CHAPTER 320: CHAPTER 14: FUNERAL

Early morning in Limassol.

People have yet to recover from the scars of war.

Bodies covered in white linen are carried by stretcher to the square for family members to identify and bury.

Enemies’ bodies were hastily carted outside the city, thrown into a large pit, doused with flammable materials and burned, then buried to prevent possible plague.

This is one of Losa’s post-war concerns.

Whether it is the Justinian Great Plague that cut off the revival of the Eastern Empire, or the Black Death that should ravage Europe more than a century later according to the original historical trajectory.

Both plagues halved the European population, regarded as apocalyptic natural disasters.

However, for quite a long time the people of Limassol wouldn’t want to eat fish, because last night, too many enemies’ bodies were buried in fish bellies.

Prajna walks among those carrying bodies, her long black silky hair tied with a white turban, wearing a veil, only her eyes visible, resembling the nuns in the monastery.

People instinctively avoided this somewhat strange-looking woman.

The black Ghost Face Shield, now a necklace-like accessory, if someone viewed it with spiritual vision, they would see it as the center of a black storm.

Countless souls were being absorbed into the accessory.

It could send the souls of the deceased to Hell, taking a portion of the "passage fee" to enhance its defense.

But apparently it was more satisfying to simply crush the souls and swallow them, just as King Seleucus was crushed and devoured by it.

She finally stopped at the square in front of Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

Here it had clearly become a large morgue, with hundreds of bodies displayed.

In this battle, Losa’s farmer soldiers alone suffered over three hundred casualties, and although most town militia fought with remote support, their equipment was too simple, suffering heavy losses under the shooting of Turkic and Kuman.

Some town militia even engaged in close combat with the enemy, but these irregulars lacked any combat experience, nowhere near the match for the mercenaries licking blood from knife blades.

However, their fighting spirit was quite tenacious, probably because Limassol City was their home, losing over half, still not fleeing.

The square was filled with cries.

Town militia’s families gathered around each body, their faces full of grief.

Some young widows showed numb expressions as they carried infants, placing bread, kettles, salt, knives, plates, and other necessities into simple coffins.

Some wealthy families would also put some gold and silver coins inside.

Tomb robbers often found profit.

This was why many graveyards of the time had caretakers, and many deceased were buried in church cemeteries.

They waited for the black-robed priests or nuns of the Orthodox Church to finish singing hymns, then placed the deceased into the coffin, and only covered the coffin lid at the end of the funeral.

The monastic knights and military chaplains began to play requiems for the farmer soldiers, part of the tradition of Public Teaching.

The black-cross-on-white monks and knights, along with Cyprus local black-robed monks, distinct and clear, each hosting their own burial ceremonies.

Renault placed an old farmer soldier into a simple coffin, pondered for a moment, then stuffed a silver cross from his chest into the old farmer soldier’s stiff hand.

"May the Father bless you, Father."

"Renault, my condolences."

"Old Nok fought bravely as a Crusader soldier for the Lord, died with glory, and certainly will ascend to Heaven."

Fellow farmer soldiers offered Renault some comfort, this usually unpopular man, having inherited the old farmer soldier’s belongings, suddenly turned into a reserve Lord Knight.

Colleagues couldn’t avoid muttering a few "lucky guy" sour words in their hearts, yet wouldn’t say them to Renault’s face.

"Old Nok was a brave warrior, I’ve heard his name."

Renault lifted his head, seeing the Teutonic Order’s Commander, the Lord Knight named Hiberland.

He stood up quickly, patted his slightly sore legs, and greeted rather awkwardly, "Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning."

Hiberland returned the gesture to Renault.

It made him feel slightly overwhelmed.

Hiberland, with a group of monastic knights, went to a stage where municipal officers usually delivered speeches, and spoke to everyone: "Lord Jesus, as you wept for Lazarus’s death, we ask you to comfort those who are mourning for their comrades slain in glorious battles against heretics..."

The solemn atmosphere also affected many Orthodox believers.

They looked towards Hiberland, and some followed in prayer, "Lord, hear us."

"This..."

"How can Public Teaching believers host the requiem mass?"

The Orthodox monks looked at these monastic knights of Public Church with rejection, whispering.

They were worried that these heretic clergy might linger in Cyprus and not leave.

Rivalry among peers.

Every territory’s church had limited cake to share, and another hand reduced their share.

But swords were held by Franks.

These battle-hardened Crusader Knights were clearly not someone these Orthodox monks could provoke.

"Are we destined to deal with these Frankish barbarians in the future?"

Thinking of the formidable combat power of these Frankish barbarians, and their leader, the Transjordan Count Losa, who possessed unknown power granted by the Devil or Heavenly Father.

These Orthodox priests had a feeling of a gloomy future.

...

Inside the mansion.

After sending off Turriados, Losa was listening to Ned’s report.

"Sir, since Limassol City is now under your rule, should we organize a local garrison troop with the help of Frankish immigrants?"

The Crusades were both a military operation and a migration, tens of thousands departed, barely one or two thousand would reach the Holy Land, the rest couldn’t have all died.

Stopping at habitable places along the way, or finding a local match and settling down was perfectly normal.

Cyprus, as a wealthy transit point on the pilgrimage road, naturally had many pilgrims settled here, these people were Ned’s targeted recruits.

Losa carefully considered Ned’s suggestion, thought deeply, yet declined, "I have not formally taken up the post of Military Zone General in Limassol, it’s still better for Turriados and his guard to manage here."

A new, heretic and foreign lord might unite native forces against him.

Before Turriados was stripped of his title and fief and pledged allegiance to him, he didn’t plan to expose ambitions of staying in Limassol City.

"But the Greeks’ combat effectiveness isn’t reliable."

Talking about Greeks’ combat effectiveness, Ned’s tone showed a bit of disdain.

He believed that merely Greeks couldn’t handle even a slightly larger bandit corps landing here. After all, times were different, the Eastern Empire’s fleet once dominant in the Mediterranean, had suffered major damage.

Losa shook his head, "It’s not that Greeks are unreliable..."

Combat effectiveness wasn’t closely related to ethnicity.

Greeks were once regarded as a fighting nation, having gained fame in Asia Minor, and even reached the farthest Bactria Kingdom, deep into Central Asia.

It reminded of the old saying circulated on the internet once: Ming army not fully paid can not be defeated when fully paid.

"Don’t worry about this, were the captured ships counted last night?"

In last night’s landing battle, many ships ran aground on the coastal hills, though mostly transport ships, regardless of selling or personal use, it was a considerable wealth.

"Last night we captured twelve intact medium-sized rowing transport ships, over twenty small paddle-sail warships, the rest of the ships mostly scattered."

"Not bad."