Soldiers of God - Part II
Bishop Nuncio de Compostela stood on a crudely erected dais, his arms folded before his body in prayer. Behind him the sun was just peeking its head over the horizon and cast a gloomy morning light on the pile of ashes that marked the final resting place of the two moors from the night before. As he started in to the mass the soldiers arrayed in tight lines were a spectacle of piety all with their heads bowed low towards the ground and their hands clutched to their hearts in devotion. Such was the power of God over the Knights of Santiago, and Juan Diaz who knelt in the fore of them, his eyes cast stolidly forward beyond the holy man knew precisely how to wield that power. The barbarous burning of the rebels had evoked no sympathy or outrage in this camp, to the contrary it was admired and awe inspiring and the men, who were before restless for battle now stiffened their determination and in God found the patience to do their duty well.
Perhaps one amongst them all could, if one looked their hardest, seem dissatisfied with what went on around him. Clothed in the uniform of the grandees of the order Philippe de Juarez, was the youngest of their group and had inherited his place in the order from his late father, who served as Grandmaster prior to Juan Diaz. The young Philippe was tall and slender, the only of his peers to sport no beard from underneath his helm. His features could not be called fair for the bones of his face were set like stones and he bore about it the scars of an infant illness that almost claimed his life. He had never been close to his Master and often found himself the object of de Toledo's ridicule and more than once his anger. Either way despite his slighter frame Juarez was alone amongst the order that had brought down the Grandmaster in the lists and with a sword the young knight was unequaled by his peers. It was this young knight who knelt in solemn prayer before his men that could be seen to often turn his gaze to Juan Diaz and hold it there challenging the great soldier to face his young adversary.
De Toledo of course, as he was of most things, was well aware of Philippe’s growing enmity and he tolerated it only for the youth's sword that had several times been his own match. It would ruin his standing with his men if he cast out the heir to the previous leader of the Order, for what would only be construed as jealousy and that was the one thing Juan Diaz would not sacrifice. Ignoring the cold glares of the boy the Grandmaster suffered through the rest of the Bishops prayers before finally did all rise, and having the camp already dissembled, head for their mounts and the rode towards the fortress of Murcia. It was there that reports said the rebels had concentrated, but that would not be the first destination of the army of the Order of Santiago.
They had followed the rode uneventfully for some coming first by the city of Cieza and then Archena both of which quickly ran up the flags of Castile and offered all that they could to the holy warriors at their gates. Juan Diaz wondered how much effect the rumor of the Moors fate the night before had had on these easy successes. His time for thoughts was limited though, for as the army came near to the gates of Las Torres de Cotilla, not far northwest of Murcia, they were beset upon on their flank by a large group of mounted men.
"TO ARMS FOR SANTIAGO!" Juan Diaz called out boisterously in answer to the horrible taunts and screams offered from their right flank. The knights had traveled far along the main road, paying little heed to the forested hills along their flank, and now they were paying the price for their impetuousness.
The force of rebels outnumbered the knights by a less than slight margin, though their arms were light and their steeds more akin to fieldwork than war. Regardless their high spirits and hatred for their enemies did much to drive them on as they bore down quickly on the Christians who were struggling to form into line to absorb their enemies. It was the front that fared best for the Order, motivated by their noble leaders, who managed actually to form up a small group and meet their attackers at a charge, and dealt great damage to them. Despite this valiant effort the center of the Juan Diaz's forces buckled before the pressure of the brunt of the attack and amidst a tangled mess of horses and flailing bodies the Moors wrecked much havoc. In the rearguard the personal attendants of the Bishop had fled in horror at the first cry of the enemy and the Bishop found himself surrounded by a thin veil of faithful knights who rushed to his aid just in time to engage in a brutal standstill fight with a stout group of riders. Half surrounded the knights could find no ground to sally forth a charge, and their horses stumbled on the baggage and fallen relics of the Bishops party. All the while mounted archers on the enemy’s perimeter harried them, and the men all thanked their heavy plate armor without which they surely would have been massacred to the man.
As these battles raged the successful charge of the Grandmaster and his men was followed by pursuit of the remaining moors who fled in terror. All but Philippe engaged in this frivolous chase, as he alone saw more in this ambuscade than a chance for personal glory. He sighed at the sight of his fellow nobles disappearing over the nearby hill and turned towards the center where his men were engaged in a fearful fight, the line bowing back terribly and threatening a breakthrough. Philippe briefly contemplated a solitary charge into the enemies back but discarded the thought as suicide before heading off with all speed back towards his original position, where he hoped to gather the few men of his party that had not sped off towards the fleeing enemy, and bolster his center. This he did, and to great effect. Quickly he had about him fifteen strong men and wheeling back round their possession they formed up and charged into the fray of their comrades and the desperate rebels. The impact was terrifying and the clash of hard steel on steel and blades to bones, drowned out the previously dominant cries of agony and shouts of glory. Even the wailing of the forlorn bishop was unheard as Philippe at the head of his men drove through the enemy and scattered them like a deck of cards. Taking down many of the enemy, to no losses of their own the chargers found themselves quickly on the opposite side of their enemy, and before they could set to charge in on their rear their hopelessly outclassed adversaries turned tail and fled. It was now that the Bishop shouted his valiant jeers and vective against Islam as his foe's back was turned.
At this same time the impetuous knights, who charged so valiantly earlier returned to the field and found the pickings ripe as the disorganized enemy attempted to ride by them only to be cut down nearly to the man. By this time though Juan Diaz and his cadres horses were blown, and it fell to Philippe and the rest to offer the true chase, while the noblest of the group took rest and made what pillage they could of their downtrodden enemies. The chase did not last long as the heavily armored knights of the Order were tired, but not nearly so much as their strong mounts which could not give chase for long to so lightly burdened prey as the rebel's horses. Upon his return Philippe found Juan Diaz along with his grandiose company toasting a glass of wine to their glorious victory as the soldiers around them hurried to set up camp amongst the failing sunlight. The young warrior was enraged and he charged up angrily to the Grandmaster. Reigning up his horse viciously with one hand Philippe cast off his helm with the other and spat upon the ground at the object of his disgusts feet.
"Will you not even bury our dead brothers, for you pop the cask in celebration of your own glory?" He jumped off his steed and came close to Juan Diaz the young nights flustered red face contrasting with the clam and dark looks of the hardened older knight.
"Set you down boy,” The Grandmaster motioned as if to a dog, drawing a brief chuckle from several of his company. "Our casualties are few despite the enemies high numbers and never before has God's grace to our company been so truly shown. Why do you so spoil your father's name with your infantile temper...it is a waste of a good sword!" Several of the nearby knights grunted in agreement, though more it seemed remained silent and some even cast a compassionate look upon the young man who stood breathing heavily tired and dirty from battle.
"You show disdain for God in all you do then twist his name to your advantage,” Philippe whispered this only to the master, knowing he could not win this hear or now, "I shall not always be your slave."
Juan Diaz offered no answer and sipped calmly from his drink, a slight and crooked smile hiding a deep animosity upon his face. He motioned to a group of nearby soldiers to see to the dead and then turned back amongst his company, a sea of fake smiles and insincere sentiments. The Grandmaster cared not, for he was the most powerful of them all and his will was theirs. Not far behind his back one of the noblest of the Knights of all the order still clad in his finest armor began the task of digging the graves of his comrades. At first only those ushered forward by the master came to his aid, but then all that had fought alongside him were soon there, for a far more somber task and as the grim chore went on a great body of men came to help and offer their respect. All the while Juan Diaz busied himself with his self-congratulation, but he was not blind to the dissension arising behind him. It could wait; the walls of Murcia were not far off.
