[SS 6.4] God's Justice (Crusader States AAR, with BGR IV and more!) Complete + Behind the Scenes

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER FIVE

From the Perspective of Foucaud, Spymaster of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

“You’re completely certain?” I asked. “A man murdered in broad daylight? What is this city coming to?”

Gaston grinned, and for a moment he looked twenty years younger. “I am. Come and see the body for yourself.” I shrugged and set off for the morgue. Gaston kept pace with me easily despite his age. “So how did it happen?” I inquired.

“Someone in the city saw two men enter an alley, and barely a minute later only one came out. Luckily for him, a patrol of the city watch was nearby. He alerted the guards, but by the time they arrived on the scene the other man had vanished.”



I rubbed my chin, deep in thought. “What of the dead man?”

“The man he went into the alley with was found stabbed at least ten times, and his body thrown behind a pile of boxes and crates. According to his garment and personal effects, we’ve deduced that he is – was a Muslim, and most likely resided in the Muslim Quarter here in Jerusalem. He had a note on him, but it is written in Arabic and thus I’ve enlisted the help of a local to translate the words.”

I stopped him. “You WHAT?”

Gaston gave me a reassuring look. “Relax. I’ve split the message into seven different phrases that will be given to him to translate in a random order. He will not read or know of the entire message.”

I sighed in relief, and then reflected that perhaps I should not have overreacted so quickly. Gaston was older than me, but with age came experience.“Sometimes I feel that the King should have put you in charge, Gaston.”

He clapped me on the back. “Well, I have the cunning, but not your smarts or your way with the nobles. You’re better off in charge. Besides, if we muck something up, the King will have your head first.”

I chuckled. “Get me the translated message as soon as you can, old man.”

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

I could feel the scorching, unrelenting heat of the Sun blazing down on me as I stepped into the training yard for my daily sword drills. I had never particularly liked using a sword. Some days I had wondered what it would feel like to fully draw a bowstring, or hear the twang of a bolt being released from a crossbow, or the thunk of a mace on a shield, but the Master-at-Arms never let me train with a weapon other than the sword. “The sword is the weapon of a lord.” Tigel de Linus had said. “It is the simplest weapon to use, but also the most complex. A death by the blade of a sword is a good death. A death from a coward’s arrow launched a hundred feet away is a poor death.”

I had half a mind to change my retinue of bodyguards to bowmen, or at least include some archers. If arrows could kill as easily as swords, then why not use them? They offered the user some degree of protection, as their distance from the engagement meant that only other arrows could kill them. But my father had said no. My bodyguard was meant to protect me, and therefore sword and shield would be their weapon of choice, just as it would be mine.

Tigel de Linus looked as strict and stern as ever in his armour. Sometimes, I felt deep down that he would have made a better father than my own, and on a few occasions he had shown me the tender care and concern I had so longed for from my father, sometimes even bothering to listen to my gripes. But on the training yard he was not a man to be trifled with, and I had learned the hard way not to expect any mercy from him during training. Just now he was instructing another boy around my age to properly swing a sword, scowling and shouting, with spittle flying from his mouth. As I approached, I dropped into a battle stance, holding my wooden sword over my shield, ready for his blows. But today the training sword he had so often whacked me with was absent from his arm, and when he noticed me, he simply waved me over nonchalantly.

“Lord Jean!” He barked. “Today marks the end of your pointless jabbing with the wooden sticks.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Tigel strode over to a nearby weapons rack and threw a sword in my direction, pommel first. I dropped the wooden sword, and caught it with my right hand, almost being thrown off balance, for I was taken by surprise by its weight. I gave it a couple of practice swings, then brought it above and slightly in front of my shield, just as Tigel de Linus had taught me.

Lord de Linus gestured to a squire in mail armour and a pig faced helmet, and tossed him another blunt iron sword. The squire caught it deftly, hefted his shield with his left hand, then turned to face me. “You will be facing each other today. Be careful with the swords, they are blunt iron but can still give you a gash if you’re not paying attention. En garde!” I dropped into my favourite stance – my shield held around chest level and my sword straight upon the right, ready to slash downwards or parry a blow.



I faced the squire with a certain excitement in my belly. When I was against Tigel I had no chance of winning, but against this boy, perhaps I could.

That notion was instantly dismissed as the boy swung his sword against my shield with all his might. My arm trembled from the force of the blow, and I barely lifted my shield in time to block his next strike.

I was kept on the defensive for the next few seconds as my opponent rained blow after blow on my defences, giving me no chance to retaliate. Damn he’s good! I thought after I jabbed speculatively at him, only to see him twirl aside and strike again from my unprotected left. Well, it would have been unprotected if I didn’t turn my shield to face the blow in the nick of time.

“Are you going to cower behind that shield all day, Jean? ATTACK!”

Tigel’s voice goaded me into action. I took a few steps forward and swung as hard as I could at my opponent’s chest. He blocked the blow effortlessly with his shield and lunged at me with his own sword. I staved off the blow with my shield, whirled around and attempted a strike at his legs, but he stepped back nimbly and countered with a stab of his own at my head. I parried with my sword and took a few steps back, breathing heavily. The squire gave me no respite, though, and slashed at me with his sword again. I blocked using my shield, but he unexpectedly rammed his shield against mine with great strength, throwing me to the ground. When I looked up, his sword was at my throat. The sand tasted bitter in my mouth.

Then the squire held out his hand. I grasped it firmly and muttered my thanks as he lifted me up. “You fight well, my lord.” He remarked as he removed his helm, grinning.

“Do not think of the shield as simply a tool for defence.” Tigel de Linus’ voice boomed out from my left. “Many of my opponents have made that mistake, and paid the price for their ignorance.” He strode over and clapped the squire on his shoulders, then turned to me with a sly grin on his face. “Lord Jean, meet your cousin from Acre, Henri de Lusignan. He is here to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem.”

I stared at the ‘squire’, nonplussed. “Truly, I did not know that your family had arrived in Jerusalem. You must forgive me for not being a more gracious host.” I said, mindful of the courtesies I was to show visiting lords, as mother had instructed me. Henri laughed gaily, before jesting: “I would say that getting to beat the Prince of Jerusalem in a duel is more than what I deserve as a welcome.” My face flushed at that jibe, and I had no comeback to make. Tigel de Linus patted us both on the shoulders. “Today’s session is at an end, Lord Jean. You must have much to discuss with your cousin.” I smiled, for there was that fatherly kindness that I loved from the Master-at-Arms.

“Shall I escort you to the dining hall, cousin?” I asked. Henri de Lusignan laughed and told me that was not necessary, and he would rather chat with me wherever I fancied. I was starting to like this cousin of mine more and more. We passed our blunt iron swords back to Lord de Linus and sat in a shaded area of the training yard from which we could deliver our own lordly critique on the squires that were currently training.

I spent the next few hours that had been allocated for sparring training getting to know Henri better. He was one year younger than I, a fact which gave me no small amount of consternation when I remembered that he had beaten me at sparring, though my vexation was abated somewhat when I learned that he had done naught but train with sword and shield since he was six.

“So you know nothing of governance, politics, and tactics?” I inquired, only realising at the last second that the way I had phrased that might have caused offense. This time it was Henri’s turn to blush, and he shook his head abashedly, muttering something about him being trained as a squire. Although I knew that it was wrong to take pleasure from another man’s misfortune, I couldn’t help but feel delighted and relieved that Henri did not surpass me in knowledge as well as swordplay.

I couldn’t resist feeling pangs of jealousy when he recounted tales of thrilling hunts or exciting jousts at the tourney field at Acre, all of which his mother had organized for his entertainment. He had also led a more relaxed life than I had, with his training only scheduled on weekdays, and then only in the mornings when the sun did not scorch the earth as badly as the afternoon. And chess! Henri knew how to play chess! “You will have to teach me someday.” I remarked sheepishly, to which Henri instantly agreed. Then we exchanged stories of our upbringing, and to my surprise, Henri found Jerusalem much more rowdy and vibrant than Acre. I had expected the impregnable fortress to be garrisoned with some of the finest troops the realm had to offer, and yet from what Henri had described, it seemed as if no more than a few companies of levies had the walls. Small wonder, then, as my father had ordered most of the Kingdom’s fighting men to Jerusalem.

Just then, Henri noticed my sister, Yolande de Brienne, walking across the courtyard, with her handmaidens in tow. He whistled. “We don’t really get to see that in Acre. Dour castles never did attract as many highborn ladies as cities, and none can compare to Jerusalem.”

Feeling slightly awkward, I feigned disinterest and tried to change the subject. “I’m sure Jerusalem isn’t the greatest city in all the world. Haven’t you heard of Constantinople? The jewel of the Black Sea, they call it.”

Henri wasn’t listening. He was grinning sheepishly and stammered: “Well, do you think that someday I’ll, you know, see the jewel between her –”

He stopped abruptly when I turned his face towards mine. “That’s my sister. Say another word and I’ll send you straight to the dungeons.” I said through gritted teeth. Never have I seen any man’s expression change so quickly. Henri was flummoxed, not knowing whether to apologise or remain silent.

Then I clapped him on the back and laughed heartily. “I got you there, didn’t I?” Henri swore and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “You sure did, Lord Jean. I must get you back some day.” I grinned and shrugged. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. We’ll see. Come on, let’s be off.” I stood up and dusted the sand of my mail. Henri looked at me inquisitively. “Where to?”

I smiled. “Why, don’t you want to meet my sister?”

From the Perspective of Foucaud, Spymaster of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

I was sipping a mug of Italian wine when I spotted Gaston de Rocafolio sprinting down the hallway, towards me. Damn. Never a moment’s rest. Gaston closed what must have been forty metres in less than six seconds. “We must speak.” He blurted out, breathless from running. I snorted. “Of that I have no doubt.” I retorted. “What is it now?”

Gaston gave me a look that told me I should be taking this more seriously, and so I steer him into a chamber and close the door behind us. “So what’s got you scampering over like you got the Devil himself on your heels?” I jested. Gaston handed me a sheet of paper.

The Cairo sect has been contracted to eliminate the Prince of Jerusalem, Lord Jean, before the month has ended. Payment is in the usual location, along with six able bodied men. May Allah speed you on your way.

I stare at Gaston, mouth agape. “Do you know what this means?”

Gaston nodded fervently, his lips twisted into a scowl.

“War.”

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

Soon it was time for lunch, and I led Henri to the dining hall where we feasted on potatoes and roasted pig. “Will you be staying here long?” I asked. Henri nodded, much to my delight. “My father has instructed me to train alongside you, and to study the arts of war under the Constable.” Henri emphasized the word ‘constable’ with an air of grandeur, and it became obvious that he had great respect for the man.

When it was time for me to depart for my afternoon lessons on military tactics, I shook his hand solidly and firmly, and for the first time in many months, a warm tingly feeling spread across my stomach.

I had a friend!

[Turkafinwë]

Wonderful character building in this chapter of your story and some light on the mystery concerning the attempted murders of the royal family. To war!

[Swaeft]

Wonderful character building in this chapter of your story and some light on the mystery concerning the attempted murders of the royal family. To war!

Thanks! The war might have to wait a while though, I'm still trying to balance the story and finally starting the AAR campaign wise. That's the tricky part. I'm also thinking about adding some sort of 'state of the realm' post every 5 turns or so to just post how the Kingdom is doing, will have to think about that some more. The story behind the Ibelin child deaths are quite funny though Thanks for the interest and feedback!

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER SIX

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

I knew not what plans father had made, but the palace seemed more busy than usual. It felt weird to walk around with the constant clanging of twenty boots behind me, but the men seemed respectful enough to me. Besides, a part of me had always wanted a complement of bodyguards like father. I suppose I just didn’t expect them so soon. “So which one of you is the captain?” I asked. A stoutly built man steps forward. “I am. The name’s Raimondo. I hail from Palermo, in Sicily, and I’ve fought in the Third and Fourth Crusades. Now I fight to defend what we have earned with blood.”

“Alright. Did you invite him in, Raimondo?”

“Si, I have as you have instructed. He’s waiting in your room. And very confused, I must add.”

I smiled in anticipation of what was to come. “Wait outside, Raimondo.” I could tell that he did not like the sound of that order, so I followed up: “He’s a friend of mine. He’s not a threat.” I did not bother to wait for his reply, if any was forthcoming, and entered my bedchambers.

There was no better way to describe Lorenzo’s face other than full of astonishment. “Jean!” He exclaimed: “Fancy seeing you here! I saw you running around in the market yesterday. You looked so –” He gave me the once over, then asked: “Why are you dressed like that? Why are you here, Jean? Why are we here?”

I sat down on my bed and heaved a sigh. “You better sit down, Lorenzo, this is going to take a while.”

From the Perspective of High Lord Jean, King of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1232 AD.

This was to be the last meeting of the War Council before we would announce our participation in the Holy Crusade, and the second last before we would march off. Military preparations in Jerusalem were as complete as we could hope for them to be. Not that we had many men to prepare for war – we certainly had twice or even thrice our current strength not too long ago. How far have we fallen? I knew this was our last chance to turn things around for the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The last chance to keep Jerusalem safe, in Christian hands as it should be, and as God has willed. This war would change everything. Lord grant me the strength to see this through.

I looked at Paragon, and motioned for him to start the ball rolling. “How fares the deconstruction project?” Paragon sighed. “Not well, my King. The populace are not taking the destruction of their property well at all–”

“Their property?” I bellowed. “How dare they. We built those structures up on the blood of our previous crusading brothers. Our coin paid for builders to come and erect those buildings. It is not even theirs to – forget it, I can’t be bothered with what they think. How are we doing with the collection of the money?”

If Paragon disapproved of my actions, he certainly didn’t show it. That man had a knack for being hard to read. A few other members of the council of nobles were less subtle in their reactions, but I chose to ignore them for now. Let’s see them disapprove when I start accumulating those great victories every one of them has been dreaming about. “A few chests of florins have arrived recently from Tortosa, Kerak and Acre. With the deconstruction of the taverns, brothels, ballista and catapult workshops, as well as a few of the stables, we have gathered about seven thousand and five hundred florins. A significant amount has also arrived aboard Colin’s diplomatic ship...a moderate sum of around three thousand florins.” Paragon paused, eyeing another list. “As for the construction on Nicosia, they are tearing down the walls and converting it to a port city as you have ordered, although that will take a significant amount of time, and is in itself an expensive task. The demolishment of all castle related training facilities such as the stables, the barracks, and the archery range, as well as the local ballista workshop, have all been completed and the recoupment of florins from the demolishment will help finance the conversion of Nicosia into a city.”

I nodded, pleased to hear that work has been progressing apace. “And the state of our treasury?”

Paragon shuffled his scrolls and pulled out a particularly long sheet of parchment. “We can bear the expense of joining a crusade and all its necessary costs, but beyond that I cannot say for sure. We have, for the past decade or so, always operated with a near zero budget. Your deconstruction efforts, as unpopular as they are, have resulted in the first positive balance in our treasury in a long time, my King. I cannot speak for the populace, but on behalf of the treasury and its many needs, I thank you for your ingenuity. However, be reminded that we owe the Pope a crusade tax, to be paid each year until you join the crusade yourself, my King. For the sake of the treasury please do not linger too long in Jerusalem, as unkind as that might sound.

I acknowledged the reminder with a wave of my hand. “Do not worry, you shall berid of me soon enough. I do not intend to keep the Muslims waiting.” I then turned to Tigel de Linus. “What’s the estimated strength of the garrison oncemy army departs?”

Tigel de Linus frowned. “Bluntly speaking, my King, the garrison has never been at full strength since I arrived here not thirty years ago. The previous lords of Jerusalem have always withdrawn men from the garrison to replace their losses in battle. Our numbers have dwindled since the Third Crusade, and continue to decrease every year. But if what you’re asking is if we can still man our posts, my answer is barely.” I nodded. That would have to suffice for now. My crusading army was made up of way too many inexperienced soldiers and pilgrims for me to devote any more to the garrison. Jerusalem would have to stand on its own for now. “I have ordered the majority of the garrisons from Acre, Kerak, Tortosa and Nicosia to join us here at Jerusalem. You may use them to bolster the garrison when they arrive, although I will call for them when I have need of their services.”

Tigel de Linus nodded. “As always, we are at your beck and call, my King.” I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in that statement, but Tigel de Linus had always been a steadfast and loyal ally, which was why I had appointed him the Master at Arms and commander of the garrison in the first place, so I shrugged off any notion that he was unhappy with my orders. He was definitely dissatisfied with that fact that I was withdrawing men from the garrison, but ultimately understood that it was a necessity, which was what I admired about him. He played the hand he was dealt with as best as he could, and didn’t complain. Sometime she reminds me of me.

To finish off, I turned to the court jester, Denethor the Second, as was customary upon the closing of a war council meeting. My father, High Lord Amaury had impressed upon me the tradition of closing serious debates with a jest, to remind everyone that humour was still important in life, no matter the gravity of the matters we were discussing.

“Any advice from you, young man?”

Denethor the Second bowed, and after a moment, deigned to grace us with the wisdom of his words. “The strength of God will enable us, a small but faithful band, to overcome the multitude of the faithless.”

I frowned. He was calling us small, but as he was saying we were faithful I could not complain openly. Sometimes I get the feeling that we were simply being mocked. Where he gets those one liners from have always been the subject of my late night deliberations. Whatever happened to Denethor the First, I could not pry out of this halfwit.

“Alright, that will be all. We march within the next few days. Wait for my order.” The War Council stood up and slowly left their seats, gathering their scrolls and possessions before leaving. “Lord de Linus, please stay awhile.”Tigel looked surprised, but said nothing and instead sat back down. After the last of the War Council had left the room, I motioned for him to step forward.“No, not you.” I pointed at the shadows, and from the depths of the blackest of them, a figure emerged.

“Foucaud.” Tigel de Linus exclaimed. “I was wondering where he was, if notattending arguably the most important war council before we leave.”

“Apologies for the deception, Lord de Linus.” I gestured for Foucaud to bar the doors. “We have important matters to discuss.”

I continued after Foucaud had locked the doors and sat down. “Tigel de Linus,are you aware that in the absence of any notable lord in this city after the army departs, you, as the commander of the city guard and the Master at Arms,become the de facto lord of Jerusalem?”

Tigel de Linus’s eyes widened. “My King, what about the Prince?” I raised a finger. “Good point. It is of my opinion that my son is too young to rule, and stilll earning the ropes. He isn’t even close to being a dutiful prince, much less a good leader. I have here with me a scroll that I wrote not two nights ago.” I handed over the parchment, and Tigel de Linus inspected it closely.

“By order of High Lord Jean, King of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and its surrounding possessions, Lord Tigel de Linus is henceforth put in charge of the governance of the city of Jerusalem, until the High Lord returns from crusade,or Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem comes of age, whichever is earlier.”Tigel looked at me with a combination of wonder and astonishment. “My King…I…I am lost for words. I did not expect this honour.”

I looked at Foucaud and snorted sarcastically, though not unkindly. “HA! My dear Lord de Linus, I would hope that you would have realised by now that ruling Jerusalem is in itself a heavy burden to bear, and most certainly not an honour.” I amused myself as Tigel de Linus hesitated, unsure how to respond.“Although I must confess that I didn’t simply make you lord of the city because you are the highest ranking noble here. I made you lord of this city because you have served me well, and also because…I have a favour to ask of you.”

Lord de Linus, ever the loyal and honourable subject of mine, immediately stated: “Anything, my King. Ask of me what you will.”

I rubbed my nose and inhaled, then lowered my voice before continuing. “I don’t have to tell you how important Jerusalem is to this Kingdom and the whole of Christianity. Although the Kingdom of Jerusalem has to fight constant battles,I am not blind to the schemes and plots of the lesser nobility. I know my policies and practices may be unpopular, but they are necessary for the Kingdom of Jerusalem to survive. Unfortunately, such policies often inspire discontent and anger, all of which a lesser noble can utilize and take advantage of to his benefit, you know what I’m saying?”

Tigel de Linus nodded. “I saw my fair share of Kings rise and fall back in France. I pray that such a fate does not befall you, and I swear to do my utmost to prevent that from happening.”

Satisfied, I gestured for him to leave. “May God bless you, Lord de Linus.”Tigel de Linus bowed graciously on his way out, and then closed the door behind him.

“What do you think?” I asked, turning to face Foucaud. “Let’s start with Philip.”

Foucaud’s brow furrowed. “My King, I feel that it is my duty to inform you that your brother Lord Philip, the Duke of Nicosia has not taken this particular set of orders well. He has sent a formal letter stating that he is angered that you have chosen to dismantle his island fortress and replace it with a city meant for trade. The locals have also not taken too kindly to the demolishment of their walls, after all, they see them every day as what protects them from pirates and raiders.”



I shook my head in disgust. “The army protects them from pirates and raiders, damn them.” Even though I had expected Philip d’Ibelin to be angry, I did not expect him to allow riots to break out. “The Duke of Nicosia already enjoys a level of autonomy unprecedented in these times due to his geographic allocation and his distance from the Muslim hordes. Converting his castle into a city will serve to teach him some humility and remind him that it is the King who wields the power and authority to change things around here, not him. Send him a message stating that he is to snuff out the riots immediately.”

Foucaud bowed and spread his hands. “It will be as you say, my King. Shall I continue?”

“Yes please. What else did you notice?”

“The Lord of the Treasury, Paragon, is clearly boot licking, but hasn’t done anything else untoward. He is an unmatched bookkeeper as well, and his appointment has improved the health of our finances significantly.”

“Just give me the run down of the people we should be watching out for, Ihaven’t got all day.”

“The council of nobles have been behaving oddly.” I looked up at this statement and grunted my concurrence. “So I’ve noticed.” Foucaud started pacing around.“Normally they would be the most outspoken at these sort of meetings,throwing their weight around everywhere. Now they just seem to be…brooding. It is rather unnatural.”

That I wholeheartedly agreed with. Something was not right with the council of nobles. “Do you have the time and resources to find out what they’re up to?” I queried. Foucaud shook his head. “I have many spies, but none are discreet and cunning enough to handle an investigation of this magnitude. I will have to go into the field myself, and I already have my hands full with the assassination attempt investigation. Gaston has already been deployed to scout the Ayyubid Sultanate out, as per your orders, so unfortunately there is no one left. You have to choose, my King, which investigation takes priority.”

There was no doubt in my mind. “Continue with the assassination investigation. Gaston brought me up to speed on the assassination note. The scum. This will be the top priority until I say otherwise. A plot that involves the assassination of virtually the entire royal house of our Kingdom must be flushed out and the perpetrators identified as soon as possible. Dismissed.”

From the Perspective of Foucaud, Spymaster of Jerusalem, The CityofJerusalem, 1232 AD.

I bowed and exited the war room, though I had one lingering worry that I dared not voice out to the King without proof.

That worry was that I somehow felt that whichever investigation the King had ordered me to pursue, either would eventually lead me down the same path...

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The CityofJerusalem, 1232 AD.

Mother started sending me to church a few weeks ago. I was to attend mass every Sunday. “Piety is one of the qualities that makes a good man, and a great leader.” She told me. It was also important that I attend mass for my own sake,as only a pious, devout individual could be seen as the future ruler of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

This Sunday’s mass was especially important for another reason. People were not taking physical communion seriously, and the Fourth Lateran Council seventeen years ago had decreed that communion was to take place at least once a year. Today was that time of the year. That was the other reason why I was here, to be an example to the faithful masses of Jerusalem to follow, to inspire them to return to their holy practices once again.

“Lord Jean, step forward.” The presiding cardinal, Reynaud d’Aubusson, called out my name. In his hands, he proffered a chalice with wine inside. I approached the altar nervously, as I had never tasted any alcoholic beverage before and I had heard horrible stories about their taste. I felt the entire eyes of the congregation in the Holy Sepulchre on my back, and knew that there was no going back. Henri de Lusignan gave me an encouraging smile, and then I stood before Cardinal Reynaud and bowed my head as instructed.

“The Blood of Christ.” Cardinal Reynaud intoned, offering me the chalice.




I gingerly took the chalice from his grasp and lifted it to my lips to drink. The precious metal felt cool to the touch, but the alcohol that I sipped was much less endearing to my taste. Wincing but doing my best to hide my distaste, I handed the chalice back to the cardinal. “Amen.” I managed to say,all the while almost gagging on the horrible taste of the wine.

I bowed again and stepped away from the altar, and saw that the people had formed up into a line to receive the Holy Communion. At least my job here is done. Alcohol really tastes horrible. What I would give to have some of Lorenzo’s tea again.

As my bodyguards approached me, I felt a sudden and severe bitter taste in my mouth. “Water.” I croaked out. Lights danced around in my vision, and I felt disoriented. Is this the effects of the wine or something more spiritual, I wonder?

The last thing I remembered was the ground rushing up to kiss my face.

[Kilo11]

I am enjoying this. I started a couple weeks ago and then had to leave off, but just now got the chance to sit down and catch up on a couple chapters. In general, the flow and feel of the thing is quite nice, and I've no comments or suggestions on that. There is however, one big thing I've noticed so far that would be good to pay more attention to.

Throughout each chapter you have a tendency to switche a lot from past to present tense and back again. If you could quickly go back through and make it more consistent it would be a much easier and more pleasing read. (I understand this mistake entirely though, as my first few longer pieces were notoriously bad about tenses, mainly because I'd write sections a bit at a time, with breaks between, and then forget which tense I was using before) It might also be good to think a bit about the merits and drawbacks of sticking to present or past tense (certain literary devices can only be used with one tense, but not the other, for example), so that you are sure to use whichever is ultimately best for your purposes.

Anyway, I still have some catching up to do, but am out of time for now. I'll be back with more comments as soon as I have some more time to work through the last couple chapters. In the meantime, keep it up!

[Alwyn]

I'm enjoying this too - particularly Lord Jean's encounter with Henri, the intrigues of Foucaud and the broader perspective of the King of Jerusalem. I'm intrigued by Foucaud's theory about different investigations eventually leading down the same path. I hope that Lord Jean will be okay!

[Darkan]

Great update, things are starting to shape up. I loved the king's reaction to Tigel's comment about the lordship of Jerusalem being an honour...Well done! Personally, I also appreciate pictures from the campaign map, events and other in-game photos that manage to convey the atmosphere and help the story.

[Turkafinwë]

Another great update! A nice mix of jolly good fun with Prince Jean and serious business with the King and Foucaud. The first time tasting alcohol did not go all too well for our noble Prince . Unless there's more to it than it seems? I agree with Darkan on the pictures, especially from the campaign map.

[Swaeft]

I am enjoying this. I started a couple weeks ago and then had to leave off, but just now got the chance to sit down and catch up on a couple chapters. In general, the flow and feel of the thing is quite nice, and I've no comments or suggestions on that. There is however, one big thing I've noticed so far that would be good to pay more attention to.

Throughout each chapter you have a tendency to switche a lot from past to present tense and back again. If you could quickly go back through and make it more consistent it would be a much easier and more pleasing read. (I understand this mistake entirely though, as my first few longer pieces were notoriously bad about tenses, mainly because I'd write sections a bit at a time, with breaks between, and then forget which tense I was using before) It might also be good to think a bit about the merits and drawbacks of sticking to present or past tense (certain literary devices can only be used with one tense, but not the other, for example), so that you are sure to use whichever is ultimately best for your purposes.

Anyway, I still have some catching up to do, but am out of time for now. I'll be back with more comments as soon as I have some more time to work through the last couple chapters. In the meantime, keep it up!

Hey, thanks for reading and commenting! I have read through the previous chapters and to my shame it is as you have said, very jarring jumps between past and present tenses. I will correct that first thing Friday morning, thank you very much for highlighting that to me, I always appreciate constructive criticism. The note on literary devices is also welcomed, so thanks for your contribution! I hope the next few updates that I churn out will live up to your expectations, but I know everyone is sick of my lengthy chapters and looking for some action.

On a more personal note, I’ve only just realised that Nabatea is close to Judea, so I guess I will be following your AAR soon. I’m sorry I haven’t done so yet, I just really don’t have time at the moment, but I will definitely make time for you and Adahnlord’s AAR since they are geographically the closest to mine.

I'm enjoying this too - particularly Lord Jean's encounter with Henri, the intrigues of Foucaud and the broader perspective of the King of Jerusalem. I'm intrigued by Foucaud's theory about different investigations eventually leading down the same path. I hope that Lord Jean will be okay!

Well, it is my aim to please To be honest, at first I did not intend to write it from the King’s perspective, I wanted a perspective purely from Lord Jean, which as you might have guessed by now, is the main character. But then I realised it would be notoriously difficult to squeeze in plot twists and other important information without doing so, but I must say I am glad I removed that restriction because it now allows for more possibilities. For one, Foucaud’s theory would not have been able to be portrayed from Lord Jean’s point of view as he is not a mind reader. Thanks for the comment!

Great update, things are starting to shape up. I loved the king's reaction to Tigel's comment about the lordship of Jerusalem being an honour...Well done! Personally, I also appreciate pictures from the campaign map, events and other in-game photos that manage to convey the atmosphere and help the story.

Thank you, I as well feel that things are falling into place, and I do hope to wrap up this plot heavy narrative within the next two chapters, as I know excessive plot without action is hazardous to my AAR’s health. Our King is a gruff fellow, so I am pretty sure he is glad to get his ass off the throne and get to putting Saracens to the sword. I am not sure if you are asking me to put in more campaign photos or complimenting me for using the in game pictures, but I’ll address both anyway since they are bound to come up later. Since Turkafinwe asked about it as well, I’ll talk about it at the end of the post.

Another great update! A nice mix of jolly good fun with Prince Jean and serious business with the King and Foucaud. The first time tasting alcohol did not go all too well for our noble Prince [IMG]file:///D:/usersp/justinla/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif[/IMG]. Unless there's more to it than it seems? I agree with Darkan on the pictures, especially from the campaign map.

Thank you, I do try to keep some humour in the AAR, it’s part of my personal outlook in life, to find humour in various places to make life more bearable. Yes, the first time I tasted alcohol I detested it too, but this might be more than a case of a simple ‘I hate the taste of alcohol’ for our dear Lord Jean. We shall have to see. With regards to the campaign photos, there is a reason I haven’t put any in.

The reason why I haven’t put in any campaign map photos is because…I know this is going to sound weird, but chronologically the campaign hasn’t started. I’m not sure if you are aware, and I don’t blame you if you aren’t, because the game was released a long time ago, but the SS 6.4 Late Era Crusader States campaign starts at 1220 AD, not the 1232 AD that the timeline currently is in. However, at the start of the campaign in 1220 AD, Lord Jean is a babe of 2 years old due to Meneth’s Live Long and Prosper mod, and I can’t be writing any piece of narration at length from a 2-year old’s perspective as he probably won’t have a perspective on anything except food and playthings. I also wanted Parchment One to have more of a story/novel kind of feel, so I didn’t want to add too many pictures per post. Rest assured, a few more posts down the line (I’m thinking two or three more) and the campaign pictures will start flooding in!

As to why I’m using only mostly the in game pictures (except that picture of a knight in chapter 5, it’s a small house rule that I’ve set myself. The AAR is from Medieval 2 and the Stainless Steel mod, so I wanted to only use assets from the game itself. I know there are many good AARs out there that make use of external pictures to portray and convey the story, but I am personally not a fan of that, as I want the AAR to be about the game. I dislike playing, say, Crusader Strongholds and using Skyrim pictures to convey its story, it just doesn’t seem like the honourable thing to do for me. But it’s not a hard and fast rule (those are stated on the content page in the first post), so if you guys would like to see some of that then I wouldn’t mind doing so.

Edit: This is getting ridiculous. I've had to log in more than 30 times in order to post this. Every time I click edit or reply it prompts me to log in again even though I JUST LOGGED IN. Go advanced? You don't have permission to do that, please log in. Edit? You don't have permission to do that, please refresh the page and log in. Even commenting on other peoples AARs has become a frustrating thing. Reply? You don't have permission to do that, please log in. If anyone else is experiencing this, please let me know how I can solve it, I don't want to check remember me since this is a work computer, though I will do so at home since I'm having that problem on my home PC as well. Unbelievable. If I see one more 'Thank you for logging in, Swaeft' I will chuck this PC out the nearest window.

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER SEVEN

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1233 AD.

I awoke to the smell of copious amounts of rosemary and peppermint, and heard the sounds of muted chanting somewhere in the distance, as well as the light pitter patter of what I assumed to be water from a fountain. I sat up slowly and looked around, taking stock of my situation. I was on a bed, clothed in nothing but a white robe, and covered with a blanket made of cloth. There was a bible on my left, and what appeared to be the True Cross propped up at the foot of the bed. There was also a woman on my right who appeared to be sleeping.

I recognised her immediately. “Mother?” I prodded her lightly. “Mother, what happened?”

Marie stirred and looked up at me. At first her face was filled with lethargy, then a spark of recognition appeared in her eyes. I thought I would never see a face that filled with that much solace and delight ever again. “Jean…” she whispered, tears streaming down her face in relief. “Oh…praise the Lord, oh my dear Jean.” She hugged me so tightly I thought I would choke. I returned the embrace, puzzled as to why mother was showing such raw emotion.

Then it hit me. The communion. The wine. The feeling in my throat. Blacking out.

“Mother, it was the wine!” I exclaimed. “It must have been poisoned!” Marie stroked my hair just the way I liked it and shushed me. “Calm down, Jean. Everything is alright now. I’m going to leave you for a minute, okay? I need to inform the physician that you are awake. Just stay here and don’t go anywhere, alright?” She hugged me fiercely again, then left the room. I could have sworn that I heard the voice of my guard captain Raimondo outside.

Left alone, I began to wonder as to what had really happened. My first thought was that Reynaud was somehow responsible for this. But I immediately banished the thought from my mind. Reynaud was appointed by the Pope himself to be the cardinal of the Holy Sepulchre. One of his clerics, then?

I couldn’t understand why someone wanted me dead so badly as to attempt to kill me twice, assuming that the same people behind the attempt on my life this time was responsible for the burning down of the tavern. I’m not even the King yet. I don’t even want to be King!

Then more questions started popping into my mind. How did I recover? Where am I? What happened to the people at the Sepulchre? My head was swimming with so many questions it started to give me a headache. I gave up on trying to answer any of them and just flopped back into bed, savouring the smooth texture of the sheets and blanket.

Just then, the door burst open, and a whole procession of people started to crowd into the small room. My father was first to enter, and though I didn’t much like him I must confess that I was glad to see him alive. My mother followed close behind, then my sister and then the physician and cardinal Reynaud. Lastly, a few of my father’s bodyguards entered then closed the door behind them. The physician immediately stepped forward and placed one hand on my forehead, and the other on my neck. “The fever is gone. His pulse has returned to normal. Beyond that I cannot tell, but he seems to have put the worst of the poison’s effects behind him.” The physician brought forth a cup of the strongest rosemary tea I’ve ever smelled. “Here, this will help wake you up and keep you energized.” As I drank from the cup, he applied some ointment to my forehead. I could feel the warm tea flowing through my veins, revitalising my blood and making me feel tingly all over.

Cardinal Reynaud stepped forward. “My lord, how are you feeling?” I slurped down the last of the tea and responded hesitantly. “I feel a little nauseous, but also kind of...I’m not sure what the correct word is. Vibrant? Full of life?” I didn’t really care how I described it, I was alive, and that was all that mattered for now. “The young lord does look rather sprightly for his current condition.” The physician commented. Reynaud smiled kindly at me. “It is a miracle. The Lord above has granted our lord on this good earth a miracle.”

The physician looked insulted at this statement, but did not protest. Then, my father spoke up. The familiar, authoritative voice that I was used to hearing reverberated around the room. “What of the wine? Did we find out who and how it was tampered with?” My sister, Yolande, grasped my hand and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re well, brother. We’ve been keeping vigil over you for the past three days.”

Wow. I was out that long? I glanced at her and chuckled while my father continued asking questions. “Well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? I got to lie in bed, and have a really beautiful woman take care of me.” I jested. My sister blushed and took a playful swipe at my ear. Then she leaned in close and whispered, “I wonder what Henri would do if he heard you say that. I’ve been seeing him.”

It was my turn to blush. “What?” I stuttered, but before I could say anything else my father grasped my shoulder. “Can you walk, son?”

“I’m not sure, father.” I replied, slowly getting off the bed. “I haven’t tried.” The King waved everyone else back, giving me the room I needed to stand up and take a few small steps forward. “The nausea seems to have vanished.” I remarked, which brought a cheery grin to cardinal Reynaud’s face. He turned to the physician. “Is this not proof enough? Do you dare claim this to be the work of your medicines?”

The physician gritted his teeth. “I know that this is not solely the cause of my healing herbs, but I also know –” Cardinal Reynaud waved him off. “Then this is most definitely the work of the Lord.” He declared. The physician, unwilling to argue with the cardinal in front of the entire royal family, packed up his things and after looking to my father for confirmation, took his leave, clearly smarting from the affront. I certainly did not blame him.

“Still your tongue, Reynaud. I would mount your head on a spike myself if my son did not recover. Guard your church’s possessions more carefully, or I shall have to place them under my own protection if you are that incompetent.” My father spat those words out with venom. Ignoring Reynaud’s flushed face, he beckoned me over. “Come, my son. Let us attend the war council meeting. It is time the plans I have for this kingdom are revealed to you. It is also high time you started involving yourself in these matters, as you are to be king one day.” My father strode out of the room, his bodyguards following almost instantly. Mother and Yolande watched me slowly stagger towards the door, then rushed forwards to support me when I almost tripped. I muttered my thanks, and with their support, continued towards the war room. My bodyguard formed up behind, and I made sure that they weren’t within earshot before turning to my sister. “When?” I grunted. She grinned. “Not telling.” I raised my eyebrows. “You’re playing a dangerous game, older sister. You sure you want me to find out the hard way?” I raised a finger, then started to tickle her. She yelped in surprise and quickly backed away. “You seem well enough to walk on your own then.” She declared haughtily. My mother agreed, laughing, and they both let go of me.

I treaded my next few steps slowly, taking my time to find my footing.

Despite my recent brush with death, I couldn’t help but feel a small tremor of excitement. Father had always barred me from these war council meetings, where the heaviest decisions that shaped the future of our holy Kingdom were made. Finally, I would get to be a part of the decision making process! As we approached the doors of the war room, I turned around and gave Yolande a ‘we’ll talk about it later’ look, to which she stuck out her tongue at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother supressing a grin. One big happy family.

Except for my father, who was standing stoically outside the war room. He had a stern scowl on his face. “Remember, son. Do not speak unless spoken to, and be respectful at all times. These meetings are the gatherings of the greatest lords and ladies of our Kingdom, and must be accorded the proper decorum.” With that, he put his arm around my shoulder and we both entered the war room.

A select few of my father’s bodyguards entered with us, and the rest stood guard outside. My father took his place at one end of the rectangular shaped table, and gestured for me to sit down on his left. My mother and sister took their places on my father’s right hand side. The table was already full of nobles that I did not recognise, though by the scowl on some of their faces I assumed that they have been waiting for some time.

I watched as my father rested his hands on the table, then put his palms together. He met each and every person seated around the table with his stare, before beginning.

“My lords and ladies. We are gathered here today to discuss the final battle plans for our crusade against the infidels.”

I was dumbstruck. War? I knew that there would eventually be conflict between us Christians and the Muslim sultanates, but I hadn’t expected it to be this soon. I glanced at my father. What if he falls? I’m not ready…

“We should attack Gaza first, with surprise and speed. It is the Ayyubid’s biggest centre of recruitment, and if it falls, it will deprive them of some of their best troops.” Bohemond di Poitiers declared. Murmurs of agreement resounded throughout the room, but there would always be someone who spoke out against whatever was suggested. This time it was Jean d’Ibelin.

“And what soldiers do you propose we attack Gaza with? It is well garrisoned, and with its fortifications, it can defend against an army three times the size of its garrison. I don’t suppose you’d have all our citizens take up arms?”

Bohemond looked outraged. “Of course not! We should besiege them immediately, and starve them out. Assaulting the walls is tantamount to suicide.”

The room rang with laughter. “And what of the Ayyubid host that will inevitably come to lift the siege?” Jean d’Ibelin countered. “We will be forced to retreat, and with nothing to show for our efforts. Our current army cannot match them in the field, if you can even call the paltry amount of soldiers we currently possess an army.” He flicked his eyes accusingly towards my father when he uttered the last portion of that sentence.

“We should strike north, and take Damascus.” Philip d’Ibelin piped up. “We need to control the road between Tortosa and Acre, and Tortosa has been isolated for far too long. Without aid, it will collapse, and soon. The garrison is already down to less than 4 companies of soldiers.”

“That is why I suggested we take every available man still remaining, and bring them here by boat.” Bohemond mentioned, his arms crossed. “We cannot hope to hold the castle.”

“So you would have us abandon our hard won possessions?” Someone remarked, accompanied by a smattering of grumbling.

“Not abandon.” Bohemond protested. “We should sell the castle to one of the European nations.” This provoked an uproar from the council of nobles. “That is blasphemy!” One of them raged, and another soon added: “Our sovereignty is not simply given away for gold and silver, Lord de Poitiers.”

All this while, I watched, just as my father had told me to, and just as he was doing. ‘It is the job of the King to consider his counsel before making a decision’, my father had once said, ‘and thus, you always stay your tongue and listen first. This allows you to see the nobles’ various dispositions, and also listen to whatever information you may hear that you did not know of before.’ Finally, he raised a hand, and the din died down.

“Bring out the map!” My father called out. A few servants brought forth a huge roll of parchment almost half the size of the table, and laid it out evenly so that everyone could see it.



My father studied the map for a time, nodding to himself every now and then. “This will be a long war. We will need to outlast our opponents, and the best way to do that is to cripple their ability to fight back.” My father looked around the table, and seemed to be sizing up each of the generals seated in front of him. “Bohemond de Poiters.” He finally uttered.

A stout man stood up and saluted. “Your job will be supremely vital to the crown’s efforts. Take a few companies of warriors and a detachment of catapults and sail along the coast, raiding any city or castle you come across that is lightly guarded. Sack those cities and ensure that the Ayyubids will not be able to make use of them for decades. Pillage as much as you can, but do not kill wantonly, and spare any men who surrender. We have honour, that is what separates us from the infidels, among other things. Once you’re done, hasten back to Jerusalem. I can foresee that we will have great need of the loot you will bring back. Wars are expensive.”

Bohemond de Poiters banged his fist on his chest. “They will not see us coming, my King. I shall bring back treasure chests of plunder.”

My father wasted no time. “Make sure you stick extremely close to the coastline, Bohemond. We do not have much of a navy, and the Ayyubids will certainly sink you out at sea if you venture too far from shore. At any time when you feel threatened, disembark immediately and wait for the danger to pass. Also, make sure you keep your forces intact. If it is too risky to assail a settlement, pull back and wait for another opportunity or move on entirely. Am I understood?”

Bohemond saluted once more, then sat back down. My father then turned his attention to the map again. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “I will take the army of Jerusalem and lay siege to Damascus, then Aleppo, depending on how far our soldiers’ zeal allow us to march.” There were a few audible gasps of surprise from many of the generals and captains in the room. “My King, Damascus is not on the road to Gaza.” Philip d’Ibelin stated. My father looked at him as if he was stupid. “I know my geography, Philip.” Then he smirked.

“But our soldiers don’t.”

This time the gasps were much louder. “My King, surely you don’t intend to mislead our soldiers–”

“I am not misleading anyone. We are going on a crusade against the infidel Muslims. My lord Philip, please tell me, is Damascus being held by Muslims? Yes.” He then turned to Philip’s brother. “Jean. Pray tell, is Aleppo being held by Muslims?” Jean did not reply, but vexation was written all over his face. My father looked around the room. “Cardinal Reynaud. Please tell me, will the lord smite me if I killed a few thousand more Muslims in the name of the crusade?” The cardinal bowed his head. “No, my King. I am pretty sure he will be very pleased that you are doing more of God’s work than is required of you.”

The council sat in stunned silence. It was like I didn’t know my father anymore. I knew that saying anything right now would be political suicide for my father, so I held my tongue. The Ibelin brothers were looking at each other, as if they couldn’t possibly believe what was happening before them.

“Philip. Jean. Would a push northwards not satisfy you? It would secure our northern frontier of Tortosa, and allow us to control Damascus, which is invaluable to both troop movement and trade in the region. We cannot stay hemmed in around Jerusalem forever.” The Ibelin brothers seemed unconvinced, but they were no longer outright opposed to the plan as they were before.

“In addition, the city of Antioch, home of the Knights Hospitaller, will be yours if you manage to conquer it as I am ordering now.” My father directed his gaze at Jean d’Ibelin. He bowed, but met my father’s gaze with one of uncertainty. “My King, I do not have the troops to take that city from the Ayyubids. It is too well fortified, and well garrisoned.”

“In its current state, yes.” My father flashed Jean d’Ibelin with a crafty grin. “Although I am pretty sure that once they hear of the siege of Damascus, they will dispatch most of the army encamped in Antioch to relieve Damascus. Once your scouts inform you that the city is vulnerable, you will gather your troops and take the city, with a detachment of catapults to ensure that no time is wasted building cumbersome siege equipment. We do not have the manpower for a protracted siege in any case.”

At this, Philip d’Ibelin voiced out his skepticism in a grave voice. “Forgive me, my King, but let me get this straight. For your plan to be successful, you would need to use the army of Jerusalem, which in its current state comprises eight hundred and forty five men, to attack and conquer Damascus, which is a tremendous task considering its current commander, the Taj Amir of the Ayyubids. After which, you will then attempt to defeat the relief force that we assume will march from Antioch, which is not small, continue on towards Aleppo, similarly besiege and take the castle, then with your forces still intact barring any reduction in numbers from disease, attrition, desertion, and march all the way down to Gaza, besiege it, and fend off any other attacking army that we have no reliable intelligence about?”

“Do not doubt the strength of the faithful, my lord.” Cardinal Reynaud spoke up. “Remember that during the First Crusade our predecessors marched thrice around Jerusalem barefoot, and the city fell to them as a reward for their piety.”

I seriously doubted the veracity of that statement, but kept my reservations to myself as instructed. Cardinal Reynaud’s declaration seemed to have taken the wind out of most of the King’s detractors, but there were definitely doubts in the air as to the probability of the King’s army’s success. The odds were stacked so heavily against our crusading army’s favour that it looked as if there would be little to no chance of success.

“Truthfully, I was hoping that by the time I swung my army back towards Gaza, the crusading armies from the European nations would have arrived to assist us. I have held this Kingdom together for many years.” My father declared. “Now it is time I expanded it. Do not forget how I held off two thousand Saracens with only two hundred knights at Acre twenty years ago.”

“And now we have even less than that.” Bohemond di Poitiers stood up. “My King, I initially thought that I was the one who had the toughest job, roughing it out and sea and playing hide and seek with the Ayyubid navy near Alexandria and Damietta, but I now see that my task is nothing when compared to yours. I shall do my duty unto God and unto you, and let me declare that I have faith that this crusade will succeed.”

My father thanked Bohemond, then stood up to address the entire council. “My lords and ladies, you have kept faith with me for the past twenty years. I only ask that you continue to keep faith with me, as we attempt to break the Muslim encirclement around Jerusalem for the first time in a long, long time.”

He then motioned for Cardinal Reynaud to approach. The cardinal brought with him a necklace with a cross affixed to it. My father knelt and swore before the council that he would not rest until the crusade ended in a Christian victory, or he died trying. “Rise, my King.” Cardinal Reynaud intoned. My father did so, and bid the council follow him to the steps of the royal compound.

I was still in a state of disbelief. There was no way father was going to succeed with such a wild, audacious plan. Its success relied on too many factors that were impossible to control. I strode towards the portcullis, and climbed the stairs to the same parapet on which I had stood on watching the tavern burn down not too long ago. Yolande was by my side, and I could tell that she too was brooding in quiet contemplation. I took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. The pleasant surprise brought about by her sudden admission that she was courting my cousin had all but evaporated, replaced only by worry and despair.

To my astonishment, I noticed that what seemed to be the entire army of Jerusalem was gathered on the avenue towards the city, and that as far as the eye could see, they all had crosses sewn onto their chainmail, surcoats, robes and other form of clothing or armour. Banners and standards were raised high, and fluttered gaily in the afternoon wind. I observed that the bulk of the army was not made up of knights as I had hoped it would be, but rather comprised of a mix of militiamen, semi-professional warriors and some pilgrims. A general buzz erupted when they noticed the King standing on the parapet.



My father turned to me and said, “Remember these words, son. They have been spoken by our ancestors, and their predecessors before them.” Then he turned to face the army and drew his sword, raising it high in the air. The war council members followed suit, and so did the rest of the army. The sound of thousands of swords being drawn from their sheaths cascaded like waves over me.


“WHAT ARE WE?” My father bellowed at the top of his lungs.

‘GOD’S STEEL!” The army roared back.

“AND WHAT DO WE DELIVER TO OUR ENEMIES?”

‘GOD’S JUSTICE!”

I was flabbergasted by the fervor that these men displayed, and to a certain extent, even caught up in the passion of the moment. The citizens that had not already gathered to watch the procession were coming out of their homes to see what the din was about. I was greatly inspired by the pure zeal that the men displayed and their avidity to follow my father into battle. Each man in the army added their voice to the man next to him, and soon I could not hear anything other than total clangor and tumult. The very sands themselves seemed to shake under the roar of our army. Out of nowhere, I started to imagine flashes of glorious battle, of our heavy cavalry trampling our enemies into the dust, and of the sign of the cross being flown over all the cities in the Holy Land.

But then I looked towards the army, and saw an almost complete lack of horsemen. It was then that I allowed despair to overcome me, and deep down I hoped that their thirst for success and devotion to God would be enough to see them through the holy war that was about to begin.

[Turkafinwë]

You know it's really kicking off when the title of the story is used. A wonderful chapter Swaeft! Good to see that Prince Jean is made of sturdier material than most. A bold strategy indeed, but then again fortune favours the bold. + rep

PS: Thankfully I haven't come across this problem yet, it would drive me mad (further than I already am ). Maybe some of the Content Staff or Moderators know what's going on. In any case, I hope it's solved pretty quickly.

[Swaeft]

You know it's really kicking off when the title of the story is used. A wonderful chapter Swaeft! Good to see that Prince Jean is made of sturdier material than most. A bold strategy indeed, but then again fortune favours the bold. + rep

PS: Thankfully I haven't come across this problem yet, it would drive me mad (further than I already am ). Maybe some of the Content Staff or Moderators know what's going on. In any case, I hope it's solved pretty quickly.

Well, sometimes miracles happen Or at least, that's what happened in game, he got the trait miraculously healed and I decided to spin a story around that. But it's not just for the trait, there's a deeper significance to it that will be revealed later on. I don't have this problem at home because I am able to check the remember me box, so it's not that bad, that day was a fit of rage when I was using my work computer

[Darkan]

...so it begins! Deus Vult! I must say, I look forward to see how the king pulls off this plan. Judging from the pic, the army isn't that large, hope you have some units stashed away somewhere.

[Swaeft]

...so it begins! Deus Vult! I must say, I look forward to see how the king pulls off this plan. Judging from the pic, the army isn't that large, hope you have some units stashed away somewhere.

Indeed it does, finally we can begin the campaign Yeah, I disbanded a lot of units at the start because I can't afford the upkeep...650 florins a turn Knights of Jerusalem! What are they made of, gold? I pulled most of the garrisons from the other cities to Jerusalem, but they're not much, and in the rest of the settlements I left only the units that could be garrisoned as 'free upkeep' units. We shall see whether this strategy works

[Alwyn]

You know it's really kicking off when the title of the story is used. A wonderful chapter Swaeft! Good to see that Prince Jean is made of sturdier material than most. A bold strategy indeed, but then again fortune favours the bold. + rep

PS: Thankfully I haven't come across this problem yet, it would drive me mad (further than I already am ). Maybe some of the Content Staff or Moderators know what's going on. In any case, I hope it's solved pretty quickly.

I agree with Turkafinwë that it's an exciting moment when the title of your AAR is used. I particularly liked Lord Jean's initial reaction to the splendour of the army, and then his second thought about it.

I wonder if the problem which Turkafinwë mentioned was indicated by your comment when editing your post ('Weird spaces disappearing'). One thing which can sometimes help is to switch to source mode when editing. To do this, first select 'Edit Post', then select the left-hand button in the toolbar (the one with two capital As divided by a diagonal line). You'll then see your post including the code which is normally invisible. Sometimes invisible code can mess up the formatting of a post, particularly if we edited it a few times, or if we copied the text from a word processor like Microsoft Word or Libre Office (I usually copy the text from a word processor and then edit it several times, so I get this sort of problem occasionally). If you or anyone who tries this is unfamiliar with the code and what it does, there's a guide here.

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER EIGHT

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1233 AD.

“Don’t hold back! Use more strength! Come on!” Tigel de Linus’ shouts rang across the courtyard as I strove to match Henri de Lusignan blow for blow. Over the course of the past few days, he had proved to be the better attacker, and I the better defender. As such, I was constantly on the defensive, either parrying most of his blows or sidestepping them altogether. I also paid more attention to his shield arm, ready for the moment when he would decide to bash my face in with it again.

Tigel de Linus called for a halt. “You boys aren’t improving. Clearly you know how to attack,” he gestured to Henri, then pointed a finger at me, “and you how to defend. But combat is about both offense and defense. Henri, take up a defensive stance. Jean, it’s your turn to attack. Let’s go.” I shrugged, hefting my sword up and preparing to strike. Henri hunkered down behind his shield and stared at me with a devilish grin in his eye, daring me to attack. I lunged.

“STOP! Stop, what are you both doing?” Tigel de Linus yelled, directing his fury first at me. His voice radiated disapproval. “Attacking isn’t blindly swinging your sword at the target. And you!” He turned to Henri. “Defending isn’t just about hiding behind a shield and absorbing your opponent’s blows. Move. Be Flexible. Adapt to your opponent. Adopt your stances again.”

Half an hour later when we paused for a break, I saw my sister sitting in the shade with her handmaidens and bodyguards surrounding her. She was painting, a hobby that she had taken a liking to often in recent times. She smiled and beckoned me and Henri over, and thrusted the painting towards us. “That’s my portrayal of you two. Do you like it?” She asked, eagerly anticipating our response.



“HA!” I guffawed. “That’s jousting! That’s not even close!” I should have known. My sister was an avid reader, and had spent many of her days in the library. Although there was the occasional nugget of wisdom in the books, most of them were filled with authors who wanted to bend history to their benefit. Although she knew there was more to knighthood than just jousting, the stories had gotten to her head, and Yolande always enjoyed a good story about knights and their feats of valour, especially jousting. Henri chuckled and took the painting, inspecting it closely. “So who’s who? Seems to me the guy on the right is most likely to win. The one on the left is holding his shield too closely to his body.” He shot me a look. “Not too unlike your brother here, always on the defensive.” I reddened and told him that a good defense could keep you alive, but a good offense couldn’t. Henri chuckled again. “See what I mean? Always on the defensive.” Yolande simply blushed and said she hadn’t decided.

For the better part of the morning, Henri and I learned about each other’s’ weaknesses and sought to exploit them. Tigel de Linus gave us constant pointers and often stopped our fights to explain what we just did wrong or could improve on. By the time we broke for lunch, we were sweating, exhausted and covered in bruises as usual. I smirked to myself as I saw Henri smarting from a few good blows I’d given him, silently proud that I seemed to be improving at swordplay. “Remember boys,” Tigel de Linus had said before parting. “You must balance both offense and defense. Strike your opponent when you can, but never do so at your own expense. Master this, and…”

“…you will be able to conquer your opponents.” The Constable of Jerusalem intoned. He stared at both Henri and I to make sure that we were actually paying attention, then continued. “Warfare can thus be imagined in terms of single combat with sword and shield, not unlike how you two are training right now. When a combatant prepares to strike an enemy, he has to gather his strength first – namely his army. Pre-emptively attacking will mean that the attack is weak and unsupported, as your wouldn’t have given your lords much time to raise their levies or train their armies. This is similar to how a quick jab at your opponent causes little damage and is ineffectual for the most part. Waiting too long, however, may result in the opportunity having come and gone, just like how throwing your full weight and grimacing before you attack makes it clear to your opponent when and where you intend to hit him, giving him ample time to block.”

As the constable paused to catch his breath, I stifled a yawn. “Once the attack has been made, however, more often than not the attacker would then find himself on the defensive, as attacking usually means that he has left a part of him vulnerable. An army must be controlled during a battle, this much is known, but too many commanders neglect to exercise proper oversight over their army after the battle is believed to be won. Wanton looting of the enemy camp and fatalities, unchecked pursuit of fleeing enemies, and the spreading out of one’s own forces as a result of the battle are all exposed weaknesses, and should the enemy take notice and reform in order to strike again, or God forbid, were faking a retreat to lure your forces into an ambush, the results can quickly turn the victor into the defeated. Jean!” The sound of my name snapped me out of my after-lunch daze.

“Yes, constable?” I replied.

“Name me one occasion in which an overconfident army ended up being defeated by their enemy in such a manner. I’ve told you this before.”

For a moment I panicked and scratched my head, desperately trying to recall the when and where of such a battle. Then in a burst of clarity, I replied confidently, “The battle of Harran, 1140 AD. The crusader states of Antioch and Tripoli were defeated by a force of Seljuk Turks who had feigned retreat. It was said they were so taken by surprise that some of them barely had time to put on their armour and thus fought unarmoured.” I felt proud that I had absorbed some of the Constable’s teachings, until he tsk tsk-ed me and shook his head in disappointment. “It was 1104 AD, Jean, and the second belligerent was the crusader state of Edessa, not Tripoli. Still, a respectable attempt. I didn’t expect you to remember the battle at all, truth be told.”

His low expectations of me were not based on pure speculation, there were many a time I had failed to recall other historical facts and battles, mostly due to the lack of paying attention during the Constable’s lessons. Each time I would be rapped smartly on the wrist by the cane the Constable carried around with him. Today, Henri had his first taste of the cane and yelped in surprise whenever the Constable felt it necessary to dish out admonishment in the form of a slap across the wrists.

“Although an extreme example as the crusaders pursued their enemies for two or three days, it serves to show how quickly the hunter can become the hunted. Never forget that.”

From the Perspective of High Lord Jean, King of Jerusalem, The road to Damascus, 1233 AD.

We’ve been on the march for weeks. I had sent the mounted sergeants out in standard formation. Three outriders per group, one group each to ride in the four cardinal directions for each kilometre from our column, up to five kilometres out. They wore light leather armour, perfect for scouting in this accursed heat, and more importantly, did not weigh down the horses, so they could gallop back as quickly as possible to report if necessary.

Looking over my shoulder, I see that our marching column has stretched to over a few hundred metres in length. A meagre length, truth be told. My forebearers’ armies had numbered in the tens of thousands at their peak, and their column and supply trains would stretch out for tens of kilometres. I would kill to have even a quarter of that strength now. Even after mustering all the strength in the Kingdom, less than three thousand march with us, and most of them are not trained warriors. Am I leading them to our doom?

I banished the thought from my mind, for it was unworthy of me. However, my anguish must have lingered long enough, for Cardinal Reynaud took notice and spurred his mount until it trotted abreast of my own. “Do not despair, good King. This was the very road that converted Paul the Apostle to Christianity, and if the gods are good, we shall do the same to the people living in Damascus.”

I snorted, then promptly checked that I was not within earshot of the common soldiers. “You can drop the act now, Reynaud. Old tales do not hold kingdoms together, armies do. Save the piety for the court.” The cardinal’s eyes narrowed into slits. “As you wish, my King. Do not forget, the papacy is always watching.” I groaned as he turned his palfrey away from mine. The Papacy. What a farce. Still, I did not have much to complain about in recent years. Following the commands of the Pope have reaped us decent rewards. Pope Honorius was always willing to lend me a listening ear, however far away he might be from Jerusalem, and his underlings never ceased preaching for support for the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Without their assistance, the knights and pilgrims would have stopped coming long ago.

It sickened me to think that the Papacy was selling a lie, that Holy Jesus and the promise of forgiveness by God, and absolution of all our sins would come and all we had to do was embark on a crusade, but after a few years in the Holy Land, I was all but convinced that this sacred land was nothing but a cursed battlefield. Why else would people forsake their homes, belongings and family, to undertake such a long, perilous journey simply for a chance to die in some foreign land? A hot, cloudless cesspool in which all manner of dangers lurked in the sands and dunes. I chuckled as I remembered telling my father High Lord Amaury, may he rest in peace, exactly those words, then rueing what I had so flippantly said the moment he slapped me across the face.

“The Kingdom of God is sacred to all who believe.” Was his reply, and yet, I could feel myself slipping away from the faith. For decades Christians have lived here, never in peace. That was, if you could call being evicted from their homes violently time and time again by the Muslim hordes, living. No one has succeeded in making the Kingdom of Jerusalem permanent. No one. Am I to be the first? I found myself looking skyward, the blistering Sun almost blinding me. Is this the path I am to walk, God? Why don’t you answer me?

Of course, I could not say that he had forsaken us entirely. The Seljuks and the Ayyubids have not seen eye to eye for a long time, and although that is not entirely the Lord’s work, what else could keep them from uniting against their common enemy – us, for so long? Some would say that the very existence of the Crusader States – or crusader state, since there is but one left – depended on the Muslims not combining their forces against us. Sometimes I wondered if the Sultans and Caliphs themselves were too stupid to see it, then I am reminded that no stupid man may rule over an area so vast for such a long period of time.

God has blessed me in other ways too. I have a family, and every noble knows how hard it is to maintain one, much less a royal house. I have a dutiful wife who has borne me a son and a daughter, though one is much more obedient than the other. I heaved a great sigh. It was no secret that my son did not agree with me on most things. He has given me no small amount of worry as he constantly defies me, but that is not entirely his fault either. Perhaps I have been harsh on him. My mind flashed back to when my own father would put me through rigorous training schedules and heavy burdens at Jean’s age. I was doing the same to him, even though I hated it myself. I vowed to soften my stance on his training once I returned from this campaign, and give him the freedom he so desired. Within reason, of course.

Then there was that miracle with the poisoned wine. If the realm’s doctors still have no explanation for Jean’s recovery by the time I get back, I would have no choice but to take it as a sign that God saved him for a reason. I was very thankful that he had seen fit to keep my son away from the jaws of death. No child deserved to die at such a young age. How about all those Muslim sons and daughters, slaughtered when Jerusalem was –

I shook my head in an attempt to ward off those ugly thoughts. No more. I had committed myself to this path, and by the grace of God, the Kingdom of Jerusalem would rise once more, or forever vanish from the face of the Earth. I owed it to God to try once more, to restore his Kingdom to glory.

The captain of my bodyguards reined in his horse close to mine, and tapped me on the shoulder, wresting me away from me reverie. “My King, riders approaching.” He had already dispatched some of my bodyguard to intercept them, but soon enough I saw that there was no need to. There were two of them, outriders that were scouting ahead of us. They halted a few metres away from me and saluted.

“My King, Damascus is a few miles north east of the column, and lightly held, from what can be gathered. The Taj Amir's standard flies on the town walls.”

I smiled. The time had come for the bloodletting to begin.

[Turkafinwë]

Another enjoyable chapter! Valuable lessons for Jean and Henri in both personal combat as well as in warfare in general. I really like Tigel de Linus as a character, hard but just and above all wise and down to earth. A man who will take no . Also the lack of piety in the King is an interesting development. A faithless man as the leader of the Kingdom of God is an ironic concept and I like it a lot.

Keep up the good work!

[Beckitz]

It's nice to think that, even in the rude barbarism of the Middle Ages, there was still room enough for a young boy's hopes and dreams. I, for one, only hope that this chivalrous young lad will not lose his virtuous mind to the temptations of life's relentless hardships...

[Swaeft]

Another enjoyable chapter! Valuable lessons for Jean and Henri in both personal combat as well as in warfare in general. I really like Tigel de Linus as a character, hard but just and above all wise and down to earth. A man who will take no . Also the lack of piety in the King is an interesting development. A faithless man as the leader of the Kingdom of God is an ironic concept and I like it a lot.

Keep up the good work!

Well, perhaps the next chapter will show you more about the man who will take no bleep Well, I for one wouldn't say that the King lacks piety, but he does seem to be losing faith. Too many years in the 'Holy Lands' will do that to you. That being said, its one area I aim to explore - the King's belief that God still has his back. Many thanks for your constant critique and readership!

It's nice to think that, even in the rude barbarism of the Middle Ages, there was still room enough for a young boy's hopes and dreams. I, for one, only hope that this chivalrous young lad will not lose his virtuous mind to the temptations of life's relentless hardships...

Hi there! Nice to see a new face(well not really a face but yeah). I too hope that Lord Jean (or Henri, on the off chance that you are actually referring to him) will stay his course, but life can be so fickle and cruel at times...we shall have to see. This also depends on the traits he's receiving in game, because I actually model the characters around their traits. Makes for some unpredictability and is quite interesting to write about. Hopefully I don't get the traits like arse or dubious LOL, that will be a pain to write about.

Edit: I'm assuming let the boy win his spurs is you, so thanks for that! But you evil fellow...he's just 12! Well, 13 now since its 1233.

Edit 2: WOW Almost missed this.

I agree with Turkafinwë that it's an exciting moment when the title of your AAR is used. I particularly liked Lord Jean's initial reaction to the splendour of the army, and then his second thought about it.

I wonder if the problem which Turkafinwë mentioned was indicated by your comment when editing your post ('Weird spaces disappearing'). One thing which can sometimes help is to switch to source mode when editing. To do this, first select 'Edit Post', then select the left-hand button in the toolbar (the one with two capital As divided by a diagonal line). You'll then see your post including the code which is normally invisible. Sometimes invisible code can mess up the formatting of a post, particularly if we edited it a few times, or if we copied the text from a word processor like Microsoft Word or Libre Office (I usually copy the text from a word processor and then edit it several times, so I get this sort of problem occasionally). If you or anyone who tries this is unfamiliar with the code and what it does, there's a guide here.

Well the army isn't that big honestly, and its mainly infantry so I can't use my preferred cavalry charge tactics. But that will come in time I hope. As for the weird spaces disappearing, that is a problem when converting from microsoft word to the forums and then changing the font from arial to century gothic. Solved it for now, but it was pretty annoying to go back to all 6 chapters for the third time and insert about 100 spaces in each of them! Many thanks for the guide and the editing tip, I will be sure to try them out the next time I have this problem, which is hopefully - never. Cheers!

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER NINE

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1233 AD.

The end of the year passed by and I barely noticed. Having Henri around was a blessing, but after a while the monotony of training and learning had come back to bite me. The days passed slowly, and each only served to heap more misery upon me. I still didn’t want to rule. Why couldn’t life be easier? Why did the burdens of the realm fall to me? Why couldn’t father stay and let someone else go on crusade? For all the ill will I bore towards my father, I could not deny that he was an effective ruler. He had a deft grasp of politics, and no one would dare challenge his authority openly. Then I remembered the poor living in hovels in the Beggar’s Quarter, and felt a surge of anger. Still, one couldn’t say that his rule was absolute. He had his detractors, however few they were, and then there were the hidden ones. The ones waiting in the shadows, pulling strings and never revealing themselves. They were the true threat to the realm, my father had said.

The day my father had departed with the army, Tigel de Linus had approached me and sat me down, discussing a great deal of things. He showed me my father’s writ, naming him as the governor of the city, but he also told me that my father had commanded him to instruct me in the ways of the court, and safeguard me from harm. “I have 20 sworn swords guarding me day and night, Lord de Linus,” I had remarked. “Who could dare to harm me?”

Tigel de Linus regarded me with a sombre face. “Not all threats come in the form of a blade, my prince. You would be wise to remember that.” That had irked me greatly. Another thing to remember. Everyday someone will tell me to remember something different. How does one remember everything?

Then he spoke of governance, and bid me become his shadow as he called meeting after meeting. Court was held in the throne room, and Tigel de Linus persuaded me to sit on the Holy Chair, with him by my side. It was my first time sitting on the throne, and to be honest, it didn’t feel that special at all. First came the Merchant’s Guild. They were mainly Italian, and talked a great deal about trade and finances. In between fighting back yawns I thought I caught a glimpse of Lorenzo’s father, but having never seen the man for long, I couldn’t be sure that it was him. They were always grumbling about how the sea trade route was dangerous, even from the crusader stronghold of Cyprus to the shipwrights of Acre, a short but dangerous journey with Ayyubid fleets roaming the area. My father had ordered the scuttling of the Kingdom’s fleet as we could not afford to pay for their upkeep. A ship of sailors was demanding as much pay in a year as a company of trained spearmen! It was ridiculous, and we didn’t have much need of a fleet anyway, not with the paltry amount of ships we could raise. With such a large area of sea to defend, it was clear that either we commit fully to a standing fleet, or have no fleet at all. Having an understrength and undermanned fleet was just a waste of florins and lives.

Next came the Mason’s Guild. They were supposed to be comprised of the Kingdom’s finest builders, but all I saw was a gaggle of old men with numerous books. They pleaded for more money to build all sorts of buildings, and Tigel de Linus listened intently, glaring at me when I started to lose interest. “Forgive me, master builder, but it seems rather two faced of you, to come and beg its importance to the King, while at the same time not bothering to establish a guild house in this city.” The master builder flushed a shade of crimson, and muttered something about the city being unsafe to quarter their men in. “Come back when you change your mind.” Tigel de Linus dismissed them. It amused me slightly to see the petitioners expecting to address me – the young prince on the throne, but instead having to direct their attention to Tigel de Linus halfway. When I was getting bored I started making bets with myself on which group would take the longest to realise that I was not the one in charge here.

The next few guilds’ petitions were more or less the same. The Swordsmiths’ and Alchemists’ guilds wanted security in the city, which the crown could not guarantee, while the Explorers’ and Theologians’ guild wanted more money to fund their interests, which the crown could not give. The Thief’s guild was dismissed immediately by Lord de Linus, and the notorious Assassins’ guild did not even bother showing up. “Good thing too.” Tigel de Linus had remarked. “The King bid me have all their heads if they dared dishonour our realm with their presence.”

***

During a recess I asked Tigel de Linus a question that had been bugging me the entire time. “How are we going to attract anyone to help our cause like this? No one seems to be willing to set up in the city.” Tigel de Linus scratched his head. “For people to come here and stay for an extended period of time, they need to have more than just faith. They need everything a common man would have in Europe. A lord that takes care of their needs, an army to defend them, stout walls to hide behind in case of an attack, and the opportunity for advancement. No one wants to be a shopkeeper their entire life. Here in Jerusalem we can only offer them the blessing of God. If your father is successful in his war effort, perhaps we can restore the city to its former glory. If people feel safe enough to come here, our numbers will grow, and so will our army.”

I frowned. “So what you’re saying is we need to win battles to attract more soldiers. But…don’t we need a larger army to win battles in the first place?” That didn’t make sense to me. Tigel nodded. “With knights and pilgrims coming here piecemeal to make their own pilgrimage, our numbers wax and wane according to the whims of our European brothers. Only the crusades have proven to be effective at keeping our fledgling kingdom alive, and even then there have only been four, and the last one was a disaster. Your father’s crusade is the fifth in all history.”

I recalled Lorenzo telling me something about a failed crusade when I first met him. “What happened during the previous crusade?” I inquired. Tigel de Linus glowered for a moment, then said: “A bunch of dirty Italians corrupted the hearts of good men with the promise of plunder and loot, and bid them sack the holy city of Constantinople. They put most of the people within its walls to the sword, and after the deed was done, they abandoned the crusade entirely, and went home with their blood money. Never trust an Italian.”

My bodyguard captain, Raimondo, shifted uneasily, and I saw a flash of anger appear on his face. “That’s not how I would put it, Master at Arms.” He uttered. The tension in the air was palpable when Tigel de Linus gave his best impression of a death stare to Raimondo. “Of course not. All you’re interested in is money. Tell me. How many florins do the Saracens have to dangle in front of your nose before you betray us as well? I know you fought in the Fourth Crusade, knave.”

A sudden silence fell across the throne room, interrupted by the shrill of steel being removed from its scabbard. “Let’s see you back those words up with steel, old man.” Raimondo had drawn his sword, and so had a few others of my bodyguard. The rest had their hands on their pommels, but were looking at each other uncertainly. Tigel de Linus had bared his own steel, but it was one against five or six, yet he still stood his ground. “GUARDS!” He bellowed.

The door burst open and a double line of city watchmen entered, weapons at the ready. There were about a score of them, all armed with spears and shields. I stood open mouthed as the formed up behind Lord de Linus, albeit in a very confused manner. “Drop your sword, cur, lest you force me to bring the entire city watch in here.”

“Are you all crazy? This is a disgrace! Sheathe those weapons immediately!” I screamed, but no one seemed to pay me any attention, except for Raimondo, who directed his words at me, but never took his eyes off Tigel de Linus. “This man besmirched my honour.” Raimondo spat. “I am a knight. I will not let this go unpunished.”

The petitioners in court had all but fled the room, and many of the presiding nobles were cowering behind the pillars. “It is treason to bare your blade against the Prince, Raimondo.”

“That’s Sir Raimondo to you, old man, and my job is to protect the Prince. You’re the one threatening the captain of his bodyguard.”

Tigel de Linus had the numbers, but my bodyguards definitely had skill and armour on their side. It was happening so fast I had no idea what to do. Just as it seemed that it would come to blows, a man ran past the open doors and knelt before me. “My Prince, battle report from Damascus!” It was only when he looked up at me that he realised there were weapons being brandished all around him. He gazed around fearfully before looking at me. “My Prince?”

My wits returned to me. “Lower your swords now, or be executed for treason.” I declared. For a moment, I feared that no one would obey, but Tigel de Linus let his sword fall back into his scabbard. “As my Prince commands.” He said. One look from him and the city watchmen raised their spears and stood at attention. Raimondo snorted and sheathed his own blade, still staring daggers at Lord de Linus. Relieved, I turned towards the messenger. “Report.”

The messenger bowed and started his account of the battle.

First battle of Damascus

"The afternoon sun was high in the sky, but obscured by thunderclouds when we began our assault. The city was held very lightly, with significantly lesser men than what our scout reports stated, so we were always on guard for a reinforcing army that might appear, but none came forth to help the besieged." "Our King commanded the following: Mounted sergeants – one company, Foot Knights of Jerusalem – one company, Templar crossbowmen – four companies, Italian sailors or Marinae – three companies, light men at arms – one company, archers – one company, spear militia – one company, two catapults and finally one company of the good Knights of Saint Lazarus." "Before the battle began, we sent an envoy to treat with the Taj Amir, who was commanding the paltry defence of the city, but he refused all offers. So our King ordered the ram forward, under the pouring rain. The showers would have put out any fire arrows the Saracens might have loosed at us, but thankfully that didn’t happen. The ram made it to the gate unopposed, and soon the wooden gates were battered down. Wary of any traps within the city, our King left the majority of the army outside, and only brought a few companies into the city with him should anything untoward happen." "Your father is an honourable man, my Prince. He looked to engage the Taj Amir with his own bodyguard and commanded to us to hold back. Right before he engaged the Taj Amir, he ordered the crossbowmen to let fly a volley. That thinned out the Taj Amir’s bodyguards, paving the way for the King to kill them off. Unfortunately some of the crossbowmen did not retreat in time and were ridden down." "His retinue traded blow for blow with our King’s own men, but in the end with God on our side, our King’s men prevailed. The remaining Saracens lost all hope when they saw their leader fall, and quickly surrendered. The city is now under crusader control, my Prince. Our casualties were light; mainly crossbowmen that strayed too close to the Taj Amir, and some of our King’s bodyguards."

***

I let out a whoop of delight, and Tigel de Linus smiled slightly despite himself. Raimondo remained grim faced, clearly still agitated from the insults hurled at him earlier on. “Where were the rest of the Ayyubids? Reports from two months ago stated that there should have been at least eight to ten companies garrisoned in Damascus.”

The messenger looked perplexed as he addressed Raimondo. “I do not know, sir. Perhaps they marched north. We’ve had reports of Seljuk incursions in and around Aleppo. They might have gone north to shore up their defences there.”

“Good.” Tigel de Linus remarked. “Let them fight each other. We will rise in strength while they fall to infighting.”

“Like how you and Raimondo did just now?” I snapped. Suddenly both men looked abashed. “The Saracens can afford to fight amongst themselves. They have hundreds of thousands of men between them. We only have a few. If we fight amongst ourselves, we are lost.”

Raimondo and Tigel de Linus both remained tight lipped for a time. Both were not accustomed to being lectured by a child. “You have my word, my Prince. You won’t see such a thing again, if Raimondo agrees to back down as well.” Tigel de Linus finally said. Raimondo murmured his agreement, and I bid the two of them shake hands. They did so grudgingly, and Tigel de Linus stalked away immediately after.

The messenger remained standing where he was. “My Prince, if I might have a word in private?”

Raimondo stepped in front of me. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.” I raised a hand. “No, I will grant this…” I fumbled for the word, being unused to holding court.

“Audience.” Raimondo finished. “I would not recommend doing so, but if my Prince insists, I will frisk him first.” The messenger looked insulted, but complied. After he was checked for weapons, Raimondo allowed him to pass. “My Prince,” the messenger said softly, “Are you aware of the code of chivalry your father has imposed upon the good lords of this realm?”

I nodded. My father had ordered the release of all prisoners captured during battles, and had forbade the plunder of cities and the killing of its citizens. Honour is scant among men in these times, but I for one will uphold it. I remembered father saying something like that to me when I was young. Any general that disobeyed these orders were to be punished. “What of it?” I asked the messenger.



“Forgive me, my Prince, but…” His lips trembled slightly, and when they parted again I was shocked.

“After the battle, our King sacked the city and executed the prisoners who would not be ransomed.”

For a short time those words meant nothing to me, but as I started to grasp the gravity of the situation, I felt like a child again, wanting to run to my mother and cry myself to sleep in her arms.