This is not my finest hour. In fact, I might say that I have never been in a worse situation before. To think that just this morning, things were looking just fine—sure, we were about to go into battle against a Moorish army, but surely, our superior strategy and war craft would see us through to a clear victory in our quest to reclaim the Holy Land in the name of the Lord. After all, we had landed and established our camps with little resistance, surely we would not face any actual competition. Oh, how wrong we were. The battle had not even begun in earnest when a stray arrow, probably shot without much thought, struck down our commander, sending our group into complete disarray. Our foes quickly exploited this weakness, striking hard and fast, cutting down scores of our men. I myself suffered some rather heavy wounds in the scrum, eventually deciding that all was lost and running for my life, a strategy that quite a few soldiers on our side—those that were still able to run, anyway—ended up taking.
As I now drag myself along the sands, placing pressure on my left arm to try and stem the bleeding a bit, I curse my liege. It was only because of a favor I owed him that I came along on this venture, and knowing that he died on the battlefield gives me a small amount of solace. Is this immoral? Absolutely. Would the priest back home tell me I would go to Hell for it? Definitely. Do I care? Not in the slightest. Damn that man to the deepest pits of Hell. If I die out here, sputtering out my last impotent breath bleeding out in the sands, then let my last thoughts be of how much I hate him, and how much I wish I could spit on his rotting corpse. But there... is that a village in the distance? A semblance of civilization? Essentially on pure instinct, I make an effort to head in that direction, unsure as to whether it is simply a mirage conjured by my dying mind, and unsure as to what I would even do if it is real. I don't speak the language, and I'm a clearly European man wearing armor. I couldn't look much more like what I am, a part of the group that is intent on pillaging and conquering their lands, and that portends an unkind reception.
Still, with no other option, I slowly struggle to make it there, my wounds dripping as I feel my last remaining strength leaving me. Inch by agonizing inch, I will myself forwards to the outskirts of the village... and my legs completely give out. The clanking of my armor hitting the ground is the last clear sound I can make out before my consciousness fades, barely able to see a nearby door open and some form step out. Then, darkness.
When I awake, I am laying somewhere inside a house of some kind. My vision is still blurry, but I feel light, like I'm out of my armor. Slowly, my sight clears up a bit, and I see a Moor standing next to the bed I am laying on, hunched over and doing something with my leg. My first instinct is to yell at him, to demand he gets away from me, but I'm still so groggy that all I can get out is a weak groan, which gets his attention. "Ah, you're awake. Do not be afraid, I mean you well," he says, in slightly accented, but otherwise clean German. My confusion again only comes out in a groan, yet somehow he seems to understand, pointing towards a corner of the room. "The emblem on your armor clued me in. And, well, I am a scholar. I studied German in the past," he explains.
As my vision slowly comes back in its entirety, I take in the room a bit. Books everywhere the eye can see, shelves just full of them. Then, I take a closer look at myself, noticing that many of the wounds on my body are now bandaged, with the Moor working on wrapping up one of the last open ones on my leg. "My name is Tayyib. Tayyib al-Zahiri, scholar and amateur physician. What is your name?" he asks, his voice and expression both warm and welcoming.
After a few moments, I manage to sputter out, "J-Johannes..."
Tayyib nods his head. "Johannes. While I wish we could have met under more fortunate circumstances, I suppose fate has other things in store. I heard of a large battle happening nearby... I presume you were a part of the invaders' side, looking at your armor and injuries. It might be foolish of me to take care of a member of an invading army, but I believe in the good in the hearts of men. You must have had your reasons to join, be they poverty, obligation or a false sense of duty, but I believe you will see the light eventually," he says, finishing up the bandage he was working on.
This is such a bizarre situation, but for now, I have little choice but to believe in him. Even if I were in a better condition and could escape, where would I go? And I cannot deny that he is in fact taking care of me, when he could just as easily left me to die. "Th-Thank you..." I mutter.
The smile on his face gets just a bit wider, and he seems happy to hear that from me. "You're welcome. Actually, I wish to tell you something, and do not be alarmed. I am sharing this with you as a sign of trust, to show I am being open with you. I... desire to have intimate relationships with other men. This getting out would make me quite unpopular in this village, so, again, I'm trusting you with this information. Now, rest. You're going to need a lot of time before you're back on your feet, but I will get you there," he says before leaving the room and leaving me stunned.
What the hell was that about? Such a bizarre statement... and yet, I feel it was sincere. I don't quite understand what he meant by it, but whatever it is, it seems to come from a good heart. Just how our relationship will develop, time will tell, I suppose, but for now, I can feel exhaustion setting in once more, and left alone, I drift back to sleep again, somewhat reassured.