The Knights De Montfort
A De Montfort Dynasty, CK AAR, BY (praetorian)
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Prologue
'Charge!' The order rings out around the battlefield. 'Charge, Charge, Charge, onwards to victory, kill the heathens'.
The call is taken up, all over the battlefield, men clad in tunics displaying the cross of Christ scream their war cries, and swarm forward, faces distorted into masks of hatred, shields raised, swords drawn backwards, coming ever closer to the seemingly silent mass of scimitars, spiked helmets and and pennants declaring the glory of Allah. With an almighty clash the two sides meet, the force of the Crusaders momentarily forcing the mass of Moslem troops backwards.
Up on a hillock,hidden from view by a thin screen of tree's, overlooking the scene are drawn up a formation of horseman, silently watching.Waiting.
'Why don't we attack, sir' whispered an eager looking Knight, not long in the position. Silence. 'Sir, why--'.
'Quiet damn you. Im concentrating.' Simon De Montfort gave an unapproving sideglance to the young Knight, before resting his gaze to where it had been. It fell on a group of horseman clustered too the right side of the battle behind the Moslem army. They hadn't seen him. The horseman seemed to be gathered around one man, who seemed to be giving orders, with horsemen riding off in all directions, shouting out new commands. Saladin. The battle below them raged on violently, already the sand red and slcik with blood. He smiled. So it wasn't true what the Priests were saying back in Evereux, that a pagans blood was black, just like his soul. They bled red, just like anyother. The problem was, making sure enough bled to win this battle. De Montford was about too swat at a fly that had been irritating him for a while, when he sensed a motion from the horseman. He swung round too look. They were dismounting. Even Saladiin. He smiled he couldnt believe his luck. He took a deep breath and wiped his face, god it was hot. He looked at his men. They were all good men. Brought with him personally from his estates. Loyal men. 'Prepare for combat' he shouted. In replt their was a slinking of chanin mail and a clinking of metal as men checked straps, closed visors and unsheathed their swords. 'Over their, on the right. You see those horseman.' There was a brief murmur of acknowledgment from his men, muffled from inside their visors. That gentlemen is Sal-ah-dhin, himself. An excited tremor swept through the mounted ranks. 'And it is intention to capture him. Over their on the let, the enemies lines are thinnest and it is my belief that a concentrated calvalry charge could punch through those lines in ease and then wield to the right to trap Saladdin and his aides'. He looked around at his men, a few nodded their helmets. 'Right then'. De Montfort Swung round in his saddle to face the battle. He drew his sword and held it up. The noises of battle seemed to have grown louder, and reached his ears more clearly. He swept the sword down to his side. No order was needed. In an instant, the Knights burst from their hiding place, and surged down the slope, everyman in complete silence, the thunder of hooves and beating of his heart rigning in every mans knights ears. Soon they were through the rearguard of their army, the fellow footsoldiers making way where they could in a mad scramble to get away from the trampling hooves. A shout or groan signaled now and then where a comrade had not been quick enough and had been trampled. De Montfort heard them. He cared not, it was a neccesdary sacrafice.
The Knights unexpected appearence took the eneny soldiers by surprised as they burst out of the crusaders ranks and into the heathen mass, punching a hole through the think line, just as De Montfort knew they would. Within minutes they were out of the enemy lines and hundreds of dark faces began to peer behind them at the new threat. Before they could react , De Montfort waved his sword, commanding his men to wield to the right, and thunder on towards Saladiin and his entourage, who thankfully hadnt yet seen them. De Montfort smiled, and licked his lips. He was about to capture or perhaps even kill the greatest commander the forces of Islam could produce, and eliminate him from the conflict. They were seconds away, the enterouge finally realised the knights presents, and began scrambling towards their horses, before a exctatic Saladiin shouted at them to stand their ground and fight. The men hurriedly tried to form a circle around their leader, but not everyone was qucik enough. De Montfort grinned as he swung his sword back, and realised it in a smooth arc, which splintered open the back of the gaudily dressed moslem trying to flee from his horses hooves. The man fell to the ground without a sound, blood splattering De Montforts breastplate, which dazzled as the sun caught it refelction. He was there, any second now his orse and those around him would collide with the shields of Saladiins entorauge. He drew he sword back again, said a silent prayer to god and let out a mighty roar. 'SAALAADIIIN!'
