Chapter 348 - 250: Conflict

The sudden arrival of the disheveled Knight and sentry threw the training ground into disarray.

Belem hastily tossed aside his crossbow and strode before the Knight. "Richard, what happened? How did you end up like this? Get up and speak!"

"It’s those Griffons! My Lord."

The Knight, Richard, began to spill the whole story. Near the entrance to the barracks, he had seen an archer furiously complaining to a Greek woman that the price of her bread had tripled.

He had shouted to his companions that the current price was worlds apart from what it was last week.

The Greek woman flew into a rage and began to shriek curses.

Soon after, other Greek vendors attacked him. The archer, hopelessly outnumbered, was beaten by a mob of Greeks. Fortunately, his companions were nearby and came to his rescue.

By the time the archer’s companions managed to drag him to safety, he was covered in wounds, and a large patch of his hair had been torn out.

"Of course, my Lord, the archer’s companions didn’t hold back. They had never endured such a great insult," Richard continued. "They struck hard with fists and feet, which only provoked the Greeks further. Knives were drawn, clubs were grabbed, and the soldiers had to fight even harder to defend themselves. Blood is still flowing now. I fear the violence will spread. Hordes of Greeks are surging from the town toward the camp—there are even a few Saracens among them."

At this, the Knight named Richard pointed to a cut on his face. "I was lucky to escape with only minor wounds."

"Damn it!" Belem exploded, drawing the longsword at his waist and roaring, "I’ll teach these cunning, greedy Griffons and enemies of Christ a lesson!"

Before Eric could say a word, Belem had already charged out.

"It’s best not to clash with the Greeks," Lagman said to Eric, getting to his feet. "They might not be skilled fighters, but they have no qualms about poisoning our food. We should keep an eye on that impulsive hothead."

"I heard a story once," Stephen said, picking up his own sword. "There was a Frank serving this Greek Empire, a great warrior who rose to a high position. In the end, he was dragged from his residence by a mob of jealous Greeks. They tied a great stone to him and pushed him into the sea to drown.

"And all just because he was a Frank. I’ve always thought the Greeks have a bottomless well of inspiration for drama, probably because what we consider dramatic is just their everyday life."

Eric gave chase with the two men, taking sixteen Knights, all mounted on warhorses, along with some sword-wielding attendants. However, Eric denied the Knights’ wish to use their lances, ordering them to use their longswords—and preferably, the sword backs.

After all, they were on Greek soil; they needed to end this conflict quickly.

...

By the time Eric’s party arrived, the streets were filled with furious Greeks. But a charge from Eric and his Knights sent them scattering like mice from a cat.

It was surprisingly easy.

Because Eric had ordered the Knights to use only their sword backs, no Greeks were killed.

Still, more Greek rioters kept arriving, as if by agreement.

Some of the bolder rioters stood on rooftops, hurling stones and tiles. A few Knights suffered cuts to the face, but no one was seriously injured.

Rufus was one of the few casualties. He had been bathing in a bathhouse on the street when the commotion from the Greek rioters disturbed his activities. He had just emerged in a bathrobe, sword in hand, ready to curse them all out, when a jagged roof tile gashed open his face. He bled like a stuck pig.

Eric and his party led the Knights in a charge down the street toward the city’s main gate.

Although the Greeks had scattered into the alleys and side streets, the Knights and their attendants were still greatly outnumbered by the fleeing mob.

Yet Eric and his men held the absolute advantage, for they were all on horseback.

In the Christian World, few men could remain calm in the face of a cavalry charge; anyone who could was surely addled in the head.

Belem, though he had accepted Eric’s order to use only his sword back, didn’t find it satisfying enough. He had found a stout club from somewhere and was swinging it unstintingly at the heads, shoulders, arms, and chests of any unlucky Greeks he could reach.

Eric’s party galloped down the street. Before long, all resistance had vanished. The mob was gone, and any who remained were now fleeing in terror.

As he neared the inner city, Eric reined in his horse.

The soldiers on the inner city walls noticed the approaching, fully armed Norman Knights and immediately went on alert.

"All of you, halt!" Eric yelled to a few Knights ahead who were still pursuing the rioters.

Three attendants and two Knights didn’t hear him. Carried away by the heat of battle, they brandished their swords and trotted through the city gates.

A moment later, the gates swung shut with a groan. With a loud BANG and the heavy thud of a crossbar falling into place, everyone knew the way was sealed.

The soldiers on the walls also readied themselves for a fight.

The situation was dire. Eric and the others knew it all too well.

Belem immediately bellowed that if a single one of his men was killed, ten citizens within the walls would be hanged. Then he fell back.

The soldiers on the wall were a motley crew. Eric recognized some of them as Franks, despite their Greek-style armor. Most, however, were Armenians, and they had already nocked arrows and taken aim at the Norman Knights the moment they saw them.

Soon, a dark-skinned man appeared on the battlements. He was about thirty, roughly the same age as Stephen, the Count of Blois, and appeared to be of Turkic descent. A few streaks of gray ran through his black hair and beard.

He wore fine chain armor, overlaid with a polished bronze chest armor. His face was battle-scarred, the most striking feature being the golden nose that had replaced his own.

His name was Tatikios. He was the Governor recently dispatched to the city by Emperor Alexios to counter the Normans, who had already conquered most of Epirus.

He pushed aside a few archers and strode to the edge of the wall. Folding his arms across his chest, he addressed Eric’s party in Norman French.

"Fall back, Normans. You have overstepped your bounds. As per our agreement, you are forbidden from entering the city until the Emperor’s Envoy arrives."

"Who cares about entering this godforsaken place of yours! It was your people who provoked us first!" Belem yelled. "I wouldn’t mind taking your Turkic dog’s head before we march on Jerusalem!"

"I said, fall back! Back!" Tatikios roared, planting his hands on the embrasures of the wall and shouting down at the Norman Knights.

"We demand the proper reception we are due," Eric said, looking up at Tatikios. "If you cannot provide the courtesies the Emperor himself promised us, then friction like what happened today will not be the last. And we cannot guarantee that we will show restraint every time."