Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[GeneralHankerchief]

The Desert, 1282

“Godfrey! How on Earth am I supposed to do this thing?!”

The horsemaster of Hans’s army turned from his present task and faced the voice addressing him. All he saw, however, was a brown horse draped in Imperial colors. What trickery is this? he thought to himself. Horses can’t talk, so unless some dirty ventriloquist or the Lord himself is speaking…

Then he looked down and saw a pair of human legs. He chuckled. Of course. “So, young Hümmel, what can I do for you?”

Jens Hümmel stepped out from behind the horse, fuming. He made wide, bold gestures with his arms and legs, clearly accentuating the size difference between himself and his intended mount. “This is a friggin’ joke. There’s no way I’m supposed to be able to mount this thing and ride it. Can you tell me how to do it?”

Godfrey had to fight hard to prevent himself from laughing. He knew that if he did, the undersized young man in front of him would probably get even angrier and louder, which would probably make him laugh even more. “Do you mean to say that, merely days before this huge battle with the Horse Lords, you don’t know how to properly mount and ride an instrument of cavalry?”

“Of course I haven’t,” he shouted, “that’s why I’m talking to you, isn’t it?!”

“You mean, in all those trips to and back from Outremer, you’ve never gotten on a horse? Ever?”

“No, of course I haven’t!!!” Jens looked ready to explode, but breathed in and calmed down slightly. “I walked,” he said with a faint hint of pride. “Walking is good. It’s better for you. It builds up your stamina.”

“It also makes you a very susceptible target when the fighting comes if you’re a foot soldier,” Godfrey said, getting more serious as Jens got less angry. “I find it extremely hard to believe that a noble of the Reich, an Elector, a Count, a direct descendent of Kaiser Heinrich himself, hasn’t even gotten on a horse once for any kind of purpose.”

“If you mean to say you think I’m rich enough to own a horse, you’re dead wrong,” said Jens soberly. “My father didn’t have that much money to begin with and after he died my fool of a brother spent most of it in that ridiculous revolution of his.”

There was silence after this comment. Godfrey obviously couldn’t think of the right thing to say and didn’t detect the tone in Jens’s voice saying that it was a topic better left unexplored.

“Well, are you going to help me or not?”

Godfrey snapped back to attention and once again began to feel amused. “Well, you try it again, this time so I can see what you’re doing wrong.”

Cursing, Jens walked back to his horse. It was a brown, normal-sized thing with a kind look in its eye, a horse that would have been better suited on a farm back in Europe than at war with the fiercest people in the world. This fact grew clear to Jens and Godfrey as Jens tried to mount it. Totally ignoring the stirrups, Jens instead leaped on, desperate for any kind of grip. It reminded Godfrey of the way a taller person would try to climb onto the roof of a low building.

Taken aback, the horse whinnied and took off at top speed, leaving Jens wildly holding on as he desperately fought not to get thrown off. The horse veered left and tore through the camp, where most of the army got a good laugh at what was happening, Jens screaming and cursing all the way through.

As he grew more concerned with yelling his head off than staying on, Jens slowly lost his grip and eventually tumbled off, landing face-first in a pile of –what else?- horse excrement.

He rolled over slowly and deliberately, refusing to open his eyes. He vaguely heard people laughing at him. When he got up, he would stab the closest man. It didn’t matter if he was much shorter than them, he would still get a shot in at their privates; that would teach ‘em.

“So, young Hümmel, have you learned anything from that little adventure?”

Jens sat up, wiped the crud from his eyes, and screwed up his face in anger. Godfrey was standing in front of him, very obviously biting his tongue.

“I’ve learned not to ride STUPID *#%!ING HORSES on the account that they’re STUPID *#%!ING HORSES!!! Even from the small part of his face that wasn’t covered in crap, Godfrey could see that Jens was as red as a tomato. He stood up, still shrieking. My Lord that man can make a lot of noise coming from such a small body, Godfrey thought.

“That’s it, I’m not riding any horses, I don’t care whether I go on foot, those damned animals are out to kill me, they’re up to no good, I need something to kill now, I don’t care whether it’s Imperial or Mongol, I’m already more of a *#%!ing laughingstock than I used to be because this *#%!ing thing took me for a ride and threw me into a pile of- ACK! Pphbbth!”

He stopped mid-rant in disgust as he felt something wet and slobbery go across his face. Blinking in surprise, he saw that “stupid *#%!ing horse” licking the rest of the excrement off of his face.

“Stupid nag, licking its own crap,” Jens muttered, but then the horse made a distinct spitting noise away from Jens as if to clean its tongue. Then it returned to Jens, looking at him with an expression that almost matched pity.

“Well, I suppose it can’t be that bad,” he said to himself, getting up. The horse whinnied meekly, as if in agreement. Godfrey approached the man and the horse, still grinning.

“So, you ready to learn the real way?”

“Nah,” Jens said, grinning himself, “I think me and this nag understand each other now.” He proceeded to jump onto his horse in the same, awkward way as before. The horse whinnied and took off again, leaving Jens holding on for dear life, screaming and cursing once again. Godfrey just shook his head and chuckled.

[FactionHeir]

Antioch Docks at night, 1282 AD

Everything went by plan.
His men were now boarding the flagship, horses in tow and the many peasants and dockworkers hurried around carrying crates with supplies, ammunition, letters and other paraphernalia meant for his troops or for Europe.
Hans, however, was not among them. He watched from a safe distance, from within a dead alleyway, Dirk guarding his back.
They were quiet, waiting and watching. Hans subconsiously touched the wide robe he was wearing over his newly acquired suit of studded leather, thinking of the letters he had received these past days after the battle at Edessa. Who would warn me of this he kept wondering to himself. And why would someone be coming after me, now that I was leaving for Europe? The answer to the latter was somewhat more clear in his mind, as he was certain it was not because he defeated the Mongols, but because Jens fell. But who would care so much about whether Jens lived or not? and added immediately besides myself. %/"§ it. Why did he have to die just then!.

A sudden movement behind him caused Hans to startle and he almost dropped the handgun that he bought at the Edessan bazaar. It was only Dirk though, who shifted. Relieved, Hans let out a sigh and continued to observe. Most the men are aboard now, whoever is after me will likely be as well, or waiting for me to board. Hans smiled to himself. Unless Matthias was the one after him, it would be nigh on impossible for the would-be assassin to catch up with him, for he would not be boarding the flagship, but rather one of the smaller two Holks. The would-be assassin would not know of course, since Hans had ensured that two of the Feudal knights, who the chancellor ordered to stay in Outremer against their will, for they were loyal to Hans alone, would be taking his and Dirk's place on the flagship, each in robes as well, flanked by his usual retinue.
Hans smirked, as he left the shadows and boarded the smaller ship, inconspicuous to anyone.

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Later that night
Quite rotten, that ship. Hans surveyed his surroundings, which was the storage bunk, filled with countless crates, sacks and chests, carrying the wealth that Outremer held, besides being a place for pilgrims. As an emperor's son, he was not used to travelling in such run down ships, but rather in one of the cabins designed for noble guests.
Hans paced around, peeking behind crates and dark corners, making sure no one else was down here. Dirk on the other hand stood by the trapdoor, guarding his surroundings carefully, as he was trained to do.
This time, I must have evaded them Hans thought to himself, as he sat himself in a well-lit corner and started reading the letters sent to him again. He shook his head whenever Lothar was mentioned. Why would he be plotting against me, now that we had agreed in secret on a Bavarian-Swabian alliance? Hans decided he would meet that elusive writer and find out.