,,,,,,,,,,,,You are a Templar, Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte. You were born in Provence, the third son of rich, landed parents. Everything came easy to you, you were a fine knight and served your father and vassal valiantly... yet still you were unsatisfied. Though a fair swordsman and an even fairer rider, you never drew your blade for aught; what was it for? A man's heartblood for squabbles and greed?
So you went to Jerusalem. You donated all your property but the linens on your back and the sword at your hip, and walked barefooted until you reached the city.
At Jerusalem, nexus of the universe, world-navel and holiest of all cities, ancient and new, strange and familiar, eternal and ephemeral-- you felt full. Like you were an empty ewer before, but in Jerusalem, God had reached down and poured Heaven into you till it touched your brim. You know that it is your fate to defend Jerusalem. It has to be.
It was not long before your prowess was noticed, and by none other than the Templar Grandmaster himself. Thus, with the help of your generous father, you became a Templar. Thus, the Heaven brimming within you may shine through your prowess. Thus, your story begins. (set: $Ridefort to 0)
[[Ridefort's Chamber]]
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</script>It is 29th of December, in the year of our Lord 1186, the feast day for the martyred saint Thomas Becket. You are spending it in Chastel Blanc, a dreary little Templar outpost flush with the lands of the vile Zengid Turks. 'Blanc' is a loose term; the walls are whitewashed, but due to the constant attacks, the lack of resources, and the earthquake that struck it ten years ago, the walls have grown grey and scaly as a leper. Christmas was a sordid affair for a sordid castle; though you had a dignified place at the feast with the rest of the knights, you snuck out to celebrate the Nativity with the turcopoles, who were great company, even if you couldn't drink their strong wine.
Your master awaits you in the keep's master chambers, and you are not one to keep the likes of him waiting. A fire breathes comfort into the tiny room; a Syrian rug reflects a warm haze throughout the air. Various attendants and runner-boys perambulate in the orbit of a solitary chair before the fire, speaking quietly.
"Brother Villesainte," your master's voice booms through the low hum of his little court. His voice is the voice made for carrying over armies, and this humble alcove trembles from trying to contain it. "Come hither." He rises to face you; Templar Grandmaster Gerard de Ridefort is a towering man, and though his beard is flecked with grey and his cheeks flecked with age, he stands straighter and sturdier than oak.
His scowl cast his court asunder, and they flutter towards the door-- but his face abates at the sight of you. Despite your tough Templar grit, you smile and kiss his hand. "Ah, fie on thy kisses! I need your help to draft a letter to the great princes. I've decided that our situation is untenable."
You nod. The devil always arrives unannounced; this unspoken devil is the spectre of the heathen Turks, perpetually bearing down on proud Jerusalem, and neither you nor Ridefort wish to address it. "Who shall I send for, son?"
[[Send for France]]
[[Send for the Byzantines]]
[[Send for the Pope]]
[[Send for Genoa]]
[[Send for the Turks]] "Let's petition the French emissary." You are lost in thought for a moment.
"Something the matter, Adalric?" Ridefort says.
"I suppose I miss France. Finest realm in Christendom, you know? Fine people, too. I wish I could bring you home and introduce you to Father, then hunt together in our forests like Eden as we swap stories. I believe you would like him."
"Ten years, has it been?"
You chew your lip. "Aye, ten years... I wonder what they're all like now." You turn to Ridefort. "Do you miss your home, master?"
"Hm." Ridefort reflects for a moment. "Flanders, it were... I cannot remember it anymore. All I perceive in my dreams now are blurry faces, and then I'm at Jerusalem." The room feels colder for you suddenly.
He drafts the letter. (set: $France to true)
[[The Prayer]] "Let's petition the Roman emissary."
Ridefort spits into the hearth. "Effeminate opportunists," he says. "That girly emperor of theirs started us on our pilgrimage, and stabbed our backs once we had done it."
"Aye," you say, hardly disagreeing.
Your master drafts the letter. (set: $Byzantines to true)
[[The Prayer]] "Let's petition Urban III."
Ridefort nods. "Crusades led us into this perdition," he comments. "Crusades will lead us out."
He drafts the letter. (set: $Pope to true)
[[The Prayer]] "Let's petition the Genoese emissary."
"The Genoese have always been our fast friends," Ridefort muses. "But I do wonder how much our 'fast friends' will charge for their generosity. We shall be wageslaves to our fellow Christians once all this is finished."
He drafts the letter. (set: $Genoa to true)
[[The Prayer]] "Let's petition the Turkish emissary. We ought to try and secure peace."
Ridefort's snicker erupts into full-bellied laughter. "Aren't you quite the diplomat, eh? I misjudged you, Adalric; the only flesh your sword shall touch are your own balls!" You feel yourself blush as Ridefort's laughter reaches the rafters.
He drafts a letter to the Byzantines. (set: $Turks to true)(set: $Byzantines to true)
[[The Prayer]]Ridefort sets down his pen. "May God carry us down the right path." He offers you his hand. "Join me in prayer before we set about our duty?" You take his hand and kneel with him before the cross above the hearth. For a few minutes, all is quiet, but you don't mind; you are content to let the heat beat on your heart, draw from the silence. Ridefort begins:
"O Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, listen to our entreaties on this night: let our feet be furious, our arms righteous, and our blood hot and unperturbed in our vessels." The words depart swift and ready from Ridefort's mouth. This is a man who knows God. "Bless the beasts that aid us to defeat thy sworn foes, for the horses, the hounds, and the camels art thine holy creatures, too. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Deliver us from evil. Amen."
"Amen." Now it is your turn. How can you compare to that? It seems that Ridefort stores up all his best words just for prayer. "Father who art in Heaven," you begin, not really knowing where it is you will go. "Mary Mother of Christ, most immaculate of women... Christ Almighty, Holy Son..." Finally, you know who to pray to. You close your eyes, shut out the fire, and it's as if you are deep within nothingness.
"Holy Spirit protect us. Dear God, Breath of Life and Fire and Glory wherever thou treads, save us from this peril. Be light, be sound, be something of which I know not, but lead us through this shrouded copse. I know not if I can find the way myself. I ask myself, what is thy path for my people, thy pilgrims? What is MY path? With thy power, my sword is valiant, but without thine eyes, I know not where I yield it. Help me wield it, Holy Spirit! Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. Amen." You open your eyes, and everything flows back into you.
"Amen." You and Ridefort rise. "The Holy Spirit has given you a path, Adalric: it is with the defenders of Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem. Keep with us, and you'll do well." You nod slowly, not really hearing what Ridefort is saying. All his best words are for God.
You climb out onto the roof of the keep. The Turks stand outside Chastel Blanc's gates, tucked away in camps limned with fire. There they had been staying for two weeks prior.
[[The Siege]] (if: $Turks is true)["Shall we send a letter to them, Adalric?" Ridefort quips. "Fetch a runner-boy, let's summon them for a pint!" You turn your head to hide your red face, but Ridefort is already laughing.
]
Ridefort gets to business: "We have three hundred sergeants able to ride a horse, the four hundred crossbowmen that were garrisoned here, two hundred turcopoles, and ten knights. By my count, the Turks boast a thousand or so to their number, a third of them mounted archers."
You suck at your teeth. Those half-wild Turks are like ghosts: try and hit them, try and reach them, try and make any part of them but their whizzing arrows tangible-- and you will fail.
"At midday tomorrow, me and some sergeants will sally out from the southern gates to meet the Turks. Meanwhile, you and your turcopoles go out the eastern gates, cut off their retreat. The crossbowmen will man the walls and snipe any Saracen that gets too close. Any sign of trouble-- ANY sign, understand me, brother?-- we retreat. We're not here to fight the fight they want us to fight. Understood?"
[[Yessir!]]
[[No, we should stick together]]
[[Let's wait it out]]
[[What if we did it my way?]]
[[Lie to Ridefort]] "It will be done." Ridefort nods and takes his leave. You stay a while, knowing you won't be able to sleep; like a hot blade, your restless body is quenched by the cool of the night. You drift to sleep on the railing.
When you wake up, it is in your quarters. Seems Ridefort took pity on you.
[[The Day of Battle]] "No, we need to concentrate our forces where the Saracens are. Let's ride forth with all our cavalry to screen our crossbowmen, where they can take position and tear their horse archers apart."
Ridefort frowns. "Methinks not." He claps your shoulder. "But I admire your acumen. Assemble the turcopoles."
[[Yessir]]
[[Lie to Ridefort]] "No, we should hunker down. I’d like them to try and brave these walls! Our supplies will hold, they haven't blocked the tributary that flows through Chastel Blanc, and their army is primarily horsemen and no good in our tight thoroughfares."
Ridefort frowns. "Methinks not." He claps your shoulder. "But I admire your fortitude. Assemble the turcopoles."
[[Yessir]]
[[Lie to Ridefort]] "What if we send me out with my turcopoles dressed like Templar knights? The Saracens will charge at us, thinking us the main force, and we can dance around them, taunting and enraging them, all the while you and the actual Templars swing around and smash them while they’re distracted."
Ridefort frowns. "Methinks not." He claps your shoulder. "But I admire your creativity. Assemble the turcopoles."
[[Yessir]]
[[Lie to Ridefort]] "It will be done." You have a strategy to deceive the Turks-- a good one-- but you know Ridefort won't accept it: before midday, you and your turcopoles will dress like Templar knights, the Saracens will charge at you, thinking you're the main force, and you and your men can dance around and taunt and enrage them. Meanwhile, Ridefort will get the hint and charge the actual Templars to swing around and smash the heathen Turks while they’re distracted.
None of this leaves your lips, however. Ridefort nods and takes his leave. (set: $YouLiedtoRidefort to true)
[[At the Barracks]] At midday, everyone is assembled-- but when you sally out, the Turks scatter before anyone can reach them. Ridefort reveals that he knew this would happen, since he suspected the attack was not an actual siege, but part of a larger concerted effort by Saladin to tie down crusader strongholds as his Egyptian forces raid the countryside. Ridefort mourns that they weren’t able to catch some of the Turks, even with your swift turcopoles, but recognised that it was a slim chance, anyway.
[[Sandy Dusk]] Ridefort will lecture you about how in the constantly shifting world of Outremer, the Templars are the steady rock that the crusader states need to hold on to. Discipline and steadiness are what defines the order, in contrast to the ever-shifting world of politics in Jerusalem or the power fluxes among the Turkic groups or Saladin’s regime change in Egypt. ‘In this island of sand, we are the rock.’
(if: $UserPickedYessir is true)[Ridefort compliments you and sees you as a steady mind like his. (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 2)](else:)[Ridefort compliments your mind that’s ‘always moving, always shifting like that of so many kings around here’, but advises you to be a rock in an island of sand. (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)]
[[Pilgrim's Path]] "Brother Adalric!" someone announces as you enter the cramped barracks. You turn to look, and see the wide, beaming face of Emile Khaury, known to you and the rest of his Maronite brethren as the Parisien. The jolly Parisien has never stepped foot in Paris, much less anywhere outside of Outremer, yet he knows more about Paris than you do.
"Salam alaykum, Emile," you say. You and Emile kiss each others' cheeks.
"What's the news from Paris, sir?" Emile says in excellent French, even though you want to practise your Arabic.
You laugh. You have never been to Paris, so this question is always tricky. "Ah... Phillippe Auguste is hale and whole, the last I heard. The war with England rages on."
Emile's fixed smile widens to his eyeballs. "I hope we win." He hands you a pewter cup of watered wine, knowing that it's the only type of alcohol you're allowed to drink. "Then His Majesty can send over his doughty knights."
"I'll drink to that. Sante!"
Your turcopoles raise their own cups and roar 'Sante!' before draining their cups. For a while, you forget why you came and just chat and swap stories, perfectly at peace; you are a Turcopolier, master of light cavalry archers, and these are your people. Maronite, Syriac Orthodox, converted Turks-- everyone has a place in defence of the Holy City. You alternate Turkish and Arabic fluidly.
Finally, you get around to telling your men why you're here. You ask them to keep a secret; they perked up to that. You know you can trust them. "We have orders from the Grandmaster to assist the sally." You lean on a table. "But I think we'll lead them on a merry old dance before that." You let your friends in on your plan; they chatter among themselves once you tell them they’ll be masquerading as Templars.
"Real Templars must have real livery!" the Parisien declares. "Where shall we procure this?"
You had just planned for your men to paint red crosses over their whitest garments-- but now you have a better plan. Time to speak with Chastel Blanc's castellan.
[[Meet with Robert Bravepierre]] "...Actually, yes. Two hundred miscreants got drunk and soiled themselves. The new recruits from Aquitaine, I believe."
"Ah, those Cathars! You can never trust them with a drop of alcohol." You smile and nod, fearing that if you speak, you will vomit. "Well, we have livery to spare. 'Tis the least I can do to amend for the scourging Ridefort surely gave them."
You return to your barracks with a mulecart full of white robes with red crosses-- and ash in your mouth.
(set: $YouLiedtoRobert to true)
[[The Day of Battle!]] "Actually, y..." You stop yourself. You cannot lie to Robert, your sweet Feu. You've known him too long. "No, no it's not that. I am modifying our dear Grandmaster's strategy." And just like that, your plan pours out from you. You try and make it seem as harmless as possible--
--But Robert still sees through it. "You're going against the Grandmaster's orders."
You bow your head. "Aye. I suppose--"
"I want in, my Foi." Your head jerks up. "I can't be cooped up in this keep, staring at these ugly Saracens all day while you and Ridefort hog all the glory! Aye, bring me to the front where the valour lies, and I'll bring you as many suits as you need."
You feel as if you could float. You seize Robert in an embrace. "I will never lie to you again, Robert, I swear."
He chuckles. "Well, seems I'll never have to endure a dull moment with you, Adalric." He and you release. "I ought to be off. Seems I have some new arrangements to make... and you have some turcopoles to clothe."
You return to your barracks with a mulecart full of white robes with red crosses-- and a heart filled with joy.
(set: $YouHaveRobert to true)
[[The Day of Battle!]] Robert is looking at you like when he and you were children and you tried to hide something from him. You can't do it.
"...Nevermind," you mumble.
Robert peers at you. "Are you all right, Adalric? You seem pale."
You make up some excuses and take your leave as fast as you are able, returning to your barracks emptyhanded.
Your men paint red crosses on their own garments, but most of them aren’t rich enough to afford much white dye, and their 'whitest garments' aren't very white after all. Poor Emile Khaury resolved to spend all night gathering shavings from whitewashed stones and rub them into his finest linens, and you don't have the heart to say that that probably won't work.
Next morning, when you see your turcopoles assembled, everyone agrees the ensemble is quite lacking in a certain je ne sais quois. Everyone’s a little disappointed...
[[The Day of Battle...]] Robert is looking at you like when he and you were children and you tried to hide something from him. You can't do it.
Robert peers at you. "Are you all right, Adalric? You seem pale."
You confess the whole thing to Robert, laying bare your sinful pride in defiance, your ugly willingness to lie, and your total shame.
Robert is quite taken aback. "I thank you for the truth, Adalric," he says. "When you put it that way... I can see why this scheme would afflict you so." He lays a hand on your shoulder. "I will keep this between you and me, never fear." He smiles. "Alas, it sounds like a good plan. I almost regret you didn’t tried to convince me, let me see some action. Why don't you visit my confessor, Adelbard? He is a gentle soul, and will surely absolve you of your sin."
You return to your barracks, light of heart, and tell your men that God has discovered your artifice and the plan is off. They bemoan this turn of events, but have no choice but to accept it. As do you.
(set: $UserPickedYessir to true)
[[The Day of Battle]] You and your turcopoles sally out, but it’s a bit halfhearted because of the whole clothing debacle. The Turks see right through your ruse and, because your turcopoles are lagging a little, take a potshot at you and kill some of your men. Poor Emile Khaury, so eager in everything he does, was at the front and caught an arrow in the throat. The Turks on the other hand escape unharmed, and all you have to show for your ingenuity is Grandmaster Ridefort riding at your tail, spitting fire.
[[We made it out...]]
(set: $EmileDies to true)(if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[Robert gives you a reassuring wink as you trot out the gates, side by side as it was when you were boys. ]When the time comes, you and your turcopoles charge out a mile or so from Chastel Blanc and begin hooting and taunting the Turks. Everyone’s feeling as brave as a real Templar! They take the bait and surge from their camp, but you are more lightly armoured than Templars sergeants and can evade the horsemen.
(if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[You and Robert are working together perfectly, everyone’s in good order and in a good position to retreat when the horse archers arrive. He notifies you that Ridefort is charging out from the east gate.
[[Fall back north to Chastel Blanc! Allons-y!]]
[[Cantabrian circle]]
[[Fall back east!]]
[[Fall back west!]] ]
(if: $YouLiedtoRobert is true)[Things start to go wrong when Turkic horse archers catch up to you, and they shoot down many of your turcopoles; battle has scattered your company all over the place, and you’re having a hard time managing it by yourself.
[[Fall back north to Chastel Blanc]]
[[Cantabrian circle]]
[[Fall back east]]
[[Fall back west]] ]You fall back, counting on the crossbowmen to cover your retreat. But the crossbowmen aren’t in position yet. You take more casualties, and an arrow pierces your leg. You see poor brave Emile Khaury collapse from his horse. The next ten minutes are a blur, but at the end, Ridefort has managed to drive off the rest of the Turks.
[[Out of the frying pan...]]
(set: $EmileDies to true)
(set: $YouAreWounded to true)You fall and Robert back, counting on the crossbowmen to cover your retreat. Beforehand, Robert has actually ordered the crossbowmen to man the walls before midday. They mow down dozens of Turkic riders, and you and your turcopoles make it to safety and watch as Ridefort’s cavalry charge drives off the rest of the Turks. You see an important-looking Turk catch a bolt in the neck, and watch as several other Turks brave the barrage to rescue him.
[[We made it out!]]
(set: $AlAfdalDeath to true) You fall back east and join up with Ridefort’s charge. You catch a glimpse of his glowering face before your joined forces sweep up the right flank of the Turks. The rest make an orderly retreat.
[[We made it out...]] You fall back east and join up with Ridefort’s charge. You catch a glimpse of his glowering face before your joined forces sweep up the right flank of the Turks. The rest make an orderly retreat.
Robert splits his force of turcopoles and goes west, drawing off a contingent of Turks. You and Ridefort sweep up the right flank, then with your momentum, catch up to the Turks chasing Robert and roll them up as well.
Sadly, Robert’s horse was killed from under him, so he now suffers from a broken collarbone. But you manage to capture the enemy general, so the both of you agree that this was a smashing success.
[[Huzzah! A total victory!]] You fall back west, drawing the majority of the enemy-- but looking behind you, Ridefort is struggling to catch up since you led the Turks the wrong way, so 100% of their focus is on you. Your company of turcopoles is almost completely wiped out. You take an arrow in the leg, your horse takes one in his flank.
The next ten minutes are a blur, but when you wake up, you are riding into the middle of a desert, with no clue where you are or where anyone else might be. Just you and your horse, riding off into the lonely sands, bleeding out...
[[The blackness encroaches...]] You fall back west, drawing the majority of the enemy. Robert splits his force of turcopoles east and joins Ridefort’s charge. They win against the Turkish right flank, then roll up those chasing you.
You are more skilled at commanding turcopoles than Robert, so you and the men who went with you escape mostly untouched. Robert manages to capture the enemy general, and all the glory with him-- but when you see Robert’s giddy face, and the vanquished army before you, you decide that this was a smashing success.
[[Huzzah! A total victory!]] Back at Chastel Blanc, Ridefort chastises you, but you can tell he is secretly impressed. You and Robert will receive five lashes at dawn.
[[Sandy Dusk ]]
(set: $AlAfdalCaptured to true)Back at Chastel Blanc, Ridefort chastises you harshly. You will receive ten lashes. (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)
[[Sandy Dusk ]] "All right, lads: Cantabrian circle!" Your turcopoles know what to do. They swirl in a circle, firing steady waves of arrows in constant motion. (if: $YouLiedtoRobert is true)[When the scattered turcopoles see this, they get the hint and follow suit. Ridefort charges in and drives off the rest of the Turks.](if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[When Robert sees this, he rides to the scattered turcopoles and orders them to follow suit. ]
[[We made it out...]] Back at Chastel Blanc, Ridefort chastises you harshly. You and Robert will each receive seven lashes at dawn. (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)
[[Sandy Dusk ]] As the blackness encroaches, you spend your final moments thinking if you could've done more for Jerusalem. You know it will fall now. All the clever counts, all your bold friends, all the men of iron chivalry... submerged in the sand.
Thus is your fate. Ridefort is furious with you. You are to receive twenty lashes at dawn, and will take a forced hiatus from the Templars until your leg wound heals.
[[Sandy Dusk ]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 2)Ridefort lectures you about how in the constantly shifting world of Outremer, the Templars are the steady rock that the crusader states need to hold on to. Discipline and steadiness are what defines the order, in contrast to the ever-shifting world of politics in Jerusalem or the power fluxes among the Turkic groups or Saladin’s regime change in Egypt. ‘In this island of sand, we are the rock.’
He asks up front if he can trust you.
(if: $Ridefort is 0)[ [[Yes|Yes, you can trust me]] ](else:)[ [[Yes]] ]
[[No]] "Yes, you can trust me." "Adalric, can I TRUST you?"
[[Yes, you can trust me]]
[[No]] You firm yourself up. "I will do whatever it takes to save Jerusalem-- even if it takes adhering to my own orders." Ridefort shakes his head, and leaves you to the night.
[[Pilgrim's Path]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)"You can trust me, Grandmaster Ridefort." Ridefort nods in approval, then takes his leave. You stay a while in the night.
[[Pilgrim's Path]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)"It will be done." Ridefort claps you on the shoulder and takes his leave. You stay a while, knowing you won't be able to sleep; like a hot blade, your restless body is quenched by the cool of the night. You drift to sleep on the railing.
When you wake up, it is in your quarters. Seems Ridefort took pity on you. (set: $UserPickedYessir to true)
[[The Day of Battle]] Sir Robert Bravepierre, Templar castellan of Chastel Blanc, is out in the courtyard jousting against a quintain with a straw Saracen placed over it. Peerless atop a horse, Sir Robert rushes the quintain, hits it solidly between its star and crescent, and swivels his steed to and fro to strike the poor straw man once, twice, three times in blinding succession.
"Fancy a tilt, my dear Feu?" you call to him.
Robert lifts his visor, grins, and dismounts once he sees it's you. "You know I would, dear Foi," he says, echoing the nicknames you gave each other as children. "But I've worn out poor Beatrice here something awful." You kiss each other, and Robert pulls off his helmet.
Though his face is fair and his hair blond and fine, his cheeks are ruddy and his hair matted to his scalp. This is a familiar sight; ever since you knew him as a boy, Robert could never sit still and loved nothing more than exerting himself. During your first month with the Templars, what a joyous surprise it had been to discover that your dear Feu had also become a Templar! "But how about a mock spar, gentle Foi? Still some daylight I'm yearning to burn."
You look at the naked white sunrays barely eking out below the half moon and stars glistening like light off a lake. Truth be told, deceiving Robert puts you ill at ease, and you don't feel like a spar. "Why bother to decide? I'd trounce you at either sport."
Robert snorts. "You're just afeared 'cos I won our last spar."
"Is that so? Hmm, I don't recall that, I just recall you hugging my knees and begging to yield..."
Robert shoves me, smiling. "Perhaps when I wallop you you'll remember better. It will be the most action I see all week."
"Really? You won't be going with us in the sally?"
Robert shakes his head. "Ridefort says someone needs to hold Chastel Blanc in case of disaster, and he elected me." He leans in. "I think he just doesn't like me, Adalric."
"It's a shame to waste your talents--"
"Yes! Ever since I accepted this position, I thought it would be constant action, fighting Turks on the fringe of the realm, but instead it's been constant sitting! You know--"
"--But someone needs to watch the castle." Robert's face falls. "Sorry, my dear Feu. Everyone has his duty."
"Don't talk to me, you're not my friend." Your friend 'hmmph's and leads his nag off to the stables.
You know that you can no longer put this off. "Speaking of duty, I am here on official business: we need two hundred or so Templar suits."
"Oh?" Robert smiles, already forgetting that you were no longer his friend. "Did our sergeants get too jolly in their pre-battle revelry?"
[[Lie to Robert]]
[[Tell Robert your plan]]
[[You change your mind]]
[[Confess to Robert]] A few months later, you are in Jerusalem, travelling alongside Gerard de Ridefort and Balian of Ibelin, a large, hairy count characterised by his underhandedness. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[You walk with a cane, your leg still healing. ]Ridefort is not thrilled to be here. Ridefort and Ibelin do not have a lot in common, Ibelin being more of a pragmatist and more embedded in the realm’s politicking, while Ridefort is a diehard traditionalist.
Ridefort supports Sybilla, while Ibelin supports his wife Maria Komnene (the former queen of Jerusalem), blatantly seeking a title. Description of Jerusalem, how much it means to you. Everyone feels the growing pressure from Saladin and the Turks; food is getting harder to come by because of the constant raids, and everyone is scared and stressed.
[[The Feast]] The arriere-ban, calling every able-bodied male to Jerusalem’s defence, has been declared. Sybilla, the queen of Jerusalem, is throwing a feast to help reconcile the feuding factions of Outremer and make this mass levy go over more smoothly. As Ridefort’s guest, you are invited. When you arrive at the Tower of David, an erudite Syrian convert named Hassan serves as the valet, and tends to your bags and horses. The citadel is modest as citadels go, but it still contains an air of authority. This was King David's seat, King Solomon's seat, King Herod's seat; as you walk in, you feel their holy spirits guarding you.
The feast is lavish, displaying the extravagant wealth of the crusader kingdoms-- and everyone in the room hates each other. but there is one noticeable absence: everyone is talking about Raymond III of Tripoli, who still refuses to consider Guy king and actively opposes him by observing a truce with Saladin.
[[Time to socialise!]] Reynald de Chatillon, former prince of Antioch, is an appalling Islamophobe(if: $YouAreWounded is true)[ and wastes no time in revealing his manners by berating your cane and hobbled walk]. Even by your anti-Muslim standards, Chatillon is always a bit too eager to share the horrors of his sixteen-year captivity in Aleppo, practically frothing at the mouth even discussing the slaying of Saracens. Chatillon despises the Christian converts and native Syrians that make up the majority of the crusader armies. He regales you with how he nearly captured the body of the Prophet Muhammad at Medina, and regrets that he had not been able to burn down the Kaaba at Mecca. It is for the sake of this unpleasant man that Saladin has declared war.
After yet another reference to disembowelling a Syrian convert, you hasten take your leave. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[But not before Chatillon takes another crude dig at your injury. "Bye, cripple!" ]
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoRdC to true)Balian catches you up with the political situation in Jerusalem; he speaks about how Guy is a vacillator and nowhere strong or decisive enough to lead them and how Christendom should be terrified that Raymond of Tripoli (and by extension, the ruler of Antioch Bohemond, who is in Raymond’s pocket) has not joined them.
The Queen Dowager Maria Komnene is a sardonic, incisive, and canny speaker, but Balian disapproves of her talking, apologising every time Maria adds her opinion and pulling Maria aside to tell her "we had a deal you wouldn't talk tonight." Though Balian gets quite irate, Maria ignores him and continues to pipe up, and contradicts her husband when she says "Our dear Queen Sybilla would not need Raymond if it weren't for King Guy. With a clear head on Jerusalem's shoulders, she would not need anyone at all." A flustered Balian finally ushers Maria away, leaving you by yourself.
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoBaM to true)Roger and Gerard. The Grandmasters of the Templars and the Hospitallers, respectively, have surprisingly little in common. Moulins is a centrist, not fully opposing Lusignan but not really supporting him either, which infuriates Ridefort. Moulins, exasperated by trying to ameliorate Ridefort, takes his leave. You see that Ridefort, who always believes he’s right and refuses to believe he’s wrong, might not be the best person to look up to.
[["Master, Moulins has a point."]]
[["Master, you have a point."]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoRaG to true)Sybilla and Guy. This is the queen of Jerusalem. You’re nervous; you’ve never met royalty. You observe many guests approaching Sybilla and kissing her hand, and you observe your master Ridefort bowing to her.
[[Bow to the queen]]
[[Kiss the queen's hand]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoSaG to true)There are a number of other distinguished guests you can talk to: Balian of Ibelin and Maria Komnene, Roger de Moulins and Gerard de Ridefort, and Reynald de Chatillon, and Sybilla and Guy de Lusignan.
(if: $YouTalkedtoRdC is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Reynald de Chatillon]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoBaM is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Balian and Maria]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoRaG is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Roger and Gerard]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoSaG is true)[ [[Your eyes widen as Raymond of Tripoli walks into the room]] ](else:)[ [[Sybilla and Guy]] ]Stick up for Moulins. Ridefort redeclares his allegiance to King Guy, and stubbornly refuses to accept whatever points you make to defend him.
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)Agree with Ridefort. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)[Ridefort vents that Sybilla had put him in a severely awkward position by remarrying Guy de Lusignan, and he tells you in a different world-- he might have been Sybilla’s husband, and king of Jerusalem. In his youth, Raymond of Tripoli was supposed to have arranged a good betrothal for Ridefort, which Ridefort took to mean Sybilla. But when Baldwin, Sybilla’s brother, was discovered to have leprosy, Raymond didn’t betrothe Ridefort to Sybilla; in fact, he didn’t betrothe him to anyone at all, so he became a Templar. Ridefort softens up after this confession, and enjoys the feast more. (if: $Ridefort is 1)[(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)] ](else:)[Ridefort nods, and returns to the feast, still uneasy. ]
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]You make a good impression. While talking with them, it’s quickly apparent that King Guy is an airheaded pretty boy with no real thoughts of his own that Sybilla doesn’t supply. He constantly looks to you and her for approval of whatever idea he has, and is incredibly vacillating when it comes to the matter of confronting Saladin (though he portrays himself as ‘of a fixed mind’, desperate to posture and not to lose face). You realise that Sybilla is the real power in Jerusalem.
After Guy gets called off elsewhere, Sybilla asks your opinion on Jerusalem and her court. You say honestly that it doesn’t suit you, and that everyone seems to care about the sanctity of Jerusalem insofar as it benefits them, that it’s too much like your father’s court in Provence. Sybilla explains to you that many other circles agree with you, and in fact it’s only a small population of her guests that care about the realm’s infighting.
She is focused on the bigger picture: she is focused on the holy city. She wants to unite these nobles to repel Saladin, no matter the cost. Sybilla asks you: ‘do you love Jerusalem as much as I do?’
[[Yes. Yes I do]] You kiss Sybilla’s hand. The whole room goes quiet. You are confronted with Ridefort’s purpling face, and (if: $Ridefort is -2 or $Ridefort is -3)[screams at the top of his lungs ](else:)[he reminds you in as gentle a voice he can manage ]that you are a Templar, and forbidden to touch women. Both he and Sybilla suggest that you leave the feast; you have no choice but to oblige. (if: $Ridefort is -3)[Ridefort pulls you aside and swears to flog you personally. ]
[[Time to go...]]
(set: $KissQueen to true)
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)"Yes."
Sybilla says, "Approach Hassan, and tell him ‘aqbil qadami alsultan.’ If pressed, you learned this phrase from a wealthy traveller on the road. Under no circumstance did you learn it from me. You will know what to do next."
Though she has more to say, the queen is interrupted.
A surprise herald veritably bursts in. "Now entering His most noble and serene Majesty, prince of Tripoli, Raymond, Third of that name!"
[[Your eyes widen as Raymond of Tripoli walks into the room]] Milling about outside, you are approached by the valet Hassan. He's very eager to speak with you, even though you were disgraced at the feast. Soon, you figure out that Hassan is still a Muslim, and when you confront him with this, he admits it. He confesses that he has never met a Templar so dismissive of rules, and thus trusts you. He invites you to walk with him down the marketplace. (set: $HassanEncounter to true)
[[Leave him. You owe nothing to this filthy Saracen|Templar Headquarters]]
[[Follow him|The Marketplace]] Raymond of Tripoli is a resplendent man, perhaps even more so than the king of Jerusalem himself. Here is a man with real nobility, real power, real Grace. He kisses Queen Sybilla's hand, and slowly swears fealty to her-- on his behalf and Bohemond of Antioch's behalf-- to thwart the threat of Saladin. She smiles; everything's going according to plan, for her. Raymond does not make a long appearance, eating nothing and only speaking with Sybilla and only dancing with his wife. But the impact he has made on the feast is palpable.
As the festivities wind down, and all the heavy foods you ate weigh down on your eyelids, you find the valet Hassan looming over you. "Our Queen Sybilla has instructed me to deliver your bags, sayidi."
[["...Thank her for me."]]
[[You say the words]]
[["...I forgot the words."]] Hassan bows and takes his leave, and you have your things. Ridefort has departed earlier, you see, so you follow suit to the Templar headquarters. Your horse has been fed, brushed, and saddled for you outside; you give Hassan a tip for his services.
[[What a gentleman! Off to bed, then|Templar Headquarters]]
[[Wasn't there something...|You say the words]]
(set: $Traitor to false)"...‘aqbil qadami alsultan’." Hassan's eyes glint, and he says, "I never thought... well, appearances can deceive." He winks at you at the last part. Hassan invites you to walk with him down the marketplace. Remembering the queen's request:
[[You accept|The Marketplace]](if: $HassanEncounter is true)[You follow Hassan for a block or two, then slip away in the crowd and sprint back the Tower of David. Luckily, your horse is waiting for you and your luggage is still there. You quietly abscond, looking over your shoulder all the while. (set: $Traitor to false)
]
(if: $LeftShishaBar is true)[You return to the Tower of David, dejected. Luckily, your horse is waiting for you and your luggage is still there. You quietly abscond.
(set: $Traitor to false)]
(if: $Traitor is true)[You return to the Tower of David with a heavy heart. You remind yourself several times that this is Queen Sybilla's plan, and you are just carrying it out-- yet your Grandmaster's words still echo through your head: 'be a rock in a sea of shifting sand.' Is this what he would've done?
]
You have a safe trip back to your chamber at the Templar headquarters. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe is perched dutifully on your shoulder. Perhaps this trip wasn't such a waste after all, if only for this little devil's company! ](if: $HassanEncounter or $Traitor is true)[There is no evidence that Hassan has followed you. ]The Templum Domini is a grand, elegant place, and everything feels clean and secure. The pages have already warmed your bed and sheets and drawn up a bath. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe splashes into the wooden tub with you, and though your page protests, you laugh him off and play with your monkey. ]
It is good to be home.
[[Strategy Meet]] Hassan laughs and says "I do not know the words you speak of, sayidi. Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone else?" He brings out your bag and goes prostrate to your ankles and kisses your feet. "I kiss thy feet, great master." You don't know what to say, so you say nothing.
Hassan bows and takes his leave, and you have your things. Ridefort has departed earlier, you see, so you follow suit to the Templar headquarters. Your horse has been fed, brushed, and saddled for you outside; you give Hassan a tip for his services.
[[What a gentleman! Off to bed, then|Templar Headquarters]]
[[Kiss thy feet...|You say the words]]
(set: $Traitor to false)Hassan takes you down a bustling marketplace full of spice sellers, roast meat stands, jewellers, cloth merchants, itinerant singers and dancers and jugglers, and a fire-and-brimstone preacher lashes his sermon at the crowds (who mostly ignore him). There is even a Persian selling a trained monkey! You would never think that Jerusalem was on the brink of total ruin, meandering through this marketplace.
The irony is not lost on you. As much as your Christian sensibilities are offended at this ostentation and extravagance, as much as you feel like Jesus observing the money lenders at the Temple... you cannot help but love this place. It is everything you want Jerusalem to be, this raw carnal humanity within the walls of purity and holiness. The contrast is what makes Jerusalem bold and exciting.
Having visited the trade hubs of Acre, Antioch, and even Damascus, you know that this marketplace is meek by comparison, but those markets felt oppressive, almost institutional, as if in those bubbles existed laws of lucre that superseded the laws of God. Jerusalem's markets feel a lot more familiar; everyone knows each other's names, everything is close.
The Persian approaches you to sell you his monkey.
[[Buy the monkey]]
[[Don't buy the monkey]] Why not? You buy the monkey, whose name is Philippe. Hassan whispers, "Let's keep moving."
[[You arrive at a shisha house]]
(set: $Monkey to true) The monkey, whose name is Philippe, gives you big loving eyes-- but you cannot see what you would possibly do with a monkey, so you turn the Persian handler down. Hassan whispers, "Let's keep moving."
[[You arrive at a shisha house]] You and Hassan walk into a dim and smoky room full of young and old men smoking hookah pipes, drinking coffee, and chatting quietly. "A relic of the days Jerusalem was held by the Fatimids," Hassan says. "Shisha houses belong to Muslims, all of them. And though Muslims are no longer allowed in this city, our little community of converts are still fond of this place."
(if: $Monkey is true)[Little Philippe leaps onto a table on his hands and chitters amiably. Some young men immediately take an interest and toss the monkey some nuts, laughing at his tricks; the older men frown and shoo away the monkey. ]Hassan opens the curtains of a private room, and beckons you in. You do so, and sit down on a cushion. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[The effort wracks splitting pain across your bad leg. ]Hassan sits opposite you.
"Whence did you come by that phrase, sayidi?" He speaks quickly, yet tidily.
[[Queen Sybilla]]
[[A wealthy traveller]] Hassan (if: $FailQuestion is true)[roars in laughter, then ]nods and smiles(if: $FailQuestion is true)[ through his mirthful tears]. "Understandable. Have a good night, sayidi." With that, a muscular eunuch suddenly appears at your side. Hassan bids you leave. Having barely even talked with him, you start to protest... then the eunuch puts his hand on your shoulder. You have no choice but to leave with more questions than answers(if: $FailQuestion is true)[... and with Hassan's laughter continuing with renewed vigour].
[[Perhaps it's time to go home|Templar Headquarters]]
(set: $LeftShishaBar to true)
(set: $Traitor to false)You spin a story about a wealthy Muslim traveller-- Ahmad ibn Ahmad Bitar-- you met on the road while on patrol. This seems to satisfy Hassan.
"You spoke with this Ahmad ibn Ahmad Bitar, yes? Did you speak in Arabic?" You nod. "Then surely, you know what ‘aqbil qadami alsultan’ means, don't you, sayidi?"
[[Of course! It means 'I kiss the sultan's feet']]
[[Of course! It means 'I kiss the sultan's wife'|Queen Sybilla]]
[[Of course! It means... uh, 'I bill the sultan's... qadami'|Queen Sybilla]]
(set: $FailQuestion to true) Hassan crosses his arms. His gaze becomes deadly serious. "One last question, Sir Adalric: will you swear by your sword to die for the Sultan Salah ad-Din, rightful Caliph of Islam?"
Only now do you realise what you are getting into... and who Hassan really is.
[[Draw your sword, and say the words]]
[[Walk away]]
(if: $YouAreWounded is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Draw your sword, and do what must be done]] ]This is not for you. This is for Queen Sybilla. This is for Jerusalem.
You say "I swear on this sword to serve and die for Saladin, Sultan of Egypt and rightful Caliph of Islam."
Hassan grins and embraces you. "Welcome, Sir Adalric. My friend Ali here wasn't so sure--" Hassan gestures to a big scowling eunuch who has suddenly appeared behind you, "--but I knew you could be trusted. Bring us some coffee, Ali." Ali begrudgingly brings the both of you pewter cups of coffee. You have never tried coffee before, misliking the Arabs who consume it, but its smell intoxicates you, and its bitter rich taste draws you in immediately. Before long, you are taking longer sips than Hassan.
Ali takes his seat beside you, glaring at you. "You will report to us the sayings and doings of your Frankish friends," he grunts. Ali's reedy voice belies his stern tone. "We know you are close to Gerard de Ridefort. You will be at his side at all times, and will report his every movement to us."
"So brusque!" Hassan exclaims. "Is this how we treat guests, Ali?" He takes another sip of his coffee. "We know we ask a lot. What my partner forgets is that the people we ask you to spy on were once your friends. But Salah ad-Din is your friend now. And Salah ad-Din loves his friends most of all." Hassan reveals a small cedar box and opens it; inside is an array of brilliant jewels, rubies and emeralds and amber glittering like a hundred rainbow stars trapped together. Never have you seen such wealth assembled in such a small space. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe leaps up and bites one of the jewels, then chirrups happily. ]"More will come, dear Adalric. If you do what we say, and speak truly... far, far more will come." He places the box in your hands. You shake it gingerly; its jingle sounds so pleasant.
Ali turns you to face him. "You will not lie to me. I will hear it when you do. Are you lying to me?"
You steel yourself. "No," you say. Ali nods, and relaxes. You and Hassan chat for some time as you finish your coffee, and you find his conversation quite pleasurable. Ali, on the other hand, doesn't say another word all night. In fact, you almost forget they are Saracens until they insist that they perform their nightly prayer-- the Isha-- before it gets any later. Hassan invites you to stay, but you feel uncomfortable with their Mohamedan heathenry and take your leave.
(set: $Traitor to true)
[[Templar Headquarters]] Your sword out, you cleave Hassan down the head. A muscular eunuch bursts in with a club, but you cut off his hand and drive your sword through his stomach. His screams of pain attract everyone in the shisha bar-- but you are a Templar. By law, these native Syrians cannot trouble you, and though they stare daggers at you, they make no effort to stop you. You leave scot-free.
[[Templar Headquarters]]
(set: $LeftShishaBar to true)
(set: $Traitor to false)You step back. "Where do you think you're going, Templar?" A muscular eunuch appears behind you with a club. Without time to draw your sword, (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[you try to swivel and catch his furious swing-- but the dull ache in your leg sends you kneeling. The eunuch strikes your head. He strikes it again. And again. And again. The shriek of your head drowns out your screams as you feel something split... [[The blackness encroaches...]] ](else:)[you catch his furious swing, then bash it into his forehead. You take the eunuch's club and break his nose with it, but when you turn around to face Hassan, he is gone, no visible trace that he was there. The shisha bar is beginning to stir, so you discard the club and make your egress.
[[I must reach home!|Templar Headquarters]] ]
(set: $LeftShishaBar to true)
(set: $Traitor to false)The next morning, you join Ridefort's entourage to the Tower of David, where the great lords of Jerusalem, Antioch, and Tripoli will meet to discuss how to engage Saladin's massing forces. (if: $Ridefort is -2 or -3 or -4)[Your master is none too happy to see you, and it is a cold and sullen trip to the Tower of David. ](if: $Ridefort is -1 or 0)[Your master greets you curtly, and you make your way to the Tower of David. ](if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)[Your master greets you warmly, embracing you when he sees you. (if: $KissQueen is true)[Your previous debacle with the queen has been forgotten, you take it. ]He seems happier than usual; you wonder why. ]
Sybilla and Guy have laid out a modest breakfast for everyone: pickled hen and eggs with peppers, mulled cider and ale, golden loaves of bread dusted with garlic and rosemary, and a bubbling mushroom pottage ladled on trenchers. You, Ridefort, and the rest of the Templar knights present are fasting today, so you tuck into some pottage and nibble on an egg. (if: $Monkey is true)[Your little monkey Philippe hops along the table and snatches up some almonds; you notice that nuts are his favourite food. Philippe is the delight of the room, and every guest is eager to feed him some morsel and listen to his chatter. ]
(if: $Pope is true)[A strange guest you do not recognise approaches you and Ridefort. He is a robust cleric decked in fine white habits, bearing a scroll with the emblem of the Keys of Heaven. A thrill runs through your heart; could this be it?
The robust cleric bows to Ridefort. "Grandmaster of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon," he says. "I am Domenico Barbarigo, papal legate to our Holy Father Urban III. While His High Holiness regrets that he cannot yet declare a crusade on your behalf--" your heart sinks. It was not to be. "--your bravery and diligence in the defence of the Holy Land will not go unrewarded." Barbarigo opens his scroll. Ridefort looks at it, downcast. "Pope Urban III hereby grants the Templar order a rebate of five thousand gold ducats for use in vanquishing the infidel. You may stop by my office whenever you like to claim this rebate."
"Five thousand ducats shall not save us," Ridefort growls. "When will Urban declare a crusade?" The papal legate says nothing, but bows and departs. Ridefort hands you the scroll. "At very least we can hire another company of turcopoles with this."
"Cheer up, master," you say. "This might turn the tide of battle one day." Though the words you speak are light, your heart feels as heavy as five thousand gold ducats.
King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin."
Ridefort stands to go. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Coming, brother?"
You blink. "What?"
Ridefort gives a rare smile. "You're my chief Turcopolier, Villesainte. You should come along with me. Learn what will happen with our kingdom." Your master extends his hand.
[[I'll gladly join you!|In the Grove]] ](else:)[You bid him farewell; he and the rest of the great lords retire. (if: $Traitor is true)[You remember Hassan and what he told you.
[[Spy on the strategy meet]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] ] ]
(if: $Genoa is true)[A strange guest you do not recognise approaches you and Ridefort. He is decked in flamboyant crimson threads that thicken his chest, and a ravishing wide hat with a feather in it. He bows to you and Ridefort, introducing himself as Guido da Landriano. Guido has been contracted by the consuls of Genoa to sail to Jerusalem with a company of crossbowmen and pledge himself to the Templars. Ridefort is pleased that Genoa was so forthcoming to his plea, and welcomes Guido, attracting an audience when he knights him as an honorary Templar.
King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin."
Ridefort stands to go. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Coming, brother?"
You blink. "What?"
Ridefort gives a rare smile. "You're my chief Turcopolier, Villesainte. You should come along with me. Learn what will happen with our kingdom." Your master extends his hand.
[[I'll gladly join you!|In the Grove]] ] (else:)[You bid him farewell; he and the rest of the great lords retire. (if: $Traitor is true)[You remember Hassan and what he told you.
[[Spy on the strategy meet]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] ] ]
(if: $Byzantines is true)[Maria Komnene approaches you and Ridefort. Without her husband, she is far more resplendent than she was last night, decked as she is in fine purple robes and golden jewellery dangling from her ears and neck. She bows to you and Ridefort. "My drunken sot of a second cousin has begged me to lend you succour, master Ridefort," she says dryly. "Or is he my second cousin once removed? Anyway, he is only the Roman emperor, so I was somewhat hesitant, but I suppose he wore me down. My husband shan't be pleased, but he is rarely that."
"I ask for armies," Ridefort barks. "And all Isaac gives me is you?"
Maria Komnene smirks. "Yes, I was surprised, too; armies would have been far cheaper." You cannot help but snicker at this woman's audacity and Ridefort's reddening face. This attracts Maria's attention. "And who are you?"
You clear your throat, trying to hide the fact you were snickering. "Sir Adalric Villesainte, my lady. Remember me, from the feast?"
"Hm. No, no I don't."
[[Bow to Maria]]
[[Kiss Maria's hand]]
(if: $Ridefort is -3 or -4)[ [[Swoop up Maria and kiss her lips]] ]]
(if: $France is true)[King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin.
Ridefort stands to go. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Coming, brother?"
You blink. "What?"
Ridefort gives a rare smile. "You're my chief Turcopolier, Villesainte. You should come along with me. Learn what will happen with our kingdom." Your master extends his hand.
[[I'll gladly join you!|In the Grove]] ](else:)[You bid him farewell; he and the rest of the great lords retire. (if: $Traitor is true)[You remember Hassan and what he told you.
[[Spy on the strategy meet]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] ] ]You bow to the Queen Dowager. She smiles graciously. (if: $KissQueen is true)[You spy Ridefort breathing a sigh of relief. ]
King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin.
Ridefort stands to go. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Coming, brother?"
You blink. "What?"
Ridefort gives a rare smile. "You're my chief Turcopolier, Villesainte. You should come along with me. Learn what will happen with our kingdom." Your master extends his hand.
[[I'll gladly join you!|In the Grove]] ](else:)[You bid him farewell; he and the rest of the great lords retire. (if: $Traitor is true)[You remember Hassan and what he told you.
[[Spy on the strategy meet]]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] You kiss the Queen Dowager's hand. She is taken aback. (if: $KissQueen is true)[It is too late you realise that you have now made the same mistake twice, and touched the skin of yet another woman. Ridefort cries aloud like a wounded beast and throws your hand off hers.
"Twice!" he yells. "Twice you have broken our order's vows, Adalric, both times right before my very eyes! Do you think me a fool? Do you think yourself above the rules? (if: $Ridefort is -3)[Ten lashes!](if: $Ridefort is -4 or $Ridefort is -5)[Ten lashes! Twenty lashes! I will expel you from the Templars for good, Villesainte, see if I don't!"] ](else:)[
Ridefort pulls you aside. "Need I remind you it is against our code to touch women?" You nod, ashamed. (if: $Ridefort is 0 or 1 or 2)["I can forgive you this time, but see that it doesn't happen again." You nod again. ]]
Ridefort is interrupted when King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin."
Ridefort abruptly stands to go. Maria gives you a plaintive look, then rushes after him, hurriedly speaking. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Coming, brother?" your master calls.
You blink. "What?"
Ridefort turns about and gives you a rare smile. "You're my chief Turcopolier, Villesainte. You should come along with me. Learn what will happen with our kingdom." Your master extends his hand. Relief washes over you.
[[I'll gladly join you|In the Grove]] ](else:)[They and the rest of the great lords retire. (if: $Traitor is true)[You remember Hassan and what he told you.
[[Spy on the strategy meet]]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ]
(set: $KissMaria to true)
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)You have had enough of Ridefort and his rules as of late. "Then you will surely remember this." You take Maria by the small of her back, bend her down, and plant your lips on hers. You can feel her resist, so you let her go before too long.
Ridefort has gone full purple. He is speechless, and simply walks away. You pray Balian of Ibelin wasn't nearby, but it seems like everyone's eyes were on King Guy by then (though Maria's handmaidens look properly scandalised).
King Guy rises from the head of the table. "If all my lords have sufficiently broken their fasts," he announces. "I would like to invite everyone to the groves, where we may sample its fruits and discuss the matter of Saladin."
Maria Komnene smiles at you. "I think I will remember that," she chuckles. "Though try that again, and I will make my husband kill you. Join me, lover boy?"
[[I'll join you|In the Grove]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 2)
(set: $RomanceMaria to true) It is a lovely day in the grove. You pluck an orange and bite into it. The juice is exquisite, like nothing you've tasted before, and the colour intoxicates your eye. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)["I'm never allowed to speak at these things," Maria says. "So I just stand quietly and think. Of course, the more I think, the more I want to speak, like all my thoughts are held captive, screaming to be freed. I expect it from my Balian, but Sybilla does it, too!" You watch the queen. She's standing near King Guy, but quite separate from him. "My husband's still sleeping off last night's wine."
"Balian seems an unpleasant man."
"He's a soft man when it comes to it; I enjoy needling him." Maria smirks. "And he's not too bad in bed, either." ]Double-click this passage to edit it.All that remains is to await Ridefort. (if: $Ridefort is -3 or <-3)[You cannot eat anything else, knowing your master will be wroth. ](if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe hops back on your shoulder, having eaten his fill as well. You do a little a magic trick; showing him a nut, you roll it between your hands and secretly slip it down your sleeve, so when you open your hands the nut is gone. Philippe is most impressed by this, and gapes at your open hand. When you whisk the nut back into your hand, the monkey cries out and inspects the nut. This cheers you up. ]You decide to view the tapestries around the Tower of David to while away the time.
Two hours later, Ridefort returns. "How did we fare in the meet, Grandmaster?" you say.