THE REIGN OF GODFREY II (1213-?)
Part XVII: Blind Vengeance
The training courtyard rang with the sound of steel on steel.
Barisan of Montferrat cried out in pain as he hit the ground for the third time. The fourteen-year-old squire’s face was splattered with mud, and his arms were lined with bruises. They were using blunted blades, but that didn’t stop them from hurting.
“No, boy!” shouted Godfrey, “I said to block my blows, not take them! When you attack rashly you make yourself vulnerable!”
Barisan scrambled to his feet and wiped some of the mud off his face. “No fair!” he said accusingly, “You cheated!”
Barisan de Montferrat, Nephew and Squire to the King.
“As I’ve already told you, Barisan, this is no game,” said Godfrey, “This is the difference between being alive, and dying a very painful death! Now pay attention and do as you’re told, and maybe you’ll learn how to keep your life!”
Barisan once again assumed the posture he had learned from Godfrey and prepared to spar.
“Hold, Barisan,” said Godfrey. “I don’t think the Wrath Guard is a good stance for you, not yet at least. You’re not strong enough yet. Let’s teach you the Fool’s Guard.”
“I’m no fool!” said Barisan.
“I’m no fool, sire!” Godfrey chastened, “Do I need to give you another drubbing, boy?” By Christ, the lad was spiteful!
“Sire,” grumbled Barisan, before his King could administer another dose of corporal punishment.
Godfrey still hadn’t figured out why Alix and Conrad had asked him to take their troublesome son to be his squire. Didn’t he have enough to worry about? He would have given them riches, lands, or power if they had asked for them, but no, they had wanted him to make an honorable man out of this little scoundrel.
“Why can’t just do as you’re told for once?” asked Godfrey.
The boy scowled and said nothing.
“Keep your sword low,” said Godfrey, “Point it forward, towards the ground.”
“That is a fool’s guard!” said Barisan, “That’ll leave me open to attack!”
“That’s just how it’s supposed to look,” said Godfrey, “You mislead your opponent into attacking your vulnerability, and then you'll have him exactly where you want him. There’s more to swordfighting than just ‘hack and slash.’ You’ve got to learn how to outwit your enemy!”
“I still don’t buy it,” Barisan scoffed, “I’m not an idiot!”
“That’s debatable,” thought Godfrey. “Very well,” he said to the boy, “Then attack me. Try to exploit the weak spot. Come on then, thrust!”
“Fine!” said Barisan, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Maybe after he showed his uncle how stupid this was, he’d be able to learn some real swordsmanship for a change.
The young squire thrusted as instructed, but with an added measure of ferocity. Godfrey immediately raised his blade into a hanging parry, blocking Barisan’s awkward attack with ease. Barisan was clearly surprised, but resented being shown up. The boy cried out in anger and charged Godfrey, aiming for the King’s heart. Godfrey swiftly knocked the boy’s blade to the side with his gauntlet, and deftly placed the tip of his sword against Barisan’s throat.
“Now,” said Godfrey, “Do you understand?”
“How’d you do that?” asked Barisan, gasping from the exertion.
“I can teach you,” said Godfrey, “If you’ll stop resisting my instruction. Shall we try that again?”
Barisan nodded eagerly, the beginnings of a smile pricking the corners of his mouth.
“Your Highness!”
The King turned to see the source of the interruption. It was a guardsman, clad in the faded blue livery of Lusignan Jerusalem, running towards them as fast as he could.
“Sire! A missive has arrived for you! From the Pope himself!”
“From the Pope?” asked Godfrey, “I thought we were under interdict? What message from his Holiness?”
“His emissary is in audience with your mother the Queen even as we speak!”
“And?” asked Godfrey, “What news does he bear?”
“Queen Sibylla asks that you come quickly, sire,” panted the footman, “You’ve got to hear this message for yourself!”
***
The massive Venetian fleet glided in precise formation across the choppy, turbulent waters of the Mediterranean Sea. An old man stood at the bow of the lead ship, his mouth wide in an elated smile. He could not see the water, but he could feel the spray on his face, hear the waves crashing against the hull of the ship. Enrico Dandolo may have lost his sight, but he had not lost his mind, not completely at least.
Enrico Dandolo, the blind Doge of Venice.
In his hand, he clutched a ragged scroll of paper, an official dispatch from his Holiness the Pope, something he called a “carta bianca.” The nervous-sounding Spanish Cardinal who had delivered the message had also read it to him personally, since there was no way Dandolo could read it himself. Of course, being a man of considerable influence, the Doge had already heard about the new crusade pending against Jerusalem.
He had not believed that the Pope would be so foolish as to launch an attack against the strongest bastion of Christianity in the Levant. The arrival of the papal messenger had confirmed Dandolo’s suspicions; Innocent was actually being coerced, and was desperately looking for a way to prevent the upcoming disaster. And of course, calling in his favor with Dandolo would be the obvious solution.
The aged Doge of Venice squinted, as had become his habit over his past several decades of blindness, and as had always been the case, he could see nothing of consequence -- just a little blurry light with his left eye. It would not be long now. His ears perked up at the sound of approaching footfalls. “Yes?!” he asked irritably, before the man could speak.
“My lord?” said a tentative voice. It was da Conti, the captain of Dandolo’s flagship. “Our destination looms on the horizon. Shall I give the order to prepare the crusaders for disembarkation?”
“Disembark?” muttered Dandolo, “Yes, yes! Disembark! Get them off my ships! Let them start burning things! YES!”
“By your will,” said the captain, and his footfalls swiftly moved away from Dandolo. A moment later he heard da Conti’s voice call out his orders, and the air erupted into a dissonance of Venetian voices as Dandolo’s sailors prepared for their arrival.
Now that he was once again alone, the Doge allowed his mind to wander. In his heart of hearts, he found that he was rather grateful that Pope Innocent was calling in his favor now. Every action had consequences, and the consequence of this particular action would be that both he and the Pope would get exactly what they wanted: Innocent’s crusade would be diverted, and Dandolo would at last have his revenge.
The footfalls came again. That simpering simpleton da Conti was back.
“Sire?” said the captain, as gently as he could manage, “Sire? Perhaps my lord would be more comfortable resting below deck?” He attempted to coax the Doge towards the steps leading to the lower decks. Dandolo slapped his hands away.
“No, NO!” hissed Dandolo, “Mustn’t go below decks! Not now! Must behold my vengeance!” Dandolo had found years ago that he had to rant and rave, or else his wishes would simply be ignored. Nobody noticed a little old blind man, even if he was the Doge of Venice, unless he acted like he was half-mad. And so Dandolo threw a temper tantrum. “Must stay!” he raved, “Must WATCH!”
“My lord, you are blind!” pleaded da Conti, “You cannot see anything! And at your age, you should be resting! This journey has been hard on your health!”
“No, no, NO!” shrieked Dandolo, stamping his feet, “Must wait, not long now! Soon, you will see, soon, SOON!” Exasperated, Captain da Conti returned to his duties.
The Doge shook his head. The fool did not understand. Of course, Dandolo did not expect to live to return to Venice. He was over one hundred years old, (at least that was when he had stopped counting,) and he knew that the rigors of travel and war would wreak havoc on an old man’s constitution. He only had to wait but a little longer, and his final wish would be fulfilled. He could not make them understand, these others. But soon they would see, soon! For now, he just needed to wait, wait for the blurry light to change color from white to orange, red, and gold, yes, the colors of…
“Fire, Blood, Treasure!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, and then burst into a cacophony of hideous, rasping laughter.
***
So the Crusaders have arrived at their destination, but where exactly has Dandolo taken them?
Be sure to find out next time with the next update of Chronicles of the Golden Cross!
Be sure to find out next time with the next update of Chronicles of the Golden Cross!
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