The Byzantine Wager

Chapter 1 - A Messenger Arrives

Chapter 1

A Messenger Arrives

Cyn could clearly recall the day it all had started. On a warm evening in late July, he and Pons stood on the field near the church of St. Evasius in the town of Montferrat giving some instructions to the new recruits on the use of the crossbow. Four men had arrived in town over the past few weeks, two cousins from Pisa, which lay a few days journey to the south and east, an Allemagne from across the Alps to the north, and a tall lad from the nearby town of Alba. People came from all over. Word spread that the Margrave of Montferrat was always looking for men who knew how to fight. This was true enough; he kept a small army of men-at-arms and crossbowmen, which he hired out as mercenaries when he wasn't using their services himself. Two of his grown sons, both in their thirties, each commanded a score of heavy cavalry. Conrad and Boniface were not averse to taking up a cause for hire if a city or a noble came up with the right price. There were jobs to be had in Montferrat for sell-swords, but not any sinner who had done a murder somewhere and then ran, could show up and expect to find employment. They had to have some skills and they had to be able to follow orders. That remained to be seen with this lot.

The recruits were shooting at a coiled rope target which hung in front of a tightly packed hay bale standing up against the wall of the church some eighty paces away. They were competing both for accuracy and the speed of their reloads, but none of the men were impressing Cyn. Pons was standing idly by chewing on a blade of grass. As captain of the mercenaries, he liked to keep an eye on all aspects of the training. He was a great believer in practice - set soldiers apart from the rabble. Although the day was fine, he would have had them out here practicing in all sorts of conditions. He knew some captains who would only force their men to practice when the weather was agreeable. What was the point of that? "Complete horseshit," Pons thought. "As if you could count on battles happening only on fair days." No, the men of Montferrat drilled in the pissing rain. They slogged in full armor up muddy mountainous paths. They fired their crossbows with the wind in their faces, and the rising sun in their eyes. This particular practice had been going on for about an hour and none of the four were impressing him overly much either. Perhaps the Allemagne.

"No, you horse's ass, don't pull the string with your arms, push the stirrup with your legs." Cyn snatched a crossbow from one of the Pisans and put his foot through the stirrup which was secured under the cross piece at the front. His fingers were so rough and calloused that he didn't need to use a draw hook on the string. He effortlessly extended his leg and cocked it. He smoothly drew a bolt from the quiver which hung at his thigh, placed it in the groove, raised the crossbow to his eye, squeezed the release, and before the bolt had hit the center of the target, he had his foot in the stirrup again to repeat the process. He fired four bolts faster than the others could fire even one and they all struck in a grouping so tight the feathers of all four could have easily been covered by a child's hand. At eighty paces Cyn could not miss. "You have a lot more strength in your legs than you do in your arms. Let your legs do the work."

The soldiers set to it again. The creaking of the crossbows as they were drawn back and the 'thwock' of the bolts as they struck the target mixed with the buzzing of bees in the field. Presently the rapid rhythm of a galloping horse could be heard. Pons turned his gaze and spied a lone rider pushing his horse hard, coming along the road which ran down past the forest of Selva Cornea which stood close by. The rider wore the red and white livery of the Margrave of Montferrat. The drumming of the horse's hooves became thunderous as it crossed the nearby bridge. As he drew closer, Pons could make out the long, lean, sunburned face. "Is that our Marius?"

Cyn ambled over, "'Tis. He's been gone awhile. Can't even remember the last time I saw him."

"He went to Jerusalem with Longsword. Been there since. That was five years ago or more."

"Looks like he's in a hurry."

"Flashy bastard," Pons replied. "He was probably only going at a canter until the castle came into view, then he laid on the spurs to make himself look heroic."

That might have been true, thought Cyn. Marius did have a sort of flashy charm, but there was no doubt that he was a most reliable messenger, a superb horseman, a multi-lingual minor diplomat, and a handy fellow with a blade as well. It was also true that by birth he was a bastard. The thin, stubble cheeked rider raised a hand in greeting to Pons and Cyn as he reined his small mare in. He was covered in dust from the road and his clothing was plastered to his body with sweat. The horse was not fully blown, but she certainly looked like she had been given a hard day's exercise. The muscles in her legs quivered while the men spoke.

"I haven't seen you in an age, Marius. Where are you coming in from, all hot and bedeviled like that?"

Marius paused and looked both men in the eyes. "Worrying news from the Holy City and terrible news from the Great City."

"Uh oh, what sort of trouble has young Renier got himself into over there?" Pons asked.

Marius cast his eyes down. "All the trouble he could get into."

"What happened?" asked Cyn.

"Really," said Marius, "I must see the Margrave immediately. Do you know where he is?"

"He was in the hall about an hour ago. I'd start there." Pons searched the messenger's face for any further clues, but Marius put his heels to the horse's flank and sped off up the riverbank towards the castle, dust following in his wake.

"What's that all about?" asked Cyn.

Pons bent over to pick up a goose feather fletching which had fallen off one of the crossbow bolts and lay on the grass. "That, Cyn my boy - unless I am very much mistaken - is our Lord Guilhem losing another son." He twirled the gray feather in his rough hands as he followed Marius up the hill towards the hall.