Waiting for al-Afdal

 Fun Fact:

Najm al-Din Ilghazi Ibn Artuq was a daring general, competent emir, and co-ruler of Jerusalem under the Seljuk Empire of Sultan Malik-Shah, of the Sunni Muslim persuasion. His weakness for wine or fermented mare's milk was matched only by his penchant for cruel violence. Ilghazi and his brother Sokmen became co-rulers of Jerusalem after their father's death. 

Antioch had fallen, and the Fatimids of Egypt, Ismaili Shi'ite Muslims, sent and army with 40 trebuchets under vizier Malik al-Afdal to attack Jerusalem in August of 1098, following the death of Malik-Shah. The barrage of stones brought down a portion of the walls. Ilghazi and Sokmen surrendered, turning over the business of running Jerusalem to al-Afdal, who released them and their supporters. The brothers went to Damascus and al-Afdal went back to Egypt after placing Iftikhar al-Dawla in charge of the holy city.

Meanwhile, the crusaders experienced division and strife after the fall of Antioch as Bohemond claimed that as the first lordly entrant into the city, he should rule it. Although Raymond of Toulouse objected strenuously, Bohemond refused to be swayed; he thus established the second crusader state after that of Baldwin at Edessa.

A reduced and divided army departed Antioch for Jerusalem in November. They marched south, conquering towns, taking tribute from those emirs caught between Seljuq and Fatimid rule, and fighting among themselves. Bohemond returned to Antioch while the rest continued toward the goal, bickering all the way.

On June 7, 1099, the crusaders, some 15,000 strong, about a third of the force that had departed from Constantinople, came within sight of Jerusalem, a city guarded by thick walls, gatehouses, and watchtowers. For the first month of the siege, the defenders waited for al-Afdal to send a relief force. The crusaders constructed heavy equipment.

The crusaders opened the attack on July 14 with three mangonels to drive the defenders from the walls and then brought in the battering ram. After breaking through two walls, they opened the way for a massive siege tower covered in skins and crowned by a gold cross. The tower advanced as the defenders hurled pots of Greek fire. Godrey rode atop the tower and the man next to him received a stone hurled from the city which crushed his skull and neck. 

Frankish flaming arrows sent the defenders for cover long enough for the tower bridge to be lowered to the wall. Godrey and his men stormed across to fight their way down to the city streets, where they opened the gates for the whole army to charge through. Since the Christians had been expelled on the approach of the crusaders, all inside were subject to the sword. However, al-Dawla and his chosen made a deal to preserve themselves, and Raymond of Toulouse ushered them from the city to the Fatimid stronghold at Ascalon.

Jerusalem had fallen to the Franks. Al-Afdal never showed.

The above information was taken from chapter 9 of Dan Jone's Crusaders.

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Is There No Hope?

The Patriot Cause is in jeopardy. The commander’s minions and King George’s troops are victorious on all fronts.

Can Lucette save Washington and his army? Will Alex be able to stand against Roberts’ devastating new weapon? Iago and Atu confront old enemies and encounter new ones. Rip and Antonio must help in a crucial mission to save the Cause.

Join them in the fight for a new nation.

 

Quest for Cool

 

I wasn't in Miami when I took that photo; Don Ameche and Betty Grable were no where in sight. I've never seen the movie, but I plan to do so.

Spent my first week in Byzantium. Is the incumbent's withdrawal from the race inexplicably tied to my change of residence? It doesn't seem likely as he probably isn't aware of either circumstance. The real adventure here was the quest for cool. I know what you're thinking: Aren't I the High Prince of Cool? (what with Dean Martin being the King of Cool). You're not wrong. Nevertheless, we discovered that the new digs can best be described as an oven stuck on broil. After multiple sweaty and sleepless nights, we determined to bag a window unit.

A questing we did go to the land of Octsoc where the AC herds are known to roam. We stalked the aisles in camouflage specially designed to blend in with wandering denizens of the place, yet the quarry eluded us. We at last learned that the big herds that once darkened the aisles with their passing had been hunted to extinction. However, there remained a few great monsters of a related species gathered in a formidable pack upon the plain. I wasn't sure that my wallet was of sufficient caliber to bring down one of the beasts, but after carefully examining the ammunition on hand and sneaking in close to examine the prey in every respect allowed, I pulled the trigger. The monster nearly crushed me with its bulk, but I succeeded it dragging it through the ranger station checkpoint to hoist it into the transport. Upon our return, we lugged the beast up the stairs and proceeded to remove the boxy skin and disembowel the interior packages for assembly. 

Our pool of cool rolls from room to room on wheels of rigid steel plastic. It joins us in the bedroom at night and inhabits the living room by day, its chilling breath invigorating all in the vicinity.

Finally, the wyrd western short story is complete. Although the stars in their courses and the hand of man combined against giving me time to finish it, I managed to write the ending on Saturday--chiseling the final touches of the climactic clash and sanding down the denouement. Time also allowed me to review and edit another short story that I may submit elsewhere. I'll write at least one more short before I turn to a novella in the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series to catch up on the adventure of Rip and Antonio in search of the stolen prize with Johnny Coyne and Catalina.

Driving to Byzantium

 

Blog post for July 14, 2024

Is Byzantium a place or is it a state of mind?

If you ask that question of those who study poetry seriously, they’re apt to inform you that Byzantium in the poem, “Sailing to Byzantium” is indeed a state of mind, a place of spiritual rebirth for a scarecrow of a man, “a tattered coat upon a stick,” who begs the sages of that city to be the singing-masters of his soul, to gather him “into the artifice of eternity.” I’m sure there’s more, but that’s the nutshell version.

Byzantium, for my purposes, may be a state of mind, but it’s also a place. The place to which I have arrove arriven, arrived. I nailed my 95 theses to the wall, in the form of a polite notice that my days over there in that "no country for old men" had reached an ending point. I had already received the invitation from the sages at Byzantium bidding me welcome to that holy city.

We loaded the four-wheeled transport ‘neath the blaze of western sunshine and slipped the moorings for the open road. The trip, in accordance with my preference, proved entirely uneventful. The drone of the tires, the efforts of the big engine, the forced breeze from the AC, and the euphonious tones of the radio accompanied me. I noticed that I had a tail but I wasn’t alarmed. I was expecting that brown-eyed girl in the family car.

On our arrival, no one greeted us except for the key to the front door. We unloaded as twilight crawled into the darkness of night, and we kept unloading even after our desire to do so had long gone the way of the twilight. We would not have completed the job had not the fils joined us to help with lifting both heavy and light. At long last, hot, tired, and irritable, we crawled into bed to learn that the post 11:pm hours had been appointed by the neighbor below to play a video game with a loud and heavy beat—over and over again. Although the shenanigames eventually ended, the heat went on and on.

After a great breakfast at a local restaurant (Homestead Family Restaurant for $33) and the first trip to the megamart for groceries (where we ran into an old friend), we got serious into the unpacking. A second trip to megamart got us a window fan. A third trip much later in the day revealed that in contrast to our old country home, our car, and the four-wheeled transport, and in common with the new digs, megamart had no AC units for sale. The highlight of the day was Chinese take-out from the New Hong Kong Restaurant. For $13.00 the two of us had a delicious meal with just enough left over for lunch the next day.

Today, we attended with a small congregation who seemed genuinely glad to see us, and got to see another old friend from our original stomping grounds.

Tomorrow, I should meet the rest of the sages and their handlers, as well as some of the men-at-arms, and the high alchemists.

 

Writers Cantina 2024

 

The weary miles betwixt Le Chateau du Chat Gris and the UCC prevented me from posting last week. Today I'll recount what I can remember with help from my recent newsletter. What I can't remember, I'll fabricate to the best of my recollection.

I made certain not to arrive exceedingly early. I learned my lesson last year with the hauling of ice and comestibles with Jana, John, et al. I arrived less than a half hour before the starting gun sounded and got checked in, collected my two shirts, and caught up with Colby and Rick. I then visited the rooms and decided which presentation I would first attend.

The local constabulary made an appearance and brought some strong opinions regarding our choice of vehicular positioning. Although we were a full tome of writers with our poetic licenses at the ready, we declined to throw down the gauntlet of semantics and the complete lack of prohibitory signage, and instead moved our cars to the graveled area.

A noticeable improvement over last year saw us in three rooms for presentations and panels where the AC wasn't permanently set to arctic blast. The cantina room where one talked, gabbed, gossiped, flattered, cajoled, and mingled with writers, food, and carbonated beverages maintained the polar temps but it was bearable in that more open environment.

The big issue concerned how my presentation on Forging Unforgettable Stories was going to be delivered and received. Fortunately, Jay made a timely appearance for the presentation preceding mine, and we got things figured out--after a fashion. I used the laptop furnished by the cantina for the presentation while following my notes on my own laptop. The audience participated and certainly gave the appearance of being attentive. No one had to be removed by paramedics for an acute attack of apathy with complications from boredom. I even noted a few folks taking photos of my slides.

I attended a great presentation by Gordon and Nancy on historic firearms. Unfortunately, I had to leave before the end to take care of another matter. The panel on writing historical fantasy that I organized with Dave, Daniel, David, and me, had standing room only. I had lost the erudite and cogent questions that I had prepared when I suggested the idea for the panel, so I had to fire my inquiries on the fly to keep the discussion moving. The other panelists rose to the occasion, providing thoughtful and interesting responses to my quick queries.

I enjoyed meeting editors and writers for Raconteur Press--what a fun bunch.

Here are a few of those who deigned to allow their picture to be taken:

Joe, Brad, and Jim

I also snapped a picture during the presentation by Larry and Steve of Writer Dojo on writing action scenes:

I believe Steve is saying, "The mig was coming at me like this..." - or something completely unrelated to that.

When the event closed on the second day--going longer than that off-Broadway play I starred in--that's totally not true. I have never... Well, I guess I have in fact starred or had the lead male role in one or more plays which were not on Broadway, but they all went the full 7 nights--I hung around until the event organizer literally shooed the last of us from the crime scene. However, the fun continued as I lingered with Dave, David, Josh, and another writer outside the locked doors of the venue in discussion of matters both arcane and mundane--which sounds like a book title: Matters Arcane and Mundane: How Secret Societies Control Your Daily Life. 

 

To top off the the great event, I was invited to sup with editors and writers for Raconteur Press. I got to talk Star Trek with Brad and another prolific short story writer who favored a Hawaiian shirt that day and preferred not to have his picture or name mentioned in social media--it totally wasn't Windward Noblue. Nancy's spicy spaghetti tapped my taste buds with a terrific little tango of flavor that I quite enjoyed. I had nice conversations with James and J.C. and a delightful little chat with Liddie about the Arthurian stories that she's crafting. I had a couple brief discussions with Mike at the conference but didn't get to talk much to him at the after gathering as he was tied up with more entertaining folks. 

I also spoke briefly with Liddie's dad at the conference, and enjoyed that as well. There was a discussion with Joe, Brad, and J.L. that was quite pleasant (see the picture above). Perhaps the most memorable conversation I had at the conference concerned a topic outside the ordinary: Mastitis. We got to that point because I kept asking questions to which, unbeknownst to me, mastitis was ultimately the answer. Once she learned that I grew up on a farm and had some understanding of the malady, the whole horrible issue came out. Although not quite as notable as the breast infection topic, a discussion followed at the same table about paranormal experiences with David, Josh, Daniel, and Janiel that was great fun.

The Writers Cantina was tremendous fun. I don't regret the trip and enjoyed catching up with old friends and meeting new ones. It was more fun than a root canal and twice as exciting as any book by Faulkner--and I'm not just saying that.

In other news, I'll be sailing to Byzantium at the end of the week.