The Secret Diary of Good King Richard

Day 1 Acre

Yards of ground won in battle: 24, Yards of ground lost in battle: 65 (not good), Saracens killed: 0 (surprisingly resilient today), Crusaders Killed: 145 (lads won’t be happy at this)

Spent the day charging into battle with my trusty horse, it was ridiculously hot and I have developed saddle rash from the constant bumping. It’s the pesky sand you see! It really does get everywhere and then there’s all the rubbing and chafing in places I would rather not mention. You would think that after so many years at this I would have gotten used to it!

Have had message from Salahadin. Apparently the old fiend wants to arrange a meeting with an emissary tomorrow in the middle of the bloody desert! I have decided to make that blonde bombshell Carter act as me so I can spy from a distance. Also if things go wrong his pretty head is much better for the chopping block than mine.

Oh- must mention that I have started to write my own story. Must try and read it to one of the lads. I really think that I have a future in it.

Day 2: Middle of desert near Acre

Meetings held: 1, Assassination warnings: 1, Fancy seals received: 1, Ominous portents of doom: too numerous to mention.

Met with the messenger. Well I say I did; I skulked in the background and let Carter do the dangerous stuff. Apparently visitors with a Saracen accomplice will try to kill me! Good grief! How will I cope? The least the messenger could have done would be to mention some real names. I am just going to be paranoid now!

Carter reckons I should let him play the King more- cheeky mare! I bet he just wants to wear my crown and prance up and down the tent whilst the guards adore him. Sometimes I think that man has ideas far above his statue since he got back from Nottingham. I may have to take him down a peg or two if he carries on like this.

Spent this evening reading my story to Bob (one of the Knights who is garrisoned with us). He seemed to like it at first but then I caught him nodding off when I got the middle section. When I coughed loudly and asked him what it lacked he seemed to think that the central character is not developed enough and needs some kind of quirky habit or personality trait. So I have decided to make him a dashingly handsome king who is a brave warrior...but has a caring heart.

Day 5: My Tent, Acre

Chapters of fic written: 2 (not bad), Assassination warnings: 0 (much better than of recent), Visitors with a Saracen accomplice: 0 (beginning to think the messenger was lying)

Decided to have a day off today so am now very popular with the lads. Apparently they have been very battle weary and tired of late and so relished a chance to kick back, get the sand out of their boots and relax. Some of them decided to have a little party last night (on my say so of course) and there were a lot of blurry heads emerging from tents this morning. Of course I am a pillar of virtue and was up bright and breezy doing my morning exercises. Talking to them very loudly and annoying them! I do so love to harass people with hangovers.

After that I spent the day secreted away in my tent writing. I got a little stuck on one point so I think I will have to come back to it when my head is clearer. Geoffrey my manservant made me a delicious meal for dinner though. I must remember to make him a free man when we get home eventually.  He has done more than his fair share of scuttle work for me over the years.

Day 8: Middle of the Desert, Acre

Assassination plots thwarted: 1, Former nobles now facing death: 1, Plot twists for fic worked out:1

My old mate and drinking buddy Robin of Locksley turns up and can you Adam and Eve it? He is the one who turns out to be accompanied by a Saracen. A Saracen lady- well I wouldn’t say she was ‘accompanying’ Robin in [b]that[/b] way judging by the lovey dovey eyes she was giving the lanky peasant boy.

I was shocked at first but then it all made sense. He did go home last year to ‘recover’ fully but surely he must have been fighting fit for ages now. Why did the fellow not come and rejoin the battle sooner? I tell you dear diary...he was plotting against me! I know he must be....not paranoid you know. Carter is insisting that Robin is innocent but then again I still reckon he wants my crown. I heard him muttering something about it ‘matching his dashingly blonde hair’ the other day to Geoffrey!

...just off to tie Robins evil gang up in the desert...

Day 8: much later

Day has taken a decided turn for the worst. Am in a heap of pain.

Major blunder! Major disaster! I feel like a right plum pudding and am more than a little upset over what has happened.

Err...  it turns out I may have been slightly wrong on the whole ‘Robin and his gang are the traitors’ thing.

My bad.

Lucky for me they got out of the desert before it killed them. Apparently the desert didn’t decide, Carter decided for himself and got them out of there. Bloody hero that man turns out to be! Oh how I shall miss him and stunningly handsome looks. Must not think of that now. I shall cry again!

Anyways it turns out that Robins fiancée was tied up with him in the desert. That dastardly Sheriff of Nottingham had done it and it turns out that Robin was telling the truth about him and his leather loving henchman.

Once they explained everything to me and I had the chance to act all knowing and smug because Robin still blindly followed me. Oh I do adore such devotion. Some of his gang didn’t look too pleased though. The smaller cinnamon haired one was grumpy throughout and the Saracens bit of fluff sulked the whole time at the rear of the group.

Anyways to cut a tragic story short Robin wanted to dress up as me. Again what is with this dressing up as the king thing???

After a heroic battle in the desert we all ended up in a desolate Saracen village. Robin and his ‘merry men’ all scattered and I was being my usual dashing self when I did this magnificent sword throw to save Robin. After giving him a cheery wink I rode off magnificently only to feel a blinding pain in my shoulder.

Someone had shot me!

Next thing I know the lanky one and the Saracen are pulling the arrow from me and all I can see is Robins fiancée lying with a surprisingly bloodless sword sticking through her! I could see from the angle it was in at that she was a gonner  but they were going ahead with their wedding vows.

I do love a good wedding and I remembered I was wearing my least favourite ring that day. Some god awful ruby brick. More than happy to get rid of it I donated it to her but soon after she died.

A truly sad day.

Now dear diary I am in my tent mourning for Marian and for my Carter. It just won’t be the same around here without his cheeky chappie persona and blondness.

Day 10: On the road to the port

Mood in camp: poor, Hours of sleep: 2, Thoughts about the blondie: 10,234

Decided to go and wave Robin and his remaining gang off. Apparently the lanky one and the Saracen are staying here. Bad news for Robin but good news for me! I am beginning to really like the lanky one. Perhaps I could get him to do some carpentry around camp?

He might make up for having no Carter around *sobs*

Robin looked incredibly sad but you know I think that he will be alright. He has that manservant Much (the one who annoyed me about somewhere called Bonchurch the other day) who just adores him and will look after him. Plus he has the hairy strong one and the one who was carrying that fluffy pigeon in a box. I don’t really know what that was for to be honest.

Gah! I don’t know what came over me but I got caught up in the mood and chanted that I was ‘Robin Hood’  Where the heck did that come from? I am not Robin Hood. I am King Richard.

Hero...fighter...fanfic writer.

Talking of that fic...all this angst will certainly help me write the next chapter of that...

Title: Too Far From Home
Author: andreat1981
Rating: (see below)  PG-13
Warnings: Contains (e.g. Mild violence, mild language, etc.)  Quite quite angsty
Synopsis: What happened to Will in the Holy Land



Will flinched as she tried to staunch the blood flow. He could not feel the pain anymore but he had the sensation that the very thing which gave life to his body was slowly seeping into the ground around him. He could sense the frantic scrabbling as her hands moved to rip away the rich blue material of his tunic in a sheer panic that was so unusual from her.

He heard the desperation in her voice when she told him to “Focus...stay awake...don’t leave me Will Scarlett!”

He felt his head lolling to one side and through unfocussed eyes saw the retreating figure of his attacker as he ran away down the narrow alleyway between Bassams house and the bazaar but could not clearly remember what had happened.

Blinking to try and focus his head he tried to remember. Flashes of him venturing out for the first time in weeks as the sun had set into the horizon and the blistering heat of the day had given way to cooling twilight. He had seen the fear reflected in Djaq’s eyes as a blinding pain ripped through him and suddenly a curved blade was sticking out through his torso covered in his own bright red blood. He had heard a bloodcurdling scream and had no idea that it was his own anguished cry as the blade was viciously wrenched back out and the world had seemed to tilt suddenly on its side.

His vision dimmed and he could feel himself succumbing to the darkness as though it was a blanket being laid over him.

But then somebody grabbed at his chin and moved his head to look upwards dragging him out of the darkness. It was Djaq but not the happy smiling Djaq that she had been when they had first decided to stay. It was a Djaq who’s face was twisted in anguish with tears spilling from her eyes. Distraught wails were coming from deep within her.

He couldn’t understand what was going on. Why was she so distraught? His brain was slow and he could not understand her pain.

“Dja...” he tried to say but his throat was choking on a thick metallic tasting liquid and he felt himself coughing feebly.

What had made her so upset? He could not remember anything now as her face dimmed and seemed to move away from him.

Where were they? Why did the air feel so different? Why was the ground so sandy beneath his trembling hands? Where were the trees and the ever present gentle breeze?

Where was Robin and John and Much...and Allan? Why were his friends not present?

He could not hear her clearly now...everything was muffled but her lips were moving as she tried to smile down at him. The only sound he could hear was a pounding in his ears made by a heart that was trying in vain to get what remained of his blood around his body.

As his vision dimmed to black the last sensation he felt was of Djaqs lips pressing lightly on his cheek and he slowly sighed.

In a darkened alleyway thousands of miles from his friends and home Will Scarlett died.

He wanted to scream...wanted to cry out and wail that he was still there. The abject terror that he felt was mixed with a rage that this was happening to him. He was torn between the two emotions that were almost duelling for supremacy in his conscience.

One of the emotions making him cower and shake at the memory that the being which now possessed him could have inflicted such pain on his body. His screams had reverberated around the unfamiliar metal room he had found himself in after stepping into seemingly nothing in the field until he could take no more and the world had faded to black. The next thing he knew he had woken to be trapped within his own body watching a series of terrifying events brought about by his own hands but unable to do a thing about it.

The other emotion wanted to yell and lash out at the fact that he was being put through this. Jeremy Baines was not a person who took being bullied very well. In fact he was far more used to being the bully...being in control. Now this...this thing which controlled him had lost and they were both about to be trapped.

Trapped together, forever entwined to guard the fields of England. Trapped so that the being could in a way get his wish and live forever but which would only bring eternal agony to Baines. Agony and rage that his life which had been mapped out for him in a wholly upper class fashion would no longer come to fruition.

As the hood was lowered over his head the fear and rage changed to regret.

Regret that his choices in life had in hindsight not been the best. Regret that he had acted in the manner in which he had seen his parents and relatives act towards others. Regret that he had not seen the error of his ways earlier and tried to make a change as the ominous tides of war rang out across the world.

 
It was too late now...the darkness consumed him and he joined his trapped companion in his silent screams.