AN: 2nd to last chapter. 1 to go! I've tried to make this interesting (the actual journey) ie. A holiday romance, hahaha not really. And French prejudice!
Joking aside, Robin and the events in the Holy Land are very important. If Robin hadn't been stabbed he wouldn't have travelled back to England, thus disrupting Marian and Guy's life.
Chapter 28
The ship was on its way to the Holy Land plotting its way through the rough seas. On board, the high winds which had buffeted their ship since Marseilles, were confining all passengers to their cabins. The long very tedious journey was only segmented by violent busts of seasickness, which everyone, apart from the sailors, had come down with.
In lieu of the terrible food, the fleas and the rats, which were positively thriving below decks, and having to deal with perpetually seasickness; all in all it was not a pleasant journey.
Guy had been in the same clothes longer than he cared to remember; reflecting that being sent to the Holy Land to commit regicide had not dictated a luxury mission as one might have thought.
Not to mention his fellow passages.
Guy was having to put up with both English and French knights heading for the Crusades. And to Guy they were hell as own annoying.
The knights heading for the Crusades were zealous and keen to start killing, not only did they imagine the excitement of battle that awaited them, but seeing exotic new places, and the Holiest City on earth, Jerusalem. The instant martyrdom that was assured for anyone who was killed killing God's enemies in the Holy Land put everyone in a positive frame of mind, all sins forgiven!
Not to mention the excitement to anticipation being alongside such a fine leader as King Richard, who could doubt their success and defeat of the infidels!
The Crusaders on board had only their mission on their minds, naturally, assumed that Guy was heading for travelling forth to the Holy Land with the same pride, patriotism, bloodlust, loyalty and out of sheer willingness to follow Richard on the noblest of Crusades.
Friendly and drunk, many of the English knights at firsts flocked to befriend and talk to Guy, their companion on the sea for the next six weeks. It was best to get along.
But Guy was not a silver-tongued liar. He could utter a falsehood, in the form of a flat denial, contrary to the truth, but he neither had the skill nor will to perpetually lie and invent an entire story to fit in.
Guy, it seemed to the men, highhandedly refused to reveal his plans, or talk about the Holy Sepulchre, or enthusiastically agree on how beastly Saladin was, or show any enthusiasm for the King and Crusade. Thus he quickly ostracized himself from the group.
It was like travelling with the King's personal fan club and Guy was not disappointed to be out of their company. Their enthusiasm and admiration for the man sickened him. Brooding later Guy came to realize that he'd be glad to get to the Holy Land only to kill the King; so he would never have to put up with such chatter again, and from grown men!
Though there was one boy of sixteen, squire to the Count of Provence, who was keen to start his own fan club… hero-worshiping none other than him. Which was making the journey interesting; never had Guy been admired or looked up to in this way.
Edwin had tight curly brown hair, and stared at him, like he was a precious metal, a wonder to behold. Edwin admired his strength and wondered at his secrecy. The boy freely offered respect and honest admiration believing Guy to be a very worthy knight.
"Can I serve you, my Lord?" he would ask at least five times each day.
After a week of cruel rebuffs, Guy took pity; the boys' resilience and devotion made Guy regard him indulgently. Hereafter, he gave him small tasks for him to do.
"Shouldn't you be serving your own master?" Guy inquired sternly one day.
"Oh no, he's abed. He doesn't need me. Anyway, he would find me if he did," Edwin replied.
Guy frowned upon such a lax attitude. Goodness, imagining himself at sixteen opting for the Sheriff to come and find him when he needed him! It sent a shiver up his spine to think of the consequences. But Guy wasn't about to voice his doubts, and was pleased for Edwin's companionship.
The boy twittered about his life, his parent, who he was missing, as he was serving his uncle, the Count of Provence, and now the Crusades had come and he'd seen the wonderful preparation and he had prayed to the Virgin to in Chartres Cathedral to protect him and his family whilst he was away.
But now he was to part of history and take part in the wonderful Crusades, but his master wasn't that kind to him, though he was grateful to him, he wished he would be knighted soon and then he could take a wife and go back home to Camiéres, and hunt in his forests, buy his own hauberk, and enter tournament and, of course, be fabulously wealthy.
Edwin was desperate to succeed and prove himself in the Holy Land, but importantly to go home again.
Thinking about Edwin Guy decided to speak.
"Why do you wish for more work? This is your free time - In the Holy Land you won't be resting…." the suggestion of death hung in the air.
Edwin could give no answer. His silence on the matter only confirmed what he thought, and Guy hoped that Edwin wouldn't become just another gravestone. Lord knows why but he felt an affinity with the boy.
Guy was double Edwin's age, anyone would imagine he regarded the boy as a son. Indeed, it was possible that Guy did have offspring of Edwin's age already. But, in truth Guy felt closer to Edwin than he would admit. Perhaps it was that because Guy had not grown up, internally he still was an injured sixteen year old boy, desperate for friendship, just like Edwin, maybe more than Edwin, as he'd already mentioned siblings and parents.
"Will I polish your gaiters, my Lord?" Edwin asked eagerly. He was eager to be of serve and wanted Guy to like him.
"No," Guy said coyly. "I'll do them myself," Guy said pensively.
Guy had not got so arrogant to imagine that Edwin would be here forever, it wasn't fair to use him, and he often cleaned his own equipment. Force of habit; and Guy was precious about his equipment, it had been so long in the earning. He didn't even trust his servants to do it properly.
Then a brisk knock on his cabin startled Guy, saving him from potentially becoming sentimental about the boy.
And at once the magnificently attired Count of Provence had opened the door and appeared in the middle of the cabin.
"Would you mind if I cut in?" he asked.
Guy and Edwin both looked up guiltily; they'd been playing cards and drinking. Nothing to be ashamed of, but they couldn't but feel a little embarrassed to have been caught.
The Count stood waiting for some movement. His fur cloak and golden rings sparkling, he cut a dashing figure. No wonder was it, with not a little jealousy that the Count had decided to pull his nephew up for his neglect, when he had been replaced in preference of this man.
"Edwin, go back to my room. Go, and prepare my cabin for dinner. I will speak to you later."
With Edwin gone the noble Count sat down and looked at Guy. Why the boy had formed an attachment here the Count could not understand. The poor knight in front of him, cut a pathetic figure. Well defined, though likely an alcoholic; wine bottles and mugs pervaded the small cabin. What was it with these English?
The Count reflected, that as a nation they always seemed to be drinking, with abandon. Perhaps it was something to do with the climate and depressing dark hard life which made them take to drink to compensate for unhappiness, and replacing it with the illusion of happiness, by means of getting stone drunk. The English were just uncivilised.
The count paused, placing his hands either side of the bed, to stop himself from swaying, and said in a quiet voice,
"I'll ask you get your own boy to wait on you, it's rather rude to borrow without permission."
The man was arrogant, and reminded him ever so slightly of the Sheriff in his way of finding humour in serious situations.
"Edwin is in my service. Thank God! and let's keep it that way. I don't wish to have to speak to you again. You understand, oui?"
Though the Count was completely in the right, and Guy bowed his head in compliance to the Count's words.
"I never asked him to serve me," Guy said sullenly, a bit like a child who knows his toy are being confiscated when he does not think it justly deserved.
Guy couldn't help but be annoyed with Edwin, if only he had kept up his attention to his master, this separation didn't have to occur. He was being made to look bad because of Edwin's poor time management.
The Count upbraided him with an incredulous look. His eyes daring to suggest and say, 'so you were not capable of preventing a boy of sixteen from doing your menial tasks?'
Hard luck all round.
Edwin appeared on deck the next day with puffy eyes and a black eye, ordered to keep his distance: Guy to be ignored. Similarly, Guy followed suit and ignored Edwin.
……………….
With the matter settled their ship glided through the Iberian peninsular making good time. The slow moving vessel steadfastly brought everyone gradually nearer to the Holy Land, as promised. After thirty two days onboard land was sighted. Guy thoughts now turned seriously to the practicalities of his arrival.
The Sheriff had told him that someone was going to meet him in Acre port. Then he supposed, they whoever 'they' were would know about his mission and help him.
Saracens, no doubt; the place was full of them, and it would be unlikely that any Englishmen were going to aid him. The only Englishmen in the Holy Land were in the King's army, loyal to him and their Crusade. Just like the knights on the ship. Guy wouldn't admit he was nervous.
Out on the horizon domed buildings were emerging, palm trees and coloured stones sprang up to the amazement of everyone. Most onboard had at best only travelled into a neighbouring country, nothing like this had any of the provincial knights ever seen. It was if they were arriving in some tropical fantasy land, warmed by the sun and the grace of God. Imaginations were sparked.
Docking just before sunset, Guy only received an apologetic look from Edwin, as they were parted, both going in opposite directions, never to meet again. Whatever friendship that had existed was snuffed out.
Guy couldn't help but feel a little saddened at this departure, why was pleasure and contentment always out of reach? Brushing self-pity aside, finally on dry land, Guy was in Acre.
He had arrived, and miraculously the mysterious people he imagined meeting, did meet him. 'They' were heavily cloaked and turbaned, despite the heat, and just looking at them made Guy want to break into a sweat, not that his own clothes didn't already see that he did.
They spoke little English, but he caught the names of 'Richard' and John; 'Yahya' and assumed they had to be the right people. 'They' introduced themselves as Rajiya, Imad and Hayat. Being with these foreign strangers in a hostile land Guy wasn't totally at his ease.
They could easily slit his throat but he they more they talked the less suspicious and on edge Guy was, for fellow co-conspirators they seemed worthy and genuine.
His guides took him along sandy passages and behind a farmhouse to what Guy supposed might be their temporary camp. Though Guy didn't understand a word of what they were saying he comprehended their diffidence. They were trying to be respectful, showing the way, attempting conversation which was something he was not used to.
Disappearing down a dirty back street, the next second Guy found himself in a walled courtyard garden, with a fountains and tapestries. This place was like a treasure trove, full of hidden treasures. Hayat made it clear that this was his house and he should make himself at home.
Jerusalem from what he had seen came across as exotic and wonderful ornate. Guy was not disappointed to be in such a city, Nottingham in comparison was positively shabby.
Now seated on cushions in the house upstairs his hosts called servants to make ready to bring food and refreshments Guy was ready to call them perfectly gracious.
Fruit and bread and wine were brought in by heavily veiled women with dark skin. They were wearing long jewelled earrings and bracelets, and scent of Jasmin and cinnamon spice pervaded the air. After a very relaxing couple of hours in the tented room, Guy was well satisfied.
They were treating him as an English Lord that much was clear, which was funny because despite his title Guy was never treated as man of rank, and yet here amongst his religious 'enemies' he was being treated exceptionally well, refreshingly so.
So much so, that when the one in the dark blue turban curiously began pulling up his left sleeve, and made to start painting his arm. He didn't refuse or argue; for one Guy didn't want them to turn against him. All his companions showed him that they had the tattoo which reassured him, and Guy decided it couldn't be a bad thing, especially when it was obviously meant as an honour.
Guy rather liked the idea of being included, and the tattoo looked manly. On the down side it was one more thing to hide from the Sheriff, if he saw it would probably only receive ridicule.
Though more importantly after Guy had been tattooed he and his hosts somehow, aided by hand actions and nodding, came to the conclusion that without reason to delay, that very night was the right time to stalk into the English Camp, and go for King Richard.
Guy was dressed by his hosted in Saracen clothing for his disguise and provided him with a black turban. All was to do was to wait until the evening was more advanced, and then a few hour later, accompanied by Rajiya and Imad they set off once more across the City, though this time to the desert, and this time with real purpose.
After only twenty minutes of silent running in the desert, the camp of which there could be no mistaking came into sight. Guy had never seen so many English flags in one place before in his life. In the distance Guy could even pinpoint his sovereign's tent, his destination because of the large flag on top of it depicting the Lamb of God. It just had to be the epitome of nobility and kingship, marking the camp also as stalwartly Christian. No wonder the Muslims wanted them out.
Again seizing the moment Guy accompanied by Rajiya and Imad continued towards the King's tent, their curved blades outstretched. Most unfortunately the sentry at the entrance to the camp spotted them the men on watch could be ruinous so Rajiya and Imad ran to engage them, leaving the way open for Guy to complete the mission.
However the faithful sentry of two were in no mood to be overpowered tonight, they shouted for help. The King's guards would surely be on the scene soon, as the clash of metal on metal or the shouting woke men from their beds. Guy was tense, the element of surprise had been lost and a frantic chase ensued, he wouldn't have much time.
As if on cue one of the English watch flung his broad sword at him, reaffirming the danger, but it missed by a fifty meters and plunged into the sand.
The two Saracens who accompanied now battled fiercely, slaying men as they could giving Guy the opportunity to turn. He ran madly towards the King's tent, as fast as was possible in the deep sinking sand as more Crusaders joined the fight, and Guy stumbled to reach the King's tent, narrowly missing an arrow that whipped inches in front of him, but there was no time to dwell.
With his heart racing Guy tore back the heavy curtains that blocked his path, and determinedly went up to the dark sleeping figure of Richard the Lionheart who was before him.
He had no love for his monarch and would feel no more guilt for killing him than any other ordinary man. Guy poised his sword over his head, it would be quick. But then suddenly from out of nowhere a Crusader had intercepted his blow with his sword.
Guy turned quickly in order to regain the upper hand. Endeavouring to push the Crusader back so he could complete his task; the King still lay mere inches behind him, he could still succeed.
However, the Crusader evidently intended to continue fighting with him. His opponent managed to swing his sword in a defensive sweep throwing Guy out of the tent.
Both men were fighting to kill. Sharp stabs, all parried, and brute strength matched determination. One fighting for survival, the other for retribution.
Though the fight lasted less than a minute, it felt like an eternity. Loosing himself for a second Guy unguarded for a split second allowed his opponents sword to come down hard slashing his forearm, not seriously wounding merely slicing his sleeve, exposing his tattoo.
Thinking that he'd seriously injured the Saracen, hearing Guy's sharp hiss of pain, Robin relaxed his arm for a second, peering at the devilish mark on the Saracen's arm.
Guy, provided with a weakness to exploit had his opportunity, and plunged deep his sword, into Robin of Locksley's side; for Guy recognised who the Crusaders as he looked at his pained face. Guy drew his sword with satisfaction, and ran away, luckily with his own life. His companions had not been so lucky.
He was very eager to get away; the camp at large would no doubt be emerging because of their noisy skirmish. If he was caught the most he could hope for was a traitor's death; hung, drawn and quartered.
The mission to kill the King had failed but Guy was truly indifferent to Richard's fate. Back in safety of Hayat's house Guy knew, no doubt that this botched attempt had now rendered it too risky to try again within the next few days, and he only had a few days before he had to travel home, if he was to be back in Nottingham within three months.
Who's fault was it, who could he blame? Guy didn't really know; their strategy had been simple, and it so easily could it have worked…
Damn, the Sheriff wasn't going to be pleased with him, but he had to look on the bright side a man who he'd always detested was virtually dead … if Robin of Locksley died of his wound, and it had looked fatal; then the Locksley estate would his unquestionably his.
Marian also would never have to choose between them, if he were to live. The fact that Marian had been engaged to Robin had never sat easy with him, the easy charm could prove fatal. But there was no need to worry about him.
So, it was with a surprisingly cheerful mood that without delay Guy boarded the homeward bound vessel the next morning. It wouldn't do to linger in Jerusalem, not when King Richard was meeting out fierce reprisals on doubtful characters after the attempt on his life.
Thus, to Nottingham it was.
However, little did Guy he know that Robin, was already getting treatment for his wound, and King Richard was sending him home to recover, out of gratitude for saving his life to serve him back in Nottingham. Or that Robin was already being prepared to be posted on the next boat home to England the very next morning.
Guy would have a one day head start, but would one day be enough to secure Marian's heart, before the inevitable pressure Robin of Locksley would no doubt reapply?
..
R&R
