The Persian Cat

By Michael Gryboski

“What was it that we had said, though you had not been present? Yes, even after these many years I know it: Deus Vult,” said Leonard of Lyon, leader of the Crusade against the Dey of Nicaea. He watched the surrounded little village, made the last defense, or rather the last stand of one of the Dey’s armies, the largest. Upon horseback were two men, each with their own Arabian horse, amongst the many prizes of the ten-year war. Leonard of Lyon was the younger and more zealous of the two men, the elder being a rather greedy nobleman by the name of Duke Kerring of Tours.

“Your forces have sealed off the eastern border, I presume,” said a determined and strong-willed Leonard, who bore the marks of the experience of this crusade. His face now had several healing scars, which shone as thin faded-red lines that criss-crossed his countenance. His left leg had been so badly wounded by a Saracen arrow that he could only limp when on foot and now rode most everywhere he went. However, not all of his rewards were unfortunate. He wore jewels of the Dey, which he had taken from the many chests of wealth that he had seized in battles won. He wore on his left arm three ornate bracelets, made of finely cut and colored glass, a necklace with the seal of the Dey’s authority, which was a crescent moon with long bow overlapping a perfect blue eye with black pupil, and three Saracen swords taken from valiant enemies in single combat. He looked on at the target.

“They have, and I expect that my desire not be denied,” said the noblemen Duke Kerring, whose appearance was almost an inverse of his rugged warrior co-leader. He bore no scars, and his skin was still fair in spite of a cruel desert sun that had unleashed fury upon Leonard. Further, Duke Kerring had a sizable amount of gold ducats within a well-knit ocean blue bag, with black purse strings. A family member had given him the gift one Christmas, with these ducats already in it. All of his shining jewelry was fashioned and perfected in the lands of the Franks and Britons, and his clothing was well hued, with purple and golden fabric as opposed to the simple white and red cape and surcoat of Leonard.

“There is no escape, my zealous friend. They are unable to come out of the village, for your cavalry shall slaughter them as they have other units. They cannot stay within the village for my infantry and guard shall go in and fell every one of them. But I say to you again, the ultimate prize is mine and mine alone.”

“A simple idol you want, a fashioned tool of worship. I worry for your soul, Duke of Tours. What can be so valuable about it?”

“The Persian Cat is the most valuable and expensive treasure that any Dey or Pasha has in all of Asia. Its wealth is incomparable, and it belongs to Christian Europe.”

“How so?”

“If I am to believe the records of Tacitus and Plutarch, the Persian Cat was the favorite statuette of Alexander the Great, who had it made in honor of his victory against King Darius at Guagamela. He made it to symbolize his rightful fiat over all of the known world, including the land of Persia.”

“You said Christian, Alexander was not.”

“His kingdom now is, so that is my justification. Also, it shall be a just compensation for my duties to Mother Church. That way, neither Rome nor Avignon shall have to pay my dukedom a fee.”

“A fair deal in your mind, with this heat I think you have been damaged after all. But no matter, our mutual enemy awaits in that village,” Leonard said as he pointed with his drawn sword, worn on the sides by numerous contacts with other blades and still bearing brown spots of dried blood.

Though the Dey was somewhere east of Damascus, most likely in the safe keeping of some neutral Pasha, the point for Leonard was not to kill the Dey, but to destroy his beloved army, which he had pursued across the endless desert. He only tolerated his rather impious ally the Duke because his soldiers helped drive the Dey from the holy sites of the Sepulcher, Golgotha, and the Via Dolorosa. The Duke himself saw Leonard as an overly zealous warrior who masked his joy of killing into some noble lofty cause. He saw himself as one to find a better gain out of this sacking, since the Persian Cat, a statuette more prized than most kingdoms of Europe, was in that city.

Agents of religiously questionable backgrounds told the nobleman that the Persian Cat was somewhere in the Holy Land. With that knowledge, he decided years ago to send an expeditionary force to the Holy Land. Fortunately for him, the Church called for a Crusade, and he simply masked his efforts in the efforts of the zeal of his neighbors and went along. Years had gone by, numerous battles had been fought, and he now was closer than ever to the Persian Cat. He remembered seeing a painting of it in Pisa.

It had an overall sable body, with small stripes of paint going all along its frame. Its eyes penetrated with the intensity that not even his ally’s stare could attain. The ears pointed like two tents of fabulous kings, and the base was cylindrical in exact measurement, an early mathematical accomplishment. He slept that night, the eve of battle, with dream after dream of gaining the relic and sign of wealth. Alexander’s prized possession would be his, and the inheritance he gains through this one minor act of thievery shall be immense and almost global in scope.

The next day came, the day of battle. The nobleman who had a heart not set on the Divine went out with his best robes on, riding alongside his pious ally. They began their assault on the village at midday, and the arrows lit by fires from pages were released via longbow into the village, hitting the tops of huts, igniting the straw and thatching. Screams from the village were already heard, from women and children mostly. Only one volley was fired though, by request of Duke Kerring.

Leonard of Lyon had his full set of armor on, and closed his visor as his cavalry readied for the charge along the main street of the small set of dwellings that was considered so important by two men for two very different reasons. Kerring of Tours ordered his infantry on the eastern border to attack, hurling hundreds of men-at-arms and peasants who had mere axes regularly used for butchery of animals instead of men roar forward in full allegiance. Footed crusaders under the command of Leonard advanced in a more orderly manner, marching instead and without rage-filled screams. Soon the enemy had most of its forces sally to meet them, and the fighting became intense.

However, the wicker shields and short swords of the majority of the Dey’s forces proved again to be no match for the steel of the west, and soon the besieged men fled back into the city, where they were met with the cavalry of Leonard, who had sped past them. With infantry on one end and cavalry on the other, there was no place but death’s kingdom for these unfortunates. It was not even early afternoon by the time that most of the enemy lay dead in the sands, with several fighting off a dominant Crusader Army in the small domiciles of the village.

By now the Duke was near to the village west end, seeing that the battle was all but won. As smoke from the early fires remained as the last memory of the conflagrations that had burned thousands of enemies, amidst a pile of wrecked thatching and mud brick Duke Kerring saw the Persian Cat. He went wide-eyed as it stared back at him, and he saw that all of its guards were dead thanks to the efforts of Leonard of Lyon. However, in his moment of great victory, an arrow pierced him from behind, with the bright red head of it going forth from his heart and through his chest. He falls from his stolen horse, and lay on the sandy ground beholding with his heavy eyes his goal of so many years. It looked so beautiful.

“All who bow down to idols are not of this Crusade,” spoke the words of Leonard; bow in hand whilst still on horseback. The bow was from one of the Saracen warriors he had felled years before. “You are an apostate, Duke of Tours. May your memory as serving Mother Church outlast your sedition.” Duke Kerring of Tours died before making a response to his betrayal. With the village taken, Leonard ordered that all be destroyed, in order to purge the world of the heathen village and guarantee his victory. That night, when the celebration was brought forth knowing full well that the Dey would soon have to capitulate, Leonard of Lyon personally destroyed the Persian Cat, which was the golden calf of his former ally. He had defeated both enemies, and now would soon stake a claim within the deserts of the Holy Land when he returned to Jerusalem, knowing that he was not a betrayer of allies.