Part 7: A Scotsman In Egypt - Chapter 6

"Inside men, there are Rebels to kill!" roared Edward, and his men charged forward towards the Gate, as inside the tower Fearghus Campbell waited patiently. Beside him, the Rebel assigned with him to man the gate controls laughed at the ludicrous arrogance of the Scots, having no idea that Fearghus was not a fellow Rebel. As the men approached, some falling to arrows fired from the walls, Fearghus slammed his elbow into the man's face before slamming the lever that controlled the gate mechanism, the doors swinging open and allowing the invading army in. Faerghus dragged his unconscious companion to the corner and swiftly tied him up before checking once more the bolts on the gatehouse door, they were secure, and here he would remain until the end of the battle.

The Rebel Infantry, which had been caught surprised by the gates opening, charged in desperately hoping to stop the Scots, but they were flooding in like the tide, splitting around the Rebels and surrounding them, leaving them completely exposed on all sides. Catapult fire smashed into the wall where archers were stationed, the rebels fleeing in horror as the walls crumbled around them. On the ground, Highlanders screamed out in challenge as they prepared to charge into battle.

"All right, lads!" laughed Angus, his blood up and battle lust upon him,"Let's shove our swords up their arses!"

The Rebel Infantry held momentarily, then broke and ran as more and more of them were cut down by the Scottish, the Highlanders in particular striking fear into their hearts as the long haired, face-painted warriors screamed and hacked and roared in triumph.

"Cavalry, through the gates!" ordered King Edward, and spurred his horse forward with Finguine and his Turkopole Archers close behind. Alexander and David nodded to each other and pushed their horses into a canter, being careful to bring up the rear behind the King.

Edward passed through the gates, his men cheering to see him as they dealt with the last of the archers and infantry that hadn't escaped.

"Are these Rebels men? Or are they women dressed in armor!?!" cried Edward, to the delight of the soldiers,"Shall we cut their cloth from them and discover what is between their legs?"

"Aye!" laughed Angus, ecstatic,"My cousin Rory can make use of either!"

Rory laughed as loudly as the other Highlanders, the Sudanese all smiling bright teeth in dark faces, the Crusader Knights staring with open admiration at King Edward while the Religious Fanatics simply stood and waited for the chance to kill more heathens. At the entrance to the city, Alexander and David exchanged knowing glances.

"Then forward men!" cried Edward,"Today Baghdad becomes Scottish!"

He spurred his horse forward, the Infantry charging alongside as far down the street ahead of them they saw Arab Cavalry approaching, hoping to pepper them with arrows and retreat on horseback. There was no way they could avoid King Edward though, and the Turkopole Archers riding with him blasted arrows into the air, catching those that did retreat as they tried to run.

As they clashed, the surviving Rebel Infantry and a small number of Arab Cavalry found themselves behind the main line, between the fighting Scots and the two units of Heavy Cavalry still sitting at the Gate, Alexander and David.

"To the sides!" ordered Alexander, seeing the danger,"Ride East and West and rejoin the King at the City Centre!"

He spurred his horse forward and his men followed, Alexander cursing the poor quality of the Rebel Defence. David's plan had been for the Infantry to get bogged down in fighting at the Gate, with King Edward being forced to ride ahead to deal with the mounted Cavalry firing arrows from further inside the City. Then Alexander and David would ride around to place themselves between Edward and the Scottish Infantry, ostensibly to lend support to the men on the ground, leaving Edward isolated in the heart of enemy territory where even his accursed luck would not save him.

Instead, the Rebel Infantry had folded immediately, allowing Edward to ride with Infantry at his side to face the Arab Cavalry. It was a setback, now they would have to wait for a fresh opportunity to manoeuvre Edward into a position to die, but at least the battle was nearing its conclusion. Reaching the corner of the city walls, Alexander took a moment to look back to the gates, and felt his blood turn to ice. David remained where Alexander had left him, unmoving on his horse as his Bodyguard fought on horseback all around him against the surviving Rebels.

"Ride David, ride!" he cried, but his Brother seemed almost a statue, sitting perfectly still. Cursing, Alexander spurred his horse and rode as hard as he could, his own men following behind as he cried,"DAVID! DAVID! TO THE PRINCE'S SIDE!"

Finguine twisted his head to the side as he cleaved in a Rebel's head, hearing Alexander's screams across the cacophony of battle all about him. Cursing as he saw Prince David's predicament, he twisted his horse about, crying,"To Prince David's side!"

He crashed into the Arab Cavalry from behind, swinging his sword roughly as through the shifting mass of horse and men he saw David sitting his horse, his face paler than ever, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.... what was he doing?

Finguine let loose a scream and pressed forward, hearing his men smashing into the Rebels on either side of him as he reached David's side and grabbed at his reins, tugging the horse away from the battle. But as the horse turned, David remained in place, sliding from the horse and crashing into the ground, foot stuck in a stirrup. Finguine cursed and leapt down, slashing at a Rebel who charged him screaming before collapsing gurgling blood and clutching at his slashed neck. A large armored figure barrelled past him, the distraught face barely recognizable as Alexander as the Prince dropped to his knees and clutched at David's body. He roared for David to get up, but Finguine could have told him it was useless.

Somehow, some way, Prince David Canmore - Heir to the Scottish Throne - was dead.

Plunging a sword through Captain Osman's belly, King Edward looked about for more enemies to kill and saw none close by. The tattered remnants of the Rebels were being dealt to by his Highlanders, Angus and Rory laughing insults back and forth between them as they cast down their opponents. Turning on his horse, Edward frowned as he noted Finguine and Alexander walking horseless down the street towards him, carrying a body between them.

"Prince David," grunted Finguine as he reached the King, shock evident on his face,"He.... he is dead."

Edward slid from his horse, pulling away his helm, his eyes wide and mouth opening and closing in disbelief as he approached David's body and knelt beside it.

"He... he bears nae mark," he gasped, staring at David's face, which was locked in a rictus of mortal terror.

"My King...." muttered an Armored Knight, one of David's personal bodyguard,"He would nae move once we passed the gate and you rode after the Rebels.... he kept whispering,"The Blood... the Blood," over and over again, we could nae get him to move."

"He always hated blood, but it only made him sick, never this, never anything like.... " whispered Alexander in horror, then gulped visibly before turning his sweat soaked face to Edward,"He died of fright... all his plans, his mind, his potential.... he died of fright."

"Nae," replied Finguine fiercely, and before the startled eyes of all present he drew his sword and plunged it into David's side, where the armor was buckled.

"He died in battle, bravely facing the enemy charge!" roared Finguine at the assembled horsemen,"Do ye ken!?! He died in battle!"

They stared at him in horror, and then Edward gripped Finguine's shoulder,"Aye! My youngest Brother was a true man, and would not bring shame to the family by running. He died sending his enemies to hell, he died a man!"

"Hail Prince David!" roared a horseman, and the others quickly took it up as Alexander dropped to his brother's side and began weeping, inconsolable.

"Finguine, kneel before me," hissed Edward, and Finguine did so immediately, lowering his head. Edward drew his sword, and placed it on Finguine's shoulder,"I name thee Prince Finguine, Heir to the throne of Scotland!"

Alexander's weeping redoubled, but was drowned out by the roar of approval from the horsemen surrounding him. The last "true" son of Malcolm Canmore weeping not just for the death of his beloved Brother, but what he truly believed to be the end of any chance to restore Scotland to what it once had been.