by K. T. Tomb
I’m not certain who was more out of it when we were finally able to relax in our room that evening, but we both collapsed into the king bed and allowed peaceful rest to come over us. It was the following morning, after room service had brought breakfast to two of their starving guests, that Eva had decided that it was time to work her seductive magic on me.
As weak as my one arm was, I was able to eagerly respond to her advances and, though our movements had to be gentle and tender due to my physical state, our lovemaking was extremely passionate. It was a release of all of the built up tension and stress that had marked the last two days as well as the consummation of the growing love that had rapidly overcome us throughout the week.
When we had exhausted ourselves after several hours, we turned to our sides and gazed into each other’s eyes, tracing the facial features of one another lightly with the tips of our fingers. Though the world continued on the outside at the same pace that it always had before, for us, time stood still and we drank in the moment with pure joy. We were alive, we were together and we were in love. Nothing else mattered.
“You do realize that we don’t have any of our stuff, right?” I whispered as I started another course around her face with my fingertip.
“I do,” she replied, closing her eyes and enjoying my touch.
“Do you suppose that we ought to call someone from Mayan Odysseys and see if they can bring it to us?
“I suppose,” she replied. Though we had more or less made a decision, neither of us was eager to rush into actually carrying it out. It was while we were in that particular state that there was a knock at the hotel room door.
Eva instantly slipped between the blankets to cover herself and I called out toward the door. “Just a sec!”
Not sure what to put on, I saw the hotel bathrobe that Eva had recently discarded and pulled it on, tied the sash, and then moved to the door, looking through the peephole before even considering opening it. There was no mistaking the face that I saw outside the door. It was Enrique. I flipped the safety bar, turned the deadbolt, then the handle and opened the door.
“I wasn’t sure if you made it out,” I said when I opened the door.
“I wasn’t sure that you had either,” he replied, grinning, “until I received an anonymous call from a certain gentleman letting me know that the two of you were safe and sound.”
There was an uncomfortable pause between us. He had changed and come through in the end, but the fact that he had betrayed us in the first place left some lingering doubt in the air between us.
“I brought your stuff from the house on the island,” he said, finally breaking the awkward silence.
“That’s great,” I said, relieved that we hadn’t lost all of our things.
“Including your fanny packs, backpacks and clothes.” He started unloading luggage from the luggage carrier and placed them in the doorway.
I took the first of Eva’s bags into the room and grinned as I showed it to her. “Enrique brought our stuff.”
“Awesome,” she squealed, moving out of the bed, wrapped in a sheet. She snatched up the bag and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
With Eva in the bathroom, I was more comfortable about allowing Enrique to help bring the luggage into the room. Though he was still very humble after having done what he had, he seemed to cheer up a bit as he felt like he was a useful part in helping us get our lives back together.
“Sit a moment,” I said, offering him one of the two seats by the small hotel room table.
“I really can’t stay,” he said, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the chair. “I wanted to get your stuff back to you and apologize to the two of you for putting you through what I did.”
“Well, I can’t say that I trust you completely, but I am certainly grateful that you came around and got us out of there.”
Another long pause lingered between us. I considered dismissing him, but a stubborn streak rose up inside of me. He owed an apology to Eva as well and I intended to make him face her. While we sat in silence, I noticed that he was looking at the robe and crown that were lying on top of the dresser.
“I suppose I should return those to you?”
“It’s not necessary. It is a very small loss to us, considering what you have been through.” The silence lingered once more. I could tell that he was struggling with wanting to say something, but was trying to come up with the words. He finally began to speak. “Adam, it is perhaps not my place to ask this, but we did sort of agree on something before. I certainly can’t expect you to keep your part of the deal, but…”
“What deal?” Eva interrupted. She had exited the bathroom fully clothed, but with a stern expression on her face. Enrique leapt to his feet, nodding in her direction and then letting his eyes fall to the floor quickly.
“I’ll explain later,” I replied. Seeing her expression, I knew that it would be better if Enrique said his apology and then got the hell out of there.
“Thank you for bringing our stuff.” Her words were forced and cold. It made me remember another saying. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
“Eva, I owe you an apology for what I have done.” He barely raised his head long enough to meet her cold eyes.
“Fine,” she replied, turning toward her luggage, ignoring him completely. That was my cue to walk Enrique to the door.
“Thank you for bringing our stuff,” I said as I held the door open for him and he stepped through.
He nodded a weak response and turned to leave.
“I will take care of my end of the deal,” I said softly.
“Thank you,” he answered and continued down the hall toward the elevators.
“What was the deal?” Eva asked after I closed the door and secured all of the locks.
“Well,” I replied, moving toward her, taking her in my arms and gazing into her eyes. “Do you want to talk shop or make love?”
The way she kissed me was answer enough.
The End
Return to the Table of Contents
THE LAST CRUSADE
A novel by
K.T. TOMB
The Last Crusade
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
The Last Crusade
Author’s note: On July 12th, 1191, Sultan Saladin offered acceptable terms of surrender to the Crusaders for the city of Acre. The aftermath of this epic battle is where this story is born.
There were a few twists of history and names during the creation of this what-if historical adventure in which I attempted to use the boundaries of belief between two bitter enemies to beautifully illustrate how men can be united by sheer humanity… even fierce warriors and prodigious rulers.
The book explores the contrasting beliefs of Richard de Lionheart, a devout Catholic King of England and his enemy in the Holy Lands, Sultan Saladin, a Muslim. Of great importance are the undeniable cross-references between Christianity and Islam in their acknowledgment and role of Jesus, son of Mary.
Interestingly, Jesus is mentioned in the Quran 187 times; 25 times by the name ‘Isa,’ 48 times in the third person, 35 times in the first person, and the rest as titles and attributes such as ‘Son of Mary.’
He is recorded to have been a ‘pure boy,’ born without sin to Mary (Miryam), his virgin mother, and grew to be the ‘perfect’ man. In Islamic theology, Jesus is believed to have performed many miracles, several of which are mentioned in the Quran. It is said that he could speak clearly even as an infant, he healed several people of various ailments like blindness, raised the dead to life, and made birds out of clay then breathed life into them.
Though accepted as a messenger of Allah, it is not believed in Islam that Jesus was ‘God incarnate’ or the ‘Son of God’ and therein lies the main difference between the two religions.
Muslims also do not claim to believe that Jesus was crucified and then resurrected. They do, howev
er, hold fast to the theology that Jesus was raised alive to Heaven.
I hope you will enjoy this quest for the Holy Grail.
—K.T. Tomb
Introduction
Aberdour Castle
Fife, Scotland
Three weeks of indoctrination and introduction.
What fun, Lucy thought, but it sure beats more yellow folders!
She was leading a group of six people down the corridor towards the Great Library.
In addition to pre-selection duties, Donovan’s team of twelve in the Administrative Department was in charge of overseeing the orientation of new staff members at Quests Unlimited.
It was a job reserved for the most experienced and seasoned people at the club to ensure that new recruits got as much of the core values of Quests instilled at an early stage as well as guaranteed they were in the right company and under the proper influences from the get-go.
Ophelia disliked letting people go for trivial reasons such as them turning out to be a bad match for the organization… especially when the circumstances could have been avoided.
As she held the heavy oak door open she took a mental roll call of her group of six.
Peter, Delores, Allan, Henry, Kitty and Cora… perfect!
They all took a seat on the reading bench assigned to their group and waited patiently for Lucy’s instructions.
“Good morning, team,” she said with a smile. “Today is the start of a very light week for you but it is very important. For the next four days, you are required to read three or more of the books on this table. They are preselected from the required reading library list.”
There was nothing but a low murmur from the group, so Lucy continued.
“On Friday, we will reconvene right here at 9 a.m. for a discussion on each of the twelve titles. If you have any questions, you know where to find me. Have a great week.”
With that, she turned and left them to their assignment.
The recruits approached the table and looked through the various books, using covers and titles to make their first selections. Most left the library, opting for other areas of the compound to begin their reading but Cora remained in the library.
She took her copy of “The Last Crusade” to a sunny alcove and stretched out on the window seat.
She loved historic fiction and was a huge fan of the big names in the genre. A new take on Richard the Lionheart’s crusade to the holy land would be an easy read for her.
She breezed through the author’s opening words and then paused to think for a moment. The words seemed to jump out of the book at her, inviting her to turn the page and dive straight into the chapters.
During the creation of this what-if historical adventure… I attempted to use the boundaries of belief between two bitter enemies to beautifully illustrate how men can be united by sheer humanity… even fierce warriors and prodigious rulers.
The book explores the contrasting beliefs of Richard de Lionheart, a devout Catholic king of England and his enemy in the Holy Lands, Sultan Saladin, a Muslim.
All right then, Cora thought, let’s get started…
Chapter One
A lone messenger—carrying the standard of the German Emperor and wearing the Crusaders’ tunic—rode swiftly toward them, shouting, “Coeur de Lion! Coeur de Lion!”
“Halt!” King Richard called out and his order was relayed back to the warriors he led. When the messenger pulled up in a cloud of dust, he bowed briefly.
“Wolfgang! I watched you in the battle of Acre. Speak freely!” Richard said.
“Your Majesty, I have urgent news from near Jerusalem,” he said in French. “Is that where you travel, to fight Saladin again?”
Richard nodded. “Yes. This time, we shall finish him off. What is your news?”
“Our Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa is dead. He and his horse drowned in a river.”
Richard’s heart sank. He took a deep breath of the hot desert wind and let it out again. “What of the German campaign?”
“It is ending. After the Emperor’s death, the Turks hit us hard. King Philip or King Leopold may take up Barbarossa’s campaign, but most of us, barely a thousand who are left, are going home to Germany.”
“As bad as that?” Richard asked, shocked that their numbers were so decimated.
“Worse, Majesty. There is plague breaking out among the troops on the road closer to Jerusalem. I was sent to warn you before you were too close to the city.”
“Are you sure it is plague?” Richard asked, shocked even more. “Not siege sickness?”
“No, Sire. It is plague. I have seen the dead with their armpits burst open.”
“That is a sure sign of it. Well, this is unexpected, on all counts,” Richard murmured in chagrin. He had no immediate supply provisions to take the German campaign under his wing, even if he could prevent them from fleeing. Nor did he wish to bring plague among his own troops.
“Unexpected, indeed, Majesty. Our hearts are broken from the loss of our leader, and our troops are withdrawing before more of us succumb to sickness. I am ordered to officially announce that Jerusalem is yours to take, should you choose to go against Saladin without us. I know there were plans that we might again fight alongside you, but now, we cannot. It is a fearsome time for all Christians to head into Jerusalem.”
“Thank you for the news and the warning. Please relate my sorrow at the loss of Barbarossa to your countrymen.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall do so. Is there a return message about the English campaign?”
“We shall proceed onward toward Jerusalem, as planned,” Richard said firmly.
The blond man nodded; his face stoic. “Very well, Sire.”
Richard paused. “Will you join us, Wolfgang?”
“With respect, I cannot, Your Majesty. I am charged with my final duty of warning all those on this road of the growing plague in Jerusalem, and of Saladin’s men punishing the Christian pilgrims in heinous ways. Then I go to my ship bound for home. I have paid for my passage. If I fail to board the ship, word will be sent to my family that I am dead.”
“Carry out your duty, then. And Godspeed,” Richard said.
“Godspeed to you and your men as well.” Wolfgang galloped past them on his sweat-streaked horse.
Richard waved his hand and his army, once again, rode behind him toward Jerusalem. The men were quiet—no one dared to ask the King anything. They rode in silence for quite some time and Richard began to feel more and more unwell.
Blasted ague, he thought, shivering, even in the merciless heat.
Bearing the news of Barbarossa’s death and the subsequent loss of even fringe support from the Germans, Richard the Lionheart didn’t know if it was his spirit or his body that suffered more.
One thing he did know was that his enthusiasm for the Third Crusade seemed to wane like the high, thin clouds that promised rain but never delivered it. News of plague in Jerusalem was even more disturbing. And now with the German Emperor dead, Leopold and Philip would squabble for position and surely, at home, Richard’s brother, John, would make even more trouble than he already had. But it would not do to turn back.
The King of England did not retreat. Ever.
He was, however, tired of this arduous journey, and yet, there was still Jerusalem to conquer. He was set on taking the Holy City from Saladin and wanted it so badly that he could taste it. However, the scurvy and ague were definitely getting to him, as well as to the other men.
When they had fought Saladin at Acre, Richard and his men had feasted on quinces. That seemed like a long time ago. But then, everything in the desert seemed ancient and unchanging, except for the sky. It was sometimes difficult to keep track of the days, the weeks, the months.
Suddenly, his horse stumbled and went down on its knees. Nearly unseated because his legs weren’t in the stirrups, Richard leapt from the quivering horse that squealed in pain, as its knees scraped on the rocks.
“Henri!” R
ichard called out sharply. “Right front foot. Perhaps a thorn.” He handed the reins to his personal groom, who hurried close, guided the horse to stand up and examined his feet and knees.
There was a cut on the front right hoof and Henri pulled a long thorn from it as the horse shuddered. He cleaned the wound with water, spread unguent and packed it with herbs. Then he tied a clean cloth over it to hold in the herbs. He let the horse’s leg down again and patted him.
“He didn’t break his knees, I hope?” Richard asked.
“Let me walk him and see the damage.” The groom walked the horse in a tight circle or two, concern creasing his face. “Your Majesty, his knees are only bruised and scraped, but his foot should rest tonight. If he is not galloped for a few days, he will recover.”
“I hope so. I am fond of him and I should hate to think of eating another horse gone lame.”
The groom looked horrified. “No, Majesty.” He paused. “My deepest apologies, but I have no fresh horse for you. The only horses left are broken-down nags seized from our slaughtered enemies, packhorses and those otherwise under harness, plus a few small donkeys that are not fit for a king.”
“It simply would not do for me to arrive in Jerusalem on the back of a donkey,” Richard said. “Some pilgrims might think I was mocking our Lord.”
The groom half smiled. “No one would dare think that of you, Your Majesty. But our horses do suffer so in this harsh climate and under these road conditions. Perhaps we can obtain a fine Arabian for you?”
