I Became The King Of Crusaders [EN]: Chapter 97

The Fifth Column (2)

* * *

“They’re moving quite swiftly now,” Wigge observed.

I stood beside him on the hill, looking down at the training field.

The men were drilling with long spears.

Pike spears.

It looked like I was watching legionnaires in training.

Was this a glimpse into ancient Rome?

No, the Roman legions didn’t use such long spears exclusively.

They also had shields.

The pike spear formation was simple enough.

Soldiers armed with longbows and crossbows stood on the formation’s flanks.

Their role was to target charging cavalry.

When enemy cavalry approached, they would seek shelter behind the spear wall.

“Even if they can’t pierce the knights’ chainmail, they can certainly bring down the horses,” I commented.

But this formation wasn’t without its weaknesses.

A successful charge, even a single one, could shatter the entire formation.

Morale and rigorous training were paramount.

Could peasants truly stand against knights?

“There are no fiercer warriors than those defending their homes,” Wigge countered, having heard my concerns.

“Actually, I initially shared your doubts. I even questioned whether they could complete the training adequately. But over the past few weeks…”

He continued, “Everyone has been out here from dawn till dusk, tirelessly repeating the drills. Not a single complaint.”

“The citizens of Comuni have been resisting the Emperor for decades. They’ve consistently rebuilt their cities, even from ruins,” I pointed out.

Perhaps Wigge was right.

The Italians had taken up arms to safeguard their way of life.

We had merely provided them with the means.

“And our knights will serve as commanders in the heart of the formation. So far, no one has questioned their authority.”

“When we’re winning, everyone will follow my lead. But if we suffer a few losses, they’ll turn on us like wolves, eager to shift the blame,” I cautioned.

To avert such a scenario, defeat was not an option.

Only victory mattered.

Victory was the only path forward.

Just then, the soldiers’ shouts echoed across the field.

“Everyone, take a break! Fill your bellies and then back to training!”

Was it already lunchtime?

Women and children emerged from the castle walls, distributing bread to the soldiers.

Some of the men hastily devoured their bread and started playing with a ball.

Some things remain constant, whether it’s the 12th century or the 21st.

A pleasant feeling washed over me.

Everyone knew that war was imminent.

Yet, no one was consumed by gloom or despair.

The children were still running around and playing, and the parents were enjoying their conversations.

Aig was among those playing ball, having removed his armor to run more freely.

I felt a strong urge to join them….

If I did, it would likely devolve into a chaotic, military-style soccer match.

I struggled to suppress the impulse.

Wigge remarked, “That Aig runs around all day long. I guarantee that when he returns to Jerusalem…”

He chuckled.

“No, I’ll tell you later.”

“If you’re keeping something from me, you’d better spill it,” I said with a smile.

He had seemed suspicious before, too.

“Even before leaving Jerusalem…”

Just then, a group of children approached us.

They looked no older than ten.

“Mister, would you like some bread too?” a boy asked, holding out a basket filled with bread.

The dialect was thick, but I could understand him.

It was rough-looking brown rye bread.

This was the first time children had approached us like this.

In general, Italian commoners kept their distance from us.

That was to be expected.

Commoners were expected to show proper respect when encountering nobles, knights, and royalty.

These children probably didn’t know who we were.

They likely assumed we were soldiers training together and offered us bread.

“Thank you. Would you like some, Lord Baldwin?”

Wigge accepted the bread.

His pristine white gloves gleamed in the sunlight.

“Rye bread is dry, but it has a good flavor. Just one piece is quite filling.”

“I was hungry, so that’s perfect,” I replied.

Having dry bread once in a while wouldn’t hurt.

In truth, the royal diet was excessively heavy on meat.

And they refused to serve vegetables, deeming them peasant food.

At that moment, a playful impulse struck me.

“Sir Wigge, are you perhaps trying to freeload on the bread?”

“I’ve been remiss in my manners. I’ll pay for yours as well, Lord Baldwin,” Wigge said, laughing heartily.

He rummaged through his pockets and said in a flustered tone, “I left my purse in the tent. I didn’t anticipate needing money…”

“Are you feigning poverty to avoid paying? I’ll cover it,” I replied with a smile.

I took out a few silver coins from my pocket and tossed them to the children.

The children caught the coins and beamed.

“Wow! Silver! Silver!”

“Are you really giving this to us?!”

Surprised mothers appeared and hurried the children away.

We waved our hands, assuring them it was alright as they apologized profusely.

It reminded me of my farewell to Theodora.

I wondered how she was doing.

“It’s no wonder the Italians are so fond of you, Lord Baldwin,” Wigge said with a shrug.

“Aren’t you the antithesis of the overbearing German Emperor?”

“You could say I lack dignity,” I conceded.

Acting like royalty still felt unnatural.

“As I’ve said before, dignity doesn’t necessarily stem from acting like a warrior. Jesus Christ certainly didn’t act like a king.”

Wigge, having finished his bread, donned his silver mask once more.

He stood up and said, “A dignified person becomes a king. Not the other way around.”

“…”

“By the way, I wish I could linger here a bit longer. I first came here on a pilgrimage to Santiago [Santiago de Compostela, a major pilgrimage site in Spain]. It’s also where I met Garnier and Guido.”

He said.

“It’s a good place for lepers to live.”

“Not as hot as Jerusalem either.”

I nodded.

The air and meadows of Italy were inviting.

It felt like sinking into a plush hotel bed.

How wonderful it would be to come here on vacation?

“Then I’ll head down and supervise the training. I need to kick that lazy Ruark’s butt.”

In the distance, Ruark was eating bread and rubbing his backside.

It seemed to still be throbbing.

Wigge shouted at him as he descended the hill, “Hey, Ruark! What kind of wild night did you have that your butt is throbbing so much?!”

Ruark retorted with something unintelligible and raised his middle finger.

I smiled and chewed on the rye bread as I watched them bicker.

Suddenly, I felt a sense of urgency.

I turned towards the source of the feeling and saw a knight.

He rode up to me and dismounted.

“Lord Baldwin! An unidentified group is approaching.”

“Unidentified? Elaborate.”

An unidentified group?

Could the Imperial Army have bypassed our surveillance network and arrived in Verona?

But that seemed impossible.

If the Imperial Army had crossed the Alps, our surveillance network would have detected them.

“They don’t appear to be armed. A monk is leading them.”

“A monk?”

The more I heard, the less I understood.

The surrounding soldiers hastily grabbed their weapons and prepared for battle.

The children and women also hurried back inside the castle walls.

Soon, the uninvited guests came into view.

A group of over a hundred people.

Men and women who looked like ordinary peasants.

Even children.

As the knight had reported, they were not armed soldiers.

It looked like a crowd of refugees.

Escorted by knights, I rode Bult towards them.

They spotted me and shouted, “It’s the emblem of the Kingdom of Jerusalem!”

“It’s Lord Baldwin!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and they surged towards me.

Startled, Bult reared up on his hind legs.

I tapped his sides, urging him to calm down.

The excitement gradually subsided.

“Everyone, stand back!”

Someone shouted and rushed towards me.

The escort knights blocked his path.

“Ah, Lord Baldwin! I have been waiting for this day!”

I looked at the man who had broken through the crowd.

A gaunt figure with a long beard.

He wore a hooded monk’s robe and was barefoot.

Was he a wandering monk?

Over a hundred people stood behind him.

Like the monk, they were dressed in tattered clothes.

I sensed no hostility.

Instead, I felt something akin to awe or reverence.

I signaled the escort knights to step aside.

I needed to speak with him to understand his purpose.

“It seems we’re meeting for the first time, Father. What brings you here?”

“I, Pierre, a humble priest of the Lord, greet you,” he said, prostrating himself.

Before I could stop him, he kissed my feet.

Wait, Pierre?

I scrutinized the man again.

‘That’ Pierre the Monk? [Also known as Peter the Hermit]’

* * *

Peter the Hermit.

His name first surfaced during the First Crusade.

The wandering monk Pierre traveled across Europe, preaching the Crusade.

A tattered priest’s robe and a donkey were his trademarks.

He ignited a Crusade fervor throughout Europe.

“The Lord calls upon Christians to reclaim Jerusalem! Let us liberate the holy city!”

His impassioned speeches moved countless Europeans to join the Crusade.

His followers numbered in the tens of thousands.

He was revered as a saint and led the masses.

Thus, the People’s Crusade was born.

Composed primarily of impoverished individuals, they marched aimlessly eastward towards Jerusalem.

They even looted villages along the way, drawing the ire of the Hungarian army.

The People’s Crusade, upon reaching Constantinople, was ultimately annihilated in the Sultanate of Rum [A Turkish state in Anatolia].

It was arguably the most absurd episode of the Crusades.

‘After that, many individuals emerged, claiming to be Pierre the Hermit.’

The same held true in Last Crusaders.

They all shared similar traits.

Exceptional charisma and persuasive preaching abilities.

However, most of them vanished after accomplishing nothing of consequence.

It seemed this man was one of those imposters.

He had already amassed hundreds of followers.

He spoke with fervent conviction.

“The first time I heard of you, Lord Baldwin, was in Paris, France. Even then, I didn’t think much of it,” Pierre said.

Despite his haggard appearance, his eyes burned with intensity.

“I had heard many heroic tales before. But shortly after, I was struck by a severe fever and received a divine revelation.”

He gestured dramatically.

“Christ himself appeared in my dream and said, ‘Aid Lord Baldwin! Defend the holy city of Jerusalem!'”

“So that’s why you’ve come all this way,” I said.

His body was so emaciated that he appeared to be suffering from severe malnutrition.

When the body is weak, hallucinations and auditory experiences become more frequent.

Especially when coupled with the unwavering belief that one has been chosen by God.

“Yes! We have journeyed here to obey the Lord’s command. Now that we have met you, Lord Baldwin, is this not also the fulfillment of the Lord’s will?”

He rambled on, radiating an undeniable charisma.

This man was consumed by his conviction.

The conviction that he had heard the voice of God.

“So, what are your plans now?”

“First, we must fight to defend Jerusalem. The Lord will guide us.”

“I see.”

I studied him.

Hundreds of starving and ragged pilgrims.

They hardly seemed like a formidable force.

But fighting isn’t confined to the battlefield.

If utilized strategically, they could prove to be a valuable asset.

I rose from my chair and smiled at him.