The Tragedy of Men - Chapter Two
Title The Tragedy of Men
Chapter: Hero of War (2/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: Much distinguishes himself at the Battle of Acre and gains an unlikely aquaintance
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Guy de Lusignan, Gerard de Ridefort
Rating: overall rating of NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings:overall warnings of detailed violence and torture
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to BBC and not to me. Also I don’t make any money with this. It’s just for fun
Notes:Okay first a big, big thank you to both my beta-reader thymelady and my artistneaptidea. They have both done a more than incredible job especially in that short time. You are awesome guys, both of you :)
Second, I took a historical liberties with this fic: Richard and Philip didn’t arrive in Acre until summer 1191 but here I made them come to Acre in 1189 for dramatic purposes. Also I interpreted the historical characters in this story as it fit my purposes which I only say here in case one of you has seen Kingdom of Heaven and wonders why Guy de Lusignan is such a nice guy (although according to my textbooks and Wikipedia he wasn’t so bad ;)
Third, all Arabic in this fic comes from the phrase pages in an old travel guide. Feel open to point out any mistakes I made
Artwork, by neaptidea
Previous Chapter
The tragedy of men
Hero of War
They were woken by frantic yelling outside.
“They’re here! Saladin’s army is here!”
Robin didn’t even bother with most of his armour, simply yanking the chainmail over his head together with his surcoat.
“Much - ;“ He began but Much was already at his side, dressed, and holding Robin’s shield.
The whole King’s Guard waited around King Richard and the messenger.
“Where are they?” King Richard wanted to know.
“They’re... attacking Guy de Lusignan’s camp,” the messenger said breathlessly. He was bleeding heavily from an arrow wound in his upper leg. “He stood... his ground when I left... but the Templars began to engage Saladin’s... right wing.”
“Were they still moving their positions when you left?”
“Yes... a semicircle... facing to Acre.”
The king’s face gave nothing away what he thought about Saladin’s tactic. He turned to Robin. “I want to send a man to de Lusignan’s camp to tell him and Gerard of the Templars to put their crossbowmen in the first line and the heavy cavalry in second. In the meantime I will rally the troops to attack their left wing.”
Robin threw a look at Much who nodded, bowed to the King and quickly left the tent.
“He, what’s happening?” LeGrand was late, coming around the tents when Much mounted his horse.
“We’re attacked,” Much said hurriedly and careered through the tents and scattered soldiers. The nearer he got the louder he could hear the noise of battle, ducked an arrow and finally arrived in Guy de Lusignan’s camp.
“Where’s your master?” He asked the first soldiers he came across. They were transporting some of the wounded away from the battlefield.
“If you mean Lord de Lusignan, he’s over there.” One of them waved into the direction of the battle.
Much had to make his way through more and more soldiers and kept asking them for their master but most of them simply shrugged.
“Lord de Lusignan?” He asked again when a man in a Templar’s surcoat turned around and asked.
“What do you want from him?”
“King Richard sends me.”
“You’re of the King’s Guard?” The Templar asked but before Much could answer he waved him to dismount and follow him. Much did so. He couldn’t help but notice the other man’s fair hair, Tahir’s comment yesterday still rang in his memory.
“He’s counselling with Grand Master de Ridefort,” the Templar told him while they were walking away from the front lines and towards a tent that was only marginally less stately than King Richard’s.
“Grand Master, my lord,” The Templar greeted them respectfully, “I bring you a messenger from King Richard.”
“Well then, speak,” Guy de Lusignan prompted. He was not a man that would be easily overlooked and his deep voice supported his confident demeanour.
“The King asks you to... ” Quickly, Much repeated what his king had said.
“What is your name?” Gerard wanted to know.
“Much, my lord.”
“And you serve in the King’s Guard?” It was obvious that Gerard wondered whose noble's younger brother or bastard Much was.
“I - ;“ Much began but de Lusignan interrupted him. “That's not important.” He turned to Much. “You have a horse, I presume?” Much nodded.
“Good, report to Captain Louis, tell him what you told me. He’s in charge of the crossbowmen. Then you report back to me. King Richard has King Phillip’s men at his disposal. I need every man I have here.” de Lusignan’s voice left no room for protest.
“Of course, my lord,” Much answered. When he left the tent, he could see the Templar smiling and nodding at him as if to wish him good luck. Much supposed he would need it.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Captain Louis?” The man turned to Much but in the same moment an arrow buried itself in his unprotected neck and pushed him from his horse. Much jumped from his own horse and crouched behind his shield.
“Who’s your commander?” he asked the soldier next to him. The man gave him a disbelieving look and shrugged to the corpse. “He isn’t my commander any more.”
“Who then?”
“How should I know? Go ask someone whose blood is bluer than mine.” He rolled his eyes and pressed the next bolt into his crossbow. As far as Much could see no one took command. The line of crossbowmen threatened to fray out.
“Riders!” someone shouted, but he didn’t mean de Lusignan’s heavy cavalry in their backs.
Saladin had unleashed his deathliest weapon. his light cavalry. Much didn’t have time to think. He shouldered his shield, mounted his horse and shouted.
“Make room! Aim for their bodies. Their armour is lighter than ours!”
And miraculously everyone obeyed.
Much raced along the line, repeating his order for every unit until they resembled something like a front. North of them, Saladin’s right wing was already fighting with the Templar’s who hadn’t managed to draw their forces together and engaged Saladin’s forces in a disjointed battle.
The sun was already high on the sky when something unexpected happened. Instead of charging against them, the Saracen soldiers suddenly withdrew. Guy de Lusignan followed them with his cavalry, followed by the infantry and the crossbowmen. Withdrawing, after all, meant an opportunity for scavenging.
de Lusignan’s whole army rushed forward in blind greed. Much dismounted to take a Saracen bow from one of the enemy soldiers, thinking that Robin would probably be interested in this, before chaos descended upon them.
It had been a trap.
And they had fallen right into it.
Someone knocked Much over while they were fleeing from Saladin’s army and he fell into the sand. Fortunately he was still relatively near the original battle line or else he would have been killed by Saladin’s refreshed forces.
Much came back to his feet but someone else ran or rather fell into him. Much’s hands automatically tried to pushed him back but they found nothing but soft and wet warmth. Despite having his stomach sliced open the man above Much had managed to run this far. Something worth admiring if he didn’t try to grab Much with his last strength, damning him to the same fate as him.
Much didn’t think. He tightened his grip onto the man’s innards and pushed with all his strength. The man let out a choked scream - and Much came free with bits of innards on his bloody hands. He grabbed onto the next soldier that came in his direction and had a crossbow on his back.
“You! Stay here!” he ordered with the same commanding tone that he had heard so often from Robin or the King. “Shoot at anything that looks like a Saracen.”
He grabbed the next crossbowman, and the next, and the next. He had maybe twenty men around him when he grabbed someone who brushed him off.
“Stay away, soldier.” He had heard that voice only once, but he recognised it. Guy de Lusignan.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he replied immediately.
“You’re that messenger from King Richard.” Much could feel de Lusignan’s heavy gaze on him. “Where’s Captain Louis?”
“He fell.”
“Good work.” de Lusignan had a calculating look on his face while he looked at Much’s little troop. Then he said. “Damn.”
Much followed de Lusignan’s eyes and saw a banner raised in the middle of the enemy forces.
“Whose banner is that?”
“Conrad de Montferrat,” de Lusignan’s expression darkened. “I need to rally my men as well.”
“Take my horse, my lord,” Much offered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lord,” Much assured him. “I will hold this line.”
“You better do,” Guy de Lusignan gave him a smirk when he mounted Much’s horse. “I won’t like to see my wife and my daughters as Saracen prisoners.”
“Yala-l-Islam!” The Saracens’ battle cry filled the air but Much took every man he could reach and placed them in a line, covering the retreat of the rest of their army and de Lusignan charge into Saracen territory to rescue Conrad de Montferrat.
“Stop!” Much hauled another fleeing soldier into his makeshift battle front.
“I can’t fight,” the man begged with tears in his eyes. He was right, Much realized, his left arm was cut open to the bone from the shoulder to the hand.
“Yes, you can,” Much told him firmly.
“I don’t want to die,” the man cried. He would die; no physician could save him from a wound like that.
“There are women in the camp, and children. Do you want to tell God you failed them?” Much looked him in the eyes. “You can fight.”
The man trembled but he raised his right hand and the sword in it.
The battlefield cleared. Most of their army had made the retreat behind the battle line but Much could still see Conrad de Montferrat’s banner surrounded by Saracens', though he had seen de Lusignan breaking through the enemy’s lines earlier together with handful of his knights.
“You!” Much ordered the man with the open arm. “Hold this line.” The man stared at him with wide open eyes.
“Cover our backs, but try not to shoot King Guy or any other of our knights.”
Much picked fifty men, mostly uncommanded infantry soldiers, and began to advance against the Saracens. They only needed to break them up enough for de Lusignan and his rescue troop to escape.
That had been the plan at least.
What Much didn’t know, couldn’t have known, was that the army in front of him wasn’t just one of the Saracen’s regular units. It was Saladin’s own corps, the elite of the Saracen military.
“For the King!” Much shouted and charged ahead.
It wasn’t a battle. It was a slaughter. Saladin’s guard mowed them down effortlessly. Much was both lucky and had one advantage. his shield. The man next to him was beheaded by a Saracen rider but when he tried to do the same thing to Much, Much raised his small shield over his head, blocking the attack and thrusting his sword into the rider’s barely protected side. His horse bolted and crushed another rider when it collided with them. Much tasted blood but he couldn’t say if it was his own or someone else’s.
Behind him he heard the omnipresent “Yala-l-Islam” and whirled around with his shield raised just in time to prevent a strike to his shoulder. The Saracen said something that sounded like a curse and attacked Much again. Much held his defence but he could hear a snap and felt immense pain in his left wrist. He rammed his sword into the horse’s side. The animal reared up but its rider wasn’t fortunate enough to be pushed out of his saddle before it fell to its side, burying his leg underneath its body.
Much yanked his sword out of its body. The Saracen was struggling to get out from underneath his horse. He tried to raise his sword against Much but Much simply knocked it out his hand before crushing his skull with a heavy step onto his face. Just in time to block another attack. If he had used his sword to kill the Saracen then he would have been dead himself.
On the bright side, Much’s charge distracted the Saracen’s enough for de Lusignan to break through their lines again.
It was sheer luck that de Lusignan broke through more or less the same moment Much was hit by a stray arrow in the leg and fell to his knees.
It was also sheer luck that de Lusignan recognized him.
“Eh!” he yelled at Much and reached out for him.
“I wondered why they suddenly seemed distracted,” de Lusignan said while they riding for the front line. “What you did was very stupid. And very brave.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Much panted, fighting against the pain in both his leg and his wrist. He could barely stand to hold on to de Lusignan.
The lines were drawn again but the sun was sinking rapidly and Saladin sent a messenger to them, announcing a draw that would allow both sides to pick up their dead.
De Lusignan had brought Much to the physician’s tent himself despite Much’s protests that he needed to get back to King Richard. He needed to know if Robin was still alive.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Much!” Much had never before been so relieved to see and hear Robin.
“Master!” Much sat up from his cot, “How are you, master?” In his relief he had fallen back into English.
“I’m fine, Much,” Robin kneeled down next to him. “Looks like you have a story to tell.” He sounded just as relieved to see Much alive as Much felt for him.
“I see King Richard takes notice when one of his heroes goes missing,” de Lusignan had appeared in the entrance of the tent.
“Guy de Lusignan,” He introduced himself to Robin.
“Robin of Locksley,” Robin replied, looking slightly confused.
“I’ve heard about you. You will be able to treat a hero’s story for a hero’s story with you friend then.”
Much blushed at de Lusignan’s casual mention of the word friend. He still didn’t know that Much wasn’t a knight, he wasn’t even a free man.
“I hope t ofight with you again,” de Lusignan nodded to Much with a small smile. “Lord Locksley.” Then he left the tent.
“Much, what - ;“ Robin asked. And Much explained. In English, just to be sure that no one overheard them. At the end of his story Robin shook with laughter but he looked at Much like he was very, very proud of him.
“That’s a good story to tell when we go home,” Robin said, “But first let’s get back to our camp, before de Lusignan finds out that a serf saved his life. Hell, I might have to set you free just because of that,” Robin grinned. Much grinned uncertainly back.
“How’s your leg? Can you walk yet?” Much shook his head.
“Come on,” Robin hauled him up and supported most of Much’s weight for the short way to his horse.
“Thank you, master,” Much gasped.
On the way back, Robin filled him in with the parts of the battle Much had missed. King Richard had managed to keep Saladin’s left wing engaged in battle so that they couldn’t help the right wing that had practically crushed the Templars who had suffered great losses, among them their Grand Master. Also, the retreat hadn’t been a trap; it had been a genuine flight from the battlefield on the Saracens behalf until Guy de Lusignan’s army had actually managed to reach Saladin’s core troops.
Much wondered briefly if the Templar that had brought him to Guy de Lusignan in the first place had survived.
The good news were that they would get reinforcement from the rest of the nobles that were still at Tyre, among them half of Phillip’s army, to close a siege around Acre.
The bad news was that they themselves were practically surrounded by Saladin and would be besieged themselves until the Emperor arrived.
///////////////////////////////////////
Despite their earlier fight, both Jehan and Adhémar were relieved when Much came back alive. They had their own battle stories to tell of course but none as outrageous as Much’s.
Jehan even made him a pair of crutches so that Much could at least walk around, even if he could barely do anything else because his wrist needed to heal as well. According to the physician it was not broken and should be fine after a few days, but it still annoyed Much that he was as good as useless. Robin did everything and teased Much about being unhappy over not having to carry to Robin’s every whim for once.
Only it wasn’t like that, because Robin was a good master. Even if he didn’t talk about it, everyone knew that James patronized Jocelin badly and that LeGrand thrashed Adhémar when he was drunk and in a bad mood. Only Roger was similarly mild-tempered as Robin but he and Jehan barely got along and Much doubted that Roger knew the name of Jehan’s father or that Jehan remembered who had married Roger’s sister when Robin had told Much about his father’s death and knew the names of all of Much’s siblings even though they were long dead, succumbed to the plague that had taken so many lives in Nottinghamshire seven years ago.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Much,” Robin called. With some effort due to the sandy surface, Much struggled to stand on his crutches. He met him halfway to the king’s tent.
“Master,” Much still hid his face in embarrassment when Robin held the tent flaps open for him.
“Robin,” the king greeted his captain.
“Much, I see you do better.” It was Guy de Lusignan standing next to King Richard and King Phillip.
“You know him!” King Richard was surprised.
“Of course I do. He is the reason I am here. You have never sent me a more capable messenger, Richard.”
“But he’s just Robin’s servant,” King Richard replied confused. De Lusignan raised his eyebrows and King Phillip snickered. “The mighty King Guy, saved by a serf. What a story for your court.”
Guy de Lusignan regarded Much with newly awakened curiosity.
“Anyway, “ King Richard said, “You wanted to speak with me, Robin?”
“Not if you’re occupied, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense, what do you want?”
“I wanted to ask you to employ Much in your guard as my squire.”
“But he’s already your servant.”
“In regard to his achievements on the battlefield , I would think it sensible to give him a more active role in this war,” Robin spoke freely and confidently. Much knew King Richard usually valued that in Robin, and only in Robin, but he wasn’t so sure this time.
“Mmm, that’s a very unusual request. But as apparently even the King of Jerusalem can verify your servant’s skills. Very well,” he turned to Much. “Much,” he hesitated. “from Locksley, are you ready to swear your loyalty to me and this crusade as a free man?”
Much’s heart seemed to want to burst out of his chest but he managed to say. “Yes.”
“Kneel down.” Much did, with some difficulty and he doubted that he would make it up again without some help, and took the king's hand.
“I promise by my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the Lord, never cause Him harm and will observe my homage to Him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.“ Much repeated the words Robin had spoken two years ago in Poitiers and was now officially a free man and a soldier of King Richard’s guard.
He expected to feel different ,but there was nothing except for the knowledge that Robin valued him this highly. He silently swore that he would repay Robin’s kindness one day.
“In what curious times we live,” King Phillip murmured when he brushed past King Richard. “Next thing you know, we will actually elect kings.”
King Richard’s eyes followed King Phillip for a moment, watching him retreat into another part of the tent with something akin to tenderness in his expression before he turned back.
“Well, give my regards to your family, Guy.”
“Of course.” Guy de Lusignan turned to leave but he spoke to Much before he did, “I will see you again, Squire Much.”
“Get some rest, Robin,” King Richard advised him, “There will be enough fighting when the emperor arrives.” With that he followed King Phillip.
“Master?” Much asked feebly. Robin shook his head as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant thought and helped Much up.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Oho, the hero of the battle returns!” Jehan boomed when Much approached the small group at the fire.
“Well yes, I was quite... heroic,” Much replied without much false modesty.
“Can you sit with us, now that you are a free man and everything?” Adhémar asked dryly.
“Very funny,” Much told him and sat down next to Jocelin with some difficulty.
“The squire of the Earl of Huntington,” Jehan winked. “You will be a catch for all the girls both around here and back home.”
“It’s not really the right time to think about that, is it?” Much said, thinking of Robin’s broken engagement to the young lady Marian.
“There are some very pretty girls around here,” Jehan grinned lewdly.
“You would know,” Adhémar rolled his eyes. “You’re about as good-looking as my master but with less money to pay the pretty whores.”
Jehan opened his mouth in a offended gasp but no reply followed.
“The king married his wife on the way here,” Jocelin said quietly.
“I heard she’s hideous,” Jehan said snidely.
“She isn’t. I’ve seen her when my master greeted her and the king’s mother in Limassol.”
“I’ve heard the king is the problem and not the queen, anyway,” Adhémar interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Much asked.
“When the queen arrived in Cyprus all of a sudden, King Philip apparently threw a tantrum. Think about it, King Philip even helped our with a rebellion against old King Henry.”
“Are you implying that - ;“ Much began.
“That our king’s a sodomite, yes. The French king too.”
“That’s outrageous!” Much exclaimed scandalised.
“And not true,” Jocelin interrupted. “The king was engaged to King Philip’s sister. That was why he was upset.”
“Yeah, as if he would have married his father’s whore,” Adhémar replied sarcastically.
“I’ve heard that the princess is extremely pretty, so no blame on the old king,” Jehan said. “Perhaps the queen isn’t hideous, as you say Jocelin, but I’ve been told that the French princess is even prettier than her brother and he’s nearly as fair as a girl himself.”
The lull in their conversation was followed by Jehan slapping a hand on Much’s shoulder and declaring. “We should have a feast in your honour, but since we’re under siege and everything, I can only offer you old wine.” He held his wineskin out to him and Much took it. Adhémar and Jocelin were holding up their skins as well.
“To Much,” Jocelin said.
“To Much!” Adhémar and Jehan repeated and drank.
Much grinned happily before he drank himself.
Next Chapter
Chapter: Hero of War (2/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: Much distinguishes himself at the Battle of Acre and gains an unlikely aquaintance
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Guy de Lusignan, Gerard de Ridefort
Rating: overall rating of NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings:overall warnings of detailed violence and torture
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to BBC and not to me. Also I don’t make any money with this. It’s just for fun
Notes:Okay first a big, big thank you to both my beta-reader thymelady and my artistneaptidea. They have both done a more than incredible job especially in that short time. You are awesome guys, both of you :)
Second, I took a historical liberties with this fic: Richard and Philip didn’t arrive in Acre until summer 1191 but here I made them come to Acre in 1189 for dramatic purposes. Also I interpreted the historical characters in this story as it fit my purposes which I only say here in case one of you has seen Kingdom of Heaven and wonders why Guy de Lusignan is such a nice guy (although according to my textbooks and Wikipedia he wasn’t so bad ;)
Third, all Arabic in this fic comes from the phrase pages in an old travel guide. Feel open to point out any mistakes I made
Artwork, by neaptidea
Previous Chapter
The tragedy of men
Hero of War
They were woken by frantic yelling outside.
“They’re here! Saladin’s army is here!”
Robin didn’t even bother with most of his armour, simply yanking the chainmail over his head together with his surcoat.
“Much - ;“ He began but Much was already at his side, dressed, and holding Robin’s shield.
The whole King’s Guard waited around King Richard and the messenger.
“Where are they?” King Richard wanted to know.
“They’re... attacking Guy de Lusignan’s camp,” the messenger said breathlessly. He was bleeding heavily from an arrow wound in his upper leg. “He stood... his ground when I left... but the Templars began to engage Saladin’s... right wing.”
“Were they still moving their positions when you left?”
“Yes... a semicircle... facing to Acre.”
The king’s face gave nothing away what he thought about Saladin’s tactic. He turned to Robin. “I want to send a man to de Lusignan’s camp to tell him and Gerard of the Templars to put their crossbowmen in the first line and the heavy cavalry in second. In the meantime I will rally the troops to attack their left wing.”
Robin threw a look at Much who nodded, bowed to the King and quickly left the tent.
“He, what’s happening?” LeGrand was late, coming around the tents when Much mounted his horse.
“We’re attacked,” Much said hurriedly and careered through the tents and scattered soldiers. The nearer he got the louder he could hear the noise of battle, ducked an arrow and finally arrived in Guy de Lusignan’s camp.
“Where’s your master?” He asked the first soldiers he came across. They were transporting some of the wounded away from the battlefield.
“If you mean Lord de Lusignan, he’s over there.” One of them waved into the direction of the battle.
Much had to make his way through more and more soldiers and kept asking them for their master but most of them simply shrugged.
“Lord de Lusignan?” He asked again when a man in a Templar’s surcoat turned around and asked.
“What do you want from him?”
“King Richard sends me.”
“You’re of the King’s Guard?” The Templar asked but before Much could answer he waved him to dismount and follow him. Much did so. He couldn’t help but notice the other man’s fair hair, Tahir’s comment yesterday still rang in his memory.
“He’s counselling with Grand Master de Ridefort,” the Templar told him while they were walking away from the front lines and towards a tent that was only marginally less stately than King Richard’s.
“Grand Master, my lord,” The Templar greeted them respectfully, “I bring you a messenger from King Richard.”
“Well then, speak,” Guy de Lusignan prompted. He was not a man that would be easily overlooked and his deep voice supported his confident demeanour.
“The King asks you to... ” Quickly, Much repeated what his king had said.
“What is your name?” Gerard wanted to know.
“Much, my lord.”
“And you serve in the King’s Guard?” It was obvious that Gerard wondered whose noble's younger brother or bastard Much was.
“I - ;“ Much began but de Lusignan interrupted him. “That's not important.” He turned to Much. “You have a horse, I presume?” Much nodded.
“Good, report to Captain Louis, tell him what you told me. He’s in charge of the crossbowmen. Then you report back to me. King Richard has King Phillip’s men at his disposal. I need every man I have here.” de Lusignan’s voice left no room for protest.
“Of course, my lord,” Much answered. When he left the tent, he could see the Templar smiling and nodding at him as if to wish him good luck. Much supposed he would need it.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Captain Louis?” The man turned to Much but in the same moment an arrow buried itself in his unprotected neck and pushed him from his horse. Much jumped from his own horse and crouched behind his shield.
“Who’s your commander?” he asked the soldier next to him. The man gave him a disbelieving look and shrugged to the corpse. “He isn’t my commander any more.”
“Who then?”
“How should I know? Go ask someone whose blood is bluer than mine.” He rolled his eyes and pressed the next bolt into his crossbow. As far as Much could see no one took command. The line of crossbowmen threatened to fray out.
“Riders!” someone shouted, but he didn’t mean de Lusignan’s heavy cavalry in their backs.
Saladin had unleashed his deathliest weapon. his light cavalry. Much didn’t have time to think. He shouldered his shield, mounted his horse and shouted.
“Make room! Aim for their bodies. Their armour is lighter than ours!”
And miraculously everyone obeyed.
Much raced along the line, repeating his order for every unit until they resembled something like a front. North of them, Saladin’s right wing was already fighting with the Templar’s who hadn’t managed to draw their forces together and engaged Saladin’s forces in a disjointed battle.
The sun was already high on the sky when something unexpected happened. Instead of charging against them, the Saracen soldiers suddenly withdrew. Guy de Lusignan followed them with his cavalry, followed by the infantry and the crossbowmen. Withdrawing, after all, meant an opportunity for scavenging.
de Lusignan’s whole army rushed forward in blind greed. Much dismounted to take a Saracen bow from one of the enemy soldiers, thinking that Robin would probably be interested in this, before chaos descended upon them.
It had been a trap.
And they had fallen right into it.
Someone knocked Much over while they were fleeing from Saladin’s army and he fell into the sand. Fortunately he was still relatively near the original battle line or else he would have been killed by Saladin’s refreshed forces.
Much came back to his feet but someone else ran or rather fell into him. Much’s hands automatically tried to pushed him back but they found nothing but soft and wet warmth. Despite having his stomach sliced open the man above Much had managed to run this far. Something worth admiring if he didn’t try to grab Much with his last strength, damning him to the same fate as him.
Much didn’t think. He tightened his grip onto the man’s innards and pushed with all his strength. The man let out a choked scream - and Much came free with bits of innards on his bloody hands. He grabbed onto the next soldier that came in his direction and had a crossbow on his back.
“You! Stay here!” he ordered with the same commanding tone that he had heard so often from Robin or the King. “Shoot at anything that looks like a Saracen.”
He grabbed the next crossbowman, and the next, and the next. He had maybe twenty men around him when he grabbed someone who brushed him off.
“Stay away, soldier.” He had heard that voice only once, but he recognised it. Guy de Lusignan.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he replied immediately.
“You’re that messenger from King Richard.” Much could feel de Lusignan’s heavy gaze on him. “Where’s Captain Louis?”
“He fell.”
“Good work.” de Lusignan had a calculating look on his face while he looked at Much’s little troop. Then he said. “Damn.”
Much followed de Lusignan’s eyes and saw a banner raised in the middle of the enemy forces.
“Whose banner is that?”
“Conrad de Montferrat,” de Lusignan’s expression darkened. “I need to rally my men as well.”
“Take my horse, my lord,” Much offered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lord,” Much assured him. “I will hold this line.”
“You better do,” Guy de Lusignan gave him a smirk when he mounted Much’s horse. “I won’t like to see my wife and my daughters as Saracen prisoners.”
“Yala-l-Islam!” The Saracens’ battle cry filled the air but Much took every man he could reach and placed them in a line, covering the retreat of the rest of their army and de Lusignan charge into Saracen territory to rescue Conrad de Montferrat.
“Stop!” Much hauled another fleeing soldier into his makeshift battle front.
“I can’t fight,” the man begged with tears in his eyes. He was right, Much realized, his left arm was cut open to the bone from the shoulder to the hand.
“Yes, you can,” Much told him firmly.
“I don’t want to die,” the man cried. He would die; no physician could save him from a wound like that.
“There are women in the camp, and children. Do you want to tell God you failed them?” Much looked him in the eyes. “You can fight.”
The man trembled but he raised his right hand and the sword in it.
The battlefield cleared. Most of their army had made the retreat behind the battle line but Much could still see Conrad de Montferrat’s banner surrounded by Saracens', though he had seen de Lusignan breaking through the enemy’s lines earlier together with handful of his knights.
“You!” Much ordered the man with the open arm. “Hold this line.” The man stared at him with wide open eyes.
“Cover our backs, but try not to shoot King Guy or any other of our knights.”
Much picked fifty men, mostly uncommanded infantry soldiers, and began to advance against the Saracens. They only needed to break them up enough for de Lusignan and his rescue troop to escape.
That had been the plan at least.
What Much didn’t know, couldn’t have known, was that the army in front of him wasn’t just one of the Saracen’s regular units. It was Saladin’s own corps, the elite of the Saracen military.
“For the King!” Much shouted and charged ahead.
It wasn’t a battle. It was a slaughter. Saladin’s guard mowed them down effortlessly. Much was both lucky and had one advantage. his shield. The man next to him was beheaded by a Saracen rider but when he tried to do the same thing to Much, Much raised his small shield over his head, blocking the attack and thrusting his sword into the rider’s barely protected side. His horse bolted and crushed another rider when it collided with them. Much tasted blood but he couldn’t say if it was his own or someone else’s.
Behind him he heard the omnipresent “Yala-l-Islam” and whirled around with his shield raised just in time to prevent a strike to his shoulder. The Saracen said something that sounded like a curse and attacked Much again. Much held his defence but he could hear a snap and felt immense pain in his left wrist. He rammed his sword into the horse’s side. The animal reared up but its rider wasn’t fortunate enough to be pushed out of his saddle before it fell to its side, burying his leg underneath its body.
Much yanked his sword out of its body. The Saracen was struggling to get out from underneath his horse. He tried to raise his sword against Much but Much simply knocked it out his hand before crushing his skull with a heavy step onto his face. Just in time to block another attack. If he had used his sword to kill the Saracen then he would have been dead himself.
On the bright side, Much’s charge distracted the Saracen’s enough for de Lusignan to break through their lines again.
It was sheer luck that de Lusignan broke through more or less the same moment Much was hit by a stray arrow in the leg and fell to his knees.
It was also sheer luck that de Lusignan recognized him.
“Eh!” he yelled at Much and reached out for him.
“I wondered why they suddenly seemed distracted,” de Lusignan said while they riding for the front line. “What you did was very stupid. And very brave.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Much panted, fighting against the pain in both his leg and his wrist. He could barely stand to hold on to de Lusignan.
The lines were drawn again but the sun was sinking rapidly and Saladin sent a messenger to them, announcing a draw that would allow both sides to pick up their dead.
De Lusignan had brought Much to the physician’s tent himself despite Much’s protests that he needed to get back to King Richard. He needed to know if Robin was still alive.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Much!” Much had never before been so relieved to see and hear Robin.
“Master!” Much sat up from his cot, “How are you, master?” In his relief he had fallen back into English.
“I’m fine, Much,” Robin kneeled down next to him. “Looks like you have a story to tell.” He sounded just as relieved to see Much alive as Much felt for him.
“I see King Richard takes notice when one of his heroes goes missing,” de Lusignan had appeared in the entrance of the tent.
“Guy de Lusignan,” He introduced himself to Robin.
“Robin of Locksley,” Robin replied, looking slightly confused.
“I’ve heard about you. You will be able to treat a hero’s story for a hero’s story with you friend then.”
Much blushed at de Lusignan’s casual mention of the word friend. He still didn’t know that Much wasn’t a knight, he wasn’t even a free man.
“I hope t ofight with you again,” de Lusignan nodded to Much with a small smile. “Lord Locksley.” Then he left the tent.
“Much, what - ;“ Robin asked. And Much explained. In English, just to be sure that no one overheard them. At the end of his story Robin shook with laughter but he looked at Much like he was very, very proud of him.
“That’s a good story to tell when we go home,” Robin said, “But first let’s get back to our camp, before de Lusignan finds out that a serf saved his life. Hell, I might have to set you free just because of that,” Robin grinned. Much grinned uncertainly back.
“How’s your leg? Can you walk yet?” Much shook his head.
“Come on,” Robin hauled him up and supported most of Much’s weight for the short way to his horse.
“Thank you, master,” Much gasped.
On the way back, Robin filled him in with the parts of the battle Much had missed. King Richard had managed to keep Saladin’s left wing engaged in battle so that they couldn’t help the right wing that had practically crushed the Templars who had suffered great losses, among them their Grand Master. Also, the retreat hadn’t been a trap; it had been a genuine flight from the battlefield on the Saracens behalf until Guy de Lusignan’s army had actually managed to reach Saladin’s core troops.
Much wondered briefly if the Templar that had brought him to Guy de Lusignan in the first place had survived.
The good news were that they would get reinforcement from the rest of the nobles that were still at Tyre, among them half of Phillip’s army, to close a siege around Acre.
The bad news was that they themselves were practically surrounded by Saladin and would be besieged themselves until the Emperor arrived.
///////////////////////////////////////
Despite their earlier fight, both Jehan and Adhémar were relieved when Much came back alive. They had their own battle stories to tell of course but none as outrageous as Much’s.
Jehan even made him a pair of crutches so that Much could at least walk around, even if he could barely do anything else because his wrist needed to heal as well. According to the physician it was not broken and should be fine after a few days, but it still annoyed Much that he was as good as useless. Robin did everything and teased Much about being unhappy over not having to carry to Robin’s every whim for once.
Only it wasn’t like that, because Robin was a good master. Even if he didn’t talk about it, everyone knew that James patronized Jocelin badly and that LeGrand thrashed Adhémar when he was drunk and in a bad mood. Only Roger was similarly mild-tempered as Robin but he and Jehan barely got along and Much doubted that Roger knew the name of Jehan’s father or that Jehan remembered who had married Roger’s sister when Robin had told Much about his father’s death and knew the names of all of Much’s siblings even though they were long dead, succumbed to the plague that had taken so many lives in Nottinghamshire seven years ago.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Much,” Robin called. With some effort due to the sandy surface, Much struggled to stand on his crutches. He met him halfway to the king’s tent.
“Master,” Much still hid his face in embarrassment when Robin held the tent flaps open for him.
“Robin,” the king greeted his captain.
“Much, I see you do better.” It was Guy de Lusignan standing next to King Richard and King Phillip.
“You know him!” King Richard was surprised.
“Of course I do. He is the reason I am here. You have never sent me a more capable messenger, Richard.”
“But he’s just Robin’s servant,” King Richard replied confused. De Lusignan raised his eyebrows and King Phillip snickered. “The mighty King Guy, saved by a serf. What a story for your court.”
Guy de Lusignan regarded Much with newly awakened curiosity.
“Anyway, “ King Richard said, “You wanted to speak with me, Robin?”
“Not if you’re occupied, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense, what do you want?”
“I wanted to ask you to employ Much in your guard as my squire.”
“But he’s already your servant.”
“In regard to his achievements on the battlefield , I would think it sensible to give him a more active role in this war,” Robin spoke freely and confidently. Much knew King Richard usually valued that in Robin, and only in Robin, but he wasn’t so sure this time.
“Mmm, that’s a very unusual request. But as apparently even the King of Jerusalem can verify your servant’s skills. Very well,” he turned to Much. “Much,” he hesitated. “from Locksley, are you ready to swear your loyalty to me and this crusade as a free man?”
Much’s heart seemed to want to burst out of his chest but he managed to say. “Yes.”
“Kneel down.” Much did, with some difficulty and he doubted that he would make it up again without some help, and took the king's hand.
“I promise by my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the Lord, never cause Him harm and will observe my homage to Him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.“ Much repeated the words Robin had spoken two years ago in Poitiers and was now officially a free man and a soldier of King Richard’s guard.
He expected to feel different ,but there was nothing except for the knowledge that Robin valued him this highly. He silently swore that he would repay Robin’s kindness one day.
“In what curious times we live,” King Phillip murmured when he brushed past King Richard. “Next thing you know, we will actually elect kings.”
King Richard’s eyes followed King Phillip for a moment, watching him retreat into another part of the tent with something akin to tenderness in his expression before he turned back.
“Well, give my regards to your family, Guy.”
“Of course.” Guy de Lusignan turned to leave but he spoke to Much before he did, “I will see you again, Squire Much.”
“Get some rest, Robin,” King Richard advised him, “There will be enough fighting when the emperor arrives.” With that he followed King Phillip.
“Master?” Much asked feebly. Robin shook his head as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant thought and helped Much up.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Oho, the hero of the battle returns!” Jehan boomed when Much approached the small group at the fire.
“Well yes, I was quite... heroic,” Much replied without much false modesty.
“Can you sit with us, now that you are a free man and everything?” Adhémar asked dryly.
“Very funny,” Much told him and sat down next to Jocelin with some difficulty.
“The squire of the Earl of Huntington,” Jehan winked. “You will be a catch for all the girls both around here and back home.”
“It’s not really the right time to think about that, is it?” Much said, thinking of Robin’s broken engagement to the young lady Marian.
“There are some very pretty girls around here,” Jehan grinned lewdly.
“You would know,” Adhémar rolled his eyes. “You’re about as good-looking as my master but with less money to pay the pretty whores.”
Jehan opened his mouth in a offended gasp but no reply followed.
“The king married his wife on the way here,” Jocelin said quietly.
“I heard she’s hideous,” Jehan said snidely.
“She isn’t. I’ve seen her when my master greeted her and the king’s mother in Limassol.”
“I’ve heard the king is the problem and not the queen, anyway,” Adhémar interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Much asked.
“When the queen arrived in Cyprus all of a sudden, King Philip apparently threw a tantrum. Think about it, King Philip even helped our with a rebellion against old King Henry.”
“Are you implying that - ;“ Much began.
“That our king’s a sodomite, yes. The French king too.”
“That’s outrageous!” Much exclaimed scandalised.
“And not true,” Jocelin interrupted. “The king was engaged to King Philip’s sister. That was why he was upset.”
“Yeah, as if he would have married his father’s whore,” Adhémar replied sarcastically.
“I’ve heard that the princess is extremely pretty, so no blame on the old king,” Jehan said. “Perhaps the queen isn’t hideous, as you say Jocelin, but I’ve been told that the French princess is even prettier than her brother and he’s nearly as fair as a girl himself.”
The lull in their conversation was followed by Jehan slapping a hand on Much’s shoulder and declaring. “We should have a feast in your honour, but since we’re under siege and everything, I can only offer you old wine.” He held his wineskin out to him and Much took it. Adhémar and Jocelin were holding up their skins as well.
“To Much,” Jocelin said.
“To Much!” Adhémar and Jehan repeated and drank.
Much grinned happily before he drank himself.
Next Chapter