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

[Turkafinwë]

It isn't a everyday occurence that two grown-ups need to be lectured by a child, especially when the child is right. Indeed the Fourth Crusade did more damage than just destroy the Mother of Cities. Loved the way you recounted the battle via the messenger. It's something different from the action packed, "first-person" perspective of a battle, yet it is still very entertaining. But a worrying message at the end, though personally I believe there is no thing such as honour in battle, only a victor and a defeated. Still if the King said he would uphold his honour and then go against it is a negative development, if it is true of course.

All in all another great chapter!

[Alwyn]

Nicely done, I particularly enjoyed the parallel which Lord Jean drew between the conduct of Raimondo and Tigel de Linus and events involving the army from Damascus and the Seljuks.

The final part of the messenger's report sounds troubling for Lord Jean. I wonder if it indicates a development in the character of the King, or that the strategic situation is worse than Lord Jean realises and that the King is desperate.

[Swaeft]

It isn't a everyday occurence that two grown-ups need to be lectured by a child, especially when the child is right. Indeed the Fourth Crusade did more damage than just destroy the Mother of Cities. Loved the way you recounted the battle via the messenger. It's something different from the action packed, "first-person" perspective of a battle, yet it is still very entertaining. But a worrying message at the end, though personally I believe there is no thing such as honour in battle, only a victor and a defeated. Still if the King said he would uphold his honour and then go against it is a negative development, if it is true of course.

All in all another great chapter!

Well, I did try to convey his helplessness in equal measure, but I take heart that you found that he was able to command them properly. We shall have to see just how deep the scars of the Fourth Crusade cut into our characters...it is not looking good. With regards to the battle report, that should change the moment Prince Jean comes of age and partakes in his own battles. I'm trying to stick to Jean's perspective as much as possible, so for the other battles and stuff I am forced to use other characters for now. But for now our young whelp is stuck getting reports of the battles his father is fighting Ahh...I see you are not a man of honour...burn in hell, scum.

I mean...to each his own, of course. There are many in medieval times who feel just as you do, but yes this is most unkingly of our king. Thanks for reading!

Nicely done, I particularly enjoyed the parallel which Lord Jean drew between the conduct of Raimondo and Tigel de Linus and events involving the army from Damascus and the Seljuks.

The final part of the messenger's report sounds troubling for Lord Jean. I wonder if it indicates a development in the character of the King, or that the strategic situation is worse than Lord Jean realises and that the King is desperate.

Many thanks for your kind words, Alwyn. How you manage to read virtually all the AARs is a great mystery to me, but one I very much approve of You're just what the community needs! As for the King, we shall have to pray that he does not fall towards the path of evil...or is there a reason for what he is doing? Stay tuned!

[Darkan]

Well written, I especially loved the interaction between the three youngsters. Praises are in order for the first victory, many more to come, hopefu;;y. It's nice to see Jean come into his own, realising different things about ruling, managing the vassals' egos and so on. Keep up the good work!

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER TEN

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

I sat glumly in my room. Things were not looking up. The ordeal of the past few days had taken its toll on me.

Our King has sacked the city.

How did that happen? Since young, everyone had always praised my father as an ideal knight, at least to my face. Upstanding, chivalrous, and always protecting the weak. I had bought the stories, and grew up idolizing his restraint, at least until he started sending me to intensive training lessons. Even then, though I had an aversion towards his parenting, I still respected his honour and values. It was him who constantly reminded me to be just, fair and noble, despite his absences from the dinner table and elsewhere.

He executed the prisoners who would not be ransomed.

I had the sudden urge to rub the back of my neck. The prisoners had been tied to nooses and hung in front of the city, after being given their last rites and having said their last words. The bodies were burned a short distance away from the town after the last of them had stopped kicking. My father hadn’t bothered to deliver their last wills to their family, the messenger had said that it was too expensive and cost prohibitive to do so, and we could never find all their families anyway. It was a small consolation, to know that the dead were allowed their final prayers and goodbyes, but it was nothing at all, nothing, compared to the sack.

I tried to clear it from my head, but to no avail. Nightmares plagued my sleep, and I imagined bloodthirsty Christian knights butchering women and children. What had happened to honour? Knights were supposed to be bastions of valour and virtuousness, were they not? Didn’t they swear vows under the watchful eye of God when they were knighted?

“This is war, my Prince.” Tigel de Linus had tried to comfort me. “The choice might not have been your father’s to make. The people of Damascus might have been resisting the occupation. Hell, his men might even have forced the choice upon him. Men with adrenaline and in a blood frenzy might not have listened to orders to stay their hands.”

His attempt to console me was appreciated, but deep down I knew my father to be a firm, headstrong man. There was no way his captains talked him into sacking the city, he had given the command himself. The question was why.

Then there was that incident in the throne room. My own bodyguard had drawn against my Master at Arms. I didn’t know who I was more pissed at. Lord de Linus had started the fight, to be sure, but I could definitely sympathise with his anger over the sacking of a city. I had gone to the Constable of Jerusalem after the fracas in the throne room and asked him about the fourth crusade. Greed and senseless brutality was the only way to describe such madness.

“I took no part in the sacking.” Raimondo had stated very clearly to me, but it was what he had left unsaid that mattered. I didn’t refuse to take up arms. I took part in the assault. I stormed the walls and put my Orthodox brothers to the sword.

My outlook on the world had changed significantly these past few days. I could feel that youthful innocence fleeing, dancing just out of my reach, further and further every day. Sooner or later I would have to deal with the monstrosities of the world, and then I wouldn’t be able to hide in my room and pretend that everything was okay. But oh, how I wanted to hold on! "Don't let me go," I whispered despondently to no one in particular. "There must be good in this world. I just need to find it."

The next few weeks passed in a blur. I lost more sparring duels to Henri de Lusignan than I would have liked to admit, but my mind was wandering. I answered the Constable’s questions wrongly, and couldn’t get my stallion to trot in a straight line for all the gold in the world. Only mother and Yolande were there for me, and sometimes I wondered if their affection and concern were the only things keeping me from dropping into the abyss of insanity. And all these facts seemed to point to one thing: I was not fit to be a Prince.

From the Perspective of John Stanford, Spearman in the King’s army, The road to Aleppo, 1233 AD.

The stew was cold, but it was better than nothing. I gulped it down greedily. It was to be the last good meal for the next two days.

The King had been pushing us hard, the vanguard even more so. It was bandied around camp that the reason riders went out in threes was so that they could take turns sleeping on their horses, and there would always be one person awake in case of danger. My feet were sore, and numerous blisters afflicted my feet. I groaned as I flexed my toes stretched my arms.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Jean-Pierre remarked, biting down on a chicken leg. Jean-Pierre was the more fanatical type of holy soldier, who had swelled with pride when saying his holy vows to embark on the crusade, and had taken no small amount of pleasure in sacking Damascus for the King. He was grinning at me, ever the sanguine, buoyant captain of our company. We’d been the first ones through the gates of Damascus, but from what Jean-Pierre had been boasting of, it would seem that we had hewn the gates from its hinges on our own and charged the Taj Amir head on. Jean-Pierre lived for gold, glory and women, but I’ll be damned if I said he wasn’t a good fighter.

“Baby?” I jested. “I’m old enough to be your father, boy.” It was no secret that some in our company felt that Jean-Pierre was too young to lead, but he was chosen for his skill at arms and positive personality, not for his leadership capabilities. Still, he had served admirably enough, and the King saw fit to keep him as the captain of our company, at least for now.

“Where do you reckon he’s taking us?” Another spearman asked. Jean-Pierre shrugged. “Glory, that much I know. But whether or not we are to find that in death or life, I do not know.”

“This is not the road to Gaza, this I do know.” Someone else piped up. “We are being led astray. This is not right.”

“The man speaks truly.” A young cleric agreed. “I do not want to be known to my clergy brothers as the astray apprentice.

I kept my opinions to myself, but I found myself inclined to agree with them. If we were not going South, then we were definitely headed North or East, both of which seemed very poor choices to me. There was nothing but sprawling desert mass to the East, and many hostile cities to the North. And then there were the Turks. Their cruelty and cunning exceeded that of the Ayyubids, if the stories had any truth behind them. I wasn’t eager to face them in battle any time soon.

Suddenly the thundering of hoofs came our way. A knight in mail riding a grey courser raced through our camp. “TO THE KING! TO THE KING!”

I cursed and hastened to don my armour. Everyone around me was doing the same thing, and the ground was littered with half eaten food and dirty cutlery. Jean-Pierre had drilled us well, and our armour was on within minutes. War horns sounded throughout the camp, their echoes resonating around the undulating desert.

“FORMATION!” Jean-Pierre yelled, grabbing his spear and shield off the ground. Our company formed up in rows and advanced to the King’s banner, on the top of a hill. When I crested the peak, I saw the many Ayyubid banners fluttering in the wind. There are so many.



From the Perspective of Foucaud, Spymaster of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1233 AD.

I stalked the streets of Jerusalem, wandering aimlessly. It was my standard routine whenever I wanted to think. The investigation about the attempted assassinations had led nowhere. The trail had gone cold at the note. A group of Saracens were hired to kill the prince. And I have one dead Saracen in the morgue. What gives?

Then there was the note itself. What kind of assassin keeps his orders on him? I certainly wouldn’t. I grunted. But if I am to disregard the note, then I would have nothing to go on. I hemmed and hawed to myself for a few moments, then decided to head to the alley where the body was found.

This time of night, with the streets abandoned, it only took me ten minutes or so to reach the alley. Two people went in, and one came out. This was obviously a murder. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, so I looked around to ensure that no one was observing me, then stepped into the alley.

Once in the shadows, I immediately hid behind a crate. “Tricks of the trade.” I whispered to myself. I started counting in my head. I hadn’t even reached twenty-five when a shadow appeared at the entrance of the alley. It hesitated for a few heartbeats before entering. I waited til the figure was in front of me before leaping out and knocking him over.

“Hey!” A panicked voice yelled out. I frowned. The voice belonged to a kid. Still, I couldn’t take any chances. I brandished my dagger and pinned him down with my legs. He tried to squirm away from under me, but I put my left arm over his mouth and held the dagger to his throat with my right. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t answer directly, or try to scream, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

The kid stopped shaking and stared at me. He nodded slowly. I removed my left hand but kept the dagger at his throat, the tip lightly brushing against his skin. “Who sent you to spy on me?”

The kid shook his head. “I wasn’t spying on you, mister, I was –”

I gave him a tight slap and pressed the dagger tighter against his throat. “Wrong answer.” I growled. The kid’s eyes widened. “I was paid to watch the alley, not spy on you!” He mewled.

My grip on the dagger loosened slightly. That was plausible. “Why?”

The kid shrugged as best he could from the floor. “I don’t know. I was just paid to report to this man if anyone entered.”

A lead. I dragged him to his feet and held him by the scruff of his neck. “WHO?”

“Don’t know his name, and I never saw his face.” The kid muttered. “But he always paid on time, and he paid well.”

I groaned. Of course he wouldn’t have known. That would have made it too easy. “You’re coming with me to the royal compound. The Prince would want a word with you. I’m betting he’d be less cordial than me, so I’d tell the truth if I were you.”

From the Perspective of Jean-Pierre, Spearman Captain in the King’s army, The road to Aleppo, 1233 AD.

The tent was getting rather hot and very windless, so the King signalled for a short break and I stepped outside.

The King had gathered his captains and was holding an impromptu war council to make one decision that had split the captains into two sides. The Templars and the Knights of Saint Lazarus wanted to attack the approaching Ayyubid army, but the Italians wanted to avoid the army and instead march to Aleppo, which the King had made clear was the next target. Then there was the rest of the captains, who wanted to retire to Damascus and await the Ayyubid army there.

All three choices were fraught with danger. Attacking the army head on was the most reckless option. “We don’t have the numbers!” The Italians had protested when the Templar captains suggested the head on assault. I had never seen eye to eye with the Templars, but on this I could agree with them.

Then the second option, which was what the Italians wanted, was to march straight to Aleppo and besiege it. That was the stupidest option in my opinion. Not only would it leave us exposed to the Ayyubid army, we didn’t even know how many men were garrisoned in Aleppo. The only reason I could fathom for why the Italians wanted to push for Aleppo was the promise of plunder, much of which they had received during the Sack of Damascus. I hoped the King was not as pig headed as them as to march us all to our doom.

Then, the third and most sensible option was to retreat to Damascus and break the Ayyubid army on their former city’s walls. But we did not have time on our side. Already my men were grumbling about how we weren’t headed for Gaza, and a few of them had voiced their strong opinions to me privately. Who knows how long the Saracens would keep us under siege for?

All three options were bad options, and yet we had to choose one. I sighed. There didn’t seem to be an easy way out this time.

“Captain?” A man ran up to me and bowed. “The King bids you return to his tent at once.” I followed the steward back to the tent and sat down, and not long after the King arrived and took his place.

High Lord Jean looked troubled, but that was to be expected. “We are not heading for Aleppo.” He declared, and I saw the dismay written upon the Italians’ faces. He glanced at the other captains, and briefly made eye contact with me. “We’re not going back to Damascus either. This is a crusade. We are not retreating.”

A general buzz erupted around the table as each captain expressed their respective emotions. The locally trained men at arms and archers looked horrified, but the Templars and the Knights of Jerusalem were grinning.

High Lord Jean stood up, and rest us of hurried to follow suit. “We’re attacking them. We can’t leave them free to march on Tortosa or Damascus. We need to contain them here.” He glanced around at all the captains once more, then commanded: “Assemble your men and form up behind me.”

“My King.” An Italian captain interrupted. “Forgive me, but how are we to defeat an army of that size? How am I to explain to my Marinae that we are to charge headfirst into our doom?”

A most reasonable question. As captains our duty was to our men as well, and I did not like the idea of sending them straight towards an enemy with almost twice our numbers.

The King glared at the Italian captain. “If we are to die, I would want it to be in the heat of the battlefield, with my sword up a Saracen’s arse!”

“AYE!” The Templar captains roared.

“I’m not dying behind a wall, starving while they siege us out, and I will not die besieging an enemy whilst a bigger army encircles us from the rear! Assemble your men, captains. Deus Vult!”

“Deus Vult!” I heard myself echo, but I was wracked with doubt. This is a stupid idea. Yet I knew it was only the right thing to do. This was the biggest army our Kingdom could muster, and thus the task of defeating Ayyubid field armies fell to us. I exited the tent with a heavy heart and trudged back to my spear company.

My men are not going to like this at all.

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

The various companies took their time to form up, their captains obviously unable to quell the disquiet when word of my plan to attack spread throughout the camp. It is no matter. Either we win here and the way to Aleppo is open, or we become food for the crows.

As the army assembled around me, I felt a certain sense of trepidation. If we were defeated here, the Kingdom of Jerusalem would be virtually defenseless. The realm would be ruled by my thirteen year old son. He might be able to hold on for a year or two, but once the way to Jerusalem was open there would be nothing stopping the main bulk of the Ayyubids, and even the tallest and strongest walls would not prevent the capitulation of the kingdom my ancestors had fought so hard to protect. Doubt coursed through every vessel in my body, and for once I was glad I was wearing a helm. It would not be good for morale if the men saw how wracked with uncertainty their King was.

“God’s Steel!” I yelled. The replying roar was not as boisterous or vivacious as the one I received outside Damascus, and wouldn’t hold a candle to the initial cheer in the streets of Jerusalem, but it would have to do.

And then, we advanced.

[Turkafinwë]

Poor Prince Jean, losing hope in humanity and a positive attitude. Hopefully his mother and sister and perhaps Henri can lift him up from this downward spiral. So there is the large Ayyubid army that "vanished" previously and boy does it look bad for our friends. Doubt besetting everyone in this chapter, a dark chapter.

Well done!

[Swaeft]

Well written, I especially loved the interaction between the three youngsters. Praises are in order for the first victory, many more to come, hopefu;;y. It's nice to see Jean come into his own, realising different things about ruling, managing the vassals' egos and so on. Keep up the good work!

Sorry, just realised I missed your comment! Many thanks, I thought long and hard on how to portray their childhood, so I'm happy someone likes it Jean's still a long way from ruling properly, and that battle was more of a massacre than an actual battle, but I'll take a victory nonetheless.

Poor Prince Jean, losing hope in humanity and a positive attitude. Hopefully his mother and sister and perhaps Henri can lift him up from this downward spiral. So there is the large Ayyubid army that "vanished" previously and boy does it look bad for our friends. Doubt besetting everyone in this chapter, a dark chapter.

Well done!

These are dark times indeed. I actually do want to write more about his mother and sister but I don't want to extend the chapters until they are so long. I actually have to try and cut down on words, every time I finish my draft its at almost 5k words and I try my best to cut it to under 3k. Yeah that huge army took me by surprise too. I alt tabbed out of SS when the other factions were taking their turn and when I alt tabbed back in I saw them pop up there...really threw a wrench in my plans.

[Alwyn]

Lord Jean comes across as a sympathetic character, feeling his youthful innocence departing but wanting to hold on to the idea of good in the dangerous world he lives in. (The reference to an 'astray apprentice' was a nice detail!). I'm enjoying your use of different perspectives, my only concern is that using the perspectives of five characters in one chapter might make readers feel that the point of view is jumping around a bit too much - I could be wrong. I like the way that you show us Jean-Pierre from the vieewpoint of John Stanford, and later on show us Jean-Pierre's own viewpoint, so I can see that there are reasons why you're using multiple perspectives. The final viewpoint sounds ominous, it seems that the kingdom might be in great danger depending what happens on the road to Aleppo. I'm enjoying this!

[Swaeft]

Lord Jean comes across as a sympathetic character, feeling his youthful innocence departing but wanting to hold on to the idea of good in the dangerous world he lives in. (The reference to an 'astray apprentice' was a nice detail!). I'm enjoying your use of different perspectives, my only concern is that using the perspectives of five characters in one chapter might make readers feel that the point of view is jumping around a bit too much - I could be wrong. I like the way that you show us Jean-Pierre from the vieewpoint of John Stanford, and later on show us Jean-Pierre's own viewpoint, so I can see that there are reasons why you're using multiple perspectives. The final viewpoint sounds ominous, it seems that the kingdom might be in great danger depending what happens on the road to Aleppo. I'm enjoying this!

He'll have to try to hold on really hard with what's coming up Sorry, I couldn't resist sneaking in the reference LOL. About the different perspectives, thanks for that feedback, I was wondering if five in one chapter would be too much. I do suppose you are right, will have to tone down on that a bit, but I assure you this chapter was a one off in terms of the number of perspectives, wanted to try something new and not keep it stale from the same one or two perspectives, but now that that's done, we're back to the norm. Also wanted to show the common folk's viewpoint though, so it may happen again in future, just not five different ones. Glad you're enjoying it!

To be honest, that battle was rather weird for me, I am still thinking about how to write it, but in the meantime, here's a chapter on the subterfuge less one forget the horrible assassins

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

From the Perspective of Foucaud, Spymaster of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1234 AD.

I stalked the streets of Jerusalem, wandering aimlessly. It was my standard routine whenever I wanted to think. The investigation about the attempted assassinations had led nowhere. The trail had gone cold at the note. A group of Saracens were hired to kill the prince. And I have one dead Saracen in the morgue. What gives?

Then there was the note itself. What kind of assassin keeps his orders on him? I certainly wouldn’t. I grunted. But if I am to disregard the note, then I would have nothing to go on. I hemmed and hawed to myself for a few moments, then decided to head to the alley where the body was found.

This time of night, with the streets abandoned, it only took me ten minutes or so to reach the alley. Two people went in, and one came out. This was obviously a murder. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, so I looked around to ensure that no one was observing me, then stepped into the alley.

Once in the shadows, I immediately hid behind a crate. “Tricks of the trade.” I whispered to myself. I started counting in my head. I hadn’t even reached twenty-five when a shadow appeared at the entrance of the alley. It hesitated for a few heartbeats before entering. I waited til the figure was in front of me before leaping out and knocking him over.

“Hey!” A panicked voice yelled out. I frowned. The voice belonged to a kid. Still, I couldn’t take any chances. I brandished my dagger and pinned him down with my legs. He tried to squirm away from under me, but I put my left arm over his mouth and held the dagger to his throat with my right. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t answer directly, or try to scream, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

The kid stopped shaking and stared at me. He nodded slowly. I removed my left hand but kept the dagger at his throat, the tip lightly brushing against his skin. “Who sent you to spy on me?”

The kid shook his head. “I wasn’t spying on you, mister, I was –”

I gave him a tight slap and pressed the dagger tighter against his throat. “Wrong answer.” I growled. The kid’s eyes widened. “I was paid to watch the alley, not spy on you!” He mewled.

My grip on the dagger loosened slightly. That was plausible. “Why?”

The kid shrugged as best he could from the floor. “I don’t know. I was just paid to report to this man if anyone entered.”

A lead. I dragged him to his feet and held him by the scruff of his neck. “WHO?”

“Don’t know his name, and I never saw his face.” The kid muttered. “But he always paid on time, and he paid well.”

I groaned. Of course he wouldn’t have known. That would have made it too easy. “You’re coming with me to the royal compound. The Prince would want a word with you. Maybe he’d be less cordial than me, so I’d tell the truth if I were you.”

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1234 AD.

I was sitting in my room when Raimondo entered. “The spymaster’s here to see you.” Foucaud strode in behind him, and two of my guards were holding a young lad with a hood over his head. “I caught this guy in the city. Or rather, he caught me. He knows something about the assassinations. He won’t give me a name, though.” Foucaud had a wry smile on his face as he removed the hood.

“You!” Both I and the kid exclaimed simultaneously.

“You?” Foucaud gave me a quizzical look. “You know each other?”

I laughed. “Yeah, he was the kid who stole my money last year.” I turned to face him. “How’re you doing by the way? Is your sister alright?” The kid smiled at me. “She’s getting better, but recovering slowly. What are you doing here…Jean, was it?”

Foucaud was looking the most confused I’d ever seen, so I sat both of them down and introduced one to the other. After twenty minutes of connecting the dots, it was the kid’s turn to be confused. “So you’re the Prince?” He blurted out. “That can’t be right. No one from the royal family ever visits us.”

I nodded sadly. “An affront, to be sure.” I remarked. “One that I intend to change.”

Foucaud stood up. “Well, now that we’re all acquainted, I’m going to arrest this lad.” He moved to restrain the kid, but I placed myself between them. “Why? He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?” Foucaud looked outraged. “What? I did say that he’s involved in the assassination plots against your family, didn’t I?”

Then I remembered. I almost backed away sheepishly, then I felt a sudden spurt of anger and whirled around, glowering at the kid accusingly. “So, you tried to have me killed?” The young lad fell to his knees. “No my lord, no, I swear! You showed me mercy in the city, I would never wish you dead.” He started stammering. “I…I’ll tell you everything I know, just please…don’t arrest me. I need to take care of my family.”

Foucaud crossed his arms and glared at him, so I knew that he was definitely going to jail if I didn’t intervene. “Tell us what you know and I’ll consider pardoning you.” I offered. The boy’s eyes lit up like a spark, and he started gushing about how he was getting paid to watch the alley.

“So you still need money after stealing from me?” I pressed. “There was a lot of florins in that purse you nicked from me that day. Why do you still need more?”

The boy stared at me as if I was an idiot. “Well,” he started, “I’m not just taking care of my family now. I’ve been...providing for my friends as well. Some of them come to me for help, and I can’t just turn them down. Everyone needs something, medicine, food, a place to stay even. So me and my friends, we just take what we can from people who don’t seem to need it as much as we do.”

Foucaud stormed over. “So it’s you lot!” He pointed a finger at the kid. “Gaston has been giving me reports of a group of boy thieves pilfering in the city. The merchants have been complaining of the lawlessness for the past few months, and some have threatened to leave the city if we can’t protect their livelihood. I’m pretty sure you’re well aware that the merchant trade is our main source of income. We can’t afford to lose that.”

Irritated, I scowled at the boy. “You’re making it really hard for me to protect you.” I declared. I looked at Foucaud and raised my hands in defeat. “I know what you’re going to say next, you want to arrest him. Obviously that would be the most practical outcome, but just remember he’s doing this out of necessity. Is there anything you can do for him at all other than throw him in a dark cell?”

Foucaud gave me a dissatisfied look and paced around, mulling it over. His face lit up with a self-satisfied smirk and he walked over to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Work for me.”

“What?” The boy and I echoed concurrently.

“What?” Foucaud stated defensively. “It’s not such a bad idea. He gets paid doing honest dishonest work, and the streets are rid of one gang of thieves.”

I rubbed my chin doubtfully. “Him, a spy? He’s even younger than me!”

“And he got the drop on me, before I entered the alley anyway. He and his gang have avoided the city watch thus far, that shows that they have some skill in subterfuge at the very least. If we’re paying them, then they won’t have to steal anymore too. It’s a win-win situation.”

That brought a grin to my face. “Yes…yes that could work. Would you be willing to do that?” I asked the boy. “You don’t have much of a choice anyway.” Foucaud piped up.

The boy nodded without hesitation. “It’s better than jail. How much are you paying me?”

I held my hand up. “First, tell us what you know about the assassinations.” Foucaud rolled his eyes. “Almost forgot about that, my Prince. Will you tell us now?”

The boy acquiesced. “Well, I guess since I’m throwing myself in with you guys I have no choice. They’ll hurt me if they ever find out I talked. Not that I know much to begin with.” His eyes flitted between Foucaud and I as he told his story. “There was this one night last year when a man came to visit my shack. He said he knew what I was doing, namely stealing, and offered to pay me more if I could just keep watch on the alley. He said someone was bound to come sniffing around eventually, he just needed to know who.”

Foucaud’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like this. What can you tell us about the man?”

“Hang on for a moment. Foucaud,” I asked, “Should we be getting anyone else in here to listen as well?”

Foucaud shook his head. “In my line of work we need to keep secrets. That way if the information leaks out we know who could have done it, and it’s a heck of a lot easier to have a list of three people rather than a list of thirty.”

I acceded to his suggestion. He knows better than I do in matters such as these. “Go on.” I urged the boy.

“Well, I know he was a Christian man, upwards of… about thirty years of age?”

“How do you know he was Christian?” Foucaud queried. The boy answered instantly. “He gave me this cross to keep, and told me I was doing God’s work. Funny thing, when I told him I was a Muslim, he just told me God looks at us all the same.” He reached into his rags and dug out an old worn cross made of cement.



“Interesting.” Foucaud murmured. “What else?”

“That’s about it. He just wanted to know if anyone entered that particular alley. In the past year less than ten people went in other than you, and all were either drunk or homeless. But that’s all I know. What about my money? When do I start work? Do I get to sleep here?”

Foucaud digested what the kid had said, then let out a loud guffaw. “This lad is asking all the right questions. Let me see to this one, my Prince. We’ll discuss more about this on the morrow.” Chuckling, Foucaud led the kid out and started discussing the terms of his future work. It happened so quickly I’d forgotten to ask the boy’s name.



Then a bell chimed, signalling that it was midnight. I suddenly realised that my lethargy was catching up to me, and yawned for a good six seconds. Then I plopped myself down onto my bed and promptly fell asleep.

From the Perspective of Stefano, The City of Jerusalem, 1234 AD.

I twiddled my thumbs, and waited for my friend to appear. It had been a year since we last made contact.

He sauntered into the tavern with two men flanking him. Fuming, I shot an angry glance at him. “What the hell? I’ve been waiting twelve months! Why didn’t you just send word, old man?”

He raised his eyebrows as if amused. "Old man? Well, I've been called worse." Then he simply shrugged. “We are professionals. We don’t use messages. Messages can be intercepted.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Waiting a year before making contact again was necessary. Time erases everything. Memories, people, grudges, promises. It would not have been safe to meet last year, with the deaths of the Ibelins still fresh in the people’s minds.”

I grumbled to myself as he slid a sack of florins across the table. “I did as you asked. The Hashashin are after the royal family now.”

His eyes flicked up in annoyance. “What? I said only the King! The Prince is integral to our plans.”

I suppressed a snigger. Seeing the normally cool and collected man sweat it out a little was somehow always satisfying. “When I gave them the contract they insisted on going after the King and the Prince, otherwise they wouldn’t do it at all. You know their lot. Zealous and crazy. To them anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Should I rescind our offer?”

My friend sat deep in thought, then shook his head after a while. “No. We need the best, and we need Muslims so nothing traces back to us. The Prince is pretty safe for the time being anyway. I've seen his bodyguards up close. They are very protective of him, albeit rather brash. I once stared down the wrong end of their swords. What about our backup options?”

“Three companies of Marinae are currently on crusade with the King of Jerusalem. Slip any one of their captains a sack as big as this,” I paused to gesture to the sack of florins on the table, “and the King will be dead the moment he makes camp. That is, if he doesn’t die in battle first. I hear he is always headstrong and at the front of the charge.”

“No, that will be our last resort. Let’s give our Muslim friends some time. The Prince is still young and malleable.” He stood up, and that was the sign that the meeting was over.

“We will meet again in two years, or when there is a substantial development.” Then he stalked out of the tavern without a backwards glance.

[Turkafinwë]

The plot thickens. Good to see the "boy" return to the story in such a fashion. Interested to see where this goes. +rep

[Swaeft]

The plot thickens. Good to see the "boy" return to the story in such a fashion. Interested to see where this goes. +rep

Ahh Turkafinwe, my loyal supporter, never a time goes by when I see your reply and do not smile to myself. I had a bit of trouble deciding when to bring him in, but I think now is a good time considering that events are starting to pile up in the very near future *hint hint next update* and soon there will be limited words to describe many events. Enjoy the focus on Prince Jean and the story aspect of the AAR while it lasts.

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER TWELVE

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1235 AD.

Another hard year of training had gone by. A year ago I thought I couldn’t get any sicker of it, but yet again I was proven wrong. More sword drills, mind numbing lessons on tactics, and an introduction to politics took up most of my time.

I rarely saw anyone else during this past year. Tigel de Linus was busier than usual, his hands full dealing with visiting dignitaries from Europe and elsewhere, having little time to spare to accompany me. He hadn’t given up his position as the garrison commander, so he really had no free time. Whenever I saw him around the compound, it would always be in the escort of some noble lord or lady from somewhere far, far away. Some days I would hear him grumble to me about being buried up to his neck in paperwork. “I wasn’t born for this.” He’d groan. “Give me a sword and an enemy over a pen and a paper any day.”

My sister had deigned to spend more time with Henri recently. If I didn’t know better I’d say they were becoming rather close. A part of me was happy for her, glad that she had found someone she could rely on and keep close to her heart, but the other part of me was jealous – why wasn’t that person me? Had I not been a good brother to her? My mother had departed the city to Acre, to pay a visit to a friend of hers, someone related to Henri’s parents or so I heard.

Thank the Gods for Henri. He was the only person I was close to whom I saw on a regular basis. I ate the three cardinal meals with him, sparred with him, chatted with him, and sometimes even toured the city with him. He was always excited to see the different parts of Jerusalem, but I judiciously avoided showing him the Beggar’s Quarter just yet. I felt guilty withholding that information from him, but somehow I would feel shame radiating from within whenever I thought about that area. I promised to make it a better place. Perhaps when I am King.

Horseback combat lessons was the only new thing, and boy was it a breath of fresh air! I enjoyed simply riding on a horse, but having to swing a sword at someone else and trying not to fall off, whilst preparing to avoid the opponent’s blow and controlling my mount at the same time was a whole new ball game. There was more emphasis on precision, speed and agility than ever before, and the solid ground that I could count on to use as a foundation to launch attacks from during sparring lessons was a thing of the past. As a result, I was unhorsed more times than I could count. My only saving grace was that Henri was unhorsed more times than me, simply because he had not tried his hand at riding before. In the evenings, we would both retire to our chambers, our faces caked with mud and our ears filled with Chirgeon, the stable master’s scoldings. I wasn’t ready to die for him just yet, but our friendship had really blossomed into a solid bond that wasn’t likely to break anytime soon.

It was during one of those horseback combat sessions that Tigel de Linus came down to the stables where Henri and I were resting. “Chirgeon, please excuse the two young lords for the rest of the afternoon. My Prince, Lord Henri, please return to your chambers and freshen up, then change into something more fitting. Once that is done, meet me in the throne room.”

This piqued my interest. “What’s this about, Lord de Linus?”

“A knight of great importance has arrived…from Aleppo.”

**

Barely twenty minutes later I entered the throne room garbed in a simple silk shirt and cotton pants. I was too anxious to shower. Henri did not even bother to change out of his mail shirt and had waited patiently for me outside my chambers, yet he still looked under-dressed when standing next to my bodyguards, led by Sir Raimondo.

Lord de Linus was speaking agitatedly to the knight, but both fell silent when I arrived. “I think you should hear this from the knight himself. He is a neutral party, not sworn to us or the Saracens, but he is a knight anointed by the Pope himself, and for that reason and others I trust his word.” He gestured to the knight, who inhaled sharply. Somehow I jumped to conclusions and took that as a bad sign, and my eyes widened. “Is my father –?”

“No.” Tigel de Linus declared immediately, temporarily easing my worries. “But you should listen all the same.”

The knight then addressed me. “My Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Ser Anduril of the Knights Hospitaller, of the Order of Saint John. I have ridden from Aleppo, but perhaps I should relate the battle outside Tortosa first.”

“Although we had only marched for about two hours to reach the Ayyubid lines from our campsite, it was a sweltering afternoon and our troops were tired when our lines finally reached the Ayyubid’s. They had arrayed themselves on a strong defensive position on top of a hill, which would have blunted the effectiveness of our catapults, and increased the range of their own archers.”

The First Battle of Tortosa, 1234 AD

“The Ayyubids had the high ground, and the numbers on their side. Their captain commanded numerous archers, a few detachments of Arab cavalry, and a mass of spearmen. He even had a few javelinmen, some even mounted. A good mix of units and a tough nut to crack in my book. Your King deployed his infantry in the center, archers and crossbowmen right behind them, and his cavalry on the wings. Standard military doctrine, nothing special really. Yet.” “It was here King Jean displayed his strategic brilliance, my Prince. He sent envoys to treat with the Ayyubid captain, and showered upon him false promises of gold in return for peace. The captain then spent hours haggling with the envoys over the amount of gold he would receive, until he finally realized they were stalling. By then, your father’s men had rested up, whilst in contrast, the Ayybuid captain’s own men were restless and tired from standing around doing nothing.” “The moment your envoys reached the safety of your lines the King spurred his horse into a full gallop and charged up the hill towards the Ayyubid lines. I did not take part in the battle myself, my Prince, but the sight of the King and his full complement of bodyguards leading the charge uphill and shrugging off Saracen arrows almost made me want to join him myself.” “It was obvious that the Ayyubids were not expecting an attack, having become lax and convinced the crusaders would not attack after seeing them stand there for so long. The King and his bodyguards cut down many Saracen archers, then wheeled their horses around and turned back towards our onrushing infantry, riding away from the encroaching mass of Ayyubid spearmen.” Tigel de Linus looked sceptical. “And they didn’t take losses? Didn’t you say the Ayyubids had hundreds of archers?” Sir Anduril smirked. “Most of them did not fire until it was too late. I believe they thought the King was coming to treat with their captain himself. And that expensive armour your King had on certainly helped to shrug off what few arrows were sent his way. Whatever the case, the archers were no longer part of the equation. Can you imagine that? Five companies of archers just running away from the battle because of one charge. Brings me back to the days of my forefathers and the First Crusade, when our cavalry charges scattered them like the wind.” I was intrigued. This was sounding better and better by the minute, though for some reason the knight did not seem all too pleased. “Please go on, sir.” The knight bowed his head and obliged. “Your King is either a master tactician or a very poor one. He sent the Italian Marinae against the Arab cavalry. Normally, in my experience, infantry don’t do so well against mounted units, but the Marinae managed to reach the Arab cavalry before they could charge, and so bogged them down and clubbed them to death, though of course not without suffering significant casualties themselves.” “What?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Didn’t my father have cavalry? What did he do with them?” The knight scratched his chin. “He preserved them. He sent them all the way around the battle lines and had them lie in wait. At the crucial moment, he signalled for a charge and they plowed straight into the rear of the Ayyubid line. They couched their lances and aimed straight at the backs of the Ayyubid spearmen who were quickly gaining ground over your King’s men at arms. The crunch as the horses, lances and men collided was sickening, and I saw bodies fly everywhere. The casualties must have been massive. “It was good timing too,” the knight remarked, “the King’s centre had almost fallen. Most of the Marinae in the centre were dead or dying, and only a few men at arms remained to hold back the Ayyubid horde. The foot knights of Jerusalem were engaged on the flanks, so I could have sworn the King was about to push his Templar crossbowmen into the main line if that charge didn’t break the enemy!” “It was all about mopping up after that. Your King caught as many prisoners as he could that they, and sent missives to the Ayyubid Sultan demanding florins for their ransom. We waited for the Sultan’s reply, but none came.” “Oh.” I said absent mindedly. “So did my father let them go? The prisoners, I mean.” Sir Anduril looked curiously at Lord de Linus, then at Henri de Lusignan, then at me. “Uhh…no. They all died. No ransom, no freedom. That’s how it works.” “Oh.” I said again, with a sinking feeling in my heart. War is brutal. The knight clapped a hand on my shoulder, then continued. “It was there and then I decided your King was the one I wanted to serve, so I went forth to pledge my allegiance to him. On my way into the King’s tent, I passed by the surviving group of men at arms. Oh, how they cheered and shouted God’s name! I never thought you could find such bliss in war, but there it was, right in front of me, the men cheering over the bodies of the slain, their swords glittering in the sunlight.” “When I reached the King’s tent, I swore to serve him on one condition. That he would allow my order to found a chapter house in Antioch if and when it was ever recaptured by the Crusader States. To allow us to serve and protect pilgrims, as we have always done, and as we always will.”

“A most reasonable request.” Henri stated. Sir Anduril’s face darkened. “I thought so too. Everyone has heard the stories of the Kingdom of Jerusalem lacking in knights and cavalry. My brothers would have been honoured to come to the Holy Land and give their lives in service to its King.”

“So my father rejected your offer?” I asked. The knight looked at me with hatred in his eyes. I noticed Tigel de Linus watching the knight closely, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes silently communicating with my own bodyguard captain, who was behind me along with five other sworn swords.

“No.” Sir Anduril spat. “He did worse. He accepted. And so I was bound by honour to serve him. I watched as he wrote a missive to one of your generals – a Lord Bohemond de Poitiers, I believe. He bid him take the city of Antioch for the glory of God and the Crusader States. I thought your King a wise and just man there and then.”



“Thereafter, I travelled to Antioch with this Lord Bohemond, hoping to lay the foundations for my order’s chapter house once the city had fallen to us. Antioch was garrisoned only by a general called Abul-Fath Al-Ayyubi. I’m guessing he was a member of the Sultan’s royal family. It was the easiest siege of my life. We rammed the gates down before his bodyguard had assembled, and encircled him in the square. To my shame I did not take part in the battle, for if I died my order would not know we had permission to set up a chapter house in that great city.”

The First Siege of Antioch, 1234 AD

“I watched as Lord Bohemond attacked General Abul-Fath’s bodyguard despite his age, and I even saw him stab the head of Abul-Fath’s bodyguard’s horse whilst that very same bodyguard was being stabbed in the rear by Bohemond’s own man. Grisly stuff. “In the end, surrounded and outnumbered, the Ayyubid general fell. The city was ours, and hospitallers would once again return to the Holy Lands…or so I thought.” “Lord Bohemond graciously chose to occupy the city. We even found the Holy Lance that pierced the side of Jesus during his crucifixion! What an addition to the Hospitaller chapter house that would have been. “ “However, when I approached him to ask for permission to open a chapter house, he rebuffed me. Puzzled, I told him the King had given me permission to set my order up in this city, but he himself looked confused. He told me the King had ordered this city to be sold to the Sicilians as soon as it was captured. Sure enough, when I went to the docks, Sicilian cogs were on the horizon, and before long their diplomats had arrived, bearing gifts and the terms of an alliance, which had been negotiated beforehand.”

“I was shocked and angered.” Sir Anduril shook his head. I myself could not believe what I was hearing. Henri looked at me with sadness in his eyes. Tigel de Linus cleared his throat. “There must have been a reason. Maybe –“

“No.” Sir Anduril interrupted. “A promise was a promise. This wasn’t a decision he made suddenly out of necessity or because of a change in circumstances. This was a pre-planned, agreed upon settlement and he lied to my face. I felt betrayed. I rode my horse as hard as she could take towards Aleppo, where I last heard the King was headed to. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why he was headed that way. He didn’t have the men to defend Aleppo, even if he could take it.”

“When I reached Aleppo the castle had fallen. A good number of men on both sides had died trying to take and defend it, and the casualties were roughly even, but in the end the crusaders were victorious. Your King had sent a good number of pilgrims and Marinae to their deaths, though. From what I heard while walking through the camp, the Marinae were the first over the walls, followed by the pilgrims. Your King seems to be preserving the lives of his better trained and equipped troops at the expense of the bulk of his army…and some would say, little more than armed civilians and sailors.”



“I went to ask the King why he didn’t just tell me no at the start, but he had taken a few wounds during the battle and was under medication. For all his faults, he fights and leads from the front like a true warrior. That is why I am here now. To see you, Prince Jean. You even have the same name as your father. I can only hope you won’t be the same man he is.”

That was clearly an insult to my father, but I was so stunned by his alleged atrocities that I had no words to counter with, so I let it slide and started at the floor instead.

“Thank you,” Tigel de Linus started, “for bringing these reports to us, Sir Anduril.”

I lifted my head up. “Yes, you must have ridden very far.” I said. “You have the Kingdom’s thanks.”

“Though not the King’s, apparently.” Sir Anduril remarked snidely.

“So what is it you want, Sir Anduril?” I heard myself say. “You must desire a…reward or something, for coming all this way for nothing. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Sir Anduril paused. “No, my Prince. I do not wish to set you at odds against your father.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Truly? Have you nothing to ask of me?”

The knight shook his head. “I do not require restitution, my Prince. But just remember, you will be king someday. Maybe not so soon, but someday. Remember to rule justly, and honourably. Treat people the way you would want to be treated.”

I bowed my head, humbled by his modesty. “I will remember your counsel, Sir Anduril. You have been most gracious.”

“Sir Anduril.” Tigel de Linus piped up. “I actually have the authority to allow you and your brethren to set up a chapter house in this city.”

“A most generous offer, Lord de Linus.” Sir Anduril replied. “However, to my knowledge a chapter house of the Knights Templar already exists here. It would not be…healthy, to have my brothers in such close proximity to them.”

“I see.” Tigel de Linus sounded disappointed. “As you wish, then. Safe travels.” Sir Anduril nodded his thanks, then turned on his heel and walked towards the doors. He was halfway there when I blurted out: “Where will you go, Sir Anduril?”

He turned around. “Why, back to the King, my Prince. And this time I shall fight in the battles instead of just watching.”

Henri let out a gasp of astonishment. “You want to go back to the man who betrayed you to your face? No offence, Jean.”

“None taken.” I mumbled back as a sly half-smile played around the lips of Sir Anduril. “Yes, I do. I swore an oath of allegiance, and I intend to honour it. If nothing else it may irk the King so much he might just grant me Antioch to rid himself of my service.”

Henri and I stared, mouth agape, as he walked out of the throne room, his Hospitaller cape billowing out behind him. “Now that right there is a man of honour.” Henri reflected.

I couldn’t agree more. It looked like there was some good in this world after all.

[Kilo11]

This is a very good update. In some of the previous ones I was starting to lose my zeal to read on, but this one has a clip and bluntness that is refreshing. You get the story across without trying to do too much, and the battles especially were well done. I sort of feel like overall you hit your stride more when you are relating facts and events, and you really get the feel of a scene across well, but the parts where you do character development often seem clunky to me. In my opinion, this is mainly because you try too hard to build some character aspect in by making a whole scene that gets it across or you call too much attention to the point you want to make. I find that a subtle mark here and there can do a lot more for character-building than a clear statement that someone felt such-and-such emotion upon hearing some news. For example, just having the prince look down when he hears about his father's mistakes does a lot more to show shame and embarrasment than a statement of the form "Jean felt ashamed to hear what his father had done". I always try to remember what one speaker said at a writing workshop I was at once, which was "Show, don't say", meaning that you should show he is ashamed rather than saying he is. Those are just my thoughts though, and I could very well be wrong.

One other small thing I noticed that might be good to keep an eye on are the small anachronistic remarks here and there that detract from the overall feel of the story. In particular expressions like "it was a whole new ball game", or other casual phrases that sound decidedly modern. Much of the writing has the feel of something older which is good, but those small bits pull me out quickly and then its hard for to get back in the mindset of the medieval world.

All in all though, a very good update! Keep it up and keep an eye out for those small things. +rep

[Turkafinwë]

Sir Anduril for King! (I wonder where you got inspiration for that name ) Troubling news keeps on coming from the King. The naivity of Jean regarding captured prisoners is endearing in a way. He has so much to learn yet, hopefully he gets the time to learn these things before he ascends the throne.

Again a good chaper!

[Cookiegod]

Finally got to read your AAR and it's really good. I even wanted to do it in one go.

Usually this is where I'd mention some things that could or could not be done better. After all, criticism is the best praise in my opinion. It shows genuine interest, and helps one to get better.
But even though I tried to be knitpicky, I failed. I'm not always sure as to why you shift from present to past - that's the best I can do.
At one point the phrase "duke of Cairo" stuck with me. It should be a Wezir or emir, I thought. But then I realised: That's exactly what a westerner would call them.
Only the tea thing is the same mistake that Kilo did in his AAR as well. For most of the world except China, tea is a very new thing. We only know it exists since the 16th century.

Format: Your use of dropdown menues for battle narrations is interesting and works well. The pictures should maybe be centered.

Other than that, your style is consistent, the prologue is astonishingly good, you walk the fine line between narration and game report very well, there's action from the beginning that catches the readers interest, you don't tease for too long - all of these things are qualities I wish my "aar" had.

One last thing: You mentioned in the entry post that most of the AAR would be from the viewpoint of the protagonist, so that we wouldn't get confused. I just wanted you to know there isn't much danger in this regard. You write very well, and the "from the perspective of" explains everything quite clearly, so no worries there.

[Alwyn]

Good updates, I particularly enjoyed reading about Foucaud's solution to the gang of boy thieves and the knight's account of the King's tactics in the first battle of Tortosa. I wonder what effect the King's decisions will have on his relationship with Lord Jean (and the development of Lord Jean's character, will he try to behave differently or become ruthless like the King?).

[Swaeft]

Good updates, I particularly enjoyed reading about Foucaud's solution to the gang of boy thieves and the knight's account of the King's tactics in the first battle of Tortosa. I wonder what effect the King's decisions will have on his relationship with Lord Jean (and the development of Lord Jean's character, will he try to behave differently or become ruthless like the King?).

My thanks, Alwyn, it is always a pleasure to hear someone enjoying the AAR as much as I am writing it. Well I figured it would be the best way to reintroduce a character that hasn't been in the previous few chapters, as well as solve a very real medieval problem, so it worked out for me, and the Jeans. It certainly seems that the King is going down a very different path from what young Lord Jean has expected. I too wonder whether the circumstances will shape Lord Jean into a chivalrous person or a dread lord. (Then again there is that chivalric code to follow for now)

This is a very good update. In some of the previous ones I was starting to lose my zeal to read on, but this one has a clip and bluntness that is refreshing. You get the story across without trying to do too much, and the battles especially were well done. I sort of feel like overall you hit your stride more when you are relating facts and events, and you really get the feel of a scene across well, but the parts where you do character development often seem clunky to me. In my opinion, this is mainly because you try too hard to build some character aspect in by making a whole scene that gets it across or you call too much attention to the point you want to make. I find that a subtle mark here and there can do a lot more for character-building than a clear statement that someone felt such-and-such emotion upon hearing some news. For example, just having the prince look down when he hears about his father's mistakes does a lot more to show shame and embarrasment than a statement of the form "Jean felt ashamed to hear what his father had done". I always try to remember what one speaker said at a writing workshop I was at once, which was "Show, don't say", meaning that you should show he is ashamed rather than saying he is. Those are just my thoughts though, and I could very well be wrong.

One other small thing I noticed that might be good to keep an eye on are the small anachronistic remarks here and there that detract from the overall feel of the story. In particular expressions like "it was a whole new ball game", or other casual phrases that sound decidedly modern. Much of the writing has the feel of something older which is good, but those small bits pull me out quickly and then its hard for to get back in the mindset of the medieval world.

All in all though, a very good update! Keep it up and keep an eye out for those small things. +rep

I cannot thank you enough for this comment. Long have I wondered if I was getting too long winded. You see, at the start of this AAR, I wanted to let about six to eight chapters pass before the action began, but after that I realised it was not possible, and I would need about twice that before things were properly set up. It became clear to be I had to either write this like a book, or cut down on the plot and write this like one of those earlier AARs. I have, to the best of my abilities so far, tried to do both, which has given me a big headache with regards to word count and which conversations and events to feature.

You are right of course, about me making whole scenes to call to attention just one point, it has long been a fault of mine to overdo everything, and I will try my best to cut down on that. Thank you for pointing that out to me, and just in time too. The next chapter is all about 'character development' and is pretty focused on just one or two characters as well. I will have to amend it. With regards to modern phrases being used, I wasn't even aware I was doing that, so thanks for pointing that out as well. It's been a long while since I sat down and written something this long, so I really appreciate your feedback.

Show, don't say is a rather interesting style of writing, I will have to think on that. Many thanks for the detailed comment, and please keep em coming, when you have the time of course

Sir Anduril for King! (I wonder where you got inspiration for that name ) Troubling news keeps on coming from the King. The naivity of Jean regarding captured prisoners is endearing in a way. He has so much to learn yet, hopefully he gets the time to learn these things before he ascends the throne.

Again a good chaper!

Heh, most of the character names are stolen from somewhere... But I wanted to sort of remember the people who had supported me in the past, so I just included their names (and varied them a little) as a sort of...sentiment? The King is really just doing what needs to be done, though I wonder if Lord Jean can come to terms with that when they next meet. With age comes experience, so I guess he will ascend the throne with some things left unlearned. That is, if the King dies within the next few turns, which I hope he doesn't. I could use that huge bodyguard size and high chivalry for a few more good battles.

Finally got to read your AAR and it's really good. I even wanted to do it in one go.

Usually this is where I'd mention some things that could or could not be done better. After all, criticism is the best praise in my opinion. It shows genuine interest, and helps one to get better.
But even though I tried to be knitpicky, I failed. I'm not always sure as to why you shift from present to past - that's the best I can do.
At one point the phrase "duke of Cairo" stuck with me. It should be a Wezir or emir, I thought. But then I realised: That's exactly what a westerner would call them.
Only the tea thing is the same mistake that Kilo did in his AAR as well. For most of the world except China, tea is a very new thing. We only know it exists since the 16th century.

Format: Your use of dropdown menues for battle narrations is interesting and works well. The pictures should maybe be centered.

Other than that, your style is consistent, the prologue is astonishingly good, you walk the fine line between narration and game report very well, there's action from the beginning that catches the readers interest, you don't tease for too long - all of these things are qualities I wish my "aar" had.

One last thing: You mentioned in the entry post that most of the AAR would be from the viewpoint of the protagonist, so that we wouldn't get confused. I just wanted you to know there isn't much danger in this regard. You write very well, and the "from the perspective of" explains everything quite clearly, so no worries there.

Hey, thanks for reading! Oh don't fret, I am especially glad when people knitpick (nitpick?) my AAR, it helps me improve and I really don't like leaving mistakes behind for others to read later on (Kilo11 telling me about the inconsistencies in my writing style - past and present tense was a case in point), so please, go ahead and nitpick all over me.

Speaking of which, when you say I always shift from past to present, are you referring to what I just mentioned, or something else? Because I am going in a chronological order right now, so I don't really understand what you mean.

You got me there with the Duke of Cairo, I didn't really think that one through, so I'll just appropriate your solution and say...yes that's what I intended, no error on my part here, no... And blast it with the tea, I was really hoping no one would notice that, so nicely spotted there....well played. For dropdown menus, I was actually considering not putting them there at all, because one drawback to using them is the paragraph immediately after the dropdown menu (content box) ends has to not spoil the outcome of the battle, or be ambiguous enough so that the reader does not know the battle result before even opening the content box. That can throw a wrench in formatting, so you may want to watch out for that. I didn't want to centralise the pictures because my words aren't centralised, but that's just personal preference and I guess I might try that in an odd update not related to the story (one coming up soon).

Thanks for the input about the style, I was worried it might be a little off putting, as I see most AARs here are either a diary entry style or a 3rd person narrative. I wouldn't know about teasing for too long, I feel that I've been setting up the plot for about 10 + chapters now, and it's taking forever for me to get to Jean's coronation and getting him out and fighting. I partially blame this on the game, though, for the past 12 turns Jean has been stuck in Jerusalem unable to move, so all these stories have to make up for his lack of action. Of course I could have skipped a few years here and there and sped it up, but I thought why not add some stuff that could affect the story very significantly later?

Regarding the 'From the Perspective of', it was actually a last minute addition lol, I'm glad it has proven to be useful.

To all, after Jean's coronation which I expect to be very very soon, I'll be adding in more useful features like a character list and a 'who's where' sort of list at the start, and an 'author's notes' in spoilers after the chapter ends regarding that turn in the game to rant about how awful a battle I just fought or how my foolish general has thrown his life away and perhaps my chances of victory with it and that sort of thing...radical changes are coming up to differentiate parchment two and three. Thanks for reading, and I hope I continue to keep your interest!

[Swaeft]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

From the Perspective of John Stanford, Spearmen in the King’s Army, The road to Damascus, 1235 AD.

When the Sun started to touch the horizon a halt was called. Our column split up and began the usual preparations to make camp. Tents were pitched, fires were lit, horses were tied to their posts and the men were beginning to relax.

But I couldn’t.

We were marching back to Jerusalem with about half the men we set off with. And we hadn’t taken our objective at all. The men had let out a loud cheer when Aleppo was taken, but when they quickly realised that it was not the Ayyubid’s mightiest fortress, they quickly became angry. It wasn’t the first time the King had been cursed, but it was the first time so many people openly swore that he was a liar. I shook my head in disgust. When we can’t trust our own Kings, what are we soldiers to do?

I ate my stew in cold silence, huddling around the fire and my own men. Our company had been kept largely out of the fight, with the King sending in most of the Marinae and fanatics as the vanguard into Aleppo. Naturally, they had taken the brunt of the casualties, but what was more astonishing was the amount of time it had taken before the King finally ordered the rest of the army to reinforce them. There was a general consensus that many more than necessary had died taking the castle. The King had hired some mercenary companies to replenish his numbers, but we were under a thousand strong now, with more wounded dying every day. Rumour had it that the various company captains had pressured the King to make for Gaza, the real Gaza, with all due haste else they would desert. I snorted to myself. It was not every day you could threaten a King and live. But this was at the expense of the wounded, who could not match the breakneck pace our army was marching at. The castle of Aleppo was but now a distant memory.

Then there was the matter of the castle itself. The King had sold it to the Imperials for a sizable amount, or so we heard. Immediately after its capture, the King allowed us to sack it, then ordered the destruction of any remaining buildings in the castle. Whatever the Holy Roman Empire wanted with this useless castle in the middle of nowhere was beyond my comprehension, yet it seemed that they had agreed to some sort of alliance with the King.



Someone patted me on the back. “Thinking about the mysteries of life again?” I looked up and saw Jean-Pierre standing there. “Well,” I started, “not really, but the King’s actions and battle tactics are quickly become one.”

Jean-Pierre sighed and sat down next to me. “I know. It’s weird, really. I can’t quite decide if he’s a good king or a bad one.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows. “How so? He’s quickly becoming a bad one in my book. Selling off cities for gold, sending in the less experienced men to die in place of the better equipped and trained, and how about lying to all of us that we were heading to the crusade target?”

Jean-Pierre laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, I can’t argue with you. But think about this. We’ve secured our northern borders. The Ayyubids do not exist anywhere north of Jerusalem anymore. We’ve made our country rich. Or at least, dragged it out of poverty. We’ve gained alliances with major European nations. That sounds like a win in my book.”

I took a while to digest those words.

“My father once told me that it’s not about the end, but the journey we took to get there. I don’t know if this king is doing the right thing anymore, Jean-Pierre. What do you think?”

Jean-Pierre shrugged. “I’m not paid enough to answer that. Get some Byzantine scholar to figure that one out.” We both chuckled for a while, but I gave him a look that told him I expected an answer, and Jean-Pierre sighed again. “Well, if you must know, I think we’re killing Saracens, protecting our country, and a wise man once told me he believes that there is no thing such as honour in battle, only a victor and a defeated.”

“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree then, because once you get to my age, you start to wonder – wait, what’s that noise?”

Jean-Pierre and I jumped up. A large number of footsteps could be heard, and they seemed to be increasing in frequency and urgency.

“Gods save us.” Jean-Pierre exclaimed. “It’s a mass desertion. Get the guards!”



From the Perspective of Prince Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1235 AD.

I ate my lunch with mixed feelings. A messenger had arrived in the morning, detailing everything Sir Anduril had said a couple of weeks ago. In addition, my father was returning to Jerusalem for my coronation ceremony.

My coronation. I was supposed to feel excited or happy in some way, but only doubt engulfed me. I knew I wasn’t ready to be a Prince, and after seeing what Tigel de Linus had to handle as a governor, I didn’t feel eager to step up at all. My sister was rather cheery about it though, and had taken personal charge of the preparations for the ceremony.

“It’s time we let Jerusalem and the rest of the country know who our next leader is going to be, and for them to get a good look at his face!” Yolande had said jovially when prancing about, trying to get me into the mood. “Come on Jean, show some spirit. You’re going to be sixteen in less than a month!”

But speaking in front of crowds never was one of my stronger features. I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. “Why can’t we just do a simple ceremony in the throne room or the Sepulchre?” I had asked. But both my mother and sister had shot down the idea instantly. “No way, Jean. The people you’re going to lead in future need to know who their leader is. The coronation is an official confirmation of your appointment as the First Prince. You have to do it in front of everyone. The more the merrier.” My mother had admonished me with folded arms. My sister was more forgiving. She only admonished me with arms by her side. “Scared of crowds, brother? Come on, it’s a tradition. And it’s only for one day.”

I rolled my eyes. “One day is 24 hours, Yolande. In that time I will have to entertain countless nobles whom I’ve never even heard of, who have travelled far and wide and expect my full hospitality.”

“And you will give it to them, Jean.” My mother decreed. “We rely on them for trade and men, so you have to extend to them every courtesy. Even the slightest mistake in your courtesies may be seen as an insult, so remember what we’ve taught you.”

I sighed. It was not an exaggeration. The Constable had told me the stories himself, of how Norwegian raids into Scottish and English lands were conducted because their diplomats couldn’t agree on who was supposed to bow to who first. In fact, for the past week, my mother had been instructing me on the appropriate courtesies to extend. A bow was necessary when the person had a Lordship and above, whilst any lower than that, I would have to wait for them to bow first before telling them they could rise. Waiting two to three seconds was customary, but anytime under five seconds was considered acceptable. Prominent knights would have to kneel and kiss the ring of Jerusalem, but that was currently in the possession of my father, so they would simply kneel and wish me good health and fortune. After which, I was supposed to respond with, “And may God bestow his Justice upon you.”

“Remember, our Kingdom relies heavily on theirs for support. We wouldn’t exist today without them. We are descended from them. Do not forget.”

It was true. Europe was our greatest supporter behind the Papacy. Some of my father’s predecessors were French. Baldwin I and Baldwin II, as well as Godfrey, were from the house of Boulogne from northern France, and many subsequent Kings could therefore claim French descent. Many of the ‘Frankish’ knights currently serving in the Holy Lands were here because they had family or relatives here. The more numerous squires and men at arms came from England, Flanders, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire, each a big power in their own right.

Just then, Tigel de Linus arrived with a complement of the city watch. “My Prince.” He saluted. “We require your presence in the throne room. An English delegation has arrived. It would be good if you were there to receive them.”

“Well, they’re early. It’s not even the turn of the year yet.” I remarked. Tigel de Linus grinned. “Well, it’s obvious you’ve never taken a ship anywhere. Travels by the sea are unpredictable and the adventurers are often at the mercy of the winds. They set off early in order to avoid the possibility of being late. That alone suggests that they respect you enough to ensure their presence won’t go unnoticed.”

It took me awhile, but I finally understood that the English had sailed from port a few months earlier to account for any unforeseen circumstances. I quickened my pace and reached the throne room within minutes. A few of my bodyguards joined me halfway, and I realised they had donned their ceremonial armour. They looked resplendent and every bit a knight in my dreams.

The doors were opened for me and I stepped inside post-haste.

The English delegation were garbed in red, with their ambassador wearing the emblem of the three lions on his sleeve. His guards had them on their shields and surcoats, and I counted six of them. Then my gaze was transfixed on the person in the middle.

She was the most stunningly beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

I was lost for words until someone prodded me from behind. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “The Kingdom of Jerusalem welcomes you, and I bid you relax after your long journey. I am Prince Jean, son of High Lord Jean, who is currently away on crusade and cannot receive you.”

The English ambassador stepped forward to address me, but I could barely hear the words that were tumbling out of his mouth, as I was focus on only one person. Something something city is magnificent, or so he was saying. I refocused on the ambassador once I realized everyone had gone quiet, and that I must have been supposed to say something back. Panic gripped me for a moment, and the fear that I would say something wrong to alienate the English was very real.

“I’m pretty sure it cannot compare to London, Lord Ambassador. We’ve all heard tales of its beauty and vibrancy. We are still in marvel at the Great London Bridge that was completed some twenty five years ago.”

If the Ambassador was impressed by my knowledge, he did not show it. Instead, he simply bowed and moved aside. The woman that had taken my breath away earlier stepped forward. “This is Joan Plantagenet, daughter of the King of England, Edw –”



“Thank you, Lord Ambassador, but I can announce myself just fine.” She waved him off with a flourish of her hand. Ah. English royalty. I should have known. Very spirited. She composed herself, then addressed me directly. “Prince Jean, it is my honour to meet you, though I must confess I grow tired of speaking in throne rooms. May we take a walk around your compound?”

I was taken aback, but one nod from Tigel de Linus and I agreed. A handful of my bodyguards accompanied me, and two of the English retainers accompanied the princess. She led the way, taking long strides that I found it awkward to keep up with walking normally. “Um,” I said after a while of silence, “I understand that you set sail a few months ahead of schedule to get here in time for my coronation. That is very kind.”

The Princess looked at me with sparkling eyes, and when I met her gaze, I thought I could lose myself in them forever. “Well, it does pay to reach here early before the rest of the diplomatic missions arrive. Now I have you all to myself.” She chuckled, and my heart did a little flutter when I realised she had the most beautiful laugh I’d ever heard. It sounded a little like the tinkling of bells in the early morning breeze, but nowhere as annoying.

“My father didn’t want me to come all this way.” She informed me. “He was worried I might meet with an unfortunate accident sometime during my stay.”

“Why would he say such a thing, Princess?”

“I’ll call you Jean if you agree to call me Joan, and you must know about the many English-French wars?” I nodded my head, so she continued. “Well, you must know that some of your ancestors were French nobility, and even now a good portion of your army is made up of Frenchmen, or at least a relative of one.”

I scratched my head, not knowing what to say do that, but I knew I had to try to put her at ease. How could she think that I’d ever wish her harm? “Prin – Joan, I promise not to let anyone harm you. Do you have enough bodyguards?”

“Well, six men at arms accompanied us here, and four are to accompany the ambassador wherever he goes.” I enjoyed watching her lips part and close as she spoke, and I hoped she didn’t notice. “So I guess these two are mine.” She gestured at the two knights behind her, who bowed instantly.

“But let’s not talk about my safety, I assured my father I could take care of myself. Besides, with the Prince of Jerusalem taking care of me, what could go wrong?”

Princess Joan took my hand in hers, and her lips curled into a pretty smile. I felt the heat rushing to various parts of my body that were better not discussed, and it took all my effort to simply stand still and smile back stupidly at her.

From the Perspective of Sir Raimondo, Bodyguard Captain to Prince Jean, The City of Jerusalem, 1235 AD.

I couldn’t believe it. This English princess was using her beauty to ensnare the prince, and he was falling for it like it was the first time he’d seen a pretty woman. It was obvious that despite all the preparation and training the prince had received from his mother and sister, they never once thought that he could fancy anyone before the coronation. Should I be saying something?

Just then, the princess whispered something in the prince’s ear, and he turned to me. “The princess and I will be adjourning to my chambers to discuss some diplomatic issues. Escort us there and then excuse us.”
I watched as they walked towards the prince’s room, the princess constantly talking about something, and the prince laughing every few seconds. If there ever was a red flag, that would have been it.

“Alvaro.” The knight on my right saluted. “Inform the prince’s mother of this development immediately.” Alvaro complied wordlessly and departed, his footsteps receding behind him.

When we reached the prince’s chambers, I dismissed everyone. The English retainers had a heated discussion, then decided that only one of them would stay. The retainer who remained behind lifted the visor on his helm and grinned at me. “Well…I’d say…ten minutes?”

I resisted an overpowering urge to give him the finger and rolled my eyes, praying to the Lord not to hear any grunting from the other side of the doors.

From the Perspective of Lord Jean, First Prince of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1235 AD.

It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The Princess Joan was entertaining, alluring, and smart as a whip. I enjoyed her company thoroughly, and was really glad she got here ahead of the rest of the nations.

“Then he told me, what kind of a name is Plantagenet, some kind of plant life indigenous to the British Isles?”

I exploded in laughter, and she giggled gaily as well. I could listen to her jokes for hours.

“Look, Jean, I really enjoy talking to you, but there are some issues that my father sent me here to settle.”

I sat up straight. “Didn’t you say your father didn’t want you here?”

For just a heartbeat, I thought I saw doubt in her eyes, but then it vanished, and she opened her mouth to reply. “I said he didn’t like the idea of me coming here, but that doesn’t mean that he was against it.” I wrapped that around my head for a while, before deciding that what she had to say was probably more important than me understanding their father-daughter dynamic. “Please, feel free to speak your will.”

She smiled, and I couldn’t tell if I was blushing or not. “My father has sent an army on crusade, and it should arrive here within the next two years. The French have sent one as well, as per the Pope’s commands, and when the crusade is over and the nobles start squabbling over the lands we’ve conquered, I was hoping that you’d lean towards us English rather than the French.

She put her right arm on my left shoulder, and I shuddered as I felt the thin silk create friction against my own robes. “England would be very grateful, of course. We have the world’s most powerful navy, our men at arms are of unmatched quality, and our smiths make some of the best armours worldwide. But I suppose the most important advantage you would receive would be a part of our immense treasury.”

Unbeknownst to her, I had already decided, and it was not because of the world’s most powerful navy, army, or craftsmanship I’d never even seen before.

“Joan, don’t worry. I won’t let you down.”

She grinned widely, then tugged at my sleeves. “Come on then, we have other things to attend to.”

A half smiled started to form at the edges of my lips. “Like what?”

But I had a feeling I already knew what she had in mind.

From the Perspective of Gaston de Rocafolio, Spy of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, The City of Jerusalem, 1235 AD.

I sprinted up the stairs of the compound, perspiration dripping down my face. I was so focused on reaching the throne room that I didn’t pay attention when rounding a corner.

I collided with someone, and he exclaimed in surprise and anger as he collapsed backwards. I mumbled my apologies, but this could not wait, and so I pressed on. Or at least, I tried to, until the man grabbed my hand. “What is the meaning of this?” He rasped.

It was Tigel de Linus, the garrison commander and de facto lord of the city. “Pardon me, my lord, I have an important message to deliver to the spymaster. Do you know where he is?” Lord de Linus huffed indignantly and directed me to a side room. Just as he was about to leave, I called out.

“My lord, perhaps you should come as well.”

And so with Tigel de Linus in tow, I entered a dark and dusty room not often used.

“Of course, the advantage of having a dagger is concealment and surprise, though once you lose either advantage, anyone with a decent weapon will – Gaston!”

I tried not to gawk, but it looked as if Foucaud was teaching an apprentice. “What happened to never taking on a student?” I inquired. Foucaud simply shrugged. “Two birds with one stone. Remember those pesky thieves in the Beggar’s Quarter?”

“Him?” I pointed, incredulous. Foucaud grinned and nodded, then frowned. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, friend, but aren’t you supposed to be shadowing the Ayyubid armies?”

“I haven’t forgotten.” I stated grimly. Tigel de Linus shifted about uneasily. “That's why I'm here. A vanguard, one or two days ride out. About seven hundred men.”



“What?” Foucaud cursed. “Any idea what they’re up to?”

“Yes. I was a part of their army for a while. Don’t ask. Everyone’s heard of the Prince’s coronation. These men are here to destroy whatever they can outside of Jerusalem and make the place as inhospitable as it can be for the foreign envoys. They’ll even try to turn some away if they don’t have a big enough escort. We have to deal with them now, while they are still one force, before they split into many small raiding parties, then it will be almost impossible to eliminate all of them.”

Tigel de Linus shook his head. “We don’t have the forces to deal with a vanguard of that size. The King is at least two months away, last I heard, and there’s no one in the area we can reach with a messenger in just two days.”

Foucaud groaned and rubbed his forehead. “If the European nations see the capital of our realm in such a state, Prince Jean will lose all authority and respect, and we will lose any potential support we were going to receive.”

“That cannot happen. He has to ride out and meet them. What is he doing now, anyway?”

[Cookiegod]

I enjoyed this part. I don't know what action you've precisely set up, but this has already quite a lot of it.

Nitpicking:
Well the Plantagenet were technically of French descent also. So much so, that they'd speak French at their courts even in England. Jean is French for John, and Joan is English for Jeanne.
I had some joke about chastity belts, but that wouldn't be appropriate here.