The second part of my ongoing, rather feeble attempt at some fiction, I recommend you read the first part before this if you haven't already.

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“Giving you trouble Will?” A polite voice enquired. It was Simon, a skilled captain whom William had made friends with during the campaign. He was a handsome yet reserved man, calm and cold, possessing of an icy wit which gave him an air of incredible self-confidence. William hated to admit it, but Simon’s unit was the most disciplined in the army. Simon had nerves of steel, and as long as he fought with his endless precision and excellence, his soldiers did not dare flee, if only for the sake of not making fools of themselves while their captain still fought with an almost bored expression.

“Bah, you know I don’t like sharing, Simon” replied the ungrateful William.

“Yes, yes, just thought I’d pop in to say hello” apologised Simon while parrying the strike of a man who had believed Simon to be off guard. Simon then stepped forward to smash his shield into the man with his shoulder. He sliced at his dazed foe with a swift, almost circular, underarm swipe, leaving a bloody streak all the way up the poor man’s face. A smile flickered on his face as he advanced on the surrounded foe.

By the time the walls had been cleared the rest of the army was already approaching the final walls with their ladders. In front of the walls was a small clearing, a steep hill to the foot of the wall. The area outside the clearing however, was the jumble of stone buildings which made up the town and provided ample cover for Rufus’ troops to approach the walls. As they rushed out onto the clearing they were once again met with a gauntlet of missile fire from enemy archers, but even the heavy stones flung at the attackers did not dampen their spirits after the successful assault at the first walls.

Rufus and his knights kicked up dust as they passed with their horses under the gates of the first wall. The king relished the familiar aftermath of a successful fight - the smell of blood and sweat, the moans of the wounded and the sight of of the soldiers plundering the corpses of a defeated enemy - despite the fact that all that distinguished it from the aftermath of a defeat was that one was not around to experience it. Rufus watched William gathering his troops lest they get carried away to ransack the whole town.

“Move you cheap bastards, we ‘aven’t won yet!” William shouted as he kicked one of his men who bent over an enemy corpse, “we ‘ave to go make sure that stuck up prick doesn't’t hog all the plunder!” he continued, referring to Simon. This time King Rufus hoped to have more than a few charred timbers left of the settlement, for it could prove an excellent base for further “crusades.” Having his men scattered around drunk at the local taverns would also be most inconvenient once the enemy reinforcements arrived. Rufus sent his officers to order the rest of the army to march to the second gates, confident that the men scaling the walls would be there to open them.

He was right to be confident, the troops manning the walls were far too few for an effective defence, and they were soon swept aside by the British. Rufus had always marvelled how otherwise competent troops on the verge of despair we slaughtered effortlessly by men filled with bloodthirsty fury. This time the enemy was not full of despair, but was retreating to the inner courtyard, where they had prepeared a fairly formidable last stand behind a makeshift barricade of wagons, wooden barrels and crates. From there they shot at the men now running across the battlements to open the gates. One man was hit by an arrow in his heel and almost fell off the wall as he stumbled. Another was hit in the head, his helmet rendered useless by the powerful arrow. Clearly the enemy had a few competent archers among them. Some of the troops began to open the gate while their comrades formed a shield wall around them to protect them from the enemy missiles. Most of the enemy were reluctant to leave their barricades, but some, realising the bulk of the British force was still outside, risked rushing closer to the shield wall to loose their arrows. They taunted the British with foreign words, who replied similarly, having learnt some of the relevant vocabulary during past battles. Occasionally an arrow managed to wound the men in the shield wall, and they were hauled to the centre of the formation.

The gates were at last open and Rufus’ men let out a huge roar as they surged in, almost trampling the wounded from the shield wall. The shield wall scattered as the men joined the charge. The few enemy archers rushed back across the courtyard to the barricade, where they contributed to the frantic fire trying hopelessly to slow the swarming British soldiers. The roar of the charge was deafened as the attackers crashed into the barricade, which looked as if it were about to topple. For a moment the defenders were close to breaking, but they saw their general and his aides join the fray with their mighty armoured warhorses, and pushed back against the men threatening to swarm over the barricade. Rufus’ saw the enemy general and gathered his own officers.

“I want him alive; we can use him as a hostage to deter the enemy reinforcements.”

“We shall do our best, your majesty.”

To be continued...

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.