Chapter 15: The Camp

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Along the way, the mountains rolled gently, shaded by lush green trees, with rivers murmuring softly as they flowed. Resalit was a knight of Boulogne, and this place was not too far from Boulogne itself. Combining his familiarity with the geography and Carlo’s scholarly knowledge, he continuously analyzed every possible campsite. At last, after arduous searching, they discovered a valley at the rear flank of the army.

Surrounded by towering, undulating mountains, the valley was lush with dense trees whose branches interlaced, allowing sunlight to filter through the leaves in dappled patches. A crystal-clear stream ran through the valley, its waters striking the rocks and sending white sprays into the air. Along the stream’s edge, wildflowers bloomed in vibrant colors, their fragrance drawing butterflies that danced gracefully among the blossoms.

The exit leading to Boulogne was concealed behind a thicket of dense shrubs. Resalit and Carlo led their soldiers to this spot. Resalit gazed at the thicket and said, “This exit leads directly to Boulogne. If an emergency arises, we can swiftly retreat there. Boulogne houses my knightly estate.”

After a moment’s thought, Carlo proposed, “Lord Resalit, I think it would be best not to pass through here routinely. We can hide this exit and assign a few sentinels to keep constant watch. This will ensure the safety of our retreat route.”

Resalit found Carlo’s suggestion very sensible and solemnly ordered the soldiers, “Everyone must be cautious and disguise this place flawlessly.”

The soldiers nodded in agreement and set to work swiftly. They arranged the shrubs to appear more natural, scattered fallen leaves and dry grass around. Soon, the spot blended seamlessly with the surrounding wilderness. Pleased, Resalit observed their handiwork, then stationed enough sentries on a concealed high ground overlooking the area. He solemnly instructed, “You must be diligent in your duty; this place is vital to us all.”

The sentries responded in unison. Another exit leading toward Tournai was blocked by a massive rock. Resalit and Carlo examined the rock’s position and the surrounding terrain carefully. Carlo frowned in thought and suggested, “Lord Resalit, we could set traps around this rock that only we know about, to guard against sudden enemy attacks.”

In Resalit’s eyes gleamed a trace of approval as he nodded, “Good idea.”

The soldiers promptly got to work, digging pit traps near the rock and setting up tripwires. Their movements were skilled and focused, as if fulfilling a mission of utmost importance.

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Inside the valley, the soldiers busied themselves erecting tents. Their work was swift and orderly; soon, tents were neatly arranged throughout the valley. The tents’ colors matched the natural surroundings, blending in so well that they were hard to spot without close inspection.

At the camp’s center stood a temporary command tent where Resalit, Carlo, and others discussed strategy. Resalit sat cross-legged on the ground, arms folded across his chest, praising, “Carlo, I never expected you to possess not only fierce courage but also such wisdom in warfare. You will surely become a knight soon.”

Carlo stood beside him, inwardly thinking becoming a knight was too perilous—he merely wished to stay away from the whirlpool of war. Hastily, he replied, “Lord Resalit, you flatter me. These ideas of mine only work because you heed them. Otherwise, like that naval battle, many good suggestions were ignored by those two naval commanders. You are the truly wise one.”

Resalit laughed heartily, “Ha ha ha, Carlo, you’re such a smooth talker. I love hearing it—say more!”

Around the camp, they had also constructed defensive works such as trenches and fences. Some soldiers dug trenches, while others carried wood to build fences. United in purpose, they labored hard for their shared goal. Though sweat soaked their faces, none complained; their eyes shone with fighting spirit.

At the same time, the soldiers stocked ample supplies within the valley, ensuring survival during battle. This carefully planned campsite not only provided Resalit and his comrades a safe haven but also a reliable rear base in the war. In this secluded valley, they awaited their moment, ready to face the challenges to come.

Carlo’s ears were unintentionally drawn to the soldiers’ idle chatter.

“Did you know? This war started because Edward protected that Robert from Artois.”

“That Robert is no ordinary man. The English king granted him the title Earl of Richmond. He holds three castles and receives a hefty pension every year.”

“So what? I heard he even tried to seize Artois by forging documents. That land was inherited by his aunt. Such behavior is despicable—I have nothing but contempt for him.”

Carlo listened thoughtfully. He suddenly recalled terrifying rumors about Robert from a storybook he once read and frowned slightly.

“Brothers, I’ve heard anyone involved with Robert meets misfortune. His aunt, they say, was poisoned by him through witchcraft. Rumors claim he’s a cruel sorcerer!”

The soldiers around showed startled expressions upon hearing this.

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“Ah? Is that true? That’s terrifying.”

“At this rate, I fear the King of England will suffer because of him too. Trouble is bound to come.”

“Hmph, we’d better keep our distance to avoid catching any bad luck.”

At dawn the next day, as the first light pierced the night sky, Resalit, eager and spirited, led his men—except those left to guard the camp—on their departure. They gradually approached the English camp.

From afar, the vast English encampment resembled a large, hastily constructed town tightly encircling Tournai. It completely surrounded the city, creating a powerful visual impression.

The camp spanned a great area, tents packed densely and arranged in a complex yet orderly manner. Sections were clearly divided, pathways crisscrossed, and personnel and supplies moved about, ever busy.

Around the camp stood tall, sturdy wooden palisades, like an impregnable wall. Flags of the English crown and various nobles hung at intervals, fluttering softly in the breeze.

Smoke rose gently from the camp, forming light columns that drifted slowly through the air.

From within came a medley of sounds weaving together into a unique, bustling atmosphere. The crisp clang of metal rang frequently—likely soldiers sharpening weapons or training. Voices rose and fell: some loud and spirited—commanders giving orders, soldiers exchanging words; others hurried—perhaps moving supplies or carrying out urgent tasks. Horse whinnies punctuated the air, some high, some low.

These sounds traveled on the wind, reaching far and clearly conveying the camp’s tense activity even from a distance.

In contrast, the city of Tournai stood silently, its walls tall and thick. The gates were firmly shut, and occasional glimpses of patrolling soldiers flashed quickly along the ramparts.

Resalit’s heart burned with determination, eager to seize a chance for battle. Yet, even appearing within the English sentries’ sight was extremely perilous. So they turned elsewhere, hoping to find isolated English soldiers.

Their movements, however, seemed aimless—like headless flies wandering wildly across the open land.

Carlo took this quite calmly, even somewhat pleased to see it unfold this way.