The Tragedy of Men - Chapter Seven
Title The Tragedy of Men
Chapter: So Burn the Untamed Lands (7/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: The Siege ends with a victory and in blood.
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Thomas, Richard, Philip, Conrad de Montferrat
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
So Burn the Untamed Lands
“They’re mocking us.” Much complained and rightfully so. It was Christmas Eve and the wind coming from the east carried with it the smell of roasted beef and chicken through the camp.
“Well maybe we should mock them, then.” Robin suggested, a smirk stealing itself on his face.
“How?” Robin’s smirk widened into a grin. “What do you think?”
Much opened his mouth, hesitated when he realised the full impact of Robin’s words and finally settled on: “No.”
“Yes.” Robin looked positively gleeful about his idea.
“That’s suicide!”
“Come one, Much, a nice beefsteak for Christmas? Maybe some chicken?
“Stop it, Robin, that’s not fair,” Much complained.
Robin tilted his head and got up. Much huffed but he followed him.
“You know there is a story about two Greek heroes who sneak into the enemy’s camp and steal all their horses,” Robin told Much while they were crawling up a hill.
“Do they survive?”
“Yes.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes!” Robin gave Much an annoyed look, who merely shrugged. “You did tell me that awful story about the Spartans and the Persians before.”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
He shot two soldiers, guarding a tent at the side of the Saracen camp that he and Much were ‘investigating’ and -
“Looks like God is our side tonight, doesn’t it?” Robin whispered to Much. They had managed to walk straight into one of the supply tents, which was right next to the tent of Saladin’s brother Saphadin, but Robin and Much didn’t know that.
“But master, how will we get all of that back to the camp?”
Robin looked around. There was not much there they could use except for...
“Much, do you remember that story I told you about the Greek soldiers?”
“Yes?” Much asked confused.
“They used horses.” Robin tilted his head into the direction of a conveniently near preserve of horses.
“You’re brilliant!”
“Sh!”
“Sorry,” Much grinned. “But you are brilliant, you know that, right?”
“I know,” Robin smirked smugly. “Let’s go.”
Like shadows they flitted between the tent and the preserves, fastening bags full of food and other useful things onto the horses. The animals were surprisingly quiet but then they were packhorses and probably used to this.
“Ahlan!” A man stepped out of the tent next to the supply tent, his eyes wide with shock when he saw them.
“Time to go.” Robin gave Much a signal and Much opened the gate and Robin drove the horses with loud noises down the hills.
“Asre'! Asre'!”
“Run!” It was not like it had been with Thomas in the clutter of alleys in Tyre. Here, he and Robin dodged arrows and dived for cover behind rocks and into the sand. When they finally reached King Richard’s camp, again both of them collapsed on the sand in laughter.
Not to mention that they were the heroes of the camp once again. Not only the supplies themselves but also the horses were a much welcomed additional food source. On top of that, one of the packages that Much had thrown into the bags with the rest, turned out to be some sort of correspondence.
“I know that you can speak Arabic, but can you read it as well?” Richard asked Robin when they examined his and Much’s plunder.
“No, I’m sorry Your Majesty.”
“King Conrad can read Arabic,” King Philip pointed out. A very unhappy expression flitted over Richard’s face at the mentioning of that name.
“Of course he can,” he grimaced when Philip wasn’t looking. “Robin, send someone for him.”
Robin nodded to Much and Much left the tent.
“You’re sure working on becoming a living legend,” Thomas greeted him outside. “And yet if you hear the men talk, it all seems to be Robin’s glory.”
“It was his idea,” Much defended him. “I only helped.” Thomas knew by now that there was no arguing about Robin with Much, so he let the topic drop.
“Where are you off to?”
“The King asked me to bring King Conrad to his tent.”
“Will I see you later?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow then,” Thomas smiled and took a different turn than Much through the tents.
///////////////////////////////////////
“This is the correspondence between Saphadin and the commander of Acre,” King Conrad said while he flipped through the letters. He had returned only a few weeks prior, while leaving his wife in Tyre. Probably to spare her the fate of her sister and to secure himself the throne.
“There’s everything in here: the strength of the garrison... the weaknesses of the walls... how much food they have left... literally everything we need to know.”
“So we know now how bad off they are. That is not going to help us,” Richard argued.
“On the contrary, we can build siege weapons and attack their walls at specific points. Once we’ve taken Acre, there’s nothing Saladin can do.” Conrad’s eyes wandered between Philip and Richard as if he was asking for both of their approval.
“It is a good plan,” Philip emphasised, looking pointedly at Richard, who visibly fought with himself for a moment before he agreed.
“Take what you need then, but for God’s sake try not to alarm Saladin of what we’re doing before we’re ready to attack.”
Behind Richard’s back Conrad gave him a look that reminded Much very much of Adhémar whenever he rolled his eyes at LeGrand.
///////////////////////////////////////
The siege weapons had some effect, but not the desired one. At least not completely. They did break through the walls but each time they attacked Acre with them, Saladin launched an attack against the Crusader’s themselves, giving the people of Acre time to repair the breached wall.
Once Saladin’s army itself managed to breach the siege, and an entire garrison made its way into Acre while Saladin’s other forces had the Crusader’s army tied up. It was a disastrous day for the overall morale.
Disastrous for Much and Adhémar was that Jocelin vanished during one of these attacks. No one could tell if he had been taken prisoner or if his corpse was one of the many that fouled the water in the camp and continued to make everyone sick.
April saw both King Philip and King Richard in the sickbed, but unlike so many others, both recovered.
Slowly one month turned into another. The first ship arrived in March, claiming that the sea had never been so calm around this time of the year. which everyone saw as a sign from God.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Did you see that?” Thomas asked one night after their secret tryst. They were walking back to the more densely populated areas of the camp when Thomas suddenly stopped dead in his movements.
“Seen what?” Much asked and squinted into the darkness.
“I was sure I saw someone.”
“Well, there are lots of people around. You. Me. And... no one,” Much teased him.
“I meant someone dressed like a Saracen.”
“Impossible!”
“Why? You and Robin managed to do the very same thing, didn’t you?”
“Well... yes... but that’s different,” Much claimed.
“Really?” Thomas wasn’t impressed. “How - did you really not see that?”
“No... What?” Much asked confused.
“I think they’re on their way to the King’s tent,” Thomas replied darkly. It was very late and most soldiers, except for a handful of guards, were asleep.
“Maybe you need more sleep,” Much grinned. Thomas hung his head, running a hand through his short, blonde hair.
“You’re probably right,” he said sheepishly. They continued to walk.
“What did you think of the rations for today?”
“I think it was a lot, but what I really don’t want to think about is where it came from.”
“It was better than last week.”
“That’s because last week was cockroach stew, no matter what they’re trying to tell you it was - ;“
Thomas dived suddenly into the darkness between King Richard’s and Hugh of Poitou’s tents, drawing his dagger. Whoever he was struggling with had to be strong, because they crashed a part of King Richard’s tent which alarmed not only the King but everyone in the vicinity.
“Much, what happening here?” Robin asked when he found him in the crowd.
“I don’t know.” Much confessed. “Thomas thought he saw something and - ;“
“Torches!” The King demanded but only moments later Thomas emerged from the shadows with his dagger at the neck of a Saracen.
“I apprehended this man while he was trying to find access to your tent,” Thomas explained.
Someone pressed forward through the crowd and Conrad’s clear voice cut through the noise around him.
“I know who this man is.”
“What do you mean who he is?” Richard asked. “He’s a Saracen.”
“He’s not just a Saracen.” Conrad was unfazed by Richard’s hostile tone. “This man is a Hashshashin.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Every single soldier here had already heard of those, professional killers employed by Saladin to get rid of everyone he found annoying. Up and to including King Richard apparently.
“We should interrogate him and - ;“
“Kill him,” Richard ordered. Thomas didn’t even hesitate for a second before he cut deeply into the man’s throat and slit it open.
It made him more of a hero than anything else could have. He was the first among the soldiers that had actually killed one of the infamous Hashshashins.
///////////////////////////////////////
The straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t the fresh arrival of supplies. What made the difference was an order of Knight’s Templars, coming from Toulouse, which meant that Thomas left King Richard’s Guard as soon as they had arrived.
It was the morning of the 11th July 1191 when they heard the cry.
“They’re holding the breach! They’re holding the breach!” brought every soldier who was able to stand to the arms. Much and Robin followed King Richard while Much tried to find Thomas in the crowd but without any success. Guy de Lusignan however, gave Much a short nod when he walked by.
“Who gave order to attack the wall at night?” Richard demanded to know.
“King Conrad,” Came the reply from the crowd. Richard gritted his teeth. “Of course, he did.”
“Who’s with him?” was his next loud question.
“The Knight’s Templars!” This time it was King Philip who answered.
“Is this your doing?” Richard demanded to know quietly.
“Conrad is my vassal, Richard.” Philip snarled. “Not my pet.”
“LeGrand,” Richard turned to him. “I want you to lead half of our troops against Saladin. Make sure that he’s occupied in order for us to take the city.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
“And LeGrand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Make sure that Leopold of Austria is occupied as well.”
“As you wish.”
“Here we go,” Adhémar smirked at Much and offered him his hand. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate our victory in one of Acre’s taverns.”
“We will,” Much affirmed and shook Adhémar’s hand before Adhémar followed LeGrand and Much caught up to the King and Robin.
“ - care about those siege machines. Take two companies of archers and crossbowmen into the walls and shoot everyone in sight. I don’t care who it is.” King Richard said as they rode off.
///////////////////////////////////////
In retroperspective much of the details of the final battle of Acre became fuzzy. Much remembered that he had followed Robin, not letting him out of his sight. He remembered climbing over broken stones that had been the last barrier between Acre and the Crusaders when the people of Acre had realised that this time Saladin wouldn’t come for their help.
He also remembered that the cobblestones had been slippery from blood when Robin had shouted and pointed upwards were Much could see the banners of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and of France and of England.
Victory didn’t just taste sweet. It tasted like home.
///////////////////////////////////////
“A month ago Saladin promised to pay the ransom for these men.” King Philip’s voice filled the air over the crowded market place. He had assembled all 2 700 captured Saracen soldiers and surrounded them with his and Richard’s guard. Richard stood slightly behind Philip, but he was silent. Before the assembly however, he had sworn them all to follow King Philip’s orders today.
“He has failed to pay his debt. That shows that Saladin does not care for these men.” Much stood next to Robin under the platform the King spoke from. “As for the last six weeks of their captivity, these men have been offered the chance to avow themselves to our Almighty Lord and his incarnate son Jesus Christ. Hereby I offer them a last chance to take the path to redemption.”
Richard waited for a few moments but none of the prisoners spoke. Much doubted that most of them even understood what Richard was talking about.
“Very well,” King Philip looked down at Robin. “Guard! Draw you weapons.”
“But master,” Much began but Robin cut him off harshly while looking both deeply unhappy and apologetic. “It’s the King’s order, Much. Do it.”
Much drew his sword.
“Kill them,” King Philip finished his speech.
As soon as the prisoners understood what was happening to them, they tried to escape, tried to fight. 2 700 unarmed, malnourished men against a city filled with an army with the orders to kill every Saracen they saw inside the city walls.
As soon as the prisoners began to struggle, Much lost his hesitation. He acted on instincts, after all this was just another fight. He hacked and slashed mindlessly through the men. It was too easy to see his torturer in every single one of them. Their screams soon went from human fear to animally pain and he turned deaf to them like he had done so often before on the battlefield.
After an hour, most of the screams were silenced and Richard’s guard had literally ripped an entire garrison to bits and pieces.
“Master,” Much found Robin not far from him and like him, Robin was splattered with blood. On his way to him, Much slipped on something wet and soft and didn’t need to look to know that it was someone’s innards. “Master, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Much,” Something stirred at their feet. If Much didn’t know better he wouldn’t have called the man human. He had an eye left but the skull was broken open and leaked out onto the ground. His body was so cut up. It was a miracle that he was still alive.
Robin kneeled down, took his dagger from his belt and slit the man’s throat. He looked like he was going to through up.
“This is not why I left, home, Much,” Robin said, looking up. When he followed Robin’s vicious glare, he found King Philip, standing in the morning sun over Acre and smiling a wintry smile at King Richard.
Next Chapter
Chapter: So Burn the Untamed Lands (7/9)
Author: smaragdbird
Summary: The Siege ends with a victory and in blood.
Pairings overall: Richard/Philip, Much/Thomas, allusion to Robin/Marian plus diverse historical married couples
Characters/Pairings in this chapter: Much, Robin, Thomas, Richard, Philip, Conrad de Montferrat
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
So Burn the Untamed Lands
“They’re mocking us.” Much complained and rightfully so. It was Christmas Eve and the wind coming from the east carried with it the smell of roasted beef and chicken through the camp.
“Well maybe we should mock them, then.” Robin suggested, a smirk stealing itself on his face.
“How?” Robin’s smirk widened into a grin. “What do you think?”
Much opened his mouth, hesitated when he realised the full impact of Robin’s words and finally settled on: “No.”
“Yes.” Robin looked positively gleeful about his idea.
“That’s suicide!”
“Come one, Much, a nice beefsteak for Christmas? Maybe some chicken?
“Stop it, Robin, that’s not fair,” Much complained.
Robin tilted his head and got up. Much huffed but he followed him.
“You know there is a story about two Greek heroes who sneak into the enemy’s camp and steal all their horses,” Robin told Much while they were crawling up a hill.
“Do they survive?”
“Yes.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes!” Robin gave Much an annoyed look, who merely shrugged. “You did tell me that awful story about the Spartans and the Persians before.”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
He shot two soldiers, guarding a tent at the side of the Saracen camp that he and Much were ‘investigating’ and -
“Looks like God is our side tonight, doesn’t it?” Robin whispered to Much. They had managed to walk straight into one of the supply tents, which was right next to the tent of Saladin’s brother Saphadin, but Robin and Much didn’t know that.
“But master, how will we get all of that back to the camp?”
Robin looked around. There was not much there they could use except for...
“Much, do you remember that story I told you about the Greek soldiers?”
“Yes?” Much asked confused.
“They used horses.” Robin tilted his head into the direction of a conveniently near preserve of horses.
“You’re brilliant!”
“Sh!”
“Sorry,” Much grinned. “But you are brilliant, you know that, right?”
“I know,” Robin smirked smugly. “Let’s go.”
Like shadows they flitted between the tent and the preserves, fastening bags full of food and other useful things onto the horses. The animals were surprisingly quiet but then they were packhorses and probably used to this.
“Ahlan!” A man stepped out of the tent next to the supply tent, his eyes wide with shock when he saw them.
“Time to go.” Robin gave Much a signal and Much opened the gate and Robin drove the horses with loud noises down the hills.
“Asre'! Asre'!”
“Run!” It was not like it had been with Thomas in the clutter of alleys in Tyre. Here, he and Robin dodged arrows and dived for cover behind rocks and into the sand. When they finally reached King Richard’s camp, again both of them collapsed on the sand in laughter.
Not to mention that they were the heroes of the camp once again. Not only the supplies themselves but also the horses were a much welcomed additional food source. On top of that, one of the packages that Much had thrown into the bags with the rest, turned out to be some sort of correspondence.
“I know that you can speak Arabic, but can you read it as well?” Richard asked Robin when they examined his and Much’s plunder.
“No, I’m sorry Your Majesty.”
“King Conrad can read Arabic,” King Philip pointed out. A very unhappy expression flitted over Richard’s face at the mentioning of that name.
“Of course he can,” he grimaced when Philip wasn’t looking. “Robin, send someone for him.”
Robin nodded to Much and Much left the tent.
“You’re sure working on becoming a living legend,” Thomas greeted him outside. “And yet if you hear the men talk, it all seems to be Robin’s glory.”
“It was his idea,” Much defended him. “I only helped.” Thomas knew by now that there was no arguing about Robin with Much, so he let the topic drop.
“Where are you off to?”
“The King asked me to bring King Conrad to his tent.”
“Will I see you later?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow then,” Thomas smiled and took a different turn than Much through the tents.
///////////////////////////////////////
“This is the correspondence between Saphadin and the commander of Acre,” King Conrad said while he flipped through the letters. He had returned only a few weeks prior, while leaving his wife in Tyre. Probably to spare her the fate of her sister and to secure himself the throne.
“There’s everything in here: the strength of the garrison... the weaknesses of the walls... how much food they have left... literally everything we need to know.”
“So we know now how bad off they are. That is not going to help us,” Richard argued.
“On the contrary, we can build siege weapons and attack their walls at specific points. Once we’ve taken Acre, there’s nothing Saladin can do.” Conrad’s eyes wandered between Philip and Richard as if he was asking for both of their approval.
“It is a good plan,” Philip emphasised, looking pointedly at Richard, who visibly fought with himself for a moment before he agreed.
“Take what you need then, but for God’s sake try not to alarm Saladin of what we’re doing before we’re ready to attack.”
Behind Richard’s back Conrad gave him a look that reminded Much very much of Adhémar whenever he rolled his eyes at LeGrand.
///////////////////////////////////////
The siege weapons had some effect, but not the desired one. At least not completely. They did break through the walls but each time they attacked Acre with them, Saladin launched an attack against the Crusader’s themselves, giving the people of Acre time to repair the breached wall.
Once Saladin’s army itself managed to breach the siege, and an entire garrison made its way into Acre while Saladin’s other forces had the Crusader’s army tied up. It was a disastrous day for the overall morale.
Disastrous for Much and Adhémar was that Jocelin vanished during one of these attacks. No one could tell if he had been taken prisoner or if his corpse was one of the many that fouled the water in the camp and continued to make everyone sick.
April saw both King Philip and King Richard in the sickbed, but unlike so many others, both recovered.
Slowly one month turned into another. The first ship arrived in March, claiming that the sea had never been so calm around this time of the year. which everyone saw as a sign from God.
///////////////////////////////////////
“Did you see that?” Thomas asked one night after their secret tryst. They were walking back to the more densely populated areas of the camp when Thomas suddenly stopped dead in his movements.
“Seen what?” Much asked and squinted into the darkness.
“I was sure I saw someone.”
“Well, there are lots of people around. You. Me. And... no one,” Much teased him.
“I meant someone dressed like a Saracen.”
“Impossible!”
“Why? You and Robin managed to do the very same thing, didn’t you?”
“Well... yes... but that’s different,” Much claimed.
“Really?” Thomas wasn’t impressed. “How - did you really not see that?”
“No... What?” Much asked confused.
“I think they’re on their way to the King’s tent,” Thomas replied darkly. It was very late and most soldiers, except for a handful of guards, were asleep.
“Maybe you need more sleep,” Much grinned. Thomas hung his head, running a hand through his short, blonde hair.
“You’re probably right,” he said sheepishly. They continued to walk.
“What did you think of the rations for today?”
“I think it was a lot, but what I really don’t want to think about is where it came from.”
“It was better than last week.”
“That’s because last week was cockroach stew, no matter what they’re trying to tell you it was - ;“
Thomas dived suddenly into the darkness between King Richard’s and Hugh of Poitou’s tents, drawing his dagger. Whoever he was struggling with had to be strong, because they crashed a part of King Richard’s tent which alarmed not only the King but everyone in the vicinity.
“Much, what happening here?” Robin asked when he found him in the crowd.
“I don’t know.” Much confessed. “Thomas thought he saw something and - ;“
“Torches!” The King demanded but only moments later Thomas emerged from the shadows with his dagger at the neck of a Saracen.
“I apprehended this man while he was trying to find access to your tent,” Thomas explained.
Someone pressed forward through the crowd and Conrad’s clear voice cut through the noise around him.
“I know who this man is.”
“What do you mean who he is?” Richard asked. “He’s a Saracen.”
“He’s not just a Saracen.” Conrad was unfazed by Richard’s hostile tone. “This man is a Hashshashin.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Every single soldier here had already heard of those, professional killers employed by Saladin to get rid of everyone he found annoying. Up and to including King Richard apparently.
“We should interrogate him and - ;“
“Kill him,” Richard ordered. Thomas didn’t even hesitate for a second before he cut deeply into the man’s throat and slit it open.
It made him more of a hero than anything else could have. He was the first among the soldiers that had actually killed one of the infamous Hashshashins.
///////////////////////////////////////
The straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t the fresh arrival of supplies. What made the difference was an order of Knight’s Templars, coming from Toulouse, which meant that Thomas left King Richard’s Guard as soon as they had arrived.
It was the morning of the 11th July 1191 when they heard the cry.
“They’re holding the breach! They’re holding the breach!” brought every soldier who was able to stand to the arms. Much and Robin followed King Richard while Much tried to find Thomas in the crowd but without any success. Guy de Lusignan however, gave Much a short nod when he walked by.
“Who gave order to attack the wall at night?” Richard demanded to know.
“King Conrad,” Came the reply from the crowd. Richard gritted his teeth. “Of course, he did.”
“Who’s with him?” was his next loud question.
“The Knight’s Templars!” This time it was King Philip who answered.
“Is this your doing?” Richard demanded to know quietly.
“Conrad is my vassal, Richard.” Philip snarled. “Not my pet.”
“LeGrand,” Richard turned to him. “I want you to lead half of our troops against Saladin. Make sure that he’s occupied in order for us to take the city.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
“And LeGrand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Make sure that Leopold of Austria is occupied as well.”
“As you wish.”
“Here we go,” Adhémar smirked at Much and offered him his hand. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate our victory in one of Acre’s taverns.”
“We will,” Much affirmed and shook Adhémar’s hand before Adhémar followed LeGrand and Much caught up to the King and Robin.
“ - care about those siege machines. Take two companies of archers and crossbowmen into the walls and shoot everyone in sight. I don’t care who it is.” King Richard said as they rode off.
///////////////////////////////////////
In retroperspective much of the details of the final battle of Acre became fuzzy. Much remembered that he had followed Robin, not letting him out of his sight. He remembered climbing over broken stones that had been the last barrier between Acre and the Crusaders when the people of Acre had realised that this time Saladin wouldn’t come for their help.
He also remembered that the cobblestones had been slippery from blood when Robin had shouted and pointed upwards were Much could see the banners of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and of France and of England.
Victory didn’t just taste sweet. It tasted like home.
///////////////////////////////////////
“A month ago Saladin promised to pay the ransom for these men.” King Philip’s voice filled the air over the crowded market place. He had assembled all 2 700 captured Saracen soldiers and surrounded them with his and Richard’s guard. Richard stood slightly behind Philip, but he was silent. Before the assembly however, he had sworn them all to follow King Philip’s orders today.
“He has failed to pay his debt. That shows that Saladin does not care for these men.” Much stood next to Robin under the platform the King spoke from. “As for the last six weeks of their captivity, these men have been offered the chance to avow themselves to our Almighty Lord and his incarnate son Jesus Christ. Hereby I offer them a last chance to take the path to redemption.”
Richard waited for a few moments but none of the prisoners spoke. Much doubted that most of them even understood what Richard was talking about.
“Very well,” King Philip looked down at Robin. “Guard! Draw you weapons.”
“But master,” Much began but Robin cut him off harshly while looking both deeply unhappy and apologetic. “It’s the King’s order, Much. Do it.”
Much drew his sword.
“Kill them,” King Philip finished his speech.
As soon as the prisoners understood what was happening to them, they tried to escape, tried to fight. 2 700 unarmed, malnourished men against a city filled with an army with the orders to kill every Saracen they saw inside the city walls.
As soon as the prisoners began to struggle, Much lost his hesitation. He acted on instincts, after all this was just another fight. He hacked and slashed mindlessly through the men. It was too easy to see his torturer in every single one of them. Their screams soon went from human fear to animally pain and he turned deaf to them like he had done so often before on the battlefield.
After an hour, most of the screams were silenced and Richard’s guard had literally ripped an entire garrison to bits and pieces.
“Master,” Much found Robin not far from him and like him, Robin was splattered with blood. On his way to him, Much slipped on something wet and soft and didn’t need to look to know that it was someone’s innards. “Master, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Much,” Something stirred at their feet. If Much didn’t know better he wouldn’t have called the man human. He had an eye left but the skull was broken open and leaked out onto the ground. His body was so cut up. It was a miracle that he was still alive.
Robin kneeled down, took his dagger from his belt and slit the man’s throat. He looked like he was going to through up.
“This is not why I left, home, Much,” Robin said, looking up. When he followed Robin’s vicious glare, he found King Philip, standing in the morning sun over Acre and smiling a wintry smile at King Richard.
Next Chapter