Disclaimer: I do not own Zootopia or its related characters. All is the property of Walt Disney Animation Studios, Clark Spencer, and Byron Howard. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
Sovereign's War
Chapter Seven: Robin and Saladin
The accommodations were far better than what Robert endured in Tell el-Fukhar.
He wasn't thrown in the bowls of a dungeon for one. Made to shit in the corner, breath stagnant air that reeked of his own filth as well as that of the other unfortunate souls who shared the oubliette with him. No.
Saladin had Robert put in a suit in the residential wing of the complex. Something small by comparison -which probably had more to do with the fact that he was not family than the fact that he was a small Mammal- but still comfortably carpeted and furnished. He was even provided with new clothes. Still rough woven linen, still not as nice as his host's, but worlds better than the sackcloth shift he'd been forced to wear during his journey to the Holy City. And, best of all, it had a space for his tail and covered his foxhood, because -in Saladin's own words- "I don't wanna have to be looking at another male's junk all the time."
There was just one adjustment Robert made himself to his new wardrobe.
Ripping some extra fabric from one of the sheets of his bedding, the fox added a hood to the new tunic they provided for him.
If Marian saw his work she would tut and fret and tell him he should leave the sewing to those whom actually knew what they were doing. She certainly would never let him leave the manor wearing something that looked like it had been tacked on by a toddler with a twitch. Roberts stitches were wide and uneven, his seems were full of loose threads and fraying. If the vixen ever saw it, she'd rip the makeshift hooded tunic from his head and banish him from the room until she had fixed the disaster he created -probably give him a kick in the tail too.
Lord and Lady! He missed her.
Over a decade was far to long for a tod to go without his mate.
He wondered how she was doing. If she was helping Nick manage Huntington in his absence, or if their son was driving her utterly batty without him there to mediate. How was Nick doing for that matter? Was the young kit doing an admirable job of overseeing the fife, ensuring the Huntington remained an enlightened domain where prey and predator coexisted -moderately- peacefully? Or, without Robert there to show him the path, had Nick fallen back on his grandfather's methods for keeping the fife prosperous? Culling the prey who loved their, harvesting their meat, and counting it as income.
Robert liked to think he did a good enough job of instilling the right kinds of values in his son before he left. Values that would mean that even the suggestion of harvesting the peasantry would make the younger fox's skin crawl. But after ten years, Robert just couldn't be sure. He honestly didn't know what kind of Mammal his son had grown up to be.
All because of this stupid Crusade.
The door to his suit opening started the fox out of his thoughts.
There was no knock. Bogo, accompanied by two guards, just barged in without the curtesy of a knock, or the pretense of requesting entry. What if Robert had been changing? Hm? Or using the pot? The fox almost wished he had been sitting down on the chamber pot when they entered, if for not other reason than to make his captors uncomfortable.
"General Salah ad-Din requests your presence." Bogo announced.
The two guards he brought with him moved to flanking positions on either of Robert's sides, ready to grab the small fox should he refuse or try to make a break for the open door.
Robert raised a skeptical eyebrow. "'Requests', or 'demands'?"
"Don't be cheeky, fox." Snapped the cape buffalo impatiently. "Either come with me on your own two feet or be carried."
For a moment, he did toy with the idea of making his captors carry him. After all, what legitimate motivation did he have for cooperating with these Mammals? He barely even cooperated with his king and countrymammals. Robert supposed, maybe, he could save a bit of dignity by going quietly. But then, how much dignity did he have left, really, after how he came to Jerusalem, and was it even worth saving? Probably not. Besides, he was the Hooded Fox. Chosen by the Trickster of the Greenwood. The Robin under the Hood.
"How 'bout neither."
The fox flipped his makeshift hood up over his head and dove forward. He rolled between the cape buffalo's legs, startling both Bogo and the guards he'd brought with him. Once he was out in the hall, the fox sprang back to his feet with a grin and a wave.
"Merry part." And dashed off down the corridor.
Bogo pinched the bridge of his snout. "I hate that fox." Then to his guards. "Well, after him!"
They charged out after the small predator.
Robert sprinted down the hall, laughing as he went. It felt good to be the Hooded Fox again -to be the Robin under the Hood. Robin made the first turn he came to, realized it was a dead-end, climbed out a window instead. Robin found himself perched on a narrow ledge in the hot sun. He made the mistake of looking down and saw a wide open courtyard with tiled walkways and a very lovely fountain as center piece. It was just a little to high for him to jump down.
The Hooded Fox slunk along the narrow ledge, following the side of the building until he came to a corner, turned it, and found a large chunk of his path. He paused. Debating his options. Try and jump the gap in the narrow ledge? Hope he doesn't go too wide and plummet to -if not his death- then at least broken bones and ruptured entrails. Hope he didn't take it to narrow, bounce off the wall and plummet to -if not his death- then the same possibilities of broken bones and ruptured entrails (in addition to the humiliation of bouncing off a wall).
Robin supposed he could pry open the nearest window and slip back inside the building. Fine a different means of escape.
Or try and climb down the building.
"There he is!"
Bogo's two guards poked their snouts out of the nearest window.
Well, that option was out. Robin made a jump across the gap in the ledge. He made the jump. Didn't go to wide, or to narrow. But he was a little out of practice. His limbs a little stiff. His body not as nimble as it used to be ten years ago -or even just two months ago. Being kept in a small dark cell for who knew how long, being denied water, dragged across the desert, and tied up all the time, tended to do that to a body.
Robin's balance was wrong. He made the jump, but fell anyway. Teetering off the narrow ledge.
He grabbed for the ledge with his paws. Desperate. He did manage to grab hold of the crumbled edge of the gap -only to have more of it flake away under his paws. The Hooded Fox once again found himself falling. The hood was thrown back from his face as Robert looked up, desperately clawing at the smooth sandstone wall with its decorative tile facade. He might have slowed his fall a bit, but the little red fox had no hope of stopping.
Until he hit the ground.
Robert heard the blood curdling snap before he registered the pain.
A crippling pain lancing through his right leg. The fox had landed -more or less- on his feet, but the force from his landing caused his legs to buckle -his right leg broken.
Robert lay on the ground in the courtyard, his makeshift hood thrown free of his head, green eyes staring up at the blinding sun. The harsh light just adding another layer to the blinding pain. Robin Hood had never fallen before -Robert had never fallen before. He didn't know which was worse, the injury, the pain, or the realization that he really was getting to old for this shit.
A shadow fell across him, giving the fox's sensitive eyes a reprieve from the sharp light, and the pain subsided enough to register the silhouette of a cape buffalo leaning over him.
Bogo gave a soft sigh, more of a huff really. "So, I guess you'll be carried, then."
…
The physician was a camel, three times Robert's size. He had Bogo's guards hold the fox down while he reset the bones in his leg.
Robert promised himself he wouldn't give his captors the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
That was a promise quickly broken the moment the camel wrenched his leg hard enough to pop the bones into place. Snarling wordlessly and impotently into the air. Eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Saliva spraying from his open mouth. Robert didn't try struggling after that. He just lay there -panting- while Saladin's physician bound his leg to a splint.
When the camel was done, Bogo was once again looming over the fox. Robert couldn't understand why the cape buffalo was so blurry until he blinked tears he hadn't even known he shed out of his eyes.
"You were much more cooperative during the march from Tell el-Fukhar." It took a moment for Bogo's low grumble to register in the fox's adrenaline addled brain.
When the foreign syllables finally did managed to arrange themselves into something resembling comprehendable words, Robert forced a snort. He refused to show weakness or -more accurately given his current situation- admit to his very real and apparent vulnerability. "Oh, yeah. Trying to escape in the middle of the desert would have been so much smarter."
That forced snort of laughter turned into a wince of pain.
And then something happened that Robert did not expect. The cape buffalo's expression softened into something resembling sympathy. He reached for something off the physician's work table and offered it to the fox. "Here. For the pain."
Robert stared at the offering suspiciously. Were he back home, he would expect it to be something made from the leaves or bark of the white willow. It was a common enough potion for pain back home. But willows didn't grow out here and so the fox didn't know what it was his captor was offering him. He was not about to take a potion he knew nothing about.
"Its the Sleep Bringing Poppy." Bogo supplied, noting his hesitation. "I believe in Latin its called somniferum."
"That's addictive." The fox growled, recognizing the name. "Is that your new plan to deter future escape attempts? Make me dependent on you for a steady supply."
"No." The cape buffalo replied simply. "You look like shit. And I don't want you passing out from pain when you're with Sala ad-Din."
Robert forced another snort. This one of derision. "Still taking me to see Saladin, I see."
"The General has made time in his busy schedule to see you. You should feel honored, fox." Bogo growled. He shoved the bottle of Poppy into the smaller Mammal's paws, then hoisted him up onto one shoulder. This time the buffalo refused to be moved by the fox's groan of pain. It was really his own fault he was injured anyway. "You've delayed your meeting long enough."
Robert was carried through the corridors. The cape buffalo's stride causing his bandaged and splinted leg to bounce against Bogo's chest. Each little step brought to a new layer of pain to the journey. So much so that the fox couldn't even pay attention to the path they took. If the opportunity ever presented itself again, Robert knew he wouldn't know which way to go to try and escape. When he was flopped down in a chair -that was actually appropriately sized for him- Robert pulled the cork out of the bottle of Poppy and took a sip, not knowing how much he was actually taking but not really caring all that much either.
Someone gave a snort of amusement and the fox looked up to see the chair he'd been plunked in was pulled up to a table spread for lunch, and across from said table sat the oryx -the prey- that was the mohamedian general, the one called the 'Lion of the Levant', An-Nasir Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub, Saladin.
"Something funny about this?" Robert growled.
"Yes." The oryx answered. He did not deign to elaborate.
The fox glared at him.
Saladin indulged him for one... two... three beats. Then he was done with the fox's silent tantrum. He leaned back on his cushions. "Now, you will tell me about your king." The sultan announced. "How many Mammals follow him? How many archers? How many infantry? Any cavalry? Are their mounts willing or enslaved? How much water do they carry with them?"
Robert thought about the questions. Doing a quick mental count based off the last time he was actually with the Lionheart's Company. Then he reminded himself that while he bore no great love for his Country's king, neither did he have any compelling motivation to betray him or sabotage his campaign. The Lionheart was a ripe bastard, but he was the ripe bastard that Robert knew. This Saladin he knew next to nothing about -he didn't even know he was a prey until a few days ago!- he had no reason to help the mohamedian general by betraying his own commander.
Besides, it was really Guy of Gisborne Robert wanted to see get his. Now, if the oryx wanted information on him... the fox would have been more than happy to give up information on the Norman wolf.
"Bite me." Robert snarled.
"Is that predator humor?" Saladin only quirked an eyebrow. "I find it strange that you're still so loyal to your king when he sold you into the vengeful hooves of Mammals who hated you."
"It was Gisborne than did that!" The fox snapped back. "And when I see that back-stabbing wolf again, I'll show him what happens to those who cross the Hooded Fox!"
The sultan had no idea what the significance of the fox wearing a hood had, even so, the prisoner's meaning was clear. He held the bannermammal responsible for his bond and current 'hostage' status. But it was Saladin's experience that bannermammals very rarely carried out double-crosses of that kind without their lord's approval -or, more accurately, very rarely got away with it without their lord's approval. The oryx leaned forward, bending over the table to be closer to eye-level with the smaller Mammal.
"Do you think, Robert Wilde of Loxley, that your wolf would have so irreparably betrayed a fellow Commander of his Company without your king's approval?"
In all honesty, the fox's vengeful thoughts had been so focused on Gisborne that he hadn't even considered the possibility. "You're suggesting the Lionheart had some foreknowledge of what was done to me and allowed it to happen anyway."
"I am." Saladin agreed. "I don't know much about the Lionheart's Commanders, but by grace of the fact that they're Commanders I hope I can at least assume they're not idiots. No one would stage a betrayal of the kind that was done to you without the guarantee that there would be no negative consequences. Your king might or might not have given the order himself, but he didn't exactly try and stop it either."
Robert lapsed into a brooding silence -chewing on that thought.
He never did like the Lionheart -and the feeling was mutual, the Lionheart never really liked him.
Robert was already Earl of Huntington when the prince began his revolt against his father -Henry II- and, without knowing anything of the lion personally before that, the fox's thoughts were pretty much along the lines of 'Good for him'. Plotting against a bastard father was something Robert could empathize with. His own father was no saint and brought his untimely end down on himself. (As the song said, 'Beware. Beware. Of the words I twist, I am small but arrows fly long. And the robin's red against winter's white are whispering the Hooded Fox's song.') Robert did not actually see the Lionheart until he was summoned to Westminster Abby for the king's coronation.
That was when the fox decided that he really -really- did not like the new king.
The Lionheart bared all females from attending and so Marian couldn't accompany the Earl inside the church for the new king's coronation. That was irritating, the ceremony was long and boring and Robert would have appreciated her company -if for no other reason than to trade sarcastic remarks and snarky comments about the Bishop, other members of the court, or even the new king himself. That was irritating, but that wasn't the worst thing that happened at the coronation that solidified the fox's dislike of him.
A group of shrewish leaders showed up to present gifts to the new king. Robert didn't know until that moment that the Lionheart was anti-soridic. The king had his courtiers strip the shrews naked and flog them. Then flung them out of the court. That was when Robert decided the Lionheart was just as much of a bastard as the late Reynard Wilde had been.
The king was a speciesist, believing that predators were superior to prey. But paradoxically, he also hated smaller predators like ferrets, mongooses, and shrews -predators that were so small and defenseless they could easily become prey for larger predators (foxes could also be counted on that list and that was another source of tension between the Earl and his king). The Lionheart had no shortage of faults to fuel Robert's dislike of him.
Raising his eyes, the fox glared across the table at the oryx. But were the Lionheart's long list of faults reason enough to betray him? Was it worth it for Robert to give up the devil he knew for the devil he was with? And -even more importantly to the fox- how would either decision effect the possibility of his getting home. Naive thought it was -and he knew very well how naive it was- Robert still held onto a think shred of home that he might still get home.
"This is all just your theory." The Hooded Fox reminded him. "What proof do you have of any of that?"
"None. Of course." Saladin admitted, but admitted it in such a way that made the very fact that Robert had to ask was absurd. "But I hope that you're clever enough to recognize the situation you're in and that giving up your king whom has already given you up is in your better interest. I may be bold, Your Grace, but I'm not reckless. If I can't have you as an ally, then I'd at least not have you as an enemy while you're living within my walls."
The fox looked down at his bandaged leg. The pain had subsided nicely after taking the Poppy, but even just trying to stand on it would be a bad idea. "And how much of a threat can I be to you when I'm lame like this."
"An injury you caused to yourself." The oryx reminded him. He gave a sardonic smirk that told Robert that Saladin didn't really believe his own next words. "For all I know, you did it intentionally as part of some convoluted plot. Foxes are said to be conniving little schemers."
That last bit rubbed Robert the wrong way. He glared at the oryx. "And prey are supposed to be meek and submissive, waiting to just roll over and be eaten."
Now Saladin smirked. "Lets both defy what's expected of us, shall we? Tell me about your king, and I'll make sure neither myself or my army roll over and allow themselves to be eaten."
The fox continued to glare challengingly at the oryx. He was not one to give into enemy demands easily. But the Poppy he drank was making his head a little fuzzy, his judgment wobbly. I kinda reminded Roberts of when he was still a kit and his father would beat him until he was giddy -only this feeling was not accompanied by the maddening throb of pain all over his body on the contrary, he felt light and fuzzy, invincible almost. He could do anything. Nothing could hurt him! So the fox gave something up, just for the shit of it. Because that seemed like a good idea.
"The campaign is expensive." Robert said slowly. "The Lionheart had trouble raising enough money to even leave in the first place, and the travel hasn't been cheap. If you can hold him at bay until his funds dry up, he'll have to choice but to return home and take his army with him. He'll leave and no significant blood need be spilled."
"Ha! That's a rather optimistic assessment." Saladin snorted through his nose.
"You'll have to pardon me, Sal, I'm a little high." Giggled the fox.
The oryx glanced to the bottle of Poppy in his paw. "Bogo, take that away from him." Saladin commanded. "From now on, if something to dull the pain in his leg is needed, have it administered by a properly trained surgeon."
As Bogo carried the injured -and stoned- fox away, Saladin considered what he'd said. It was true, war was expensive, and the Lionheart was waging his war in a foreign land far, far from his home. That would undoubtedly double his expense. Not to mention the moral of his soldiers would be low, and water was less readily available outside the city than it was inside. The fox's assessment might have been skewed by his Poppy addled brain, and maybe it was just a little naive. But that didn't mean that he made a good point.
With any luck, the Lionheart would clear out quickly and no significant amount of blood need be shed.
…
The ship made landfall at Perpignan, which was technically in Barcelona. Toulouse was actually a landlocked country between Barcelona and Normandy. Gisborne had left the majority of his company behind with Lionheart's host, only bringing with him two of his most trusted yeomen and strong prey mounts to ride the rest of the journey north.
Bucky and Pronk disembarked at Perpignam, but unlike the Wolf of Gisborne, they did not take the main roads. The oryx and kudu instead struck out across the wild countryside. The road might be safer and dotted with travelers' rests, inns, and towns. But it was also longer. Winding around wide rivers, dark woods, or difficult hill-country. All things the average traveler would want to avoid. Pronk and Bucky, on the other hoof, were raised in the shadow of Sherwood, the haunted wood, and were soldiers under the Robin of the Hood, Goodfellow's chosen agent among mortal Mammals. They had no feat of dark woods, and could navigate wild and undeveloped hill lands.
Using the sun to keep their course north, they made it to Calais before Guy of Gisborne, and were already on the ferry to Dover by the time the wolf and his retainers arrived at Calais. The kudu and the oryx would arrive in the Country a full day before their king's Norman emissary. After that, they wouldn't have to worry anymore. Gisborne would go from Canterbury directly to London to the prince, while Bucky and Pronk would continue farther north to Huntington.
With any luck, neither antelope would be bothered by the wolf or the gods forsaken Crusades ever again.
…
