Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Beginning
Joe, Nicky and Booker arrived at the old abandoned church in Goussainville shortly before dusk. A quick stealthy reconnaissance revealed that all was well and everything had been left alone. They quickly fell into a well practiced routine, gear was sorted and stowed by Booker, weapons cleaned and checked by Nicky and then basic needs were seen too by Joe.
Some simple provisions were always stowed away in the tiny makeshift larder, things that would keep, nothing fancy, just enough to fill bellies until fresh supplies could be organised in the morning. As Joe scanned the shelves he glanced over the usual stack of M.R.E's and his eyes settled on the bag of dried macaroni pasta. A quick flick through the sauces and he pulled out two sachets of cheese sauce, he also found a jar of ready made white sauce, he knew it would probably be tasteless glup but beggars can't be choosers. He'd enough to whip up a basic Mac and Cheese, hardly Michelin Star cuisine but it would take the edge of their hunger and he set to work getting everything ready.
By the time he was done and had plated up, Booker had finished sorting and replenishing their packs and was resting in one of the leather arm chairs. He'd also lit the fire to take some of the chill out of the air. The old stone building had been vacant for a few months and badly needed airing out and warming up. Joe nodded at Booker and handed him one of the plates of food balancing on his open palms. The Frenchman reached up for his plate, careful not to knock the fork teetering on the edge and placed it on his lap.
“Merci mon ami,” he spoke softly.
“Je vous en prie,” Joe replied as he reached into the single pocket at the front of his slightly worn apron and pulled out a small matching set of salt and pepper shakers and offered them to his friend.
“Trust me, you'll need these,” he laughed.
Booker smiled and sprinkled an ample amount of seasoning over the pasta before dropping the two glass shakers back into Joe's apron and proceeded to shovel a heap of hot macaroni into his mouth.
“Nicky?” he inquired after his partner.
Booker looked to the right and had to point with his fork as his mouth was still full of pasta.
Joe nodded in thanks and headed towards one of the large rooms that made up the living quarters attached to the church.Upon entering he was met by a large old oak table, it's well worn and marred surface was covered in an array of firearms, many of which had been used on their recent failed mission to South Sudan. All were laid out neatly, categorised, cleaned and oiled where necessary, Nicky was always meticulous.
The smell of gun oil was still strong in the air and a large pile of dirty 4x2 sections of rifle cleaning cloth lay at then end of the table alongside a discarded olive green t-shirt. In a section on its own, lying on a piece of old upholstery fabric lay his scimitar. His precious backsword had been lovingly cared for. All traces of blood had been removed from it's curved blade. No swordsman worth his salt would leave blood on a blade for an extended time if it could be avoided, the blood would actually corrode the steel. He had wiped as much blood from it as he could after the ambush but it needed a thorough clean.
A rhythmic sound from the far corner of the room suddenly grabbed his attention, looking up from the table and it's contents, he spotted his Nicky. The man's back was facing him, lean muscles moved and stretched over bones as he repeatedly worked a whetstone along the length of his long sword's edges, occasionally he would pause and sprinkle a tiny amount of water over the blade, not strictly necessary but the small amount of lubrication helps the cutting action and rinses away the swarf. The view was mesmorising, Joe carefully placed the plate of pasta on the table and continued to watch the beautiful man work. After a certain amount of even strokes, Nicky raised his sword in his outstretched arm and whilst tilting his wrist he painstakingly scrutinised the newly sharpened edges. He made the action look effortless but Joe knew better. The sword's hilt was long, designed to be held in a two-handed grip, those fourty plus inches of steel weighed close to two kilos. But the man handled it with elegance and grace. His long sinewy arms belied the immense strength hidden within. The man was a work of art.
Joe would never forget the first time he came face to face with his now soul mate. Those memories and feelings were still raw and vibrant, as if they were but newly formed and not something that had been a treasured part of him for nearly a millenia. The circumstances that forced them together were long and convoluted and spread over several years, brought about by the decisions and actions of high ranking men on both opposing sides.
In 1095 when Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Komnenos first appealed to the Christian Church for help against the Muslim hoards threatening his domain, Pope Urban II proclaimed the First Crusades in response and thus began a series or religious wars in the Eastern regions of the Mediterranean. The People's Crusade led by French Priest, Peter The Hermit, consisted of thousands of poor Christians, most of whom were slaughtered by the Seljuk Turks at the Battle of Civetot in 1096. This outcome set in motion the Prince's Crusade and it was at this stage that his beloved became involved as the lower classes were accompanied by those of higher nobility. Nicolo di Genova left his cherished home in Genoa and embarked on the long arduous journey to Constantinople along with almost one hundred thousand other souls.
Atrocities were committed and an untold amount of blood was shed by all involved but amongst the loss of countless lives, Yusuf had found the love of his life.
He too was a warrior born of nobility and with his father Ibrahim's blessing, he answered the call of Govenor Iftikhar ad-Duada to protect Jerusalem from the invading infidels. He left the Maghreb region with many fellow Berbers and travelled east along the coast of North Africa and became part of the Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt. Arabs, Bedouins and Berbers soon all travelling together until they eventually arrived at the sacred city. But the Crusaders were more successful this time, well armed and schooled in tactics, they marched through the land and despite a lack of food and water, they captured Nicea and later on Antioch. By June 1099 they had reached the walls of Jerusalem and the city was under seige. July 15th an attack was launched at both ends of the city wall until finally the inner rampart of the northern wall was captured.
It was from the collapsing parts of that very wall that Yusuf leapt from, brandishing his trusty scimitar, screaming like a man possessed whilst he charged the Knights scattered below. He had believed then that death would most likely befall him before the night was over but he was not afraid, if Allah deemed it so, then he welcomed it so long as he could bathe his blade in the blood of his enemies before his time came.
Some of the Sudanese archers positioned high above him were still managing to release volleys of arrows on the approaching hostile force. Many aimed their weapons at a well armed mounted cavalcade of charging Knights, their long spears easily penetrated the armour of his fellow warriors.
After another lethal barrage of arrows, many of the steads fell causing their riders to tumble to the ground. His Nicolo was one such rider. He had lost his helmet and spear in the resulting fall and immediately drew his long sword from its scabbard.
Amidst the smoke and flames, the shouts and cries, they locked eyes and back then Nicolo's blue grey eyes shone with anger, hatred and contempt, surely a mirror to his own.
He had witnessed the fall, he knew his opponent had to be in some degree of pain and weary from countless skirmishes, many of which were carried out on an empty stomach due to a shortage in food supplies and regular fasting. But none of this showed on his adversaries face, nor was there any trace of fear...a worthy foe, he would make sure to personally send this proud warrior to meet his God tonight.
The resulting fight was vicious, both men shared equal battle prowess, Nicolo's lean frame belied his strength and he reined powerful blows upon his enemy, wielding his lethal long sword with skill and dexterity but Yusuf was faster, his shorter scimitar was more manoeuverable. As the duel raged on and steel clashed against steel, several minor hits were scored by both men, but it was Yusuf that swung the initial mortal blow.
A well timed slice to a briefly exposed gut had Nicolo falling to his knees. His pale surcoat was rapidly stained with red as his shaking left hand tried in vain to hold pressure against the wound. As his life force continued to seep from his body, he slumped backwards onto his calves and a stifled groan escaped his lips. Yusuf had looked on with glee, another enemy vanquished but as much as he hated this unwashed barbarian, he respected a fellow warrior, the man had put up a good fight and he would not see him needlessly suffer, he had earned a quick death. He closed the gap between them in order to conduct a deathly blow...that had been a grievous mistake.
His opponent, still gripping the handle of his long sword in his right hand, thrust up with all his remaining strength and pierced him through the chest. The Knight was rewarded for his desparate efforts as he witnessed the Muslim's dark brown eyes widen in suprise and then clench in pain. Yusuf had been deceived, the fallen noble was not as weak as he had let on, he remained there motionless, impaled on steel as the seconds stretched on for an eternity, once again eyes staring at his rival. A brief flash of satisfaction graced the Christian's features as he ruthlessly wrenched the lenght of steel from his chest, the plug now released, a torrent of blood flowed from the wound and Yusuf knew he was not long for this world. All strength and vigor fled him and he collapsed in a graceless heap on the ground beside his executioner. The Knight however quickly followed suit, bloodloss finally taking it's toll. They lay there side by side on the chaotic battlefield, matching piercing gazes promising retribution in the afterlife as they were finally overcome by the darkness.
Resurrection had been a jarring, confusing and painful experience for both of them. Surely a miracle was the only rational explaination, each one believing they had been brought back by God to do his work and fight in his name. As soon as they managed to find their feet and their weapons, they resumed their single combat, all else was inconsequential, they focused on each other and abandoned all others. The result was bloody and brutal, they fought again and again, stabbing, gutting, impaling, they drowned each other, heads were smashed in with rocks but every time they both managed to inflict a fatal blow on each other and they died together side by side.
It's fair to say they lost count of the number of times they killed each other. And neither one can quite recall which fight to the death had been their last, but at some stage in the proceedings something had changed and the desire to seek vengeance and commit murder had waned. Their differences grew fewer and fewer and they discovered that they had actually more in common than not. Still it wasn't easy at first, beliefs and ideals don't just change or disappear over night, but their new found immortality connected them on a level neither man had ever experienced before with another living soul. They begrudgingly stayed together out of necessity and perhaps due to a little fear of the unknown, though neither man would ever admit such. Gradually over time they became comrades, then close friends and somewhere along the way that friendship deepened into something much, much more.
Joe still prays and thanks God for the strange set of circumstances that led him to Nicky. Maybe God had nothing to do with it, maybe they were just destined to meet and be together, either way, he will be eternally grateful for being allowed to have this amazing man in his life.