A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”By the Lord’s grace, Lord Eric, the Sultan wishes to receive you now. The just Sultan has accepted the mercy you’ve shown his nephew, and now extends to you the hand of peace and friendship.

Though one of us comes from the East and the other from the West, though we are so different in language, culture, and religion, I believe we still have something in common...” Turandot was interrupted before he could finish.

”Ever since Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, evil has been mankind’s greatest common ground,” Hayam interjected at an inopportune moment.

”This is no place for a lowly, nameless poet like you to speak!”

Turandot roared at Hayam.

But Hayam seemed not to hear him, his gaze turning to Eric.

”Wicked men naturally have much to discuss with other wicked men.” Eric shrugged and patted Hayam’s shoulder.

”My savior, his is not the only hand of friendship you can seek. Besides, I am in your debt, and I hope for an opportunity to repay it,” Hayam said, spreading his hands.

”Trust my judgment, my friend. This is merely an attempt to reduce unnecessary casualties,” Eric continued.

”Life has weight,” Hayam stressed.

”Of course. But for our men, death is a release—a release from sin.”

”Fools rule the day,” Hayam sighed.

”Most of those men are unruly and insignificant to me. As for the ones who are obedient... I can always guarantee that they will easily attain victory and honor.” Eric pointed to his head. ”It’s a gift.”

”Sometimes, that depends on fate. A man’s luck doesn’t last forever. Who can guarantee that the first punch to the head won’t be the one to take a man’s life? A poet may seek a romantic death, but a nobleman has no need to. Your lives are lavish from the very start and can certainly remain so.” Hayam pointed to the bruise on his temple.

”The best end for a Frank noble is to die on the battlefield. The worst is to waste away from illness in bed.

Of course, I am of the Reform Faction. There is nothing wrong with cherishing one’s life.

When that time comes, I will hope my savior is a Persian,” Eric said with a smile.

”Allah be praised, I am no Sultan. I am just a nameless poet,” Hayam said, tapping his head with a faint chuckle.

”Then you should get back to your place, nameless poet! Otherwise, I will consider reporting your insolence to the Sultan and letting you answer for your actions,” Turandot yelled at Hayam.

He then strode up to Eric. ”Lord Eric, there is no more time to waste. The Sultan detests waiting.”

”Actually, I hate waiting, too. Funny how people who hate waiting always make others wait... Hahaha, just a joke, Turandot, don’t take it to heart. I am grateful for the Sultan’s justice.” Eric patted Turandot’s shoulder reassuringly.

Turandot grew worried. ’Is Eric using these negotiations as a pretext to make a show of force against the Sultan?’

’But then again,’ he thought, ’if he wanted to make a show of force, wouldn’t executing the Sultan’s nephew have been far more effective?’

He shook the thoughts from his head.

”Please, my lord, mount up.” Turandot beckoned to a few soldiers, who brought a horse over.

Eric mounted the horse in one clean, fluid motion.

”Then I shall take my leave, poet.”

”This is a city that has lost its soul. I will be leaving it tomorrow.”

”Back to Persia?”

”No, I’m heading to a city farther south. For a friend.”

”Then it seems we may have a chance to meet again,” Eric said with a smile.

”I hope so as well, my savior.” Hayam bowed to Eric, then vanished down the street.

Turandot spat in the direction Hayam had gone, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then, Turandot mounted his own horse and personally led the way for Eric.

Although they couldn’t gallop freely through the city streets as they would in the open country, Eric could tell the Arabian mare beneath him was of exceptional quality. She seemed to understand her rider’s intent perfectly, adjusting her speed without needing much prompting from his spurs or the reins.

”She’s a fine horse,” Eric remarked.

”Her name is Jannet, my lord. I gave her that name after our encounter,” Turandot replied.

In Arabic, the name means ”garden,” or even ”Heaven.”

”A fine name,” Eric agreed.

”She’s an excellent horse, but I bought her for a pittance. Do you know why?” Turandot said with a smile, slowing his pace as they neared their destination.

Eric played along and shook his head.

”Look at her chest,” Turandot said, slowing his horse to a walk.

Eric noticed a ring of white fur above the breast strap.

”That marking means its Knight was cuckolded,” he explained.

”Then why did you name her Heaven?” Eric asked, finding it odd.

”Because now, my home is like Heaven to me!” Turandot laughed, tapping his mount with his spurs. ”And I have you to thank for it, my lord. You are the one who made my home a Heaven.”

”Your Sultan, the just Suleiman Shah, rewarded you for saving Turk?” Eric mused, stroking his chin.

Turandot smiled and shook his head. ”Suleiman Shah did reward me, but that was a trifle compared to this.”

At that, Turandot reined in his Warhorse, and Eric halted as well.

Turandot drew up alongside Eric and spoke in a hushed voice. ”Your victory rid me of my wife’s eldest son. He was one of Lord Turk’s Personal Guard—a valiant Warrior, but an ungrateful viper.

I met his mother when she was a widow. A rich widow, with fertile lands. And Suleiman Shah, the great Sultan of Rom, wished to reward me for my many years of service to him and his family.

So I married her and received a handsome fiefdom. But in exchange, I had to swear that her eldest son—my stepson—would be my sole heir. Now, my own son will become the Emir of that land when the time is right.

So I am in your debt. You are my savior. That is why I hope you will be our friend. Jerusalem is still a long way from Antioch, and we have a common enemy: the pretender Sultan in Isfahan, a mere puppet manipulated by the Persian, Nizam.” (Isfahan was the capital of the Seljuk Empire. Here, Turandot is referring to the Seljuk Empire’s Sultan Malikshah. Suleiman Shah was Malikshah’s cousin.)

....

Eric and Turandot rode through the city blocks to an open expanse on the far eastern edge of Antioch City. A massive residence stood there.

Streams, lush greenery, and flowerbeds stretched out as far as the eye could see. Cypress trees, sculpted by the most skillful of gardeners, took the shapes of bulls, elephants, sturdy camels, and leaping black panthers.

In addition, brick minarets soaring into the clouds were scattered throughout. Interspersed among them were layered, vaulted roofs, watchmen standing on lookout posts, and lakeside willows, long since bare of leaves, their naked branches hung with fine ice crystals that glittered like silver ornaments.

A thick layer of ice covered the lake’s surface, and a clutch of birds’ eggs lay hidden and undisturbed beneath a snowdrift.