The Green Knight: After the Battle
By
M.L. Stidmon
The Green Knight yanked out his large hand and half sword from the dead man at his feet. He grimaced in disgust at how tenacious the German Prince had fought him. As he turned his gaze from the corpse of his royal antagonist to the surrounding field of battle, the Knight shook his head at how raw the emotions of the combatants had been this day; no mercy asked, no mercy given. It sickened him that Christians could fight one another with such zeal. Even more, it made him irate that he had been drawn into this fight. His mission to mediate some sort of reconciliation had failed and now he was standing in the wasted carnage of the vanity and misguided self righteousness of powerful but no less petty men of the aristocracy.
It had all been a needless battle due to a schism on beliefs of who was a more devoted Christian. Now the field was so choked with the dead and wounded that one could hardly walk without stepping on flesh or corpse and all because arrogant fools thought they only knew what it meant to be a true follower of the cross; and by God, only they could be right the Knight sarcastically thought.
The battle had long shifted to other parts of the field during his long exhausting duel with the prince. Now the Knight took a moment to catch his breath and contemplate what his next action should be. What he wanted to do was find his horse, if he could, and ride from this cursed land. As appealing a thought as that was he was still beholden to the church to salvage some good from this fight. If anything he could stop the butchering of the lowly soldiers and that of the wounded.
The Knight gave his immediate area a quick check for any other threats to his person. He took up the sword laying it upon his shoulder as he made his way towards what looked like the last of the fighting. As he stepped off he caught the movements of not of the wounded, but that of the battlefield scavengers. They were the retched vermin of humanity who scrambled to battles not for partaking in the cause of either side but for the profit of pilfering the dead. They had no honor or morals, to the Knight they were lower than rodents and were any thing but human. A few were making their way to where he was, ignoring him, so intent were they on reaping their grim harvest of coins and jewels. When one man bumped into the Knight while diving for the body of a fallen knight the Green Knight swatted the wretched villain with the flat of his sword. The man fell forward with a yelp. Like a snappish little animal the filthy peasant actually pulled out a dagger and waved it menacingly before the Knight. The Knight gave the man a look of contempt and brought up his sword as if to smite the ignorant fool. The body pilferer scampered away seeing that the Knight was about to cleave him into two.
Smoke swirled about the battlefield as various things burned: a hovel from a farm; stacks of hay; and the baggage of the Germans. The smoke added to the stench of the field and obscured the total view of what was happening. The Knights ears were still ringing from being blindsided from a blow to his helmeted head early in the battle. It was difficult for him to even hear what was going on because of the din of the fighting and the dying. Not far away a man clutched at his exposed entrails as he loudly moaned for God’s mercy. The Knight took a step towards the wounded man only to see a pilferer slit the wounded man’s throat before snatching the victim’s purse.
“As God as my witness, don’t let me catch any of you vultures,” the Knight screamed hoarsely at the vile pilferers.
Those body scavengers that were in the nearby vicinity of the Knight made a point of not getting to close to him. He had no strength to charge any of them as they stayed just out of reach of him. He did manage to fling a lance at one poor wretch skewering him to the dead soldier that he had moments before had been pawing over. The other scavengers took note and even kept a wider berth from the Knight.
It was rare for huge armies to come to grips in such a free-for-all melee. This battle proved to be the exception than the rule of warfare. There was none of the usual posturing and maneuvering between the two commands. Instead they had learned of each other and like two bulls, locked horns till one side either collapsed or was routed. Never before had the Knight seen two great hosts be so determine to destroy the other. Early in the battle all the carefully formed formations had degenerated into one huge chaotic mob. Before the hosts had joined in battle, the order had been given that quarter was not to be given or asked. No mercy was to be shown. Civility was to be ignored. The Knight cursed at the folly of such fools and the cost that they exacted for their own vanity. Surely the angels of heavens cried this day at beholding such evil.
He found a slight mound with a boulder protruding from the ground and sat heavily down upon the stone. At the Knight’s feet were several dead men. Two fools in their rage had stabbed each other to death, their faces contorted in shock as they realized that they were equally doomed while grappling with each other. Leaning up against the boulder was another knight in soiled finery, staring off into nothing, dead. The Knight leaned forward and clutched his head with both hands. He scratched at his scalp and raked his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. Lying nearby was a water-bottle that he was able to retrieve with fatigued effort. He swirled the container relieved at hearing liquid slosh inside. Uncorking the bottle he smelled the contents to make sure that it was something drinkable. Satisfied that it was only water he drained the contents of the bottle, so thirsty he was. The Knight tossed the empty bottle to the side and put his head back into his hands.
“Sir?” a mouse of a voice spoke to the Knight.
The Green Knight jerked his head up startled by the voice of the little boy that stood before him. He was monetarily confused as he realized he had blacked out for some unknown length of time. The child’s voice had yanked him from unconsciousness. Looking about, he took in the scenery of the battlefield and in a flash he recalled everything that had transpired. The Knight also took measure of the time of day and saw that the darkness of night was not far off. Between the gloom of the smoldering fires and the cloudy sky, coupled with the setting sun, visibility was beginning to wane. He looked at the boy standing before him obediently quiet waiting to be acknowledged as a good page should.
“What is it boy?” the Knight spoke in the language of the French.
“My Master, the Count of Artois is dead and I can not locate any of his Knights,” the boy said sobbing. “Please Sir, could you help…”
The Knight looked at the boy with a pang of pity knotting up his stomach. The boy could not have been no more than ten and looked even much younger. What madness to bring such innocent young ones to this hellish place.
The Knight nodded to the boy and stood up. He reached out his metal gauntleted hand and took the boy’s in a gentle grip. In the other hand, the Knight held his long sword unsheathed, on guard if there would be a need. No live Germans who could pose a threat were anywhere near them, only the disgusting scavengers of the dead. Together the Knight and the page picked their way through the battlefield to where the baggage train had been located that morning. On occasion the boy would walk along side the Knight with his face buried in the older man’s surcoat blocking out the horrors of death all about them. Other times the Knight would catch the little boy staring with a sadden expression upon the battlefield. The French host had stopped short of the field the previous night a couple of miles back. When the call to arms had been sounded the army had gathered and leaving the tents and supplies and such that an army brought with it, had marched off to battle. During the fighting a group of Germans or their hirelings had stole about to the French rear and descended upon the lightly guarded bivouac. All that was left was the strewn remains of the belongings brought by the French. Many things must have been carted off while much of the baggage and stores had been burned. Worst yet, with the French host chasing the routed Germans, the battlefield scavengers had fallen upon the camp site with gusto. Now very little could be salvage as useful.
The Knight looked about scanning the area while holding the boy’s hand. He searched for the tent of the Archbishop of Lyons whom he was staying with. So complete was the devastation that nothing was discernable though. In a last effort the Knight whistled a measure from a favorite tune. Looking about waiting to see his horse come trotting up, he was resigned that his mount was no where nearby.
“Sir, I’m thirsty,” the boy said from beside the Knight.
He looked down upon the sandy haired lad and smiled. They then picked their way through the debris of the bivouac. For awhile it looked like they were going to be out of luck of finding anything. Then the Knight came across a skin full of watery wine. Unstopping it he brought the spout to the boy’s lips. The boy brought up his hands to push the skin away.
“I know it’s not the best but it is better than nothing,” the Knight pointed out.
The boy would not drink from the skin. The Knight upturned the wine skin and finished off the contents. His thirst was more pronounced than he had thought. Sheepishly the Knight tossed the skin to the side realizing that he should not have drank all of it at once. The boy did not complain as he gave the Knight a blank look as if he expected such behavior. The Knight felt guilty and continued to look for something for the boy to drink. Finally he came across some water that had been bottled. It was clear and sweet to the taste. When the boy was offered a drink he barely took a sip.
“Why don’t you have more?” the Knight asked, hesitant to take back the bottle. “It’s just water.”
“I’m not thirsty anymore,” the boy said as he placed the bottle in the dumbfounded Knight’s hand.
The Knight reached down and snatched up a ragged sack to put the bottle in. He wasn’t thirsty anymore either, but he wanted to keep the bottle just in case.
Getting back to his original purpose, the Knight looked out beyond the pillaged camp. Spying fluttering flags towards where the van of the French army had formed up he thought to head there. He looked at the boy who stood passively next to him. What a strange quiet little boy. The Knight felt pity for the boy who witnessed probably for the first time the killing and horrors of a battle, something that no one should ever witness but the Damned of Hell.
The Knight took off walking with the page in tow towards the distant standards he spotted. Not long afterwards they came upon where the Germans had plunged into the ranks of the French with their heavy cavalry. It had been a fruitless gesture against the center of the French line, an act of bravado than bravery. The German Knights had been slaughtered with few able to regain their lines. As the Knight and his young charge approached the scene, several horses were still moving despite being severely wounded. One horse in particular thrashed about and snapped and kicked at anything that it saw move. The poor beast was mortally wounded and frighten to blind madness.
“No living thing should suffer so,” the Knight said picking up a discarded lance. Leaving the boy well out of the range of the still very dangerous horse, the Knight approached the sorry beast from behind. The horse, a once noble and proud animal, reared its head backwards towards the Knight. Its eyes blazed with hatred while it tried to snap at the Knight with its foam covered teeth. With pity, the Knight looked down at the horse and with regret plunged the lance deep into the fallen steed’s body. The horse let out a high pitched scream as it reared it head and jerked its body in response to being impaled, it then fell silent. The Knight shook his head at the waste of needing to dispatch the horse.
Turning about the Knight saw that the page stood silently nearby watching impassively the necessary deed. The Knight expressed without saying a word his apology for having to put the poor animal out of its misery. The boy only stood erect with feet together and hands at his side looking at the dead animal. The Knight walked up to him and offered his hand.
“Come boy. Let us find someone you know.”
The boy looked up into the face of the Knight with his impassive brown eyes. The Knight shook his head yet again. The boy was in shock from all the horrors and he seemed to be only adding to it. The quicker the boy could be reunited with his people then the sooner he could start healing from this horrible day.
The Knight had walked off only to see that he was alone. The boy had stopped and was looking down upon a fallen German. The warrior had been stabbed and bludgeoned to death. There was even an arrow sticking out of his back. The Knight returned to where the boy stood looking at the dead man.
“Come on, your people are just over here,” the Knight urged.
The boy did not move but only looked up at the armored warrior hovering over him. “Why do men fight?”
The Knight was taken back by the question. He had no time for such an inquiry. He was about to grab the boy and continue on when he changed his mind looking at the upturn inquisitive look of the page.
“There is no one answer to such a question. Some fight for sinful reasons; such as: lust, vanity, pride and greed. Others fight due to ignorance and prejudices. Some are forced to fight to defend their lands and honor. And then there are the evil ones. They fight wars, just because.”
“Why did this battle have to be fought?” the page asked.
It was the Knights turn to feel sadness and guilt. He turned from the boy and surveyed what he could see of the battlefield, which was a lot from this location near the center. It was a horrific sight, the bodies of the dead and dying lay all about them, stretching into the distance in all directions.
The Knight looked down upon the gold emblazoned rings of the trinity embroidered onto his green surcoat. He had been sent to find a way to check this war, only to become a character on one side of it. The Germans were so harden in their hearts that they were unwilling to listen to his words from the Holy See. It did not help his cause with the duplicity and connivance from the Archbishop instigating the two sides to the brink of war. Along with the egos involved from both sides of this issue, only the slightest of perceived wrongs had only to materialize to send the two opposing hosts headlong onto a destructive path of no return.
The Knight looked at the little boy waiting patiently for him to answer him. He swallowed before simply stating, “This battle was fought because fools would not listen to reason. May God curse their souls as he has done mine.”
The Knight grimaced and turned away from the boy to gaze absently to the west as the setting sun slipped under the far horizon.
“It is getting late,” the Knight reasoned. “I see men over by those standards. Let us hurry before night is fully upon us.”
The Knight held his hand out and saw the boy slip his into the thick leather and metal armored gauntlet. The Knight at first occasionally looked down to his side to see that the boy was there. So slight of figure was the page that the Knight could not feel the child’s hand through the leather of his gauntlet. However as they walked and drew closer to the men gathered about the fluttering standards the Knight no longer looked down at the boy till he gave one last look before climbing a slight rise where it was clear that the men gathered were of nobility and of the leadership of the French. The page gave the Knight a smile before the ascension up the hill.
A couple of Knights and men at arms came to attention upon the Knights approach. They were at first wary until they saw the familiar device of the Trinity upon the Green Knight’s chest.
“It is good to see you Green Knight,” a knight of the Dauphin’s own household called out.
The Knight recognized the man and asked, “What of his Highness?”
“Slightly injured, but should recover easily enough. He is with the remnants of his war council.”
“Is it over then? The Germans have fled?”
“Fled? We damn near killed them all. There are very few that have fled,” the man boasted to the distaste of the Knight.
Remembering his charge, the Knight without looking down at his side asked, “This boy is from the House of Artois. Do you know of any whom may claim him?”
The Knight of the Dauphin gave the Green Knight a curious look and asked, “What boy?”
The Knight was puzzled and turned his head down and to the side. Expecting to see the dirty little boy with the big brown eyes, there was no one there. The Knight quickly turned about and looked down the slight slope that they had just climbed. No where, could the boy be seen, which was odd for the hill was barren of any cover to conceal the child.
Without directly addressing the royal household knight, the Green Knight said, “I came across a Page to Count Artois. He was just with me not even a few heart beats ago.”
“Artois you say?” the Dauphin’s Knight asked in way of clarification.
“Yes, he said he was a page for Artois,” the Green Knight said slightly irritated that the boy had some how wandered off and now someone would have to go and look for him.
“My Lord Green Knight,” the lesser Knight said to get the attention of the Knight. “Artois and all his men were killed in the fighting. Even the squires and pages were not spared.”
“What are you saying?” The Knight turned upon the startled soldier, “I found a little boy out there on the battlefield and led him to here. See he took a drink from this bottle.”
The Green Knight reached into the bag and took out the bottle. He brought it up for all to see. And then it was his turn to be mystified, the bottle was still filled to the top when he uncorked it. He had not drunk from it himself having offered it only to the boy. He had watched him take a sip and had even question the page if he had enough. Now that he looked at the bottle of water it had not been touched other than being uncorked.
“My Lord, we spotted you down the hill alone. I assure you, there was no boy with you,” the Dauphin’s Knight stated as a matter of fact not wanting to stir the ire of this powerful Knight.
“Alone? You say that you did not see me escorting a child?”
“No Sir. And as you can see we would have surely seen even a small child. Look at that man with the dog.”
The Green Knight looked in the direction that the Dauphin’s man was pointing to. There at the bottom of the hill could be clearly seen a man with a small dog sauntering by. There was no mistaking the man or the dog, not even with the darkening of the evening into night.
“A ghost?” the Green Knight whispered.
“On this day, I’m sure there are many a disembody spirit wandering about, my Lord.” The Dauphin’s Knight offered.
“Artois and all of his men were killed?” the Green Knight asked.
“Yes, my Lord Green Knight.”
“Then may God have mercy on their souls and bring their spirits to his heavenly house.”
