Bab 10: The Calm Before the Storm
The morning sun rose slowly over the hills of Kutaisi, casting long shadows over the busy camp just outside the city walls. The tents stood right next to each other, as far as the eye could see, housing soldiers, nobles, and commoners alike in readiness for the inevitable march west. Once-quiet fields were filled with the sounds of clanking metal, horses neighing, and the low murmur of anxious voices.
David had stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes set upon the horizon. A simple cloak was thrown over his armour, the weight of his chainmail heavy upon his shoulder, though it was nothing compared to the weight in his heart. To march west still gnawed upon his mind, but he knew there was no turning back. The Seljuk forces would not wait, and neither could he.
He stood thus for some time, his mind in deep thought, when suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Without turning, he already knew who it was.
"You rise early," Ivane said. His voice was light but carried a touch of concern. "Couldn't sleep?"
David shook his head, but still his eyes did not leave the horizon. "No, I couldn't. There's too much to think about."
Ivane came to stand beside him, crossing his arms as he looked out at the camp. "It's natural. You've got the weight of an entire kingdom on your shoulders, David."
David let out a deep breath, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword. "That's what's bothering me. Each decision that I make, I feel could be the one that sees us destroyed.
Ivane smirked, his eyes warm. "That's how I know you'll make the right choices. You care too much to let it all fall apart."
David turned to him, his brow furrowed. "And what if I don't? What if I lead us into a disaster?"
Ivane shrugged. "Then we fight our way out of it, together. It's not all on you, David. You're our king, yes, but you're not alone.
The words fell over David like a soothing balm, but his heart remained heavy. He nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. "You always know just what to say, Ivane."
"It is a gift," Ivane said with a wink. "Now, come—the men are waiting for their king. And I have heard rumours some of the nobles want a word with you before the march.
The mention of nobles darkened David's face. Several had sworn allegiance since his last triumphs; still, there were those mutterings of discontent in their ranks, men who regarded him as too young and too green to lead Georgia through this war. But he couldn't afford to let their doubts sway him. Not now.
"They'll have their word," David said, firm. "But they'll also know this is no time for division.
Later that day, in the large tent serving as a council room, David stood before his assembled commanders, nobles, and advisors. The atmosphere in the room was tense; it was thick with anticipation. On the central table was a map of Georgia showing their proposed route to the west and the disposition of the Seljuk forces.
Bishop George spoke first. His tone was flat, yet it carried a weight of authority. "We secured enough supplies for the march. But we must not be confident. The Seljuks are not to be underestimated. They will look for any weakness in our ranks."
David nodded, his gaze sweeping over the faces in the room. "We need to move swiftly, yet not carelessly. Every decision from here on must be as smooth as it can possibly be. None for error.
One of the nobles, Lord Demetri, came forward, his arms across his chest. He was an older man; his face creased from years of battle, but his face was hard, doubting. "And what of the terrain, Your Majesty? The mountains are treacherous. If the Seljuks trap us there, we'll have nowhere to retreat."
David met his gaze without blinking. "We will not have to retreat. We fight them on our terms, in the mountains, and their numbers count for nothing."
Demetri's eyes slitted. "That's a gamble."
Ivane spoke from David's right, his voice sharp. "All war is a gamble, Lord Demetri. But we have made worse bets with far less information.
Demetri's eyes flashed to Ivane and back to David. "And you're certain this is the right path?"
David didn't hold back. "I am. If we do not act now, we will forfeit an advantage only a few gain by blood and sweat. The Seljuks are anticipating that we would hang in indecision. We won't give them that chance.
A murmur stirred the other nobles; a few nodded their heads, while many more still looked doubtful. But David didn't move, his voice carrying across the room.
"I understand the risks," he said. "But we cannot afford to wait for a perfect opportunity. Every day we delay is another day the enemy strengthens their hold. We strike now, or we lose everything."
Bishop George stepped forward once more, his calm nature balancing the tension in the room. "The king is right. We have done all we can in the way of preparation. It is time to act."
David nodded his head in gratitude in George's direction before turning back to the rest of the council. "We march at dawn. Have your men ready.
And with that, the meeting was closed, nobles to their own ways, though not all looked wholly convinced. Their doubt weighed heavy upon David's shoulders, but he shook it off. No more room for doubt.
By the time the sun had set that evening, David was out walking the edges of camp, watching as soldiers readied for the march. Fires crackled, casting warm light over the faces of men sharpening blades, patching armour, or talking in low tones. Despite the heaviness of it all, despite the gravity of what they were on their way to do, there was, too, an undercurrent of camaraderie and shared purpose.
He came up to a knot of young soldiers, no older than twenty, who sat around a fire, talking and laughing loudly. One of them, a boy with a nervous smile, noticed David's approach and stood immediately, saluting awkwardly.
"Your Majesty!" he stammered out, his face reddening in embarrassment.
David smiled and lifted a hand. "At ease. What's your name?"
"L-Luka, sire," the boy replied, eyes wide with wonder.
David turned to the others and nodded in greeting. "And you all—are you ready for what is to come?"
The men looked at each other; their smiles faltered a bit. But again, Luka spoke up, his voice shaking with resolution, though strong. "We are ready, sir. We'll fight for Georgia. For you."
David's heart puffed out, pride showing on his face. He went to his knees beside the low fire, his eyes on level with Luka's. "You fight for Georgia, for your families, and for the future we all want to protect. I'm proud to fight alongside men like you."
Luka's eyes shone with gratitude, and the other men grunted in assent. David rose, laying a hand on Luka's shoulder. "Be brave. In the morning, we will teach the Turks what it is to be Georgian."
Thus, he turned and headed back toward his tent, the weight of his burden unchanged yet buoyed by knowing he did not bear it in solitude. His men were behind him—every last one of them.
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