Prince of Taranto

"…The one who sows to serve his sinful nature, from that nature shall reap destruction; the one who sows to serve the Spirit, from the Spirit shall reap eternal life."

- Galatians 6:8

"Should we shout?"

"Why the hell not! He killed our lord and other Normans!"

"Isn't it a good thing? We can now split their wealth and go home with their loot!"

"…"

"Aye, he is right, if we shoot, there might be more troubles and we might still be punished afterwards."

"Remember that this is a fight, although unfair, between the nobles, we have no need to intervene."

"I guess so, don't shoot lads!"

A group of Norman archers who have taken aim of Antonius debates whether they should unleash the arrow on the bow string taking the admiral of the Greeks, who seems to be defenseless squatting in the middle of the no man's land to avenge their lord Tancred.

"Keep out of the way! The Prince of Taranto has arrived!"

"Clear the way you piece of filth! His highness has arrived!"

Six noble knights arrived on horse back with a whip in hand striking the Crusaders who are standing in the middle of the road connecting to the port to make a way for their over lord, the Prince of Taranto, the commander of the Sicilian crusade, who just arrived acquiring news that Tancred of Foggia is here.

"Hey! Do not be so unmannered towards the holy warriors of God!" The Prince reprimanded from a distance away after the knights have cleared the way.

"Yes, your highness."

The Prince of Taranto waited until a servant came kneeling down placing a stool beneath the saddle and supporting it with his two hands, then got off the horse stepping on it, threw his whip to the servant and walked to the Crusaders the knights has just whipped smiling graciously while wearing his pair of leather gauntlet.

The Prince of Taranto approached these soldiers, while these soldiers dared not to maintain eye contact with the Prince of Taranto and some even kneeled down in the bloody mud. The Prince smiled patted on the Crusaders with his gauntlet asking softly in his tone. "Are you injured my sons?"

"O No, my lord, that whip on our body is no worse than a mosquito bite!"

"Do not take the fellow knight's whip seriously, my sons, don't blame them for their harshness, for they are simply doing their jobs as my vessels, please accept my humble apologies." The Prince nodded smiling.

Now even the standing crusaders crawled down in the bloody mud kneeling towards the Prince of Taranto. "O your highness! Please do not say things like that! The honourable sir knights are definitely not the ones at fault! It is us! It is our fault for being not observant enough to see your highness coming! Please punish us your highness!"

The Prince smiled and nodded, taking out his leather gauntlet and bowed down a bit poking it on the shoulders of the Crusader, then threw it to the servant walking through the cleared path waving and smiling towards the Crusaders in the process.

Finally, he reached the portside seeing the mess and devastation that was left here earlier on with corpses of innocent civilians killed by the Norman Crusaders, mixed with limbs and torsos of Crusaders who have just been killed in the bombardment. The Prince of Taranto felt like he wants to regurgitate from the nausea caused by the stench of all these filth, he hurriedly waved the little servant behind him pinching his nose, while the latter hastily passed him a piece of hanker chief that was soaked in Tunisian perfume.

The Prince scouted around this place of mess before the Crusader's formation frowning. Then, he noticed the ships of the Greeks who took them here is now anchored in the harbour not far away, though he do not have a quality pair of eyes like the deceased Tancred making unable to see the two flags flying in a distance away above the dim light of torches, but he is intelligent enough to know that those folks must be the Greeks, and their intention is definitely not to snatch the city from the Crusaders as reported by his knight with such a petite force.

That means that there is still space to talk.

The Prince kicked a hard round object away, which he cannot identify whether it is a rock or something else from the ground, and joked with his counterparts. "Look at those windows wide open on those two storey residence and warehouse… A perfect shooting range if there are any archers in those windows, a pity that Lord Tancred was not observant enough, though he can no longer learn from his mistakes now."

"Send a messenger to the Greeks, say that I want to negotiate with the admiral of the Greeks Lord De'Ricci."

A knight nodded, jumped onto his horse and galloped to the Greeks while Prince of Taranto ventured to the middle of the stand off with only himself, then stood there awaiting Antonius.

A minute later, Antonius showed up, with only himself too.

The two men met again, but not as friendly forces, instead they are now standing right in a dangerous spot between two armies that might clash at the next minute. The Prince of Taranto stared at Antonius with his head up high proudly trying to impose a stronger image upon Antonius to gain more advantage. But Antonius used his height advantage looking down at the old noble with his arms folded.

"Lord De'Ricci…!" The Prince of Taranto suddenly guffawed out loud stepping forward with his arms swinging wide open giving Antonius a tight hug, and then held his face kissing his cheeks hard almost leaving a red mark on Antonius' rugged face. Antonius also laughed and hugged the Prince of Taranto tightly almost lifting him up at one point and kissing back almost equally as hard as if he wants to suck out the well maintained skin of the old Prince.

The two men continued there laughing at each other right in the middle of hell and two armies that created it hugging each other. Though both men can see from each other's eyes, that they are not laughing by heart, staring at their eyes is like staring into winter.