Knight of god

[Wertbag]

He fell to his knees, exhaustion robbing him of the ability to speak. How long had the battle lasted? It had felt like hours but in the heavy chain armour and fuelled on little more than his adrenaline reserves, he could not even hazard a guess. 

He looked down at the flanged mace held loosely in his numb fingers. When had he lost his sword? He vaguely remembered his blade breaking and a frantic search for an alternative weapon. He must have scooped the mace from amongst the bodies that littered the field but he couldn't remember having done so. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to stand but his legs felt like jelly and refused to take his weight. He felt the pain in his limbs start to make itself known, mostly muscles pushed to their limits but his left arm throbbed and blood ran from his chainmail sleeve. 

It took him three tries to remove his heavy hauberk, first having to discard his shredded tabard, so heavily blood soaked the red cross there was hardly distinguishable, before the leather straps responded to his clumsy fumbling and his sweat soaked chest finally felt the air upon it. 

He looked at the mace still clutched in his bare hand. It was only with great effort he managed to force his fingers open, allowing the weapon to drop to the blood soaked ground. Then at last he turned his attention to the wound on his arm. It appeared as though a blunt weapon had struck his armour, driving the steel rings into his bicep, but while it bled from the impact point, it did look to have been grazing and the wound was already showing signs of clotting. 

A voice called out "So, was it as glorious as you imagined?" 

He looked towards the source, finding one of the enemy combatants laying in a pool of blood, his shoulder a smashed pulp. 

Johan attempted to speak but little more than a croak came out. He swallowed, took a deep breath and tried again, this time rasping out "There is no glory here. There is the dead, the dying and the bloodied. God has turned his gaze away from us." 

The heretic attempted to laugh but pain quickly stopped that folly. "Do you think god was ever part of this? The leadership on both sides claim divine guidance, but all I see is man verse man, putting our brothers into the ground." 

Johan nodded, he could remember the holy vigour driving them forward, but now, looking back, it felt little more than being swept along by the group excitement. Had god ever blessed their mission? A week ago he would have had no doubt, but now, looking upon the bodies of friend and foe alike he struggled to remember where that confidence had come from. 

From the blood speckled lips Johan knew the heretic was not long for this world. "Tell me your name." 

"Eric. I'm a... Or at least was, a farmer. Convinced of the holy war against the corrupted church, only to be sent to fight against heavily armed and armoured professional soldiers. We never had a chance, but we were so sure of gods support that we ignored common sense. Lot of good Hes done me now."

Johan scanned the bodies piled about. It appeared for every fallen brother there was at least three to four peasants laying hacked to pieces. Maybe some had fled the field of battle but from his limited view he could see only death. 

"Do you even know what the heresy is that we are charged with?"

Johan thought, but shook his head. "They didn't have to say, only apply the heretical label which was enough to make your lives forfeit." 

"You see, we follow the same god. We are believers in Jesus Christ and follow the holy bible..." his sentence was cut short by a coughing fit. More blood spotted his stubbled chin but he lacked the energy to wipe it away. "We are all Christians. All praying to the same power for salvation, and yet here we are, killing each other over whose version of salvation is correct. As the saying goes 'a fool and his head are soon parted'" 

Johan smiled weakly at the dark humour. "In a world full of poverty, disease, hunger and violence, we two were convinced that more killing is the answer to the worlds woes. That staining my blade with the blood of my countrymen was a god given mission to make the world a better place." He looked at the blood stained mace, the hair from his last victim still clinging to the gore splattered sharpened edges" Holy work, god is with us brothers" he whispered.