Chapter 90: The Night Before
(Flashback)
Night draped the plains in a cloak of silence, broken only by the soft hiss of wind through dry grass and the distant clang of armor. Baldwin IV stood alone in his tent, bent over a table of rough pine planks, studying a hand-drawn map by the flickering light of a bronze oil lamp. Candles burned low around him, the wax long melted into messy pools.
The scent of ink, tallow, and the faint medicinal tang of camphor clung to the air.
Outside, the camp was quiet—too quiet. The silence of soldiers who knew battle was near.
A knock at the tent flap stirred him from his thoughts.
"Enter," Baldwin said without looking up.
The flap parted. It was Sir Gerard of Ridefort, helmet tucked beneath his arm, his face still streaked with dust from riding. In his hand was a sealed parchment bearing the crest of Antioch.
Baldwin straightened, instantly alert.
"A message," Gerard said. "From Prince Bohemond."
He handed it over, bowed, and withdrew without another word.
Baldwin cracked the wax and unfolded the page. The prince's hand was bold and slanted, and there was dust on the paper, as if it had ridden fast and far. He read in silence, lips tight.
My Lord King,