[SS AAR] The Kingdom

[Junius]

Table of Contents

• Introduction and Prelude
• Chapter 1: The Journey
• Chapter 2: The Negotiations
• Chapter 3: The Plan
• Chapter 4: The Reaction
• Chapter 5: The Meeting
• Chapter 6: The Prisoner
• Chapter 7: The Arrival
• Chapter 8: The Army

Blood Crescent and Cross: A History of the Kingdom of Jerusalem
by Prof. Calvin V. Prince

Summary of Volume 1: The Sicilian Crusade to the Deposition of Augusto III

The genesis of the Kingdom of Jerusalem is easily traced back to the Sicilian Crusade that took place during the 1140's. It is no surprise then that the leader of that Crusade, Duke Boemundo de Taormina, is often cited as the first King of Jerusalem, though he never wore that title. While Boemundo did act autonomously and independently of his Sicilian King, this was more a reason of geography than any aspiration to rule as a separate monarch, over a separate kingdom. Boemundo often wrote to Simone, King at the time, giving reports and reasons of his actions. This clearly shows that Boemundo was a clear subordinate to Simone, at least in his own mind. It can be seen as well, however, that Boemundo was the sole ruler of Jerusalem and her county. The time it took for letters and reports to reach Simone, and for him to send his response, meant that the King had no power over decisions being made in the Holy Land. An example of this would be the Peace of Gaza, signed by Boemundo and the Fatimid Sultan. It is known, through letters, that Simone was against this, but Boemundo could proceed regardless.

There is one major example of Boemundo acting completely independently. This was over the appointment of his successor. While there was time for Boemundo to write and ask Simone to appoint a successor, even just confirming one of Boemundo's own candidates, he never did so. All that remains is a letter signed by the Duke informing Simone of the adoption of Augusto Contadino, and his appointment as heir to the Duchy. It was after this event that Boemundo retired to write his memoirs, a document which has greatly aided scholars of this period ('A Sicilian Life' by Boemundo de Taormina', translated by Meg Toulas). Augusto took up the mantle of Duke, and set about an expansion of the young, what can now be safely called, kingdom. His first expedition, against the Fatimids, captured the vital desert castle of Kerak, and would become an important bulwark against the Fatimid reaction. He also managed to captured the rich city of Acre, greatly expanding his kingdom's power and wealth. It was after this Acre expedition that he styled himself King. On September 16, 1159, on returning to Jerusalem he was crowned in the Holy Church of the Sepulchre. Numerous reasons for his coronation can be found, not least of which was the newly strengthened Kingdom. At this time there was trouble in the Sicilies, between the faction of the named heir, Duke Taormina of Ajaccio, and that of Duke d'Otovisso of Syracuse. After Simone had died, d'Otovisso had marched and captured Palermo for himself, while Duke Taormina, the natural son of Boemundo, was fighting the Genoans in Northern Italy. This rift and Civil War allowed Augusto to name himself king with impunity. When Duke Taormina had captured Palermo and be crowned as King of Sicily, Augusto's own coronation had become a fait accompli. The Kingdom of Jerusalem had been founded.

The first thing that Augusto did was to send an envoy to the Pope, looking for support. Controlling the Holy Land, his letter went, was a task fit for a king, and only a king. Only the proper authority of a king, granted by God, was enough to secure the Holy Land for pilgrims and the greater glory of God. Needless to say the Pope granted his request. King Taormina had been encroaching onto Church lands, so this was the natural response of the Pope. This episode, and the coronation of King Augusto points to a inherent political savvy, one which served him and his kingdom well. This savvy allowed him to gain another peace with the Fatimids, this time signed at Kerak. The Seljuks had used the Jerusalem-Fatimid war to gain territories near Tortosa in Northern Syria. Augusto again let his masterful timing show, when he approached the Fatimids with a peace and trade agreement that allowed them to solely focus on the Seljuks.

The reign of King Augusto was a good one. He managed to secure the continued existence of the Kingdom, while strengthening it's power to wage war and protect itself in the future. Augusto died in Jerusalem on the 18th of August 1186, at the age of 69. He was succeeded by his nephew, King Baldwin, a middle aged man, who was more an administrator than a general. Augusto had no sons of his own, but had many heirs to choose from. There were more able military commanders, but Augusto choose the administrator over them. He perhaps thought that Baldwin would recognise his weaknesses and delegate military matters to his cousins or brothers. They might not be so willing to let powers out of their hands, especially in the important task of running the Kingdom. Augusto also may not have wanted an heir who out shone him in gaining lands or winning battles. I, however, believe that the answer lies in the precarious position of Jerusalem at the time. Augusto had managed to secure a niche which Boemundo had created. It was based on the careful balancing of relations between the Seljuks and Fatimids. If a military king were to succeeded Augusto, he might topple that balance, angering both nations, and ultimately leading to the destruction of the Kingdom. Baldwin was prudent, intelligent and cautious enough to spot this careful balancing, apply fine tuning to it, and maintain it. The reign of Baldwin was a peaceful one, thanks to his careful management of relations between the Middle Eastern'Tirangle' of the KoJ, the Seljuks and the Fatimids.

He died in 1199, most likely from dysentery, and the crown passed to his son, then Duke Stephen of Kerak. He was an incompetent King, unliked by both the nobles and populace. He dreamed of expanding the Kingdom, wiping out the Fatimids, and recapturing Egypt for the Christian faith. To this end he plundered his country, raising money for a greatly expanded military. He over taxed both, and this led, like so many other monarchs both before and after him, to disaster. He was found murdered in his bed, while he was asleep in the Royal Palace in the Tower of David. The assassins were never found, though it was always assumed that it was the Lords of his Kingdom who conspired against him. He died in 1206.

His son, Augusto II was put on the throne. Originally the Lords wanted him to be a puppet through which they acted. This worked out as planned when Augusto was young, but when he reach the age of 16, five years after his coronation, he assumed complete control, replacing those nobles who found grounds for objection in this. He only had to get rid of a couple of the protesting nobles, however, before the rest fell in line. Augusto, like his father, wanted to expand the Kingdom. He knew that he could not do this without his Dukes help. He looked to Jean de Brienne, an able general who had been appointed as Duke of Acre after the previous Duke had been removed in the 'purge'. Jean was loyal to the crown, military minded and well looked upon by the other nobles. He managed to rally them around, by promising them lands in the conquered territory and a relatively small monetary commitment. The fact was that Jean could only do this becuase Stephen had stolen the money he did. It was still in the Imperial coffers, and now Augusto spent it raising new troops, and paying for mercenaries. He appointed Jean as Marshall and set out to wage war in 1213. The first target was Tortosa, won from the Fatimids by the Seljuks during the reign of Augusto I. It had originally been a Templar castle before it had been captured by the Fatimids. Now Augusto marched up into the county surrounding it, and fought a battle with the Seljuks. Both Augusto and Jean won great praise for their actions during the battle. They won and began the long siege of Tortosa. Due to the geography of the place, it was cut off from Anatolia and the Turkish stronghold, and the problem that the Turks had in dealing with rebels in the area, it was signed over in an agreement, and the Turkish garrison was allowed to return to their lands. In return, Augusto had to wage war on the Byzantine Empire, to distract and weaken it for a Turkish attack. Augusto chose the island of Cyprus as the target of his attack. It has close to the Holy Land, and was well within reach of the Kingdom's navies. It would also serve as a protection for the Kingdom's trade ships, and would itself most likely become a rich trading province. He stayed in Totosa for a year, so that he could get his army back up to full strength, and also to allow time for the ships necessary to transport his army to be constructed. His force landed on Cyprus in 1215, near the end of the campaigning season, due to bad weather keeping the ships in port. The force garrisoning Nicosia, the principal city of Cyprus, was not large enough to defeat the Kingdom's army in the field, but nor was it small enough that Augusto could comfortably attack Nicosia. He waited for that army to give up while he besieged the city, and had his ships patrol the waters around Cyprus, to fend off any Byzantine hopes of a relief force.

Eventually, in 1217 the Byzantine force, desperate to break the siege, sallied forth. Augusto's army easily overcame them, but Augusto himself was struck by an arrow, and the wound became infected. He was brought into the newly captured castle, where he died a painful death. It took two long and hard months for the fever to take him, but eventually, to the sorrow of his whole kingdom the young king died. In his place, his even younger son, Augusto III was raised up to the throne. He was only six months old when his father died, and a Regent had to be appointed. The Lords, growing distrustful of Jean's ever growing power, in stead appointed Leopold, the Count of Jaffa, as Regent. Leopold was a corrupt individual, who gained power over the nobles by bribing and blackmailing them. His rule was characterised by the same events that had doomed Stephen. Now, however, he was not even pretending to gather all the money and land in the Kingdom for it's own benefit, rather it was for his own pockets. The Lords, now abandoning Leopold, and returning to the less powerful, but more influential and loved Jean, seeked to depose Leopold of his ill-gotten power. Rallying behind Jean, they gathered their forces and marched on Jerusalem. Only the mercenaries loyal to the coin of Leopold stayed by him, all the loyal Jerusalemites fled to Jean. The Gates were opened for him, and he marched into Jerusalem triumphant. Leopold was holed up in the Tower of David, but refused to surrender. He marched out, with the three year old 'king' and tried to fight his way out of Jerusalem. Both the man and boy were killed, either by angry citizens or the troops of Jean, it has never been established.

Now without a King or heir, it may have seemed that the Jerusalemites were leaderless. They did not have far to look, and once it was seen that the boy was dead, the population proclaimed Jean as King. He was led to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and there crowned, in 1220. The Contadino dynasty had ended, replaced by that of Jean de Brienne.

Dukes of Jerusalem 1147-1159

Boemundo de Taormina 1147-1151
Augusto Contadino 1151-1159

Kings of Jerusalem (Contadino Dynasty) 1159-1220

Augusto Contadino 1159-1186
Baldwin Contadino 1186-1199
Stephen Contadino 1199-1206
Augusto II Contadino 1206-1217
Augusto III Contadino 1217-1220

[Junius]

Hi, and welcome to my new AAR. 'The Kingdom' follows the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and all it's characters, as it fights for survival in the Middle East. Our story begins in 1220, but you should know the history of the place first. This is not the Kingdom of our history, but the product of an alternate history. It is a pseudo-sequel to 'A Sicilian Life', but it is set around 75 years in the future. It is going to be pictureless, save for battles, so I hope this does not put you off. Enjoy!

[ReD_OcToBeR]

The Crusades are my favorite area of Medieval History, I will be watching this one, seeing how your last AAR was good.

[Lord_Mecharius]

Looks good

[Junius]

Chapter One: The Journey

Dusk. Gautier sat in his saddle, rocking from side to side as his horse tried to find purchase in the dusty road, with each step. The small convoy of armoured Knights made it's way over dusty plains, with the fat Gautier looking out of place in the military caravan. He raised himself and shifted in the seat, relieving, at least attempting to, the discomfort that had built up in his buttocks from a day sitting on the hard leather. Arabs, he thought, knew how to travel. The camel was such a superior animal, at least in these conditions. The Europeans, however, kept to their old Northern customs. They, even out here in L'Outremer, insisted on following French or Italian fashion. The layered woolen clothes worn by all nobles, Poulain and Europeans in Jerusalem were stifling, especially when the midday sun forced everyone inside to escape the insufferable heat. Musing on this, Gautier once again hoisted himself up in the saddle and tried to rearrange himself more comfortably.

The sun was setting, at least that was something to be thankful for, he thought. Though, his mind continued, that would only mean the coming of the desert heat, nearly as bad as the heat. He spurred his horse forward to the head of the caravan, where the captain of the guards was leading them towards Gaza.

"Captain Montferrat", Gautier called as he slowed his palomino down. The chainmail clad Captain looked around to his left, trying to recognise the voice, surely not one of his soldiers has such a weaving, awful accent? A sense of recognition, and perhaps relief, crept over the Captains face when he saw it was Gautier.

"Ah, Monsieur Corbet" Montferrat flashed a smile from somewhere in between his perfectly combed, blond beard. "What can I do for you this time?" Still Montferrat wore that graceful smile.

"I am just aware, Captain, that the sun is setting, and that we would do well not to camp out in the desert cold." Gautier was taken aback by the thinly veiled insult, and tried to place renewed emphasis on the statement. However, it just sounded as if he was enduring a particularly bad case of shingles, not helped, of course, by the uncomfortable saddle.

"Ah yes, I suppose you would just like to know how much farther to Gaza it is?" Here Montferrat left the smallest hint of a pause, enough to provoke Gautier to began to answer. Before he could get a word out, but not before he had opened his mouth, Montferrat turned, with an out stretched finger, pointing to a hillock in the distance, and began speaking to the agape Gautier. "Once we crest that hill, which I would say is no more than three miles away, we will be able to see Gaza, and it will not be thirty minutes after that before we are within it's walls." Gautier was left feeling slightly ashamed, only remembering to close his mouth once the Captain had finished speaking, before remembering to open it again, only to mumble a hasty thank you. He retreated back into his original position, only to hear a "Not too long now, Monsieur Corbet" behind him in the impeccable, groomed accent of Montferrat. As he trotted back into the train Gautier was caught up in a rage against that man. He felt embarrassed, not quite knowing why. God, he hated that man. He was so... so perfect, and what was worse was that he knew it. A dashing, handsome, war hero, Montferrat was practically the polar opposite to Gautier, who was left bald and raging on his oblivious horse. He wore a frown, and once again squirmed in his saddle.

The gates of Gaza swung open, manned by the fish scale armoured Arabian guards. The small Kingdom convoy passed beneath the imposing walls, which had protected Gaza against assault so many times before. Alexander, however, had scaled them, but he was Alexander, and could do whatever he wanted. The Fatimids had expected the small train, Jean had made sure of that, but for what reason they now welcomed their erstwhile enemies, they were not sure, apart from some vague assurances it was not war.

They were led, still on horse back, through the gloomy streets. People did not see Kingdom knights here often, and often when they did it was bad news, so some curious families were looking at the imposing troop through the shutters. Gautier spied some of these silent watchers, but there immedaitly averted their gaze once he made eye contact with them. The Arab guards were leading Gautier's, and the Knights, horses by the reins toward a keep which towered over the rest of the otherwise small and insignificant town.

When, after five or so minutes, the group reached the impressive structure, seemingly carved out of one massive block of sandstone and basked in what was now the cool light of the moon, the Kingdomers dismounted. What must have been the guard captain emerged from a tiny door embedded in the massive yellow stone keep. It sat a full foot back from the outer shell of the ancient fort and anyone walking through it would have to pass under an arch support dozens, if not hundreds, of hewn stone. The Captain barked something in that indecipherable desert tongue. Gautier retorted with another burst of Arabic, which left the Captain mildly stunned. After taking in this sudden change of circumstances, and going over what Gautier said, the Captain gave a curt nod, and motioned to the guards to lead the horses away. The Captain turn around, and walked back through the heavy wooden door, leaving it open for the Kingdom group to follow him. Gautier turned to his escort, which had protected him through the bandit infested country. He smiled, broadly, almost manically. He looked Montferrat directly in the eye, happy that for once in he was in control and the one giving orders. 'Follow me' he said, calmly, his gaze lingering on Montferrat for a moment, before he turned and strode confidently under the arch and through the little door. The soldiers followed him, one by one bending to fit through the door. Montferrat was the last one to leave the courtyard.

Grey waves rose and broke against the wooden boardwalk. A spit of spray splashed onto Bertrand's face. He could taste the salty sea on his lips, but a quick tongue mopped up the little droplet. He wiped the rest of the tiny drops from his cheek, rubbing over his brown stubble. Need to shave, he thought, as he turned his back to the sea. Bertrand's brown eyes focused on the little dock. It was an even more pitiable dight from here, with it's one lonely galley docked amongst the general detritus one usually finds in places such as these. Even now, however, the Sibylla and her sailors was making ready to leave. The crash of another wave sent more water flying, dampening the back of Bertrand's hair. The wooden peir, stained by countless such waves and storms, creaked as Bertrand walked back toward the dock. One figure was standing apart from the active sailors, patiently peeling an apple with a decorated dagger. Bertrand wandered over to this lone man, who was resting up against some crates and ropes.

"How long now?" said the man, black hair hanging down masking his face, who did not look up as Bertrand approached him.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? Do I look like a sailor?" A sliver of apple skin fell to the wooden ground. Bertrand leant on a crate beside the man, and began playing with the end of rope, twisting it around his fist. The two stood there in silence for a while, the black haired man skillfully peeling the apple, Bertrand watching the sailors getting the boat ready. After a while Bertrand reached into his woolen tunic, thankful for the warmth of such an outfit on such a cold day as now, and pulled out a sealed parchment letter. He held it under the nose of the apple peeler, waving it in front of his eyes.

"What's this?" he asked, obviously not at all interested, and his voice not trying to hide the fact.

"For Jean, I want you to bring it to him once you reach Jerusalem. I need to make sure that no one reads it on the way." At this, the hunched man tossed his apple into the sea, where it bobbed gently on the rolling waves. He wiped his knife on the simple woolen tunic, before placing it in it's sheath, attached to his leather belt, and wiping his hands. He took the letter, carefully inspecting the seal, and let the feel of the paper occupy his hands as he turned it over. Finally he looked up, his golden eyes meeting the hazel ones of Bertrand.

"No one except Jean is to read it, brother?" This piqued his interest, and a hint of a smile crept over the man's young face.

"Yes, and that includes you too, Foucad." An innocent, yet hurt, look manifested itself on Foucad's face, but before he could answer a sailor shouted over in the peculiar Italian-French creol of L'Outremer seamen.

"I think there ready," Bertrand said as he looked over towards the galley, where indeed the sailors were waiting for there passenger before they set sail. "You should get going, you never know when the weather's going to break, and I don't want my little brother getting caught in a storm."

"And what do you call what happened here? But, yes, I should get going. When will you be in Jerusalem next?"

"I do not know. It depends on how things go here. The garrison and population seem happy enough, but you do not get rid of a Duke without at least some backlash. It may be a while." Bertrand then extended a hand towards his brother. "Keep safe." Foucad brushed aside the hand, and embraced his brother.

"You too, Duke of Nicosia," at this new, strange title the two brothers gave a little laugh. "May God protect you. I hope you continue to earn that title." At this the two brothers separated, and Foucad walked down to the waiting boat.

Bertrand watched as the Sybilla sailed gracefully out of the little harbour. He watched as she disappeared, and became an insignificant dot, racing towards the western horizon. When it was almost completely out of view he turned and walked up the dirt trail on the hill, up towards the castle. As he hiked along the snaking path, the new Duke of Nicosia, Lord of Cyprus, he thought of all the work there was still to do, and he let out a sigh.

Out at sea, Foucad retreated into the Sybilla's sole cabin. Here was a little table and stool, suspended over which was an oil lamp that swung hypnotically with the rocking of the waves. Making sure the latch was secure, he did not want any unnecessary interuptions, Foucad took out the sealed letter. He quickly broke the seal, and smoothed out the creases in the letter, and began to read.

1220 Anno Domini

My liege King Jean of Jerusalem,
I write to you from the comfort of the Duke's study in Nicosia. As witnessed by the bearer of this letter, and the seal imprinted upon it, I am in control of Nicosia and Cyprus as a whole. That means that the old Duke did not see sense nor reason, and continued to support the dog Leopold. His blindness to the suffering of the people doomed him. AS per your instructions, i took my knights, and broke into the Duke's castle. There we seixzed him and took down to the docks. We stabbed him to death, and weighed his body down with stones. He sunk quickly beneath th ewaves of the sea. I took his seal and ring, as you said, and tok the title of Duke, sa you said to do in your letter.
The soldiers have ben given a bojnus to ensure their continued loyalty to the king of Jerussalem, and the people cannot complain about lower taxes. I am sure there will be no toruble raised, the old Duke was not widely liked, but I remain cautious. I would like to commend my brother's actions. He snuck into the Duke's keep, incapacitating the guards, and opening the gate for us. I am sure you can find a use for such a man.
May God keep you and your Kingdom, as well as all those that dwell within it, safe and prosperous, and may he bless all you actions, and grant success to all your endeavours.
Your faithful servant,
Bertrand
Duke of Nicosia

Foucad, I knew you would read this.

Foucad was pleased by the personal message. Indeed, he and his brother knew each other well. Taking a fresh sheet of parchment Foucad transcribed the letter, in perfect imitation, including the signature at the end, but he left out the message his brother had added. From around his neck he took a small purse, suspended on a string, and from within it he produced a small red candle and a lead replica ring of that worn by the Duke of Nicosia. He folded the new letter up, and lighting the candle from the oil lamp, he dribbled hot wax onto it. Before it could have the chance to cool, he pressed the ring into the wax, leaving it's impression and sealing up the letter.

[Junius]

I am still not entirely sure what direction I want to go with my new AAR. The first chapter is very prose heavy, and I can be considered an experiment, though I did enjoy writing it, it only covers the movement of a diplomat and a spy. If I want to continue writing the rest of the story like this, I will have to leave a few things out, or else it might take a while. I have also made myself a nifty little userbar to promote this story, so don't be afraid to click it. Next update should be out by Saturday evening. There will be more exposition then with the story kicking into gear. This first chapter is just introducing a few key characters. I want exposition of the backstory to be important in this AAR, so there will be some reference to things done in the past. There will also be a 'contemporary' history like narrative (taken from 'Blood, Crescent and Cross' a book within the story) so that there will be a recap/overall view of what is happening. These BC&C updates will be interspaced between the 'real' ones.

[Edward lV]

Wow, very good work there, is Calvin a coincidence ?

[Junius]

You've missed two other references to other users, try and spot them all. .

[Edward lV]

I think Empress Meg... translated by Meg Toulas
But I cant see another one.

[Junius]

Toulas was a very nice supporter of my old AAR, and you were nearly there with Calvin. You got the Meg reference alright. Just one more, but who could Mr. V. Prince be?

[Edward lV]

Viking Prince. Nice work there!

[Ratbag]

Very nice, I followed your old AAR too.
But I didn't discover it till it was 1 update from the end.
It will be fun following this from the beginning.

[Junius]

Chapter Two: The Negotiations

Tomaas carefully pushed the door open, and was hit by a wall of heat emanating from the roaring fire. He walked slowly into the highly vaulted study, balancing the tray that held a cup of hot milk and a plate of chicken and bread. Minding his step, he made his way over to the desk, where a hunched figure was madly making notes with a scratchy goose feather. He placed the wooden tray gently onto the polished desk. Bertrand looked up, bloodshot eyes locking onto the young squire. He put aside his quill, and took a deep gulp from the cup.

"Ah that is good, revives the drooping spirits" Bertrand let out a little whimper of pleasure before he put the cup down onto the tray. He slapped the back of Tomaas's back, who only smiled meekly. Bertrand picked up the plate of chicken and bread, revealing a bundle of letters. With a piece of white meat held between his fingers, hovering just before his mouth, he motioned to them. "Are those the reports I asked for?"

"Yes sire," Tomaas's deep Sicilian accent pronounced the French in a strange, but sweet way. "The Guards Captain has written up the amount of money needed to train and arm the militia and soldiers you asked for. The stable master has likewise compiled a report on the funds necessary to buy, break and feed the extra horses for the mounted sergeants, and the mayor has prepared a report on the building work going on in the town." Tomaas listed these off as if he was reading from an invisible script, and had probably rehearsed it on the way from the kitchens to the study, through the dark castle. He knew how insistent Bertrand was on about how a knight must be able to speak properly. Now, however, his mind was on other things. He was beginning to sweat under the heavy woolen clothes he had put on to protect himself from the cold that blew through the corridors in the night time. Now, however, in the study with the fire he was beginning to suffer.

"That last one", Bertrand said as another piece of chicken hovered before his mouth, "from the mayor, read it out for me please." As he finished speaking he popped the piece of chicken into his mouth an began chewing. Tomaas picked up the letter from the bottom of the pile, broke the seal and unfolded it. While he did this, Bertrand rubbed his eyes, and ran his hand over his face and it's new beard. It had been a month now since Foucad had left, and he still had not found a spare moment to shave. He looked up at Tomaas who was holding the letter in one hand, while a finger traced the lines of text.

"Muh-my Siiire," Tomaas, although already fourteen, had not been taught fully how to read and write. That, along with the heat, and the gaze of his master, made him nervous, and that made him stammer. "W-w-w-work hassss be-be-gin... begun on th-th-the blaaaaa-ck smith's new wo-wo-work shhhhh..."

"Workshop," Bertrand interrupted. "Come on Tomaas, I know you can read better than this. If you are going to be a knight you need to know how to read and write, do sums, be polite, serve the poor. Come on, I've taught you this." Tomaas, at this, felt downcast, and looked crestfallen. Bertrand, annoyed at his hastiness to chastise the young man, felt sorry. He knew how hard it was being sent away from your home to a strange master and knight across the sea. "That's alright, practice makes perfect, yes?" At this Bertrand offered the plate of chicken to the boy, who took a piece, and looked happy to be forgiven. "What time is it? It must be getting late. You must be tired. I can finish up here by myself. Now, go to bed, you want to be fresh and energetic for the horses tomorrow. We'll go riding, I promise." Tomaas looked delighted at the prospect of his favourite activity. He thanked Bertrand quickly, as he shuffled out of the study, happy to be out of the heat, even happier to be going riding tomorrow.

Bertrand leant back in his wooden chair, letting out a long yawn. He rubbed his eyes, and downed the rest of the milk. Picking up the mayors letter, he just wanted to go to bed, but the voice in the back of his head did not let him forget that sage piece of wisdom his father had left him; when you get work, do it then and there, do not put it off. He knew that he would not enjoy tomorrow if he had work to come back to anyway, so he opened up the letter and began reading.

Two more months, at least, for the blacksmith's workshop to be finished. Only then could workmen be spared to go and clear the forests surrounding Nicosia. After that, though, work as not finished, as Bertrand had a lot of plans for Nicosia, and Cyprus in general. It was to be turned into a stronghold, capable of launching an attack against the Seljuk, Byzantine or Fatimids. If it came to it, Nicosia, protected on Cyprus, would be the last refuge of the Kingdom, if it came to it. Thoughts about the future of the Kingdom filled Bertrand's head, he hadn't heard about how Gautier had done in Gaza, though that maybe because of the storms which had made it impossible to get news to or from the mainland in the past weeks. He opened and read the other two letters. More money going out, hardly any coming in. Though, at least he would get another regiment of archers, horsemen and a new band of squires was to be taken in for the Templar's.

When all was finished, ten minutes later, he stumbled sleepily to his bed, where his eyes were such and he was dreaming of horses before his head hit the pillow.

The negotiations were going well. The Fatimids had recognised Jean as the King of Jerusalem. Gautier thought that this would be a hard point to push through, but the Fatimids had agreed easily enough. All their power playing and intrigue in their own court must have made it easier to accept. Montferrat was the only other Kingdomer with Gautier, the other guards having been relegated to the stables. They sat across from three Arabs, two dressed in the golden gowns of th Sultan's court, while the other wore the black of the desert. Montferrat could not decipher the talk between him and Gautier, and instead occupied himself with following the intricate geometric designs which covered the walls and floor of the cross vaulted room. The icon-shunning Muslims covered all their churches, Montferrat forgot what they called their temples, and buildings with these shapes and patterns, none showing any human or animal figures. He took a moment to realise that the conversation had ceases, the unintelligible back and forth of throaty Arabic had stopped and Gautier was standing over him, indicating that he wanted them to speak privately outside.

In the courtyard from the night before, Gautier carefully shut the door, before speaking to Montferrat.

"We have made good progress. They have agreed that Jean is the rightful and proper King of Jerusalem, and I have made it clear that he wants to distance himself from the war-mongering policies of Leopold. We both want trade, and there is the beginnings of a treaty being drawn up. I'll write up the details for Jean, he wants them as soon as anything is settled on, and I want one of your men to bring it to Jerusalem." At this last point Montferrat looked slightly concerned, and as he did whenever he was thinking, he stroked his beard.

"A lot of bandits out there, I fear that one lone soldier will not make." Gautier was obviously ready for this, and must have been thinking of any objections Montferrat could raise before he even approached him.

"Bandits attack a Kingdom soldier? They would have the whole of Jerusalem down on them if they did that, and they know it." Gautier may have been a weazing, old, fat man, but he was not stupid, Montferrat conceded that. After mulling it over for a moment, Montferrat gave a compliant nod. "Good, I'll write the letter once we are done here, and you can give it to your man. He should be on his way before too long. "

"Alright. I am going to take a walk down to the stables, see how the men are doing. It does not look like you need me much in there." Montferrat felt his ego was bruised, admitting to someone his uselessness, but it wasn't as bad as another hour in that room, bored, unable to understand anything that was going on, listening to that unintelligible blather.

"It is always nice to have a military man by one's side when discussing issues such as what we are going to. We are getting into the technical stuff, about border patrols, protection of caravans, that kind of thing. I'll need your help laying out the Kingdom's position, why do you think Jean sent such a respected hero to Gaza. It could not have been just to protect a fat, slow diplomat such as myself." Montferrat had not thought about that. He was a soldier, he did not think about orders, just follow them. Gautier gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Don't worry, friend, I'll translate for you." Laughing, he reentered the keep, leaving the door open for Montferrat, who promptly followed him.

[Basilacius]

lol another honourary AAR are you going to conquer the world just as Kallum is going to do and rename everything in your path to twc members?

[Junius]

No, just little references to board members. I was working on an update, but than some idiot had to go and release Third Age: Total War, and I basically have been caught up in that. Silvans are hard, but very fun, I can tell you that much. Anyway, I am working on an update (as above) and I probably will post it on Sunday or Monday, whenever it is done, but I think I should have it done by then. Thanks for the support.

[Edward lV]

Is there another reference in this chapter? I cant see one

[Junius]

Chapter 3: The Plan

The market swarmed and buzzed with activity, and the cacophony of the traders and hagglers rose up to the Palace window. Jean was looking out at the scene, absent from Jerusalem in the past few weeks, ever since the death of Leopold and Augusto. Now, people had a renewed confidence, they were no longer scared. The markets were reopened, and this was the first day when there was the same level of buying and selling as before. Jean took a final look over the scene before finishing the letter he was holding. It had come from Basileus Zacharias, Emperor of the Romans, congratulating him on his coronation. Zacharias was happy to see a strong and stable ruler in Jerusalem, as were the other rulers in the Outremer. A stable Jerusalem meant that the power of the Fatimids was kept in check, and that there would not be any frivolous wars. This made the other states, and their rulers, happy, as they would not have to worry about the Egyptian Caliphate, and could instead concentrate on fighting each other.

He folded the letter up, and placed it beside the two others he had received that day, from Gautier and Bertrand. He gathered these up, and placed them on his desk. He sat on his chair behind it, relaxing, letting that gentle hum of activity wash over him. This was where a king was really a king. You could forget all that pomp and circumstance, all those fancy symbols. Unless you could rule men and their actions, all that meant nothing. Behind the desk, where letters were written, orders drawn up and decisions made, only there would a king really be a king.

A knock came from the door, hollow and reverberating, it snapped Jean out of his contemplating.

"Come in," he commanded, in his stern voice. The door swung open, and let three men pass into the study. All were dressed in the chainmail and regalia of knights, of nobles even, though two were noticeably older than the third. The two old men, though not past fifty, were grizzled and scarred. They both had cropped brown hair, though with some grey scattered amongst it. One wore a small beard, while the other kept a clean shaven face. The young man, one would estimate he was in his mid-twenties, had blond hair, and in further contrast to the two old warriors, kept in long, with a fresh and undecorated visage. "Guy, Baldwin," Jean motioned towards the two older men, "Come in, please take a seat," at this he turned his gaze to the three empty chairs, on the other side of his desk, he had obviously been expecting them."Ah, my son," at this he looked at the young man, "tell me, Alphonse, how is Acre treating you?"

"It is very nice father," Alphonse bowed to his father, as if thanking him for the attention. Before he could elaborate any further though, Jean spoke to the three men altogether.

"I'm sorry I cannot entertain you with niceties any further, if I have done so at all. I called you here to ask for your help, as advisors and as subjects." Jean sat back down in his seat, while the others took up their chairs. "As you know, the military of Augusto is a cumbersome beast, at least in our time. When he came up with his system, of a centralised command, ordering about specific armies and generals, his kingdom was much smaller. It was not broken up by the sea or mountains like it is now. Messages and orders could easily be sent from Jerusalem to the commanders. Not so today. Tortosa is cut off by a high range of mountains, nearly impassable, and Cyprus is a sea journey away. That is why I want to, with your help, instigate a full reformation of the army." The men had entered apprehensive, they knew the king wanted something, but this rehearsed speech calmed them down. Jean looked up, to judge his audiences reaction, and offer the floor to them. Each man wore a look of serious contemplativeness. Jean, seeing no feedback immediately forth coming asked "So, what say you gentlemen?"

Still, there was a moment of dread silence. Jean knew that if his closest cohorts did not follow him on this, his first major action as king, what hope could be had for the rest of his, possibly short, reign? Jean looked pleadingly to his son.

"The Fatimids will surely think that something is up. A shake up of the military does not happen unless one plans to use the military. This will surely scare the Caliphate, possibly into war." Alphonse frowned as he spoke, as if he was still thinking of the words as they left his mouth.

"Thinking like that, I am happy that you are my heir. I have already taken care of that though. I just received a letter from my diplomat, drafting a trade agreement in Gaza with the Fatimids, about the content of such a treaty. We are bound to protect merchants travelling to and from Egypt from bandits. As such, we will need to reorganise to meet this threat. The Fatimids will only see this as us holding up our side of a bargain, and so grow to trust us even more." Jean smiled has he finished speaking, he had expected such a concern to be raised, and had prepared well for it.

"What structure," Jean fixed his attention on Baldwin, the bearded man now offering his opinion, "will this 'reformation' of the military take?"

At this Jean stood up, and walked to a shelf behind him, holding many scrolls, he picked up one, brought it back to his desk and unrolled the parchment. It was a map of the Levant, and Jean pinned it down with an inkwell and various trinkets littering his desk. Each man leaned over to look at the map. It should th extent of the Kingdom, with the borders of the Caliphate drawn in. To the north, it stretched into Anatolia, showing the realm of the Seljuk Sultan. It headed east, with it's furthest border decorated by the ancient rivers of the Tigris and Euphrates.

"I'm happy you asked me that. Right now, there are three main places where I would expect an attack on ourselves to come from. The Fatimids are lucky in the sense that they could attack us from nearly anywhere they wanted. They could come from Gaza, along the main road to Jerusalem and siege the city." At this Jean traced the route on his map. "A second option could be an attack from Damascus. It would cross the border, and then have a choice, either head towards Acre or Jerusalem." Jean pointed out the crossroads with a manicured finger. "Their third option is an attack on Tortosa. They would have to cross a small river, but other than that they are clear to attack the castle." Jean traced the blue squiggle on the map. "I would expect an attack on Tortosa, since it is cut off from the rest of the Kingdom by the mountains. So, I propose that we build a fort along each of these places, near the border, ostensibly to serve as a base from which to protect the merchants. A more important role will be to act as a staging area for any attacks on the Caliphate, and I do intend to strike before they do, or, in the worst case scenario, to serve as a delay to any Fatimid army, buying us enough time to muster a force to repel them. Each of these forts would hold an army, command by a noble, and would act as a independent tactical element. Of course, I would, with help from my council," Jean swept a hand over the three men, showing them that they were indeed his council, "dictate an overall strategy."

Jean stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out over the traders and stall holders, packing up their wares as the sun set over the city's walls. He let out a sigh, before returning to his council.

"Gentlemen, war between ourselves and the Fatimids is inevitable. Thankfully, I have bought use some time with this treaty I have signed. But it will not hold out indefinitely. We must use this time we have been granted to prepare for war, and we must strike on our terms. These three forts will serve as headquarters for the three new armies I want recruited. For here we will dictate strategy, but we must come up with that strategy. I hope you did not have any plans for tonight, because I want a plan by sunrise. Gentlemen, it is going to be a long night."

[Junius]

Chapter 4: The Reaction

Bertrand read the letter again, just to make sure. He was rising fast, that much could be said at least; first he was made Duke of Nicosia, now Duke of Tortosa. Could it be they, it was always a they, never just the King, could be giving him these lands because they were difficult to rule, and came with a heavy price? Maybe none of the other nobles wanted to abandon his fertile, productive and safe lands in the south? Bertrand continued making excuses for his success, but who was he to deny the will of the King? Tortosa was certainly a double edged sword, and he would probably have to pick one up in his new role. Along with the new dukedom came the order to recruit an army, not just a garrison rabble, but a proper army, and station it in fortifications along the river, forming the border between the Kingdom's lands and fiefs and those of the Fatimids. War was expected, and it would come, the only question was when, and when it did come, how would Bertrand fair? He was definitely going to have to command a battle against.

Bertrand took a piece of parchment and began writing a letter to the dock master. Ships needed to transport garrison to Tortosa, funds will be provided. That sort of thing. Bertrand had really gotten tired of the whole bureaucracy involved with ruling and organising a dukedom or army. He also thought that he should write one to the guards captain, to tell him about the troop movement, but thought better of it, as he could easily find him somewhere on the castle grounds. He instead took another sheet of parchment and started composing a letter to Foucad

Brother,
I make for Tortosa, as soon as possible, I have been made Duke there. I think I shall not be able to keep our appointment in Jerusalem. Instead, keep in your prayers. Perhaps you could go up to Golgotha and offer one up for me. I know that I will keep you in mine.

Keep safe, I fear that war is coming, or that there will some sort of trouble soon. Whatever you do, keep your head about you, don't do anything stupid.

Your Brother,
Bertrand

He sealed both letters, and then exited the stuffy study. Looking for Tomaas, he found him in the kitchens, talking with some local maid. Snapping up when he saw his master, Tomaas blushed when Bertrand gave him a sly wink.

"I want you to take these down to the docks. This one is for the dock master, and this one is to be sent to Jerusalem as soon as possible. Take your horse, I don't want to miss a boat if one is about to sail. You can take your time," at this Bertrand looked towards the girl, who was busying herself kneading some bread, or otherwise trying to look inconspicuous, "coming back, I don't think I shall require you any further." Tomaas took the letters, and tucked them away safely. Bertrand walked out towards the courtyard, looking for the captain.

It was a long night. The four soldiers argued nearly every little detail; who should lead the various armies, what their main objectives should be, when should they face the Fatimids, and when should they retreat. Almost every point of strategy was argued over, each man proposing a different over all plan. In the end, it was the quiet Guy, the veteran soldier, the most scarred and revered warrior, Duke of Kerak, whose strategy won out.

"The Fatimids have a far more powerful military than we can possibly field ," his first sentiments seemed at first pessimistic. "They have more soldiers, more generals, more resources than our small, relatively, Kingdom could ever muster. However, they also have a much larger territory and much more land that they have to protect. As such their military is stretched over a much large expanse than ours is. Though we could never hope to attain overall military supremacy, we can attain local supremacy." Everyone quickly agreed to this, when Guy had tired of the bickering and eventually poke up. They would only fight when victory was assured, they would retreated where they faced a possibility of losing an army. AS for the target, it was agreed that Damascus should be taken, and should be the focus of their attacks. This was the primary goal in the capture of all the Northern, north of Sinai anyway, cities of the Fatimids. Cut off from the power base in Egypt, the Kingdom could nearly always bring more troops to the field.

"And who should command the army in the north?" asked Baldwin.

"I should think that the Eastern army, the one taking Damascus, would be more important. Alphonse," Jean said looking towards his son, "should lead that army. From the city of Acre, and the fort at the Judean crossroads, where Boemundo won his great victory, should act as a base from which to launch that attacks. Bertrand shall command the Tortosan garrison, and the Northern army." At this, Baldwin looked surprised, Guy was never emotive enough to know his thoughts. Jean, anticipating Baldwin's objections, raised a hand to stop him speaking, and continued. "He is a good lad, smart and loyal. He was my squire, served as a knight under me on the Tortosa campaign. He fought well under Augusto at Nicosia as well. He is a good fighter, and judging by his actions and performance in Cyprus, a good leader. We need new young generals, and along with Alphonse, he is sure to lead our Kingdom's next generation. I will hear no objection against him."

Jean's stern, commanding voice quieted dissent. Baldwin was still indignant, but kept it to himself. Alphonse was proud to be chosen by his father to lead the all important attack. Guy was happy, common sense had prevailed, and they had listened to him. He mused on that last statement by Jean, though, he said 'our kingdom'. Either that meant he was to be a good king, listening to his advisors, and helping his people, or else it meant that he was going to blame all the failings on his subordinates. Perhaps that was why he did not fight or command himself. One or the other, Guy though, and hopefully it was the first, though one should always be on one's guard.

[Edward lV]

Oh dude, epic. Good luck with the sieges.

EDIT: Ill take all the times King is mentioned as a tribute to me .

[tuore]

Epic AAR!