Poetry & Prose 2021

To all who saw him, astride his charger and clothed in dazzling white robes and armour, he appeared on that hill as Victory itself, presiding over the battlefield. The brothers of the order gathered around him like a heavenly host and bore trophy upon trophy to his feet. It was as if all glory and men on earth had submitted to the Grandmaster. Not without the help of God himself, however. To show his humility, Gottfried then ordered all soldiers to take mass in thanks of victory.

Voices rang out in hymns across the battlefield, but as it dropped into the valley, the sound was distorted into a wail.

There, on the other side of the battlefield, a secular knight dragged his dying brother to a pyre. The sun was obscured by the thick black smoke of the fires and he couldn’t see more than a stone’s throw from where he was. A low wail surrounded all the suffering of mankind, clumped in the valley as darkness enclosed it.

He set down his brother on the ground. He saw no enemy nor ally among those dying men; he only knew that some victory had been gained.

Whether all the glory in the world was worth this cost, the knight was unsure.

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