Alright, I give up; I can't stay away from this AAR for this length of time, my head is buzzing with new ideas about where I want it to go. So, for better or for worse, I'm resuming a month early. Revision has gone OK and these don't take too long to write, anyway.
So, to finally answer comments:
loki100 & Stuyvesant: More will be revealed about this soon, once some fundamental aspects of Sancho's character are revealed...
Affonso, King of Georgia.
Adarnase, Marshal of Georgia.
The Whisperer, Spymaster of Georgia.
Aspae, daughter of Affonso.
Amargo, third son of Affonso.
Sancho, first son of Affonso.
Bedisa, a serving girl.
The Innkeeper, an innkeeper.
Grateria, bethrothed to Manoel.
Ogadei, a Mongol.
The Demons, assassins from the Demon's Peak.
18th May 1142
"No."
Affonso had finally decided to speak up. Below the rain-sodden tent and away from the mud and noise of the battle outside, the little council were free to conduct their affairs in peace.
Around the Portuguese king were the Whisperer, Adarnase and Sancho, all huddled around a crude map lying on a table. The sound of bloody slaughter was coming from outside.
Adarnase was limping slightly, his dark face frowning at his liege. "Sire, if we cannot hold the eastern flank then the archers will be open to the whole mass of the Seljuk horsemen. We need to reinforce it."
"I said no." Not for the first time, Affonso wished that Akakide was here. They'd been in stickier situations and yet the old warrior had managed to find a way out of even the darkest predicament. "If we divert forces there then we leave the whole of the centre at risk."
He looked at the Whisperer and his son. The Mongol simply gazed down at the map, deep in thought. Sancho's eyes flicked left and right, desperate to impress his father with some piece of strategic genius.
The tent was silent, save for the dull rainbeat and the cries of the men. Affonso was angry; they'd been ambushed in the night as they were setting up camp. The Seljuk scum had decided that now was the perfect moment to strike at the defenders; while they were weak and helpless. They'd organised what they could but they were being crushed under the weight of the Turkish cavalry.
"Maybe that's a good thing". Adarnase's calm, deep voice said. "We allow their cavalry down the centre then pick them off from both sides.
"Don't be a fool, that's suicide. I should lead a charge from the rear-"
"No, Sancho," said the king. "I'll not have you risk your life for such little advantage. We need you to rule this realm one day, and I can't have you dying on me now."
Sancho gave him an ugly glance before glaring at the Whisperer. "You can't possibly agree with this madman's plan, can you?"
The Whisperer contiuned his stare. "The Sultan himself would lead such a charge. If we can cut him down, the whole of their army would rout..."
"But-"
"No buts, son." Affonso gave him a rare smile, being rewarded with a look of disgust. "Tell the centre to fold to the east, and to attack the cavalry as it charges in. I'll sleep well with the Sultan's head above my bed tonight."
With that, he swept out of the tent, his son following him, pleading.
The Whisperer glanced at Adarnase. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"
Adarnase sighed. "We're under attack from three different sides, and we can't see a thing. Is now really the time to tell him that his favourite son is missing, presumed dead?"
The Whisperer stroked his chin. "Sancho is Affonso's favourite. He must be- there's no other reason why he'd appoint such a man to be his successor if he had any respect for his other son. Why else would he continue to favour Sancho?"
Adarnase stared at him for a moment, murmuring "Why indeed...". Then he swept from the tent to give orders to his men.
The Whisperer looked hard at the map, as the wind howled and beat at the little fluttering cloth. He prayed that this plan would work...
So, to finally answer comments:
loki100 & Stuyvesant: More will be revealed about this soon, once some fundamental aspects of Sancho's character are revealed...
PART TWO:
The Turkish Wars.
Chapter One.
The Turkish Wars.
Chapter One.
Dramatis Personae
Manoel, Prince of Armenia and second son of Affonso.Affonso, King of Georgia.
Adarnase, Marshal of Georgia.
The Whisperer, Spymaster of Georgia.
Aspae, daughter of Affonso.
Amargo, third son of Affonso.
Sancho, first son of Affonso.
Bedisa, a serving girl.
The Innkeeper, an innkeeper.
Grateria, bethrothed to Manoel.
Ogadei, a Mongol.
The Demons, assassins from the Demon's Peak.
18th May 1142
"No."
Affonso had finally decided to speak up. Below the rain-sodden tent and away from the mud and noise of the battle outside, the little council were free to conduct their affairs in peace.
Around the Portuguese king were the Whisperer, Adarnase and Sancho, all huddled around a crude map lying on a table. The sound of bloody slaughter was coming from outside.
Adarnase was limping slightly, his dark face frowning at his liege. "Sire, if we cannot hold the eastern flank then the archers will be open to the whole mass of the Seljuk horsemen. We need to reinforce it."
"I said no." Not for the first time, Affonso wished that Akakide was here. They'd been in stickier situations and yet the old warrior had managed to find a way out of even the darkest predicament. "If we divert forces there then we leave the whole of the centre at risk."
He looked at the Whisperer and his son. The Mongol simply gazed down at the map, deep in thought. Sancho's eyes flicked left and right, desperate to impress his father with some piece of strategic genius.
The tent was silent, save for the dull rainbeat and the cries of the men. Affonso was angry; they'd been ambushed in the night as they were setting up camp. The Seljuk scum had decided that now was the perfect moment to strike at the defenders; while they were weak and helpless. They'd organised what they could but they were being crushed under the weight of the Turkish cavalry.
"Maybe that's a good thing". Adarnase's calm, deep voice said. "We allow their cavalry down the centre then pick them off from both sides.
"Don't be a fool, that's suicide. I should lead a charge from the rear-"
"No, Sancho," said the king. "I'll not have you risk your life for such little advantage. We need you to rule this realm one day, and I can't have you dying on me now."
Sancho gave him an ugly glance before glaring at the Whisperer. "You can't possibly agree with this madman's plan, can you?"
The Whisperer contiuned his stare. "The Sultan himself would lead such a charge. If we can cut him down, the whole of their army would rout..."
"But-"
"No buts, son." Affonso gave him a rare smile, being rewarded with a look of disgust. "Tell the centre to fold to the east, and to attack the cavalry as it charges in. I'll sleep well with the Sultan's head above my bed tonight."
With that, he swept out of the tent, his son following him, pleading.
The Whisperer glanced at Adarnase. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"
Adarnase sighed. "We're under attack from three different sides, and we can't see a thing. Is now really the time to tell him that his favourite son is missing, presumed dead?"
The Whisperer stroked his chin. "Sancho is Affonso's favourite. He must be- there's no other reason why he'd appoint such a man to be his successor if he had any respect for his other son. Why else would he continue to favour Sancho?"
Adarnase stared at him for a moment, murmuring "Why indeed...". Then he swept from the tent to give orders to his men.
The Whisperer looked hard at the map, as the wind howled and beat at the little fluttering cloth. He prayed that this plan would work...
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