The Crusader

The city of Acre, July 12th, 1191

"Did you hear that William? The herald is screaming the glorious news all over the camp."

"What is it? Has the siege ended?"

"Yes, William. The mighty city of Acre has fallen to our blades. The Holy Land is within sight."

I just smiled at Conrad. He had worked very hard for this moment. Being the main siege engineer for the army, he had supervised the setting up of the massive trebuchet that broke the mighty walls of Acre. Over the past week, he tirelessly watched as his creation hurled rocks and explosives at the wall until it came crashing down. After that, it was a matter of time before the city fell to the army of Richard the Lionhearted.

I was one of the first to charge in. There were a few soldiers here and there trying to defend the city. Pitiful. I dispatched them to purgatory with a quick wave of my blade.

I am Sir William Ross of Manchester. My father, the honourable Lord Edgar Ross, first Duke of Manchester would be so proud if he could see me right now. Since I was just a boy, I had been fascinated by sword-fighting. Luckily, I was heir to the wealthiest duchy in the empire and I had the best instructors to guide me. They were unanimous that my skill with the blade far surpassed anyone they had seen.

In my twenties, I had grown into a tall, strong man with an endless stream of female admirers. My mother arranged a marriage to Claire, daughter of the Duke of Lancaster. She was a lovely girl. Charming, witty and a brilliant conversationalist, she was the most talked about woman in the London circles. She was also the prettiest by far.

We got married in my father's castle. With so much wealth and so little actual work to do, I felt bored. We engaged in frequent sex in the hope of bearing an heir to carry my legacy. She was fervently sexual, often making bold advances towards me in the open. Even though I was her husband, such actions were frowned upon. I fancy some of our guests might have called her a 'harlot', had she not been the first Lady of Manchester.

We were in love. Our nights would be awash with the pure, unadulterated passion that we felt. one night she glided into my room without me knowingsuch was the delicacy in her movements. Blissfully oblivious to her presence, I lay on my side trying to sleep. I only became aware of her when she placed the tip of her long and slender tongue upon the back of my neck.

I smiled and turned to face her. Even in the dim moonlight, her face was sublime. She rolled me on my back and climbed atop. Gently removing my robe, she placed an array of gentle kisses along the length of my torso. I ran my hands through her hair as she went on. Her ministrations were now concentrated around my neck as she increased her pace, but keeping the loving tenderness. Grasping her waist, I lifted her slightly off my body and held my engorged member at the gates of her holy confines. She smiled and gently lowered herself upon my organ. The feeling of her wet folds enveloping my entire length was divine.

We never went too fast. Her rapturous screams of forbidden delight were sometimes enough to awaken the entire household. The servants and guards would be running everywhere to discover the source. It would take some time for them to realize it was 'the other kind of scream'.

My mother would know. The next day at breakfast, she would immediately discern our proclivities from the radiant look on Claire's face. She would wait till my father had gone to tend to matters of the estate before starting.

"Keep going, my son. I prayed yesterday that your joyous union be blessed with a lovely child."

Flushed with embarrassment, I tried to say something. Claire always cut me off and started a more ladylike conversation with her.

When King Richard announced he was raising an army to regain Jerusalem, I knew I had to go. Pope Gregory VIII proclaimed that the capture of Jerusalem was punishment for the sins of Christians across Europe. According to his papal bull, all who went forth to wrest the Holy Land from the clutches of Saladin, would be absolved of all their sins, past, present and future.

I did not consider myself a sinner, but the thrill of adventure was too tempting. I announced my decision to my family, who were all in favour. Our last night of coitus was particularly invigorating as Claire made sweet, harmonious love to me. In the morning, before I boarded my ship to Marseille, where we would rendezvous with the allied troops of King Philip of France, she told me that I would likely come home to find her with our first child.

Now, a year after I set sail, we had secured our first major victory. I strode through the camp basking in the glory of the moment. There was joyous celebration everywhere as all my fellow brothers-in-arms shed their armour and sang and danced. Wine flowed freely.

A few divisions of the infantry inspected the city for remnants. Richard's orders were succinct--take all the citizens as prisoners. They would be traded to Saladin for the captured nobles.

After walking for some time, I finally found her, Lady Arabella Warwick of Gloucestershire. She was an interesting woman, actually more of a man.

An unofficial decree kept everyone in their places and roles in English society. The women from nobility were expected to be regal, dignified and delicate. Somehow, Arabella seemed to be void of these qualities. She was more masculine than most men I had seen. When we were younger, she used to revel in my company. I would enthral her with fictional tales of mighty conquests in far off lands. She seemed fascinated by warfare. It was sometime before she worked up the courage to ask me to teach her how to handle a sword. Her father seemed fixed on her growing up to be the ladylike daughter he wanted. She had other ideas.

She was a superb disciple. As we grew up, she could handle a blade with immense skill, sometimes even matching my own.

When the announcement came out that King Richard would set sail, we both knew there was no way her father would send her to the field. It was simply unheard of. On that fateful night, she ran away from her home and rode across the plains of Salisbury until she reached the port. The soldiers were not willing to let a woman onboard the vessel. I saw her and convinced them to allow her in, vouching for her prowess with the sword.

She had since saved my life twice in battle.

Ironically, her features were delicate and feminine . She seemed to have been delicately carved from pure ivory. The sculptor must have spent a lot of time and thought on her face. Her eyes were beautifully shaped and always iridescent. Her nose was regal and her high cheekbones framed her face nicely. She had a hint of red in her hair which came down to her shoulders.

I saw her inside her tent scrubbing her large shield.

"Why do you have to do that?"

She looked up and smiled on seeing me.

"Well, I am not a knight, so I don't have a squire to take care of my petty matters."

Considering it for a moment, I stepped outside and yelled.

"John Harwood."

A teenage boy came running from my camp. Ever since my ascension to a knight of the realm, he had sworn undying loyalty to me as my squire.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Oil Lady Warwick's armour and polish her shield."

Puzzled at my strange order, yet afraid to question my authority, he got started.

Arabella and I left the tent. Stepping outside the camp gates, we surveyed the landscape ahead of us. It was still dark out. Dawn was imminent. The imposing city of Acre stood in front of us. The minarets and spires seemed empty. Every man, woman and child had been taken captive.

We rode along side by side. A little down the road, I saw a battalion of infantry returning.

I approached their captain.

"Didn't the fighting end hours ago? Where do you come from?" "We went to several outlying villages, my Lord. The king spoke of capturing the citizens of Acre, not the villagers. They were 'sport'."

'Sport'. What a way to describe a full-fledged massacre of innocents?

Of course, it would amount to nothing. The papal bull was clear. The mere participation in the Crusade is the absolution of all sins. It somehow seemed hollow that such atrocities could be pardoned as part of the 'cause'.

Yet who was I to question God?

We rode down through the forest into a small secluded clearing. She suggested that we dismount to enjoy the scenery. Upon dismounting, she immediately lunged at me and grabbed my head in a passionate kiss. I passively stood there as she plunged her tongue as far down my throat as it would go. Finally, after a long, deep kiss; she detached her face from mine. Her countenance bore an expression of raw lust.

"I cannot do this. I am married."

"Did you not read what the bull said? All sins are forgiven. Even that of adultery."

I really did not have a reply to that. Sensing my indecision, she pushed me down on the soft grass. Furiously, she took off my tunic and assaulted my torso with a barrage of delicate kisses. Still stunned at this turn of events, I was mute as she undid the lower half of my attire. Soon, I was in my naked glory as she sat beside me. Admiring my bare body, she caressed my neck and chest for some time. Clambering on top of me, she brought her face to mine. For a few moments, I just stared into her large irises. They betrayed a deep and heartfelt affection, yet I had never harboured such feelings towards her before.

"I wanted to thank you for seeing the real me."

I raised my hand to her neck and lowered her luscious lips to mine. She locked them onmine and forced her tongue through. I used my tongue to reciprocate her movements.

We were both extremely aroused at this point. She hastily shed whatever items of clothing she had. In the fading moonlight, upon the cusp of dawn her radiant beauty illuminated the ethereal stillness of the night. Only I knew the fiery will and indomitable spirit that resided within the confines of this angelic beauty.

She slid down my body until my organ was just inches away from her face. Truthfully, I was shocked that she wanted to do it the 'French Way'. The only other place where I had seen this act was in a palace in Paris. Of course, the Parisian libertines have no bounds on the debauchery of their desires, but I quite liked this little addition. They refer to it as 'fellatio'.

To the English noble, it was a disgusting and repulsive act no one should partake in. If only the venerable Duke of Gloucestershire knew that his daughter was about to perform it on me.

She broke me out of my thoughts by lowering her mouth to my engorged penis. The feeling of it entering her mouth was unbelievable. She had apparently been waiting to try it on me for a long timesuch was the gusto in her licks. Each one went from the base of my rigid member to the very tip. I was swimming in an ocean of bliss as she wrapped her tongue around my member. Using her hands, she moved it to one side before running her tongue up the other. She alternated several times before I was on the verge of a powerful orgasm.

Sensing my need for release, she straddled my waist and impaled herself on my penis. We moved in perfect rhythm as I felt my need for release grow stronger. She seemed to get closer to her climax as well as she increased the speed of our motion. Soon, we were both on the verge of orgasm. With one final flourish, I watched as her facial features contorted with effort as waves of pleasure spasmed through her being.

Admirably, she kept her rhythm despite the intense orgasm which had just run it's course through her entire body. I could feel the pressure building around my head as I finally released my seed inside her. We just lay there, in a sweaty heap for some time. She spoke first.

"Shall we see the sunrise over that ridge?"

We put on our clothes with considerable haste and made our way out. Riding along the side of the dusty road, we saw a long line of people marching towards us. The light was bright enough to make out their features.

They were children and old people, in three single files marching in our direction. Each row was bound by a single chain and there were several foot soldiers and cavalry on either side of the road to escort them. As they came closer, I saw them clearly. They were olive skinned, with typical Saracen features. Their eyes were dark and filled with a hollow emptiness as they trudged towards an unknown destination.

But I knew where they were going. The port of Galilee. The infantry may have razed the villages and killed all able-bodied villagers, but they had a darker fate in store for the children and the elderly. At the port, they would be sold to Mediterranean slave traders. Then......... I shuddered to think what came next for them.

Slavery was not prevalent in England so I have no firsthand experience, but I had read enough chronicles of the savage cultures of far off lands. To them, these humans were property, like furniture, and could be used as they wanted. From being fed with animals, to live orgies with freaks of nature- there are several instances of them meeting grotesque ends trying to satiate their master's taste for entertainment. The ones lucky enough to be taken in as servants would constantly be mistreated, starved and beaten up at the slightest infarction.

I was broken out of my reverie as a child was smacked by a soldier for stepping out of line. It made me sick, but such were the realities of war. To the victor went the spoils. If only they knew what was waiting for them.

An extremely old man could not march any longer. His aged limbs finally gave him as he slumped by the roadside. The nearest soldier cut his chain, so he would not hinder the others. Nobody so much as batted an eyelid but went on marching.

Lady Warwick and I dismounted and walked up to where he lay, face down in the dirt. He seemed so frail and defenceless. I turned him on his front.

"Put him out of his misery William."

I nodded silently and unsheathed my sword. I raised it high over his prone figure, ready to bring it crashing down. I swear I saw the smallest hint of gratitude in his eyes.

"I can't do it. I can't kill a defenceless, old man."

She placed a comforting arm on my shoulder. Her expression was sympathetic. She seemed genuinely moved by this show of compassion.

"I didn't expect anything else from you. This is partly why I respect you as much as I do. Look away now, you won't want to see this."

I walked a few steps away from the scene towards my horse. I desperately tried to make sense of it all. Here we were, in a foreign land committing sins which would have made every Christian heart cringe with disgust. Yet, we were doing it in the name of our God. Our Pope had ordered us to go forth and kill in His name.

Thou shalt not kill. Was that not the foremost commandment?

The more I thought of why I was here, the less sense it made. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound of metal striking skin. I flinched momentarily. She was soon by my side, her sword dripping blood.

"I said a prayer for his soul before I struck him down. His soul shall rest in peace."

"Let us go see that sunrise now."

The view from the ridge was spectacular on a normal dawn. But this morning was different. In front of us was a wide expanse of grassland, formerly the home of several villages. The villages had been razed to the ground. We could still see a few structures burning. The entire expanse of the landscape was littered with lifeless bodies. Not a single soldier, but innocent villagers. Farmers, clerics, housewives- the infantry had shown no mercy.

The first rays of the sun were peeking over the horizon. The sun itself seemed to take an eternity to rise, as if it was ashamed to see the macabre display on the plains. Slowly, the golden rays illuminated the entire landscape showing the ghastly scenery in even more detail. I wanted to look away, but there was too much to look away from. It was everywhere.

Turning to her, I actually wept for sometime against her shoulder. Fighting opposition armies were one thing, but the merciless slaughter of thousands of innocents made no sense at all. They begged for their lives, wondering what they had done to deserve this fate.

Their only fault- not being Christian.

"Let us run away. Far away from this. Between the two of us, we have enough wealth right now to start afresh somewhere."

I barely heard her, my mind buzzing with a deep and profound sadness.

"I cannot. I am happily married and most likely have a child by now. Claire is waiting for me back home. I am sorry."

She smiled at me.

"Don't be. No woman should be lucky enough to get you. But Lady Claire is no ordinary woman."

"Day is upon us, we should venture back to the camp."

Returning to the camp, I was greeted by the familiar celebratory air. The revellers had put out the bonfires and the wine had finally dried up. There was however, something new to cheer about. I discerned that from Sir Harvey in a more pompous mood than usual.

"How about I show you where we are keeping the prisoners?"

He led me to a dingy barracks. I was shocked at seeing that many people crammed into such a confined structure. Families huddled together in groups. The stench coming from the enclosure was almost putrefying.

"Sir Harvey, where are the captured ladies?"

"They are our personal harem now."

This news caught me off guard. I was shocked beyond words.

He went on, "You can find them in the clearing there. Pick a nice one for yourself, you deserve it."

I looked at Arabella trying to make sense of this.

"This can't be right. That's what others do with captive women."

She smiled sympathetically.

"If only the English were all like you. If only. Now go pick one."

"I can't do that. That is against every code of honour I know. Besides, I have already committed adultery once and I do not intend to repeat it.

"Look at it this way, if you do not pick a woman, someone else will pick her. What do you think will happen to her then?"

I hated to admit it, but she made sense.

"Shall we meet up later, for some sword-fighting practice?"

She went back to her camp. Taking a deep breath, I went to the clearing. It was like a market, the only commodity being humans. All the women had been lined up like wares. Everybody, from guards to infantrymen to knights was going around inspecting them, ready to choose one. It was a carnival of humiliation as they groped and fondled the women, to pick the right one.

Since, I was of a higher standing than all present, everybody made way for me to select one of my liking. I looked through the queue of women. Their dark eyes seemed to have lost all vitality and will to live. I found one with a look of innocence which touched me. I looked back at the rabble and shuddered at the thought of what one of those salivating mongrels would do to her.

I selected her and escorted her back to my tent. She was of average height and size. Her skin was of a typical Persian hue. Her facial features were typically sharp and her gaze was piercing. She entered my tent and closed the flap behind her. She wore a look of futile resignation. She had already begun undressing.

"Stop, put those back on."

I had studied foreign languages at the prestigious Oxford University so my Arabic was fluent. She seemed taken aback.

"Clothe yourself.. I just want to talk to you."

She put on her robe and sat adjacent to me.

"So tell me" I began, "What happened?"

"I am a healer. I made medicinal remedies for many people in the city. We had been hearing about the invasion for some time now. Many people were getting ready to leave. Unfortunately, you reached here a week sooner than we anticipated."

She went on.

"I am not married. I lived with my brother near the main square. Yesterday, suddenly some soldiers broke down our door and dragged us outside. My brother tried fighting them off and.."