They did not know where they were headed, only that the riches awaiting them were otherworldly. They had been traveling in a column that stretched no more than six-hundred meters and consisted of nearly five-hundred men. All sold on the idea of making their claim to fame along with wealth that would stretch down through generations. Their leader, Amaury Laurent, the man who sold the men on the idea that such wealth could be obtained, encouraged them to move with great haste, as if their lives depended on it. Unbeknownst to the soldiers, but not to Laurent, it did.
They had set out three months prior, initially stepping off from an ancient city which they had reigned victorious, and after moving through land consisting of rolling hills, they now saw themselves moving through elevated terrain of a high desert area. Laurent did not like this land, and for good reason. It was a dry and desolate land, with mountainous terrain in the distance with valleys and hill tops all around. Yet Laurent found himself in the middle of it all. Sitting atop a slope frantically scanning one hilltop to the next, all while still trying to keep an eye on the rear. Knowing damn well that a smaller element could use one of the many vantage points around him and lay waste to this now fatigued and stretched out element. He was one of the only few riders on horseback, yet he knew unlike the rest of his element that the enemy who inhabited this land were fierce horseman who rode in the masses. Willing to deliver death from both range and close quarters. All while kicking up devilish dust trails to commence their murderous spree.
Laurent had not seen the enemy, unless it was a dream. Laurent had learned of the enemy’s activity in the area the night before his element set off from the ancient city. Any native European to pass through this area had been massacred with no remorse. Soldiers, men, women, children, and livestock all left to die and rot where they lay since making acquaintance with these heathenish riders who seemed to ride with Death himself. The consensus among the Noblemen who had been informed of these riders was that if you had crossed their path, you best spend your last moments with God, for that is who you would be with soon. Which is why these demonic riders frequently visited Laurent in his sleep.
Each dream starts the same. Laurent sits atop his horse in a land like the one he travels in now. The sun shines, blazing down on the barren earth beneath it, scorching it hot to the touch. In his reoccurring dream, Laurent is thirsty. He knows that water is scarce. That even drinking in sight of his men would cause sudden discontent. Yet his lips are chapped and blistered, and with every swallow he winces more and more from the pain caused by his cracked throat. The pain, which had now become unbearable, causes Laurent to call upon his squire to retrieve some water from his personal storage. In a moment’s notice, as the squire makes his return, chaos ensues. Dust trails burst in from nowhere accompanied by soulless riders, blazing in on pale otherworldly horses. Before Laurent can act, a volley of arrows is released from these riders, spraying the vanguard of the formation. Three piercing his squire’s chest and many others connecting with the front side of Laurents horse, causing it to keel over where it once stood a second ago.
As Laurent crawls out from under his horse the massacre has already begun. Riders barrel through, taunting him as they make their pass, as if he is not even worth a mercy kill. Laurent looks around to see his men being slaughtered. The riders cut off the vanguard and began to circle it. Cutting off the front section of the column from the rest of the world with a wall of dust that surrounded the men within. A continuous onslaught of arrows flies in. Piercing whatever man had no cover near him. For a short moment Laurent thought that the attack was nearing its end, as the riders began to distance themselves from Laurent’s element, but the worst had just begun. The soulless riders began to make another pass through, this time with swords drawn. Hacking, slicing, and trampling everything in their path, Laurent watches as his men he had come to know and grow fond of become reduced to lifeless corpses. As his men lay dead on that high desert floor, only Laurent remains. As he surveys the atrocity that has just taken place, a pale man riding a black Arabian impales Laurent with a golden spear. Then Laurent is awake.
That is why Laurent found himself frantically scanning the terrain in front of him as their element made their pass. The constant fear of his dreams being the product of a foreshadowing moment that would be his undoing kept him anxious and on high alert. His men were not aware of what this enemy could do, but he was. Maybe had they known, his men would share his anxiety and alertness. Maybe if his men had known of the danger that lingered, they would not have committed to this journey at all.
Among these participating men, if you can even call him a man, was a sixteen-year-old boy with the name of Gaston Du Bois. Gaston came from nothing, and he had nothing, save for the longbow and hunting dagger that was passed down by his father before him. Gaston was a boy in the company of men, a young soldier who would be much better suited tending to the land of his lord. He lacks masculinity and a broad structure, but what he lacks in his stature he makes up for with his proficiency in archery. Though he should not be here for many reasons, Gaston felt that he could not pass on his own opportunity for his claim of riches, wealth, and a title. With ambition that burnt from within his soul like an eternal flame, Gaston long desired his own fortune of greatness.
“Where are we going?” Gaston asked. The disgruntled men acknowledged that they had heard him, yet no man in his company gave a response. Had the men around Gaston known their planned destination, they still might not have informed the young man on where they were headed. Gaston had an arrogant look to himself, and many would assume that he was a common scoundrel, but that could not be further from the truth. His father had always taught him to hold his head high, so without a response, Gaston carried on.
They had been traveling through this desolate land for three days less than a week. Whatever water source they started off with was now reduced to a scarce amount. Laurent demanded that his personal supply of wine be dispersed among the men, but as the scorching sun reached its peak, in that high desert sky; the men of Laurents entourage saw their element moving much slower than the pace Laurent once encouraged. As drunkenness and fatigue slowly set in.
As nightfall set in and the Moon Goddess claimed her rightful title as owner of the night, not a soul spoke. The men lay where they once stood, and they did so the moment Laurent commanded them to halt. As that cool high desert air began to flow through the land in which they inhabited, Laurent sat perched atop a slope scanning the land ahead of him and his element behind him. He believed there to be only three more days of traveling through this land, until his element met their long-desired destination of Antioch. His element would be joining the company of Raymond of Toulouse on a siege to take the city, but as fear, hunger, fatigue and worry began to set in for this young Lord, he began to wonder if he would ever reach his destination at all.
He was awoken by the sound of vibration from the earth rumbling beneath him. Off in the distance ahead of him he began to see dust clouds kicking up as an unknown element started to make their approach. “Get up! Get up and arm yourselves for battle.” He repeatedly called out to his men. “Squire, fetch me my lance and shield.” What Laurent had not known was that the night before, he was being watched. A scouting element sat two hundred meters up the mountain side, on a hilltop that had a steep end that faced Laurent’s element, with a much more accessible approach to the back side. The scouts would watch Laurent’s element for an hour or so, then report back to their leader with information on the size and equipment of Laurent’s element. Had Laurent known of the scouts, it would have made no difference at all. The heathenish riders would have conducted their assault without the scouting report, and because of this impending doom of Laurent’s dreams coming to life slowly began to set in.
The riders numbered in the three hundreds, each riding with a curved bow in their off hand, as they barreled down the mountain off in the distance. The rumble of the horses’ hooves contacting the dry, hard, and mountainous terrain grew in volume as they made their approach. Laurent’s horse began to stir with fear of the uncertainty these devilish riders would bring, as if the horse itself knew that death was imminently on its way. His men began to collapse down their column and now sat in a defensive position that mimicked an upside-down V shape. Following the V shape was four to five ranks of a company of archers, and among that company of archers stood Gaston himself. As he nervously scanned the heathenish riders who were rapidly approaching, his heartbeat began to rapidly thump in cadence with each step the enemy’s horses took as they closed in to Laurent’s position. Opposed to the heathens’ curved bows, Laurent’s archers carried longbows among themselves. Allowing his elements’ arrows to reach two times the distance of the ones the heathens carried. This gave Laurent a slight edge that he so desperately needed. As the riders came within three hundred meters, Laurent gave the command “release”, and with the first volley of arrows being released, the battle had commenced.
As volleys of arrows flew, few riders fell as they rode in, and as the heathen riders closed in, they were now able to offer a counterattack. Upon them closing in, Laurent was able to distinguish the line of riders began breaking off into two separate directions, attempting to encircle Laurent’s element, just like they had in his dreaded dreams. Laurent felt the best course of action was to split his defensive line and archer’s company into two separate elements, allowing him to fend off the riders from two separate directions.
The battle had become one of attrition, either his element would reduce the heathens’ numbers, resulting in the riders making a retreat, or the enemy would break through one of Laurents’ defensive perimeters, resulting in the worst. Arrows flew to and fro, dismounting riders from their horses, or dropping the native Frenchmen where they stood in line. As Gaston began to hear men around him screaming in agonizing pain, he would pick a designated target, release when commanded, and repeat until his target was immobile. As riders began to fall from their horses at a faster rate than the Frenchmen who died where they stood in line Gaston, Laurent, and the other Frenchmen felt that fortune was in their favor. It was at that moment, however, that Gaston grasped the reality of the journey he chose to embark on. He would gain no riches, wealth, or greatness. Rather, all that was to be claimed on such a journey was death, pain, and hardship. The riders had only been circling the element for a moment, yet the casualties from both sides were already in the hundreds.
The riders had begun to withdraw, and Laurent’s men began to cheer as if they just bested the Devil himself, but Laurent knew the battle had just begun. The riders rallied just outside of the defensive positions firing range and began barreling back towards the element; this time with swords drawn. Laurent seeing the enemy begin to make a reapproach, urged his men to collapse in. He knew the odds were significantly in his favor at close quarters, his element just had to hold strong until the enemy’s numbers were depleted.
Battle cries ensued on both sides, as Life and Death themselves sat as the only spectators in this barren land. Waiting for the moment to claim the souls that were rightfully theirs. As the two elements clashed, with one delivering the blows and the other bracing for it, the screaming and barbarism intensified. Limbs were hacked off, blood and intestines began to pool across the desert floor, and both heathens and Europeans were slaughtered as if they were common swine. They had entered a place in which God was absent. Men savagely killing other men by any means necessary, there would be no winner to this skirmish. Only the right to live another day on this realm or depart to the next.
As Gaston stood near the front of the formation, delivering a kiss of death to any person who posed a threat to his existence, there was a breach in the defensive perimeter and a large heathenish man began to make his way towards Gaston. Gaston drew back his bow and released an arrow which pierced the man’s armor and lodged itself into the man’s lower torso. The heathen looked on to Gaston, surprised by the fact that a young man of his stature would lead to his personal demise. The heathen continued to step forward to Gaston, with the hopes of at least gaining revenge for his imminent fate.
Gaston was frightened at what he was witnessing. As he went to draw back another arrow to pierce the man that would in turn stop the heathen in his tracks, his heart began to beat at the same rate as when the riders first made their approach. His long bow began to shake as it was raised to eye level. As the heathen drew near, Gaston began to smell the blood, body odor, and death that radiated from his body. The arrow was released, flew past the heathen who was making his approach, and lodged itself into the back of a fellow European who was engaged in his own personal quarrel. The heathen struck Gaston across the face with the butt end of his curved iron sword and Gaston spun around and fell to the ground with his back facing the heathen. The heathen pulled Gaston up off the valley desert floor by his hair and drew his curved dagger, attempting to run it across the young man’s throat. As the blade slowly neared Gastons throat, the young man violently pushed back, drove an elbow into the heathen’s groin, swung around, and drove his own dagger directly into the heathen’s temple. The heathen’s life had left his eyes, and as Gaston made his way back to his feet, he was filled with a murderous rage.
Gaston surveyed the chaos around him. Screams rattled throughout the land of this high desert valley, as both heathen and European showcased the brutality they were capable of. At this point in the conflict, only a few warriors remained mounted atop their war horses. Of those few was Laurent, who spun around on his steed, thrusting and slicing at any nomadic warrior who crossed his path. As he was cutting down his enemy, one by one, a godless warrior rode up along Laurents’ blindside, and drove a spear directly into Laurents’ horse, killing it instantly. Laurent was flung from his horse, landing face down with his back to the battle happening around him. The heathen who had killed Laurents’ horse had dismounted with his curved sword drawn and began to make his way towards Laurent. Determined to be the young Lords undoing.
As the man approached Laurent, he let out a demonic scream and raised his sword to the sky, planning to violently swing it back down to the earth and connect with the crown of Laurent’s head. As the sword made its downward approach, an arrow pierced itself through the backside of the man and sat protruding out the frontside of the man’s chest. He dropped to his knees and drew his last breath, dying almost instantly next to Laurent who sat scanning the area around him, searching for the man who had just saved his life. As Laurent made his surveillance, he saw Gaston returning his gaze with his longbow in hand. Gaston ran to his Lord and pulled him to his feet, before searching for the nobleman’s sword. Prompting him to re-enter the fight.
The battle had begun to turn in favor of the Europeans. The heathens deemed their losses too severe and began to make their retreat. Most were left horseless due to the anticipation of winning this skirmish, so they made their retreat on foot. This proved unsuccessful, as many were slain by swords or arrows trying to flee the Europeans. As a lance drove into the last conscious heathen laying among the desert floor, the Europeans began their victory chant of “Deus vult”, which began to echo across this plateau that they claimed as theirs through their hard-fought victory. Yet God did not will it. Surely God would not condone the slaughter that ensued today. They were in a place in which God was not, and the crimes they had committed against their fellow sons of God made them no better than the heathens they had just slain.
The survivors of this skirmish would push on through this high desert valley, eventually rallying with the company in command by Raymond IV of Toulouse. Gaston had been appointed Laurents new squire, likely since Gaston was the only reason Laurent made his arrival to rally with Raymond of Toulouse. Yet that is the only title that would be bestowed upon Gaston. Neither Gaston nor Laurent lived to see the fall of Jerusalem. The men of Laurents company had endured severe hardships, yet none would obtain the riches, wealth, and titles they so desperately desired.