The Paladin of Passchendaele: Excerpt II

Welcome back to my ongoing story about Anson and his experiences of the Great War. In time I expect this story to form into a long "short story" or even a novel. 

Chapter 2

Anson turned to rush back and grab his rifle, but was knocked off his feet after taking a smack to the head from a club-like object. He lay in the trench grime momentarily helpless as he hears whistles off in the distance competing with the ringing in his ears. Panicked shouts were soon to follow. He couldn’t quite identify his attacker’s features even once the searchlight from the defensive slope aimed down to identify where the attack was occurring. The man was now a dark form with a halo of artificial light and he stepped forth to skewer Anson on his bayonet. Anson felt a moment of dread, realizing what was about to happen and his attempt to scramble away was futile on the slick surfaces. Out of the corner of Anson’s vision an unknown assailant stopped his executioner by rushing in unarmed and grabbing the enemy’s rifle, both men struggled for control of the gun trampling on Anson’s extremities. In the tangle both men fell within Anson’s reach, his vision was blurry and his heart quickened, he didn’t know what to do. He kicked out at what he thought was his enemy’s head and felt his boot connect, he kicked again for good measure and turned over to pull himself up. Anson could see that he luckily helped the right person, his unknown ally was choking the life from the enemy. He could not bear to watch the slow execution play out so he turned away to see who else needed help. Intermittent gunfire made it difficult to hear where the fighting was at, but he could see that there were more contests of survival happening further down this trench row. Anson grabbed the rifle from the muck, this was a Lee Enfield rifle, a British weapon. A strange sense of spiritual detachment occurred within Anson, he could hardly understand what it was, but he felt like he must act so he charged down the trench and enter the fray. He felt like he was watching himself run towards the light.

And then the light became nothingness. Self-awareness evaporated. Infinite possibilities formed and collapsed in the blink of an eye. One however, took hold that was, is, and will be; as all things are.

Tancred opened one eye at first, then the other a few seconds later. This cold room was blurry and unfamiliar, yet it felt as if he had been in this one place for days. He hardly remembered the melee, the last thing he was in before being transported to this place. Periodic images would flash into his memory as he lay on his bedroll while the apothecaries tended the wounded around him. Bits and pieces of his memory began to return, reknitting into recognition of recent events. The southern fortress wall was finally breached after a direct hit from a Vostlander trebuchet. Some of his company were immediately killed by the collapsing wall, but he was spared the initial bombardment and moved forward to repel the enemy vanguard. The Vostlanders had been attempting to dislodge Tancred’s people, the Almanites from their old, but sturdy fortress for six nights now and they made one final desperate push. It appears they failed Tancred mused, lest he lay dead amongst the rubble and is experiencing the afterworld. If he were dead he would not have such hunger right now mused Tancred nor all of these wrappings on his cranium. It’s hard to remember how he got here to this place at this time. It was all a blur of phantom images in his head. Faint memories of raising horses with his father, his mother busy caring for his infant sister, playing with some farm boys catching toads in the pond, then the royal decree that led to his conscription into the order. He was not quite a commoner nor was he a highborn, he was from a class that had some freedoms. This was at the furthest western reaches of his nation’s border. A bulwark against the nearly barbaric Vostlandia. Six years of fighting has left the countryside barren, stripped of anything of value. Hardly a crop has grown since the fighting began and all the locals who could flee fled and those terrible wretches that couldn’t seek protection behind thick fortress walls were doomed to starve or steal. As long as Tancred could remember this war between their people existing. His father fought against the Vostlanders, and his father’s father did also. Some people spoke that the fighting first started over whether the overgod in the heavens above was a man or a woman. Nobody was certain now with so many years having passed. He preferred not to dwell too much on the past or overthink his situation. Living in the moment was the way that Tancred liked to operate in the world.

As his vision focused Tancred could see that the pews in the room were stacked against the walls to make room for the dozen or so beds arranged in neat rows. Any items of value that this temple once had were hidden away in case any men of dubious nature here decided to relieve it from the clergy. Beyond this chamber was another that lead outside. Soiled clothes and blankets were piled up in the furthest corner. Even from the distance between the pile and himself Tancred could smell the odor competing with more pleasant smells from mint and oregano among others he didn’t know the name of. Very little natural light illuminated this spacious room so a few candles were spread here and there to help the few attendants find their way around without stumbling. The aged voice of the apothecary snapped Tancred out of his thoughts, “Back to the world of the living I see,” He touched the bandages wrapped around Tancred’s head, which caused him to wince from the swollen tenderness. “Head wounds are most serious, yes.” The elder pulled back the wrappings to reveal some unseen wound to the youth standing next to the healer, which Tancred at first thought was a simple chamber maiden though it was hard to tell at first, and continued, “The coif and cap did their job to absorb some of the shock, and the clotting is a good sign. If he can walk, see, and talk by the morrow we will have to send him back to his company. If he has suffered internal damage then his humors will be off and we need to send him back to Almanitine with the other uncurables.”

“Yes, grand-uncle.” She spoke.

The elder healer didn’t break his examiner’s gaze, but swiftly responded, “Don’t call me that here… You are a tutelary now and family bonds mean nothing here.”

“Yes, Merciful Healer Rothsbridge!” She corrected.

Tancred could hardly see them out of the corner of his eye, but felt like he must weigh in, “I’ll be out of here soon enough. I’m no uncurable. I just need stew in a trencher and some ale… or mead.”

Rothsbridge didn’t register Tancred’s comment, “What do you last remember before finding yourself here?”

“I,” Tancred paused, he was having trouble recalling details, “I remember the trebuchet’s missile hitting the wall which opened a breach. The Vostlander currs began pouring through the breach and …” This sounded like madness, but he was compelled to say it, “I saw a bright beam of light shine down from the heavens, even though the sun had already set. The able bodied men of my company moved in to stem their breakthrough using the light to guide us. Then I awoke here.”

“Tutelary Rothsbridge,” the senior addressing his younger, “Fetch this man some food and water.”

Without hesitation she left. After a cursory exam the apothecary directed Tancred to eat, drink, and rest for the day and then report to the sergeant at arms for orders.

It didn’t take Tancred long to shake off the dizziness and stiff muscles once he began moving beyond the ward. The air was too stale and he felt that he had to show he could continue in the defense of their stronghold. The courtyard was full of activity. At one end hasty repairs were underway to barricade the breach, planks, stakes, and stones were set up to cause the most hardship on the enemy if they were to exploit this weakness on their next assault. Able-bodied soldiers drilled not too far past the breach, Tancred recognized a few of them, but it seemed that mostly young lads have had to take up arms as many of the men sent here have perished.

Tancred’s attention was drawn to a man cursing and yelling at what appeared to be a bear. A few livestock had remained behind the protection of the walls, but it seemed like lunacy to bring not only one, but three bears within. The other two were caged near the one he first spotted.

“There you are!” Shouted the young tutelary, “You need rest sir, and I have brought you food.” She hustled towards Tancred as fast as she could without spilling the bowls contents.

“I must apologize. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Come now,” She waved him over.

“Nay. Being amongst the injured is infectious to me. It affects my humors.” Tancred was amused by the young woman’s insistence, but he didn’t want to spend any more time with the suffering.

“If you don’t return I must report you to the merciful healer,” Her sternness was convincing.

Another onslaught of cursing and forceful prodding the bear momentarily distracted both Tancred and young Rothsbridge.

“Let’s make a deal,” Tancred couldn’t hide his mischievous grin, “Let me see what this ruckus is all about and I will promptly return to that dank recovery hall, aye?”

“Herrmans….” Tancred heard a distant echo.

“Did you hear that?” He turned to ask the healer.

“Hear what? The birds?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Nevermind then,” Tancred intoned. Not wanting to draw any attention to the possibility of voices in his head.

“Damn you beast, get up!” A balding man in soiled clothing cursed. “UP!” He shouted once more, his voice raising in pitch.

Tancred felt drawn to this situation like an alchemist’s magnet. He couldn’t resist stepping in on what he believed to be cruelty in action. Being the victim of cruelty himself he couldn’t let it go. Sometimes these interventions escalated into violence and sometimes the abuser cowered away at the mere threat of receiving a small taste of what they dished out. Tancred was aware of the irony that as a soldier who has seen combat thrice, he has also caused pain onto those who were supposedly his enemies, but may have been innocent in all other aspects of their life except for the fact they were on the other side of the fight. Life is full of contradictions.

“Sir, what has this bear done to deserve such a beating,” Announced Tancred, hoping to draw some attention to himself.

“Mind your own,” Growled the balding man. “This creature is my property and I will do as I like.”

The maid-healer Rothsbridge kept her distance. Not wanting to involve herself in the matter. Tancred got a better view of the bear who looked old and tired, it may have been well taken care of at one point in its life otherwise it wouldn’t have lived as a captive this long. Not one to take a rebuke so easily Tancred continued his verbal challenge.

“That may be the case beastmaster, but wanton cruelty to beast and man alike violates the Helmfast Codes,” Tancred demurred, “which would give me the right to challenge you to single combat.”

The look that the maid-healer gave Tancred was one of equal fear and anger as this encounter escalated before her. With the threat of violence hanging over his head the beastmaster was visibly cowed knowing that anyone who invokes the codes is likely someone who is confident in their ability to maim or kill.

“I beg your pardon sir, but these bears no longer have a purpose since his majesty stopped funding our performing troupe.” His tone more conciliatory. “The war has drained the coffers of any other lord who would step in to hire my dancing bears. The only options I have is to set them free, which would leave me a beggar or teach them to fight and sell them to the castellan of this hold. I’ve trained these bears to dance and for the sake of the war I can train them to fight.” The beastmaster finished with a tone of defiant confidence.

At the mention of the castellan Tancred felt somewhat deflated. His order served at the behest of the castellan and Tancred didn’t want to interfere in his business dealings. Although he loathed this wretched man before him in this short exchange combat was definitely out of the question. Perhaps a stern threat will do.

“Fine then, continue your work beastmaster.” Tancred said with authority, “but heed my words. I will not idly stand by when I am witness to torture in action, whether it be beast or man.”

Tancred departed the gathering crowd with his tutelary in tow. “Sir,” she announced as she tried to keep pace, visibly flustered, “Now you need to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Aye, healer. I will do as I agreed” Tancred simply stated.

“You can call me Lucilla. I don’t care for honorifics. You can also start following my guidance if you expect a full recovery.” Huffed Lucilla.

Tancred responded by simply nodding.

As they began to walk together Tancred broke the brief silence. “Although I am a member of the Order you don’t need to call me ‘sir’. “I’m only a junior brother and haven’t proven myself yet.”

Lucilla only nodded in response.

The Healer’s Hall was a place to recover, but it was certainly no place to find rest. The moans and mutterings of the dozens of injured prevented Tancred from dozing off for more than minutes at a time. The smell was also something hard to overcome. Every now and then he would hear someone calling from across the hall for a man named Hermann. Poor wretches, some here would not survive the night, despite the shelter and food. This Hermann was likely already dead if he hasn’t answered the caller by now, rest his soul. The voice continued to call out for that name and somehow, through exhaustion and weariness Tancred found sleep.