CHAPTER 23. THE SIEGE OF THE FORTRESS

April 23, 2000

“Rain is pouring from the sky... is it appropriate to storm this fortress in such weather conditions, milord?” Godwin, his faithful thirty-year-old squire, asked his twenty-seven-year-old Lord Wyatt Giscard, barely audibly. Behind them at that moment was a multi-thousand-strong army, whose human flesh was hidden by steel armor, and whose thoughts and feelings were hidden by what seemed to be stone faces.

“Rain...” Lord Giscard whispered to himself at the very moment when dozens of drops sequentially self-destructed on his face, which was entirely scarred by many battles. “How curious is the fate of each drop of that rain—in this, it is somewhat similar to the fate of a person: it is doomed to perish, its time is limited, and therefore what is important in this world is not how long you live, but how you live! What forms you take on and transform into...”

“But, milord, it is not entirely appropriate now to indulge in such antinomies about raindrops, for soon we will be facing many successes and tragedies, tears of bitterness and joy...”

“And also a lot of needlessly spilled blood... Many of us will leave this mortal flesh today, and, accordingly, change our form, just like many of these drops... Just think! After all, many of these drops will become a swamp, an even smaller number will end up in wooden barrels, where their totality, after the life-giving rain, will be gently cherished by completely cosmopolitan rays of the sun. A little later, this drop will end up in a vat with grapes, where it will be subjected to the processes of fermentation—a few more months and this drop, initially crystal clear, becomes wine and is served to the table of some lord or sir: it is drunk, and, accordingly, put to death—given a new form, because absolute destruction of anything in this world is impossible. Under the influence of wine, including this drop, one lord declares war on another lord—now it is the blood of that lord: what a long way it has come from heaven to earth—its fall is indeed somewhat like the fall of Lucifer. In a great and bloody battle, this lord kills another lord—did this drop enter history with him, did it acquire his glory with him? At the same time, it is not subject to influencing who it will be—wine, juice, or crystal water: it cannot change a will and desire more powerful than its own, yet... yet millions of such drops, their totality, are capable of much, unlike a single drop, for they can subjugate the will of a person, for example, with the help of a flood...”

“Milord... the time has come to give orders—the time for philosophy has passed: we have approached the fortress and there is no turning back—we will either take it or perish!... Hey, Aaron! How many times have I told you to express your thoughts in English...”

“Calm down, Godwin—just because the English speak and write in French, they do not cease to be English and certainly do not become French... You are right, Godwin, the time has come—it is time to make the first move... And yet, you still do not want to know the reason why we will besiege this fortress—the reason why many of us will lose our lives today, and, accordingly, our future?”

“I know this reason, milord: we will act in this way for the same reason that one atom devours another atom, one empire destroys another, one wolf bites the throat of another wolf—these are irreversible historical and natural processes...”

“There is some truth in your words... We have invested a lot of money, effort, and time in this offensive, and therefore we do not have the right to lose...”

“Do you see Lord Henry, milord? He will be there today, in the fortress, leading its defense... And yet I remember him as a very young child, when he grew up near us, and today he is already fighting against us...”

“You know, my good Godwin, a plum and a peach can also grow in the same garden next to each other, but the fate of each of them can be completely different: one can rot while on the tree, and the other—perish on the exquisite table of a nobleman...”

“They have gathered many strong warriors, but they are the same people as we are, and therefore have the exact same feelings and desires as we do—we crave to enslave them, and they crave to defend their lives and freedom! As for my knights, I am as sure of them as I can only be sure of the existence of God, for for every conqueror, his army is his God: in them, in my knights, I find what I will never find in any woman—loyalty, passion, and love!.. Amazing! But initially we came to these lands with peace, as pilgrims, in the name of glorifying Christ, but now we have a sword in our hands and we will also leave these lands with a sword in our hands.”

“Only victory is necessary for our people, milord—defeat for us is tantamount to death: we have raised taxes and levies in the name of war, and therefore our power, like any other power in this world, rests on the patience of our people—the people are the skeleton in this organism, and we, its rulers, are the muscles and other organs, of one importance or another... Our warriors are impatient to start the battle—they love spilling human blood as much as any crows after battles love to eat the rotten meat of fallen warriors... You must give a speech to the army...”

“A speech... I need to think about what is more important to speak with now—with reason or with the heart... Rulers, like lawyers, should not use words in their speeches that they do not understand... And besides, we can talk a lot, reflect, and be inspired by all sorts of speeches and antinomies, but facts will plunge us into reality and force us to adapt to them... Reality! I have taken part in battles too many times, and therefore I have understood it: reality is what we do not see! Our world, our battle, our enemies—this is all a reality that we do not see, but it exists!.. So, today we will inscribe our names in history!” Lord Giscard loudly addressed his army. “After this day, many literary plots will be composed: and even if negative actions give rise to far more literary plots than positive ones, I call on each of you to observe the norms and principles of that very code that is called the code of nobility in every decent society!” After these words, sighing heavily, the twenty-seven-year-old Lord Giscard said barely audibly to himself—“As the history of Christianity has taught us, those whom we now hate will soon become our idols and gods...”