Capturing the King
It might sound absurd. But throughout history, quite a few kings had been kidnapped or taken prisoner. Heinrich IV, famous for the Humiliation of Canossa. When he was just eleven, he was abducted by Anno II, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the German nobles. He escaped en route by ship by slipping his bonds, only to be recaptured by the nobles and sent back to Cologne. That incident forced his mother Agnes, who had been regent, to step down, handing the position to Anno II. And there were others: Richard the Lionheart, kidnapped before Christmas; Pope Boniface VIII, seized and imprisoned in France. History was full of famous figures who had endured abduction or captivity.
Why bring up these historical facts now? Obviously, because Giorgi I, King of Georgia, was about to have the same experience.
“Arslan.”
“You called, Khan?”
Arslan appeared before me. Ever since I had earned his recognition last time, his eyes now gleamed with loyalty.
“We’ve defeated the enemy and seized the land of Lazica, but it’s not over yet.”
“I know. We must bring the lord of this land to his knees—or kill him. I’m well aware.”
Arslan paused, pondering, then spoke to me again.
“You promised us the right to plunder the Georgian palace, Khan. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember that promise.”
It was what I’d said when hiring the Turkic mercenaries. I’d promised them first dibs on looting alongside the wages.
“I was going to demand you honor it, but…”
Arslan trailed off. Instead of words, he glanced back at the Turkic soldiers groaning behind him.
These Turkic mercenaries had performed heroically in the battle against Georgia. To strike the enemy’s rear and inflict heavy casualties, they’d plunged deep into hostile lines, suffering grievous losses in turn. Infantry couldn’t catch cavalry, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get close. Georgia’s foot soldiers had resisted desperately to block the horsemen, and in the process, the nomadic cavalry took heavy hits. For Arslan, leader of these nomads, it was a dire situation.
“Our cavalry isn’t in good shape.”
“Does that mean you can no longer fulfill the contract?”
Arslan shook his head.
“We’ll honor the contract. But I’d like a small change.”
Thus, Arslan proposed revising the terms. His demand was simple:
“Let me send our wounded back to their families.”
“Very well. But what will you pay in return?”
“We forfeit our priority on the plunder.”
Arslan’s shocking declaration. Even Chaur, standing beside me, looked stunned.
“Father.”
“The tribe comes before gold.”
With that firm word, Chaur nodded and stepped back.
From my perspective, it was a fine deal. Plundering the palace would take time anyway; if they waived priority, other units could go first—no issue. They were essentially surrendering their looting rights. His bold offer prompted me to reveal my own true intentions.
“A fine proposal. Whatever the reason, it benefits us. Since you’ve made this offer in good faith, I’ll respond in kind.”
Arslan’s eyes lit up, watching me eagerly, wondering what I’d say.
“First, sending your tribesmen home—can I take that to mean you want this war ended quickly too?”
“Yes. The longer it drags on, the more losses our tribe endures.”
With Arslan’s firm confirmation, I no longer needed to hide my hand.
“I have two ways to end this war swiftly.”
“What are they?”
“One: Use the remaining cavalry to pierce deep into Georgia, sowing chaos in their rear. Our following forces can then smash the disorganized enemy and crush them quickly.”
Arslan nodded in understanding.
“A solid plan, but while we raid their rear, our troops will tire. Casualties will mount, naturally.”
“As long as battles remain, we can’t avoid losses entirely.”
“I understand. My point is, if losses are inevitable, better to end it fast.”
“Then the second plan suits perfectly. I can’t predict the exact cost, but it’s the surest way to finish this war quickest.”
Arslan stared at me intently, piecing together my intent. Then, grasping it, he flashed a knowing smile. I laid out the plan at once.
“We capture Giorgi I, King of Georgia.”
“This is grave! You must evacuate at once.”
“Indeed. With Lord Yohan dead, it’s no longer safe.”
“Flee now if you want to survive!”
The man on the throne listened to the panicking nobles with one ear and let it flow out the other. His mind had no room for their words.
Georgia’s greatest general, Yohan, was dead. With him gone, Georgia’s elite troops had crumbled. It was as good as defeat. No matter where he fled, ruin awaited.
For a moment, Giorgi sank into thought: How did it come to this? He retraced the reasons for his army’s collapse.
The biggest issue: betrayal by the Fatimid Caliphate. Their ally, al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah, had died, succeeded by the boy Ali az-Zahir as the new caliph. Too young to lead a vast empire, Ali was deeply reluctant to wage war. Thus, the military aid Georgia had begged for before the crisis never arrived. It was betrayal, plain and simple.
And pouring oil on that fire was a second major problem: the nobles. Since the days of Giorgi’s great-grandfather David III, nobles had wielded heavy influence in Georgia. Bagrat III had suppressed them briefly, but under Giorgi I, they rebelled anew. Some had already revolted, founding independent states. Worse still, after Yohan’s defeat, they refused to provide troops for reorganizing the army.
The king had conscripted every available levy. Now he needed the nobles’ private forces, but none would comply willingly. So here they were, urging flight before him—none calling to fight the enemy.
These two woes led Giorgi to a bitter conclusion. He let out a low chuckle.
“Haha… ha.”
“…”
“…”
Silence fell in the palace at the king’s laugh. As the nobles fell quiet, Giorgi scorned them.
“You think fleeing will save you?”
The nobles bowed their heads, mute. Smiling, the king pressed on.
“Of course that’s what you believe. Escape, and you survive. But what do you think awaits the moment you leave this palace?”
A long war had ignited the people’s fury to the heavens. Rage at Giorgi burned hottest, but the nobles’ infamy rivaled it. To fill the ranks, they’d drafted not just adult men but elders and children too. Families lost breadwinners, plunging into destitution. Meanwhile, the nobles feasted nightly. The people, enduring hell, felt greater wrath at these nobles denying their very existence than at a distant king.
“Enraged peasants with pitchforks—who knows what they’ll do. Better to stay here.”
The nobles dithered at Giorgi’s words. With their leader Yohan dead, none could refute the king’s twisted logic outright.
“I’ll await the doom approaching right here.”
Some nobles tried to bolt from the palace. But the guards, obeying the king’s orders, blocked them.
“Don’t stop us!”
“Do you know who I am?”
The nobles threatened the guards, who obligingly pointed out an escape route. The nobles and guards reached a high wall and a small postern gate. Sighing in relief, the nobles passed through.
“As if they’d let us go that easily…”
Beyond the gate: a seething mob of peasants. One noble turned to flee, but an angry man’s pitchfork already speared his gut.
“Y-You scum! G-Get out of my way!”
“What madness at the king’s palace!”
Those with nothing to lose unleashed their fury. No words—just stabs into noble bellies slick with fat. In moments, the nobles tumbled toward death.
Witnessing this, others tried returning to the palace, but the guards had long sealed the doors. One noble, entrails spilling from pitchfork wounds, begged trembling. Futile. An axe cleaved his neck—but rusty, it didn’t sever clean. He writhed in agony on the ground.
The woodcutter wielding it swung methodically, as if felling timber. Thus, two nobles met gruesome ends outside the Georgian palace. The peasants’ rage showed no sign of abating. Guards kept them from the king and remaining nobles inside, so they milled about, awaiting more prey.
Then, hoofbeats from behind. The peasants startled.
“T-Turkic cavalry!”
“The butchers! Run!”
The crowd scattered. Minutes later, after they’d fled, a band of Turkic horsemen reached the walls. Amid the carnage stood one man. A Norman in helmet gazed silently at the mangled noble corpses.