Legends Never Die: Audacity (ch. 102)

The treasury of the Umayyads was a thing that bordered on absurdity. I had seen the obscene wealth on display in Constantinople, and Norland was a rich and prosperous port, rapidly becoming one of the most important in the Mediterranean, so I was no stranger to wealth by this point. Yet, there was something that just inspired an instinctual awe in the sight of a hoard built from dozens of cities rivaling Norland sending funds to a treasury that was guided by able administrators and a wise king.

When faced with the prospect of averting a disastrous ending for their nation, Hisham was convinced to open the treasury in full. He argued fiercely that I should be directed to the South to deal with Hadi and the invasion force that he headed. The sums that were offered grew to the point that they were unbelievable in the truest sense of the word. His attitude swiftly changed when I reminded him that I had defeated Charlemagne on the field before.

Neglecting to mention that I had been a glorified distraction, and not in charge of the army at that time.

It wasn't what the prince wanted, but it only increased his father's odds of winning against Charlemagne's invasion force. A force that was fifty thousand strong that came with the intent to conquer. The price negotiated reflected that fact.

15,000 talents in gold and silver. Half delivered with a hundred mules laden with treasure, with the other half promised upon my arrival on the battlefield, granted to me by the Caliph himself, the Caliph having taken such a bounty with him to the battlefield in the hopes that he could pay Charlemagne off.

I didn't even know how much wealth that we had already procured, but with the peace treaty and contract alone, we had claimed no less than 10,000 talents of gold and silver. Likely closer to 11,000 or 12,000. A sum that outstripped even the treaty that King Widukind had forced upon Charlemagne, and it was only with the benefit of hindsight that I realized how badly Charlemagne had cheated him. The peace could have cost five times as much and Charlemagne likely could have still afforded it.

That, however, didn't even start to factor in the wealth taken from the near dozen cities we had sacked and plundered. Just in precious metals and jewels, I likely possessed another 15,000 talents of wealth. More, when factoring in silks, spices, and crafted goods. Odds were, it'd be months before I got even a rough figure of just how rich I was.

Yet, I found that I hardly cared as we returned to Palmar as conquering heroes. I’d had to sack a dozen cities, but I found it.

The rose that bloomed from the corpse of a dragon. The very last piece I needed to reforge the sword at my hip. Despite being tucked away in a book for what was likely years, decades possibly, and being no less than several hundred years old, the rose looked as if it had just been plucked from a bush. The dark red petals unfurled, the stem a dark green while the thorns were wicked sharp.

It was, without a doubt, the single greatest treasure I had ever received.

So, almost the very moment our ships returned to Palmar, I went to the Longhouse that had been constructed. Palmar was unrecognizable after these short few months, the population of the once very modest town had effectively tripled. But, we were well used to rapidly developing cities, so its expansion was structured and prepared. None of it interested me as the city celebrated our arrival with even more treasures taken.

The Palmar Longhouse was more of a library in function, mostly because I had counted books and texts as part of the treasures to be taken from the Umayyads. Along with their guardians to help sort them. But, not even they could interest me.

I moved with a fervor of a man possessed, ordering the construction of a smithy near the Longhouse that was soon completed. And, it was there that I summoned every single bladesmith that I had in my army, taken as a thrall, or otherwise recruited. They arrived shortly, the urgency of the summons having been impressed upon them and it was there that I unsheathed my sword.

“I am a skilled blacksmith in my own right, as I'm sure many of you know,” I began, looking at the two dozen faces. Some were familiar. Others less so. So easily were men I haven't ever met before, including one woman. “However, this blade has confounded me,” I continued, standing in the center of the large smithy. A roaring furnace, a bed of coals, and tools for the trade.

To prove my point, I grabbed hold of the blade and brought it down upon my knee. The thin metal sheathing I had covered the blade in tore, revealing the true blade beneath. That earned their interest, even those that had to rely on translators. Freeing the true blade entirely, I held both pieces aloft. “This was the extent of my abilities. I failed to get the metal hot enough that I could reforge the blade. That is no longer true. Yet, I find that I lack the skill to restore the blade as it should be. That is where you come in.”

My gaze swept over the bladesmiths, and despite what their myriad circumstances might be, I could tell that they all wanted to be chosen for the task. All of them were dedicated smiths who gave themselves to the trade. They were amongst the best, which was why I had many of them captured.

“But first, you will prove to me that you have the skill necessary to forge this blade anew,” I said, gesturing to the forge around me. “You each have one day to create for me a knife that will be tested viciously. All materials shall be provided to you, and should you need anything else, then merely ask and you will receive it.”

It was then that one if the bladesmiths held up a callused hand, “Shall the victor forge the blade, then?”

I smiled, “No. He shall, however, receive ten talents of silver.” A large sum enough for a man to retire on if he lived modestly. “After that, you shall be broken up into teams of three and each tasked with designing a blade to be tested against the others in a series of trials in a week's time. The victorious team shall receive twenty talents of silver. Each. The trials will be repeated once more, with two teams of six, where each shall design a blade. The reward for the victorious team shall receive fifty talents of silver. Each.”

It was as much of a competition as it was a collaborative effort. Each would bring their own unique talents and skills, showing their virtues and demerits. The money would motivate them to do their best while those that won many prizes were the ones that I would have my eye on. “Throughout the process, you will be watched and judged, your skills measured, and your attitude considered. Even should you not win a single prize, you could be chosen to help design and forge what this blade becomes. For those chosen, I shall offer a boon of your choice that I shall grant if it is within my ability to.”

The words took a few seconds to settle in and I saw a fierce competitive spirit enter their eyes. They understood. So, I stepped out of their way and let them get to work. Before long, there were fights over the forges and tools, their passions burning bright as did their hopes for the rewards.

I left them to it -- part of me wanted to join them, but in the end, I wasn't an exceptionally skilled blacksmith. I simply couldn't dedicate enough of myself to the trade to be called a master. Each of them had years, if not decades, of experience to draw from. And that's precisely what I wanted. Norland had taught me the strengths of blending styles together. This whole trip to Rome had taught me to learn from the merits of other cultures.

The now broken blade in my hands would be a manifestation of that. Taking the best of Norse, Arabic, and Roman craftsmanship and putting it all into one sword worthy of a king.

Naturally, the end result would be a source of inspiration. A new and better way to forge steel.

With the whole project firmly underway, I felt far more comfortable with the state of things as I prepared the army for Charlemagne’s invasion. Which would be underway in a month's time, invading at the start of the campaigning season.

The first day marked a woman as the victor of the knife making contest. The second contest saw a team of Abbasid and Norsemen winning. The third was where the two teams were jumbled up, each refining the blades. Certain markers became more consistent as they readily agreed on aspects of the blade and feedback in response to the tests.

The blades were used to hack wood, flesh, bone, and even used against other blades. They were beaten against armor, stabbed into chainmail, and used on live animals. Techniques to harden the blade were a must, though not without sacrificing flexibility. Little by little, they both learned from their defeats as much as they did from their victories.

It was on the very last day before we were to set sail to Hispania once more, the three chosen smiths that I had picked -- a Roman woman named Anastasia, a Norse blacksmith named Olaf, and an Abbasid smith named Malik -- approached me. They bowed their heads, and presented the third design. The first two, I had rejected.

When I compared the design to the broken blade, I felt What Lurks Within stir. The ancient blade had found its chosen form and I wasn't going to deny it.

“Then let us begin,” I said, accepting the design where we then returned to the forge. It was heated, but it was only when I plucked a single petal from the flower, dropping it into the flames, that they grew hot enough. The heat swelled dramatically until the point that I had trouble standing near the forge, feeling as if the heat would set me alight.

It was then that I dropped the broken blade into the inferno. The hilt melted away in the flames, leaving behind only the metal that the blade was made of. Unlike every time I had tried this before, the blade started to glow with heat until it was white hot. As if they were possessed, the three blacksmiths pulled the pieces out and started to hammer them back together.

Within the hour the blade was whole once more, yet it was hours more that they labored over the blade. They worked without speaking, without rest, pouring over every detail of the blade. For three days, they worked with a possessed fever, and the very day that I had to set sail, they presented the blade to me.

The smoky gray blade possessed a ripple pattern, like water. The crossguard was a long bar, while the grip itself was large enough to fit two hands. The blade was long, lacking a fuller, and to someone else, its length would be unwieldy, as it was fourth five inches or around three and a half feet, with both edges being razor sharp. Given my size and the fact that I was still growing, it was perfect.

Legendary Artifact Restored.

Name: Gram

Effects:

10% increase in Prestige from battles.

+2,000 Prestige to owner

5% increase Renown gain

+5 monthly Renown

+15 Prowess

+ 1 Prowess per level of fame (+10)

Increased opinion of Norse-Germanic pagans

Gram. The blade belonging to the legendary warrior Sigurd as my people knew him, or Siegfried, as the Saxons did.

My namesake.

A blade that was granted to Sigmund, Sigurd’s father, which ignited his quest for revenge against a petty king who killed his family out of jealousy for the sword. Odin then broke the blade when Sigmund was blinded by his revenge, not recognizing the man who granted him it under the guise of a beggar.

It was Sigurd who granted the blade fame, when he had it reforged by his dwarven mentor and used it to slay the dragon Fafnir, and in doing so bathed in its blood from the fierceness of the battle. His skin became like armor, all save for a leaf-shaped spot on his back where one had stuck to him. He wielded the blade throughout his life, using it to slay a great many other beasts and monsters, becoming a hero without equal until he met a tragic end. Betrayed by his king and friend, who coveted the valkyrie, Brynhildr, who loved Sigurd. He was murdered by a well-aimed spear to the back.

Sigurd was granted a funeral pyre where Brynhildr, his love, threw herself onto the pyre to join him in death. Gram was said to be on that pyre alongside Sigurd, as was customary.

How had the blade been broken once more? How had the pieces ended up in the hands of two middling Jarls in Norway?

I had questions. They lurked in the back of my mind even as I grasped the blade, feeling as if it was made for my hand and my hand alone. A sense of strength flowed into me as I took hold of the blade. A smile tugged at my lips as I gazed upon my sword, Gram. There was a very long road ahead of me to prove worthy of it.

“A sword fit for a king.”

…

The restoration of Gram was treated as the greatest omen that we could have received from the gods. After the plunder that we had taken, and now with Gram in my hand, my people's spirits couldn't have possibly been higher as we set sail for Hispania once more.

And it was there that the gods decided to pull the rug out from underneath us.

“Abd al-Rahman has refused to pay the promised sum,” I said, reading the words from the letter that had been delivered, much to the disappointment of my commanders. We were gathered in my tent, looking to join the Caliph, and upon landfall a messenger had come and left as fast as he arrived. A rather telling sign, I knew, even before I opened the letter.

“A cheat,” Olek growled, his lips curling. Across from him, Hoffer let out a bark of laughter.

“We have already taken a kingdom's worth of silver from him. I can't blame him for not wanting to part with more.” Hoffer said, and he had been nothing but smiles since the Great Raid had begun. I think he was starting to look forward to ruling his island kingdom, especially when he saw how rich the plunder was.

I reread the letter, “He tries to soften the refusal. I believe that it is prudence rather than spite,” I said. The reasons listed on the letter were sound -- his son had no right to promise the funds to me. He was still in negotiations with Charlemagne, so he could hardly grant them to me when peace could be struck. “Yet, they feel hollow.”

“He doesn't want to look any weaker than he already does,” Thorkell ventured. “If he was my king, and if some other Jarl did to us what we did to them? I wouldn't trust the man to watch grass grow, much less lead a kingdom.” There were a few general muttering of agreement. “The only reason he still has a crown is because they're staring down an army. But, I wouldn't be shocked to hear that the Jarls and Thegns are working on taking it from him as we speak.”

I nodded, showing my agreement while Athrun spoke up, “Perhaps he simply doesn't want our help? Or perhaps he thinks we serve the Frankish King. Our arrival is suspicious. He'd be a fool if he didn't at least suspect the possibility.” Also a valid point.

“His reasons matter little, in the end. We have been denied the other half of our payment. Instead, we are left with a vague promise of compensation should we still attack the Franks.” I disliked how it was done. I could understand the reasons. I understood why he went this path. However, what Abd al-Rahman had done was wait for us to land in Hispania before telling us his refusal. When the island we stayed on was a day's sailing away, at most.

“He's holding the payment hostage,” Hoffer agreed. “But we've already been paid half. I say that we leave. We don't gain anything by honoring a contract that wasn't honored to us.”

“Aye -- the money would be nice, but we're already swimming in it.” Thorkell agreed, casting a glance at me.

Also true. We didn't really need the money. That wasn't what had motivated me to take this contract. “We accepted half of the payment. It would be dishonorable to simply cut and run now.” There were some agreements there, and some grumbling. “I have no intention of simply giving back seven thousand talents. However, nor will I allow it to be said that we aren't worth what we're paid.”

Thorkell wasn't at all surprised by my reasoning, “Then what shall we do?” He asked.

He laughed when I answered.

The agreements were swift after that as we all decided on a course of action. On that day, we broke camp and began to march inland where we were greeted by another messenger asking for a reply.

The messenger was rebuffed. We sent him off without an answer, and he retreated back to Abd al-Rahman. After that, we were shadowed by scouts and more messengers arrived. First, they asked for a reply. Then they demanded one. Then they began to demand answers for our intentions as we moved along the coast.

However, Abd al-Rahman soon had other concerns as, at long last, Charlemagne mobilized his army.

Charlemagne elected to go around the worst of the mountains, knowing that Abd al-Rahman had gathered a significant force to stop his invasion before it could begin. Only the terrain around the coast was hardly that much better when it came down to it. There was a reason why Charlemagne used the mountain passes, and that was there were no good grounds for a battle. In the passes, as deadly as they could be, so long as you properly scouted the way, you had little to fear.

Yet, his hand was forced. He went around the mountains, heading into the rough hilly terrain that acted as a precursor to them. Abd al-Rahman, as much as he would like to demand answers to me, had to mobilize himself to meet him.

And there was really only one battlefield in the area that they could meet upon and make full use of their numbers and their cavalry. So, I simply marched ahead towards it with my ten thousand warriors.

Naturally, as the first to arrive on the battlefield, I claimed the best view for myself. A large hill that overlooked a large flatland pass through the rolling hills. In the unfavorable terrain, it was one of the few places like it, which made it the natural battlefield. The hill, likewise, was a powerful advantage. In some places it was too steep to climb without difficulty, but in others it had a gentler but steady incline.

Which meant that both Charlemagne and Abd al-Rahman had wanted it for themselves.

“What a lovely view,” I decided, my army having long fortified our position on top of the hill by the time both armies arrived on the field. And what a sight it was.

There was a point in time that I couldn't have imagined what fifty thousand people would have looked like. Before, back in Denmark, I thought that hovel of a town that Horrik ruled over was the greatest city in the world when it barely had more than a thousand people in it. It was only thanks to the Hippodrome, and the events therein, that I could imagine what a force that big looked like. It could hold a hundred thousand people, reportedly.

It was a sight that I would never forget as long as I lived.

The sight of the Frankish army moving in force to meet the equally sized Umayyad army was another sight I would never forget.

Seeing a hundred thousand men in a crowd was one thing, but seeing a hundred thousand men arranged on the battlefield was something else entirely. The Umayyads, in preparation to fight both the Franks and Abbasids, had fully mobilized their military might because they understood that there would be no opportunity to recover and gather strength. The result was that Abd al-Rahman commanded an army some sixty thousand strong, outnumbering Charlemagne’s by ten thousand.

From my vantage, I could easily compare the two forces. Charlemagne possessed ten thousand cavalry, five thousand archers, three thousand skirmishers, with the remainder of his force being spearmen. Abd al-Rahman, on the other hand, possessed ten thousand light horsemen, five thousand cataphracts, five thousand archers, with the rest being levies. Meaning, their forces were roughly comparable to one another.

Except Charlemagne had his Paladins.

“I wish I had brought Astrid with us. She would have loved this,” I mused, watching both the Franks and Umayyads react to the unwelcome news that I had taken the hill. My smile grew a fraction when I saw both of them sending messengers towards us.

“Better she didn't. A sight like this would have made sure she would give you a second son,” Hoffer remarked, and I chose to ignore it, not letting it interfere with my good mood. He had relaxed significantly since Astrid bore me a son, but that didn't mean he had stopped with his needling.

The messengers drew near, and Charlemagne truly knew what he was doing, choosing to send Astolfo and…

I blinked, “How are you not dead?” I greeted Rinaldo in Frankish, ushering them to where I sat upon their arrival alongside the Umayyad messengers.

“It takes more than a pagan boy to kill me,” Rinaldo boasted and I was more confused than anything.

“I stabbed you in the heart. Twice, if memory serves,” I replied, inspecting Rinaldo as if to make sure he really was the same man I had fought in Saxony. I hadn't seen him die, but I was certain that I had killed him. As getting stabbed in the heart once, much less twice, was wont to do. The fact that he was able to continue to fight me in what became known as the Laughing Duel was nothing short of incredible and a testament to his resilience. Yet, I fully expected the man to die of his wounds and the fact that he hadn't was honestly quite worrisome.

“It does, pagan,” Rinaldo replied, no explanation forthcoming. So, I very pointedly looked at Astolfo, who just gave me a lopsided grin in response. No answer from her either.

“You're miraculous recovery aside, what business do you have with me?” I asked, leaning into my seat. I was being petty, I knew that. I couldn't deny myself it, though -- I may have benefited from it obscenely well, but I was still quite annoyed that Charlemagne had essentially given me an ultimatum.

Astolfo sighed, “Sieg… can we please have the hill?”

I thought about it for a moment, and only because it was Astolfo who had asked. “You may not. I want an excellent view of the battle to come.”

Rinaldo sneered so hard it was a wonder he didn't pull something. But, then again, he could recover from a twice skewered heart, so he likely had nothing to fear. Astolfo continued before he could say anything, “You're being petty, Sieg,” she accused and rightly so.

“I am,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “Charlemagne called me to heel as if I am some dog to command. He threatened to aid the man who murdered my family. I believe I'm entitled to being a little petty.” I said, the smile starting to slip off my face.

Rinaldo stepped forward, “You are an enemy then?” He said, stopped by Thorkell placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back. The force of the push made Rinaldo's gaze snap to Thorkell.

“Not particularly, no,” I replied blandly, letting them mull on that for a moment. “I merely wanted a decent view, so I took the only one in the area.” That wasn't the whole truth, but my reasoning was simple.

I denied Charlemagne the hill, which would have granted him a significant advantage. Now, merely by sitting where I was, I was on both of the armies flanks. They outnumbered me five times over, but ten thousand men wasn't a force either side could ignore. If I attacked at the wrong time during the battle?

As it was, in their perspective, whoever I attacked would lose the battle.

Both Rinaldo and Astolfo traded a glance before they made to leave, taking my response to their King. I gave them another message before they left, “I did my part in raiding the Umayyads. For nearly three months, I raided and reaved across Hispania. I upheld my end of the bargain to Charlemagne. He can blame his gambit failing only due to the quality of his enemy.”

Astolfo inclined her head to me as the two Paladins left my camp, letting me turn my attention to the Umayyad messengers. The conversation was almost identical, except for one sticking point.

“I do not blame Caliph Abd al-Rahman for his decision to break the agreement his son made with me. Given his circumstances, it is understandable. What I do blame your Caliph for is that in the month since I kept the peace, he did not inform me that his son spoke beyond his authority. He attempted to ambush me, holding what was promised to me hostage. Had he not done so, if he had sent a letter informing me and requesting that the deal be amended, I would have accepted.”

“I have denied Charlemagne the hill, and I sit upon his flank as he is unsure if I am a friend or foe. I have upheld the bargain I made with his son, but seeing as I have only received half of the pay, I shall only do half of the job.” I said, my gaze sharp as the messengers squirmed beneath my gaze. “If your Caliph wants anything of me from this point on, he will have to pay my rate. At a mark up for his trickery. But, he may take heart -- Charlemagne will have to pay an even higher price.”

With that, I sent the messenger back to the Umayyads, waiting to see the effect my words would have upon both armies.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The Umayyads sent more messengers, each one carrying a heavy chest of gold. Charlemagne saw the action, and I knew that he was considering his options, yet I already knew what he was going to do.

Charlemagne was ambitious. A conqueror. He’d mustered the largest army that his people had seen since the fall of the western half of the Roman Empire. He lifted his men's hearts with promises of conquest, of seizing Hispania and liberating the Christians within while punishing the infidels. He, simply put, couldn’t afford to retreat. Nor could he afford to lose this battle. Doing either would fracture his image in a way that he… simply couldn’t afford.

What he could afford, however, was to compete with the Umayyads to see who could pay me more to not attack them.

Neither knew how much the other was bidding for my services. They only saw wagons and mules being pulled in my direction, leaving the other side to guess how much was within. Then they attempted to one-up the other side by sending me more. Which, in turn, induced the first side to increase their offer to ensure that they won the bid.

What were they bidding for?

My inaction. At first, they tried to hire me outright, but when I resisted the idea, they switched tactics. Instead, they paid me for the promise that I would hold the hill and not attack them, leaving them to conduct their battle in peace. I accepted both bids with a prudent warning -- the promise would only last for a day. On the morrow, they would have to pay again.

“Two thousand talents to do nothing,” I mused, watching as the battle lines began to form up, the bids accepted, and there was nothing left to do but give battle on an even field. “It’s almost better than raiding.”

Next to me, Thorkell snorted, “For someone else, maybe. But, I expect that price to rise soon. They’re going to get desperate and this hill here is going to look more and more tempting.”

I hummed in agreement, knowing that he was right. “Think they’ll attack?”

“Neither of them strike me as dumb enough to try something like that when they have an enemy before them. Maybe when the battle ends, and they have a victor,” Thorkell ventured as horns rang out in the air as the two opposing forces began their clash. “Entirely depends on how much it costs them to win, and the only danger our guys are in is drinking too much during the show.”

It felt decadent to treat a battle such as this with so much on the line for both parties, as mere entertainment, but that was precisely what it was to us on this day. We watched giants clash, my men taking bets on the victor and loudly cheering for their chosen side. Admittedly, there were precious few who were cheering for Charlemagne, but there were some who found the Caliph more disagreeable for trying to cheat us.

The sheer volume of the arrows exchanged was astounding to witness. Arrows fell from the sky as if they were rain, so many in the air that when the arrows of both sides crossed paths, they struck each other. It was a frightful sight, I had to admit. Volleys of arrows were hardly something new to me, but I disliked the thought of being on the receiving end of such massive volleys.

Both sides opened with skirmishers, sending arrows and stones at one another, covering as they both advanced to one another. On the flat ground, with the hill out of reach, they sought what advantage they could get. Slowly, they got closer and closer and closer until the archers were forced to fall back behind the first line of infantry. Then, like two stones colliding, they smashed together. The infantry jabbed at the other side with their spears, their shields protecting them in front as much as they did above as arrows and stone still continued to rain down.

In terms of infantry, they were evenly matched. In terms of missile troops, they were more or less even, though I would give the advantage to Charlemagne.

Where they were decidedly not even was in cavalry, and I once again saw the devastation that it could bring. The Umayyads sent forth their cataphracts, horsemen covered in armor, and they acted much like a brick to the face to the Franks. Their line was smashed where they struck, infantry pouring forth into the openings, which in turn allowed the cataphracts to pull out and cycle for another charge.

The Frank cavalry responded by attacking the cataphracts, tying them down, but in terms of quality, the cataphracts were undeniably better. Meanwhile, the Umayyad light horsemen began to harass the remainder of the Franks’ cavalry, bogging them down in a back-and-forth squabble.

The two sides were grinding each other down. It was impossible to tell who was winning as the first lines fought for hours, largely not changing positions established after the initial clash.

That was when Charlemagne deployed his Paladins. As the second line moved up, giving the first line rest, they struck and started to carve lines into the Umayyad formation. The infantry exploited the sudden breaks in the formation, pouring in and it left the clash far more jagged. It made it easy to tell where they were, that was for certain.

I saw Astolfo with her iron spear. I saw Rinaldo. I even saw Roland, the hulking man cutting a path with every single swing of his sword. I almost wished I was down there, to see how I would fare in a rematch. The man had undeniably defeated me, but I had been a child then.

There were only eleven Paladins on the field, I noticed. I knew their names but not who they were: Roland, the commander, Astolfo, Rinaldo, Gerin, Berengier, Otton, Samson, Bradamante, Ivon, Ivoire, and Anseis. What was clear was every single one of them possessed incredible prowess. However, the Umayyads had an answer to them, and it wasn’t one I had truly considered before. As, in the end, my army was personal. I didn’t have vast lands to recruit from.

The Umayyads drowned the Paladins in bodies in a way that was unlike what King Widukind managed in Saxony. There was a vast difference in the sheer weight of numbers between ten thousand men and sixty thousand. The Paladin’s charge was blunted, and their supporting infantry pushed back, which forced the Paladins to fall back with them else they’d be completely surrounded.

The fighting lasted long into the day, starting in the morning, continuing into the afternoon, and only ending as the sky began to darken with the sun's descent. Both armies pulled back from the field of battle, returning to their own camps, leaving the field littered with corpses. The wounded were brought back but with the situation so tense, neither side dared to collect their dead.

I had half expected to be attacked in the middle of the night, truth be told. Attacked in a blind bid for the hill in the hopes that either the Franks or the Umayyads could drive us off before the other reacted. But, in the morning, I found that our position was unmolested except for one thing.

Messengers from both sides of the battle had arrived with offers.

Both parties were unsurprised to learn that the price for my inaction had gone up significantly.