Hello! I am very excited about how far this fic has got! Hehe. Ok, here is chapter 11!!

Hope you enjoy it, and sorry it took such a long time to update. Thank you so much to all my dedicated reviewers and readers.

***

It had been two days since the last port. Messina had been hot and colourful, it's swirling patterns and voices buzzing around Alice and enchanting her. She fiddled with the silk cloth tied tightly around her wrist, tracing the strange symbols and embroidered patterns.

The stalls she had wandered through had been packed with vibrant colours; fruits; cloth; fishes and gems.

'Alice?' She turned from the stall she had been pouring over, the silks slipping through her fingers.

Rupert regarded her with his solemn blue eyes, Loki his dog, snuffling about his feet.

A frown passed across her face.

'You left us days ago, I would have thought you were on a boat back to Marseilles by now.'

He grimaced slightly and looked down at his boots.

'I wasn't entirely honest with you and Marian when we first met-'

Alice took a wary step backwards, but Rupert glared at her, hurt.

'Oh Please! Have you not even began to trust me?'

She did not step towards him, but managed a small smile of apology.

'I had always intended to continue to the Holy Land. I was looking for a boat myself when I came across you and Marian. I overhead you having troubles with the Captains, and hoped that a little kindness was still acceptable.'

'We were grateful-' Alice said, trying to reconcile him.

A side smile curled his mouth.

'I have found that the only ship continuing on from here to Acre is the one you were planning on taking, and I find myself at your mercy.'

Alice frowned again. 'What-?'

'Will you allow me to accompany you to Acre-'

She opened her mouth to speak.

'Please! Do not ask me my business. Only know that I will continue to protect you as I have done these past few weeks.'

She considered, her fingers playing over the knot of embroidered silk still in her hands. 'And as a friend?'

'We are friends are we not?'

'Yes, I believe we are.' And she smiled awkwardly.

'Alice? Oh.' Marian had appeared over her friend's shoulder and Rupert smiled slightly sardonically at her.

'Hello again.' He grabbed hold of Loki who was trying to chew a chunk of wood off the leg of a stall to their right. 'Troppo di pesce.' He explained apologetically to the owner.

Marian stared. 'What?'

'Too much Seafood,' he translated. 'He's hankering for something to clear his stomach. Silly Dog.'

'Aren't you-'

'Meant to be back in Marseilles?' Rupert finished. 'No. I was bound for Acre since the moment I met you in Portsmouth. Alice has agreed that I may accompany you on to the Holy Land.'

Marian raised her eyebrows in an 'oh really' way at Alice, who stared right back.

'Well, I'd better go and make sure the Captain is certain of our arrangements before next week.'

'Will you be alright?' Alice asked as Marian turned to disappear back into the crowd.

'Of course-' She said, giving Rupert a hard look.

Rupert rolled his eyes slightly and Alice had to hold back a laugh. He glanced at the cloth still in her hand.

'Here-' He took it from her, indicated to the store holder to cut a long thin strip and tied the patterned fabric loosely around her wrist.

'There-' Rupert smiled softly and turned to pay the man.

•••

King Richard tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the large wood table, on which all his maps, battle plans and strategies were ranged. He scanned them slowly, his mind running like clockwork over the outcomes of possible conflicts and skirmishes.

His trained mind however, began to wander.

The men were getting restless. The lack of conflict and the oppressive heat weighing heavily on their spirits and they had become idle and listless. The King was also troubled. No news from Amil Ak'Salib's palace for the past few weeks, and his suspicion made him cautious. If he struck too soon, that would be as suspected and a counter attack could act quickly. However, if he waited for too long, then Ak'Salib's men would have been able to prepare themselves.

He rubbed his hand across his brow and stared blankly at the parchments on the table.

He found himself thinking of those he had lost to the Saracens. Because of a fault of his own? The King shook his head. Defeatist talk. He could not afford to think like that, as a leader of a nation, he must be strong, take loss and mistakes in his stride.

This was war, and people died in wars.

There was a gentle cough from over by the tent flap and King Richard turned quickly, jolted from his reverie. William stood by the entrance, his long crusader's sword hung loosely by his side.

'Your Majesty.' He bowed quickly and stepped onto the richly carpeted floor, covering the hot sand of the desert below.

Richard turned to glance once more over his maps, before picking up a goblet from the table and taking a long swig.

'How is Robin faring?' He asked after a moment, and glanced up at William to gauge his reaction.

'Better- He is up and about now. But they are saying the horse will have to be killed.'

Richard looked inquiringly at the William, who raised his head to look into his King's eyes.

'Right foreleg, just below the knee broken. Even if it survives it'll be lame and useless as an old packhorse.'

Richard nodded. 'Yet- this is Robin's horse we are talking about. Do you think he will allow anyone to end its life without his consent?'

William shook his head. 'No. No he would not.'

'Sir William, did you send word to Sir Guy's family?'

William seemed to stiffen, before nodding. 'To his ward Sir Jacob of Locksley, yes. He was a good man.'

'Who? Sir Guy?' Richard eyed William carefully.

He nodded. 'An excellent fighter too. It is sad one so young should be sacrificed.'

'Sacrifice?' King Richard was stern. 'Sir William, you forget yourself, this is war. Men choose to come or not to. Whether they survive to tell the tale, is up to God and God alone. We can only fight our hardest and honour those who did not make it through.'

Sir William looked down and nodded. 'Was that all you wanted of me, your highness?'

'Yes.' Richard picked up his goblet again and drained it. 'Oh! One thing.'

William turned.

'I have someone arriving from England in the next week or so, with news and updates on my brother John. I will need you to hand, in case anything goes- amiss.'

Sir William nodded curtly. 'Sire.' He bowed and left the tent quickly, a heaviness weighing on his heart.

***

Guy settled back into the seat nearest the door, and steepled his fingers under his chin, watching the other three men in the room carefully.

He had learnt from the weeks he had spent in Amil Ak'Salib's palace, not to pay attention to exactly what was said, that was all protocol and formalities, but to watch the body language. A simple turn towards the person speaking, often meant which side of the argument Mordred would take, and a slight inclination of the head meant that Amil was not happy. He had watched and absorbed, primarily unnoticed, until his name was brought up, or his opinion queried.

Mordred, Amil and a man who Guy did not know, were moving into chairs around the long table. He took a moment to commit the other man to memory.

Short, and stocky, with a short dark beard and a long turban wrapped around his head. His nose was verging on the bulbous, and all his features were aging in the way that made his face look malleable. Like clay or wet sand.

'Gisborne.' Amil clicked his fingers in the imperious way that made Guy want to give him a long hard glare. 'You know why we're here, and Mordred has assured me that your heart is in our cause.'

Our cause. To kill the King. Guy rolled the phrase round in his head. To kill a King. Regicide, punishable only by death.

Then the hot swell of anger rose up in his heart. A King who had falsely won his loyalty, when Guy's own father had been betrayed and killed by the monarch Guy had fought to protect.

'Mordred thinks that it would be better for you and Farraj to carry out the task alone. You will go by horse, over the dunes and through the King's camp from behind. You can speak to the guards as you pass them. They will not suspect you under cover of darkness, and you should pass unnoticed.'

He regarded both Guy and Farraj carefully, and Guy could see Mordred shifting uncomfortably in the background. Amil was obviously eager to take full responsibility of this plan.

'You know, of course, where the King's tent is?'

Guy nodded shortly.

'Then I presume we can trust you to carry out this task without too much guidance?' Mordred spoke, his voice a cold, hard sneer.

Guy turned his gaze to Mordred, and let his eyes bore into the other man for a second, before answering. 'Of course my Lord.' He said, careful not to let an ounce of insincerity into his voice.

Mordred seemed to flinch a little. But Guy thought perhaps he had mistaken it for one of the many coded movements he and Amil seemed to use.

'Three days time.' Amil looked from Farraj to Guy.

Guy inclined his head in acceptance.

He realised that throughout the meeting, the man Farraj had not said a single word.

He glanced inquiringly at Farraj, but it was Mordred who spoke.

'He'll not speak. He's mute.'

Guy's eyes widened in comprehension.

Farraj opened his mouth wide to a reveal a short stump at the back of his throat where his tongue should have extended from.

'King Richard had his tongue cut out.' Mordred drew out his dagger and unsheathed it, pressing the point to his finger and spinning it slowly.

Amil had sat back into his chair, observing.

'So Guy? Are you ready?' Mordred asked and Guy knew it was a test. 'Are you ready to kill a King?

He flipped the dagger over in his hands and threw it down onto the table. It stood tip down, quivering.

***

OK! Next chapter should be up as soon as I can manage, unfortunately I can't put an estimate on that, so thanks for your patience!

V

xxx