Chapter 7: The Promise
On the early morning of the next day, as the well-equipped small fleet led by Jean Clébé prepared to set sail in pursuit of the fleeing enemy ships, the Segovia had already hoisted full sails. With the strong east wind over the English Channel propelling it forward, the ship sailed far into the distance.
Carlo had been in this world less than three days, and everything around him filled him with curiosity.
Though the Segovia, a large sailing ship, was nowhere near as magnificent as those he had seen in the film "Master and Commander," once he gathered his thoughts and set aside the urgency of war, standing on the oak deck, he felt an overwhelming sense of awe.
He gently traced the dark, blackened cannon. The tactile details of the artillery were astonishing.
The metal surface was rough and cold; the irregular textures were clearly discernible beneath his fingertips.
Some parts were already rusted, the mottled surface prickly and abrasive against his skin, imparting a tangible sense of the metal’s weight.
These cannons were secured by specialized metal clamps, made of iron and steel, possessing immense hardness and gripping strength.
The clamps resembled clips or hooks, tightly fastening the cannon barrels.
For added safety, chains connected to the clamps anchored the other end to the ship’s structure.
It was astonishing—cannons already existed in this era!
Though he had heard the thunderous roar of gunfire the day before, he had never witnessed them being fired.
Carlo could never have imagined that the first cannon he touched was a weapon from the year 1340.
“Captain Pedro, these big guns must pack quite a punch. Why weren’t they used in yesterday’s battle?” he asked.
Pedro’s face brimmed with pride as he laughed heartily.
“Ha! Boy, you have good eyes. These cannons are the pride of Castile.”
He stepped forward, running his hand along the cannon’s body.
“Though loading them is no easy task, and their range doesn’t match that of the longbowmen, their power is indeed formidable.”
Then, his expression turned somber as he sighed.
“My Segovia carries a full dozen cannons, originally stocked with ample ammunition. Our speed and maneuverability outclass English ships.
“Alas, the French naval commander’s reckless orders shackled my ship with chains and nearly emptied our supply of cannonballs.”
Pedro shook his head helplessly, his eyes filled with frustration.
“The fighting in the first squadron was fierce; the few remaining cannonballs were exhausted early in the battle. Otherwise…”
He trailed off, still passionate about ships, cannons, and naval warfare.
Carlo listened quietly, inwardly grateful for his luck in becoming a “sharpshooter” aboard the Segovia.
He shuddered at the thought of engaging in close combat with melee weapons; he likely would not have survived.
“But that French commander is truly an amateur leading professionals,” Carlo muttered with a frown, his thoughts wandering.
“If those warships had free rein, they might well have defeated the English.”
At that moment, Resalit entered the cabin, his gaze sweeping over Pedro and Carlo before resting on Pedro.
“Captain Pedro, what are your plans moving forward?”
Pedro turned to face Resalit and replied,
“Lord Resalit, we don’t even know how many ships remain in our fleet, and Count Alava is missing.
“The Segovia’s ammunition is spent, and we have suffered heavy losses in weapons and crew.”
Pedro spread his hands in resignation.
The Segovia was like a lion with its teeth pulled out.
“I doubt we can offer France much help in the short term. I intend to return to Seville.”
Resalit nodded slightly, his gaze instinctively drifting to the stormy sea outside the porthole, as if trying to glimpse the fleet’s former glory through the crashing waves.
He sighed quietly: the brutality of this war far exceeded expectations; it was no small feat that Pedro and his men had endured this long.
These ships carried not only soldiers and supplies but also the hopes of countless families and the blood of countless warriors.
As a French knight, although he felt ashamed for failing to lead them to total victory, Pedro’s willingness to candidly share their plight without a hint of complaint spoke volumes about his character and trustworthiness.
“We must ensure their safe return, to at least partially make up for the heavy losses suffered in this defeat.”
“Captain Pedro, your aid to France will always be remembered.
“Let us dock at Dieppe in Normandy. I can also assist you in obtaining some supplies.”
Pedro waved off the offer.
“Our nations are allies, and I came to fight under Count Alava’s orders.
“No need for formalities. Without you French knights fighting desperately on the battlefield, I wouldn’t have escaped. And your attendant Carlo is quite formidable. We are grateful to you both.”
Their eyes met, and unbidden smiles appeared on their faces—a quiet camaraderie blossomed between them.
Carlo pondered in his heart: Seville seemed to be a port in what would later become Spain.
It was much closer to Italy.
Should he suggest going there together?
After all, the Hundred Years’ War was extremely perilous, and he had a home in this world.
The thought of “home” stirred a warm feeling within him.
Having been swept into this war after crossing over, enduring constant fear, finding some semblance of peace aboard this ship was a blessing.
If he went to Seville, perhaps he could finally escape the flames of war and live a stable life.
Yet, looking at Resalit and the other French companions, having endured so much together, fleeing now would feel ungrateful.
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A few days later, at Dieppe.
Dieppe, located on the eastern coast of Normandy, France, boasts a natural harbor advantageous for maritime trade and navigation.
At present, it also holds significant military strategic importance.
Though the docks were relatively simple, France had deployed a certain military presence at the port.
After replenishing supplies and sailors, the Segovia raised its sails and gradually disappeared into the distance.
As for Jean Clébé’s small fleet, how could the English Kirk ships possibly catch the Castilian sailing vessels at sea?
They were merely chasing scattered stragglers along the coast.
They would never dare approach a place like Dieppe.
And what of Carlo? In the end, he did not follow Pedro away, nor did he share this intention with anyone.
He was still young, and Roberto was young too.
The Middle Ages were hardly peaceful; the two young men had neither strong military force nor sufficient wealth.
Returning from Seville to Florence was equally arduous.
Most crucially, Carlo was just a civilian boy cruelly caught up in the whirlpool of war.
Amid this merciless conflict, he was like a drifting leaf, believing there was no way to break free from fate other than to go with the flow.
Yet, when Carlo was in deepest despair, most in need of help, Resalit came to his aid and led him through countless obstacles.
Indeed, the smoke of war eventually cleared, leaving behind the shadow of defeat.
But for Carlo, the river of fate had altered its course.
The once ordinary and precarious path of his life, with Resalit’s help, found a new direction—a different chapter unfolding.
In this age, the spirit of knighthood shone brilliantly.
Promises were the radiant light of that spirit.
Knights were men of their word; their vows were carved in stone, solemn and sacred.
When they made a promise, they would exert every effort to fulfill it, no matter the cost, never betraying their word.
For a knight, a promise was more than mere words—it was a responsibility, a duty.
Carlo had promised to serve Resalit and vowed to uphold his duties to Roven.
In his former life, he had imagined a life lived quietly and normally in the modern world.
Busy each day with the trivialities of work and life, he never dreamed he would be transported to this turbulent age steeped in ancient chivalry.
Now, standing on this strange and challenging land, Carlo felt both fear of the unknown and an inexplicable resolve.
Though not a knight, nor truly of this world, he wished to honor his promises.
He did not want to fail anyone or anything.