Turn page   Night
drcdrx > Taking the Cross > 1 Taking the Cross
February 9th, 1250

Dry hot wind whistled through the visor of my helmet. Sand clung to every part of my body, and the rancid smell of death lingered in the air. I heard groaning from not far off and the sound of someone sobbing. The memory of how I had got here evaded me. My head ached, a deep throb, my throat dry and painful. My face-plate was dented in, it pressed against my forehead. I tried to open my eyes. The sun filtering in through my warped visor blinded me. My back felt damp, I thought it was sweat from the godforsaken heat.

March 14th, 1245

Mass had begun, light poured in through the stained glass windows of the Cathedral. We stood and sung the ritual hymns, haunting as it echoed from the walls. The old and wrinkled preist shuffled his way up to the dais. He began his homily, he spoke of the Saracens. A horde of them had surged from the desert and swarmed over the Holy land like a plague of locusts. They had massacred the Christians, put grand churches to the torch. They had taken the Holy Land. Fury had overtaken me, how dare they, it was an insult not only to Christendom, but to those Christians who had spent their blood to claim it. Rumor spread, that Louis IX, King of France was to launch a crusade on the holy land, and drive the Saracen hordes back into the desert. I remember the smile on my face that day. I knew the path the lord had chosen for me. I was to fight, for God and King.

February 9th, 1250

I tried to think of how long I had laid here. I had to find the remnants of the army, they would be making their way back to the main body in Cairo. I lifted myself up. Pain burnt through my lower body. I cried out, tears formed in my eyes and I crumpled to the ground. I decided to take a different approach I lifted my arms and fumbled with my chin strap. My gauntlets made the attempts clumsy. I couldn't get it off. I yelled for help. My voice sounded so weak in my ears. I called out but no response came.

April 12th, 1247

I remember my father the day I told him I was to take the cross. I could see the pride in his eyes; his son would become a crusader just like him. He told me tales of his crusade, the glory of taking Jerusalem, the Saracens fleeing before the soldiers of God. The holy land once again in the hands of the Christians. I was reassured in my decision. It was any good Christian's duty. Paintings of the Saracen's atrocities filled France, demonic figures wrapped in strange cloth with evil pointed beards, and their sharp untrustworthy eyes. Good christian men and women flee in terror before them.

February 9th, 1250

I came in and out, fever dreams plagued my mind. I saw the image of Christ hung bloody upon the cross. I saw all manner of devilry and trickery. Satan had come for me. He meant to claim me for my sins. I tried to get to my feet many times. Once in a moment of clarity I got to my knees and almost stood. Intense pain in my lower gut stopped me. I fell with a crunch. I blacked

Click here to report chapter errors,After the report, the editor will correct the chapter content within two minutes, please be patient.