A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER TWELVE

Godfrey slowly peeled open his eyes, his head throbbing. He hurt more than he could remember, his body feeling as if it bore the weight of the earth. Every muscle ached and throbbed, and as he lay there, face first in the grass, he slowly tested his limbs, trying to move each one. He felt as if he had rigor mortis settling in.

He shook his head, and tried to remember. Where was he? What had happened?

Godfrey looked out and saw not far from him, the dead face of a corpse staring back, eyes wide open as if looking right at him. He opened his eyes with a start, leaned back, and looked all around: there were hundreds of corpses sprawled out on the battlefield all around him. He turned his neck, and saw the same view in every direction.

Then he remembered. The battle against Andronicus. At first, the victory; then, the defeat. The slaughter.

Godfrey was amazed to see he was alive. He also could not help but feel proud of himself that he had actually had the courage to fight, to stand side-by-side with his brother Kendrick and the others. He did not have their skills, but ironically, perhaps that was what had saved him. He had thrown himself clumsily into the thick of battle and embarrassingly, he did not have their agility either—as he had charged, Godfrey had slipped on the slick blood of a soldier, and had slipped before he could wield his sword. He remembered lying face down on the ground and trying to get up, but being trampled by soldiers and horses.

Godfrey recalled receiving a solid kick to the head from a horse that had knocked him out. After that, all had been blackness.

Godfrey raised a hand to the side of his side, and felt a huge welt where the horse had kicked him. He was embarrassed to have been taken down by a horse and not to have gone down with his sword raised high, by another knight. But at least, unlike the others all around him, it had spared his life.

It was the next morning and as a cold mist blew in off the Canyon, Godfrey shivered, realizing he had been out all night. He sat up amidst the sea of dead bodies, a stark scene in the first light of morning. In the distance he spotted Andronicus’ troops, patrolling. There came the distinctive noise of a sword cutting through air and impaling flesh; Godfrey craned his neck to see an Empire soldier, about fifty yards off, walking from one body to the next, raising his sword and plunging it through each corpse to make sure it was dead. He was methodical, going from corpse to corpse—and he was heading in Godfrey’s direction.

Godfrey swallowed hard, eyes opening wide, realizing that he had escaped death once—but was not about to escape it again. He had to think quick, or he would end up truly dead.

What Godfrey lacked in fighting skills, he made up for in wit. He did not have the training of his brothers, but he had a unique ability to survive. Growing up, he had always found a way out of everything, and now, more than ever, it was time to draw on his skills.

Godfrey quickly scanned the corpses around him and spotted a dead Empire soldier about his size and height. He checked back over his shoulder, making sure the patrolling soldier was not looking, then crawled forward on his hands and knees to the corpse. He quickly stripped it of all its armor, moving as discreetly as he could, praying he was not detected.

Godfrey removed his own armor, his body freezing as it was exposed to the winter air, and reached over and dressed himself in the enemy’s armor from head to toe, even taking his belt, which had a short sword and a dagger on it; he then reached over and grabbed his shield. He even reached over and took his helmet, which luckily concealed half of his face in its semi-circular shape. He managed to do all of this as quickly as he could, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if the other Empire soldier was getting closer. Luckily, while he made his way closer, he was not looking his way.

Godfrey quickly turned and lay on his back, holding the shield of the Empire soldier above him so that the crest—a lion with a bird in its mouth—was clearly visible. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. And prayed.

The patrolling soldier approached him, and stopped. Godfrey, eyes closed, prayed that he bought it. He knew the next second would define whether he lived or not. If he heard the sound of steel slicing through the air, he knew he would be killed, his ploy discovered. But if he felt the soldier nudge him in some other way, he knew his ruse had worked.

Godfrey waited for what seemed like forever, as the soldier stood over him, debating.

Finally, he felt the tip of a boot, nudging him on the shoulder.

Inwardly, Godfrey sighed with relief; outwardly he feigned being awakened, opening his eyes, fluttering them slowly, pretending to be disoriented.

“You’re alive,” the Empire soldier said. “Good. Are you wounded? Can you walk?”

Godfrey sat up slowly, and it wasn’t too hard to feign pain, since his pain was real; he reached up and felt the welt on his face, and allowed the Empire soldier to drag him to his feet. His legs were stiff, as was the rest of his body, but he could walk.

“I am sorry, sir, I did not see your stripes,” the soldier said in awe, suddenly stiffening at attention.

Godfrey looked back in surprise, not understanding. Then he realized: the uniform he stole. The soldier he raided must have been an officer.

Godfrey immediately fell into the role, for fear of being discovered.

“I will forgive you this time,” he said, “but next time you will address your superior appropriately. Do you understand?” Godfrey said, mustering as harsh and authoritative tone as he could.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied.

Godfrey stood there, staring back, and had to think quick. He knew he had to continue playing the role well; one false move and he would be discovered.

“Shall we get a nurse for you, sir?” the soldier asked.

“No. I have no need of one. I am an officer, lest you forget. We suffer minor wounds.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said.

Godfrey thought quick. He could not just walk away. It would be too risky. What if something he did gave up his ruse?

“There you are,” came a voice.

Godfrey turned to see several Empire officers approaching. With his helmet low and his visor lowered, they must not have recognized him.

“Officer’s meeting,” came a voice.

The group of Empire officers approached, and one put a hand on his back and led him along with the others.

Godfrey found himself walking with the group of Empire officers, making their way through the field of corpses, towards the outer gate of Silesia, towards Andronicus’ camp. He was afraid to check back over his shoulder, to check and see if that soldier was watching him, giving him a second glance, wondering if he made a mistake. So instead, he doubled his pace and went with these men, marveling at this odd turn of fate. He wondered how long he could keep this up. A part of him wanted to turn and run—but if he did, he knew he’d never make it. Besides, where was there to run to? The entire city was enslaved. There appeared to be no safe place anywhere.

They soon passed through the outer gate, away from Silesia, and as they did, before them there was revealed the huge expanse of Andronicus’ million-man army, camped out in tents. Godfrey swallowed hard, in awe at the sight. He was led deeper and deeper behind enemy lines, blending in with the others, and as he headed deeper and deeper into the heart of Andronicus’ camp, no one seemed to look twice.

He had survived. He had tricked them all. He was maintaining the ruse.

But how long could he keep it up?