#8e
Serbia : October 1419
“Horror seized us all when the Cubukcay ceased to flow as we were closing in for the fight. Timur’s engineers had diverted water toward a reservoir upstream. I don’t know if we truly realised immediately that the battle’s outcome was sealed from this very moment on, but we definitely knew that we were in serious trouble.
Bayezid must have understood anyway, since the order quickly came to the light cavalry: we were to flank the enemy lines and aim to break the dam at all cost. Indeed, the cost was steep and the attempt really hopeless. I had been involved in a light cavalry charge against the Turkish army at Kosovo Polje. It had been my very first, and disastrous, contact with war. But Ankara was even worse if possible. Our charge was really just a suicidal attack. Mongol raiders pounded us with their sharp arrows all along, dodging our counter attacks like eels. It was unbelievable. I’m still pretty sure that one of them turned around without even slowing his mount. Not only didn’t we reach the dikes, but we didn’t even reach enemy infantry. My comrades were falling like flies and the charge quickly faltered. I realised that I was facing my end to no avail.”
“So, what did you do?”
“What would have you done?”
The mercenary thought a few seconds.
“Well, turning tail would not be an option… Going on would be fatal. I suppose that I would have tried to play the dummy.”
The baron nodded.
“Exactly. I knew the battle was lost. My compatriots fought incredibly well though. Swords were still clashing late in the afternoon although both horses and men were falling for dehydration.”
“How did you get out of this mess?”
“Good question. I had to get away quickly, because I was dehydrating too in the burning dust, not to mention the threat of scavengers who usually come on the battlefield as soon as they can in order to loot the dead and wounded. I’ve been lucky this day, for the battle moved further south. I escaped through the empty bed of the Cubukcay. I just stopped to drink a few swallows of muddy water in a puddle where a lone fish was dying of asphyxia.
It took me about twenty nights of forced march to reach Coskun’s property. I was broken, my back was literally blocked, my legs aching to the point where I was about to cry. I arrived late in the night, but Arzu welcomed me nevertheless. She was horrified to see me in such a pitiful condition, but quite not as much as I’ve been when I saw my old superior.
He was getting nuts. His words were senseless most of the time, with episodic moments of lucidity. According to Arzu, he had been in completely apathetic for months. My presence had reanimated him somewhat. I still told them the battle and how we were defeated. I can remember Coskun’s void face like if it was still in front of me. He suddenly burst in an hysterical laugh and told me something like: ‘Ha, the Mongol horde is back from the dead and will take us with it! You’ve better going back home, my child.’ After that, he kept repeating ‘my child, my child…’ for several minutes. Arzu and I were keeping his shaking hands in ours, totally distraught. He took me by surprise, jumping on me and clenching his fingers around my neck. Fortunately, he wasn’t strong enough to strangle me. He started to shout at me, sputtering my face. ‘My child, my child! Save my child Gim! Don’t let my brother put his hand on her! Save my child Gim!’ on and on…”
“Looks like he was seriously demented.”
The old baron shivered.
“Yes. He calmed down a little, but did not unhand me. He wanted me to take his daughter away with me. My objections regarding the impossibility to marry her did not seem to reach him. He kept asking me to swear that I would not abandon her. I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t completely in our world anymore. I finally agreed, hoping to find him more reasonable after a few hours of rest. He blessed me and sank almost instantly in a deep, quiet sleep. But he never woke up.”
“Ouch.”
“No, not merely ‘ouch’. It was a tragedy. Arzu and I both lost our father this morning. And I was stuck with my promise.”
“So, what did you do?”
Gimnec shrugged.
“What were my options? I looted Coskun’s savings and went away with his daughter the same day. The trip back to Serbia has been among the strangest experiences of my life. The reality itself seemed to fall apart. Try to figure out the aftermath of Bayezid’s defeat. A wave of terror ran through the peninsula, each and very high ranked officer was trying to flee with his family. Scared people were wandering in all directions. And of course, we were disoriented ourselves, both mourning Coskun, both wondering what we become back in Serbia, both discovering each other. It was like a dream. I bought our passage to Athens on a Genoese merchant ship. From there, we followed a pack mules train going to Hungary.”
“I wonder how your father reacted when he saw you with a Turkish girl. It was certainly not what he had expected, eh?”
“He did not accept her at first. We had a loud conversation about that and he ended up trying to physically correct me when I kept him from throwing her out. I must say that I'm still ashamed about this, but I had changed too much to submit and endure his blows. He ate my fist and fell on the ground.”
“What?” the mercenary interjected in indignation.
“Yes, I did it. I was mortified. He didn’t suffered much harm though, saving for his pride, but beating your father certainly his among the gravest things you might happen to do.”
“Yeah, you can say it!”
The despise in the tone was such that he seemed to spit his words. The baron answered with a vague waving of his hands, probably meaning that past events were not to be changed.
“I think that any animosity or anger he may had nourished toward me before mutated into hatred this day. However, nothing was stronger in him than dedication to our lineage. That's probably why he pretended to forgive me, since I was the only possible heir left.
But he did not hesitate to torment Arzu on any occasion, treating her like a slave. His conduct only changed when it became apparent that she was pregnant with my child. From this time on, he set back to ignoring her altogether. At all events my love did not offset the cumulative effects of homesickness, culpability, tiredness from pregnancy, locals contempt, mourning... Her health ebbed. She gave birth to a son on the 25th of March 1403. I called him Piotr. The birth has been horrible. Arzu was feeble and both the child and the mother were on the brink of death. The first pictures to flood in my mind are bloody linen in the hands of the midwife and my beloved one looking like the wax of the candles that were spreading their scarce red light on the scene.
Contrary to expectations, they survived, but not for long. In the fall of 1403, a deadly flux infested the region and quickly took her and my father without a break. I've been ill too, but recovered to face my losses. I was slowly sinking in despair and finally kept my head up thanks to my son. Piotr was my heir and only company. He was a surprisingly vigorous and cheerful baby, given the circumstances.
I’ve spent the following sixteen years here, raising him and ruling, or pretending to rule my fief. Piotr has been taught what I’ve learnt myself. A good boy he was, the shining jewel of my life. I taught him how to ride, how to fight. He was able to read and write, he understood several languages… Big cities scholars would have mocked him, for sure. He was nonetheless a courageous and cultivated young noble. He progressively took over the reigns of my estates as gout and my petrifying back nailed me home.
But all this has ended where it had begun, in a sense, at Kosovo Polje. My son died there in April… I do hope that wildflowers cover his nameless grave…”
The baron sighed, shook his head slowly, his hand grasping at his lapel, releasing it, grasping it again… The mercenary remained silent. The old man swallowed and resumed his tale:
“I’ve been alone here with my servant since then, waiting for death to come and release me from this rotting carcass. Days are long… Life long… Spending all your time turning over ‘What ifs’ and ‘If onlys’ is certainly unhealthy. Oh well, who cares now?”
There was a silence. Father Gorny stared at the men. He had perceived that the tale was more or the less finished. The mercenary leaned on his backrest and muttered:
“Your life has been sad old man, but it’s quite a story.”
Gimnec kept staring at his intertwined hands.
“Indeed.”
He looked back at the captain and added with a poor smile:
“But I’ve not told you the most interesting part of it yet.”
This raised his interlocutor's interest, prodding him to bend forward.
“What is it?”
“It’s related to the battle of Nicopolis. Some strange events happened there as I said earlier. I’m among the very few men in this world who can partly explain them. But the matter is very disturbing and delicate. Very hard to believe too. But you will believe me, fortunately, for I am in the possession of a material clue to convince you. This might be a dangerous knowledge though and must remain confidential between you and me… I did not even reveal that piece of the story to my own son. And now, there’s no one left to ear it but you.”
He nodded at the mercenary, whose amazement was growing, and turned to the priest:
“My Father, he said in Serbian, would you be so kind as to go with Lena and gather some bryony against my gout? You might take some time to receive her confession while you’re at it. I’m afraid that she might have entertained a few nasty thoughts with all those manly soldiers visiting us…”
The priest looked back at him with an hint of surprise, but did not ask a question and stood up.
“Of course my Lord.”
Then, lending a helping hand to the servant:
“Come my Child.”
The captain seemed rather uneasy, pondering what to do. Lord Gimnec smiled at him:
“Did I tell you that I’ve been delighted by some Arabian literature masterpieces?”
“What does that mean again?”
The baron shrugged and slightly shook his head.
“Never mind. So, do you want to hear my last and darkest revelation?”
The captain sighed and had an exasperated gesture toward his man standing at the door:
“That’s okay, let them go, close this door and wait for me outside.”
The soldier nodded dryly. Lena and Father Gorny hurried out and the heavy door was shut behind them. They crossed the courtyard under conspicuous gazes, but no one tried to stop them. Passing by the coop, Father Gorny saw a small mass of white feathers stained in red. The gander had probably made a rather stupid attempt at biting a soldier. The priest felt sad for it in spite of his long lived animosity for this aggressive idiot of a bird.
I repeat the cry of every loser "Wait till next year!" Or make that "Wait till four years from now!" 
