Gunter slumped by the stream, mindlessly washing away the blood covering his armor and shield. His sword lay on the grass beside him, a silent reminder of his part in carnage.
Is this really all there is? Gunter had asked that question many times these past raids. The roar of the assault still echoing around him, Gunter stretched tired muscles down upon the lush green.
Rape? Gunter found the screams of frightened women and children appalling. What is rewarding about destroying a woman’s hopes and dreams? With her children cowering in a corner and watching their mother die?
Pillage? At first the thrill of wealth exulted satisfaction within him. Now, when that wealth is covered with the blood of its dying owners, pillage was repugnant. Gunter reached inside his tunic, retrieving a torn parchment.
An elderly monk had thrust this page into Gunter’s hands just days ago. With his last gasping breath, the monk whispered, “Take this…”
But, why? Why did he give this to me?
The Apostolic Barbarian will continue in tomorrow’s post.