From Cyprus They Rose - Tales from the Mediterranean

Enewald said:

a deed is still mightier than a word

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Hehe, indeed they are.

Qorten said:

Very much so! :rofl: So uh, Alexandretta isn't a match for Cyprus-Clilicia?

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Not really, though there will be some problems ahead. I don't want to give spoilers though.

I've gone through the first three pages, fixing typos and spelling as well as tried to make it more fluent. I've also edited all the pictures and fixed the texts to make it easier to read, so if you are thinking of starting to follow this - or revise what happened in the past, now is the time.

January 1219​

“Are you sure it is a good idea?” William wondered.

“I’m not going to risk our expedition because of a one man. He will stay here and end of it.”

William sighed; he wasn’t happy or supportive of Osmond’s plans to leave Petros behind, he would now have to bear with his young uncle’s moaning for months.

Manuel had given Cilicia into his son’s responsibility after William’s persistent persuasions (which didn't take too much, considering Manuel was more than happy to have absolutely no responsibility). The job was rather easy; most of the Armenian areas efficiently governed themselves due to heavy decentralisation, and William was mainly devoting his time to improving Seleucia.

He had walled the city and constructed a small outpost near the harbour to protect it from possible enemy fleets and pirates. In fact, he had put lots of attention into the small harbour village, called simply Limenas [Greek for harbour]. To make the coast more appealing for traders, he had enlarged the small wooden wharfs and built new facilities such as more warehouses, a lighthouse and a toll office. He also paved the road all the way to Seleucia. These measures however were not enough to shift the merchants’ focus from a prosperous neighbouring town of Zephyrion.

But Manuel was supportive for his son’s plans, and ruled that trade between Cyprus and Cilicia was to be conducted between the city Famagusta and the port of Limenas, giving a stable boost of income for the two trading centres, while leaving Zephyrion as a trade hub for goods coming in from rest of the Mediterranean.

“Where’s Petros?” Yasir asked as he rode to William and Osmond. William sighed and Osmond told the Arab of his intentions.

It was still dark as columns for soldiers were marching past the three men through the main avenue of Seleucia. They had spent the past four months recruiting and training men for their journey to Alexandretta. The principalityof Cyprus-Cilicia lacked a proper military institution and organised armed forces, relying mainly on militias and small garrisons of trained troops in bigger cities and border outposts.

With nearly 3000 men Yasir and the Norman marshal rode out of the city, heading towards the city of Tarsos.

“You know he will be mad, don’t you?” Yasir asked with a worrying tone.

“Do I look like I care?” Osmond stated loudly and gave a short laugh, “He would just ruin this whole operation with his childish behaviour and incompetence.”

Yasir sighed; he knew the marshal was right. However, he was also concerned of other things: “Are you sure we have enough men with us? We have hardly any cavalry and I am not sure I want to put my life in the hands of hastily trained peasants.”

“Don’t worry my friend; we will pay a visit to the two vassals of my brother. They should have enough men to make our small army complete.”

“How can you be sure of their cooperativeness?” Yasir worried.

Osmond gave a grin: "I’ll make them cooperate.”

***​

The surroundings were getting increasingly arid and barren as they left Zephyrion behind them. It was odd as the area was known to be very lush and fertile. The men passed deserted villages, children with no meat around their bones and streams that had completely dried out.

“I wonder where here you plan to find your missing men”, Yasir pointed out to the worried marshal.

Upon arriving to the city walls of Tarsos, the scale of the disaster fully revealed itself; thousands upon thousands of people trying to get into the city had clogged up the main gate and there was a sea of makeshift shelters spreading as far as eye could see – up the hills and down the coast.
Osmond ordered his men to break the nearby crowds in order to get through. Violence had to be used as the desperate peasants tried to steal from the army’s supplies.

Although the city dwellers seemed to be slightly better fed than their rural counterparts, signs of malnutrition could be seen inside the walls as well. Streets were nearly empty of beggars, telling they had all either died or knew alms were scarce and not worth the trouble. Many stores were closed down or lacked various goods and the market place was quiet with only few stands trading with customers; instead the area had been taken over by a small group of lucky refugees, who had somehow managed to sneak or bribe their way through the gates, and had decided to put up their shelters there. The men could see signs of a recent struggle all over the square, telling of a small-scale uprising, mass panic or other similar unrest.

“Wait here with the men, I’ll go and see the Hetoumi before deciding what to do”, Osmond ordered Yasir as they arrived to the fortress and climbed off his horse.

The count was having dinner in his finely decorated hall when Osmond walked in, surprising the count: “Ahh, what brings you here, Marshal? Please, take a seat!”

The Norman did as requested and went straight to the point: “I won’t be staying for long; I just need you to lend me 2000 men for my army.”

“2000 men! Haven’t you seen the problems we have?! The plebs rampage through the streets on a daily basis – my forces are already fully occupied. This is the worst draught in generations! I cannot spare my time, thoughts or my men for your – well whatever you need them for. Can’t you see we are suffering? We are doing our best to overcome these dark times as it is!” the Oshian Hetoumi presented his case in an overly enthusiastic fashion.

“I can see that...” Osmond sneered, looking disapprovingly at the count’s long table filled with fat poultry and numerous exotic dishes.


The count cleared his throat and continued: “In any case, we are facing severe security risks. There is no way I can spare my men for your operation. What is it you need them for, anyway?”

“Alexandretta will have to pay for something they did, but I see you have made up your mind and I won’t bother you any longer. It seems you are willing to pass all the glory to your ‘cousin’.”

“What did you say? You're going to take that bastard with you?” The thought of his archenemy profiting from Osmond’s campaign – at least more than he would, had the desired effect: “Very well... I can spare you no more than 1200 men though but I will join you myself. It, err... isn’t safe here with so few to guard me.”

Osmond gave a smile and accepted the count’s offer, although the amount of men he had hoped to muster was much higher. The men spent few days in the city to rest and organise their forces. Osmond would take command of the main force; 3183 able men from Seleucia and Cyprus, while Constantine was responsible for his 1200 men.

The men continued through the Cilician plains towards Adana, a major city only 50 kilometres east of Tarsos. Osmond’s hopes about the city not being as badly hit by the famine as rest of the region seemed to be fulfilled as the men arrived to the city’s outskirts. There were no malnourished refugees in sight and the river which ran through the city seemed to offer adequate source of fresh water and food for the locals. Unlike the small rivers around Tarsos, this one had its source in the northern mountains.

Word was sent ahead of the army’s arrival to the Sembatyan Hetoumi, explaining their needs and intentions. The count was sitting in his modest throne room to receive his guests – except for the other Constantine of course. He was wearing scale armour with a protective leather vest tightened over it. Unlike his distant relative, the count wore no jewels or crown.

“Welcome, friends! I heard of your arrival but I am afraid I cannot put up a feast to celebrate this occasion. You must have already noticed that we are in times of trouble.”

The count was seated on strong wooden chair, decorated with elaborate carvings. Apart from a gilded cross on the wall above the count’s throne, the room lacked all signs of wealth and was only decorated with a tapestry depicting ascension of Jesus into Heaven.

“Then you must have already heard of my request.”

Constantine gave a pleasant smile: “I have 3600 men ready for you, all equipped and trained for combat.”

The information surprised Osmond who had expected to face similar situation as in Tarsos. “You have certainly overcome my expectations! Your ‘cousin’ could only spare us a thousand men. I assume you are not facing alarming ‘security risks’?”

“That idiot!” the count laughed, “He is probably having a life of luxury while the people starve to death! Everyone on this side of the Mediterranean knows what he is like. He is drowning in debt, but continues wasting his money on exotic goods brought in to Zephyrion. The commoners are rightfully angry.”

Constantine held a pause gave a complacent smile, “I am a humble man, young Norman. Unlike my brother I eat what the peasants do and try to alleviate their worries by sharing from what I have.” The count rose up from his chair and kneeled before the tapestry, doing the Sign of the Cross: “I do what our true king would have done. Once he returns, my kind will be rewarded.”

The man rose up and turned to Osmond, quickly changing subject: “Have you heard any rumours from west?”

“None, what are they saying?”

“Civil war once again rages through the Empire. The Anatolian themes have risen against Constantinople and demand the senate to dissolve and the consul to step down. They demand restoration of proper monarchy in Romania.”

Following the civil war of 1205, in which the Angelid dynasty had been toppled, a short term electorate was formed in order to crown a new Emperor. Years passed and the electorate couldn’t reach a consensus on whom to appoint as the new Autokrat. Gradually the senate was given more and more real authority in order to keep the Empire from disintegrating, and thus Consul Pantoneon became the most powerful man in the east.

There were mixed feelings regarding Pantoneon in the Roman Empire; no one really liked the backstabbing and constantly scheming man who was full of himself, but in the end he was also a skilled bureaucrat and competent ruler who did his best to keep the Empire from falling apart – until now.


It was all triggered by a minor incident; Michael I, the young ruler of Cherson, had requested relief on the amount of tribute sent to Constantinople due to raiding Kipchak tribes of the north that had looted the city Theodosia. When refused by Pantoneon – who was facing financial problems, the theme declared independence from the Empire. Pantoneon’s plans to recapture the area through a military expedition were soon devastated by what was called the ‘Anatolian Alliance’.

The Anatolian Alliance consisted of three themes; Armeniacon, Cibyrrhaeot and Aigaiopelagos. Unanimously they declared that Pantoneon had failed in keeping the Empire intact, citing the Cherson incident. Ruler of the three, Manuel of Sinope – the strategos (highest rank in a theme) of Armeniacon, demanded the Consul to step down and new Autokrat to be installed at once. Pantoneon refused and declared the rulers or the alliance as traitors. In response the alliance raised troops and declared war against the central government.

The alliance soon fell apart due to disputes of whom to install as the new Emperor. The Aegean theme of Aigaiopelagos wanted to reinstate the Angelid dynasty whom they had sheltered after the fall of Constantinople. Manuel of Sinope and Ioannes of Attaleia – the strategos of Cibyrrhaeot, on the other hand wanted the title for themselves.


Troops from Armeniacon soon reached and captured Nicomedia and proceeded to lay siege on Constantinople, while Cibyrrhaeot seized strongholds and cities near on their way west. The Aegean forces laid siege on the city of Smyrna and planned to launch a naval attack against Constantinople, but false rumours of a large Byzantine fleet heading their direction kept them in the defensive.

“Interesting”, Osmond replied, “Let us hope whoever comes out on top in this doesn’t have ambitions to expand east.”

The count agreed, but reminded that a strong Empire was necessary to keep the Turks at bay.

***​

The army spent their next two months in a camp set up near Alexandretta, hidden in the mountains in order to be hidden from suspicious eyes. It was risky, as the area was known to be infested by bandits and the areas east of the mountains belonged to the Arabs, who would not tolerate a foreign army this close to their soil.

The conditions proved to be worse than expected; an exceptionally cold weather caused the snowline to descend near the camp and subzero temperatures were common even during the day. Osmond knew they couldn’t stay in this position for long, but he couldn’t fully decide how to proceed from here.

“So what is it you are planning to do?” Yasir inquired. He had joined the marshal in a tent used as a commanding post to add a finishing touch to the battle plans.

Osmond opened a crude map on a table near them. He started explaining his strategy to Yasir who was shocked by what he heard.

“No! I will NOT do anything like that! You gave me your word I wouldn’t have to take part in combat!”

“Either you do as I say or we’ll go back to Cyprus and you’ll get to explain to my brother why our campaign was a failure.”

Enraged Yasir rushed out of the tent; it was snowing outside. He needed some time on his own and headed out of the camp into the mountains. He was sure a short stroll would help him clear his mind and figure out a way to persuade Osmond into dropping his plans.

Enewald said:

Is it wise to take so many men from the border with the Turk?
With provinces empty of defensive forces, the Turk might conquer them.

Alas, CK AI shan't manage anything. :rofl:

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Well the Turks are still busy fighting with each other.

Auray said:

Good update as always. Keep up!

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Thank you, I'll try.

I only wish I could update more often, will take a while to get this finished now. I've been thinking of exporting to EU3 once I reach 1399, but we'll see.

Chapter XIX: Bandits​

PART 1​

“Still nothing??” Osmond raved and threw his quill on the table, splashing ink all over a map portraying his battle plans, “It has already been two days since he left!”

“My apologies your highness, but there is no trace of him – he has completely disappeared it seems”, a guard replied.

The marshal started walking nervously around the commanding tent; had Yasir fled because of his demands? Was he captured or slain by nomadic bandits? Had the poor man fallen into a ravine or off a cliff?

“He has probably gone and joined the enemy; I wouldn’t have trust a Saracen in the first place. They’ll know of our plans by now”, the chubby one of the Hetoumis claimed. He now wore only a hauberk with a Byzantine lamellar vest over it, after having tried to fit into his made-to-measure armour suit, which turned out to be far too small.

“Nonsense!” Osmond knew Yasir too well to even think of him becoming a turncoat – at worst he would pack up and leave, “We’ll have to dispatch more search parties. I want the whole mountains to be searched!”

“What was it that made him go off alone in the first place?” the second Hetoumi inquired as he raised his eyes from his Bible for a moment.

Osmond sighed: “I asked a small favour from him... before we got here I made a promise I wouldn’t have him involved in the actual fighting, but I had this brilliant idea a week ago!”

“Go on.”

“We are a few dozen men short of an army of 8000, but we have no reliable information regarding the size of the enemy, my estimates are between 4000 and 6000 men and they are protected by strong walls and include numerous experienced Franks who have valiantly fought in many battles and slain hordes of enemies.”

“And what is this ‘master plan’ of yours that made him so upset?”

“Oh that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Osmond replied and wiped some maps and papers off his table, “Even if we manage to find him, I doubt he’ll agree to follow my instructions.”

Constantine shrugged and got absorbed into his Bible again.

The camp had been erected in a small valley near the bottom of the mountains. The peaks were relatively low, hardly reaching 2000 meters in height. They had a good view to the sea, while the camp was hidden from the eyes of possible seafarers.

Even though the narrow valley and its steep cliffs provided adequate protection on its own, the men had put up makeshift palisades and two small watchtowers at each end of the camp in order to protect themselves from possible nomads and raiding bandits (albeit the sheer size of their army would probably have been big enough of a deterrent).

Search parties, usually consisting of four footmen and sometimes a horseman, were dispatched to all nearby corners of the mountains, but with little results.


Yasir woke up and looked outside his window. They had arrived to this small mountain village last night but it had been too dark to examine his surroundings. The governor had little knowledge regarding the village’s location as his eyes had been covered during the journey. He recalled they spent the first day going upwards through the mountains, while descending during the second. It helped little in a mountain range, especially since he could see peaks left and right through his window, which indicated they hadn’t passed to the other side.

The room he had been locked in looked like an old storage room that had been converted into sleeping quarters. There were piles of boxes lying near the walls and he could spot four mattresses like his, made from cheap cloth and hay. Yasir couldn’t recall anyone else sleeping in the small building and guessed their owners probably weren’t allowed to spend a night with a prisoner.

Yasir investigated the strong stone walls and concluded they were impossible to breach without a siege machinery of some sort. Although there were no bars on his window, it turned out to be too small for his size to escape through. The man sat down on the floor and submitted to his faith; he could only wait and see what would happen. He started reviewing what had happened three days ago...

***​

Yasir walked up the valley in anger; Osmond left him with little choice. He wouldn’t have minded this much had the marshal’s proposition been an order, but no, Osmond had instead asked for an unpleasant favour. Coupled with the threats Yasir considered his indignation to be just.

The Arab reached end of the valley. He turned left and started climbing up the slope of a nearby mountain; he wanted to get a good view over the area to let his thoughts calm down. Yasir looked down and saw their campsite at the end of the narrow valley. He estimated the valley to be one seir[about 190 meters] wide where the camp was located and it narrowed near the bottom, while creating a small, rounded plateau at the top. The camp itself occupied whole width of the valley, and continued two to three seirs down the valley.

He sat down on a rock near the top. Although there were much higher mountains behind him, this provided good enough view over the coast. He could see a couple of tiny fishing villages and a ship that was likely sailing towards Adana. A road which followed the coast was dangerous and only those with no other form of transport available used it.

Yasir sat there for some minutes, but the wind was strong and the weather cold and he was about to start going back when he heard a voice.

“Sir, please help me!” a little girl yelled at him in Arabic from behind a big rock on the round plateau. Bewildered Yasir stood still for a moment, staring at the child in rags. The girl pleaded for help once again and Yasir started walking towards her.

He kneeled in front of the girl to make an eye contact, and managed to utter “what is it” before someone knocked him unconscious. Next thing he remembers was being dragged through a small camp site with a handful of tents and a dozen lightly armed renegades. He was then tied to a horse and his eyes were covered as they set off towards their destination.

***​

Loud clack alerted Yasir and he rose up – someone was opening the door. A big man with a well-groomed, black moustache and stubbly beard stepped in with two armed assistants. He wore Turkish-style lamellar armour and was equipped with a fine-crafted scimitar – obviously looted from someone of high status.

“What are you doing with the kuffar?” he asked, but received no answer from his prisoner.

The man gave a smug smile and continued: “Don’t worry, we won’t harm you. A wealthy man like you must have powerful friends”, he pointed out Yasir’s expensive cotton garments, “powerful friends who are willing to pay a hefty sum for your release.”

Now the merchant gave a short laughter: “There are nearly eight-thousand men out there looking for me; how on earth do you think you can get a message to them receive the ransom without getting caught?”

The man smiled again: “We have our ways”, he held a small pause and continued, “Your friends are indeed worried of your disappearance. It is a good sign; perhaps they will pay for you unlike the friends of others.”

“The friends of who?”

Yasir’s captor gave no answer: “It is time to eat, you may join us if you wish”, he said signing with his hands a way out.

Uncertain Yasir stepped outside into the sunlight. They had to be higher than the campsite as there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. A woman came to the four men, bringing a fur coat for Yasir to keep himself warm. They then followed the woman to a big building where men, women and children were sitting around the walls on furs and rugs dining. They paid no special attention to Yasir who was surprised of the hospitality he received as he was seated between two armed guards. Without hesitation the governor started enjoying some lamb; he hadn’t eaten in days.


“I am Mustafa”, Yasir’s captor introduced himself, “we rarely get visitors and want to celebrate the occasion.”

There were about two-hundred people in the big building, and Yasir could see a clear divide over who the armed criminals were and who were ordinary farmers and shepherds. Although they all paid respect to Mustafa, whom he considered to be the leader of these people, it was hard to say whether the bandits were natives from the village and were considered equal to rest of the populace, or had come from elsewhere and taken over the village as their base of operations. All in all there seemed to be no fraction between the two groups, although communicated little with each other and seemed to sit in their own groups.

“Do you always hold your visitors to a ransom?” Yasir inquired.

Mustafa laughed loudly: “No friend”, he said and ran his thumb across his throat, “most of them we kill swiftly.”

The man handed him a bowl of olives and gave a pat on his shoulder as if they were best of friends. Terrified Yasir was now sure his hosts were either lunatics or without the slightest of moral values – if not both.

Yasir was allowed to move around the village relatively freely, but someone was always keeping an eye on him although escaping was out of question – he had no idea where the village was located.

He soon noticed the armed men did little work and most labour was left for the villagers. There was a small mosque at the side of the village, a little lower than rest of the buildings. Most of the land was unsuitable for agriculture and the few plots grew various roots and cabbage. There was also some chestnut trees scattered around the village. Because of the land’s poor quality, most villagers herded goats.

Although free during the day, Yasir was kept locked inside the small storage room during nights. The four previously empty mattresses were now occupied as well: an elderly woman, a young couple and another man who kept mumbling something on his own during the evenings. They avoided making eye contact with Yasir – not to mention socialising with this.

The next couple of days he spent trying to get into contact with the locals, but with little success. Most shunned him immediately, others made up an excuse why they had no time for chatter. The bandits kept treating him well, but Mustafa remained as the only one Yasir could socialise with. The man was eager to show him around and even took him to a nearby cliff overlooking the village to give him a better picture over the area. It was a very small valley surrounded by steep mountains and seemed to be situated relatively high in the mountains. That was all Yasir could tell of his prison.

Although free to move around the village, there was one exception to the rule – a small brick building without a window near the mosque. Yasir was forbidden to go near it with the threat of his liberties being taken away, but his curiosity took the upper hand.


On his fourth day in the village, when the sun was starting to set low and cast its long and hiding shadows, Yasir approached this small building. To his surprise the door wasn’t locked and nervously he looked around before opening it and slipping inside.

His heart was beating fast as he looked around the dark room. Little light was coming in and he couldn’t see much until his eyes started getting used to the darkness. He scanned the floor and suddenly noticed something moving; Yasir gasped for breath as he noticed a horribly malnourished man lying on the floor. He was chained to the wall and his bones could be seen clearly through his skin. The man uttered something in Greek, but Yasir couldn’t understand a word the man tried to say. He came closer to the man and opened his mouth in order to say something but the man interrupted him by suddenly opening his eyes and grabbing the Arab from his sleeve.

“Help, good man. Help me!”

@ Enewald: Wll I can't remember which option I picked, but yes that is (rather obviously ) a ransom event.

@ General_BT: Thank you. And yes, the nations in and around Anatolia Minor seem to be good at either having major
internal disputes or being completely annihilated by... well you'll see in time.

PART 2​

March 1219​

A painting portraying Mustafa.​

The man loosened his grip and fell back on the floor. He tried to utter some more words but was too weak to make any sense and seemed to be falling asleep. Yasir shook the man gently to wake him up but with little success.
Suddenly someone slammed the door open, scaring Yasir. Mustafa entered into the small building with an armed companion.

“I told you not to come here”, the bandit leader said calmly as he came closer to Yasir, “but I knew your curiosity would be too strong.”

Yasir stood still for a while without saying a word, but managed to gather himself and asked who the man was.

Mustafa shrugged: “Hard to say. We caught the man travelling through the coastal road. He must be important for he had a small military escort. Worthless men though, they run away as soon as they spotted us. We chased few of them down”, he held a pause and cleared his throat, “We don’t know who he is, but as he was travelling from Alexandretta we sent our ransom demands there. They refuse to pay so the man is no use for us now, thus we’ll let him starve.”

Horrified by the man’s fate Yasir tried to desperately defend the poor soul: “Can’t you just let the man go? He will do no harm I am sure of it. At least wandering around the mountains gives him a slight chance of survival. The man might have a family, a wife and children!”

Mustafa’s mood turned gloomy and he hit the wall with his fist: “What do I care? They rid me of my family, why should I feel mercy for them?”

“At least end the poor man’s life swiftly! Starving him is unnecessary.”

Mustafa seemed to brighten up again and gave a laugh: “Perhaps his friends in the city change their mind and want him back. What do we tell them if they bring us the money tomorrow? That we cut his head off as we were bored of his face? Killing him is bad business.”

Mustafa ordered his companion to escort Yasir back to his prison where he would remain locked until the payment arrives – if it was to arrive. He was also given a sheet of paper where he was to write the following: “Captured by King of the Mountains and his faithful soldiers, I am in good health and taken care of please...”

***​

Back in the campsite​

“...hand a sum of 700 dinars to one who carries this document and I shall be released upon his return. Relying on you, Yasir al-Sabir.”

Osmond raised his eyes from the paper and held a short pause followed by a short laugh: “Do they really think we’ll just pay and let them be? Peter!” he called for the expedition’s main accountant who managed the finances, “please hand the required money for the young boy and let him go.”

“But sir...”

“Say nothing, it is a direct order. But keep this expense out from the books.”

The young Arab boy who had brought the letter to the camp was released and he sprung off up the mountain with a bag of gold. Osmond looked after him at the camp's gates with a group of horsemen.

“Now”, he gave his order as the boy disappeared behind the plateau and two scouts immediately set off after him. The marshal wouldn't let his money get out of sight. His plan was simple and obvious; follow the boy to Yasir's captors and deal with them in a proper manner.

Osmond turned to the Sembatyan Hetoumi: “I'll leave you in charge while I'm gone for you brought more men with you”, he held a pause and turned to the other Constantine, “I cannot demand you to follow his orders, but I plead you to stay in your tent for the day or two I am gone and avoid all conflicts with your 'cousin'.”

The two men gave their promise not to stir trouble with each other and Osmond rode off after his scouts with a hundred horsemen.

Constantine 'Oshian' Hetoumi and Constantine 'Sembatyan' Hetoumi.​

Sun was setting low and both Constantines retired to their tents. Sembatyan sat at his table and opened a little book with leather covers. It was his 'book of virtues', as he called it, in which he wrote down his good deeds and sins alike. This way it was easy to keep track of his 'balance'. But there was other reason for such a book; as a practical man Constantine sold his virtues forward to people whose sins outweighed their blessings. The money he would use for charity, which in turned translated for more good deeds that could be sold to poor souls for their saviour. Constantine believed saving souls was his duty, and this was a simple and efficient way of doing it. As he believed Christ was to descend back to earth in a year or two – or at least during his lifetime, he could simply provide the book as an evidence for his good work and the bought blessings of others. He was certain his practical approach to saving souls would be understood in Heaven and grant him many praises there. However, in case the second coming wouldn't happen during his lifetime, he had bequeathed half of his virtues to his eldest son whom he believed would keep up the tradition. The man dipped his quill in ink and was about to continue under 'gave alms to poor soldiers' when someone rushed inside the tent.

“Sir, we have found new information regarding the missing Saracen!” a soldier reported excitedly.

“Oh that is all under control now. Our marshal is following a trail with a company of men. He should be back with the governor by tomorrow.”

“Sir, please listen to what I have to say. Our group discovered a heavily guarded village to east from here. We staid there observing for some hours and had a sight of the Saracen. We know his exact location!”

Constantine sighed: “As I said our marshal is on his way there.”

“But that is why I have come to you; the boy they are following is going to another direction! They are being mislead somewhere else.”

Constantine put his quill away and rose up: “Why didn't you say so immediately! Quick, gather four companions from my men, we'll set off to that village right now!”

The soldier gave a nod and left the tent. Constantine equipped himself properly, closed his valuable book and stepped outside. Little did the two men know of an extra pair of ears behind the tent. Oshian Hetoumi rubbed his hands together and gave a grin.

The messenger running urgently through the camp to his 'cousins' tent had caught his attention. He had then secretly listened to the soldier's report and decided to follow the Sembatyan – after all, leaving a commanding post was a serious offence. By capturing his enemy and taking Yasir to safety he believed to be able to earn a reward from the marshal; perhaps he would be even given his irresponsible 'cousin's' lands or better yet – the city of Alexandretta.

Sembatyan Hetoumi and his five men travelled throughout the night towards the village the scouts had discovered. He didn't know of the two dozen men of his relative following them from a distance. The sun laid its first rays over the village as the cold and tired men arrived to their destination.

“What is our first move, Sir?”

“First we need to locate the unfortunate prisoner. Do you have any clue where he might be held?”

“Yes Sir, we saw him being taken to that building”, a soldier said, pointing at the strongly-built storage building.

“Very well. We must get there without anyone noticing us. We are too few to have a proper fight with them.”

“Sir, if I may ask why did we not take any reinforcements with us?”

“That might have caught someone's attention. I am not supposed to be here as I have been made the commander in charge back at the camp. We must rescue the poor man on our own and head back straight away.”

“Very well Sir, so how shall we proceed from here?”

“As you can see they have placed one guard at the door and two near the prison building. Rest of them seem to be scattered around that big building in the middle, which I believe is where their leaders are situated. They also seem to have few men scattered around the village's surroundings, but they are scarce enough for one of us to sneak through to the their church and set it on fire. That should be enough to mislead their attention while we take care of the few guards around our friend's prison.”

The men were given their orders and they descended from their observation spot down towards the village. One of the men headed at the mosque and the others hid in bushes near the storage building.

“Sir, shouldn't we help them?” a soldier asked the Oshian Hetoumi who was watching his 'cousin' and their men at work from a distance.

“No, this might be interesting”, he replied and gave a wide grin.

Although most of the buildings had been constructed of mud and bricks, plenty of wood was used for the mosque – mainly as wood was aplenty around the mountains and easily obtained for such a large building. It didn't take long for the building to catch fire.

At first the smoke raising from where their mosque was located didn't catch the attention of the bandits standing outside Mustafa's house. They thought someone was burning trash nearby – after all, how would the mosque have caught fire on its own. Soon a villager ran up the hill towards Mustafa's house, yelling something in Arabic and waving his hands in panic. The bandits and villagers alike quickly formed a line from the burning building to a well situated at an opposite side of the village to Yasir's prison and started handing handing buckets filled with water towards the men trying to doze off the mosque's flames.

“Let's go!” Constantine ordered and he and four of his men dashed out of their hiding places towards the unsuspecting guards whose attention was caught by the extinguishing operation. Constantine's men ended the life of the two guards standing at watch outside the building with swift strikes from their swords and proceeded to guard standing at the door. One of the soldiers sneaked around the building and managed to reach the bandit from behind, stabbing him without being noticed – by the guards that is.

Mustafa was standing on the roof of his home, overseeing the extinguishing of the mosque when he suddenly noticed something alarming. A loud yell in Arabic caught the attention of both his men and the intruders, who soon realised they had been spotted.

“Quick! Get inside!” Constantine gave his orders and the five men rushed inside, shutting the door behind them and blocking it with their bodies.

“What are you doing here?!” Surprised Yasir asked with a smile on his face.

“We're here to rescue you”, Constantine answered while trying to hold the door shut as the bandits tried to force themselves inside.

The Arab gave a short laugh: “I don't think you are doing it right.”

“Oh shut up and come help us hold them off!”

Yasir placed himself against the door which started to show signs of breaking apart.

“Sir, what is our next move?” an uncertain soldier guarding the room-mates of Yasir, the three shocked villagers who slept in the same room, asked his ommander.

Constantine opened his mouth in order to say something, but couldn't think of anything. Suddenly the door stopped moving and everything stayed still for a minute. The men inside were confused and not sure what was happening. Was it a trick to make them peek outside? Were they going to be smoked out?

“Come on out already, you bastard!” a voice broke the nervous silence.

“Isn't that...?” Yasir seemed to recognise the voice.

“It is! How is he here?” Constantine wondered in anger and swiftly opened the damaged door. His chubby rival was standing there with a smug grin on his face. There was a group of nearly 30 soldiers with him, pointing at the bandits with spears and crossbows.

“I believe it is against our marshal's orders to leave your commanding spot, 'cousin'. Thank you for leading us to the Saracen and his captors.”

Sembatyan was in anger: “You are wrong if you think I will allow you to take all the glory for releasing the governor. And you will stop threatening me with orders at once, for I have been raised to a higher position than you! Besides how dare you follow me here!”

“Arrest this man, he has broken the orders of our commander de Hauteville. He'll be judged back at the camp.”

“You coward! Commanding your men against me like that. This is between us and only between us. Draw your sword if you are man enough for a duel!”
“Hah! Do you really believe you can fool me like that? I have the clear superiority in here and I plan to use it.”

The Sembatyan Hetoumi didn't answer, but drew his sword and charged towards his relative who let out a terrified squeak and managed to unsheathe his sword just in time to block his enemy's fierce blow.

Although the Oshian Hetoumi was a much better strategist than his distant relative, his skills with the sword were very limited – and his big size didn't help either. He ran around, dodging and blocking his 'cousin's' strikes, crying for help but his men were too confused to do anything; if they were to help their master the bandits might take an advantage of it and strike them as their numbers were almost even.

This continued for a moment until another familiar voice interrupted the men: “What is this? Stop it immediately!”

Osmond had rode through the village with his horsemen and was now behind the group of bandits, shocked to see both Constantines fighting with each other.

The terrified 'cousins' stopped their one-sided duel and stared at the angry marshal. The Oshian one was able to gather himself and asked how Osmond had managed to find the right village and tried to excuse his behaviour by putting the blame on his relative.

The boy Osmond and his men had followed had had a contact person in another village not far from this one. He hid the gold there and the boy and the bandit were supposed to wait there until they could be sure no one was following them, after which they could proceed to the village held by Mustafa and his gang of bandits. The villagers had been very cooperative in finding the ruffian when Osmond had threatened to burn their village and once the right man had been uncovered they managed to fish Yasir's location through means of torture. The boy had been taken as a slave while his contact person was executed. It had then taken some hours for the horsemen to arrive to the correct location.

“If I had the power for it I'd rip your titles off you and sent you to the mines, but I can do no such thing. If you cause any more trouble during this campaign I can promise you I'll take action. Head back to the camp, I've had enough of you!”

“Are you all right?” Osmond then asked Yasir who replied positively.

“I think you should come with me”, Yasir said, “there's something interesting I'd like to show you.”

The two men walked towards and past the mosque which had fully engulfed in flames by now and arrived to the windowless mud building behind the mosque and found one of Sembatyan Hetoumi's men, who had set the fire, hiding in the building's shadows. The soldier kicked the mud building's door open which had been locked after Yasir had investigated its interiors.


The men broke the Greek prisoner's shackles and carried him outside. The man had inhaled plenty of smoke from the burning mosque, further deteriorating his health.

“Who is he?”

Yasir shrugged: “I only know he is someone important from Alexandretta and was abandoned here by his compatriots.”

“Very well, I'll get some men to transport him safely back to our camp.”

Osmond and Yasir returned to rest of the men who had meanwhile disarmed the bandits and gathered them together with the villagers.

“Listen everyone! My orders are as follow”, Osmond started, “These ruffians and their friends will be our slaves until we can find a proper marketplace to sell them at, we need them tied up and escorted back to the camp. And I want this damned village razed to the ground!”

He held a short pause and turned to Yasir: “I also want you to comply with my orders and do as you are told from now on. No more wandering off to the mountains. You will take part in the battle as I've explained to you and that is a direct order. We will launch our attack in two weeks time.”

Yasir gave a reluctant nod to sign he had understood the marshal. The crowd started moving back towards the camp while a few men were left behind to loot and burn the village and help the poor, malnourished Greek man to safety.

Enewald said:

Well, that was swift action.
And the money, where did it go?

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Well, Osmond probably took it back from the boy whom he enslaved.

Sudaxe said:

Ha! Great AAR. Glad that I found it. I'm only through the first couple of pages, though.

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Glad you enjoy it, welcome aboard!

Auray said:

Finally cathed up the last two updates. Great writing as always. I like those pictures, they add a certain amount of flavour to the story and breaks the text well, making it easier to read. I'm surprised you have so few active commentors considering the great quality of this AAR.

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Thanks, I hope to be able to release the next update soon as it's been a while, have it at 50% done but I am struggling with a worst-case writer's block.

Swindonia said:

Really good story this one. Has it sadly finished?

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Thanks for the compliment.

It isn't finished, but rather on hold as I'm in the middle of finding myself a new apartment. That and I haven't felt like writing for a while. Besides, it's summer and I have plenty of plans for my holiday.

Once I get back AAR writing I will continue this one rather than start a new one as I've done in the past.

I have about half of the next chapter already on the paper, perhaps I should finish it during the summer.

Those are my excuses.