In the Lands of the Faithful: BC Hotseat Story Thread

[rossahh]

Jerusalem, 1178 AD


The court was deadly silent. It had been some years since the last messenger from Armenia had been received in the city, and a lot had happened between the kingdoms since then. Much of the Kingdom's nobility was assembled, including representatives and Knights from the various Crusader orders The King himself was presiding over the discussions, when an attendant had whispered in his ear that an Armenian messenger had arrived, bringing news of "great importance". And so the messenger had been admitted, and the court waited in silence for his news.

The messenger had strolled purposely into court. Clad in brilliant but expensive silk robes, the man seemed to have not a care in the world. Amazingly, not intimidated in the slightest by the dozens of eyes staring intently upon him, a slightly mocking smile playing on the man's face. He marched straight towards the King, though as he reached the throne, his smile faltered slightly. The brilliant eyes behind the mask pierced the messenger and he was momentarily shacken. Composing himself like the diplomat that he was, the messenger bowed low, and in a voice that was full of confidence and carried to all the ears of the court, said,

"Most noble King, I bring a message from Takavor Hetum, and a gift."

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a ring - a ring that was very familiar to the King. A murmur rippled throughout the court as some of the nobles near to the messenger recognised the ring. Surely not... they thought to themselves.

Not disturbed by the sudden murmurs around him, the messenger unfurled his scroll and began reading.

King Baldwin,

I'm both sorry and glad to announce the death at the hands of Armenian soldiers of Count Raymond of Tripoli.

Sorry because there now exists between our Kingdoms a state of war.

Glad because the main perpetrator of the Armenian genocide will finally meet Satan.

Some years ago, we were forced into proposing a ceasefire in the hope to live and fight another day... The day has finally come...

We will meet on the field of battle.

Takavor Hetum I
Survivor of Armenia


As the messenger finished reading, outcry gripped the court. Everywhere the nobles and knights of the Kingdom shot to their feet, many reaching for their swords. The messenger deliberately avoided looking at the menacing faces around him, and focused solely on the figure in front of him. The King sat silently for a moment, while the noises of outrage continued around him. However, with a wave of his, he silenced the court, though few sat down again. The messenger waited, but the King said nothing. Eventually, the messenger broke the silence.

"What response do you give the Takavor, Latin King?"

The King awkwardly rose to his feet. Staring down the messenger, in his soft but commanding voice, said,

"Tell him this.

The Count with be avenged, Takavor.

Mark those words."

The messenger bowed again when it was apparent the King would say no more, and turned to leave. As he did so, the King nodded to the Marshall of Jerusalem, who stepped forward and took the ring off the messenger. The King began to shuffle out of the court, as the messenger began to walk towards the front doors. Already, the court was full of angry voices. Just as the silk-clad messenger was exiting, he heard the Marshall's booming voice behind him,

"Assemble the army!"

If any of the Knights or noblemen had looked at the messenger, they would have noticed a smile lighting up his face. As he walked down the stone steps towards his horse, escort in tow, he couldn't help but hum quietly to himself. Though the road ahead to Baghdad was long, the messenger felt very pleased: his mission had been accomplished.

[rossahh]

Jerusalem, 1178 AD


It had been nigh on ten years since the King had left the city under arms. To do so would mean death for him from his disease, but the Kingdom was under its greatest threat, and so the King marched forth to join the armies in the north. At the head of the column, the King could not help but feel sad as he passed through the city gates. He his city as he loved none other, but as he went through the gates, he knew deep down that he would never see the city again. As he looked back on what he loved for the last time, a tear ran down his face. Turning away, the King began his march north and the last march he would ever take in this world.

[rossahh]

Armenia-Jerusalem border, 1179 AD


Faulk Grenier, commander of the cavalry of the Army of Jerusalem, drove his sword into the fool's chest. The cavalryman cried out in pain, slipped from the saddle and joined the other bodies strewn on the ground below. Wheeling his horse around in a tight circle, sword poised to strike, he found somewhat to his surprise that the swarm of Armenian cavalry that had so recently been pressing against him and his men were gone. The only other mounted soldier left around him was Andrei, who too was looking for enemies but finding none. Looking over at Faulk, Andrei called out, "I think we have done it sire."

Bloodied and exhausted, Faulk nodded and turned to survey the scene around the valley below him. Panting heavily, he gazed upon the same sight that only moments ago had been awash with conflict, but was now almost dead calm. On the hill the banners and men of the main line were still in position, despite the Armenian's best efforts to the contrary. On the slopes leading to the line were hundreds upon hundreds of bodies of men and horses. Prince Guy's archers had made the Armenians in the valley pay a terrible price, while Lord Balian's infantry had held firm despite being outnumbered.

The valley itself was thick with bodies. Completely outmatched, the Armenians had tried to stand toe-to-toe with the finest archers and crossbowmen the Kingdom could muster, with disastrous results. Some fighting was continuing in the valley, with Guy himself leading the last of Jerusalem's cavalry against the remnants of Armenia's army.

Looking past the whirling figures below, Faulk's heart grew heavy. Scattered all around were the remains of the horses, men, banners and arms of his cavalry which had started the battle. Faulk had led 250 of the finest cavalry in the world across the valley against a force five times in number in a strong defensive position. Victory was forthcoming, but at a terrible cost. The Armenian's had been pushed off their hill and were only prevented from being routed by the intervention of the Takavor's army, which had rushed to the battle at full speed. Suddenly, Faulk's entire cavalry force had been in danger of being cut off and slaughtered. He had ordered the withdraw, but so many of his men were cut-off and killed or captured. His own knights had been decimated. Only he and Andrei had returned to Jerusalem's lines, leading naught but 50 men. Looking at bodies of his fallen, Faulk felt the guilt of each and every one of their deaths.


A horn blared on the hill, and a great cheer rang round the valley. Turning away from valley, Faulk looked at Andrei. "We have won a great a victory here today, my friend, but it is only the beginning.

I fear we shall soon need fight more battles like this." Looking back at the valley, Faulk asked himself softly, "But how many more men can we afford to lose?"

Andrei turned to his lord, pointing out a fallen Armenian standard. "The question is sire, how many more can they afford to lose?"

[phonicsmonkey]

Caliph An-Nasir and his son, the Crown Prince Az-Zahir, had been arguing fiercely for some time.

So much so that the Vizier had long since fled and the palace ghulams skulked, fearful, behind drapes and furniture in the anteroom where the two men now stood, glaring at each other.

The Caliph, tired from shouting, spoke quietly and firmly to his son.

"So, you would have me change my policy, the policy of my lifetime, that has served so well in ending the Anatolian war and the conflict between the Georgians and Seljuks, in order to what? To occupy some dusty castle in Syria, beset to the north and the south by belligerents? You would have me risk everything we have fought for and gained? For what? In order to force peace upon fools who do not seek it? Explain to me why I would do this thing."

A note of urgency in his voice, his son replied equally firmly.

"Beloved father, your reign as Caliph has brought unprecedented peace to our lands, and our coffers now swell as they have not for generations. And rightly are you called the Peacemaker, for your diplomacy has reaped rewards and gained you much influence.

But it has not always proved successful - have you forgotten the men of Ghur, who defied you and drew the sword anew even as the ink dried on their agreement with the Hindu? They were men of war and never intended to honour the agreement you brokered.

These Turks, these Armenians, these 'Crusaders', they do not respect you and their tongues are forked like the serpent. This conflict is right on our doorstep, not a stone's throw from the West bank of the Euphrates.

We must show our strength and intervene to secure Syria from further hardship. These men must know our power and that we are not to be trifled with, or no sooner has one of them reached the ascendancy than they will turn on the Caliphate, their armies experienced in war and strong in mercenaries and arms from their sack of their rival's cities.

We must drive a wedge between them and force them to the table to secure peace.

And well you know that these are not my feelings alone. The Vizier, your great friend since childhood is in agreement. The Generals, the men of the army, do not understand your hesitancy and whisper that you become soft and weak as you age. And the people, through the Imans, call for jihad against the infidel, a glorious holy war to restore the Caliphate!"

The Caliph's eyes flashed with anger as he exploded in rage again.

"The Vizier, the Generals, the Imans, the people, serve ME! I am not their slave to do their bidding! They need not understand my reasoning, and I need not explain it to them!"

His son stood firm and said nothing, meeting his father's angry stare with a purposeful gaze of his own.

The Caliph sat down on an embroidered chair, motioning for his son to sit beside him.

"Az-Zahir my boy, you have grown to be a fine man, but there is much you do not understand about the world and the machinations of Kings and Sultans."

He shuddered as he again recalled the twisted leers of the djinns, and heard the echoes of their bone dice on the gaming table.

"Still....I accept your argument and you shall have your intervention. The armies of the Caliphate will cross the Euphrates and seize the castle at Aleppo, and the town of Hama.

Go, tell the Vizier to saddle our chargers and assemble the Caliph's guard. We will ride on the 'morrow to meet the armies at Edessa. I will take a troop of fast horse to Hama, and you will lead the assault on Aleppo.."

The Crown Prince interjected.

"But Father, I had hoped to ride to Hama, to..."

"SILENCE. You have argued with me long enough. It shall be as I have commanded. Then we will see what the great and mighty Allah has in store for us."

His son bowed and left the room, smiling as he did so.

[rossahh]

Antioch, 1179 AD


"You want us to sacrifice ourselves? For you?" the man was on his feet, nearly yelling at the host.

His host was on his feet equally fast, yelling back "I am not asking you to sacrifice yourselves for me. I'm asking you to do it for your people and your Kingdom!"

"The Kingdom which we do not even control anymore!"

"The Kingdom which you still serve apparently!" spat the host.

His word momentarily deflated the man. Questioning one's loyalty so openly, especially one who had done so much for the Kingdom in the past few years, stunned the man. Seizing upon the man's pause, the host continued,

"Look, there is much risk here, most of all to ourselves, but what if we succeed? We can finish them once and for all. Besides, you will not be going alone," the host stood proud and upright, "and nor will I."

The man stopped pacing, and the third figure sitting in the chair stirred slightly. They both gazed at their host, exceedingly surprised, who gazed back as if daring them to challenge his words.

Without another word, the man sat back down in his chair. The host slowly lowered himself into his, before speaking again. "Good. Now that you're ready to listen, shall we go over it?"

Both men nodded to the host, who resumed talking. "I will lead my men into Cilicia over the north bridge, while you," motioning to the man, "shall take your men across the sands to the east. Faulk," motioning at the third man, "you will assist him. Your target is the Takavor and him alone. Kill him and return as fast as you can. That's it."

The man and Faulk shared worried glances, which did not go unnoticed by the host. "We may not live to see the fruits of this endeavor, but we will know that should we die, we will die serving the Kingdom well." said the host, who bowed his head at the men. "I know we have had differences in the past, but through this, I pray that we are united." The host stood, and his guests followed suit.

"We shall not meet again, my brothers, but God be with you." His voice cracking slightly, the host left the tent as great speed.

The two men left in the tent looked at each other, their faces downcast. Faulk smiled weakly at the man, "At least, my lord, will shall die in good company." Balian de Ibelin smiled weakly back, "Yes, we shall."

[Askthepizzaguy]

Baghdad, 1178 AD, 4th day of Safar, 574 Hijri Calendar


Murhaba, trusted one. The Georgian infidels have agreed to become our subjects... err, "allies" against the treacherous Seljuks. The Seljuks on the other hand, are meeting with one of our ambassadors as we speak to discuss our relations and declare our alliance with Georgia. Inshallah they will not be offended by our siding with the Christians in this matter, but tensions have been rising ever since our proposed alliance was put on the shelf. They already distrust us because we rebelled against their rule so many years ago.

It seems likely the two great Turkish Sultans will go to war, but my Sultan desires peace above all else. Perhaps this show of solidarity with our less than pious neighbors will convince them to back off from their assault. So long as the Georgians occupy the lands between us, we should not fear Seljuk arms. Meanwhile, our armies advance against the hated Romans. The Jihad is nearing completion. All that stands between us and victory is the walls of Constantinople. However, I've just received word that the Romans have captured our capital. Fortunately we have evacuated the area and we are massing counterstrike forces in the north.

The Crown Prince, Malik the Dubious, has arrived in Baghdad to discuss matters with our neighbors, and open relations with our most distant of neighbors. Once his mission is completed, he will take his fastest horse and meet us on the front lines.

We have contacted the Rajput emissary, whose territory has been violated by our militant, distant cousins the Ghorids, who have taken a most radical interpretation of the Holy Qu'ran. The Hindus have already allied with the Persian Shah of Ghazni, who stands united with our Georgian vassals against the Seljuk aggressors. Perhaps a multi-state alliance against the aggressors here will strengthen us all. Unfortunately arms cannot be exchanged with our most distant neighbors, but economic and diplomatic solidarity perhaps will prevail here.

As I travel with Crown Prince Malik, I often hear him muttering about how much he misses sitting down and eating a proper Turkish meal with his wife. He also complains about this "foolish mission of mercy" which he claims is a waste of his military genius.

"Why do we bother making friends with infidels and Islamic militants? Why do we care what happens to the Hindus? I've never even heard of a Hindu. Shouldn't we focus our forces against the Romans and wipe them out?"

He is becoming more irritable by the day, and when he talks with other ambassadors, the strain of this journey and the testing of his patience is seen quite visibly upon his face. He has taken to wearing his Islamic face covering even during diplomacy to hide his seething anger.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying this mission, as I've discovered a nasty little secret here in Baghdad... apparently the Caliph has a huge collection of shisha bars right outside his palace, where there are many slave women to satisfy my ravenous desires. Tonight, I'm in the mood for Persian...

[phonicsmonkey]

The Caliph's son Az-Zahir sat astride his warhorse at the crest of a hill looking north at the mountains of the Kingdom of Georgia. The sun was setting in the west, casting a rosy light on the snowy peaks, which seemed to him to glisten as if they were capped with gold.

To his right, astride a fat pony, sat a hooded, slender figure - Kalil, son of his father's Vizier.

Az-Zahir turned to Kalil.

So my friend, will we have our wish? Will my father in his wisdom sanction this invasion of Georgia?

Kalil sighed, and shrugged.

Your father is a great man, and wise. But as you know there are those who say he has grown soft in his dotage, and over-friendly with the infidel kings of the region.

My father the Vizier has let it be known that he has been visited many times of late by the emissaries of Rome and Jerusalem. The generals are angered that the infidel has such influence over him...there are even rumours that he intends to return the captured territories of Syria to the Latins!

He looked up at Az-Zahir, meeting his gaze from neath his cowl with a firm and meaningful stare.

Indeed, there are many amongst the armies of the Caliphate that would gladly march into the lands of the infidel under the banner of the Prince Az-Zahir, even in defiance of the Caliph...they say the blood of the Prophet runs thicker in your veins, and that...

Az-Zahir's eyes flashed with anger.

Be careful in your words Kalil! I am still my father's son, although I am sometimes like of mind with you.

Kalil inclined his head as the Prince continued.

My father is a secretive man, and as deep as the ocean. He shares little of his thinking with me...but while I long for war against the infidel as much as anyone, and I do not understand many of his decisions, I must put my trust in him. I will not defy his orders to stay our march until word arrives from Baghdad.

Kalil nodded, and changed the subject.

And what of the Turk, great Prince?

The young Prince laughed and, wheeling his horse around and beginning to gallop back down the dusty track to the camp below, shouted out.

The Turk is a dead man!