Today I'm writing something special, for inspired by Bernard Cornwells historical fictions (Which have been a constant cause of a lack of sleep.), and a particularly exciting siege in Medieval II, I have decided to write some fiction of my own. Here follows the first part of my attempt at some mildly historical fiction. Comments and criticism are greatly appreciated.

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King Rufus of England looked over his camp outside the fortress of Gaza and smiled. What had begun as an entirely unsuccessful crusade to Antioch and turned into a splendid campaign of plunder, pillage, and punishment for the Arab infidels. King Rufus had been a poor leader at home, and his court of Nobles had effectively banished him on the god forsaken crusade. Rufus was no idiot, but there was little he could do and so he set out to carry out God’s work with an army of England’s finest.

God did not seem to be on Rufus’ side however, and halfway through the journey, one of the lesser nobles accompanying him led a mutiny and half the army, including all of the prized longbowmen, deserted, never to be seen again. Rufus could hardly return home, so he bolstered his army with an assortment soldiers seeking forgiveness for their sins in the holy land. He was also joined by a large rabble of fanatic monks, who insisted they were God’s blessing to Rufus and acted accordingly. Rufus knew they were only hungry clergy with nowhere to go, but he tolerated their presence, for a desperate men crazed by God could be useful on the battlefield.

From Italy Rufus sailed to Antioch, only to find it had already been taken by an impressive army of the Holy Roman Empire a mere week before his arrival. The Pope declared the crusade successful, awarded the Holy Roman Empire with infinite favour, and left Rufus’ army in the Holy Land with as much as a token gesture of appreciation. Angered by his misfortune, and with an army of men hungry for battle, Rufus set out to plunder the Arab cities. His army stormed the castle at Aleppo, looted everything of value, and burned everything of significance.

Spurred by this easy victory, he abandoned what was left of Aleppo, and marched south to Damascus. This time the city was better defended, but no citizen militia could stand up to the savagery of Rufus’ men. Damascus was looted, burned, raped, and abandoned. Rufus marched south.

The Arab’s were paralyzed by the sudden storm that was Rufus’ army, pleaded peace and offered Rufus their riches. Rufus accepted their wealth gladly but felt no obligation to keep his word to the infidels. He marched south once more, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Finally he arrived at the formidable fortress of Gaza. The garrison was outnumbered by Rufus’ men, and was home to one of the highest ranking noblemen in the area. Rufu’s was confident that the men who had plundered the Holy Land in God’s name could not fail him.

His army had scoured the area for wood and had constructed five sets of siege ladders and a ram. Rufu’s would have to assault soon, for his scouts had reported a large army from Egypt marching to the aid of the beleaguered garrison. It was morning, and the enemy were much closer than he had expected.

“The scouts have returned, the enemy is only a day’s march away, your majesty” the captain of scouts explained.

“Look’s like we better hurry then.” Rufus replied casually.

“You intend to attack, your majesty?”

“Would you prefer another settlement?”

The captain hurried off, and Rufu’s began the preparations for the attack. The plan was simple, storm the gates at the first wall with the ram and two sets of ladders, then rush the rest of the ladders to the second wall and hope that the speed and ferocity of the attack would be too much for the enemy. If they enemy held out too long, their reinforcements would arrive in time for the battle.

Rufus’ army attacked at noon. The ladders were rushed forward by two units of veteran spearmen, followed by some knights who had joined Rufus at Damascus, while the ram was pushed by Slavic mercenaries. The leader of the spearmen, William, was a large, burly man, who believed a man’s worth could be judged only by the amount of Arabs he had killed.
“Forward!” William bellowed, “Make those cowards quake in their boots and pray to their pathetic god!” His soldiers cheered. They were proud of their captain, for William was a simple, fair man, who delighted in the same pleasures as his soldiers and was always in the thick of the fight, his towering presence made all the more noticeable by the curses he spit at his foes. A handful of his men fell to enemy arrows, and one grazed his thigh.
“Damned cowards!” William was no chivalrous man, but the only method of fighting he considered honourable was hand to hand, face to face. He despised arrows, and any foe who dared use them against him could expect no mercy.

His men arrived made it to the wall with surprisingly few casualties. The enemy had preferred to fire at the more formidable knights, but their heavy armour had shrugged off most of the enemy missiles. They hoisted up the ladders, and climbed them which such speed the enemy had no chance to push them back. William was one of the first over the wall, and was immediately thrust at with three spears. One smacked his shield, one wounded his shoulder, and the last he broke with his fist as he cursed at his enemy.

The spearmen on the other side of the gate were struggling. Only when the knights and the religious fanatics joined the fight where they able to gain some ground. The fanatics proved formidable, for while they were poorly armoured and armed, their zealous rage would keep them going until their body failed them. They flailed crude weapons which were as much a danger to their friends as they were to the enemy, but the Arab spearmen were pushed back by the crazed and barbaric Christian warriors.

The battering ram smashed the gate aside like rotten timber and the troops flooded in. The Slavs shouted their foreign cries, and the monks cursed the enemy in God’s name. The enemy troops defending the gate were but armed peasants and a handful of camel mounted warriors, who soon feel to the overwhelming mass of crusaders. With the gate cleared, some of the troops spread out to clear the towers and join the fight on the walls. Despite William’s best efforts, the enemy were doing surprisingly well. Suddenly the men on either side of him were struck down, and he was left alone. Fueled by his never ending desire for vengeance, he lifted up his shield, and rammed at the tightly packed enemy, so that a score of them fell off the wall. “Bastard!” he screamed at a frightened man while he kicked him off the wall.

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The battle, as well as the event's leading up to it are based on my campaign in the game. I sent the king on the crusade in the hopes he would gain some authority, but he has gained none so far. In the game, according to his traits, he is a sadly ignorant gay superstitious alcoholic, but it remains to be seen whether I will portray him as such in the story.