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.
