The Tragedy of Men - Chapter Three
Title The Tragedy of Men
Chapter: One More Day’s Light (3/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: After the Battle of Acre Saladin besieges the Crusaders, cutting them off from any supplies and the situation in the camp detoriates quickly.
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Richard, Philip, Guy de Lusignan, Jehan
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
One More Day’s Light
“King Richard?” the man asked. His accent was unfamiliar and thick, so thick that Much nearly didn’t understand him.
“Who’s asking?” Robin asked instead of answering.
“Saer Thurstan, I am... I was a knight in the Emperor’s army.”
“What do you mean ‘was’? Did you desert?”
“No, the Emperor is dead. His army has disbanded.”
“What?” Much voiced the shock that he could see clearly on Robin’s face.
“Much,“ Robin turned to him. “Send messengers to the nobles. I will bring this man to the King.”
///////////////////////////////////////
There was a small hollow in one of the hills just above the King’s camp. Robin was feasting with LeGrand and Roger and had told him to take the night off and enjoy himself, but Jocelin attended to James, Jehan had managed to found a woman that was willing to share his bed and Adhémar was sick with fever and nausea.
Much liked to come here when he wasn’t needed anywhere else. It was a private place, somewhere he could pray and think of home. There were hollows like this around the hills in Nottingham and even though they had been considerable less sandy and wetter, the familiarity was enough to cure his homesickness at least for a handful of moments.
“This is insanity, Richard!” Much listened attentively. He knew that voice even though he couldn’t place it.
“We should have never come here. I should have never followed you in the first place.”
“It’s not all lost, Philip.” Much cowered instinctively deeper into the hollow. He doubted that King Richard wanted to be overheard by a peasant.
“Saladin has us surrounded!” King Philip barely tried to keep his voice down. “And the emperor won’t come.”
“There’s still the Italian fleet.”
“Saladin has an army that is three, maybe four times as powerful as ours. Do you really think the fleet will arrive in time to save us?”
“They are not the only ones. Did you think I sent my mother and my wife home only to keep them out of my way? They rally my vassals as we speak.”
“Oh yes, your pretty little wife will save us all and you will bestow her with a true knight’s kiss.” King Philip sounded just as sarcastic as Adhémar usually did but a lot more hurt, Much thought.
“She’s gone,” King Richard said quietly. “I can’t see why you are still this upset. It’s not like you’re not married.”
“Was married,” King Philip reminded him acidicly.
“This is not still about Alix, is it?”
“Of course not,” Philip sounded insulted by the mere implication. “Why should I be upset over a promise that was broken years and years ago?”
“Because you were always a sore loser.” There was a teasing tone in his voice that Much had never heard from the King before. Philip let out a chuckle.
“I can show you how much of a sore loser I am.” Retreating steps through the sand but Much didn’t move until he was absolutely sure that both kings were gone.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Can you bring me some oranges, Much?” Robin asked after pretty much collapsing on his cot. Much couldn’t blame him. Being under siege while they besieged Acre was... exhausting to say the very least. And Acre still received fresh food and reinforcements by Saladin’s fleet. It was actually more like being under siege from both sides.
“I’m sorry, master but we don’t have any,” Much replied. Five months so far and the rations became smaller and smaller with every day. Until a few days ago Much had fed Robin what they had had left from the time before the Battle of Acre but the last orange was gone yesterday.
“How about some wine instead?” Much asked but Robin had already fallen asleep. Once upon a time Much would have woken him up to help remove his chain mail but that was pointless now. Everyone slept in their armour; the next attack from the Saracen would come, it was just a matter of when.
///////////////////////////////////////
And so it continued. Life seemed to keep only two different nightmares for them. in one they starved slowly under the unforgiving sun on the sand between Acre and Saladin’s army and in the other they were overrun and sold into slavery.
The nightmares changed places constantly but currently they lived in the first one. Hunger was bitter reality throughout the camp and couldn’t be ignored.
Much, who had felt hunger more often than not before he had become Robin’s servant, still found the strength to be cheery because there was the faint possibility that it might make Robin crack a smile and distract him from the gnawing, all absorbing pain of extreme starvation that had to hit Robin harder than him because Robin hadn’t known hunger before.
It was even worse on the nights when they burned their fallen comrades. The sheer smell of burning flesh, no matter what flesh it was, made Much turn away and bite his knuckles so that he wouldn’t lose control.
The worse thing was that the Saracen’s fouled the two rivers that flew into the sea near Acre. Every day both streams were filled with dead animals and the beheaded corpses of Christian soldiers. It was disgusting but there were no wells and no one had the strength left to dig one.
So everyone drank the water and everyone became ill. Some were worse off than the others, depending on how much wine they still owned. Adhémar steadily fought bouts of fever, pain and nausea but when he could stand he pulled his weight like everyone else.
The steady streams of attacks meant that they had to replace the barricades constantly, heavy labour even for a healthy man and those were a rarity in the Crusader’s camp. At least Acre had to do as bad as them, since one of the feared Mediterranean winter storms had destroyed Saladin’s fleet.
“Master, I can take over,” Much offered. Robin helped with the barricades as did other nobles. There were not enough men left for them to sit around and do nothing.
Robin stepped back, took a deep breath and handed the shovel to Much.
“Maybe we’ll defeat them today,” Jehan winked at him. “Packing Acre full of soldiers was only a good idea when they still had the fleet. You’ll see in a week we’ll be lords of Acre and wait for the Italians there.”
“Wishful thinking,” Adhémar snorted next to them. He was ghastly thin like the rest of them but the malaria had given him a pale, clammy skin that made him look less alive than the rest of them.
Slowly, sluggishly slowly, the hours crawled by. What they were doing was mostly pointless; the next Saracen charge would undoubtedly knock down the barricades, but it could be the proverbial hair that broke the camel’s back. Much had heard Harun saying this more than once and he briefly wondered how the man and his family were doing. They were probably glad that Saladin had reclaimed their land.
It was so easy to get lost between the mindless, heavy labour and the eternal hunger that Much at first didn’t notice that next to him, Jehan had collapsed and lay dead still in the sand. When he regained consciousness a short time later, Jehan babbled apologies and promised to go back to work if they could only give him something to eat.
“I’m not a quitter or a slacker,” Jehan assured them, “but I know if I don’t get something to eat I will die.”
Much’s whole food was in a pouch on his belt; four shells he had found in the river that morning. He took them out and fed them slowly to Jehan, one after the other.
“Thanks, mate,” Jehan whispered deeply moved.
He died two hours later.
///////////////////////////////////////
“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” Much asked when he stood in the entrance of Guy de Lusignan’s tent. The King of Jerusalem was scared by another scourge of the Crusader’s camp; scurvy. His nails and teeth were bloody, his legs too swollen for him to walk and the breathlessness made it harder for Much to understand him.
“Yes, “ Guy de Lusignan waved him inside. “Richard will owe me a favour for this,” he chuckled breathlessly.
“Your Majesty?” Much asked uncertain.
“Can you read?”
“No,” Much answered truthfully. Robin had tried to teach him, mostly to kill his own boredom, but Much had never managed to catch on.
“Good, Conrad will say to tyre in a few days. I want you to accompany him and deliver this letter to Princess Isabella.”
“I’m needed here at my Master’s side,” Much protested.
“Your loyalty is worthy of admiration.” de Lusignan’s tone made clear that e wouldn’t accept a no.
“I’m not the best... I mean I’m not even a noble. Roger of Stoke is a noble,“ Much continued hastily, “And he’s an excellent messenger. King Richard relies on him very much.”
“That’s why I want you to go. Your loyalty lies with your master, not with the king.”
“I swore an oath to the king,” Much protested immediately.
“If your master turned against King Richard, who would you follow?” de Lusignan asked, his calculating dark eyes never leaving Much’s face. When Much failed to answer, he said. “I thought as much.”
“Princess Isabella, you say?” Much replied. Guy de Lusignan gave an approximation of laughter and handed Much the letter.
“Show the seal, make sure that only she or her husband open this letter.”
“I will, Your Majesty,” Much promised, but it never happened.
Saladin was both a patient and an intelligent man. He had waited long enough and continued to strengthen his army over the previous months before he attacked the Christian camp. If he had waited any longer, he knew there was the possibility that Acre would surrender and even with virtually no supplies, it would be a lot harder to get rid of the Christians once they had taken Acre.
He attacked on the same day Conrad de Montferrat was to leave the camp for Tyre by his ship.
Saladin’s army actually overran the barricades and the first few rows of tents before they were met with anything even resembling resistance.
Much remembered that he had been on the way to the ship with Robin at his side when he had heard the much dreaded “Yala-l-Islam”. Robin managed to turn around in time and actually shot the first two Saracens that reached them before another hit him over the head and Robin slumped into the sand.
“Oh,” Much said and thought, ‘That’s not how I thought it would end,’ before he was beaten down as well.
Next Chapter
Chapter: One More Day’s Light (3/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: After the Battle of Acre Saladin besieges the Crusaders, cutting them off from any supplies and the situation in the camp detoriates quickly.
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Richard, Philip, Guy de Lusignan, Jehan
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
One More Day’s Light
“King Richard?” the man asked. His accent was unfamiliar and thick, so thick that Much nearly didn’t understand him.
“Who’s asking?” Robin asked instead of answering.
“Saer Thurstan, I am... I was a knight in the Emperor’s army.”
“What do you mean ‘was’? Did you desert?”
“No, the Emperor is dead. His army has disbanded.”
“What?” Much voiced the shock that he could see clearly on Robin’s face.
“Much,“ Robin turned to him. “Send messengers to the nobles. I will bring this man to the King.”
///////////////////////////////////////
There was a small hollow in one of the hills just above the King’s camp. Robin was feasting with LeGrand and Roger and had told him to take the night off and enjoy himself, but Jocelin attended to James, Jehan had managed to found a woman that was willing to share his bed and Adhémar was sick with fever and nausea.
Much liked to come here when he wasn’t needed anywhere else. It was a private place, somewhere he could pray and think of home. There were hollows like this around the hills in Nottingham and even though they had been considerable less sandy and wetter, the familiarity was enough to cure his homesickness at least for a handful of moments.
“This is insanity, Richard!” Much listened attentively. He knew that voice even though he couldn’t place it.
“We should have never come here. I should have never followed you in the first place.”
“It’s not all lost, Philip.” Much cowered instinctively deeper into the hollow. He doubted that King Richard wanted to be overheard by a peasant.
“Saladin has us surrounded!” King Philip barely tried to keep his voice down. “And the emperor won’t come.”
“There’s still the Italian fleet.”
“Saladin has an army that is three, maybe four times as powerful as ours. Do you really think the fleet will arrive in time to save us?”
“They are not the only ones. Did you think I sent my mother and my wife home only to keep them out of my way? They rally my vassals as we speak.”
“Oh yes, your pretty little wife will save us all and you will bestow her with a true knight’s kiss.” King Philip sounded just as sarcastic as Adhémar usually did but a lot more hurt, Much thought.
“She’s gone,” King Richard said quietly. “I can’t see why you are still this upset. It’s not like you’re not married.”
“Was married,” King Philip reminded him acidicly.
“This is not still about Alix, is it?”
“Of course not,” Philip sounded insulted by the mere implication. “Why should I be upset over a promise that was broken years and years ago?”
“Because you were always a sore loser.” There was a teasing tone in his voice that Much had never heard from the King before. Philip let out a chuckle.
“I can show you how much of a sore loser I am.” Retreating steps through the sand but Much didn’t move until he was absolutely sure that both kings were gone.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Can you bring me some oranges, Much?” Robin asked after pretty much collapsing on his cot. Much couldn’t blame him. Being under siege while they besieged Acre was... exhausting to say the very least. And Acre still received fresh food and reinforcements by Saladin’s fleet. It was actually more like being under siege from both sides.
“I’m sorry, master but we don’t have any,” Much replied. Five months so far and the rations became smaller and smaller with every day. Until a few days ago Much had fed Robin what they had had left from the time before the Battle of Acre but the last orange was gone yesterday.
“How about some wine instead?” Much asked but Robin had already fallen asleep. Once upon a time Much would have woken him up to help remove his chain mail but that was pointless now. Everyone slept in their armour; the next attack from the Saracen would come, it was just a matter of when.
///////////////////////////////////////
And so it continued. Life seemed to keep only two different nightmares for them. in one they starved slowly under the unforgiving sun on the sand between Acre and Saladin’s army and in the other they were overrun and sold into slavery.
The nightmares changed places constantly but currently they lived in the first one. Hunger was bitter reality throughout the camp and couldn’t be ignored.
Much, who had felt hunger more often than not before he had become Robin’s servant, still found the strength to be cheery because there was the faint possibility that it might make Robin crack a smile and distract him from the gnawing, all absorbing pain of extreme starvation that had to hit Robin harder than him because Robin hadn’t known hunger before.
It was even worse on the nights when they burned their fallen comrades. The sheer smell of burning flesh, no matter what flesh it was, made Much turn away and bite his knuckles so that he wouldn’t lose control.
The worse thing was that the Saracen’s fouled the two rivers that flew into the sea near Acre. Every day both streams were filled with dead animals and the beheaded corpses of Christian soldiers. It was disgusting but there were no wells and no one had the strength left to dig one.
So everyone drank the water and everyone became ill. Some were worse off than the others, depending on how much wine they still owned. Adhémar steadily fought bouts of fever, pain and nausea but when he could stand he pulled his weight like everyone else.
The steady streams of attacks meant that they had to replace the barricades constantly, heavy labour even for a healthy man and those were a rarity in the Crusader’s camp. At least Acre had to do as bad as them, since one of the feared Mediterranean winter storms had destroyed Saladin’s fleet.
“Master, I can take over,” Much offered. Robin helped with the barricades as did other nobles. There were not enough men left for them to sit around and do nothing.
Robin stepped back, took a deep breath and handed the shovel to Much.
“Maybe we’ll defeat them today,” Jehan winked at him. “Packing Acre full of soldiers was only a good idea when they still had the fleet. You’ll see in a week we’ll be lords of Acre and wait for the Italians there.”
“Wishful thinking,” Adhémar snorted next to them. He was ghastly thin like the rest of them but the malaria had given him a pale, clammy skin that made him look less alive than the rest of them.
Slowly, sluggishly slowly, the hours crawled by. What they were doing was mostly pointless; the next Saracen charge would undoubtedly knock down the barricades, but it could be the proverbial hair that broke the camel’s back. Much had heard Harun saying this more than once and he briefly wondered how the man and his family were doing. They were probably glad that Saladin had reclaimed their land.
It was so easy to get lost between the mindless, heavy labour and the eternal hunger that Much at first didn’t notice that next to him, Jehan had collapsed and lay dead still in the sand. When he regained consciousness a short time later, Jehan babbled apologies and promised to go back to work if they could only give him something to eat.
“I’m not a quitter or a slacker,” Jehan assured them, “but I know if I don’t get something to eat I will die.”
Much’s whole food was in a pouch on his belt; four shells he had found in the river that morning. He took them out and fed them slowly to Jehan, one after the other.
“Thanks, mate,” Jehan whispered deeply moved.
He died two hours later.
///////////////////////////////////////
“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” Much asked when he stood in the entrance of Guy de Lusignan’s tent. The King of Jerusalem was scared by another scourge of the Crusader’s camp; scurvy. His nails and teeth were bloody, his legs too swollen for him to walk and the breathlessness made it harder for Much to understand him.
“Yes, “ Guy de Lusignan waved him inside. “Richard will owe me a favour for this,” he chuckled breathlessly.
“Your Majesty?” Much asked uncertain.
“Can you read?”
“No,” Much answered truthfully. Robin had tried to teach him, mostly to kill his own boredom, but Much had never managed to catch on.
“Good, Conrad will say to tyre in a few days. I want you to accompany him and deliver this letter to Princess Isabella.”
“I’m needed here at my Master’s side,” Much protested.
“Your loyalty is worthy of admiration.” de Lusignan’s tone made clear that e wouldn’t accept a no.
“I’m not the best... I mean I’m not even a noble. Roger of Stoke is a noble,“ Much continued hastily, “And he’s an excellent messenger. King Richard relies on him very much.”
“That’s why I want you to go. Your loyalty lies with your master, not with the king.”
“I swore an oath to the king,” Much protested immediately.
“If your master turned against King Richard, who would you follow?” de Lusignan asked, his calculating dark eyes never leaving Much’s face. When Much failed to answer, he said. “I thought as much.”
“Princess Isabella, you say?” Much replied. Guy de Lusignan gave an approximation of laughter and handed Much the letter.
“Show the seal, make sure that only she or her husband open this letter.”
“I will, Your Majesty,” Much promised, but it never happened.
Saladin was both a patient and an intelligent man. He had waited long enough and continued to strengthen his army over the previous months before he attacked the Christian camp. If he had waited any longer, he knew there was the possibility that Acre would surrender and even with virtually no supplies, it would be a lot harder to get rid of the Christians once they had taken Acre.
He attacked on the same day Conrad de Montferrat was to leave the camp for Tyre by his ship.
Saladin’s army actually overran the barricades and the first few rows of tents before they were met with anything even resembling resistance.
Much remembered that he had been on the way to the ship with Robin at his side when he had heard the much dreaded “Yala-l-Islam”. Robin managed to turn around in time and actually shot the first two Saracens that reached them before another hit him over the head and Robin slumped into the sand.
“Oh,” Much said and thought, ‘That’s not how I thought it would end,’ before he was beaten down as well.
Next Chapter