Warning I can't get this story to rate M (any advice on how to fix this would be brilliant) for some reason. So I should tell you there is some violence and swearing in this chapter and the one to follow. It's probably going to be a story littered with those things so perhaps if you are easily offended you should stop reading now
She had left England and a horrible marriage behind, her head filled with romantic dreams of being a knight and covering herself with glory. Reality soon put paid to the romance of her dreams, life as a common foot soldier was anything but easy and having to disguise herself as a man to live that life was an added problem she learned to live with. She worked and fought as hard as any and even earned herself a minor promotion, then one day, as she always feared it would, the truth was discovered.
After all her months of battle with no injury requiring anything more than her own attention, and more than one incident when she had to fend off the unwanted affections of "lonely" men (one of whom even telling her she was the prettiest boy he had ever seen.) It was her involvement in a drunken brawl and the dislocated shoulder she suffered while trying to break it up which finally exposed her in more ways than one…
Matthew and Warwick were patrolling the side streets of Acre, it was usually quiet work and Warwick was filling the time chatting about anything and everything with Matthew nodding in all the right places, not really paying attention. The market traders were all packing up to go home for the day and even the beggars were starting to wander off.
The sound of raised voices halted Warwick's chatter; he began looking around for the source. They both knew it would likely be Crusader soldiers, drunk and fighting amongst themselves. The fortress was visible from almost every street in the surrounding area and served as an excellent deterrent against crime; nobody was stupid enough to cause trouble with the dungeons of the fortress so close by, nobody that was except drunken soldiers.
"We best go break this up before they kill each other," Warwick started running as he spoke, "Damn! Another 20 minutes and this wouldn't have been our problem."
As expected they found two English soldiers knocking lumps out of each other and a crowd of people standing around enjoying the impromptu bout. Matthew grabbed the bigger of the two men, trying to lead him into a side street away from the fight. He was strong but drunk, all Matthew had to do was to stop him balancing properly and he would have him under control in no time. Unfortunately Warwick wasn't having such a good time of it; his man had gotten free and bounded up the alley after them eager to continue the fight.
They never saw it coming, the soldier barreled into them, knocking them both to the ground. Matthew winded but unhurt got back to his feet and began trying to restrain his new charge. Warwick joined him in the struggle and thankfully two more patrolling soldiers having heard the ruckus arrived to assist them. Both men now restrained, Matthew straightened up trying to catch his breath, thinking the worst was over.
The smaller and as it turned out much angrier of the two drunks suddenly got free from the guards and made straight for Matthew and his prisoner. He made to pull the prisoner back and out of harm's way but he didn't want to go back, he wanted to go forward and was willing to take Matthew with him. Two objects heading in opposite directions at great force, something had to give and that something was Matthew's shoulder. He yelped from the pain and kicked his prisoner more from reflex than anger.
"Well now, what was that for?" the prisoner asked with a comically wounded expression on his face.
His fellow prisoner, sometimes friend come sparring partner answered for Matthew. "Because you just broke his arm you idiot. Now we are both in it up to our necks, not just for brawling now, you assaulted a guard, and you wonder why I hit you!"
Matthew still holding his shoulder decided to nip their new conflict in the bud. "It was an accident, nothing more. It won't be reported."
This seemed to appease the drunks who both offered him wide smiles, "It's a good lad he is, sure."
"Aye," agreed his fellow brawler, "That he is. Why don't we all head back to the tavern and have a couple of drinks to toast our new friend?"
Warwick chuckled, "I think you've had more than enough already." Taking hold of Matthews arm, "Now then, let's have a look at this shoulder of yours."
"Its fine really, there's no need."
"Don't worry lad, it only hurts for a second." Speaking as he placed one hand on Matthews shoulder and the other on his elbow, he gestured to one of the soldiers, "Hold him still."
Matthew had no time to object, he was behind him arms wrapped around his chest before he could protest. At the exact moment Warwick shoved his arm back into its socket, causing him outrageous pain, the man restraining him made his startling discovery: His breasts! Strapped as flat as they could possibly be made to go, and a loose Templar tunic kept them hidden from the eye, they were however, still there.
"HE'S A WOMAN!" He suddenly pulled his arms away from Matthew as though he was scolding to touch, "What the hell is going on here? You are a fucking woman!"
The drunks, who only moments before been rolling on the ground fighting now looked from him to each other and laughed heartily, one of them piped up, "I think someone needs to spend some of this months' pay in the brothel." causing rapturous laughter among the ever increasing number of onlookers.
She put her head down desperate to flee the scene but he grabbed hold of her, trying to tear off her tunic in order to show the crowd he was right.
"Help me get this bloody thing off; you'll see I'm right. I've been married for 15 years I know a pair of tits when I feel them!"
She fought him off without too much effort but when the drunks joined in, still thinking this a merry way to pass some time, her battle was lost. Warwick's attempt to assist her was short lived, he was a small man and when the bigger of the drunks threatened him with a fist he backed off. Her sword belt was removed and her tunic was roughly pulled over her head, causing a fresh surge of pain in her shoulder.
There she stood bare above the waist save her strapping which thankfully covered her breasts from what seemed like a thousand pair of eyes all staring at her wide eyed. Shame burned through her body, her face aflame with its effect. She always knew discovery was likely but never imagined it would be so public.
She made a grab for her tunic but the drunken soldier pulled it out of her reach and threw it behind him, while his former opponent wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground allowing another man to grab her ankles. She kicked and jerked her body to get free but her struggles were in vain, she was at the mercy of this group of dirty, drunken soldiers. She tried to see what direction they were taking her in but by now the mob were entirely surrounding them blocking her view.
A scrawny, toothless man stepped from the crowd and shouted, "By masquerading as a man and joining the army she has made a mockery of our King! She has defiled the cross she wore on her chest, she must be punished."
These words were exactly the cue the others were waiting for; they surged forward and wrestled her from the soldiers grasp. Her body was thrown roughly to the ground, her head bouncing off the ground causing a bright explosion of light behind her eyes. Someone took hold of her short hair and dragged her towards the rougher streets and away from the fortress. Now through a gap in the crowd she could see it, blurred by tears but still standing there proud and strong. The rough surface of the ground was tearing at the exposed flesh of her back, she looked around pleadingly for assistance but there was none to be found. The soldiers, her comrades moments before, had abandoned her to the crowd; they had no desire to get hurt protecting her.
A plump woman, her face contorted with malice, marched up to her and taking hold of her hair to keep her steady slapped her across the face, first with her open palm on then with the back of her hand. Maria's mouth filled with blood, its bitter metallic taste caused something to stir within her.
Her assailant brought her face closer, her mouth puckered, preparing to spit in her face. Maria's eyes went stone cold, and to her credit the woman realised she was out of her depth and tried to back away but she wasn't even close to being fast enough. Maria's fist smashed into her nose, the resulting crack could just have easily been the woman's nose or Maria's hand, both hurt like hell, but she didn't care she had long ago learned that inflicting pain often caused pain, she felt it was a fair price to pay for the satisfaction of watching that horrible bitch trying to catch the blood now flowing freely from her nose.
She sprang to her feet scanning the area for her best opportunity of escape. The soldier who had discovered her secret, reached for her trying to take hold of her arm but this time she was faster. She maneuvered her body behind him, reversing their positions, twisting his arm painfully up his back and in one fluid movement disarmed him but she had the sword in her injured arm, she needed to do something fast.
She sank her teeth into the soft, fleshy tissue of his ear, his agonised screams fanning the flames of her rage; she bit down harder, twisting her head from side to side. Tearing her mouth away she finally relinquished her grip on his ear. Moving to his side she smashed the heel of her boot against of his ankle, the bones inside immediately snapping. He lay on the ground howling, holding his ankle and his ear; she passed him stopping only to spit what she suspected was a large chunk of his ear onto the ground beside him.
She turned to the crowd now surprised and somewhat subdued by this unexpected turn of events, "Who wants to try first?"
She let her gaze fall on the toothless man who had so much to say moments before. "What about you, handsome?"
"Handsome" no longer wanted any part of this and almost stumbled in his efforts to get away from her. She was grinning now; her bloody teeth made that grin almost maniacal.
"Look at all you big, strong men, are you really afraid of a woman?" Her voice was low but laced with venom, her eyes shining with fury. When this all began her biggest fear was that she would be dragged off somewhere quiet and raped; now she knew that wasn't going to happen, the worst they could do was kill her. There was now nothing here she feared.
The soldiers and a few of the men decided they couldn't let their pride suffer this blow and approached her cautiously. She squared her shoulders, spread her feet a little farther apart and spun the sword in her hand. Her heart was beating at a frantic pace; every nerve in her body was alive to the threat. She no longer cared about being found out, was no longer crushed with shame, all she felt now was the familiar surge of excited energy she usually associated with the battlefield.
They advanced as one, trying to encircle her but she wouldn't let that happen she matched them step for step, knowing if she let them surround her she would be as good as dead. Over the sound of the crowd she heard soldiers from the fortress shouting, "Move aside" and "Let me through"
One of the civilians, emboldened by the imminent arrival of reinforcements, made a wild lunge for her. She stepped slightly to her left and raised her knee, connecting cleanly with his groin. Eyes watering, trying to cradle his injured manhood, he dropped to his knees, but he would find no mercy here, for what mercy would he have shown her?
She kicked him in the face lending every ounce of strength she could to the blow. His head snapped back violently, his jaw made a stomach churning sound that reminded her of bugs being crushed underfoot. He landed with an undignified thud, his head slamming on the ground just as hers had minutes before.
It was then she saw Warwick leading a group of soldiers straight to her, whether to rescue her or execute her was anyone's guess.
She still had the sword in her hand, but she knew the fight was over. When Thomas, one of the guards she knew from the fortress held out his hand for the sword she relinquished it without hesitation.
A Knight came through the crowd, there was no pushing or having to order them aside they moved for him. Her humiliation was now complete, the thing she most admired and aspired to was witnessing first hand her fall from grace. He was carrying her tunic and much to her relief he handed it to her, "Come on, put this on and let's get you out of here in one piece."
It seemed being dragged back to the fortress half naked was not to be part of her punishment. Once again fully clothed, Thomas took hold of her wrist and gestured for her to move. The Knight was a few steps ahead of them, leading the way.
Thomas whispered to her "What on earth is going on Matthew?" then he realised he wasn't speaking to a Matthew anymore, his cheeks reddened almost making Maria smile. "What is your name?"
"Maria Thorpe."
The remainder of the journey would have been silent were it not for the occasional insult thrown at her from the crowd.
The Knight turned to Thomas and barked out his orders, never making eye contact with Maria. "Lock her up but make sure she's alone. When I return I best not hear of anything unsavoury having happened, do you understand soldier?"
"Yes Sir, I understand perfectly."
Maria was escorted past the knight and led down toward dungeon. The corridors grew darker and gloomier as they progressed. Finding a room to lock her in alone wasn't such an easy task, the dungeon consisted of one huge room with numerous shackles lining the walls. Eventually Thomas found what he was looking for an empty room with a lock on the door. Pushing the door open he stepped aside for her to enter.
The putrid smell hit her at once; she gagged and tried to back out of the room but a hand in her back shoving her forward put paid to that idea. Before they closed the door Maria caught sight of a table heavily stained with blood and on the wall behind it she glimpsed dull metal objects, hanging in a row, sharp metal objects, then it dawned on her just exactly where they had put her.
Horrified she turned to Thomas, a look of pure desperation on her face but he simply frowned and closed the door, delivering Maria into absolute darkness. She stood still for a moment hoping her eyes would adjust but there was nothing for them to adjust to, not so much as a small chink of light from under the door, Thomas had taken the only torch with him when he left.
She realised she couldn't hear anything, not one single sound from the outside filtered through the thick stone walls. Deprived of her senses Maria began to panic.
What atrocities had occurred here? How many men had been tortured to the point of insanity? She had only caught sight of one part of the room, what else was here? What had the torches insufficient flame kept hidden from her?
Afraid to move, to make a sound in case ... Like a penitent praying, she kept saying the same thing over and over, there is nothing here, there is nothing here, there is no one here ... in case she alerted them to her presence.
The thought made her almost choke with fear. Maria wasn't superstitious nor was she afraid of the dark but this room, this darkness, so total, so oppressive, it felt almost like a solid thing to her. Can ghosts see the dark? She heard breathing, a harsh rasping sound and she was certain whatever it was making that sound was right behind her.
Her body wanted to run, to move but terror held her rooted to the spot. It was your own breathing you heard; there is no one here but you.
But what if it wasn't me?
"Take hold of yourself Maria." Saying the words out loud felt like a small victory.
"You can't stand here until they come back, now move damn you!"
Her arms twitched as if they almost got the message but not quite.
What if you reach out and something grabs you?
Finally her foot took the tiniest step and that one movement galvanised her entire body. Arms outstretched before her she practically threw herself to what she hoped would be a wall and not that table and for once today luck was on her side, she made it to the wall feeling along its surface she scrambled to a corner and let her body slide down its rough surface. She sat there with her arms wrapped around her knees waiting, for what felt like an eternity, she waited...
Despite its great weight the heavy oak door made almost no sound as it opened, Stephen walked inside the foul smelling room, torch held out in front of him. He saw the prisoner getting to her feet, her arm crossed over her face trying to shield her eyes from the light.
"Ugh," pressing the back of his hand against his nose, "I don't think I want to know what caused this stench. Forgive my longer than expected absence, I was otherwise engaged. I know we aren't exactly prepared to deal with female prisoners but I'm certain we can find you something a little less macabre. Shall we?" Arm outstretched gesturing towards the door he waited for her to pass.
Maria wordlessly obeyed, walking toward the door, hardly able to believe what was happening. For what she guessed was days she had been locked down here, a guard would occasionally open the door and leave water and bread then close it again as fast as he could. Maria didn't know if it was her or the room they were rushing to get away from.
He led her along the hallway, back to what was for Maria at least, the more familiar part of the fortress.
"Tomorrow you are to be taken before William De Montferrat." Stopping in front of a small door he opened it, lowering his head to avoid hitting it on the lintel he entered and not having been told otherwise Maria followed him inside.
"I realise this will be of little comfort to you but as I was the one who took you into custody I feel somewhat responsible for your safety. To that end I've arranged for you to be held here until your superiors decide your fate."
The room, although nothing more than disused storage space, had a small barred window; there was a makeshift bed of hay in the corner. Maria could have wept with joy. After days of being cooped up in that rotten, stinking hell hole this was pure luxury.
"Thank you, Sir." Although she managed barely more than a croaked whisper, he heard her and smiled.
"I'll have some food and water sent to you soon." Lowering his head to exit, he stopped midway through the door and looked back at her, "Try to get some rest; the days ahead will be difficult for you."
Maria had never been so happy to see a pile of hay in her life; she eyed it as though it were the softest bundle of goose feathers on earth and lowered herself slowly down upon it. The room was dark but not that overwhelming darkness from the cell and sounds from outside drifted in, she didn't care what happened tomorrow; she had this now.
Having passed on instructions to the guards to feed her Stephen was making his way to his supper engagement. His father and Robert would likely already be there and not wanting to keep them waiting he quickened his pace.
His mind was stuck on the woman. She was already bloody and dirty by the time he met her but still he wondered... would he have known she wasn't a man? She must have put on quite a performance to have pulled it off for so long and the soldiers he had spoken to – the less morally outraged ones - gave her glowing reports. Stephen knew she would certainly be executed and that troubled him. Unlike the conscripts, she had come to fight willingly, one willing man was worth 10 conscripts, but therein lay her problem... she wasn't a man.
Entering the dining room he took the seat opposite his father, Sir William Marshal, a living legend among nobles and commoners alike, known throughout Europe simply as "The Marshal". Nodding a greeting, Robert handed him a glass of wine.
"You're father and I have been discussing the importance of having a trustworthy seneschal, as mine is now on his deathbed I shall have to begin my search in earnest."
"Do you have anyone in mind?" not particularly interested in the conversation. He couldn't stop thinking about the woman. Meeting her was quite possibly the most interesting thing to have happened to him since he left England.
"Stephen my boy, are you still with us?" his father's jovial tone interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes, my apologies. It does seem I'm a little distracted tonight. There was an incident among the soldiers recently and I find myself dwelling on the circumstances."
Robert had heard all about the incident, every soldier in Acre had. "Ah, the female soldier, do you know how long she was able to carry on her charade?"
"Almost 8 months. She was injured in a scuffle and her..." Stephen coughed, feeling slightly awkward, "female shape was discovered. She is to be tried tomorrow; most likely she will be sent to the hangman. A shame really, seems a bit of a waste to kill a good soldier, and she certainly doesn't lack courage."
"You have met her, spoken with her?"
Nodding he replied, "I was at the scene, by the time I got there she had already made short work of a few of the crowd. She was standing there, sword raised ready for battle, looking like a daughter of Boudicca. I told the guards to lock her up alone; the buffoons put her in the torture chamber of all places. Of course after a couple of days in that awful room her courageous demeanour was somewhat diminished"
"Good! Bloody woman will think twice before she steps out of line again, you should have flogged her first!" William unsurprisingly was more than happy to join the ranks of the morally outraged.
Robert was not so pleased to hear of her fate, "She is there now?"
"No, I had her moved and made sure she was fed." As he spoke he watched his father. The constant rumours of his father's womanising and his often disparaging remarks about the entire gender sometimes made Stephen wonder if they had taken the same oath upon joining the Templars. "She is a woman after all, we are sworn to protect and respect them."
Robert raised his glass in agreement, "You did the right thing. I think perhaps you and I will attend this trail. I want to see the woman who has all of Acre talking."
A/N
William Marshall was a real Templar Knight from the time of the Crusades, an interesting man who ended up being Regent to the boy King Henry. I'm just borrowing his legend because it's epic; everything that appears in this story is fictional.
Boudicca's daughters: Boadicea was a queen of the ancient Britons who led a revolt against the Roman occupation of her lands. Her daughters were just as warrior- like as their Mother. In the high middle ages she was most likely known as Boudicca
