning to address du Kayne when he arrived. He drew Merrick up to a neat stop, and waited, listening to the fop, for du Kayne's orders.
 
April 12, 1189: Dawn--The Camp

"Sir Du Kayne, if I may. Would you really have slit that man's throat? It would
seem counter-productive. To kill fellow Christians. Especially in such a day
as this. Saracens I understand, but to kill a fellow knight in cold blood?"
Amerigo asked, before realizing that perhaps Du Kayne was not in the mood
for questions.

du Kayne's gazed bored into the Italians with a force of a lance wielded by a knight on horseback. The usually voluble and cocky man wilted slightly under the stare.

"And you are?" du Kayne inquired softly, perhaps too softly.

"Amerigo, Sir du Kayne," the man gulped slightly.

"In answer to your question, yes," du Kayne frowned.

"But why?" Amerigo inquired, wishing he had kept his mouth shut, but it was too late.

du Kayne sighed," Amerigo, I suppose I am going to have to explain to you, and to the others why I did what I did, and why the fighting in the Holy Land is going to be so much different than what you are used to here."

"So there IS an explanation!" Amerigo seemed relieved.

"Of course," du Kayne replied grimly," I'm not a madman. Well, not entirely, anyway. There are always reasons for what I do. I have been to the holy land. I know what warfare is like there. I have to teach all of you what I know if we are to survive against the infidel."

"I look forward to your explanation then," Amerigo nodded.

du Kayne studied him for a moment," Say, aren't you the fellow who said Walker would make a sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir!" Amerigo agreed.

"Walker is in charge of the foot," du Kayne chuckled," You volunteered to become a FOOT soldier!"

Amerigo looked shocked, and with that du Kayne walked away in slightly better humor as he made his own way to the training field.
 
April 12, 1189: Dawn--The Camp

Chuckling quietly at the fop's discomfort, Henry lightly nudged his horse forward, after du Kayne. The horse moved slowly up alongside the knight as he walked toward the training field. Henry cleared his throat. "Sir? Can I ask a question, sir?"

du Kayne looked up at Henry upon his horse. "Aye? And who are you? And where should you be?," he asked sharply.

"Henry of Tintagel, sir. I haven't been assigned yet, sir." Henry wondered briefly if he should dismount. Well, if he wants me to, he'll tell me, or just knock me on my ass.

"Hmm. What's your question, then?"

"Two questions, sir. First, is there a place for horse in the Holy Land? And second, if there is, what role, sir? Shock or mobility?" Henry thought he should stop there, but he kept going. "You see, if there's no place for horse, then I need to find a good stable to keep Merrick, here" - Henry rubbed his horse's ears - "while I'm gone."
 
Christian, his fellow knights and their men were readying themselves in a quiet part of the camp when all hell broke lose. Christian raised an eyebrow but said nothing when they first they heard Walker bellowing.

As duKayne went through camp the Danes saddled up and moved cohesively through the camp noting how many where still stumbling through their routines. Christian leaned over to one of the other knights and commented on what they saw in quiet Danish.

As they came by the small tableau of their future commander and a late knight Christian frowned but refrained from comment. Once outside of earshot he again turned in the saddle, “I hope the man knows what he is doing, one thing is to teach spoiled brats what an army really does, and teach all of us what it takes to survive in the Holy land.”

Theo the knight nodded, “but insulting a knight on the first day is a great way of alienating the rest of the group. Especially if they see it as unfair treatment. They are not the most understanding lot.”

Christian nodded and moved forward.

The field ahead of them were a mess, horses cantering hither and thither men lounging in the grass or standing in small knots. Only the larger groups of men that already were a unit seemed to carry some sort of order. Christian spotted Alv and his Norwegians next to the Irish and directed his steed that way.
 
Walking around the small circle of tents that made up the Polish encampment, Kazimierz awoke his men early in the day, as the sun rose, to the northeast... towards Poland. Gathering all their gear and readying their horses, they rode to the main field, while they were eating their breakfast.

Arriving before the other large groups, such as the Irish, the Poles realized that they were not leaving today... today was the day that was to be set aside for the training and weeding of the troops, as Kazimierz had discerned from his talk with Von Stark the previous evening. They would have to follow orders from a German, or, if it was Du Kayne, a Frank, and quite a hateful one.

Dismounting, they waited quietly as the Norwegians, Irish, Danish, and many other crusaders gathered in the area, all waiting for orders. Apparently, some were rather angry at both Walker and du Kayne, and a sense of disdain for this authority rippled through the troops in the field. Kazimierz, for once, was not one encouraging it, as it would end in nothing good. However, once he got the Holy Land, he would feel differently...
 
April 12, 1189 - Morning - Training field

Lorenzo watched from one side as Du Kayne embarassed the knight in front of the others. He shook his head. While this was acceptable in the Holy Land, du Kayne got to realise that this is Europe. The knights here have never faced infidiels before and their sense of honour will not allow them to leave this slight unanswered. Lorenzo watched the knight walked away. He hoped that was the end of the matter.

Amerigo and then Sir Henry went up to du Kayne to speak with him. Lorenzo had no wish to speak with du Kayne at the moment so he decided to go to the training field first.

Riding to the training field, he noticed the same knight that had just been scolded by du Kayne minutes earlier. He was surrounded by a few other knights and he seemed to be speaking in a very animated manner.

Lorenzo shook his head again. That man must be complaining about his treatment at the hands of du Kayne.

He could not be more wrong. As he approached the group, he could clearly make hear them making plans.

"...intercept du Kayne and then take him somewhere secluded where we will teach him a lesson he will never forget." said one of the knights.

"Yes! He must be reminded that Knights are not peasants and cannot be treated in that manner." said another.

Lorenzo had heard enough. As casual as he could, he turned around and made his way back to the camp.

On his way back, he passed by Lt Walker and Amerigo. Amerigo looked a little downcast. Lt Walker took a quick glance at Lorenzo and then asked Lorenzo," Going somewhere to slack, Lorenzo? As I recall, the training field is that way."

Lorenzo quickly answered in a soft voice," Something's up Sir. I am going back to Sir du Kayne and i suggest you two come along."

The 2 men stared at Lorenzo for a moment longer and then nodded. The 3 of them quickly made their way back. At that moment, du Kayne was speaking to Sit Henry when the 3 men arrived.

du Kayne looked a little surprised when he noticed them and the serious expression on Lorenzo's face. "What is it Lorenzo?"

Lorenzo replied," You screwed up just now sir."

du Kayne scrowled at that," Oh?"

Quickly Lorenzo told the small group what he had just overheard at the training field.

When he finished, he turned to du Kayne," So what do you plan to do about it now, Sir?"
 
Alv spotted the Danish knights and their retinue and trundled over, “So did you get a wake up call?”

Grinning to the wiry Norwegian Christian shook his head, “No we were ready, but something bad will come of this, I can smell it,” he indicated his head at a group of knights talking agitatedly and relayed the incident in the camp to Alv.

The small man grinned, “you knights and your sense of rights.”

Christian raised an eyebrow; “think of it as clan honour.”

Alv stopped laughing and looked speculatively at the group, “In that case it can get ugly indeed.”

“Well they are not blood, so I doubt it will come to too much, but they feel abused.”

Alv nodded, “I’ve decided to continue my training with the Irish, together we make up a large enough force and to my understanding of what you would call light infantry?”

“Light infantry indeed, I have no way of knowing the intentions of our commander, but you are less armoured and act less cohesively than those.” He nodded towards a group of German soldiers marching by weighted down by heavy mails and pole arms.

Alv nodded and headed back to Conchubar, and Christian could see them talk and point to the various groups on the field.

The Knight turned his horse around and led his group over to the other knights squeezing in next to a large group of Poles.
 
April 12, 1189: Morning-- Training Fields

"Watch and see," du Kayne strode off toward the training field, Lorenzo and Walker behind him.

Suddenly the pains he had been having in his stomach for the past few days made him gasp in pain and double over. He spewed his hastily eaten breakfast onto the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he straightened up slowly and squared his shoulders.

"What is the problem, du Kayne?" Walker inquired," Have too much to drink last night after we parted ways?"

"Hardly," Alexandre snorted," I don't know. I've been having stomach pains that come and go the last few days. Must have been something I ate. It is no real worry."

"If you say so," Walker shrugged.

Du Kayne continued onward to the fields and he stopped in front of the gathered knights and looked dead on at the conspirators.

"YOU!" he thundered, pointing at the man he had humiliated earlier," I WARNED YOU. YOU CHOSE NOT TO LISTEN. NOW YOU INVOLVE OTHERS IN YOUR FEEBLE PLOTS."

Alexandre winced slightly, as another wave of pain rippled up from his lower abdomen.

"I am disappointed," He continued on, more quietly," I must teach you that fighting in Europe is NOT the same as fighting in the Holy Land. The infidel does not fight like we do here in Europe. He is more than willing to shoot you full of arrows and dash away, letting the foolish try to chase them down.

You won't catch them. Their horses are smaller and faster than our destriers. You would chase them and get strung out in small clumps or as individuals and then they would turn and hunt you down like scared rabbits!

I know you don't believe me, but it is a FACT! Your horses would be exhausted and you would be alone. Granted you would kill a few of them, but in the end you would die. They have hordes of men to throw at us, and we only have what men we start with. We won't be getting massive amounts of reinforcements like they will.

I was with Baldwin IV when we defeated a host of infidels that outnumbered us by more than 20-1. WE did it by being disciplined and working as a team, not as a bunch of egotistical individuals! If we had fought like we do here in Europe, the Saracens would have swallowed us up with hardly a problem.

When I fought with the new king, he took the advice of many but couldn't go with a plan that took into account our advantages and keep our weaknesses to a minimum. That is why we were so badly destroyed at Hattin!"

Alexandre doubled over again in pain, manfully keeping the bile from erupted again in front of the men. Some of them look concerned, while others thought it was good to see the lieutenant in pain.

"You, Sir," du Kayne pointed at the man," have proven that you are NOT the kind of man we want on crusade. You may leave now by your own will, or I will remove you permanently."

"You wouldn't DARE!" the man shouted, braver now that he had 'friends' to back him up.

"I wouldn't?" du Kayne sneered," Are you willing to test your little theory?"

"Gladly!" the man tore his sword out of his sheath and advanced on the lieutenant.

His cohorts milled about, uncertain of the wisdom of attacking an officer in full sight of the entire company. The knight didn't even notice that his 'friends' had seemingly abandoned him.

Du Kayne's lips skinned back showing his teeth as he ripped his own blade from it's sheath. The sound of blades ringing in the morning air soon rang out. It became rather obvious that du Kayne was far more than a match for his opponent.

Du Kayne pinked his opponent three or four times and to some in the ranks it seemed that he ignored several openings to kill his opponent. Suddenly du Kayne doubled over again, leaving himself open to attack. The knight slammed his blade at the juncture of du Kayne's neck and shoulder. With a sickening crunch du Kayne's left shoulder was badly maimed.

With a grunt du Kayne straightened and plunged his blade full into the belly of his enemy. The knight swayed, dropping his blade and looking horrified.

"You shouldn't have been able to do that," he whispered.

"Why not?" du Kayne doubled over again, releasing his own sword, still embedded in the other man," Ah, that hurts."

The pain suddenly stopped in his stomach and a sweet relief began to pervade his body. With a slight smile du Kayne sat down quickly on his bum looking at the knight lying on the ground groaning and writhing in pain.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" du Kayne chuckled softly," It might take you all day to die."

Blood was still running from his own wound, but du Kayne couldn't feel it. A strange lethargy was spreading throughout his body. His thought processes started to slow.

"You don't look so good yourself," the knight gasped out," I think I've killed you."

"Sorry, chap," du Kayne ground out slowly," I'm dying, but not due to you. I think I have been poisoned."

"du Kayne!" Walker shouted," What the hell are you doing? Get up, man! I've sent for a leech to get your shoulder looked at."

"Don't bother, Walker," du Kayne mumbled," I'm already dead."

With that, the Knight of Jerusalem slipped onto his side and closed his eyes for the last time.
 
April 12, 1189: Morning-- Training Fields

Henry of Tintagel watched the scene unfold from atop his horse. He had been talking to du Kayne about cavalry tactics in the Levant before the knight had been pulled away to deal with the idiot. Listening to du Kayne shout at the fool, Henry realized he was getting his lecture, whether du Kayne intended it for him or not. He's a bastard and a vicious one at that, he mused, but maybe that's what we need. For my part, I'll follow him to the gates of Jerusalem and beyond.

Then the fight began. du Kayne was playing with his foe. Never a good idea, thought Henry, especially when you're ill. He too had witnessed du Kayne's breakfast being spewed upon the ground. Then du Kayne doubled over, the swords both went home, and both du Kayne and the idiot were on the ground.

Walker was shouting about getting a leech. du Kayne was muttering something, and Henry strained to hear it over the tumult. "Don't bother, Walker," du Kayne mumbled, "I'm already dead." And so he was.

Henry sat atop Merrick in shock. We haven't even left for the Holy Land yet, and our leader has fallen. Walker was trying to revive du Kayne. Henry said a quiet prayer for the knight's soul. "I'll find a priest, Walker," he said quietly, doubting his voice would carry. He started to ride off, paused for a moment. "Who takes command from here?"
 
Lorenzo watched as du Kayne tumbled onto the ground, dead. poisoned, the word echoed again and again in his mind.

Drawing his sword, Lorenzo advanced on the rest of the disadent knights. "Well, anyone else have anything else to complain about Sir du Kayne?" growled Lorenzo. Still numbed with shock at what they had just seen, they shook their heads.

Just as Lorenzo was about to sheath his sword again, a sudden realisation hit him as he cried," Sir Erik von Stark! Where is he?" Walker jumped up and he instantly ran to look for the commander of their little group.

Seeing Sir Henry walked off, Lorenzo stopped him, "Where are you going Sir Henry?"

"To fetch a priest."

Lorenzo shook his head," Leave that to a squire. I got a job for you. du Kayne said he was posioned just before he collapsed. Take a few men with you and gather every chef here. I've got a few questions for them." said Lorenzo in a deadly cold voice.

"You think one of the chefs poisoned him?" asked Henry in a doubtful voice.

"That's what i am going to find out." Sir Henry nodded and walked off.

Lorenzo turned back to see the rest of the camp still milling about, still in shock at what had happened.

Tilting his head to the nearby Amerigo," Amerigo, with Walker off to check on Sir Von Stark, that leaves you in charge. I need you to gather everyone else and make sure all are accounted for."

Amerigo nodded," You suspect one of them?"

"That's what we are going to find out." said Lorenzo.

As Amerigo turned away to do his task, Lorenzo looked around for someone to do his final request. Noticing the Polish Prince, he walked over to him.

Bowing his head in respect," Your Highness, you've seen what has happened?"

The Prince nodded," Yes. Looks like du Kayne has been poisoned by an arch enemy or one of the infidiels seek to stop us from travelling to the Holy Land."

Lorenzo nodded his head in agreement," Yes, that's what i thought. Until Someone say otherwise, can i request for your men to seal off the camp and prevent everyone from leaving or entering the camp until Von Stark says otherwise."

The Prince raised his eyebrow," Are you giving me an order?"

"A request, Your Highness. I trust you and your men did not do it because the Polish Royal House is an honourable one and will not stoop to this despicable act. I cannot trust anyone else here. Will you do it?"
 
April 12, 1189: Morning -- Just Outside the Camp

"von Stark! Dammit, get me von Stark!" bellowed Lt. Walker, who was not so much in a rage as totally flustered. As he waited for the boy to get Erik von Stark, the Lieutenant chewed on his mustache* and sighed heavily.

Fortunately Erik von Stark came quickly. "What is it? I was just making plans for-"

"Erik sir, we have a slight problem..." the Lt. paused to form the words. "Mr. du Kayne - is - well, he is in another kingdom, sir."

von Stark blinked.

"He's, uh, well, you see sir, he had been feeling a bit funny for some time now, pains in the abdomen, and all, sir, and, uh-"

von Stark realized. "You mean he's dead?"

"Well, yes, sir, but I wasn't going to say it so, uh, bluntly sir.. He said he must have been poisoned sir, but he also got ...well... in a duel, sir, with a soldier, and they stabbed each other, sir, and the soldier died...as did du Kayne."

"He was poisoned or stabbed?"

"Both, sir. But we don't know how he died, sir, but he said the poison did it."

"Damn. Still in Italy and already one of our fine officers is dead. We're going to have a time of it in the Holy Land, Walker. You'll come with us?"

"I will follow your orders," and now Walker moved past shock and into anger, "and wring the neck of the man that-"

"Well, we've got to have a meeting. Us leadership, figure out who's in charge of what and how we're going to get around this. Meantime seal off the camp and training field, and try to find who poisoned him, if they poisoned him. Damn. Why the hell- just my luck I suppose. Well, carry on, Lieutenant."

Walker moved back to the center of the camp to distribute orders and acquire a horse for the ride over to the training field. In his head sprang an idea, also, an idea to become du Kayne's successor...


---------------
*OOC: He does have a mustache...right? :D
 
"Will you do it?" asked Lorenzo of Kazimierz...

"Yes, I'll gather my cavalry," Kazimierz replied, "I assume we are authorized to stop any who attempt to force their way past us, by any means?"

Reluctantly, Lorenzo acknowledged.

Riding off to his tents, Kazimierz formed his small unit and, after dismantling and picking up the tents, they rode off to the borders of the field. While their unit was small, though it was all the Poles that had come, it was large enough to secure the small border. The rocky rise behind the field created a natural barrier over which one could not escape very quickly, and a small fence was built around the rest, as it was formerly a pen for sheep. Their horses allowed them to swiftly move from one end of the field to the other, and because of this, few could break through the fence and then continue onward without being noticed.

Kazimierz and his troops quickly began setting up the post, tying up their horses and organizing shifts. However, this was when they must be ready, as the murderer would likely try to escape soon after du Kayne was dead. Or perhaps he had already left, as poison could easily kill a man hours or days after it was ingested.
 
Van Gent watched the scene in front of him.

One knight dead, another bleeding towards it. People milling around like headless chickens, some yelling for a priest other yelling for a healer and one was calling for the cooks.
The crowd was swelling and amazed onlookers where getting closer and closer to the two knights, some even standing into the spilled blood.
Some of the dieing knights friends where tending to his wounds, but bt the looks on their faces they realised he was a lost cause.

He moved over to the corpse of du Kayne, he cleared the area around him and ordered one of his men to get a piece of cloth to cover the corpse with.
Gently Van Gent kneeled down and studied the corpse.
It was obvious that the wound didn't kill him. Somehow the death of du Kayne reminded him of something.

"Gaston, ofcourse!"

One of the onlookers asked him what he ment.

"I've seen this before a few years ago on one of my men. He had pain in his abdomen for some days and suddenly he dropped death just like that.
The local quack did some research and even cut him open to look inside. He found that somehow his a small piece of his intestines had ruptured and that caused his death. Maybe du Kayne here wasn't poisened at all?"
 
The moment Petrus saw du Kayne collapsed, he went looking for his fellow infantry man, Sirus. Finding him, he went over to him and whispered fiercely into his ears, "What the hell are you doing? Why have you poisoned du Kayne before i gave the word? I haven't even have the chance to get to Von Stark yet."

Sirus looked at Petrus in amazement," What the hell are you talking about? I haven't done anything at all to du Kayne."

"Are you taking me for a fool? du Kayne is dead and they say he was poisoned."

"Listen Petrus, i swear i did nothing. The poison is still in our tent."

"Shit! Then who did it?"

"Hey you two! Stop talking and fall in! Amerigo wants all of us to assemble." shouted another soldier.

The two venetians looked at each other. Petrus said," Come on lets fall in first. They will be suspicious if we we fail to turn up." Sirus nodded but he was starting to sweat purfousely.

"Come on Sirus, look normal! pretend we don't know anything." Sirus nodded again but his face expression continued to be very nervous.

Petrus cursed silently and then said a silent prayer. He hope they will escape detection.

In the distance, he could see Amerigo counting the numbers. Petrus and Sirus snuggled closer to the other soldiers and hoped not to get noticed. This was going to be a long day....
 
April 12, 1189 - Late Morning - Outside The Camp

Von Stark had begun to walk quietly back towards his tent when he heard Van Gent shouting from behind him. The German knight hurried back to speak with him.

"Not poisoned, you say?"

"I cannot say for sure, sir, but it is possible. As I said, I've seen a similar death caused not by poison but by a bursting of the innards."

"Either way, there are things which now must be done," Erik said dully. "Someone fetch a priest. I will be appointing a new commander of our mounted forces shortly. There will be a ceremony to honor Lieutenant Walker tonight at dusk. All are welcome to attend. Carry on with drill as Lieutenant Walker instructs. I have business to attend to in the city, however, I will return this evening for the ceremony."

Erik turned and walked grimly away. He thought resignedly to himself I didn't see that one coming. Poison? Disease? Either way, the result was the same. Du Kayne's dead. We need a new cavalry commander. I'll have to talk to Walker. Perhaps the Dane, was Christian his name? Maybe Piast...but I can trust him that far? Damn, this is a mess.

Erik suddenly stopped moving as another thought hit him. Why hasn't the Templar contingent arrived yet?
 
April 12th, 1189, on the road to Venice​
​

"Genevieve, you are wobbling" said the knight to his horse, his French accent thicker than the swampy air around them. "Have you been into the wine again? Hmmm, I think, all in all, that is not a bad idea." He reached to his side and pulled up a bottle. The cork, already most of the way out, he yanked out with his teeth and spat onto the road, drained the last quarter of the bottle in a quick gulp, and tossed the empty bottle away. "There, that's it...no more for either of us until we get to Venice. It shall not be long, Genevieve...at least I hope not, or we will get terribly thirsty."

Another crusade was coming, and not a moment too soon for Jean-Claude de Langeais. He only hoped he would reach the party before it left for the Holy Land. Coming over the crest of a hill, he spotted a group of men milling about outside the city...they looked like cavalrymen, and there appeared to be a large camp beyond. "This must be the place..." muttered Jean-Claude to himself. He rode at a leisurely pace towards the pickets, and as he got closer he noticed they were probably Poles, judging by their armament and crests. When he was within shouting distance, he raised an unsteady hand in salute.

"Bonjour!" he yelled, then dismounted his horse, still unsteady, and wobbled over towards the nearest man. He looked to be the leader of the group. Looking past him to the field beyond, he noticed a crowd of men gathering over something in the field...what it was, he could not tell. "Ah, bonjour monsieur, I am the Viscount Sir Jean-Claude de Langeais, and I've heard of a Crusade being formed?" His stance was unsteady, and his breath carried the strong scent of wine; never mind the fact that it was still morning. "I am looking for the leader of this little expeditionne, to offer my experience in fighting the Saracen devils and my services as a Knight Hospit-, er, a former Knight Hospitaler. Could you direct me to the leader of this endeavor, s'il vous plait?" He was pleasant and spoke with a smile. He wore chain mail, and had a strange, custom-built shield slung over his back; instead of the common reverse-teardrop shape of his contemporaries, the shield was broader and had a pair of teeth jutting down from the bottom. Additionally, the shield had a gap in the top, where the middle came down a little lower than the sides. And all around the edges, small notches were carved into it, circling the shield in its entirety.

Looking down into the field as he awaited the Polish soldier's response, he said "My, I hope I did not miss all the excitement..."
 
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