,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Jerusalem
By Luke Beverley
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)(set: $Jerusalem to 0)(set: $Saladin 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]]
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</script>"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]]
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>"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]]
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>"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]]
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>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 Turkomans stand outside Chastel Blanc's gates, tucked away in camps limned with fire. There they had been staying for two weeks prior.
[[The Siege]]
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</script>(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 Turkomans boast a thousand or so to their number, a third of them mounted archers."
You suck at your teeth. Those half-wild Turkomans 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 Turkomans. 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]] The noon sun stabs you with a million little daggers, and you bleed sweat down your back. Your turcopoles are arrayed around Chastel Blanc's eastern gate, tending to their horses and their arms.
You are mounted, inspecting everyone. "Brother Adalric!" someone announces as you pass by. You turn to look, and see the beaming face of your young squire Emile Khaury. His Maronite brethren have taken to calling him the Parisien. Despite the fact that jolly Emile has never stepped foot in Paris, much less anywhere outside of Syria, he somehow knows more about Paris than you do.
"Salam alaykum, Emile," you say. You bow your head to him.
"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 his skin of water. "Then His Majesty can send over his doughty knights."
"I'll drink to that. Sante!" The cool swallow of water tastes better than wine. 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 and Greek fluidly.
The horn of war sounds. Emile mounts his chestnut Arabian stallion, and you and he harry the turcopoles to action. All it takes is a shake to turn these amiable fellows into hard warriors; soon, your jolly lot are whooping and crying. Your men spread onto the rolling sands like a steel cloud alighting to earth.
Yet before you can even peer at the battle, the Turkomans are scattering, and Ridefort's sergeants are standing down. You trot your horse to them and call, "What happened?"
"Bloody infidels soiled their breeches and flew off," a Frank says to you as he rides by. "No sport to be had today, Adalric."
Ridefort approaches you, taking off his helm and wiping his sodden brow. "I suspected this would happen," he says. "This were a straw-man of a siege, part of a larger concerted effort by Saladin to tie down Frankish strongholds as his Egyptian regulars raid the countryside. See those fires to the north?" Ridefort points north; it strains your eyes, but you do indeed see pillars of smoke.
You realise just what that implies. "They have already accomplished their purpose by holding us in place," you moan. "Bought their raiders two weeks of rape and pillage!"
"Aye." Ridefort grinds his teeth. "We must be revenged. Caught you any heathens?" You shake your head. Your master sighs. "It was a slim chance, anyway. Come: let's give chase. Perhaps we'll catch some stragglers."
[[Sandy Dusk]]
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)
<script>
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</script>It is dusk at Chastel Blanc. Sheets of purple and red pleat over the distant sands of Syria. You find Ridefort at the cusp of the keep's ramparts, staring at the sunset, where you knew he would be. "Thank you for meeting with me, Sir Adalric," Ridefort says. You join him. The dying sun is reflected in his eyes. "Outremer, Jerusalem-- our home-- is constantly shifting. Alliances break, ceasefires fall, Christian turns on Christian, and chaos reigns. We live in a complex, everchanging world."
"The complexity makes it beautiful," you say. "I saw nothing like Jerusalem in France, because everyone was the same, fighting petty schemes for petty gains, with no thoughts to Christ and his works. But here, everyone is so different, there are so many religions and cultures in one place, each with their own exciting views! Jerusalem's complexity is that of a tapestry: distinct colours interwoven into a united pattern." You think of your beloved turcopoles, how despite the conflicting religions, you fought as one. You think of each Maronite, Orthodox, Catholic, and convert you had the pleasure to interact with, their beautiful languages you speak to them with. "We use that complexity to adapt, meet the challenge of our enemies."
Ridefort smiles slightly. "I never thought of it that way. I have seen how complexity interacts with politics, and I can tell you this: Jerusalem's complexity is no tapestry. It is shifting sands: always moving, never fixed, and deadly to anyone inside them. But we Templars... we are the stability that the crusader states need to hold on to. Discipline and steadiness are what defines our order. Not the shifting world of Jerusalem, the power fluxes among the Turks, or Saladin’s regime change in Egypt. No. Our code is one. Our charge is one. We are one." Your master rests his hand on your shoulder. "In this island of sand, we are the rock." Ridefort fixes your gaze. (if: $UserPickedYessir is true)["You may say otherwise, but I know that you have a steady mind like mine. You follow orders. You're a good Templar." (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 2)](else:)["I admire your mind as one that's always moving, always shifting like that of so many kings around here-- but you need to be that rock, Adalric. Jerusalem depends on us." (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)]
[[Pilgrim's Path]]
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</script>"Brother Adalric!" someone announces as you enter the cramped barracks. You turn to look, and see the beaming face of your young Maronite squire Emile Khaury. Some of his Maronite brethren have taken to calling him the Parisian. Despite the fact that jolly Emile has never stepped foot in Paris, much less anywhere outside of Syria, he somehow 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 and Greek 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!" your squire 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!]]
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.play('F56Q8vP15qI');"></div>"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...]]
(set: $BadClothes to true)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]] The morning sun is obscured by clouds, and you are blessed with a little wind. Your turcopoles are arrayed around Chastel Blanc's southern gate, tending to their horses and their arms; no one speaks, nervous that at any moment Grandmaster Ridefort will catch them in the act. Your turcopoles are a hodge-podge of brown, white, black, grey, red, and blue; you couldn't mistake even one in ten of them for a Templar knight. Still, everyone has a cross over their chest. Hopefully, that will be enough.
You give the hand signal. Emile mounts his chestnut Arabian stallion, and you and he harry the turcopoles to action. All it takes is a shake to turn these amiable fellows into hard warriors; soon, your sullen lot are spilling onto the field, spread onto the rolling sands like a steel cloud alighting to earth. "Come, lads!" you call. "Let God hear our cry!" No one cares to raise that sort of cry.
You spy a hubbub of activity near the Turkish camp-- but no one comes to meet you. You spur your horse on, but you notice you and Emile are pulling ahead of the rest. What is this? Before you can even get a clear view, the majority of the Turks ride off. They saw right through your ruse.
Not all of them had gone, though. A contingent of horse archers appear at the edge of a cliff, drawing their bows. There is no way you can escape their volley, not if you go forward, backward, sideways, or stationary; you feel faint as they loose their shots. Little needles whine through the air and raise a great groan from your lagging turcopoles. Arrows clatter off your thick helm and shoulder guard; one even darts right before your eyes. Poor Emile Khaury, so eager in everything he does, is at the front and catches an arrow in the throat. The Turkomans on the ridge laugh and rejoin their comrades unharmed.
All you have to show for your ingenuity is Grandmaster Ridefort riding at your tail, purple of face.
[[We made it out...|After the Battle]]
(set: $EmileDies to true)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)
<script>
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</script>The morning sun is obscured by clouds, and you are blessed with a little wind. God is on your side! Your turcopoles are arrayed around Chastel Blanc's southern gate, tending to their horses and their arms; despite the fact that at any moment Grandmaster Ridefort could catch them in the act, they are ebullient and hearty. A fat skin of wine is passed around; you venture a tiny swallow before realising it's the strong kind.
Emile Khaury bursts out in laughter when he sees your rosy cheeks. "Hitting the good stuff, eh monsieur?" he says.
You laugh and pass the wine to your squire. He takes a draught. "We're in for a good many sins today," you say. "Why not one more?" Emile claps you on the back. He and your turcopoles are in fine trim, all in white with the classic red crosses blazoned on their breasts; from what you've overheard, it's all they can talk about.
(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. ]You give the hand signal. Emile mounts his chestnut Arabian stallion, and you and he harry the turcopoles to action. All it takes is a shake to turn these amiable fellows into hard warriors; soon, your jolly lot are spilling onto the field, spread onto the rolling sands like a steel cloud alighting to earth.
"Let God hear our cry!" you call. Your lads bellow hale and high. "//God can't hear you!//" Your collective cry sunders the sky, rattles the earth, shakes the flesh till every inch of you is quivering and taut. You and your turcopoles surge out a mile or so from Chastel Blanc, in sight of the Turkish camp, and begin hooting and taunting. The horses march in place, stirring a sizeable screen of dust. (if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[Headstrong Robert leaps atop his saddle and pulls down his breeches, giving the Turkomans a generous view of his 'windy crevice'. ]Everyone is as bold as a real Templar! You see the horsemen scramble from their yurts and tear down from their camp, already drawing their bows. But your turcopoles are more lightly armoured than real Templars; everyone springs to attention, and evade the Turkomans' first volley. You give a signal, and your forces split in two, the normal procedure for Turkic horse archers. The second volley goes wide as well, but--
"They're gaining on us!" Emile exclaims. The uncontested Turks are rolling past quick and easy ground. You can see their sleek faces, their oily beards, their majestic steeds flowing through the plains like birds in air. Their bows crack again and their arrows whip through the dust cloud, ringing, ringing, ringing in your ear...
(if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[You and Robert are working together perfectly. Both halves of the turcopoles swirl and swerve away from the arrow volleys, effectively led by two seasoned Templars. Robert is your brother, truly, and the fraternal bond holds strong as you rapidly swap hand signals and bark short commands. Everyone’s in good order and in a good position to retreat when the horse archers get closer.
"Ridefort is charging out from the east gate!" Robert yells. All throughout is the ringing of those bows, scarring the sandy firmament and cursing the air with a keening whine.
Emile Khaury trots alongside you. "Frere Adalric, what shall we do?"
[[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. The horse archers are within effective range now, and many of your turcopoles start falling; battle has scattered your company all over the place, and you’re having a hard time managing it by yourself. All throughout is the ringing of those bows, scarring the sandy firmament and cursing the air with a keening whine.
Emile Khaury trots alongside you. "Frere Adalric, what shall we do?"
[[Fall back north to Chastel Blanc]]
[[Cantabrian circle]]
[[Fall back east]]
[[Fall back west]] ]
<script>
$('#prayer')[0].pause();
$('#engagement')[0].play();
</script>You fall back north, arrows at your back, and are fit to weep when you behold the wave of steel that is Ridefort’s charge. The arrows are getting closer, growing noisier; the Turkomans are upon you, but you are so close to the tall white sentinel that is Chastel Blanc. You just need a little more time for the crossbowmen to cover your retreat... but when you gaze upon the ramparts, no one's there. And suddenly, you have nowhere left to go.
The arrows pounce from all directions, louder that the death cries of your men. They swarm at you like insects, clattering off your thick armour and digging deep into the flesh of your turcopoles. Your horse shrieks; you look down, and see seven pine shafts protruding from the beast's neck. You feel yourself listing, and you cannot untangle yourself from the saddle as your horse collapses onto your leg; a sharp pain shoots down your femur, followed by an inferno of agony firing all throughout you. You scream, but you cannot hear yourself past the arrows droning, horses dying, ground thundering, and men howling to God. You see poor brave Emile Khaury crumple from his horse. As a horn of war sounds from the distance, darkness buffets you...
[[Out of the frying pan...|After the Battle]]
(set: $EmileDies to true)
(set: $YouAreWounded to true)
(set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)You and Robert fall back north, arrows at your back, and are fit to weep when you behold the wave of steel that is Ridefort’s charge. The arrows are getting closer, growing noisier; the Turkomans are upon you, but you are so close to the tall white sentinel that is Chastel Blanc. You just need a little more time for your retreat--
--And sure enough, a scythe of bolts descends from the walls and tears through the front rank of Turkomans. You gaze to the ramparts, and see a line of men bristling with crossbows, cheering the worthy shot and churning at their weapons.
"Beauty incarnate!" Robert exclaims. "I took the liberty of instructing my crossbowmen to man the walls before midday, and they listen to me, for once." He takes off his helm, and you see his crazy smile. "Sit tight, dear Foi. And listen to the music." The crossbows sing above your head, cleaving down the next rank of Turkic riders with a wave of bolts as straight and sturdy as an angel's sword. The gate opens before you; you and Robert usher the turcopoles inside, to safety. You stay behind to watch.
Emile trots up to you. "Shouldn't you be with your brothers?" you ask him.
"My place is with you," Emile says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Bolts thunder from above and topple dozens of Turkoman riders attempting to flee. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
The horn of war cuts through it all. You can't look away as Ridefort's charge finally hits home. A Templar charge is a thing of beauty; perfectly orchestrated, with ranks shoulder to shoulder as if they were marching, tight and uninterrupted-- it cleaves through the wispy clouds of horse archers, a lance of order driving through the chaos. This is what the Templars are known for. This is what your brothers were born to do. A dragon's breath of dust flies behind them as they trample all in your way, a moving wall of steel and horseflesh, lances driving torrents of blood across helmets. Their forces sweep up the right flank of the Turks before the rest scarper off.
A Turkoman with a prominent cloth-of-gold turban catches a bolt in the gut and falls from his horse, but in the chaos of the rout, no one comes to retrieve him.
"See that Saracen with the gold turban?" you say to Emile.
He smiles and licks his lips. "That I do, master Adalric," your squire says. He gallops forth to pick him up; perhaps he will prove useful later.
[[We made it out!|After the Battle]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to true)You fall back east, arrows at your back, and are fit to weep when you behold the wave of steel that is Ridefort’s charge. As you and some turcopoles fall in line with the rest, you catch a glimpse of Ridefort's glowering face. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
The horn of war cuts through it all. The charge hits home. A Templar charge is a thing of beauty; perfectly orchestrated, with ranks shoulder to shoulder as if they were marching, tight and uninterrupted-- it cleaves through the wispy clouds of horse archers, a lance of order driving through the chaos. This is what the Templars are known for. This is what you and your brothers were born to do. A dragon's breath of dust flies behind you as you trample all in your way, a moving wall of steel and horseflesh, lances driving torrents of blood across your helmet. Your joined forces sweep up the right flank of the Turks before the rest scarper off.
[[We made it out...|After the Battle]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)You fall back east, arrows at your back, and are fit to weep when you see the shimmering wave of steel that is Ridefort’s charge. As you and some turcopoles fall in line with the rest, you catch a glimpse of Ridefort's glowering face. Meanwhile, Robert splits his force of turcopoles and goes west, drawing off a contingent of Turkomans. Such is their ire that they never perceive aught else but the false Templars that bedevilled them so. Canny Robert turns his turcopoles around to confront the horse archers, staying them in place for your line to catch up. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
The horn of war cuts through it all. The charge hits home. A Templar charge is a thing of beauty; perfectly orchestrated, with ranks shoulder to shoulder as if they were marching, tight and uninterrupted-- it cleaves through the wispy clouds of horse archers, a lance of order driving through the chaos. This is what the Templars are known for. This is what you and your brothers were born to do. A dragon's breath of dust flies behind you as you trample all in your way, a moving wall of steel and horseflesh, lances driving torrents of blood across your helmet. Your joined forces sweep up the rearguard of the Turks.
A foe emerges from the dust against you. He has a cloth-of-gold turban, and he and his brawny destrier stand like a black bastion in their full lamellar armour. He brings forth his wicked scimitar, stopping a few other Turkomans from engaging. You couch your lance, feeling your sinews grow taut and your blood quicken. This is what God made you for.
You charge at each other. Dust and thunder bursts up the rumbling sands from the Turkoman knight, a rolling black behemoth of iron and fury. His scimitar arcs towards your chest, and in that pregnant moment, you can nearly see its path. You grit your teeth, and divert your steed to the right; the scimitar shrieks down and cuts into your sternum-- but your lance is true. It meets your foe full in the belly and splits his lamellar in two, blasting him off his horse. The black destrier bulls through your horse's rear, prompting his pained neigh; the tremendous jolt from the impact convinces you that the destrier would have split you and your steed in two had you not moved aside. The fallen Turkoman clutches the lance-tip in his abdomen, and you notice that through the thick lamellar, even his blood looks black. The man's retinue cries aloud and sets upon you. You draw your sword.
You stream through the horsemen like lightning through wood; you lunge through a foeman's cheek and pull out some of his brains as you surge on, you slice across another's belly and neck in two little strokes that carried in them the strength of hawk talons, you cleave down onto a horse's head and slide your sword out of the skull and into its rider's heart, your sword darts through iron and flesh and tears the infidels to bleeding stumps on the sand.
Finally, it is over. You order Emile to take the Turk with the golden turban to the dungeon, to be given into Ridefort's custody; surely, with all that armour, he must be worth quite the ransom. All the Turkomans either lay dead at your feet, or have surrendered. Your heart is pounding at your breast, aching for freedom; all the blood has flowed to your head as you dismount, and you nearly faint from your dizzy spell. Rapture and rhapsody ring through your body, which now feels parchment-thin.
Robert runs to embrace you. It is only when he presses onto you that you realise your arm burns, and is bleeding. You glance at the gaping red gash in your breastplate and pauldron; did the scimitar do that much damage? "What a sword you have, Adalric!" he says. "I saw your drive from across the field, and my breath was stilled to silence."
"Perhaps now you will say I'm your better?" You and Robert laugh and clash heads, overwhelmed in the euphoric moment. "Lord have mercy, we did it, we truly did it..."
[[Huzzah! A total victory!|After the Battle]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 2)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to true)
(set: $GreatVictory to true)You fall back west. Such was the Turkomans' ire that they never perceived aught else but you and your crew, the false Templars that bedevilled them so.
"It's the whole bloody lot of them!" Emile wails.
You see from the corner of your eye the Turkoman horde. But where is Ridefort? Only then do you realise that Ridefort and his force of sergeants are at the eastern gate. On the other side of the castle. Your heart skips a beat. "Ride on!" you cry. "Ride on, damn you all, and live till I command you to drop dead!" No more looking back. No more doubt. You and your turcopoles press on, eyes forward, ignoring the death-darts whizzing by and those who have fallen. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
There is nowhere to go but desert. Man by man, your turcopoles fall around you. You can barely see them. You take an arrow in the leg, your horse takes one in his flank, but you don't feel it. Everyone is gone.
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. Robert falls back east. Such was the Turkomans' ire that they never perceived aught else but you and your crew, the false Templars that bedevilled them so.
"It's the whole bloody lot of them!" Emile wails.
You see from the corner of your eye a shimmering wave of steel advance. Your heart skips a beat. "Ride on!" you cry. "Ride on, damn you all, and live till I command you to drop dead!" No more looking back. No more doubt. You and your turcopoles press on, eyes forward, ignoring the death-darts whizzing by and those who have fallen. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
The horn of war cuts through it all. "Halt! Aboutface!" The Turkomans are upon you, bearing their sword-fangs and spitting arrows.
And behind them is the Templar charge.
Emile gives you a smile. You and your turcopoles pull out your swords and axes and lances. "//Charge!//" As you rush forward, you see Robert at the head of the charge, and you are smitten with the overpowering desire to join him. You can't look away as it hits home. A Templar charge is a thing of beauty; perfectly orchestrated, with ranks shoulder to shoulder as if they were marching, tight and uninterrupted-- it cleaves through the wispy clouds of horse archers, a lance of order driving through the chaos. This is what the Templars are known for. This is what Robert and your brothers were born to do. A dragon's breath of dust flies behind them as they trample all in your way, a moving wall of steel and horseflesh, lances driving torrents of blood across helmets. Their joined forces sweep up the rearguard of the Turks.
Your lance meets a foe full in the belly and splits his chest in two. You stream through the horsemen like lightning through wood; you lunge through a foeman's cheek and pull out some of his brains as you surge on, you slice across another's belly and neck in two little strokes that carried in them the strength of hawk talons, you cleave down onto a horse's head and slide your sword out of the skull and into its rider's heart, your sword darts through iron and flesh and tears the infidels to bleeding stumps on the sand.
Finally, it is over. All the Turkomans either lay dead at your feet, or have surrendered. Your heart is pounding at your breast, aching for freedom; all the blood has flowed to your head as you dismount, and you nearly faint from your dizzy spell. Rapture and rhapsody ring through your body, which now feels parchment-thin.
Robert runs to embrace you. "What a sword you have, Adalric!" he says. "I saw your drive from across the field, and my breath was stilled to silence."
"Perhaps now you will say I'm your better?"
"Never!" Robert has a crazy grin. "I captured the head Turk, dear Foi. He is my hostage, though I'm sure that vulture Ridefort will stake a claim on him forthwith. But for now, he's mine."
You embrace your friend and brother. You and Robert laugh and clash heads, overwhelmed in the euphoric moment. "Lord have mercy, we did it, we truly did it..."
[[Huzzah! A total victory!|After the Battle]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 2)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to true)
(set: $GreatVictory to true)(if: $YouAreWounded is true)[You awake inside the infirmary, surrounded by surgeons and moaning soldiers. Over you looms a scowling Ridefort. You try and open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a grunt of pain.
"Spare me your hysterics," Ridefort grumbles. "What were you thinking, boy? ](else:)[The Turks are gone. Surgeons and grooms filter onto the battlefield, taking wounded men and horses into their care. Dismounting, you find your own groom and give him your horse, grateful to be on your own two feet. As you take a drink of water, you see Ridefort approaching.
Ridefort slaps you. "What were you thinking, boy?" he barks. "]It is against our code to disobey orders, much less an order from the Grandmaster!" He seizes you by the collar. "Those Turks would have scattered at the first sign of stiff resistance. This were a straw-man of a siege, part of a larger concerted effort by Saladin to tie down Frankish strongholds as his Egyptian regulars raid the countryside. The plan was never to engage the Turkomans, just scare them off."
"I'm sorry, master," you say, wincing. "I did what I did for Jerusalem."
Ridefort releases you. "You are sorry. And you'll be sorrier tomorrow: (if: $Saladin is -2)[seven lashes for you and that Bravepierre fool."
"What?" You feel terribly hot. "We just wiped out an entire Saracen battalion. This is what we receive for our recompense?"
Ridefort slaps you again. "Watch that orgulous tongue of yours. Templars do not fight for vainglory: we fight for the Holy Land." He softens. "Even so... it was a fine victory." Your master pats your back. "Well done, son." (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)](if: $Saladin is -1 or $BadClothes is true)[ten lashes(if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[ for you and that Bravepierre fool]."
"What?" You feel terribly hot. "We just bloodied the nose of an entire Saracen battalion. This is what we receive for our recompense?"
Ridefort slaps you again. "Watch that orgulous tongue of yours. Templars do not fight for vainglory: we fight for the Holy Land. Your damn fool actions might have bought you some dead Turks and some clout, but it did nothing for our home." ](if: $Jerusalem is -1)[twenty lashes. Your actions have cost Jerusalem half of its turcopoles." Tears fill your eyes as you remember the fate of your squire Emile Khaury, the would-be Parisian. "Furthermore, you are suspended from the Templars until such time that your wound is sufficiently healed. You have a month to find your replacement." You nod. It stings your pride, but you cannot imagine fighting in your current state. "I'm disappointed in you, Adalric." ]Ridefort turns to leave. "Meet me at dusk. We'll talk more."
[[Sandy Dusk ]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)
<script>
$('#battle1')[0].pause();
$('#engagement')[0].pause();
$('#sandy')[0].play();
</script>"All right, lads: Cantabrian circle!" Your turcopoles know what to do. They collect around each other, and like the constant swirling tide of the sea, form circles that churn around and around in ceaseless, eternal motion, loosing steady waves of arrows. Though not as fierce as the wild steppe-born Turkomans, your archers hold their own, scoring some hits and toppling some Turks. (if: $YouLiedtoRobert is true)[When the scattered turcopoles see this, they get the hint and follow suit. ](if: $YouHaveRobert is true)[When Robert sees this, he rides to the scattered turcopoles and orders them to follow suit. ]The Turkomans raise a cry to Allah and surround you, but cannot hit anything with everyone in a flurry of motion. You dash between the four distinct Cantabrian circles, harrying your men in line. Arrows drone, horses scream, ground thunders, and men howl to God.
The horn of war cuts through it all. You are fit to weep when you see Ridefort and the mounted sergeants charge forth against the Turkomans. A Templar charge is a thing of beauty; perfectly orchestrated, with ranks shoulder to shoulder as if they were marching, tight and uninterrupted-- it cleaves through the wispy clouds of horse archers, a lance of order driving through the chaos. This is what the Templars are known for. This is what you and your brothers were born to do. A dragon's breath of dust flies behind them as they trample all in their way, a moving wall of steel and horseflesh, lances driving torrents of blood across the sand. Your joined forces sweep up the vanguard of the Turks before the rest scarper off.
[[We made it out...|After the Battle]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)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.
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<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>It is dusk at Chastel Blanc. Sheets of purple and red pleat over the distant sands of Syria. You find Ridefort at the cusp of the keep's ramparts, staring at the sunset, where you knew he would be. "Thank you for meeting with me, Sir Adalric," Ridefort says. You join him. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[Though you are constricted to a leg vise and a crutch, your master doesn't seem impressed. "You are suspended from the Templars until such time that your wound is sufficiently healed. You have a month to find your replacement." You nod. It stings your pride, but you cannot imagine fighting in your current state. "I'm disappointed in you, Adalric." ]The dying sun is reflected in his eyes. "Outremer, Jerusalem-- our home-- is constantly shifting. Alliances break, ceasefires fall, Christian turns on Christian, and chaos reigns. We live in a complex, everchanging world."
"The complexity makes it beautiful," you say. "I saw nothing like Jerusalem in France, because everyone was the same, fighting petty schemes for petty gains, with no thoughts to Christ and his works. But here, everyone is so different, there are so many religions and cultures in one place, each with their own exciting views! Jerusalem's complexity is that of a tapestry: distinct colours interwoven into a united pattern." You think of your beloved turcopoles, how despite the conflicting religions, you fought as one. You think of each Maronite, Orthodox, Catholic, and convert you had the pleasure to interact with, their beautiful languages you speak to them with. "We use that complexity to adapt, meet the challenge of our enemies."
Ridefort smiles slightly. "I never thought of it that way. I have seen how complexity interacts with politics, and I can tell you this: Jerusalem's complexity is no tapestry. It is shifting sands: always moving, never fixed, and deadly to anyone inside them. But we Templars... we are the stability that the crusader states need to hold on to. Discipline and steadiness are what defines our order. Not the shifting world of Jerusalem, the power fluxes among the Turks, or Saladin’s regime change in Egypt. No. Our code is one. Our charge is one. We are one." Your master rests his hand on your shoulder. "In this island of sand, we are the rock." Ridefort fixes your gaze. "Can I 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." Robert pulls off his helmet, and you kiss each other.
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 in May 1187, you are in Jerusalem, travelling alongside Gerard de Ridefort and Balian of Ibelin. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[You walk with a crutch, your leg still healing. ]Balian is a large, hairy count, and though you at first felt threatened by his burliness, his jokes and warm physicality quickly disarmed you. Your master insists upon his underhandedness, though. You can tell he is not thrilled to be here; Ridefort and Balian do not have a lot in common, Balian being more of a flexible pragmatist, while Ridefort is a diehard traditionalist. Ridefort supports Queen Sybilla and King Guy de Lusignan, while Balian leans towards Count Raymond III of Tripoli. It was a recipe for an icy trip to Jerusalem and a lot of sullen looks. (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[The Turk you took prisoner last December accompanies you; he has a hood over his head. Ridefort refuses to divulge who he is, but you know he is more important than a mere raid commander. ]
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[Balian and Ridefort have returned from a great victory at Cresson, where their small but elite force of Templars and the garrison of Nazareth managed to rout a disorganised band of Turks at minimal loss. That certainly bloodied their nose! (set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)](if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[Balian and Ridefort have returned from a great loss at Cresson, where their small but elite force of Templars and the garrison of Nazareth were wiped out to a man. The dreaded Turkoman general Gokbori beset Ridefort's force and seized it in his jaws, strangling the army with wave after wave of arrows. The Grandmaster of the Hospitallers, Roger de Moulins, was slain, and the most elite cavalry of Jerusalem along with him. Ridefort and Balian were the only survivors, and while Ridefort survived by fighting his way out of the thickest part of the fighting, he implies Balian survived by abandoning the rearguard (noting also how adamant Balian was in taking the rearguard).
Sadness sickens everyone's hearts like a miasma. (set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)(set: $MoulinsDeath to true)]Jerusalem has somehow changed even more since you last saw it. Everyone feels the growing pressure from Saladin and the Turks; no one wants to go outside, food prices are getting higher, and half-clothed refugees of the constant raids are flowing into the city like a sad river. You don't know how to feel about these refugees: on one hand, you feel awful that Saladin has burned their houses and farms down, and King Guy owes them as much protection and shelter as anyone else-- on the other hand, they are hardly helping the food crisis. Still, during your first almsgiving since you got back, it is good to see new faces and talk to new people from the hinterlands of Outremer.
The great lords of the crusader states, including Gerard de Ridefort, have been called because Saladin has struck. On this occasion, you have come with him.
[[The Feast]]
<script>
$('#sandy')[0].pause();
$('#Jerusalem')[0].play();
</script>Saladin has besieged the fortress of Tiberias, barely a hundred miles north of Jerusalem. The //arrière-ban// has been declared, calling every able-bodied male to Jerusalem’s defence. 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-- and as Ridefort’s guest, you are invited.
"Good evening, sayidi," the valet says to you and Ridefort. "I am Hassan. I will be taking your bags and horses." As you think to yourself that that name sounds suspiciously Muslim, Hassan seems to read your mind: "I converted to the true Christian faith under the noble king Baldwin, may he rest in Heaven. Never fear." He gives you a toothy smile that unnerves you, somewhat. "Enjoy the feast." Hassan whistles for a boy, and they tend to your bags and horses. (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[Ridefort sends a team of knights to escort his prisoner to the tower's dungeons. ]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 around you, the Old Testament coming alive in the walls of the Tower of David.
The feast is lavish. There are seats, but everyone mixes and mingles on the grand hall's floor, floating between tables when they hungered. The courses emerge onto these tables, one by one with reverent aplomb. Wild hen and partridge on trenchers come out first, almost alive with their tawny skins yet bubbling and twisting within a thicket of thyme. Pheasants and quail sing over spits, dressed all in white for the occasion: onions, hot radishes, salt, and bleached feathers coronating the meat. Suckling boar and venison, salted and coated in cardamom and rosemary, are carried in on their own leathered skins, horns yet adorning them. Pale smoked flesh of salmon, cod, and herring swim anew in cauldrons filled with a olive-vinegar sauce from Greece; jellied eels and lampreys occupy steaming bowls of a thick broth alongside them. Egyptian bread loaves full-bellied with aged cheeses grow ripe in their breadbaskets, blessed with the gentle touch of garlic and sage. Gold-husked pies stuffed with rabbit and chicken delight many guests when they dig in and out spill creams and cheeses, winsomely concealed in those delicate gold chests. Chilled milk jars accompanied figs and peaches and apricots of Damascus' orchards, brimming with sweetmilk concoction within. Wines from Neapolitan vineyards grace every table, erupting with fragrance. Finally, songbirds and swans perch on silver platters, alabaster feathers elegantly splayed in posed dances that stretch to the sky.
As good a time as you're having, it is apparent that everyone in the room hates each other.
"What prideful opulence!" Ridefort grouses to you.
"I don't know," you say. "It reminds me of Christmas at my father's manor. Even if I can't enjoy it fully, I can appreciate it." It is a fast day for Templars, so you and Ridefort eat carp, unleavened bread, and water-- but even these humble dishes fill you with a warm, comfortable feeling.
"Abstinence is its own reward," Ridefort says sententiously. He pulls you in close. "Have you had a look around?" You raise your eyebrow. "Someone's absent. Know who?"
"Hmm... that fellow from Antioch?"
Ridefort scowls. "It's that snake Raymond." You knew it was Raymond, but didn't want to encourage your master. You knew this because everyone won't stop talking about it. "You're still new to this, so I'll explain. The ruling lords of the crusader states are divided into two factions: those supporting King Guy de Lusignan, and those supporting Raymond III of Tripoli. Raymond has a legitimate claim to the throne of Jerusalem, and a more radical temperament than Guy-- but Sybilla inherited the throne from her sickly son Baldwin, and she married Guy, making him king." Even Ridefort's simple explanation makes your head ache; you've never been one for politics or bloodlines. Ridefort sees the confusion on your face. "All you need to know is that we support King Guy."
"Why's that?"
"Why, he's king! Besides, we hate Raymond; he still refuses to consider Guy king and actively opposes him by observing a truce with Saladin." Ridefort pats your back. You're even more confused than before. "Ah, there's the Grandmaster of the Hospitallers. (if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Garnier, ](else:)[Roger, ]old boy!" Ridefort drifts off.
[[Time to socialise!]] You decide to speak with Reynald de Chatillon, former prince of Antioch. You approach him. "Well met, lord Reynald," you say. "I'm Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte. I'm with the Poor Fellows of the Temple of Solomon."
Reynald gives you a quick glance. He is a large, stocky man with a brutish beard and small, darting eyes. "And?" he says brusquely. "What's it to me?"
You fumble your words. "Well, I've come to offer my congratulations. I've heard that your raid into Arabia was legendary, that you almost reached Mecca and Medina. When I saw you here, I resolved that I must simply talk to the Christian who almost sacked Mecca!"
Reynald laughs a horrible, old man's laugh. "Ah, you're here about the raid, are you? People keep saying I shouldn't have done it, that I 'endangered' all Jerusalem by attracting Saladin's wrath. Would that I had captured the body of the Prophet Muhammad at Medina, and I had been able to burn down the Kaaba at Mecca! So I annoyed the great Saladin, forced him to attack us. He would've attacked us sooner or later; all his kind are so irritable. At least my way, there are a few less ragheads in the world." The slur takes you aback. "Let them all go to Hell, them and their sick religion. Sixteen years I spent in that prison cell in Aleppo. Sixteen years of thinking just what I'd do to a Mohammedan should I meet one. Know what I do when I find a Mohammedan with his Quran? I burn the Quran and shove its ashes down his throat. What's even more fun is raping his wife while this happens."
You cover your mouth. "What kind of a man are you that you are proud of these things?"
"Calm down, missy, it's not like you pious castrati would be man enough for my army. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)[What with that crutch and that wobbly walk of yours, ha!" Reynald kicks out your crutch. You nearly fall to the floor; kneeling to pick it up spikes great agony down your leg. Reynald laughs his crooked laugh. "Stoop yourself to my level, Templar!" Reynald kicks away the crutch just as you reach it. Luckily, a fellow guest has the decency to pick it up and give it to you, and you feel yourself grow hot with shame. "Stoop real low. ]You asked what it was like on my raid, and I told you, so I'm sorry it offends thy holy faculties. But I'm not sorry, because this is what it's like in the real world, not your fantasy fairytale Templar-land where men aren't men--" Reynald grabs his groin, "--and everyone's so rich that they can't stand to loot. Know what common soldiers do to better themselves? They loot. Know what they do without their wives? They rape. Get over it." He shoves you. "I'm rich enough to join the Templar Order, sure-- but would I?" Reynald snorts. "Methinks I'm too real for that lot."
"Because you like killing innocent Muslims? Harmless people that would gladly convert to Christianity?"
"I kill the converts, too! Serves them right for not having a spine. They all have the same shit-brown skin of my Aleppan captors." He leans in. You smell his rank breath. "Best run along. It seems you've had enough of my realness for today." You happily comply. You are disgusted that it is for the sake of this unpleasant man that Saladin has declared war. (if: $YouAreWounded is true)["Bye, cripple!" ]
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoRdC to true)Balian of Ibelin was such a friendly travel-mate that you decide to catch up with him. As you approach him and his wife, he immediately sets aside his drink and gives you one of his great big hugs. "Sir Adalric, my good friend, welcome to the feast!" he says.
"Hello, lord Ibelin," you say.
"'Balian', to you." Balian laughs.
His wife looks interested. The Queen Dowager of Jerusalem is not the withered old crone you believed her to be. In fact, she is a radiant figure with silky skin, equipped with fine linens and jewels-- and for being Queen Dowager for the past three kings, she is only some ten years older than you. Any man would consider himself lucky to be her husband. "Friend of yours?" she says to Balian.
"We travelled together after Cresson," Balian says. "Maria, this is Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte, the Provençal Templar. Adalric, this is my wife, the Queen Dowager Maria Komnene." She curtsies, and you bow. "Adalric was most helpful in relieving me of the dull feeling one gets after speaking with Gerard de Ridefort." You all laugh. "He's been filling you with trumped-up nonsense about King Guy, no doubt. Well, let me tell you my point of view--"
"Guy is a vacillator," says Maria. Balian jerks his head to her. "Nowhere near strong or decisive enough to lead us. He's no native of Jerusalem: he's a thug from nowhere. You're from France, yes? Have you ever heard of the county of Lusignan?"
You blink. "Um, I don't suppose I have."
"Good, because if you did, you'd be lying to me." You hide a snicker. "Guy was just another pilgrim doing his holy duty, paying his holy penance, fondling a priest's holy balls when he arrived in Jerusalem. He only became king because Raymond of Tripoli marched an army to Jerusalem, presumably to force Baldwin to give him his sister’s hand in marriage. So what does a terrified out of his wits Baldwin do? He marries his only sister to whoever was of high birth and handy. That happened to be the penitent pilgrim Guy de Lusignan." Maria blows a hair out of her face. "That’s the story of how a spoiled lordling from the sticks became leader of a sovereign nation."
Balian pulls his wife aside. You hear him whisper, "We discussed this. You can't be embarrassing me in front of my guests."
"Well, you were taking too long," Maria whispers.
"No talking."
"I'm sorry, husband. It won't happen again."
Balian and Maria turn back to you. "Though she was quite vulgar about it, my wife is right. There is no special reason why Guy is king, and no particularly compelling argument that he should be king other than the fact that he is. We who support Raymond, in fact, actually managed to get papal permission for Sybilla to divorce Guy. She even agreed to do it. Do you know what happened then?"
You do. This is one of the most infamous stories in Jerusalem. "She marries him again."
"She marries him again! That papal divorce wasn't easy to get, either, cost us well-nigh half a kingdom. The queen's decision positively baffles the mind, unless you consider one key fact: Sybilla is the real power behind the throne." Balian taps his head. "The only reason Guy is holding this council of lords is because his wife probably told him to."
"Yes, how dare a woman hold a position of power?" Maria says. Balian shoots her a look. She ignores him. "It would be liberating were it not so misguided. Of all men she could have picked, Sybilla chose Guy. There is something interesting in that decision. Would another man have the wit and grit to tell her 'no' from time to time? Would another man have made the decision to strike at Saladin earlier and more forcefully? Would another man have actually ruled us ably?" She shrugs. "Sybilla did not choose that other man. She did not choose Raymond of Tripoli. She chose someone who can't decide if he should wear his blue slippers or his red slippers to bed without consulting his wife."
You gape at that. "Is that true?" you say.
Maria winks. "I've heard it said by some chambermaids, yes."
"That is quite enough, dear wife," Balian says, ire rising. "We made an arrangement that you wouldn't--"
"We don't have Raymond of Tripoli," Maria continues. "We don't have the prince of Antioch, Raymond's good friend. Not even at a silly little feast. Instead, we have Guy. Christendom should be terrified of that."
"Enough, Maria!" Balian barks. Maria quiets down. "We are not as united as we were with King Baldwin, that is true. But wouldn't you be divided if you were told an upjumped fop like Guy de Lusignan was your king? Wouldn't you want something to change? (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[I am excited by our victory at Cresson. It is pregnant with potential. But there is no chance aught will come of it without Raymond's help. I'm hoping against hope that we have a chance to beat the Saracens with Raymond of Tripoli. But without him..." Balian shakes his head. ](if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[I am greatly dismayed by our loss at Cresson. I see it as nothing less than the first of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. At this rate, I don't know if we'd win against Saladin, even with Raymond of Tripoli's help. And without his help..." Balian shakes his head. ]"We need Raymond of Tripoli."
"We don't need Raymond of Tripoli," Maria Komnene says.
Balian goes red. "Now, I have had quite enough--"
"Our dear Queen Sybilla would not need Raymond if it weren't for King Guy. Why, with her head clear of the poison that is Guy, she would not need anyone at all. She could tap our collected forces and vanquish any Saracen horde she wishes."
Balian looks plaintively at you. "I apologise, my friend, my wife doesn't know her place. I'm sorry." Flustered, he ushers Maria away, leaving you by yourself.
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoBaM to true)You've always wondered what it is like in the Hospitaller Order, so you make to join Ridefort to talk with the Hospitaller Grandmaster. As soon as you enter their orbit, though, you realise that neither Grandmaster is going to want to discuss that.
Ridefort and (if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Garnier de Nablus](else:)[Roger de Moulins] are engaged in a shouting match when you interrupt them. You can't help but snicker at these two old, grey warriors have such an intense row. "Ho, friends," you exclaim. "What's the meaning of this ruckus?"
"This man is a fence-sitter," Ridefort snarls. "An undecided layabout."
"Is it such an immortal sin to not fully endorse King Guy?" (if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Nablus](else:)[Moulins] says. "I don't truly oppose him, either."
"I'd almost respect you more if you did."
(if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Nablus](else:)[Moulins] huffs and throws his hands in the air. "I'm so tired of trying to ameliorate you, Gerard. Not everyone cares about politics as much as you." The Hospitaller takes his leave, as does your chance to speak with him. Instead, you are left with a fuming bellicose Ridefort.
"Can you believe him? Pick one side or the other, for Christ's sake... am I so mad to be passionate about our sovereign king?"
[["Master, the Hospitaller has a point."]]
[["Master, you have a point."]]
(set: $YouTalkedtoRaG to true)You would never believe it, but the king and queen of Jerusalem are free from guests. This is your chance: an audience with the fabled Sybilla. She has on peerless jewels and raiment, and walks like a ray of light amid everyone else. Her husband King Guy has on a fine silvery suit of mail limned with gold and silver detail, fit for a warrior king-- and clearly regrets it, sweating madly from his blushing face. Otherwise, he has a lovely visage, well-portioned lips, chiselled cheeks, flowing blond hair, startling blue eyes; you have honestly never seen a fairer face before.
You’ve never met royalty, so you're nervous. You have observed 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)Your master's away, your belly's full, and the great lords of the Holy Land are available for doubtlessly scintillating conversation. There are a number of these distinguished leaders available to talk to: Balian of Ibelin and Maria Komnene, Hospitaller Grandmaster(if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Garnier de Nablus](else:)[Roger de Moulins], Reynald de Chatillon, and Queen Sybilla and King Guy de Lusignan.
(if: $YouTalkedtoRdC is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Reynald de Chatillon]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoBaM is true)[ ](else:)[ [[Balian and Maria]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoRaG is true)[ ](else:)[ [[The Grandmasters]] ]
(if: $YouTalkedtoSaG is true)[ [[Your eyes widen as Raymond of Tripoli walks into the room]] ](else:)[ [[Sybilla and Guy]] ]
<script>
$('#Jerusalem')[0].pause();
$('#party')[0].play();
</script>"You always believe you're right, master Ridefort," you say. "But you refuse to believe you're wrong. I think you're wrong now; the Hospitaller was only trying to be polite."
Ridefort flares his nostrils. "My allegiance," he declares loudly enough for the whole hall. "And the allegiance of every Templar, is to King Guy. We support him //unswervingly//."
"But that's not--"
"Nothing you say will sway me, Adalric. Good day." Ridefort storms off. You curse, now just as incensed as Ridefort.
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)"I actually agree with you," you say. "Folk should choose their priorities."
"Yes, thank you," Ridefort says. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)["Sybilla has put me in such an awkward position by remarrying Guy de Lusignan. Do you think I'm blind and deaf? I know who Guy is, I know he demurs when we require action, I know he's not perfect. But he deserves a chance, damn it. We can improve him." He shakes his head. "I tell you, in a different world-- I might have been Sybilla’s husband, and king of Jerusalem."
You gasp. "Truly?"
"Oh, aye. In my youth, Raymond of Tripoli was supposed to have arranged a good betrothal for me. I took that to mean Sybilla; she wasn't set to be queen back then, and would've been yet another heiress, perfect for a poor Flemish squire like me. But when King Baldwin was discovered to have leprosy, Raymond didn’t betrothe me to Sybilla. In fact, he didn’t betrothe me to anyone at all. Fool that I was, I waited so long for his betrothal that I passed my best years unmarried, and grew infertile. So I became a Templar."
"I never knew, master. I'm sorry."
Ridefort softens up. "Don't be sorry, it was decades in the past. I'm over it." He gives a small smile. You've been seeing that less and less lately, and his little smile lends you great joy. "Let's enjoy the feast more!" (if: $Ridefort is 1)[(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)] ](else:)[You both return to the feast. Ridefort still seems uneasy, though. ]
[[Return to feast|Time to socialise!]]Sybilla smiles and nods her head. "I'm glad you could come to our feast, Sir Adalric," she says. Her voice is gentle and smooth as honey. "Ridefort has told us a few things about you."
"He has, Your Majesty?" you say. "All flattery, I hope."
Sybilla chuckles. Guy chuckles after her. "He says that you would be a fine ally against the forces of Saladin." She crosses her hands.
"What are your thoughts on the conflict, as it stands?"
"I'm of a fixed mind, as everyone well knows," King Guy says, puffing up his chest. You see Sybilla mouth 'is that so'. "I think there is no better time to check Saladin's progress."
Sybilla nods along. "It's high time," she says. "Saladin has usurped not only the sultanate of Egypt, but the order of the world."
"Aye, he has usurped it all."
"We must restore order, and save our own lives."
"We must, we must. Save our own lives, yes." Guy adjusts his suit of armour.
"Darling, I wish you hadn't put that on tonight." Sybilla frets at her husband's collar. Guy looks bashful.
"If I may ask you a question, my king," you say. "Saladin has been sultan of Egypt for over a decade now, and has been raiding us constantly ever since you became king. As a Templar, I've been employed on a near-daily basis ever since. Why choose right now to strike back?"
King Guy plays with his hands, glancing every which way. You feel a twinge of annoyance with this. "A very noble profession you've picked," Guy mumbles. "The crown of Jerusalem is totally with the Templar Order, and my wife and I of course send our thoughts and prayers to the brave knights and sergeants on the front lines. I believe... eh..."
"Why not choose now to strike?" Sybilla says quickly. "We were willing to establish peace--"
"Yes," Guy interrupts. "Yes, we were in peace talks with Saladin before he besieged Tiberias. That is why, yes." This doesn't sound quite right to you, but you nod.
King Guy tugs at his mail. "Darling," Sybilla says softly. "Why don't you go and change into something more seemly?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, right away, my dear." Guy gives you a small bow. "Thank you for your service, Sir-- Sir Templar. As you were." He takes his leave.
Sybilla turns back to you. "You've been here for quite some time, haven't you, Sir Adalric?" Her honey voice draws you in, until you hear nothing else but her voice. "What is your opinion of Jerusalem and my court?"
"I can say honestly that it doesn’t suit me," you say. "Everyone seems to care about the sanctity of Jerusalem insofar as it benefits them. It’s too much like your father’s court in Provence."
"Many other circles agree with you. People want us unified, want us to stand for Christianity and not for our petty needs." Sybilla gestures to the great throng of guests. "It’s only a small population of our nobles that care about infighting. Me? I am focused on the bigger picture: I am focused on the holy city." You nod, feeling excited the more the queen speaks. "I want to unite this realm to repel Saladin, no matter the cost." Sybilla's honey voice lowers. "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 he (if: $Ridefort is -2 or $Ridefort is -3)[screams at the top of his lungs, ](else:)[reminds you in as gentle a voice he can manage ]"You are a Templar. You are forbidden to touch women. How could you forget this, Adalric?"
"I think you should leave," Sybilla suggests. Ridefort assents. You have no choice but to oblige. (if: $Ridefort is -3)[
Ridefort pulls you aside. "I will flog you personally," he growls. "Get out of my sight." ]
Before you can go, however, Sybilla whispers in your ear, "Talk to Hassan. Tell him ‘aqbil qadami alsultan.’ If pressed, you learned this phrase from a wealthy traveller on the road. //Save Jerusalem//."
You are ushered out of the hall repeating this cryptic message in your head. What did she mean?
[[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, count 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. How would this valet help you save Jerusalem? Soon, you figure out that Hassan is still a Muslim, and when you confront him with this, he admits it.
The queen's words echo in your head. "Aqbil qadami alsultan," you say to Hassan.
The valet seems taken aback. "I confess that I have never met a Templar so dismissive of rules as you are, sayidi." His smile is unsettling. "I like you. Come: walk with me down the marketplace. I have something to show you." (set: $HassanEncounter to true)
[[Leave him. You owe nothing to this filthy Saracen|Templar Headquarters]]
[[Follow him|The Marketplace]]
<script>
$('#party')[0].pause();
$('#islam')[0].play();
</script>Raymond III of Tripoli is a resplendent man, perhaps even more so than the king himself. It is not in his clothes (though they are incredibly fine), but it's in his firm walk, his imperial stare, his stony stoic aspect, his great black beard. Here is a man with real nobility, real power, real Grace.
He kisses Queen Sybilla's hand. "Good evening, Your Majesty," he says. "Though it rankles me, I am here before you. I am here to... pay homage to you." He kneels. "On my behalf and Bohemond of Antioch's behalf-- you have our fealty. Together, we will thwart the threat of Saladin."
Sybilla smiles. "I accept your fealty, Count Raymond," she says. Her soft tone seems to resound through the hall. "Please: enjoy the feast."
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]]
<script>
$('#party')[0].pause();
$('#islam')[0].play();
</script>(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. You are not as interested in Queen Sybilla's request as you thought. 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: $FailHassan is true)[You return to the Tower of David, dejected. What more could you have learned? Surely, this is not what Queen Sybilla meant for you to do. 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?
](if: $HassanGone or $HassanDeath is true)[You return to the Tower of David with a light heart. You stared temptation in the face, and fought back! You have never felt more Christian; surely, this is what Queen Sybilla meant by her request. Luckily, your horse is waiting for you and your luggage is still there. You quietly abscond. (set: $Traitor to false)
]
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: $FailHassan 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, jewellers, cloth merchants, itinerant singers and dancers and jugglers, and a fire-and-brimstone preacher lashes his sermon at the crowds. There is even a Persian selling a trained monkey! Aside from the fact that there are precious few food merchants, 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. "Buy my monkey?" he says in pidgin French. "Little Philippe, well-trained. Smarter than any other monkey."
[[Buy the monkey]]
[[Don't buy the monkey]] Why not? You buy the monkey Philippe. The Persian bows to you and thanks you in his language. Hassan whispers, "Let's keep moving."
[[You arrive at a shisha house]]
(set: $Monkey to true) The monkey 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]]
(set: $Monkey to false)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, this little community of kaffirs is still fond of this place."
You are still rusty on your Arabic, and you're not sure if you've heard that word before. "Kaffirs?" you ask.
Hassan grins wickedly. "Converts, shall we say. True converts."
(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]]
<script>
$('#islam')[0].pause();
$('#shisha')[0].play();
</script>Hassan (if: $FailQuestion is true)[roars in laughter, then ]nods and says(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's toothy smile grows. "Leave, please." 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: $FailHassan to true)
(set: $Traitor to false)
(set: $HassanEncounter 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) Your Arabic isn't the best, but you still cobble together what you believe is an accurate translation. Hassan crosses his arms. His gaze becomes deadly serious. Apparently, you got it right. "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 infidels," 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 our master is your friend now. And our master loves his friends most of all." Hassan reveals a small bag and opens it; inside is an array of brilliant jewels, rubies and emeralds and amber glittering like a hundred rainbow stars trapped together in a purse-sized galaxy. (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 bag 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.
"We'll have you well set up, dear Templar," Hassan says. "Once King Guy has had his battle, our master will provide you with fine apartments in Damascus, a lofty place in his court, a comfortable pension, and a lifetime of ease and rest. No more than your good service demands."
Damascus? All this is so sudden. "I'd rather stay in Jerusalem," you say. "If it's all the same."
Hassan sets down his coffee. "What is it you like so much about Jerusalem? It is such a meagre city; now that you have seen it for years, would you not like something grander?"
You shrug. "It is enough for me. Don't you understand? Jerusalem is the beating heart of Christendom, where all the corollaries of Christianity run to; there are so many different Christians here, all with their own enthralling stories and customs, so many different peoples I never knew existed. I enjoy talking to them."
"There are these people in Damascus, too." Hassan stares off in reminiscence. "When I was a boy in Damascus, I remember my native Syrian friends, but I remember all my Maronite, Kurdish, Arab, Turkish, Armenian, Jewish, and Greek friends, too. Allah gazes into Damascus as a boy gazes at a little drop of water in the sun, marvelling at its different lights all mixing and uniting in one wonderful rainbow." He looks back at you. "Your view is quite narrow, sadiq. Islam has its beating hearts, too, and they are far more glorious and glittering than Jerusalem. Damascus, Baghdad, Cairo, Aleppo, Samarqand, Alexandria-- I could go on. I'd wager there are more Christians in Damascus or even Cairo than Jerusalem. The sultan allows all Christians and Jews to live in his realm for a small //jizya// tax; he does not spurn any infidel, but welcomes their industry and cooperation."
You narrow your eyes. "Will his sons welcome my sons the same way? Will all Christian families live as they currently live when Saladin is no longer sultan? What can you say about posterity?"
"I can say nothing about posterity." Hassan leans back. "Men like us only know what happens in the present. And under Salah al-Din, the present is good-- if you want it to be."
You and Hassan chat for some time more 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 Muslim heathenry and take your leave.
"We'll be back, sayidi," Hassan says. He grins; every tooth of his is bared past his slight lips.
[[Templar Headquarters]]
(set: $Traitor to true)
(set: $HassanEncounter to false)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: $Traitor to false)
(set: $HassanDeath to true)
(set: $HassanEncounter 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: $Traitor to false)
(set: $HassanGone to true)
(set: $HassanEncounter to false)A few weeks later, 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: $YouAreWounded is true)[The pain in your leg has been reduced to a dull throb; finally, your leg wound has healed, and you feel comfortable enough to walk without a crutch. About time! ](if: $Ridefort is <-1)[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. (set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem + 1)
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 >0)["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]] ](if: $Ridefort is <1)[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 council]]](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. (set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem + 1)
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 >0)["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]] ](if: $Ridefort is <1)[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 council]]](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 with me, but he is rarely so."
"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 Broc 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 <-3)[ [[Swoop up Maria and kiss her lips]] ]]
(if: $France is true)[A courier rushes up to Ridefort, gives him a letter, bows low, then rushes off. Ridefort crumples up the letter soon. "King Philippe isn't coming," he sighs. "Too busy killing Christians in England. What a disgrace." This hurts you more than you had thought it would. The French king was your father's liege lord-- every Frenchman's liege lord. When you were growing up, you always felt protected and safe whenever you thought of the king. But today, he has broken your heart. And you realise that France was never your home, that even the most perilous corners of Jerusalem offered more protection and safety than your former liege. Your Templar brothers are your lieges now, individually and collectively-- and you must be a liege to them, too.
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 >0)["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]] ](if: $Ridefort is <1)[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 council]]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] ]
<script>
$('#party')[0].pause();
$('#islam')[0].pause();
$('#shisha')[0].pause();
$('#tension')[0].play();
</script>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 >0)["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 council]]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ] (set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort - 1)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 -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. ](else:)["I see I have been too lenient with you. It won't happen 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 council]]](if: $Traitor is false)[ [[Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ] ]
(set: $KissMaria to true) 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 have 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." ]
Queen Sybilla beckons the party to a stone table in the middle of the grove. You and the others are seated. (if: $KissQueen is true)[Count Raymond of Tripoli is here! You must have missed that at the feast. ]King Guy is distracted somehow, so everyone waits on him as he realises everyone else has taken their seats. You are a bit nervous, since you cannot profess to know anything about these proceedings at all. (if: $Ridefort is 1 or 2)[
Ridefort seems to notice your discomfort. "Don't worry, son," he says, patting you on the shoulder. "No one expects you to speak. Just sit and listen; you'll learn a lot today." ](if: $RomanceMaria is true)[Ridefort glowers at you from the other side; you try and ignore him. A sudden thought strikes you, and you are filled with incredible sadness. "He'll expel me from the Templars, won't he?"
Maria chews her lip. "I can talk to him. If not, I'll have you well provided for, Sir Adalric. We could use bold men like you."
]Once Guy is sat, Sybilla starts. "Saladin has invested his army in the siege of Tiberias," she says. "It is the grandest one we have yet to see. 30,000 men, (if: $Saladin is 0)[13,000](if: $Saladin is -1)[12,000](if: $Saladin is -2)[11,000](if: $Saladin is -3)[10,000] of which are riders." The council draws a gasp. "We are prepared to lift the siege. With the //arrière-ban//, Jerusalem can provide 8000 infantry, 500 knights, 900 mounted men-at-arms, and 100 turcopoles."
Ridefort says, "The Knights Templar can provide (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[350](if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[three-hun... 200] knights, (if: $Genoa is true)[2500 ](else:)[1800 ]sergeants for infantry, 1000 sergeants on light horse, and (if: $Pope is true)[1000 ](else:)[300 ]turcopoles(if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[-- no, 150 turcopoles]." (if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[You see the weight of Cresson drag your master's head low, and you fight the tears in your eyes. You and him knew many of the knights that fell that day. ]
(if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Garnier de Nablus](else:)[Roger de Moulins] says, "The Knights Hospitaller can provide 200 knights, 1500 infantrymen, 500 sergeants on light horse, and 200 turcopoles."
All eyes are on Raymond of Tripoli. He strokes his beard. "Tripoli can provide nothing." The council erupts into cacophony.
"We've heard this before!" Ridefort cries. "Here to shill for master Saladin again?"
"Peace cannot prevail, Count Raymond," King Guy says sententiously.
"I confess," stately Sybilla declares. "I would think the life of your wife mattered more to you than it apparently does. Is she not trapped in Tiberias right now? Is not Tiberias your city we are graciously coming to save?"
"Are we done?" Raymond thunders. He lets the council settle. "We cannot win against this army. If we embark upon this path, everything we have sacrificed for the Holy Lands, everything we have worked to build... it will all be dust. I can spare my dear Eschiva." His voice becomes strained. "I can spare Tiberias if all Outremer stands to lose." He cast an accusing glare upon everyone present. "Everyone knows that our manpower is woefully short, but it is time that is even more precious to us. Let me broker a truce. Let me sacrifice just a little more and buy us time."
(if: $RomanceMaria is true)[
"Starting with that man," Maria whispers in your ear. "Right there." She points to Reynald de Chatillon. "Saladin wants him to die."
[[Decry Reynald de Chatillon]] ]
(else:)[ [[The council continues|In the Grove p.2]] ]
<script>
$('#tension')[0].pause();
$('#council')[0].play();
</script>It is a lovely day in the grove. You are perched on a tree branch above the stone table in the centre. You are just a beginner in this spying business, but even so, you are proud of yourself for this spot: having scouted the grove beforehand, you found a sturdy tree branch with enough visibility that you can see the entire meeting area of the grove, but no one can see you. And as if by God's providence, its oranges are acutely ripe! You pluck an orange and bite into it. The juice is exquisite, like nothing you've tasted before, and the colour intoxicates your eye.
The council arrives. You squirm into as comfortable a position you can manage; silence will be the key to this. Queen Sybilla beckons the party to her stone table, and they are seated. King Guy is distracted somehow, so everyone waits on him as he realises everyone else has taken their seats. You are a bit nervous, since you cannot profess to know anything about these proceedings at all.
Once Guy is sat, Sybilla starts. "Saladin has invested his army in the siege of Tiberias," she says. "It is the grandest one we have yet to see. 30,000 men, (if: $Saladin is 0)[13,000](if: $Saladin is -1)[12,000](if: $Saladin is -2)[11,000](if: $Saladin is -3)[10,000] of which are riders." The council draws a gasp. "We are prepared to lift the siege. With the //arrière-ban//, Jerusalem can provide 8000 infantry, 500 knights, 900 mounted men-at-arms, and 100 turcopoles."
Ridefort says, "The Knights Templar can provide (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[350](if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[three-hun... 200] knights, (if: $Genoa is true)[2500 ](else:)[1800 ]sergeants for infantry, 1000 sergeants on light horse, and (if: $Pope is true)[1000 ](else:)[300 ]turcopoles(if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[-- no, 150 turcopoles]." (if: $GokboriCaptured is false)[You see the weight of Cresson drag your master's head low, and you fight the tears in your eyes. You and him knew many of the knights that fell that day... and not for the first time, you wonder how many more might fall because of you. ]
(if: $MoulinsDeath is true)[Garnier de Nablus](else:)[Roger de Moulins] says, "The Knights Hospitaller can provide 200 knights, 1500 infantrymen, 500 sergeants on light horse, and 200 turcopoles."
All eyes are on Raymond of Tripoli. He strokes his beard. "Tripoli can provide nothing." The council erupts into cacophony.
"We've heard this before!" Ridefort cries. "Here to shill for master Saladin again?"
"Peace cannot prevail, Count Raymond," King Guy says sententiously.
"I confess," stately Sybilla declares. "I would think the life of your wife mattered more to you than it apparently does. Is she not trapped in Tiberias right now? Is not Tiberias your city we are graciously coming to save?"
"Are we done?" Raymond thunders. He lets the council settle. "We cannot win against this army. If we embark upon this path, everything we have sacrificed for the Holy Lands, everything we have worked to build... it will all be dust. I can spare my dear Eschiva." His voice becomes strained. "I can spare Tiberias if all Outremer stands to lose." He cast an accusing glare upon everyone present. "Everyone knows that our manpower is woefully short, but it is time that is even more precious to us. Let me broker a truce. Let me sacrifice just a little more and buy us time."
[[The council continues|Spying p.2]]
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.play('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>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, (unless: $FailSpying is true)[having eaten his fill. ](if: $FailSpying is true)[chattering still. Try as you might, you can't stay mad at him, since he is only a monkey. ]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, and recite psalms at the chapel.
It is evening when Ridefort returns. "How did we fare in the council, Grandmaster?" you say.
(if: $Ridefort is <-2)[Ridefort doesn't respond, but jerks his head for you to follow. You do. (if: $KissMaria and $KissQueen is true)["Count yourself lucky you're still a Templar," Ridefort eventually says. "And count yourself lucky you have a friend in the Queen Dowager." You breathe a sigh of relief, and count yourself lucky, indeed. ]"You will be commanding infantry during the upcoming battle, savvy?(unless: $KissMaria and $KissQueen is true)[" he grunts, not breaking pace. "] Don't you beg me for a better position; sweating on foot with the sergeants is exalted enough for you." (set: $Infantry to true)](if: $Ridefort is -2 or >-2)["Hello, brother," Ridefort says. "The meeting went well, were it not for that Count Raymond fellow. Doesn't understand a thing about us Templars, and what must needs be done for Jerusalem. Let's depart; I have matters to arrange." You and Ridefort leave the hall. (if: $Monkey is true)[Loyal Philippe hops onto your shoulder and looks at you with his big, glossy eyes. You dramatically pull a nut out of your sleeve; this amuses him endlessly, and he toys with the nut to discover some secret. ](if: $KissMaria and $KissQueen is true)["You are lucky you have a friend in the Queen Dowager; she was able to cool my hotter passions during the council." You breath a sigh of relief. ]"You will be commanding the joint forces of our turcopoles. It'll be good to be among friends, eh?" (set: $Turcopoles to true)]Once you arrive outside, Ridefort looks around. "Where are our mounts?"
(unless: $HassanGone or $HassanDeath is true)[Hassan suddenly appears at your side. "Your horses are being tended in the stables, sayidi," he says unctuously. "Allow me the pleasure of retrieving them for you." Ridefort nods. ](else:)[A valet comes along and apologises for the delay, for his master Hassan has gone missing. You laugh in your head. The valet promises to fetch your horses posthaste. ]
Soon, you are mounted and on your way to Templum Domini.
[[In your chambers]] You rise and declare, "We must surrender Lord Reynald's head to the Saracens."
Reynald de Chatillon shoots up, but Raymond of Tripoli interrupts before he can say aught. "Why, that's correct! Was it not your ruinous raid that attracted Saladin's wrath? To sack Mecca, was it? How far did you get?"
Reynald is uncowed. "A lot further than you'll ever get," he growls. "Craven peace-seeker. On my own, I can field forty knights and 700 footmen; will you truly deprive yourselves of that?"
"Considering that I will refuse to take the battle with you-- and also considering I can field 600 knights, 5000 footmen, 1000 light horse, and 200 turcopoles-- I think we can truly deprive ourselves of that."
"Seems Count Raymond has come around to our suggestion," Maria Komnene purrs.
King Guy and Reynald de Chatillon blush. "Surely," Guy says. "You cannot mean to withhold the fealty you swore not even a day ago for one man."
Raymond of Tripoli crosses his arms. "I can and I will. This 'one man' you seem so fond of will destroy Jerusalem surer than any Saracen army."
"I have saved Jerusalem!" Reynald says. "Now we can meet that Mohamedan cur on the open field and end his petty raids on our lands once and for all. Besides, you cannot hand my head over to Saladin, Your Majesty." Reynald is appealing directly to King Guy, who looks uneasy. "It will just show him he has won, and he'll take you for a craven. You're no craven, are you, Your Majesty?"
With that, Guy makes up his mind. "No," he says. "That, I am not."
"Perhaps it would be good to give Lord Reynald as a hostage," Sybilla says. "That way, we can appease Saladin, and we wouldn't be spared the company of our dear Reynald overlong."
Raymond of Tripoli nods. "That would suffice," he says.
"No!" Reynald cries. "Not another jail cell. Not another sixteen years!" He glances around the council, but with Raymond's decree, whatever goodwill this odious brute has had is gone; no one is keen to speak on his behalf. Finally, he storms out, quite humiliated.
"We won't kill him," Maria muses. "But neither will we be accountable for whatever Saladin does for him. I suspect Lord Reynald won't have to wait those sixteen years, after all."
"If we give Reynald de Chatillon as a hostage," Sybilla says. "Do we have your manpower, Count Raymond?"
"It is a start," Raymond admits. "But whatever ceasefire we can arrange in exchange for Reynald won't be enough. You must let me treat with Saladin."
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.2]]
(set: $ReynaldHostage to true)"We have no need for peace," Ridefort says. "Our knights can vanquish the Saracen armies, as they've done so excellently before."
"Our knights are not invulnerable," says Raymond. "Saladin seeks to lure us into his trap; when we go to relieve Tiberias, he will lead us into the desert and cut us off from water." He leaves that point in the air for a while. "The way we have vanquished our enemies was not by charging recklessly into them, but by careful, methodical deconstruction of their forces and exploiting their divisions. One may believe that Saladin can pay for such a large force with all his gold; this is not so. He pays them in faith and glory." Raymond strokes his beard. "Deprive him of battle, deprive him of the glory he seeks, tear down his image among the Muslims-- and they become fractious, lost, and purposeless as they were without Saladin."
Ridefort waves his hand. "You dishonour us all, Count Raymond. Where is your heart for battle, your manhood? (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[The Muslim forces are fractured enough: Saladin's general and brother-in-law, Muzaffar Gokbori, just so happens to be in my dungeon." The council, before now filled with idle chatter, fell completely silent. The name 'Gokbori' had grown feared in Jerusalem for the ferocity of his raids; you are shocked, and somewhat giddy, that he was the Turkish general you captured in December. "The Saracens will be sore deprived without him. We can do something with that."
Raymond perks up. "That could be just the thing," he says. With (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[Reynald de Chatillon and ]Gokbori, we could broker a cogent ceasefire and build up our soldiery." The lords begin to mutter among themselves. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[
Maria's eyes widen. "Gokbori is too dangerous," she says to you. "But though the man is tied closely to Saladin-- his land is not. Remove the man, and the land goes independent. And with no heirs to that land..."
You begin to see her point. "Gokbori deserves no ransom," you say to the council. "We should execute him. As he has no sons yet, that might cause something of a succession crisis for his land." You watch several lords and ladies visibly warm to the idea.
"That's quite the 'if'," Raymond says, unimpressed. "While I agree that Gokbori is dangerous, he serves us better as a bargaining chip. Rest assured, Saladin would not receive him soon." ]
"I wish you had brought this up sooner, Grandmaster Ridefort," Sybilla says, irritated. "The king and I must think about this. Would you be willing to entrust us with Gokbori?" Ridefort assents. Raymond shakes his head. "Good." ](else:)[We need to cut this man at the stem. If we wait, he shall only grow more powerful." ]
"Prithee," says Raymond. "Have patience and sensibility. Do not attack Saladin at Tiberias, but set up a defence at the springs of La Saphorie, then we draw him into our network of castles, pick him apart and avoid the major battle he and his men so crave."
"And withstand five years of cruel and bloody stalemate?" Sybilla spits.
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)["Give me charge of Gokbori," Raymond continues, immune to the queen's barbs. "And I can perchance save us from this Hell." ](else:)["Build up our troops," Raymond continues, immune to the queen's barbs. "Make new alliances, wait out the storm, let the infidels exhaust themselves against our defences." ]Raymond gives his gaze to the council, eyes black and firm as the abyss of perdition, and you swear he lingers a second longer on you. "We are diving into black and stormy waters, and if we don't halt our course, we will be crushed by the riptide. What are we staking our future on? The promise that our knights can forever carry Jerusalem through the Saracen horde? That Saladin won't be smarter than us, when at every other juncture, he has been just that?" Much of the council begins to look unsure. "We need a permanent solution to this. One that doesn't involve losing half our manpower every time we do battle."
Sybilla grows ten years older right then. "Aye," she sighs. "For once, I agree. But we don't have that solution. At least if we engage Saladin, we have a chance to fight back. The odds... nevermind the odds. This is about giving ourselves the chance. This is about choosing our own fate." (if: $Byzantines is true)[
Maria Komnene leans over to you. "This is about choosing how we die," she comments. "Sybilla says we could die standing or sitting. It never occurs to her to live." ]
"If you do not leave this pasturage," Ridefort says, deliberate and firm. "Saladin will come and attack you here. And if you retreat from this attack-- the shame and reproach will be very great." King Guy is visibly shaken.
"If you meet Saladin on the grounds of his choosing," Raymond says. "Then there will be no hope of survival. Not now, not ever."
"I thought we were done with these talks of peace," King Guy says, eyes switching between his wife, Ridefort, and Raymond. "The //arrière-ban// has been called, and I cannot change my mind now. So that is that. Yes."
"You have moved me and my husband, my lord of Tripoli," Sybilla says. "I empower you to treat with Saladin. (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[I give you Reynald de Chatillon as an asset to do so. ](if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[I give you Muzaffar Gokbori as an asset to do so. ](if: $ReynaldHostage and $GokboriCaptured is true)[I give you Reynald de Chatillon and Muzaffar Gokbori as assets to do so. ]I don't hold high expectations for your success, but do as you will, and perhaps you can surprise us." Sybilla's smile is subtle, but you notice it. "But we will march to relieve Tiberias. No more stalemate. That is non-negotiable."
"I see I have no love in this council," Raymond says. He furrows his dark brow. "Very well. If these are the means by which I'm to scrimp our living years, then I accept." He bows his head. "The armies of Tripoli are yours, Your Highness."
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.3]]
<script>
$('#council')[0].pause();
$('#council2')[0].play();
</script>The council discusses military strategy against Saladin. "Raymond will take the vanguard," Sybilla says. "A very prestigious position." No one dissents. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[
"The perfect place to die," Maria Komnene titters to you.
]"Ridefort and Guy de Lusignan will take the right flank. The Hospitaller Grandmaster (unless: $ReynaldHostage is true)[and Reynald de Chatillon ]will take the left flank. Balian of Ibelin will take the rearguard."
"Of course Balian wants the rearguard," Ridefort quips. "Perfect for running away." Maria laughs it off, but you see it irks her.
"Now," says Sybilla. "We must decide the roles different commanders will play. Let us start with Sir Adalric Villesainte." Your eyes widen.
(if: $Ridefort is >0)[Ridefort rises from his seat. "Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte is a man of quality," he says. "He has been my finest Turcopolier for years now, and I find I can always depend on his sword-arm. (if: $UserPickedYessir is true)[I can think of no Templar more obedient and steadfast to command a core of Templar knights in battle-- for he is the heart of Jerusalem, and the heart of me." ](else:)[I can think of no one more adaptable and quick-witted to command all of our turcopoles in battle." You blush. (if: $GreatVictory is true)["Though he went against our code and disobeyed orders, his fluid shrewdness and martial prowess allowed for our order to win a great, not to mention highly improbable, victory at Chastel Blanc." This draws every eye present to you. "This is the man behind the capture of Gokbori and the ruin of his host... and the man who will lead us to victory in whatever capacity he chooses." The council applauds. Your head is spinning. ]]The council begins to murmur assent, swayed by Ridefort. "So, Sir Adalric: what role would you like to fulfil as commander?"
(if: $GreatVictory is true)[ [[Command of the Templar knights]] ]
[[Command of the turcopoles]]
[[Command of the infantry]]
[[Command of the light horses]]](if: $RomanceMaria is true)[The Queen Dowager Maria Komnene rises from her seat. "Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte is a man of quality," she says.
"Would you mind sitting down, dear?" Sybilla says, in her honey tone.
"No, dear," Maria says, smirking. "Sir Adalric is the finest Templar--"
"Sir Adalric is no longer a Templar," Ridefort interrupts. You feel sick at those words, though you aren't shocked.
"Very well; Sir Adalric is the finest knight the kingdom has. I have heard of his deeds: a staunch Turcopolier, the best rider in these lands; before he distinguished himself during his time as a Templar, he was the winner of the grand tourney at Tyre and Tortosa--"
"Please sit down, Maria." There is more iron in Sybilla's voice.
"--and was a crucial defender at Beaufort against Saracen pillagers." You wonder how Maria knew all that about your past. (if: $GreatVictory is true)["His shrewdness and martial prowess allowed for the Templar order to win a great, not to mention highly improbable, victory at Chastel Blanc." This draws every eye present to you. "This is the man behind the capture of Gokbori and the ruin of his host... and the man who will lead us to victory in whatever capacity he chooses." The council applauds. Your head is spinning. ]"If I may be so bold--" Maria shoots Sybilla a glare, "--Sir Adalric would make a doughty and trustworthy lieutenant in the service of King Guy."
You begin to see the powers of Maria Komnene and Balian. Though you don't think your deeds are all that special, several lords and ladies mutter agreement-- so much so that King Guy is cowed, and looks away from Ridefort (who has been staring daggers at him). "I-I accept," Guy stammers. "Sir Adalric, welcome to my service." Queen Sybilla peers at you, as if not knowing what to make of you.
You smile and stand up to bow. "I am honoured, Your Majesty," you say. "I shall shield you from hurt with my blood and my steel."
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.4]]
(set: $Bodyguard to true)
(if: $Ridefort is <-3)[(set: $SaladinFix to true)]]"I shall command the joint force of turcopoles."
Gerard de Ridefort, your master and brother, nods. "Your area of expertise," he says warmly. "Battle passes faster when you're with your brethren, eh? You have the command-- and my gratitude." With those words, you smile, feeling fresh and new as a baptised babe(if: $Traitor is true)[-- just when Hassan's face invades your mind, and you feel low as a sinner].
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.4]]
(set: $Turcopoles to true)"I shall command the central ranks of infantry."
Gerard de Ridefort, your master and brother, frowns. "Infantry, hmm?" he says, confused. "I wouldn't have guessed that, but you are hardy as a rock, after all! You have the command-- and my gratitude." With those words, you smile, feeling fresh and new as a baptised babe(if: $Traitor is true)[-- just when Hassan's face invades your mind, and you feel low as a sinner].
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.4]]
(set: $Infantry to true)"I shall command a light contingent of mounted sergeants."
Gerard de Ridefort, your master and brother, nods. "Nimble and fluid as mercury, he is!" he says warmly. "You have the command-- and my gratitude." With those words, you smile, feeling fresh and new as a baptised babe(if: $Traitor is true)[-- just when Hassan's face invades your mind, and you feel low as a sinner].
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.4]]
(set: $LightHorse to true)With that, the council passes, but you can no longer pay attention to it. Your first command! The prospect has laden your head with ideas such that the pressure makes you dizzy. (if: $Traitor is true)[It's enough to make you forget that you are now a traitor to everything Jerusalem represents. Not for long, though. Never for long. ]
The rest of the council is rather uneventful, just assigning commanders among the various lords of Jerusalem, Tripoli, and Antioch. When Sybilla and Raymond were in concord, the planning went smoothly and swiftly, each working piece seen and accommodated for, each person and resource maximised to full potential. When they were not in concord, it was like watching two misers bicker over pennies on a receipt. Though Sybilla, Raymond, and Maria Komnene were rapt throughout, many members of the council drifted in and out to wander the grove when it pleased them. It strikes you that these people rarely speak up twice, or even once, happy to leave proceedings in Sybilla's or Raymond's court. Poor old Ridefort couldn't help but fall asleep in the middle.
It's evening when it's over. (if: $Ridefort is >0)[You wake up Ridefort, and the two of you retire. (if: $Monkey is true)[Loyal Philippe awaits you in the main hall where you left him, and hops on your shoulder. ]You and your master mount your horses for Templum Domini.
[[In your chambers]]](if: $RomanceMaria is true)[Someone taps your shoulder; you start when you realise it's Maria-- then you realise you are no longer a Templar. You look down and nearly vomit when you see you are still wearing a red cross embroidered over your white linens.
"You are my guest tonight," she says. "Then you may swear fealty to Guy de Lusignan. But for now, my husband and I have a request for you."
Your first thought shames you--- but you find yourself speaking it, anyway. "Will you be serving meat for supper?"
Maria smiles wickedly. "Beef, lamb, gammon, pheasant... whatever you like."
[[At Balian's house]] ]"I shall command a contingent of Templar knights."
Gerard de Ridefort, your master and brother, smiles. It practically glows. "That means everything to me, Adalric," he says warmly. "You have the command." His gaze fixes yours. "All my hopes lay in you." With those words, you feel high as Heaven(if: $Traitor is true)[-- just when Hassan's face invades your mind, and you feel low as Hell].
[[The council continues|In the Grove p.4]]
(set: $Knights to true)
(set: $Ridefort to $Ridefort + 1)(if: $Monkey is true)[(set: $FailSpying to true)You hear a rustle beside you. You turn to investigate-- and to your horror, it is little Philippe, looking for his master even though you left him in the hall. The monkey grins like a fool. "We have no need for peace," Ridefort says. Philippe climbs on your back. You are sweating now; you try and brush him off, but this only excites him. "Our knights can vanquish the Saracen armies." Philippe begins chattering away, and you feel as though you've gone deaf. "As they've done so e-- what is that I hear?"
Philippe won't stop chattering. You dare not move a muscle. "I hear it, too," Sybilla says. "Guards! Search the grove; we may have an intruder." The time for caution is running out. You crawl away from your branch to another tree, then another. Philippe runs alongside you. When you look below, the guards are fanning out; you don't stop crawling until you reach the edge of the grove, at the tower's walls. After an hour of waiting, an hour of Philippe's damnable noises, you deem it safe to drop down. You could try and spy on the council again, but your nerves are so frayed that you doubt you could make any sense of it. Luckily, you make it to the great hall unperturbed-- and with barely any information gleaned at all.
[[Sulk until Ridefort returns|Finish breakfast and await Ridefort]] ]
(else:)["We have no need for peace," Ridefort says. "Our knights can vanquish the Saracen armies, as they've done so excellently before."
"Our knights are not invulnerable," says Raymond. "Saladin seeks to lure us into his trap; when we go to relieve Tiberias, he will lead us into the desert and cut us off from water." He leaves that point in the air for a while. "The way we have vanquished our enemies was not by charging blindly into them, but by careful, methodical deconstruction of their forces and exploiting their divisions. Without someone like Saladin, the Muslims are fractious, lost and purposeless. I have good intelligence that Saladin is ill, and his body is faltering. If we can reach out to the Assassins--"
Ridefort waves his hand. "You dishonour us all, Count Raymond. Where is your heart? (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[The Muslim forces are fractured enough; Saladin's general and brother-in-law, Muzaffar Gokbori, just so happens to be in my dungeon." The council, before now filled with idle chatter, fell completely silent. The name 'Gokbori' had grown feared in Jerusalem for the ferocity of his raids; you are shocked, and somewhat giddy, that he was the Turkish general you captured in December. "The Saracens will be sore deprived without him. We can do something with that."
Raymond perks up. "That could be just the thing," he says. With (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[Reynald de Chatillon and ]Gokbori, we could broker a cogent ceasefire and build up our soldiery." The lords begin to mutter among themselves.
"I wish you had brought this up sooner, Grandmaster Ridefort," Sybilla says, irritated. "The king and I must think about this. Would you be willing to entrust us with Gokbori?" Ridefort assents. Raymond shakes his head. "Good." ](else:)[We need to cut this man at the stem. If we wait, he shall only grow more powerful." ]
"Prithee," says Raymond. "Have patience and sensibility. Do not attack Saladin at Tiberias, but set up a defence at the springs of La Saphorie, then we draw him into our network of castles, pick him apart."
"And withstand five years of cruel and bloody stalemate?" Sybilla spits.
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)["Give me charge of Gokbori," Raymond continues, immune to the queen's barbs. "And I can perchance save us from this Hell." ](else:)["Build up our troops," Raymond continues, immune to the queen's barbs. "Make new alliances, await news of Saladin's illness". ]Raymond gives his gaze to the council, eyes black and firm as the abyss of perdition, and you swear he lingers a second longer on you. "We are diving into black and stormy waters, and if we don't halt our course, we will be crushed by the riptide. What are we staking our future on? The promise that our knights can forever carry Jerusalem through the Saracen horde? That Saladin won't be smarter than us, when at every other juncture, he has been just that?" Much of the council begins to look unsure. "We need a permanent solution to this. One that doesn't involve losing half our manpower every time we do battle."
Sybilla grows ten years older right then. "Aye," she sighs. "For once, I agree. But we don't have that solution. At least if we engage Saladin, we have a chance to fight back. The odds... nevermind the odds. This is about giving ourselves the chance. This is about choosing our own fate."
"If you do not leave this pasturage," Ridefort says, deliberate and firm. "Saladin will come and attack you here. And if you retreat from this attack-- the shame and reproach will be very great." King Guy is visibly shaken.
"If you meet Saladin on the grounds of his choosing," Raymond says. "Then there will be no hope of survival. Not now, not ever."
"I thought we were done with these talks of peace," King Guy says, eyes switching between his wife, Ridefort, and Raymond. "The //arrière-ban// has been called, and I cannot change my mind now. So that is that. Yes."
"You have moved me and my husband, my lord of Tripoli," Sybilla says. "I empower you to treat with Saladin. (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[I give you Reynald de Chatillon as an asset to do so. ](if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[I give you Muzaffar Gokbori as an asset to do so. ](if: $ReynaldHostage and $GokboriCaptured is true)[I give you Reynald de Chatillon and Muzaffar Gokbori as assets to do so. ]I don't hold high expectations for your success, but do as you will, and perhaps you can surprise us." Sybilla's smile is subtle, but you notice it. "But we will march to relieve Tiberias. No more stalemate. That is non-negotiable."
"I see I have no love in this council," Raymond says. He furrows his dark brow. "Very well. If these are the means by which I'm to scrimp our living years, then I accept." He bows his head. "The armies of Tripoli are yours, Your Highness."
[[The council continues|Spying p.3]] ]
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<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>The council discusses military strategy against Saladin. "Raymond will take the vanguard," Sybilla says. "A very prestigious position." No one dissents. "Ridefort and Guy de Lusignan will take the right flank. The Hospitaller Grandmaster and Reynald de Chatillon will take the left flank. Balian of Ibelin will take the rearguard."
"Of course Balian wants the rearguard," Ridefort quips. "Perfect for running away." Maria laughs it off, but you see it irks her.
"Now," says Sybilla. "We must decide the roles different commanders will play. Let us start with Sir Adalric Villesainte." Your eyes widen.
(if: $Ridefort is 0 or -1 or -2)[Ridefort rises from his seat. "Sir Adalric Broc Villesainte is a man of quality," he says. Pangs of guilt wrack your body like the contractions during childbirth. "He has been my finest Turcopolier for years now, and I find I can always depend on his sword-arm. (if: $Ridefort is -2)[Though I've had my problems with him, ]I can think of no one more adaptable and quick-witted to command all of our turcopoles in battle." You almost cry. (if: $GreatVictory is true)["Though he went against our code and disobeyed orders, his fluid shrewdness and martial prowess allowed for our order to win a great, not to mention highly improbable, victory at Chastel Blanc." This draws every eye present to you. "This is the man behind the capture of Gokbori and the ruin of his host... and the man who will lead us to victory as a Turcopolier." The council applauds. Your head is spinning. ]"We will find no better man to lead all our turcopoles than Sir Adalric." Everyone begins to murmur assent, swayed by Ridefort.
"I find no fault in this," says Sybilla. "So it shall be." (set: $Turcopoles to true)](if: $Ridefort is <-2)[There are a few moments of silence. "He has a history as a Turcopolier," says Maria. "And I've heard of some of his deeds; quite impressive, I must say. I think he might make an excellent commander for our turcopoles." Your heart leaps at the thought of being a commander at this scale.
Ridefort speaks but does not bother to stir: "He's a solid lad, but meddlesome." You feel betrayed. You won't be with your turcopoles? "While he should be a commander in some regard, best stick him with the infantry, where he can't interfere." No one complains. You almost spit on their heads.
"Very well," Sybilla says, and moves on to the next commander. (set: $Infantry to true)]
[[The council continues|Spying p.4]] With that, the council passes, but you can no longer pay attention to it. (if: $Turcopoles is true)[Your first command! The prospect has laden your head with ideas such that the pressure makes you dizzy. ](if: $Infantry is true)[You were snubbed! You don't mind commanding infantry, but the knowledge that your own master deprived you of the chance to work with your beloved turcopoles fills you with anger. ]It's enough to make you forget that you are now a traitor to everything Jerusalem represents. Not for long, though. Never for long.
The rest of the council is rather uneventful, just assigning commanders among the various lords of Jerusalem, Tripoli, and Antioch. When Sybilla and Raymond were in concord, the planning went smoothly and swiftly, each working piece seen and accommodated for, each person and resource maximised to full potential. When they were not in concord, it was like watching two misers bicker over pennies on a receipt. Though you notice Sybilla, Raymond, and Maria Komnene were rapt throughout, many members of the council drifted in and out to wander the grove when it pleased them. It strikes you that these people rarely speak up twice, or even once, happy to leave proceedings in Sybilla's or Raymond's court. Poor old Ridefort couldn't help but fall asleep in the middle.
It's evening when it's over. When everyone has left, you jump down and make your way to the main hall.
[[In your chambers]](if: $Traitor is false)[You sink into bed and let sleep wash over you. This will be an interesting month to come.
[[La Saphorie]] ](if: $Traitor is true)[Once you enter your bedchamber, you immediately notice Hassan's shark-like smile reflect the light off the moon. He rises and bows. "Sir Adalric," he says. "How pleasant to see you here. I told you we'd be back." A candle is lit, revealing Hassan and the eunuch Ali. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)["You are a hard man to find. No longer a Templar? Your dedication to our master is astounding! We searched all over, and poor Ali was beginning to worry we'd never find you." Hassan took the candle from Ali. Shadows locked in all the sallow parts of his expression, limning a half-mask of a face. "Not to worry, though. We'll always find you." ]
"Salaam alaykum, Hassan," you say. "Ali." The massive eunuch scowls. You put a hand on your sword.
"That won't be necessary," Hassan says. Ali comes and strips you of your sword. Your right hand feels restless without it, your hip uncomfortably light. Hassan invites you closer. You sit together on the rug; Ali looms over Hassan. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe jumps onto your bed and curls up to sleep. ]"Do you have something for us?"
[[Tell Hassan about the beginning of the council|Truth 1]]
[[Lie to Hassan|Lie 1]]
(set: $Ali to 0)]
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</script>All your possessions have already been packed into a chest when you arrive at Templum Domini, as well as your horse. At very least the Grandmaster saved you the trouble. Upon arriving at Balian's house in the rich quarter of Jerusalem, the first thing you do is change into fine clothes. You have been wearing white for too long; you select from Balian's extensive wardrobe a burgundy doublet, crimson silk leggings, a handsome leather jerkin, frilled collars, a wide black hat, and pointy shoes. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe nests atop your hat, completing the ensemble. ]
"Don't you look absolutely scandalous?" Maria says, appearing behind you. "I love it."
You grin and say, "As do I, my lady." Maria offers her arm. You take it, feeling much more refined now.
You arrive at Balian's table, where there is a delectable assortment of meats and cheeses and vegetables, as well as some fine Italian vintages. "The lord of Ibelin will come along shortly," Maria says. "We may dine without him." You never realised how hungry you were for these delights until they were before you; you raven down any piece of meat the servants offer and wash it down with strong wine. (if: $Monkey is true)[As usual, Philippe is content with his nuts, and is especially fond of the almonds that are laid out. ]
Balian of Ibelin descends, holding a wet towel against his head. His thick body hair and staggered gait reminds you of a lumbering bear. "Hello, dear," he mumbles. Maria kisses him, and shows him to his place. He finally sees you. "Ah, Adalric... my wife has told me much about you. You are welcome to stay as long as you like, until you can arrange your own living situation."
"Thank you, Your Grace," you say.
Balian pours himself some wine. "From Templar to the king's attendant. Very impressive. Do you know what you must do with that position?"
"No, not quite."
Balian shrugs. "Very simple: advise him, protect him. You were Ridefort's right hand man, so the king and Sybilla respect you." He sips his wine.
You set down your cup. "You had a request for me?"
"Aye. Listen to Maria first. She'll tell you what to do to perform your duties."
"That is all?"
Balian splays his hands. "That is all. For now, at least." (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[He narrows his eyes. "So the Turkoman Gokbori is in Guy de Lusignan's custody." You don't answer. "Dangerous creature, that Gokbori. Responsible for many of our most painful defeats." Balian shakes his head. "Such a man doesn't deserve to be... what, released for a truce? I love Count Raymond, but I draw the line with sparing that Saracen filth."
"What is to be done, my lord?"
"Kill Muzaffar Gokbori." Balian rips off a chunk of pheasant with his teeth. "I want his head by the end of the week." ]
"There is one more thing," Maria says. "A knight without a lord is a precious commodity these days. Before you swear fealty to the king... you swear fealty to Balian of Ibelin." You accede to this easily enough; after all, Balian has seen to your needs and taken you in without a second thought. Perhaps you were wrong about this fellow. You perform an oath of fealty and finish supper.
After an amiable conversation with Balian and Maria, you retire to your new bedchambers. It has been a long day, with many changes, many of which you need to sleep on. This place is not so strange; you have slept in many odd places, with strangers and friends alike, from Provence to Jerusalem. The fact you are not a Templar doesn't bother you as much as it did. This is just another necessary change in a series of necessary changes. Another place to sleep.
(if: $Traitor is true)[ [[In your chambers]] ](else:)[ [[The Dungeon]] ]
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</script>It is the 3rd of July, 1187. The waters at La Saphorie are a flat, scintillating jewel of ten million facets, limned in white and orange from the rising sun. The spring is cool and tranquil. You are meeting here with the rest of the commanders, away from the bustling camp full of smoke and babble. (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[Raymond of Tripoli, true to his word, has traded Reynald de Chatillon for a brief truce, saving Tiberias and allowing another three months of recruitment. The kingdom was a flurry of activity as you and your fellow commanders trained commoners, beggared Christendom for men, raised countless knights from among the lowborn, and pinched pennies for arms. (if: $Genoa is true)[The warrior-dandy Guido da Landriano has proved himself twice over, recruiting extensively among the Italian communes in Acre and Jerusalem countless new soldiers. The army positively bristles with crossbows and their swaggering Italian owners. ](if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[You had hoped for more time, but Raymond wisely refused to release the dreaded Gokbori, so Saladin began his siege of Tiberias anew. ]Still, you cannot complain: the army of Jerusalem is in finer fetters than ever before. (set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem + 1)](else:)[Raymond of Tripoli had not managed to secure a lasting truce with Saladin. (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[He cobbled together a few weeks of ceasefire with the promise of Gokbori's release and some minor land concessions, but when it became obvious that Raymond would not release Gokbori, Saladin began his siege of Tiberias anew. ](if: $Byzantines is true)["I feel sorry for the man," you say to Maria Komnene, who is riding a mottled stallion beside you. She wears a tight purple tunic with ringmail underneath; she cuts quite the scandalous figure, riding to battle alongside men, but you have learned by now that she doesn't care. Ridefort, however, had grown impatient of her advice, so he delivered Maria to your care. She didn't seem to mind.
"Aye," the Queen Dowager says. "The ridicule he is subjected to daily shames us all. His critics call him soft, but he's not soft: his embassy just wasn't given enough to barter with." You nod. ](else:)[You feel sorry for the man, who is ridiculed daily as a Saracen-lover with the failure of his embassy. You know he just wasn't given enough to barter with. ]]
(if: $Byzantines is true)[Looking at the army from a distance, you are struck by its grandeur. "What a grand host," you murmur. Indeed, the well-ordered rows of tents and palisades stand proud compared to your father's encampments. "Gerard de Ridefort has always been adamant about his camps."
Maria nods, and points to the members of the council. "Our lords are stalwart and grave, in fine trim as they debate the atoms of warfare." She eyes her husband Balian sultrily. "Can you see what's wrong with this picture?"
You notice it immediately. "King Guy." The king of Jerusalem is pale as milk and sweating through his regal linens, and has not spoken all morning.
"Apart from Saladin's host at Tiberias, this must be the largest, finest army in the world..."
"...being led by a pretty boy from Lusignan." You and Maria share a laugh.
"Sybilla thinks she's so smart." The queen appears beside Guy. "She thinks she's manipulating that pillock, working her will through him. What neither of them realise is that it's quite the other way around." Sybilla hangs her favour-- a handkerchief-- from her husband's lance and kisses him. "That oaf has her wrapped around his finger. No matter how good Raymond's counsel is, whatever dim whim strikes Guy this week is the whim Sybilla will go with. She loves him." Sybilla gives Guy one last kiss before departing. She wipes at her eyes. "What damn fool things are done for love." ](else:)[Looking at the army from a distance, you are struck by its grandeur; never in your life have you seen a larger host, and the well-ordered rows of tents and palisades stand proud compared to your father's encampments. Gerard de Ridefort has always been adamant about orderly camps. Similarly, the Frankish lords you are with are stalwart and grave, in fine trim as they debate the atoms of warfare. The only thing wrong with this picture is King Guy. He is pale as milk and sweating through his regal linens, and has not spoken all morning. You realise that apart from Saladin's host at distant Tiberias, this is the largest, finest army in the world... and it is being led by a pretty boy from Lusignan. ]
Before you stretches the twin volcanoes known as the Horns of Hattin.
La Saphorie will be the last reliable source of water before everyone embarks to Tiberias. You long for these springs already. As the war council disbands and a vague anxiety begins to settle in your heart-- you see a familiar face approach, and all you can do is smile.
[[Robert!]]
<script>
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</script>You start from the beginning, reporting everything faithfully. You unexpectedly-- regretably-- remember nearly all the numbers of Jerusalem's armies.
Hassan strokes his beard. He glances at Ali; Ali nods to him. "(if: $Jerusalem is 1 or 0)[Jerusalem is stronger than we thought. This is a concern. ](if: $Jerusalem is -1 or -2)[Jerusalem is weaker than we thought!" He chuckles. "How amusing. ]Write down our friend's numbers, Ali." The eunuch takes out pen and parchment and scribbles something down. "Raymond III of Tripoli will be a problem, yes. Our master warned us about that one." Hassan wagged his finger. "Too smart. Two things happen to men who are too smart: they die, or..." He shrugs. "They become sultan. Please, please, don't let me interrupt you! Go on, Adalric."
(if: $FailSpying is true)[ [["Actually... that's all I can tell you."]] ](else:)[ [[Continue your report|Truth 2]]
[[Lie to Hassan|Lie 2]] ]You report to the spies the beginning of the council, but know you can't, in good conscience, tell Hassan the actual numbers of Jerusalem's armies. Better to inflate them, give the enemy some pause.
Hassan strokes his beard. He glances at Ali; Ali squints down at you. "Jerusalem is stronger than we thought. Far, far stronger. This is a concern. Write down our friend's numbers, Ali." The eunuch takes out pen and parchment and scribbles something down. His eyes don't leave you. "Raymond III of Tripoli will be a problem, yes. Our master warned us about that one." Hassan wagged his finger. "Too smart. Two things happen to men who are too smart: they die, or..." He shrugs. "They become sultan. Please, please, don't let me interrupt you! Go on, Adalric."
(if: $FailSpying is true)[ [["Actually... that's all I can tell you."]] ](else:)[ [[Continue your report|Truth 2]]
[[Lie to Hassan|Lie 2]] ]
(set: $Ali to $Ali - 1)You continue your story, recounting Raymond's plan, Ridefort's resistance, (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[Reynald de Chatillon's fate, ](if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[Muzaffar Gokbori's captivity, ]and Queen Sybilla's resolution to march on Tiberias. Ali nods to Hassan.
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[At the news of Gokbori's captivity, Hassan grows anxious. "Muzaffar Gokbori is in the king's custody?" he says. "Al-Malik al-Muazzam? This is appalling to hear." Even stoic Ali seems nervous at this. "Something must be done about this. Islam must have Gokbori." Hassan rubs his temples, taking a moment to regain himself. ](else:)[Hassan says, ](if: $ReynaldHostage is true)["My friend, you bring me endless joy to tell that that heathen blasphemer Reynald de Chatillon will be delivered to us. Were he chopped into pieces, and each piece given to each widow and orphan he created, there would hardly be enough to go around!" Hassan declares a curse in Arabic. ]"It is good to know that Sybilla has resolved herself so. Our master has wisely presumed that such would be the case, and this just confirms his acuity." Ali jots something down on his parchment. "They would embark from the springs of La Saphorie, yes?" You nod, remembering Raymond mentioning La Saphorie once or twice. "Good. That is most helpful."
[[Continue your story|Truth 3]]
[[Lie to Hassan|Lie 3]]
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[(set: $GokboriLie to false)]You continue your story, recounting Raymond's plan, Ridefort's resistance, (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)[Reynald de Chatillon's fate, ]but just as you go on to tell of Sybilla's resolution to march on Tiberias, you stop yourself and say that she planned to heed Raymond's advice and await the result of his diplomatic mission. (if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[You say nothing at all about Gokbori's captivity. ]Ali frowns.
Hassan says, (if: $ReynaldHostage is true)["My friend, you bring me endless joy to tell that that heathen blasphemer Reynald de Chatillon will be delivered to us. Were he chopped into pieces, and each piece given to each widow and orphan he created, there would hardly be enough to go around!" Hassan declares a curse in Arabic. ]"Sybilla has not done what we thought she would. It would be far more in character for her to march on Tiberias." Ali jots something down on his parchment. "Perhaps we have underestimated Raymond's wiles."
[[Continue your story|Truth 3]]
[[Lie to Hassan|Lie 3]]
(set: $Ali to $Ali - 1)
(if: $GokboriCaptured is true)[(set: $GokboriLie to true)]Try as you might, you can't think of anything else to say. You have always struggled to fabricate the truth when there was no truth present to fabricate. "...I wasn't able to spy on the rest of the meeting," you mumble.
Hassan raises his eyebrows. "Speak up, sayidi?" he says.
"I was interrupted, nearly caught. There was no helping it."
"Were you not attending the council?"
"No. I was hiding in a tree when..."
[["...I had to sneeze."]]
[["My monkey came and made a racket."]] Now you speak of the commanders the council assigned, including the great lords commanding the flanks, the vanguard, and the rearguard. You tell them that among these illustrious men, you are (if: $Infantry is true)[commanding the infantry. ](if: $LightHorse is true)[commanding the light horse. ](if: $Knights is true)[commanding the Templar heavy knights. ](if: $Turcopoles is true)[commanding the turcopoles. ](if: $Bodyguard is true)[acting as King Guy's lieutenant. ]Ali grunts in approval.
"Fascinating," says Hassan, chewing his lip. "Our master can work with this." (if: $Bodyguard is true)[Hassan grins his pure white grin. "Someone's been making friends, eh? Friends with the king. Most helpful to know." ]Ali takes more notes. "But well done, Adalric! It's about time your quality was recognised. Islam shall face no commander finer or more noble." You chuckle. "Of course, you have the sultan's permission to kill and be killed. Do well enough in battle that no one suspects you... but not too well, eh?" Hassan slaps your chest. "You know my philosophy about smart men. There is only one sultan, after all-- and what does that leave you with, intellectual?"
You report the rest of the council, but it was mostly without incident and not worth reporting. Hassan and Ali paid attention for every detail, though, so you tell them whatever there is to tell as honestly as you can.
Finally, you reach the end of the council. Your fellow spies seem satisfied. (if: $Ali is 0)[You confess that telling them these things felt good; Queen Sybilla insisted on absolute secrecy, so you had no opportunity to speak to anyone about the momentous events and your exciting promotion. You find that Hassan is a good listener, and you begin to enjoy his presence more. ]
Hassan withdraws a small cedar chest. "As promised," he says, opening the lid. (if: $Ali is 0 or -1)[Gold ducats! As you run your fingers through the coins, you realise that with the jewels-- you could buy a healthy plot of land. Perhaps fund the planting of a grove as magnificent as Sybilla's, and eat oranges every day. Have your own court, with a poet on retainer to compose a canto for you. (if: $Monkey is true)[You could even buy a menagerie of exotic animals to accompany dear Philippe! ]The possibilites dance before your eyes. "Our master loves his friends, didn't you know?" You nod slowly, no longer doubting. ](if: $Ali is -2)[Gold ducats! Such marvellous things are now possible with this bounty! You reach to touch the coins-- but Ali takes two meaty handfuls and stuffs them in a bag.
"That is the lying tax," he snarls. "You lied to us more than once during your report. This is what you will pay." You look forlornly at the chest. More than half the ducats are gone. You can't even pay for a few meagre acres with this.
Hassan shrugs. "Sorry, sayidi," he says. "But you did lie to us. I'm not one to dispute Ali." ]
Hassan and Ali rise and head to your window. "What next?" you say.
"There is much to do, Sir Adalric," Hassan says. Ali unfurls a rope, latches its grapple to the windowsill, and climbs out the window. (unless: $GokboriLie is true)["Gokbori's imprisonment hurts us sorely. It cannot stand. If you are any true friend of our master's..." He touches his nose, leaving the rest to you. "Meet us at the Tower of David tomorrow night. With Gokbori's whereabouts." ](if: $GokboriLie is true)["We will keep you apprised. But for now, you have done excellent work; we will only ask more of you when the time comes." ]Hassan climbs down after Ali.
You put out the candle and find a safe place for your riches. (unless: $RomanceMaria is true)[There are plenty of Templars wealthier than you; no one would be suspicious if you purchased a good plot of land, right? ](if: $RomanceMaria is true)[Now that you aren't a Templar, you can own and manage property with impunity. ]You set those thoughts aside for now. It's been a long day. Finally, you can get some rest.
(if: $GokboriLie is false)[ [[The Dungeon]] ](else:)[ [[La Saphorie]] ]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin + 1)(set: $Ali to $Ali - 1)Now you speak of the commanders the council assigned, including the great lords commanding the flanks, the vanguard, and the rearguard. Of course, none of these are the right commanders; you make sure to say that King Guy is personally leading the vanguard, and that some nobody is leading the right flank where Ridefort holds command. You tell Hassan that among these illustrious men, you are (if: $Infantry is true)[commanding the infantry. ](if: $LightHorse is true)[commanding the light horse. ](if: $Knights is true)[commanding the Templar heavy knights. ](if: $Turcopoles is true)[commanding the turcopoles. ](if: $Bodyguard is true)[acting as King Guy's lieutenant. ]Ali purses his lips.
(if: $Ali is -3)["Fascinating," says Hassan. Ali paces from your table. "You are a smart man, Adalric." He brings the candle closer to himself. "Very smart, indeed." He puts it out.
There is a piece of metal sticking out of your heart. Ali's stony face looms above yours.
"Liar."
[[The blackness encroaches...]] ](if: $Ali is -2 or -1)[
"Fascinating," says Hassan. "Our master can work with this." (if: $Bodyguard is true)[Hassan grins his pure white grin. "Someone's been making friends, eh? Friends with the king. Most helpful to know." ]Ali takes more notes. "But well done, Adalric! It's about time your quality was recognised. Islam shall face no commander finer or more noble." You chuckle. "Of course, you have the sultan's permission to kill and be killed. Do well enough in battle that no one suspects you... but not too well, eh?" Hassan slaps your chest. "You know my philosophy about smart men. There is only one sultan, after all-- and what does that leave you with, intellectual?"
You report the rest of the council, but it was mostly without incident and not worth reporting. Hassan and Ali paid attention for every detail, though, so you tell them whatever there is to tell as honestly as you can.
Finally, you reach the end of the council. Your fellow spies seem satisfied.
Hassan withdraws a small cedar chest. "As promised," he says, opening the lid. (if: $Ali is -1)[Gold ducats! As you run your fingers through the coins, you realise that with the jewels-- you could buy a healthy plot of land. Perhaps fund the planting of a grove as magnificent as Sybilla's, and eat oranges every day. Have your own court, with a poet on retainer to compose a canto for you. (if: $Monkey is true)[You could even buy a menagerie of exotic animals to accompany dear Philippe! ]The possibilites dance before your eyes. "Our master loves his friends, didn't you know?" You nod slowly, no longer doubting. ](if: $Ali is -2)[Gold ducats! Such marvellous things are now possible with this bounty! You reach to touch the coins-- but Ali takes two meaty handfuls and stuffs them in a bag.
"That is the lying tax," he snarls. "You lied to us more than once during your report. This is what you will pay." You look forlornly at the chest. More than half the ducats are gone. You can't even pay for a few meagre acres with this.
Hassan shrugs. "Sorry, sayidi," he says. "But you did lie to us. I'm not one to dispute Ali." ]
Hassan and Ali rise and head to your window. "What next?" you say.
"There is much to do, Sir Adalric," Hassan says. Ali unfurls a rope, latches its grapple to the windowsill, and climbs out the window. (unless: $GokboriLie is true)["Gokbori's imprisonment hurts us sorely. It cannot stand. If you are any true friend of our master's..." He touches his nose, leaving the rest to you. "Meet us at the Tower of David tomorrow night. With Gokbori's whereabouts." ](if: $GokboriLie is true)["We will keep you apprised. But for now, you have done excellent work; we will only ask more of you when the time comes." ]Hassan climbs down after Ali.
You put out the candle and find a safe place for your riches. There are plenty of Templars wealthier than you; no one would be suspicious if you purchased a good plot of land, right? You set those thoughts aside for now. It's been a long day. Finally, you can get some rest.
(if: $GokboriLie is false)[ [[The Dungeon]] ](else:)[ [[La Saphorie]] ] ]"Useless churl!" Hassan cries. "Have you no bone in your body for intrigue?" He stands up in a huff. "Next time, you will do as we say-- and you will do it RIGHT. You have embarrassed yourself, and us all."
Hassan and Ali storm out through the window. You could've protested, but humiliation has stolen your tongue. Instead, you reclaim your sword and take to bed, grateful for the rest.
[[La Saphorie]] "You mean this monkey?" Ali says, indicating the sleeping Philippe. He draws a dagger and, grabbing the monkey's head, slides the blade through his neck. His final screech is awful. You watch in horror. Ali tosses you Philippe's head. "There. That should prevent any more rackets."
"Useless churl!" Hassan cries. "Have you no bone in your body for intrigue?" He stands up in a huff. "Next time, you will do as we say-- and you will do it RIGHT. You have embarrassed yourself, and us all."
Hassan and Ali storm out through the window. You could've protested, but the shock of watching the fate of your beloved Philippe has stolen your tongue. You take the monkey's body and bury him in the garden; it's the least you can do. You go to bed after that, though you cannot rest easy.
[[La Saphorie]]
(set: $Monkey to false)
(set: $MonkeyDeath to true)You are at the threshold of the Tower of David's dungeon. It is dark, and hard to navigate; the headscarf you have on does not help things, but you can't risk someone seeing your face during this mission. Muzaffar Gokbori awaits you, somewhere in these depths. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali meets you at the steps, also with an obscuring headscarf. You didn't see him at the entrance, so you have no idea where he came from. You and he progress silently. ]
(if: $Saladin is -1 or <-1)[The cells are lined with Muslim soldiers from the Battle of Cresson and the various raids. They spit and hiss at you, some shouting 'kaffir!' at you(if: $Traitor is true)[ and Ali]. (if: $Traitor or $FailHassan is true)[You get the sense that 'kaffir' does not just mean 'convert', as Hassan told you. ]](if: $Saladin is >-1)[The cells are quite empty; each block is identical to the next. ]An elderly Frankish gaoler and some guards come along with a lantern. "Hallo, good sir!" you call to him. "Come hither!" He goes to you. "My accomplice and I are looking for the king's prisoners. Where would they be?"
"Here for Gokbori, are you?" the gaoler says, unamused. "The Turk dies at His Majesty's pleasure, not yours. Run along." He and the guards make to leave. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. ]You step in the gaoler's way. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali fingers his dagger, but you speak up before he can do anything rash. ]
"You misunderstand us," you say quickly. "You see, we are the-- interrogators. We are King Guy's interrogators." You pull out a letter with his seal. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali raises an eyebrow. ]"Muzaffar Gokbori has sensitive information that is rightfully the king's." The letter is actually your formal appointment as commander, but you are willing to bet that the gaoler can't read.
And sure enough, he can't. The gaoler gives you your letter back. "He's two levels down," he mumbles. "Tenth cell, to the right." He hands you the key. "Just don't mangle him too hard. I'll have Hell to pay if he bleeds out." The gaoler and his guards shuffle off. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali withdraws his hand from his dagger. He seems almost impressed.
"Saladin has been most pleased by your progress," Ali says. "Already, you have proven your worth beyond all our Christian agents." You nod. With all the risks you've been taking lately, you'd better be worthy. ]
Finally, you reach Gokbori's cell. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali's eyes widen. ]He is a tall, imposing Turkoman with fiery eyes and the rock-solid build of a pillar. His hands are pinioned by manacles to the wall so he is splayed wide, as if in a fighting stance. You unlock the cage. He says nothing, but locks his fire-gaze on you.
[[Kill him]]
(if: $Traitor is true)[ [[Set him free]] ]
<script>
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$('#dungeon')[0].play();
</script>You draw your sword and plunge it through Gokbori's neck. It is no more complicated than that. (if: $Traitor is true)[Ali cries aloud and swings his dagger, but you catch it in time and slide your sword through his wrist. His whole hand slumps off. As he stares at the stump, you stab through his chest, and he falls dead. Blood has slickened the floor. You feel relieved to be rid of Ali... but wonder what to do about Hassan. ]Gokbori's fierce eyes are dim and downcast. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[You sever his head and stuff it in your bag. You hope it doesn't drip too much. ]
You stalk off. This is not your favourite type of killing... but this is Jerusalem at stake. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[You have to trust Maria. ]
[[La Saphorie]]
(set: $GokboriDead to true)
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)
(set: $HassanGone to true)You draw your sword and strike off his manacles. Gokbori looks surprised. Ali rushes over and embraces him, muttering words in Turkish too fast for you to catch; he goes to one knee and kisses Gokbori's hands and filthy robe continuously. Gokbori whispers a word, and Ali calms down.
"Keep your chains on," you say to the Turkoman. When he stands to his full height and his gaze bears down on you, you feel queasy at giving him orders. "There are guards everywhere. You must pose as my prisoner." There is a loaded silence-- but Gokbori assents at last.
"We leave from my secret entrance," the awestruck Ali says to you, voice quavering. "Come, al-Malik al-Muazzam. Our master awaits." Gokbori simply nods. Ali stops you. "(if: $Ali is 0)[I have been wrong about you, Sir Adalric. Only a true ally would do this. ]It is time to meet our master."
It hits you. "You... you don't mean he's here?" Ali nods. You lower your voice. "In Jerusalem?" Saladin, in Jerusalem?
"Prepare yourself for the sultan's majesty." Some sort of excitement fills your stomach and rises into your throat. You'll get to meet Saladin... "Follow me, sadiq."
You and Ali lead Gokbori down several levels, Ali giving directions. You encounter several guards, but your smooth tongue convinces them that you are just moving Gokbori to a different cell. You reach a pile of hay; Ali clears it off, finds a latch, and opens a hidden door. When he lights a torch, you see a tunnel. The tunnel is shorter than you imagined, but dark and quite slippery, so you have to watch your footing. Even Ali nearly falls over.
But at last, you see daylight. Your motley party emerges from a tucked-away bush outside the Tower of David. The light stings.
Ali faces you. "Salah ad-Din awaits."
[[The Master]]
(set: $GokboriCaptured to false)
(set: $GokboriFreed to true)It is the same shisha bar you first met Hassan and Ali, with mostly the same patrons, but something feel different. Everyone's deathly quiet; the very air has gone still. In the corner is Hassan; he grows pale upon seeing Gokbori, then motions you into the curtained meeting room. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe stays behind; even he knows of the aura of that room. ]
Within is Sultan Saladin.
Like a great mosque, he is seated below his ring of bodyguards tall and staunch as minarets, but far more holy and magnificent. Saladin is wreathed in silver-sheened lamellar armour and a golden cloak, a fine sultan's turban embedded with jewels glistening like beads of ethereal dew in Eden. His eyes are soft, grandfatherly as they glance briefly over you-- yet they pierce your soul at the same time. You know he saw inside you with that little look.
Saladin extends his hand to Gokbori. "Muzaffar Al-Malik Al-Muazzam," he says. His voice is sharp and deep, as if he had excruciatingly forged each word in his throat-crucible for days before speaking it. "Come hither, dear brother-in-law." He and Gokbori embrace and kiss each other. They exchange words in Turkish, laughing and kissing like two grooms at a wedding. Gokbori points to you at one point; Saladin gives you his undivided attention. The sultan's full gaze is like the weight of a star on you. "Gokbori tells me you saved him." You nod, feeling your throat enclose. "And my spy Hassan informs me that you have supplied him with his... incredible intelligence." You nod again, barely able to breathe. "Christians like you are hard to come by. Christians who understand what must be done for the Holy Land. What I can do for it. Yes... you've served me well." Saladin stands up, and by instinct, you kneel down. "What would you like as reward?"
[[Land and gold]] (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[
[[A wife]] ]
[[Something more...]]
[[Your death!]]
<script>
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</script>"I want a fine wife, Your Majesty," you say. "Hassan surely told you that I am no longer a Templar; this is true. I want to marry the finest woman in Jerusalem: Maria Komnene." You surprise yourself with every word that spills out your mouth, but as you go on, you realise you mean it. Maria Komnene is a powerful, enthralling woman, and you love her and want her hand in marriage. Her dowry would be quite handsome as well, enough to buy you and her a respectable fief. "It would mean we would have to dispose of Balian of Ibelin, but... this is the reward I want, great sultan."
Saladin nods. "Thanks to you," he says. "We know where the scoundrel will be in the coming battle. I think Hassan can arrange his demise."
Hassan grins. "Poor Maria," he says. "Soon to be a widow once again."
Saladin lays a hand on you. You look away, feeling cold where he touches you. "Well done, Sir Adalric. Your service will not be forgotten, whatever the outcome of the battle." Saladin dons a hooded cloak and departs with Gokbori and his bodyguards, incognito.
You, Hassan, and Ali simply stand in place for a while, content to be quiet. "I... I suppose we had best get to work," Hassan finally says. "There's much to do before the Franks march out. If you find anything, Adalric, you can find us here-- but good work, my friend. Truly." Hassan smiles, and it is the most genuine smile you have seen. You embrace him, and take your leave. The whole encounter has left you scattered, and you need to train today, prepare for combat.
[[La Saphorie]]
(set: $AmbitionWife to true)An idea strikes you. You have gone this far; why not go farther? Why not give Jerusalem the best leader it can have?
Filled with godly confidence, you stand up to face Saladin. Everyone looks at you in shock. "I am more to you than just a spy," you say. You know you have never been closer to death; with that knowledge, all your fears have been shed, and you speak more freely than you have ever spoken in your life. "I am your man; I am your warrior. I can help you not only with the conquest of Jerusalem, but keeping that conquest for good. Pope Urban III has not yet called a crusade-- but you know that as soon as you capture Jerusalem, he will. All the crowns of Christendom you have so deftly eluded until that point will assemble to overthrow you. All your plans might come to ruin in that crusade." Saladin raises his brow, curious. "Your conquest need not be hubris. I can help you consolidate. Simply grant me my request:
"Make me king of Jerusalem." All eyes in the room widen. "The Pope wants a Christian ruler on the throne of Jerusalem. I can sway him against the inevitable crusade. Marry me to Maria Komnene, give me the claim, support me in my rise, and I will rule the Holy City in your stead."
Saladin purses his lips. "You have served me well," he says slowly. "But not that well. I would rule Jerusalem myself."
(unless: $SaladinFix is true)[(if: $Ridefort is <-3 or $Bodyguard is true)[You smile. "Perhaps this will convince you: (if: $Bodyguard is true)[I will kill King Guy de Lusignan."(set: $KillKing to true)](if: $Ridefort is <-3)[I will kill Gerard de Ridefort."(set: $KillRidefort to true)]]](if: $SaladinFix is true)[You smile. "Perhaps this will convince you: I will kill King Guy de Lusignan."(set: $KillKing to true)](else:)[You smile. "Perhaps this will convince you: I will kill Raymond III of Tripoli."(set: $KillRaymond to true)] Hassan gasps.
Saladin narrows his eyes; you stare directly into them. (unless: $SaladinFix is true)[(if: $Ridefort is <-3 or $Bodyguard is true)["Bold man. (if: $Bodyguard is true)[Guy is naught but a simpering worm, but I could do with being rid of his woman." He strokes his beard. "Without her... yes, things would fall apart. Yes..."](if: $Ridefort is <-3)[Ridefort is indeed a serious opponent." He strokes his beard. "Conquering Jerusalem would be an impossibility with him in my way. Yes..."]]](if: $SaladinFix is true)["Bold man. Guy is naught but a simpering worm, but I could do with being rid of his woman." He strokes his beard. "Without her... yes, things would fall apart. Yes..."](if: $KillRaymond is true)["Bold man. Raymond is too smart by half." He strokes his beard. "I'd never be able to hold Jerusalem with him scheming away. Yes..."] Saladin fixes you in the eye. You don't look away. "You must convert to Islam. At least privately." You assent. "You must obey my every missive." You assent. "You must rule the Frankish lands reliably and well." You assent. "Kneel for me." You kneel. "Repeat these words: there is no god but Allah."
"There is no god but Allah."
"Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."
"Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."
"You bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and you bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."
"I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah." And with those words, you know that you are no Templar. You know that this is what Jerusalem needs: not a posturing pretty boy like Guy, not a zealot like Ridefort, not a plotter like Count Raymond of Tripoli or a liar like Queen Sybilla-- but you. You are the only one with the kingdom's best interests at heart. And you know that there is no Holy Spirit making the world work, no promise of divinity in Man... but there is God. Only God.
"Rise, child of God." You do so. "If you can kill your man, you have my blessing to be king of Jerusalem." Saladin lays a hand on you. You touch it. "Well done, Sir Adalric. Your service will not be forgotten, whatever the outcome of the battle." Saladin dons a hooded cloak and departs with Gokbori and his bodyguards, incognito.
You, Hassan, and Ali simply stand in place for a while, content to be quiet. "I... I suppose we had best get to work," Hassan finally says. "King of Jerusalem..." Hassan smiles, and it is the most genuine smile you have seen. "You've got balls." You embrace him, and take your leave. Your resolve has never been stronger.
[[La Saphorie]]
(set: $AmbitionKing to true)All thoughts of material wealth are purged from you. You now know your duty, what Sybilla wanted from you.
"I will accept no reward," you begin. "But your blessing." You draw your sword and extend it to Saladin, in homage. "Kiss me, and allow me to swear fealty to you; then I will know I am rich." Saladin leans in to kiss your cheeks.
And you thrust your sword into his throat. All the majesty and valour of the sultan and caliph seeps out with the dribble of blood from his mouth. Suddenly, a dozen blades pierce your skin, along with a dozen cries from Saladin's friends.
But all that doesn't matter. You feel Saladin's pulse and know he is dead. This is what Queen Sybilla meant all along.
[[You walk towards the light]] "I want Reynald de Chatillon's fief of Kerak, Your Majesty," you say. "As well as my weight in gold." You know the castle of Kerak is one of the finest in Outremer, with plenty of access to the wealthy camel trains from the east-- a fine prize for any young landless knight. The gold and the revenues will help establish a worthy court, fund several knights of your own... establish your dynasty.
"I care not what happens to that monster's cursed fief," Saladin says. "Kerak is yours, as is your gold." Saladin lays a hand on you. You look away, feeling cold where he touches you. "Well done, Sir Adalric. Your service will not be forgotten, whatever the outcome of the battle." Saladin dons a hooded cloak and departs with Gokbori and his bodyguards, incognito.
You, Hassan, and Ali simply stand in place for a while, content to be quiet. "I... I suppose we had best get to work," Hassan finally says. "There's much to do before the Franks march out. If you find anything, Adalric, you can find us here-- but good work, my friend. Truly." Hassan smiles, and it is the most genuine smile you have seen. You embrace him, and take your leave. The whole encounter has left you scattered, and you need to train today, prepare for combat.
[[La Saphorie]]
(set: $AmbitionWealth to true)Blood fills your lungs as the blades go in and out of your body. Your last thoughts are of Jerusalem, and how with this singular action, you have rescued it from doom. Without Saladin's leadership, Islam will be headless, unable to resist Christendom's advance. You close your eyes, and think of the beautiful future that is to come for Jerusalem.
Surely, you have saved Jerusalem. Surely...
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.play('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>
<div style="display:none;"><img src=";P" onerror="YouTubeTunes.stop('bA1hZoBLrdY');"></div>Sir Robert Bravepierre rushes up to you, and the two of you embrace. "Adalric!" he cries. "My sweet Foi, it has been too long."
"Robert, my dear Feu!" you laugh, mussing up his blond hair. (unless: $YouLiedtoRidefort is true)[Though his face is fair and his hair 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 Robert had also become a Templar! (if: $RomanceMaria is true)[The joy is bittersweet now that you are no longer a Templar. ]](if: $Monkey is true)[Little Philippe stirs from his nook in your hood, yawning.
"Who is this charming fellow?" Robert coos, petting your monkey.
"This is Philippe. He is my new best friend." Robert shoves you playfully. Philippe complains, and goes back to sleep. ](if: $Byzantines is true)["Robert, I'd like you to meet the Queen Dowager Maria Komnene. The Roman Emperor has sent her to aid us in battle." Maria nods to Robert from her horse. "Maria, this is Sir Robert Bravepierre. He is my very oldest friend from Provence, and my lieutenant for the battle."
Robert frowns at Maria. "You? Help us in battle? I knew you Greeks were girly sodomites, but this is perhaps too far!" Robert cups his breast to imitate a woman's bosom, then laughs. "Show me your muscles, girl."
Maria spurs her horse as if to gallop. Robert lunges out of the way, just in time for Maria to halt her horse. "There are my muscles!" She bursts out laughing, and mocks Robert in Greek. Your friend is quite flush.
You break the tension. ]"What brings you here?"
(if: $Ridefort is -3 or >-3)["He is your lieutenant, Villesainte," says another familiar voice. Ridefort approaches from behind Robert. You bow. "Can't send you to war without a fellow Templar by your side. I know you lads are of one heart, so I decided it was high time for your reunion." (if: $Ridefort is -3 or -2 or -1)[Ridefort nods his head and takes his leave. "As you were." ](if: $Ridefort is >-1)[Ridefort pulls you closer. "I know I cannot keep you by my side at all times. I know we must fight in different corners of the battlefield, command our own companies. But I would still keep me with you at all times. Keep the Templars with you." (if: $Ridefort is 2 or 3)[Ridefort shifts his gaze, not wanting to meet your eyes. "You know, I never had a son. Never married. Mourn me not, for this doesn't bother me. I... I think I always considered you my son." Ridefort hugs you close to his chest. "Be safe, my boy. Please." You feel your master's tears on your cheeks, and soon, your own. "I-I don't know if I could bear seeing you..." Ridefort sniffles, then releases you. You wipe away the wetness. "Godspeed, lad." ]He taps your chest. "Be the rock, Adalric. Be my rock." Ridefort leaves. You don't know whether you'll see him again. ]
You turn to Robert. ](if: $Ridefort is <-3 or $RomanceMaria is true)["I am your lieutenant, silly Foi! The Grandmaster assigned me to you." Robert gestures to Ridefort, who is striding away. "He doesn't want to talk to you, unfortunately. I don't know what caused this rift between the two of you, but it saddens me greatly." He shakes his head. (if: $RomanceMaria is true)["What will the Templars be without you, Adalric? Everybody else is so dull, and you go off and leave me alone with all of them anyway." Robert huffs so dramatically that you can't help but laugh.
"I'm sorry, Robert," you say. "I'm with you now, though, eh? Being an ex-Templar is not so bad; look at what I'm wearing." You lift your right foot up.
Robert gawks at it. "Pointy shoes?" he exclaims, now totally enthralled by this phenomenon.
"I'll have to swap them for marching boots later, but until then, I'll wear them as long as I can."
"The latest fashion from Paris... Ridefort hates these! Tell me what you did to leave, I'll do it too, by God!"
You lean in and whisper, "I kissed a queen." Robert gapes at you. Maria Komnene winks at you. (if: $KissQueen is true)["Two queens, actually." He nearly faints. ]"Keep a secret?"
Your old friend nods eagerly. "Balian of Ibelin is surely a generous liege." You snicker. ](if: $YouLiedtoRobert is true)[
Robert pouts. "You're one to laugh; what's this I hear about you defying old man Ridefort and having a go at the Turks on your own? How'd that go for you?" You wince, remembering the near disastrous skirmish. "Was that why you were acting so queer that day? Things would've been different if you had humble Feu at your side, trust me." Poor Robert! You wish now you hadn't left him out. ](if: $YouHaveRobert is true)["Yes, every Templar in the Holy Land is officially a dullard. Not you and me; we've had quite the adventures, eh?" Robert pats your back. "Defying old man Ridefort, vanquishing the Turks last Christmas-- now that was a fight no one's like to forget!" You chuckle. ]"But enough of that. To business, dear Foi!" ]Robert leads you to where the horses are kept. (if: $Monkey is true)[Philippe scrambles from your hood to the saddlebag of your horse, and grins at you most deviously. The little fellow's loyalty is impressive, but you know it will be hard to keep him safe in the heat of battle. However, you have noticed that Philippe is smarter than most of God's creatures-- smarter than most monkeys, even-- and somehow, you get the feeling he can take care of himself. ](if: $RomanceMaria is true)[But before that, Maria Komnene leads you aside.
[[Maria's plot]] ](else:)[
[[Accounting the armies]] ]Atop your horses, you and Robert (if: $Byzantines is true)[and Maria ]observe the army move out, winding like a steel river. The steel river crawls down the edge of the springs and spills out into columns, bearing forth onto the Horns of Hattin. (if: $Jerusalem is -2)["1000 knights," Robert says. "1800 light horse. 400 turcopoles. 10,000 infantry. Jerusalem has been struggling recently." He looks queasily at you. "Will it be enough?" You do not respond. You wish you knew... but things don't look good. ](if: $Jerusalem is -1)["1050 knights," Robert says. "2400 light horse. 400 turcopoles. 12,000 infantry." He looks queasily at you. "Will it be enough?" You do not respond. You wish you knew. ](if: $Jerusalem is 0)["1200 knights," Robert says. "3000 light horse. 500 turcopoles. 15,000 infantry. Sizeable." He glances at you. "Will it be enough?" You do not respond. You wish you knew. ](if: $Jerusalem is 1)["1300 knights," Robert crows. "3400 light horse. (if: $Pope is true)[1200](else:)[600] turcopoles. (if: $Genoa is true)[23,000](else:)[20,000] infantry. Formidable, indeed!" He looks at you with a smile. "It might be enough." You do not respond. You wish you knew. ](if: $Jerusalem is 2)["1400 knights," Robert crows. "3800 light horse. (if: $Pope is true)[1200](else:)[600] turcopoles. (if: $Genoa is true)[26,000](else:)[23,000] infantry. Formidable, indeed!" He looks at you with a wide smile. "I think it's enough." You do not respond. You wish you knew... but even so, you feel good. ]
"What of Saladin?" you ask. "What say our scouts?"
Robert chews his lip. "Hard to say. Our best guesses are (if: $Saladin is -3)[9000 horse, half of which are archers, and 20,000 infantry." You seethe your teeth... but must admit that those numbers seem promising. ](if: $Saladin is -2)[10,000 horse, half of which are archers, and 23,000 infantry." You seethe your teeth. ](if: $Saladin is -1)[11,000 horse, half of which are archers, and 26,000 infantry." You seethe your teeth. ](if: $Saladin is 0)[12,000 horse, half of which are archers, and 30,000 infantry." You seethe your teeth. Those numbers scare you. ](if: $Saladin is 1)[13,000 horse, half of which are archers, and 35,000 infantry." You seethe your teeth. Those numbers... you don't want to think about it. Saladin has been making good use of your intelligence, and clearly invested in troops to exploit the weaknesses you pointed out. How many Christians will die today because of you? You shrug that off; you can't think of that. (if: $AmbitionKing is true)[You are Muslim now. And when you become king, everything you do, you do for these men. ](if: $AmbitionWealth is true)[Everything you do, you do for your dynasty. ](if: $AmbitionWife is true)[Everything you do, you do for Maria Komnene. ]]"It is impossible to tell, but our scouts think Saladin has deployed from Tiberias and marches to us. We ought to find(if: $HassanGone is true)[--" There is a whizzing noise. Robert stops and goes pale. You're not sure why. Then you look down-- and see the arrow through your chest. You see a cloaked rider with a bow dash off. Your mouth forms around the name of your killer, but it is too late for revenge; you slump down.
[[The blackness encroaches...]] ](if: $Byzantines is true)[--"
"Look out!" Maria shrieks. You turn to see what she is hollering about, just in time for an arrow to scream by your face. A cloaked rider with a bow dashes off; you and Robert give chase. Luckily, several mounted sergeants heard Maria's shriek and helped you intercept the rider. The rogue gives up without a fight.
When Robert removes his headscarf, you are hardly surprised to see that your would-be killer is Hassan. He is not smiling, for once. "A Mohamedan spy," Robert declares. "What shall we do with him, Adalric?"
You give Hassan a sidelong glance. "Cut his throat." Hassan spits at your feet. Robert cuts his throat. Soon, you and Robert are riding to your company.
(if: $Bodyguard is true)[ [[Meet with King Guy]] ](if: $LightHorse is true)[ [[Meet with your light horsemen]] ](if: $Knights is true)[ [[Meet with your brother Templars]] ](if: $Infantry is true)[ [[Meet with your infantry]] ](if: $Turcopoles is true)[ [[Meet with your loyal turcopoles]] ]](else:)[ a decent battleground." You agree.
Soon, you and Robert are riding to your company.
(if: $Bodyguard is true)[ [[Meet with King Guy]] ](if: $LightHorse is true)[ [[Meet with your light horsemen]] ](if: $Knights is true)[ [[Meet with your brother Templars]] ](if: $Infantry is true)[ [[Meet with your infantry]] ](if: $Turcopoles is true)[ [[Meet with your loyal turcopoles]] ] ]
<script>
$('#farewell')[0].pause();
$('#ToBattle')[0].play();
</script>You and Maria are alone. She dismounts. "Well?" you say.
"Well," Maria says. (if: $GokboriDead is true)["We received the head of the Turkoman." Maria exhales, shuddering. "That's good. We can trust you." ](if: $GokboriFreed is true)["Two hooded Muslims have freed Gokbori from prison before you could kill him. It was tragic, but we suspected Saladin might've pulled this devilry. His spies are excellent." Her eyes narrow. "Even so, you should've been less tardy in carrying out your mission. Try harder next time." ]Maria folds her hands over her lap. "So you will protect and advise King Guy. Guy, the pretty boy from Lusignan. Guy, the Poitevin nobody King Baldwin married to his sister to keep the throne away from Raymond of Tripoli." Bitterness enters Maria's voice. "You will do what I say? As your liege lord Balian of Ibelin says?"
Balian has treated you so well in your time as his vassal; how could you say no? "Aye."
"King Guy must die. You will kill him." You gasp; Maria puts her hand over your mouth. (if: $KillKing is true)[This is... almost too perfect. ]"You will kill him, and you will do it privately, in his tent at the right moment. Then, when you give me the signal, Count Raymond will come and secretly put on the king's armour. He will lead us to victory, not Guy. Balian will don Raymond's armour and man the vanguard to avoid suspicion." Maria snorts. "About time the layabout left the rearguard! Is this plan clear to you?" You shift your head, unsure if you want to nod or shake your head. Maria takes it as the former. "Excellent. When the king is slain, make eye contact with me and close your hand into a fist thrice. That's how I'll know. Then hide the body." Maria mounts her horse again. "Say nothing. Let's go." (if: $KillKing is true)[You happily comply, silently following the Queen Dowager as she canters off. ](else:)[As you ponder what in God's name to do, you see the Queen Dowager canter off, and sprint after her. ]
[["Wait up!"|Accounting the armies]] Straying further from the cool breezes at La Saphorie, the heat begins to beat upon you. The sun is merciless today; its harsh rays bleed sweat down your back. You try and ration your water, but between the exertion of riding your horse and your heavy mail, you keep itching to reach for your water pouch.
You, Maria, and Robert ride out onto the plains, where King Guy and his retainers-- some of the finest knights in the kingdom, all well known for their prowess-- are advancing in a single line. Their banners are the banners of Jerusalem, yellow crosses on a white field, and their armour is like rolling waves of shimmering silver. In the middle of the grand procession is a wagon with a massive gilded cross-- bearing in its core a shard of the True Cross. The Cross Jesus died upon. The most holy relic in all Christendom. You stoop your head and pray, praising God and His works.
"Magnificent, aye?" You look up to see King Guy, lifting his visor and dabbing at his sweat. Guy is covered head to toe in steel, but quite distinguishable from the crown on his head. No one could possibly recognise it if Raymond of Tripoli wore it... "When I first came to Jerusalem, I never imagined I'd be as impressed with it as I am. I thought I'd come to the Holy Land, drink, fight, fuck, and do away with my oath. Jerusalem was just another patch of dirt where I could do as I please. But now..." Guy looks at you earnestly. "I'd die for this patch of dirt. I know a lot of Franks doubt me, but I would. I wasn't born here, and I haven't lived here as long as you or some of the other pilgrims had, but you must understand that this is my home. Do you-- do you understand?"
A pang of guilt hits your heart. "I think I do," you say. "I wasn't born here either; you and I understand that it doesn't matter. Jerusalem is this tremendous melting pot where all Christians can be together, no longer Frenchmen, Englishmen, Spaniards, Germans, Italians, Syrians-- but Christians, united and strong. This is truly the most Christian land, Your Majesty." You smile. "Let's defend it, shall we?" King Guy blanches, but bids you continue. "Good tidings: our men are anxious to strike at the Saracens."
"Oh," Guy says. "That's good." He takes a massive draught from his water pouch.
"Saladin does not mean to engage us with his main force," Maria says. "Why bother? He can pelt us from afar with his horse archers. We cannot afford to wait for them to engage us: we have to take action imme--"
"No, no, that won't do." Guy shakes his head. "We can't fall for any of Saladin's tricks. We wait for him to come to us. Then send in the knights and--!" Guy smashes a fist into his hand to demonstrate. "Simplicity itself."
Maria frowns. "What about the horse archers? They'll rip us apart!"
Guy smirks. "Silly woman! Our armour is strong enough to take any buffet from those bows. Why, we'll just advance through the arrows, and confront Saladin's main force unscathed. It'll be just like traipsing through a drizzle of rain." He chuckles, impressed with his own joke.
You look at Maria plaintively. You've been hearing this speech for weeks now, ever since the king took you on as his lieutenant. "We'll prepare ourselves," you say to her.
The day wears on in uncanny silence. The sun meanders up. Everyone is feeling the drag. Pack mules and a few horses have been dropping dead from heat stroke. You stare at the Horns of Hattin; though the volcanoes have been dormant for centuries, you know there is still a grievous peril hidden beneath, waiting to smother and swallow and rend the rocks asunder. In the silence is always a lurking danger. And it is more silent than it has been in months.
A gust of smoke creeps along the horizon; you squint to see it better-- and realise what's coming.
"Turkomans," you mutter. "TURKOMANS! Ride out!"
King Guy gasps and holds his chest. "Not in my ear!" he complains. "You know I start easy."
The Battle of Hattin has begun.
[[Engagement|Bodyguard 1]] Straying further from the cool breezes at La Saphorie, the heat begins to beat upon you. The sun is merciless today; its harsh rays bleed sweat down your back. You try and ration your water, but between the exertion of riding your horse and your heavy mail, you keep itching to reach for your water pouch.
You(if: $Byzantines is true)[, Maria,] and Robert ride out onto the plains, where your company of light horsemen are advancing. These men are Armenians, and though they have the red Templar cross emblazoned on their breasts, none of them are Templar knights, but volunteer sergeants who cannot afford the heavy armour of a knight. A comforting sense of nostalgia washes over you; before you were a knight, you were a light horseman, and see yourself in many of these young men. Ever since you became their commander, you've been drilling them in horsemanship, and looking at them and how swiftly and deftly they ride across the plains, how well they communicate with each other-- you feel proud.
Sir Georges Azaryan canters up to you and bows. "My lord," he says. When you first met him, you worried that his perpetual grimace and gruff voice meant that he hated you, but now you know that Sir Georges does that to everyone. This dour Armenian has been a firm ally, instrumental in warming these sergeants to you. "Good tidings. Our men are anxious to strike at the Saracens."
"As are we, Sir Georges," you say, dabbing sweat from your forehead.
"I have ridden as close as I dare to Saladin's camp. I have good reason to believe that he has taken Tiberias, and marches to meet us. His advance guard of Turkoman horse archers has gone ahead; we need to prepare ourselves for an attack."
(if: $Byzantines is true)["Saladin does not need to engage us with his main force," Maria says to you. "Why bother when he can pelt us from afar with his archers? We cannot afford to wait for them to engage us: we have to take action immediately."
"And sacrifice lives?" Georges replies, glaring at Maria. "How Greek of you."
Maria stares down Georges with a smile. "Even more lives will be lost in an attempt to defend ourselves. But I suppose that concept is too complex for a heretic like yourself to comprehend."
"Stop me if you've heard this one," Robert chuckles. "A Greek and an Armenian walk into a tavern--"
You interrupt before Maria or Georges get any further. ]"We'll prepare ourselves." You trot over to the front of the line and raise your voice. "You know what to do: our job is defend the flanks and screen the crossbows until they can get into position. That means risk, but it also means saving lives. Can I trust everyone to seize that risk?" The Armenian sergeants hoot in affirmation. You like this bunch.
The day wears on in uncanny silence. The sun meanders up. Everyone is feeling the drag. Pack mules and a few horses have been dropping dead from heat stroke. You stare at the Horns of Hattin; though the volcanoes have been dormant for centuries, you know there is still a grievous peril hidden beneath, waiting to smother and swallow and rend the rocks asunder. In the silence is always a lurking danger. And it is more silent than it has been in months.
A gust of smoke creeps along the horizon; you squint to see it better-- and realise what's coming.
"Turkomans," you mutter. "TURKOMANS! Ride out!"
The Battle of Hattin has begun.
[[Engagement|Light Horse 1]] Straying further from the cool breezes at La Saphorie, the heat begins to beat upon you. The sun is merciless today; its harsh rays bleed sweat down your back. You try and ration your water, but between the exertion of riding your horse and your heavy mail, you keep itching to reach for your water pouch.
You(if: $Byzantines is true)[, Maria,] and Robert ride out onto the plains, where your company of Templar knights are advancing. These men are the genuine issue, one hundred of the truest knights in all Christendom, draped in white linens and red crosses emblazoned on their breasts. Their horsemanship is a marvel to behold; they move as if joined by one chain, unbreakable, unbendable, ferocious. Their destriers are huge, magnificent beasts of the finest breeding, every bit as sturdy and fierce as their masters.
Everyone greets you by your name, and you greet them by theirs. Ever since you became the commander of this troop, it was like you were back home, talking and joking and gossiping with your brothers as you rode out on a merry hunt. This corner of the army is your home; these Templars are your family. Mingling with them and witnessing how swiftly and deftly they ride across the plains, how easily they communicate with each other, you burst with pride. In this dreadful moment of war, in this unforgiving heat, you feel totally comfortable, snuggled in like a link laid within the finest suit of ringmail.
Robert sees your elation and smiles. "It's good to see you so happy," he says, shaking your shoulder. "May God let this happiness stay for as long as we live."
"Yes," you say, grinning. "I hope for that, too."
"We're anxious to strike at the Saracens. When shall we get to have at them?"
You think on this, but not for long; everything seems so clear to you now. "I have good reason to believe that Saladin has taken Tiberias, and marches to meet us. His advance guard of Turkoman horse archers has gone ahead; we need to prepare ourselves for an attack."
(if: $Byzantines is true)["My thoughts exactly," says Maria Komnene.
]"All this preparation!" Robert grouses. "Let us ride, the Templar way!"
You trot over to the front of the line and raise your voice. "My brothers, you are the worthiest knights I have had the privilege of knowing, so I needn't waste time in telling you your duty. We are the keys to this, the core of all Jerusalem's efforts. We cannot throw our lives away in vain: we must await the right opportunity, strike hard at the direst moment; for all we know, the first charge we make may be our last." You look into each of your brothers' eyes. "If I never see another one of you again after today... know that you are truly my brothers, in aught but blood. I have been beyond honoured to be one of you... to finally know my place." You sniffle. You can see other Templars sniffling, too. "If God had granted me a hundred lives to live, I would die a hundred deaths to spare each and every one of you the same fate. If I do die today-- I die your BROTHER!" Your Templars cheer to the heavens. You nearly cry.
The day wears on in uncanny silence. The sun meanders up. Everyone is feeling the drag. Pack mules and a few horses have been dropping dead from heat stroke. You stare at the Horns of Hattin; though the volcanoes have been dormant for centuries, you know there is still a grievous peril hidden beneath, waiting to smother and swallow and rend the rocks asunder. In the silence is always a lurking danger. And it is more silent than it has been in months.
A gust of smoke creeps along the horizon; you squint to see it better-- and realise what's coming.
"Turkomans," you mutter. "TURKOMANS! Ride out!"
The Battle of Hattin has begun.
[[Engagement|Templars 1]] You(if: $Byzantines is true)[, Maria,] and Robert ride out onto the plains, where the columns of infantry are advancing. Light Syrian levies, heavy Franks too poor for horses, brash Genoans and Pisans and Venetians toting crossbows, reliable Maronite archers, tough Armenian mercenaries, disciplined Templar and Hospitaller sergeants... the footmen are a crude and variegated lot.
(if: $Byzantines is true)[Maria helped you form a very sensible deployment plan: as some light horsemen screen the infantry's approach, the footmen advance slow and steady behind; Maria insisted the light and heavy soldiers be organised in squares ten men deep, and in a checkerboard formation resulting in an uneven vanguard. Her logic was that should the first line rout, they would run directly behind into open space and the second line can close in on the pursuers and give the first line a chance to rally. The first two ranks of every square would have crossbowmen and archers, to loose volleys and retreat when the enemy come close. The Templars and Hospitallers, meanwhile, stay back in reserve to commit themselves wherever the battle is thickest, or check an enemy trying to flank. You are concerned that this deployment isn't tight enough and might be prone to a sudden shock of a cavalry charge-- but this is the Roman way, Maria assures you, so you trust in it. ](if: $Genoa is true)[Guido da Landriano helped you form a very sensible deployment plan: as some light horsemen screen the infantry's approach, crossbowmen and archers move up first and take shots at the enemy. Meanwhile, heavy footmen advance slow and steady behind (light footmen back up the heavy ones), with the Templars and Hospitallers in reserve to commit themselves wherever the battle is thickest, or check an enemy trying to flank. ](else:)[You and the other infantry commanders have arranged a sensible deployment plan: as some light horsemen screen the infantry's approach, heavy footmen advance behind (light footmen back up the heavy ones), interspersed with the crossbowmen and archers, and the Templars and Hospitallers form a tight vanguard to drive at the Turks hard. ]Ever since you became their commander, you drilled and disciplined these soldiers until they knew their place in the formation better than feet know their place on the ground.
Straying further from the cool breezes at La Saphorie, the heat begins to beat upon you. The sun is merciless today; its harsh rays bleed sweat down your back. You try and ration your water, but between the exertion of riding your horse and your heavy mail, you keep itching to reach for your water pouch.
(if: $Genoa is true)[Guido da Landriano sashays up to you and Robert. Even though his burgundy threads are elaborate and bulky underneath his fine armour, and he is sweating madly, he doesn't appear to be suffering as you are. "//Buongiorno, signore Adalric//," he says. "What heat! It reminds me of Tuscany on a cool day." He grins, revealing several golden teeth. "My boys are anxious to strike at the //Saracenos//."
"As are we, good Landriano," you say, dabbing sweat from your forehead.
"The horse archers are sure to come. Don't worry; my doughty crossbows shall see them off nicely."
You laugh, wishing you had half Landriano's bravado. ](if: $Byzantines is true)["Saladin is moving his horse archers to intercept us," Maria says to you. "He does not need to engage us with his main force; why bother when he can pelt us from afar with his archers? We cannot afford to wait for them to engage us: we have to take action immediately."
You nod and say, ]"We'll prepare ourselves." You trot over to the front of the line and raise your voice. "You know what to do: our job is to keep steady, and pick off whatever Saracen rider comes our way. Stay calm, rely on your brothers beside you, be as still and unmoveable as a hill; can I trust everyone to be that?" Your footmen hoot in affirmation. You like this bunch.
The day wears on in uncanny silence. The sun meanders up. Everyone is feeling the drag. Pack mules and a few horses have been dropping dead from heat stroke. You stare at the Horns of Hattin; though the volcanoes have been dormant for centuries, you know there is still a grievous peril hidden beneath, waiting to smother and swallow and rend the rocks asunder. In the silence is always a lurking danger. And it is more silent than it has been in months.
A gust of smoke creeps along the horizon; you squint to see it better-- and realise what's coming.
"Turkomans," you mutter. "TURKOMANS! Assemble the line!"
The Battle of Hattin has begun.
[[Engagement|Infantry 1]] You(if: $Byzantines is true)[, Maria,] and Robert ride out onto the plains, where your companies of turcopoles are advancing. Hardy horsemen, these turcopoles hail from all over the Holy Land, some from as far as Central Asia. Perhaps one in every two is a Muslim, and you are not so certain you can trust them. To a man, each of them are skilled archers on horse; ever since you became chief Turcopolier, you drilled and disciplined these soldiers until they moved and shot as one. The turcopoles hired from further afield often mocked the routine, jeering 'will we be doing pirouettes into battle?' before your veterans chastised them.
Straying further from the cool breezes at La Saphorie, the heat begins to beat upon you. The sun is merciless today; its harsh rays bleed sweat down your back. You try and ration your water, but between the exertion of riding your horse and your heavy mail, you keep itching to reach for your water pouch.
Someone notices you. "General Villesainte!" comes the cry(unless: $EmileDies is true)[, led by Emile Khaury the Parisian. Emile has been promoted to a Turcopolier in his own right, and you couldn't be prouder of your former squire]. Your jolly turcopoles flock to you, and you try and greet as many as you can. A great chant goes up: "General! General! General!"
"I'm no general," you protest. "I'm just Adalric, the same Adalric who was your dear friend." Yet the chant persists. Your loyal veterans have been inspiring the new recruits with tales about you, and soon, the whole division seems to burst with love. (unless: $EmileDies is true)[Even the most mercenary of turcopoles join in. ]You eventually give up and chant with them, to their delight. It will never cease to amaze you that all you ever did to earn this love was learn their languages and be their friends.
(unless: $EmileDies is true)[Emile Khaury canters up to you and bows. "My lord," he says, chipper as ever. This jolly Maronite has been a firm ally, instrumental in warming the Muslim turcopoles to you. "Good tidings. Our men are anxious to strike at the Saracens."
"As are we, dear Emile," you say, dabbing sweat from your forehead.
"I have ridden as close as I dare to Saladin's camp. I have good reason to believe that he has taken Tiberias, and marches to meet us. His advance guard of Turkoman horse archers has gone ahead; we need to prepare ourselves for an attack."
(if: $Byzantines is true)["Saladin does not need to engage us with his main force," Maria says to you. "Why bother when he can pelt us from afar with his archers? We cannot afford to wait for them to engage us: we have to take action immediately."
You nod and say, ]](if: $EmileDies is true)[Yet despite that, the Muslims remain surly, eyeing you with suspicion. You wish Emile Khaury was here; he had a way with people. (if: $Byzantines is true)[
"I imagine Saladin will be sending his horse archers to begin with," Maria says to you. "Saladin does not need to engage us with his main force. Why bother when he can pelt us from afar with his archers? We cannot afford to wait for them to engage us: we have to take action immediately."
You nod and say, ](else:)["I've heard from some of the Turcopoliers," says Robert. "They aren't sure, but they have good reason to believe that he has taken Tiberias, and marches to meet us."
You nod and say, ]]"We'll prepare ourselves." You trot over to the front of the line and raise your voice. "You know what to do: our job is to hit the Muslims when they come, hit them hard, and defend our flanks. We cannot be locked in a shooting duel; their horse archers are more numerous by far, and have the superior range. Like the arrows we loose, we must be quick, firm, and accurate. Can I trust everyone to be that?" The turcopoles hoot in affirmation. You like this bunch.
The day wears on in uncanny silence. The sun meanders up. Everyone is feeling the drag. Pack mules and a few horses have been dropping dead from heat stroke. You stare at the Horns of Hattin; though the volcanoes have been dormant for centuries, you know there is still a grievous peril hidden beneath, waiting to smother and swallow and rend the rocks asunder. In the silence is always a lurking danger. And it is more silent than it has been in months.
A gust of smoke creeps along the horizon; you squint to see it better-- and realise what's coming.
"Turkomans," you mutter. "TURKOMANS! Ride out!"
The Battle of Hattin has begun.
[[Engagement|Horse Archers 1]]
(if: $EmileDies is true)[(set: $Surprise to true)](unless: $Byzantines is true)[(set: $Surprise to true)]You engage the Turkomans.
[[LH Manoeuvre 1.1]]
[[LH Manoeuvre 1.2]]
<script>
$('#ToBattle')[0].pause();
$('#Hattin1')[0].play();
</script>King Guy issues you a command.
[[Obey command 1.1]]
[[Disobey command 1.2]]
<script>
$('#ToBattle')[0].pause();
$('#Hattin1')[0].play();
</script>You engage the Turkopoles.
[[I Manoeuvre 1.1]]
[[I Manoeuvre 1.2]]
(if: $Genoa is true)[ [[I Manoeuvre 1.3]] ]
<script>
$('#ToBattle')[0].pause();
$('#Hattin1')[0].play();
</script>You engage the Turkomans.
[[HA Manoeuvre 1.1]]
[[HA Manoeuvre 1.2]]
<script>
$('#ToBattle')[0].pause();
$('#Hattin1')[0].play();
</script>You engage the Turkomans.
[[TK Manoeuvre 1.1]]
[[TK Manoeuvre 1.2]]
<script>
$('#ToBattle')[0].pause();
$('#Hattin1')[0].play();
</script>More effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)Medium effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]Less effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by in his vanguard. King gives another command.
[[Obey command 2.1]]
[[Disobey command 2.2]]
(set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)More effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with his vanguard. King issues another command.
[[Obey command 2.1]]
[[Disobey command 2.2]]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)More effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)Medium effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]More effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
(set: $Saladin to $Saladin - 1)Less effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
(set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)(if: $Byzantines is true)[Very effective. ](else:)[Medium effective. ]Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]Less effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
(set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)Less effective. King gives another command.
[[Obey command 3.1]]
[[Disobey command 3.2]] More effective. King gives another command.
[[Obey command 3.1]]
[[Disobey command 3.2]] Raymond gives you a look with his vacant great helm, and rides on. You see more Turks advancing.
(if: $Infantry is true)[ [[I Manoeuvre 2.1]]
[[I Manoeuvre 2.2]]
(if: $Genoa is true)[ [[I Manoeuvre 2.3]] ]](if: $Turcopoles is true)[ [[HA Manoeuvre 2.1]]
[[HA Manoeuvre 2.2]] ](if: $Knights is true)[ [[TK Manoeuvre 2.1]]
[[TK Manoeuvre 2.2]] ](if: $LightHorse is true)[ [[LH Manoeuvre 2.1]]
[[LH Manoeuvre 2.2]] ]You give command to Robert and follow Raymond, taking off your sigil and disguising yourself with a helmet. It takes a while, but in the heat of battle, you kill Raymond undetected. The vanguard collapses. You then go back to your command, where Robert has carried out a manoeuvre with medium effectiveness.
(if: $Infantry is true)[ [[I Manoeuvre 3.1]]
[[I Manoeuvre 3.2]]
(if: $Genoa is true)[ [[I Manoeuvre 3.3]] ]](if: $Turcopoles is true)[ [[HA Manoeuvre 3.1]]
[[HA Manoeuvre 3.2]] ](if: $Knights is true)[ [[TK Manoeuvre 3.1]]
[[TK Manoeuvre 3.2]] ](if: $LightHorse is true)[ [[LH Manoeuvre 3.1]]
[[LH Manoeuvre 3.2]] ]
(set: $Jerusalem to $Jerusalem - 1)Very effective. Raymond of Tripoli rides by with vanguard.
[[Hail and salute him]]
(if: $KillRaymond is true)[ [[Follow Raymond]] ]
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