*** Weekend Write-In for May 22 2020 ***

"kind": In 500 words, or 100 words, tell what happens when someone is kind

*This story takes place during the events of RETREAT OR SURRENDER

SERIOUS KNIGHTS

Acre - the year of our lord, 1191.

The day had started so well. Sir Campion Longshield (nee' Longbottom) and his boon companion, Peregrine, Count of Hampton had been recovering from a particularly nasty (and tasty) intake of ales and wine, in a basement drinkerie somewhere  in the heart of the city.

Sir Campion had thought to deal with their thudding heads by a simple but ingenious method.

'We should ...'

'Yes?'

'Hear me out  before you pass judgment, old chum.'

Peregrine clutched his head and nodded. 'Speak then, but lower your voice to the sound of a dull roar, for I am perilous assailed between the eyes. My old childhood priest, Father Sebastian would say that miniature demons were burrowing into my brain to peck out the sin. Then he would suggest I submit to a medium to robust flagellation about the buttocks.'

'The buttocks? You rich folk were born privileged. In the alleyways of Rat's End, we were lucky not to have had OUR local priest, Father Weyland, not strike  us repeatedly about the back and shoulders with a wet leather strap as he prayed for our souls. And THAT was just for asking if the time neared Crow's Eye.'

Peregrine nodded. 'Did he also ask you to strike him on the back and shoulders so that he too may atone for his sins?'

'No. Why?'

'No reason. You were saying?'

'Ah yes. We should drink some more.'

'I am in.'

'No, wait hear me out. If we drink more, the pain in our heads will go awa... Pardon?'

But Peregrine was already signalling for more ale. 'Innkeeper, wake up and serve us. The first rays of dawn creep up the window ledge. Oh and shut the shutters. My head cannot stand the light.'

'At once, me lords. And what about the young gentleman? Is he in yer party, then?'

Peregrine glanced over to where a slumped figure sat, the only other awake in a room of drunken knights and men of middling to higher rank. Yes, no secret recently opened dive bar for the common soldier, caked with the recent blood of its former Moorish tea house owners, slain by the present landlord, Wilf of Bog End, be this!

Nay, twas a secret recently opened dive bar etc etc catering to a better class of drunkard.

Count Peregrine was about to angrily tell Wilf where to go, when the lad looked up and nodded sadly.

Peregrine took in the youthful features, the smooth skin and slender body of the young knight and gasped. He called out. 'But of course. Good morn, young knight. Will ye join us for a breakfast of boiled swine and more beverages?'

The boy stood unsteadily. 'Zank you, mein herrs. And may it be permitted of me to ask ze names of mein hosts?'

Peregrine glowed. What a delightful accent! 'But of course, jungen Herr. I ...' He arose and swept his cape back with the flourish of a born dandy. 'I am Count Peregrine of Hampton, and this tall glass of wine is my good friend, Sir Campion, known as Sir Campion the Champion.'

The lad began to smile. 'You are indeed of a stature to befit such a heroic name, Sir  Campion.'

Peregrine hastily stood in front of his handsome friend. 'Erm and might one be permitted to ask your name?'

'Ah yes. Mein apologies. I forget my manners in my pleasure to perhaps find such heroes as may help me. I am William of Ruhr-Saxeburg, youngest son to ze  Baron Ritter Von Ruhr-Saxeburg. You may call me Willy.'

Peregrine beamed. 'We will of course render you any assistance you desire, Sir Knight.'

William broke out into a smile. 'Zen mein bruder is as good as saved! You will come with me?'

After Peregrine had nodded enthusiastically, Campion placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'Perry, what did we just agree to?'

The Count shook him off. 'Pshaw, young Willy probably needs a hand getting his brother away from the clutches of some painted trull. Let us off!'

***

An hour later.

The young knight with the long blonde hair and golden armour strode over to them. 'Sir William, we had given you up for lost somewhere. The news is good. The king has authorised a rescue party.'

'Rescue party?' Campion was not liking the sound of this.

The long haired knight stood face to face with Campion - they were much of a muchness in heroic stature, handsome of face and blonde of mane. 'With men such as yourself, the chances of returning Sir Freidrich before the Saracens discover the secrets he holds, are much improved.'

'Secrets? Saracens?'

The knight nodded. 'Yes, a party of German knights, all good Christians, they fell to a Saracen attack beyond the walls, but a survivor returned to inform us that Sir Friedrich was taken alive. Ah, but where are my manners ... if we are to ride to the heart of the enemies fastness, and risk life and limb together, I must properly introduce myself. I am Richard Earl of Warwick. Some know me as ... The Golden Knight.'

Peregrine and Campion digested this information and began to look for an exit - men at arms lounged by it - in front of them the stables opened towards a little known side gate of the city.

And this had started off so well!

Continued in CROSSOVER PART TWO