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Colaigne was larger than any of the towns in Bastogne. The great city was nominally part of the County of Savoy, but in practice it was ruled by an oligarchy independent of the Count of Savoy. Godfrey thought towns like Harv, Vosg, and Menz were big. Now he knew he was wrong.
Colaigne’s streets were narrow, and filled with pungent refuse. The buildings and houses were packed so tightly together, Godfrey wondered how the people here could even breathe. So many people crowded the streets. It was difficult for Godfrey to lead Baruch through all of them, but Turpin navigated his own steed through the people with ease.
Turpin was leading the way to the docks, while Godfrey and Walaric followed closely. Godfrey’s satchel was heavy with golden coins.
“How did you end up getting all that money?” Walaric eyed the bag with evident suspicion.
“It’s surprising how readily people will part with their money when it’s for a good cause,” Godfrey answered. “Too bad fewer were willing to come along in person.”
Peddlers crowded around the three of them and their horses, trying to sell their wares. Turpin had to forcefully shove some of them out of the way to get himself, Godfrey, and Walaric through the street. Other commoners stopped to point and whisper to each other about how the first of the crusaders had arrived.
A girl, about fifteen Godfrey guessed, cut through the crowd and stood directly in front of him. She was tall, and had a pretty smile and short, braided red hair. She wore the clothes of a merchant’s or nobleman’s daughter. Without preamble, she pressed a delicate white flower into his hand.
“Remember me when you come back,” she said with a wink before going back to one of the houses just as quickly as she had arrived.
Dumbfounded, Godfrey held the flower for a moment before tucking it into one of his satchel’s pouches. Walaric grinned broadly at Godfrey, and punched his arm. Annoyed, Godfrey returned the punch to Walaric’s shoulder, but Turpin pressed on, appearing oblivious to all of it.
“Not much farther,” Turpin assured Godfrey and Walaric.
“Good,” Walaric moaned. “I don’t know how many more flowers Godfrey can carry.”
“Shut it.” Godfrey flushed in embarrassment.
“The men should be loading onto the transports shortly.” Turpin ignored Godfrey’s and Walaric’s exchange. “The ships should be ready to launch by midday.”
“It’s still too cold for spring,” Godfrey noted with a shiver. “Aren’t the sailors worried the seas may still be too rough?”
“The crusade has already been delayed a month.” Turpin shook his head. “First the ships weren’t ready in time, then this weather. If we wait too much longer, it will be winter again.”
“Right,” Godfrey acknowledged.
“Better to go now than not at all.” Walaric shrugged.
The three continued down the street. The press of people did not diminish for a while. Godfrey had not anticipated becoming a crusader would yield this sort of popularity. Or maybe there were just a lot of merchants trying to push their wares on travelers with money. It seemed to be both things at once.
Eventually, Godfrey caught sight of the masts of some of the ships behind the buildings. Silver Sun pennants waved lazily from the tops of the ships’ masts. They were tall with canvas sails furled in tight bunches. As the port itself came into view, Godfrey was overwhelmed by the salty smell of seawater.
“Wow.” Walaric’s mouth gaped as he took in the sight of the ships. “I have never seen so many cogs before.”
Godfrey roughly estimated the ships in the port. There were two dozen or so sitting in the perfectly calm water of the harbor. Crewmen loaded supply crates into the cogs’ hulls by crane. Godfrey gave a low whistle at the impressive sight.
“Twelve of those transports are for us.” Turpin indicated the vessels. “One shall be for the knights and us, one for the horses, and the rest are for the infantry.”
“They’re huge,” Godfrey said, gawking at the ships.
“They have to be to hold six hundred passengers, eighty tons of cargo, and a crew of almost a hundred sailors,” Turpin replied casually.
“Who are all the other ships for then?” Walaric looked around for an answer.
As if in direct response to his query, another group of knights emerged through the streets from the other side of the port. They were distant, but Godfrey could make out the heraldry on the tabard of the lead knight. His white tabard depicted a black wolf passant across the center.
“I am guessing that is Conrad the Wolf,” Godfrey mused aloud. “He has a lot of crusaders going with him too, if I remember right.”
Conrad seemed to spot Godfrey, Turpin, and Walaric, but he did not approach them. Godfrey waved, but Conrad did not return the gesture. Talking with his retainers, Conrad was apparently too preoccupied to bother with formalities, or at least thought he was far enough away to pretend he did not see Godfrey. Scowling, Godfrey returned his attention to Walaric and Turpin.
“Well he’s certainly a rude one,” Walaric huffed.
“Let’s not think too much of it just yet,” Turpin advised with a sideways glance.
Approaching one of the cogs, Turpin hailed its crew. A sailor leaned over the gunwale in response to Turpin’s call. The sailor was a young man, maybe a few years older than Godfrey, though his clothing was worn and tattered from years of hard work at sea. Godfrey considered the young man for a moment, wondering what his life would be like had he been born to a sailor instead of a duke. Not enjoying the conclusions he came to, Godfrey counted himself fortunate, and left it at that.
“My lord?” The sailor looked down from his work.
“We are the crusaders from Bastogne,” Turpin called up to the sailor. “Which of these transports is for the horses?”
“Well that would be this one.” The sailor patted the gunwale.
“And which one is for us?” Turpin asked.
“Over there.” The sailor pointed to his right. “Three ships down from us here. Go ahead and leave the horses where they are. We’ll bring them aboard.”
Affectionately patting Baruch’s jaw in farewell, Godfrey made for the ship the sailor indicated as Walaric and Turpin did the same. Baruch gave a sad snort. Grimacing, Godfrey turned back to him.
“Don’t worry,” Godfrey reassured his steed. “We’ll be there in no time.”
A group of sailors began handling Baruch and Turpin’s horse by the reins. Godfrey turned and sprinted a few steps to catch up to Walaric and Turpin. They walked out onto the pier, and boarded their ship across a narrow gangplank leading up to the cog’s deck. Just as Godfrey set foot on the deck, the sound of thousands of marching feet resounded through the streets. Sure enough, it was his father’s knights and infantry coming through the city to the port.
“Six thousand infantry and five hundred knights all told,” Godfrey said, reading the astounded look on Walaric’s face.
“I thought you said there would be more?” Walaric asked as he came to himself.
“There were going to be more,” Godfrey agreed. “But some could not raise enough money to go. Others changed their minds or made up some excuse. Anyway, this is what we have.”
“That’s still quite an army, Godfrey,” Walaric admitted, leaning against the gunwale.
“Word is now there are about thirty thousand crusaders in total,” Turpin added as he watched the men begin to board the ships. “There are always some who abandon the cause, but more are boarding the ships now than I expected.”
“Well that’s comforting,” Walaric grunted, rolling his eyes.
Walaric muttered something indistinct. There was a strange rhythm to the words. Furrowing his brow, Godfrey gave Walaric a curious look. The acolyte stopped abruptly.
“Delwyn’s Five Hundred,” Walaric said. “An old poem Bishop Clovis taught us at the orphanage when I was small. It’s about the Battle of Rhyl Pass.”
“I know it.” Godfrey frowned. “Delwyn’s Five Hundred all died at the Battle of Rhyl Pass. I’m hoping we do better than that.”
“They got a poem out of it for their martyrdom at least.” Walaric threw his hands up. “Besides, I’m sure we’ll do better against the Nordsmen than Delwyn did against the necromancer’s horde.”
He and Godfrey watched the men boarding the ships. Turpin eventually excused himself to go down into the hull, leaving Godfrey and Walaric to themselves. Soon after, Godfrey noticed Conrad’s soldiers boarding their ships.
“How long have they been at that?” Godfrey asked Walaric.
“A while.” Walaric shrugged.
“Oh.” Godfrey watched the soldiers from Errans with mild interest.
Most of the knights from Errans incorporated the wolf into their heraldry. It signified familial relations to Conrad, just as most of the knights from Bastogne used the griffin in theirs because of some loose connection to Godfrey’s family. Remembering Conrad’s slight from earlier, Godfrey crossed his arms.
“The wolf is not really such a noble animal,” Godfrey prodded Walaric.
Furrowing his brow, Walaric looked at the knights and footmen from Errans. He scratched his ear, contemplating the men from the distant duchy. Finally, he blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“No,” Walaric admitted. “They’re pack hunters that go after the sick and weak, but they also look out for their own.”
“True enough,” Godfrey conceded.
A few more hours passed, and it seemed to Godfrey that most of the men from both Bastogne and Errans had loaded onto their respective ships. The crews were preparing to cast off from the piers. A sudden exhilaration overcame Godfrey as a thought crossed his mind. After months of tedious preparation that had nearly emptied Bastogne’s treasury, he was going on crusade. The moment was here at last. Despite the financial strain, Godfrey felt honored as he clutched the griffin pendant around his neck.
Turpin came up on deck, clutching a live chicken in his arms and observing the ships’ final preparations.
“Why did you bring that up here?” Godfrey pointed at the chicken.
Turpin looked at Godfrey and raised an eyebrow, but he did not answer. Unsure of what Turpin was hinting at, Godfrey simply returned a puzzled expression. Walaric caught on first.
“We almost forgot to make sacrifice.” Walaric punched Godfrey in the arm.
“Stop doing that.” Godfrey punched Walaric back a little harder than he meant to.
“Thalatta...” Walaric winced. “The sea goddess punishes those who do not offer proper sacrifices before traveling through her realm.”
“What kind of sacrifice does Thalatta want?” Godfrey asked.
“One of these.” Turpin offered Godfrey the chicken. “You must offer an invocation, break its neck, and toss it over the right side of the ship.”
“Okay.” Godfrey took the chicken, surprised to have suddenly been given this responsibility. “I’ve never done an animal sacrifice before.”
“You are the leader of our contingent, so it must be you,” Walaric explained.
“Let’s start this off right.” Turpin nodded to Godfrey.
The chicken’s muscles tensed as it tried to squirm out of Godfrey’s grip. He held the bird as tightly as he could, but it wriggled all the more fiercely in response. Not only was the crew of the ship Godfrey was on giving him their full attention, but the crews of the ships on either side were watching as well. The bird’s excited clucking only unnerved Godfrey all the more. Holding the chicken aloft, he closed his eyes.
“Thalatta,” Godfrey called. “Thalatta, goddess of the sea, hear our prayer. We go on the errand of the celestial gods. Loxias, Luna, the stars, and all the other gods in the heavenly realm have called us on crusade. We, though few, have answered their call. Grant us safe passage as we cross thy domain’s unfathomable depths. Please accept this offering as a token of our respect for thee and thy thralls, amen.”
Those present chorused their affirmation. Opening his eyes, Godfrey put one hand around the chicken’s neck and twisted as hard as he could. There was a sickening crack of cartilage underneath Godfrey’s fingers, and the chicken began thrashing uncontrollably. Not wishing to hold the bird another moment, Godfrey tossed the chicken over the gunwale. The flailing chicken gave a dull splash as it hit the water.
Kneeling, Walaric examined some of the chicken’s discarded feathers on the deck. He smiled at Godfrey. The acolyte rose to his feet, clutching some of the feathers in his hand.
“It is a good omen,” Walaric announced in a loud voice. “Thalatta grants her blessing.”
“What is a good omen?” Godfrey whispered so that only Walaric could hear.
“These feathers,” Walaric whispered back. “If the chicken sheds some of its feathers when you sacrifice it, it means Thalatta accepts your offering.”
“That seems like a fairly easy omen to obtain.” Godfrey frowned doubtfully.
“If the gods offer a gift...” Walaric smirked. “Take it. Other good omens are not so easy to come by.”
***
The ship’s captain was already shouting orders to his crew. The sailors busied themselves with their various tasks in response, and soon the ships were all sailing out of the port. They followed the coastline, the sails of the two dozen cogs billowing in a stiff northern breeze.
Godfrey found himself peering out to the horizon from the ship’s forecastle. Several hours out, the coastline drifted away to the west, leaving only the open sea before the fleet. The vastness of it all overwhelmed him. The density of the forests in the Ostlands with their numberless hills and valleys prevented most Ostmen from appreciating how expansive the world was. Godfrey had never felt smaller than he felt now.
Though the scene of the open ocean did not change, Godfrey continued to stare. Marveling at its beauty, he forgot about everything else for a while. The Sun was beginning to set before the novelty wore off. Even then, he continued as he had, though now his thoughts turned to contemplation of his place in such a vast expanse.
Godfrey was still at the ship’s forecastle well after dark. The stars shined brilliantly overhead. However, he had ceased admiring the stars long ago. His posture had changed. His face was buried in his hands, and he was sniffling. He heard Walaric approaching from behind, but the acolyte hesitated for a moment. Walaric was about to leave his friend to himself when Godfrey turned to him.
“I still miss her,” Godfrey confessed in a hoarse voice.
“Your mother.” Walaric nodded in understanding.
Godfrey gave a sad smile. The two just stood there for a moment in silence. The cog rocked back and forth against the waves, but both of them were used to it by now. Most of the crew and other knights were below deck. The helmsman guiding the steering oars at the back of the ship was the only other person on deck at the moment.
“I wish father could have come with us, or Fallard.” Godfrey rubbed his eyes.
“Why didn’t they?” Walaric asked.
“Father said he had to protect the Duchy while I was gone,” Godfrey explained. “He said he had to make sure nothing bad happened while I was away.”
“And what about your cousin?” Walaric continued. “I thought Fallard would have wanted to be a part of this.”
“I don’t know,” Godfrey admitted. “I didn’t realize he wasn’t coming until we started for Colaigne.”
“Well Turpin is here with us,” Walaric added optimistically.
“He’s just here to make sure I don’t do anything foolish.” Godfrey brushed his tabard absently.
“Godfrey,” Walaric said, and looked his friend in the eye. “Why are we here?”
Godfrey thought for a moment. He had focused so much on getting to this point that he had almost forgotten why he was here in the first place. Shivering, he looked out to sea. Something had been bothering him, but only now did that something finally make sense.
“It’s even colder here than it was in Colaigne.” Godfrey turned back to Walaric. “Could there still be snow up in the Nordslands?”
“Maybe.” Walaric shrugged. “If you go far enough north, it’s supposed to get so cold that there is snow all year round.”
“I think we are here because I have been dreaming of the crusade.” Godfrey chose his words carefully as he tried to recall the details. “Even before Bishop Clovis gave his sermon at Harv, I dreamed of snow, fighting, blood, fire. I can’t remember everything, but when I heard Bishop Clovis speaking, I knew my dreams were connected to it somehow. It just felt right to join the crusade.”
“It’s the gods’ will,” Walaric hissed in amazement. “How could you doubt when you’ve been given such a sign?”
“I don’t doubt,” Godfrey corrected Walaric. “It’s just hard. I don’t know why the gods want me here, or why my mother wanted me so badly to go. What am I supposed to do when I get there?”
“I don’t know.” Walaric shrugged. “But I think whatever you are supposed to do will feel right. It will make sense in your head and your heart.”
“Thanks.” Godfrey blinked uncertainly.
Like so many things with religion, Godfrey was at once comforted by Walaric’s answer and frustrated by it. He was comforted to know it would all be right in the end. He was frustrated by the present ambiguity.
“At least you know you are on the right path now.” Walaric gestured out over the fleet. “Worry about the details of what comes next when we get there.”
“Right,” Godfrey replied with more enthusiasm.
The two went below deck. Turpin had laid out a pair of bedrolls on the floor for Godfrey and Walaric. Most of the knights were sleeping, gambling, drinking, chatting quietly, or otherwise wasting the night away. Turpin himself was snoring loudly as he slept. Godfrey and Walaric quickly tucked themselves into their bedrolls as they attempted to avoid the worst of the cold night air, although it was warmer inside than up on deck. Godfrey reassured himself that this expedition was the right choice as the creaking ship lulled him to sleep.
***
The next morning, Godfrey awoke to Turpin putting a dry, hard biscuit up to his face. Taking it from Turpin’s hand, Godfrey bit into it and began to chew. The outside of the biscuit was tough and began to hurt his jaw as he chewed.
“Get used to it,” Turpin glowered. “We have a few more days at sea before reaching Kalscony.”
Godfrey took another bite out of the biscuit. There was nothing good about it. Walaric was eating a salted fish while trying not to gag. Some of the knights were eating hard cheeses with their breakfasts, but there was little variation from the fish and biscuits outside of that. Finishing his biscuit, Godfrey took one of the dried fish out of a barrel that had been brought up from the hold. He took a large bite. The taste of salt was so overpowering it blocked any hint of the fish’s original flavor. He had to try hard not to spit it out.
“I love the food already.” Godfrey smirked.
“Me too.” Walaric cringed, tossing aside the tail of the fish he was eating.
Godfrey washed down the rest of his fish with a jug of water. It was a mistake. The salty flavor in Godfrey’s mouth washed away, but the aftertaste of the fish itself was left behind. Godfrey took a hunk of cheese, and put the whole thing in his mouth. At least he could tolerate the cheese.
The next few days passed much like the first. Godfrey mostly kept staring out to sea for long hours, lost in his thoughts. His mother, the crusade, his dreams, all these things passed through his mind in a continuous loop. When so much thinking had exhausted Godfrey, he just stared. The occasional conversation with Walaric or Turpin helped break the monotony, but they quickly ran out of things to say as the days wore on.
On the fourth day at sea, an island appeared on the northern horizon. A large lighthouse set behind crenelated stone walls dominated the highest point of the island on its eastern side, which dropped off to a sheer cliff. The fortress overlooked a few small farms covering the western side of the island, which descended more gradually into the sea. Godfrey and Walaric watched some sheep grazing in the fields closest to the lighthouse from the ship’s forecastle as the island grew nearer.
“Is that Kalscony?” Walaric asked Godfrey.
“It’s certainly a mighty fortress, wherever we are,” Godfrey said.
The crusading fleet drew nearer to the coast, leaving little room in Godfrey’s mind for him to doubt that this was Kalscony. As they circled the island towards its eastern coast, a harbor appeared directly in front of the lighthouse. A road had been carved through the cliff from the harbor up to the fortress gate. The road was lined with small stone defensive towers on either side of it.
“No unwelcome guests getting in that way.” Godfrey pointed to the road’s defenses.
“Apparently not,” Walaric agreed.
The ships began to dock at the port, and men began disembarking from the vessels as soon as they were able. The port quickly became crowded with the knights and men-at-arms. There was laughing and joking, loud boisterous conversations. People were clearly glad to be off the ships.
As the ship Godfrey was on docked, he impatiently stood by the gangplank, even while the crew was lowering it. Though generally patient and kind, Godfrey shoved his way through the press of knights down the gangplank to the pier. His patience with ships had run out, and he was the first off. No more ships. No more fish. Never again. He swore to himself he would have to find some other way home after all of this was over.
A man descended from the road to the port with a small retinue of footmen flanking him. He was stocky, blonde, and beginning to bald. After questioning a few crusaders, the man was eventually pointed in the direction of Godfrey’s party.
“Godfrey de Bastogne,” the man addressed Turpin. “I am Oksar, Baron of Kalscony. Welcome to my home.”
Turpin coughed, indicating Godfrey. Looking Godfrey over, Oksar frowned and furrowed his brow. The Baron looked back to Turpin as if this were a bad joke. Turpin shook his head.
“But he is too young,” Oksar protested, looking to Godfrey and Walaric again. “Boys! Bastogne sends boys to lead the crusade!”
“I may be young but I have experience,” Godfrey cut in as his hand began to twitch. “I have been in battles and sieges as a squire. I have even killed a vampire.”
“Individual combat prowess says nothing of your ability to prosecute a war,” Oksar snorted as he waved his hand contemptuously.
“I have seen him in command,” Turpin interjected. “Godfrey destroyed a whole orc camp this last winter. He will not disappoint Azgald.”
“We shall see,” Oksar muttered, looking out to the contingent from Errans. “Is Conrad the Wolf just a boy too? Boys, too many boys.”
Godfrey’s anger simmered. It was not unheard of for sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds to lead armies. Oksar’s disappointment was unfounded. Godfrey could do this. The men would follow him. So what if he was not the eldest or most experienced knight in Bastogne?
Godfrey was about to say something, but Turpin shook his head. The Baron turned back to Godfrey. Fighting back a retort, Godfrey met Oksar’s gaze.
“Your men are free to buy what they need at the market,” Oksar grumbled. “You and your knights will be staying at the keep until the rest of the crusaders arrive.”
“Thank you,” Godfrey curtly replied, biting back the venom which threatened to fling from his tongue.
The Baron and his guards went off to greet Conrad and the men from Errans. Huffing, Godfrey began marching up the road to the fortress with Walaric and Turpin close behind. Most of the other crusaders were already on their way to the fortress, seeing little reason to stay at the port with the ships. The road was necessarily steep, given how sheer the cliff was. It did not take long for Godfrey to lose his breath.
“Too young,” Godfrey spat contemptuously as his pace began to slow.
Walaric had remained silent the whole time. Stopping in his tracks, Godfrey gave the acolyte an accusing look. Walaric and Turpin immediately stopped, almost stumbling into Godfrey. Raising an eyebrow, Godfrey awaited their reply.
“Well aren’t we?” Walaric asked doubtfully.
“You don’t think we can do this?” Godfrey threw out his hands in exasperation. “What happened to all that stuff you were saying about signs and faith back on the ship?”
“Well,” Walaric murmured. “The Baron has a point...”
“Do not worry about that old fool,” Turpin interjected. “A castle siege requires perseverance more than any tactical brilliance. In addition to that, I am here to advise you, and this is far from my first campaign.”
“See?” Godfrey stuck his thumb out at Turpin, scowling at Walaric. “I have a campaign advisor. What could go wrong?”
Not quite satisfied, Godfrey turned back up the road.
Kalscony’s market consisted of few vendors, though they had stockpiled large quantities of various supplies in anticipation of the crusaders’ arrival. Already some of the knights from Bastogne were purchasing food for themselves or feed for their horses. Armorers replaced missing links from some of the crusaders’ chainmail while others sharpened blades. Some merchants were showing off newly forged weapons in the hopes that they would catch the attention of some knight willing to part with his money.
“Could you get something for Baruch please?” Godfrey asked Turpin, handing the chaplain a coin.
Taking the money, Turpin nodded and went off to one of the vendors’ stalls. Though a few of Oksar’s soldiers wandered through the market, most of the men here were the crusaders. After a few moments of aimlessly wandering, Godfrey spotted Conrad the Wolf. This time, the young duke was much closer. Godfrey guessed Conrad to be in his early twenties. Conrad was both taller and bulkier than Godfrey, had dark curly hair, and bore a vertical facial scar that left a deep gash running across his lips.
Godfrey and Walaric approached Conrad. Walaric gestured to Conrad in a sign of peace, but Conrad only glared at the acolyte. Godfrey gritted his teeth, and his hand began to shake as his blood boiled. He took a deep breath, and the trembling subsided.
“Conrad the Wolf I presume?” Godfrey extended his hand. “I am Godfrey de Bastogne. It will be an honor to fight beside you.”
Conrad left Godfrey’s hand hanging in the air. The bigger man took a step closer, leering down at Godfrey. Walaric took a step towards Conrad in response, but Godfrey shook his head.
“You will not lead this crusade just because you brought the most men,” Conrad breathed with barely suppressed rage. “I am an actual duke. You are just the son of a duke. You have no title of your own, understand?”
“I was unaware that I had the largest company of crusaders,” Godfrey assured Conrad smoothly. “You think I want to lead all thirty thousand crusaders? I’m more than happy being trusted to lead my own men.”
“Don’t take me for a fool,” Conrad spat. “Whoever leads this crusade to victory will gain much glory and treasure.”
“Take it,” Godfrey replied. “I have everything I need in Bastogne.”
“Then why did you come?” Conrad asked suspiciously.
“Duty to the gods.” Godfrey turned and began walking away. “Same as you, right?”
Conrad stammered something indiscernible. Grinning broadly at Conrad, Walaric chased after Godfrey. A sour thought clouded Godfrey’s mind. Frowning, Walaric tugged at Godfrey’s cloak after they had put some distance between themselves and Conrad. Godfrey stopped and smiled humorlessly. Biting his thumb, Walaric looked his friend over carefully.
“What’s wrong?” Walaric asked.
“This isn’t what I thought it was going to be,” Godfrey confessed. “Aren’t they supposed to be our allies?”
“Don’t let that stupid brute get under your skin.” Walaric shoved Godfrey’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous that you brought more men.”
“What about this Baron Oksar?” Godfrey gestured to the lighthouse.
“Who cares?” Walaric countered. “Not everyone is going to think of you as the hero of Harv or the people’s champion or whatever they call you. We’re here for the gods, not petty barons or the likes of Conrad the Wolf, remember?”
“Right.” Godfrey nodded, biting his lip.
Turpin reemerged from the crowd. He held three large carrots in his hand. Giving one to Godfrey and another to Walaric, Turpin took a bite out of his own carrot. Godfrey bit into the root with a satisfying crunch. Walaric stared at his carrot with a look of disgust on his face.
“At least it’s fresh.” Godfrey shrugged, crunching on the orange vegetable. “We couldn’t say that of the fish on the boat.”
“Fair enough,” Walaric sighed as he bit into his carrot. “It’s better than hard bread at least.”
“I’ve ordered the men to make camp by the western gate,” Turpin said in between mouthfuls of carrot. “Oksar has given us first choice of camping grounds since we are the first group to arrive.”
“How many more groups are expected?” Walaric asked.
“Baldwin de Ghend and Phillip d’Artois will be bringing the last of the crusaders from Lortharain,” Godfrey answered. “I don’t know about the others.”
“There should be several thousand coming from Gothia,” Turpin explained. “I hear there were quite a few who made their vows in Ogledd as well.”
“Where’s Ogledd?” Godfrey inquired.
“It’s a kingdom on the island of Cardigal out in the Western Sea,” Turpin said. “Ogledd is the northern kingdom and the Kingdom of Dyfred is the southern half.”
“No crusaders are coming from Dyfred?” Godfrey asked.
“Oh yes,” Turpin corrected himself. “Last I heard, Gunthar the Red, one of their dukes, pledged four thousand men from Dyfred.”
“This whole island will be filled with crusaders before long.” Walaric whistled.
“They should all be arriving over the next few days,” Turpin added. “If our luck is any indication, there will be fewer crusaders than anticipated.”
“You’re always such an optimist,” Walaric snorted. “I can see where Godfrey is starting to get it from.”
Turpin scowled but said nothing.
“Turpin...” Godfrey looked at the chaplain in disapproval. “Why are you always so negative?”
Turpin looked Godfrey over for a moment, contemplating something. Godfrey was unsure what it was Turpin saw in that brief sad glance he gave Godfrey. Whatever it was, Turpin quickly decided against sharing it.
“Respectfully,” Turpin raised a hand defensively. “That’s a discussion for another day.”