Author's Note: If you are an historian especially of the Medieval Period of Europe and the Middle East please do be aware that I have taken some serious liberties with all sorts of things, especially the time the story is set in, the people, the battle tactics and the politics so please accept this as a work of complete and utter fiction and not a new and butchered version of Medieval history. Thanx
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At the tender age of 16 I left home on the crusades, headed for the Holy land. I was "young Robert Montcrief, squire to Sir Glencourt of Glousterborough".
The trip to the Holy Land came as a bit of a shock to me but was prompted by a number of incidents or as my father called them "fracas" I had been involved in. The aforementioned fracas included drunkenness and poaching. So he decided that a couple of years in the army would straighten me out.
"Make a disciplined man out of you."
I was not amused. I failed to see how looking after a knight, which included cleaning armour, saddling horses and escorting very drunk knights home after parties would do anything to make a man of me. However, I had no option but to comply and after a thoroughly boring voyage across the Mediterranean sea I found myself in Jerusalem, the Holy City. Jerusalem was hot, dusty and crowded. The upside of the crowded bit was that it was full of people of all nationalities and creeds. Turks, Germans, Indians and even some Chinese. All speaking different languages. I found that I had a knack for languages and was soon bumbling my way through a couple of languages. French was easy as I already had a basic working knowledge of it, German not so easy, but my real triumph was in leaning Arabic, the language of the region. First I learnt it from the servants, then the shopkeepers and tradesmen, finally I found an old man who offered to teach me to speak Arabic "properly".
It turned out that he was a natural teacher. One of those teachers who cannot avoid teaching a willing student and somehow I had become a willing student.
Life became a routine affair. Occasionally we would go out on patrol, try to avoid trouble with the Muslims, return to Jerusalem, clean up, wait for another attack, do a bit of guard duty and fend off boredom. I used the quiet times to learn languages and anything else I could learn. My life remained so for two years until Sir Glencourt was killed in a skirmish with some raiders who appeared from nowhere out of the desert. They caught us completely wrong footed and he took a bad wound to the side. I was left in command. Not a happy situation with a third of our troop disabled or dead. I considered making a break for it, but I didn't think I would survive a such a move, besides which I would be leaving Sir Glencourt behind. And deserting the troop did not please me at all so I rallied the survivors, got us into a ring with lances pointing outwards. The lances made fast horse backed attacks difficult which meant that we could fight back keeping our losses low. I was astounded that it worked so well. We only lost one more soldier before a rescue party arrived and escorted us back to Jerusalem.
Word of my defence of Sir Glencourt got to the ears of the leader of our squadron and in light of my "bravery beyond the call" I was knighted on the spot. I was now 18 and much to my surprise Sir Robert Montcrief.
Needless to say, I went out on a wild party, accompanied by Sir Glencourt's retainers who it seemed had decided I was someone to be followed. The party was approved of by my retainers not only because I would be footing the bill but because as someone muttered, "it stops the dreams". When pressed he would say nothing more but I did notice that there were nods of agreement all round.
After drinking a lot of awful wine my eye fell on a plump woman who, after some negotiation in which my retainers became involved I found myself alone in a rather small room with Annie who looked me up and down, nodded then said.
"Joey and the boys say you a good un. Stayed with them when things got tight. Got them out."
"Safety in numbers." I muttered.
I now had no idea what to do and I was, to put it bluntly terrified, She watched me for a while.
"First time for you?"
I nodded sheepishly.
"OK. Not to worry, Annie will teach you the ropes."
She advanced on me, loosened my pants and had my cock out and in her mouth before I had really grasped what was happening. After a very short while she turned around, bent over and guided my cock into her pussy.
"Now fuck me!"
Having watched dogs and horses doing it I understood the command, grasped her hips and pushed my cock into her. The heat and wetness astounded me and destroyed my control so within a dozen thrusts I had dumped the contents of my balls into her.
She straightened up, pulled her dress down, kissed me on the cheek and left me to fasten my pants. I was greeted with much enthusiasm when I returned to the party.
"A stallion he is!" was Annie's comment which prompted cheers and more wine.
I passed out that night overwhelmed by the flood of wine I had drunk. It was the next night when I re-fought the battle in my dreams that the comment about dreams finally made sense. I awoke, sweating and crying. Not a great way to start the day.
A year after my knighthood, word arrived that my father Sir Percival of Montcrief had died and that his liege lord, Lord Michael Hugemont, demanded my return to take over the estate my late father had held in fealty to him. Lord Hugemont had a much influence in the English court so I had little or no choice but to return to England. I was secretly quite pleased to be leaving Jerusalem as the Crusade was beginning to look like a lost cause. Literally and figuratively a dead end as the Moors swept in, their experience in desert warfare and superior weaponry making survival let alone victory difficult to achieve. Holding on was the order of the day and soon the name Saladin was being whispered in the messes.
Thus I was granted leave to return to England albeit reluctantly by the Crusade leaders. Just after my twentieth birthday I set out by boat for England. A long, slow trip it was. We sailed across the Mediterranean, stopping at Naples and then Oporto before crossing the English channel to Dover. At Dover, I hired a horse, ordered my luggage to be transported to what was now my manor and set out mid-afternoon for the manor house which was now mine by inheritance and I suppose you could say Divine Right. Having talked to the people of the Middle East I began to get the idea that the there might be more than one god and if so the Divine Right idea might be standing on very shaky ground. Not that I was going to rock the boat and complain mind you. Divine Right had given me a country house, some lands and an easy living for the rest of my life. The only things I needed to do was to sire a strong son and to be around when Lord Michael Hugemont wanted an escort to London. The escort was mainly, I thought to impress the masses, but as I said; who was I to complain?
I arrived in early evening and was greeted with much astonishment and joy by the retainers. I was not so happily greeted by Judy, my step mother. My father, randy old goat that he had been had rapidly replaced my beloved mother Merryl with what I considered at the time as a slattern and a gold digger. She was exceptionally beautiful and exceedingly vain, dressing in the latest styles and fashions. She always looked like she might have been a woman of easy virtue that hung around the brothels of London. I sometimes suspected that was exactly where she came from and I remonstrated with my father about her but he was adamant. He said that he had sired a good strong son, been faithful to his beautiful Merryl until she died. So, having fulfilled all his duties to god and country, he was free to indulge his fancy for a "pretty flower to brighten my last years" as he called her. My problem was that what she seemed to lack a functioning brain. She babbled incessantly about trivia and of times I would leave the withdrawing room as soon as decent, just to get away from her persistent stream of inanities.
I ordered a good supper from the kitchen, asked about Judy and when informed that she was home, I sent someone to summon her. It took her nearly an hour to arrive. Her late arrival probably occasioned by her preparations. When she arrived she was all tarted up which did not please me in the least. Cook had already served the first course of supper, and had retreated to work more of her magic in the kitchen before Judy swept in. And swept in was the exactly correct description. She was dressed flamboyantly and sexily, exposing vast areas of flesh. Having spent years in the Holy Land where the women dressed in long, shapeless dresses and wore masks she came as a bit of a shock.
"Roger Dahling!" she shouted. "Its so good to see you again. And my dear! Have you grown into a fine looking man."
"Shut up!"
"Shut up! What would you poor father have to say about your rudeness and cruelty to his beloved wife. If he were alive... "
