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octavian
05-21-2004, 04:56
by Ashantiwarrior from the EH

Hi guys-new story running in conjunction with the latest campaign i have just started (Eng/Early/Expert)-intend to update every 10 years odd

Can this be transferred to the Mead Hall SubForum please?

Let me know what y'all think-lol

A HISTORY OF ENGLAND II FROM THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1087



Background:

It is the year of our Lord 1087 and William I, sometimes known as the Conqueror, sometimes as The Bastard rules England and his associated French lands in Europe. The 2nd half of William’s father’s reign had been spent putting down one Saxon rebellion after another but by the early 1080s peace had at last broken out in England and the now, old King had at last begun to look to his dotage.

The young Prince William had not seen much of his father in those early years after the invasion, being kept, for the most part in the old Ancestral lands of Normandy under the overprotective care of his mother, Helene D’Anjou. He was summoned to his father’s side some 15 years ago-not long after he had come of age and from there had been sequestered with young Norman Lords of similar age free to indulge in young knightly pursuits such as jousting and hunting in the vast new Forest. His father had married him off young and he had also been able to raise a family of his own and was the proud father of 5 children, 3 daughters and 2 sons-the eldest daughter 17 and his eldest son (also named William), 13 years old. From his early 20s the Prince had been tasked with putting down some of the most serious Saxon Rebellions-those mainly in the North of England and this he had done with a grim ruthlessness that had earned him a reputation as one that brooked no dissent and made some of the prouder Norman Lords wonder what sort of King they were going to inherit-an autocratic one for certes.

The old King and his son had never been close and so it was with dry eye that he was summoned to London to witness the final act of the Conqueror’s bright and now fading star….

1087 The Tower of London:

As he rode into London it seemed to the Prince that London was particularly surly this day-mayhap the citizenry sensed the changes in the air he mused. He dismounted in the yard of the Tower and made his way to the King’s chambers-his friend, Lord Thomas Howard, Duke of Aquitaine, one of those Lords that William had grown up with and grown fond of-was at the stairs to greet him.

‘Ill met mayhap Will’ said Thomas a grim look on his youthful features-he was one of the most powerful Lords in the realm having inherited the Duchy of Aquitaine from his father at only 12 years of age-he was an able battle commander and more importantly he had a good head on his shoulders for managing the affairs of his extensive domains-not one to worry about when he was King mused William.

‘Good Morrow Tom’ the prince replied clasping him in a warm embrace-‘Gods’ wounds I never loved my father but it is a burdensome thing to take a crown-I shall miss him Tom-you understand?’

‘I do my friend-here is the King’s chamber-shall I wait for you? You should know The Duke of Normandy and the Earls of Mercia and Northumberland are in attendance already’

Prince William paused-the foremost Lords of the realm-there was not much time left for the King evidently. ‘No come in with me Thomas-I will need your support’

The 2 men were ushered into the King’s bedchamber by one of his men-in waiting-the chamber already smelt of death-a musky stale smell portentous in its meaning and one entirely consistent with the sight of the old King who lay propped, shrunken and frail in his bed of state. There were many men around the outsides of the bedchamber but in the spluttering torchlight William was hard pressed to see exactly who was there. The King beckoned him forward……

Afterwards William had remembered how the King’s bony hand had grasped his and how he had croaked his dying admonitions to his stranger son:

‘The French my son-look for the French-they are ever the snake in our bosom. The French King Philippe has regarded our holdings in France with envious eyes since my acquisition of this Kingdom …’ The old man’s eyes had a feverish intensity and brightness to them-the end was hastening near.

‘Strengthen what you have my son, build watch towers to control the population-they are restless still. Send out emissaries and marry your girls off but always my son, always watch for the French.’ The King coughed, bloody flecks appearing around his mouth. William took out a silk kerchief and tenderly wiped his father’s mouth. He could not still his beating heart or ignore the feeling of dread that rose in his gorge-he was going to miss his father for sure.

The King continued; ‘The German Holy Roman Emperor will be too busy trying to reacquire his Roman Empire to trouble us for now and to the South the Aragonese too busy fending off the advances of their neighbours in Castile. We must rise as a nation William and to do that we need trade. Build up our richest lands-appoint wise Lords to rule them and look to Flanders-we need her wealth and her Trade. What you cannot obtain with trade William you must snatch with a mailed fist-you understand?’

‘I do my Lord’

‘And the French William-look to their treachery and crush them-will you do this for me-will you?’

‘I will my Liege’ William dutifully replied thinking all the while that it would soon be others according him this title. The King’s grip tightened; there was more. He pulled William even closer, whispering into his ear-his last breaths whistling from his straining chest

‘Waste no time my son in subduing the unruly Celts in Wales and Scotland then as a United Land look to the French-there


is a great destiny to this land William-I have started it-you must continue. Promise me Promise me’

‘Father you’re hurting me…father?’ The grip loosened-the King was dead. His priest stepped forward

‘The King is dead long live the King’

And with that the assembled Lords and courtiers stepped out of the shadows repeating the mantra so unfamiliar to William’s ears

‘The King is dead long live King William’

William rose from the old King’s bed and regarded the room with cold eyes-he had so few Lords he could call allies and so few men at arms that came as their retainers-still he was a man of vigour and purpose and one man at least he could trust with his life-Thomas Howard, Duke of Aquitaine-a man he was about to bestow with the title of Lord Great Chamberlain-a man who would ride to the gates of hell with him if called upon-a man who would be his strong arm in France-someone to watch over his lands there.

As the assembled chivalry bowed low he motioned Thomas up.

‘My Lord Duke, attend with me, we have much to do-and I fear not much time to do it in-the rest of you there is a Coronation to organise-come to your duties all’ and with that the King and his friend strode from the room.

The Wizard
05-22-2004, 15:21
This story is OK, I guess, but could be much better from what I see here.

You have problems keeping the pace, which is a bit of a drag since keeping the pace is a very important part of telling a good story. Conversations need a little work, just a bit so they become engrossing rather than mildly interesting. You should also try to describe situations and decors with greater detail than you are doing now.

Also, 'articulate' a bit better - meaning spaces, -marks for spoken sentences, '-marks for 'dubious' names, and overall just better ordered paragraphs.

Sounds like a lot, but if you follow this I'm sure it'll become a lot better and that's what we're looking for right?



~Wiz http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/cheers.gif

mambaman
05-30-2004, 00:44
Thanks for the criticism chap-all points taken on board (even if i dont necessarily agree with all of them-right?)

Have just got back from holiday so will be posting another installment soon-if i dont get much feedback i will assume that the story (or my storytelling) is crap and give up http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/mecry.gif

mambaman
05-30-2004, 03:09
Heres the next part chaps-do keep your comments coming good or bad as it will give me a measure of whether to continue or no.

Incidentally i have deliberately written it to feel and sound like a history hence the title

Part 2

1098 Bordeaux Castle, Aquitaine

Thomas Howard, Duke of Aquitaine and Lord Great Chamberlain of England was now head and scion of a family fast growing very powerful indeed on the patronage of the King; 2 of his younger brothers (Hugh and Geoffrey) were now Counts of Flanders and Brittany respectively, a boon and thanks from his friend, the King, for urging war against the French at the soonest opportunity-that chance coming in 1093 when England had built sufficient infrastructure and soldiery for the long years of war that must surely follow an attack.

When it came to admin the new King had few peers and swiftly embarked on an extensive programme of building and developing with no fewer than 3 new Motte and Baileys and comprehensive advancement of English and European farmlands.

At diplomacy he was no slouch either despatching his daughter Mary to sue for the hand of the Holy Roman Emperor, Conrad II in marriage, an offer gladly, it seemed accepted. At the same time England’s Emissary, Godwin Grey, secured the Emperor’s daughter’s hand in marriage for young Prince William, the King’s eldest son. All this diplomacy was one part of a plan that he and the King had formulated for securing England’s greatness over many a wine soaked night in the Tower after the Coronation: first massively develop her infrastructure, second increase massively England’s trade potential and third strike hard and without mercy at England’s enemies but only when absolutely necessary.

In 1093 Thomas had argued that that time had come; England was in a relatively strong position as regarded her forces and who was to lead them for a battle commander of the King’s repute (4 stars) was not likely to find too many matches on the field of battle. One such, however, was Prince Philippe, the Dauphin, a vile man known to suffer from an overmuch bearing of himself and hubristic nature-he had once boasted that there was no mortal prince in all Christendom who could best him on the field of battle. Well in early 1093 it became apparent that the vaunting Prince of France was commanding in Flanders only a small force of Archers (240) with his own force of Knights. The king, conversely, was able to muster 360 retainers including 60 of the highly regarded Royal Knights-a battle winner if ever there was one to be seen.

And so the King had faced a force roughly the same in size as his (as when he had moved to join battle a new force of 120 archers had reinforced the French Prince). The result was a rout of the French with Prince Philippe himself amongst the slain French Chivalry, 275 French killed and 37 captured including the Lord of Poitiers-one of the foremost of the French nobles. It was said that at this news King Philippe’s hair turned grey overnight- ‘a winter King facing the twilight of his kingdom’ King William had joked in his Pavilion before the site of what was to be the new Flanders castle and where the English force were camped.

In 1094 the English had consolidated their new found gains and had used much of the resulting money from the plunder and sack of French lands (it was said that in one Flanders town every one of the women folk had been raped-something that the King had personally abhorred but had done nothing to stop) to recruit a large mercenary force for a new English Battle Commander of high renown and skill (4 stars)-the newly appointed Sir Tancred de Normandie, Count of Anjou. This eager Lord, with 560 retainers-a mixed force of Horse Archers, Hobilars and Spearmen-drove hard for the fortifications at Brittany Castle and the army of the Lord of Boulogne, himself a very highly renowned field commander (6 stars). Fortuitously for the English the rump of the French Lords were again Peasants and so the final victory went to the Count of Anjou but the French had sold themselves dearly accounting for almost as many English dead as French before retiring in disarray and rout from the field pursued to Brittany’s castle by none other than Lord Tancred and his Hobilars with his Druzhna Cavalry in close attendance.

All this was followed by the predictable embassies suing for alliances from the realms of Poland, Italy, Spain and Hungary-England’s stock was rising. And so it was that Thomas Howard returned from his embassy with the King in Flanders.

‘You are needed back in your lands’ Tom-the King had told him as they sat at in the feasting area of his massive Royal Pavilion, the myriad tents and fluttering pennants of many a lordly device all around-over 600 soldiers were assembled for the next stage in the plan to squeeze the French to their dying breath if need be. The King had even recruited Saxons to the cause-mayhap a sop to olde English sensibilities mused Thomas.

‘I know my Liege but I confess I find it hard when we are parted’

King William II was perceived as a highly autocratic man and not one to brook dissent in any measure. For this reason many received an invitation to an audience with him with some dread. Once he had your confidence, though, he was as kind and gentle a friend as a man could wish for-one such was Thomas Lord Howard and now the King placed a warm and comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder and led him from the tent and the always present multitude of retainers therein.

‘Come Thomas-I’ll warrant that your real reason is some fear within you is it not-be true to me as I am to you.’

Thomas shifted uncomfortably beneath his friends gaze. ‘ You speak true my Lord; it’s just that things are so different now- I worry that you will not do everything to protect yourself and all our plans will be for naught. You are more than my best friend my Lord-you are-so much….’ Thomas trailed off his voice faltering.

It was a clear blue late spring’s day in that year and already the sun’s heat foretold of a hot summer-it would be one of hard campaigning and the King would not shirk the test.

The King pointed skywards ‘See yonder Harrier there Thomas-master of all it surveys. See how free its power makes it. I would have that fate for England. Worry not for me-if I should fall be a good tutor to my sons-they are headstrong and need sound guidance.’ The King turned to face his friend; how good to have such a boon companion he thought but best to turn this maudlin conversation to other matters. ‘Thomas I intend to marry your younger brother, Geoffrey, to my young girl-he was always the independent type; I feel that this match will bind him more strongly to our cause-what say you sir?’

At the time Thomas was lost for words. In one fell stroke his family would be advanced beyond measure. He considered all this as he rode into his castle at Bordeaux many weeks later. His most loyal retainer and commander of his Garrison Sir Odo Borleng was there to greet him in the castle forecourt.

Odo took Thomas’s horse bridle and Thomas in turn clapped him on the shoulder ‘Odo we have some celebrating to do for soon our family will be conjoined with the King’s-he is giving up his 3rd daughter to my brother Geoffrey in marriage. Break out some of our best wine-we shall feast tonight.

‘Welcome home my Lord, this is news indeed, I shall make preparations immediately. You will I presume require some women entertainers?’

‘Of course Odo, of course-see to it-I shall be in my Chambers-I have despatches to write’ With that Thomas leapt up the stairs, so much to play for, his fears for his friend wiping the smile from his face as soon as he was alone.

Which state he was not to be in for long as within minutes of settling at his desk with his scribe there came a commotion from the courtyard: riders. Within moments pounding steps and a hard insistent banging on his door.

‘My lord there is news’ it was Odo

‘Come in man come in, catch your breath, what is it man-speak fellow.’

‘My lord the Count of Anjou has invaded the Ile de France and heads for a final confrontation with his old enemy, the Lord of Boulogne-they have mustered each about 1000 retainers for the battle. At the same time the King has driven for Champagne and the French King there-Philippe is vastly outnumbered.’

‘God’s wounds so it has started’ Thomas muttered then louder ‘God help him’

‘God help us all’ Odo rejoined. ‘God help us all’.

Ludens
05-30-2004, 13:34
Quote[/b] (Ashantiwarrior @ May 30 2004,01:44)]Thanks for the criticism chap-all points taken on board (even if i dont necessarily agree with all of them-right?)

Have just got back from holiday so will be posting another installment soon-if i dont get much feedback i will assume that the story (or my storytelling) is crap and give up http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/mecry.gif
You do know that it is unseemly to beg for comments (even though most writers do it), do you? http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-jester.gif
Point is, the mead hall is a rather quiet forum. So if nobody comments it doesn't mean they don't like your story.

As for the story, I agree with the Wizard completely. The pace is a bit of a problem. In the first half of your new episode, you fight two battles in two paragraphs. It would be better if you described the events in more detail. This means you have to select because you cannot tell everything. Don't be a slave to what happens in-game. The conversation between the King and Lord Thomas is much better: it is more detailed and therefor more interesting.

As for articulation, for example:

Quote[/b] ]The King turned to face his friend; how good to have such a boon companion he thought but best to turn this maudlin conversation to other matters.
should be something like

Quote[/b] ]The King turned to face his friend. How good to have such a boon companion, William thought, but best to turn this maudlin conversation to other matters.
But perhaps someone with better English than me can explain this point clearer than I can.

Anyway, good job Ashantiwarrior. Good luck writing more.

Axeknight
05-30-2004, 14:06
The mead hall is quiet, so you may not get any comments for a while, but that doen't mean your story's rubbish.



Quote[/b] ]a very highly renowned field commander (6 stars).

As Ludens said, you don't have to be a slave to the game. You don't need to say he has six command stars, this is a game term. Just say he's a highly renowned field commander. This also goes for units. Instead of 'Druzinha cavalry', say something like 'Russian mercenary cavalrymen'. They wouldn't have known they were Druzinha cavalry, IIRC.



Quote[/b] ]At the same time England’s Emissary, Godwin Grey, secured the Emperor’s daughter’s hand in marriage for young Prince William, the King’s eldest son.

Could be: At the same time, the emissary Godwin Grey secured the hand of the Emperor's daughter [give name] in marriage to the King's eldest son William.

Doesn't sound much different, but it flows a little better. If you're not sure a sentence flows, read it aloud. It's much easier to hear where a word or phrase is wrong than read it. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/wink.gif

All in all, an interesting installment, I shall enjoy following this story (hey, I'm sounding like a real critic).

Remember, though, that I am utterly useless at criticising. If anyone contradicts my comments, go with their ideas.

http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/joker.gif


*EDIT*sorry Ludens http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-anxious.gif http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/biggrin.gif

frogbeastegg
05-30-2004, 18:47
Quote[/b] (Ashantiwarrior @ May 30 2004,03:09)] It was said that at this news King Philippe’s hair turned grey overnight- ‘a winter King facing the twilight of his kingdom’
I liked that line.

I'm not much on comments, so I'll echo what the others have said. Comments are rare, this is a quiet forum and even this many replies in such a short space is something of a phenomonom. The points made on pacing and writing technique are very good ones, but I also felt it useful to highlight that line above which I felt was very well done. It is always handy to see both what needs work, and what is already working.

Axeknight
05-30-2004, 18:52
I like that line, too. And Lady Frog is right, most of your story works well, and it's very, very bad to focus on what's not working so well. All in all, it's very enjoyable.

mambaman
06-02-2004, 09:44
Thanks very much for all the comments guys-very useful and the hints about not too many comments in this forum.

I will deffo keep trying to adjust the pacing and try not to be such a slave to the game but thanks for the excellent positive feedback as well-next installment later today i think

B

Ludens
06-02-2004, 17:00
Quote[/b] (Axeknight @ May 30 2004,15:06)]As ichi said
Err, Axeknight, I don't think Ichi posts in the mead hall.

Anyway, thanks for elaborating my points. We can always use another critic here.

Axeknight
06-02-2004, 17:37
Quote[/b] (Ludens @ June 02 2004,18:00)]
Quote[/b] (Axeknight @ May 30 2004,15:06)]As ichi said
Err, Axeknight, I don't think Ichi posts in the mead hall.
Oh, yeah, who's that other feller, the one with the STW avatar? Erm... Oh, it's you Will edit the post, sorry Ludens. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-blush.gif

Ludens
06-02-2004, 17:45
[quote=Axeknight,May 30 2004,15:06]As Ludens said[/]
http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-jester.gif
Thank you, Axeknight. No harm done http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/cheers.gif .

mambaman
06-05-2004, 02:58
Next Installment guys http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-smile.gif

1098 Ile De France

In driving rain before a great forest some 20 leagues to the west of Paris Sir Tancred de Normandie, 1st Count of Anjou sat astride his rearing pony surveying the battle lines of his greatest foe; Geoffrey, Lord of Boulogne. Evenly matched they were the English and the French, but only in numbers. His old foe had far too much a reliance on peasants; 400 French peasant levies to only the 200 English. Moreover, thought the wily English Lord, he had almost 200 cavalrymen: a mixed bag of fast riding Hobilars and Russian horsemen and that didn’t include his 80 Horse Archers. Boulogne, by contrast could only muster the 20 Royal Knights of the French Prince Henri.

He himself was a Hobilar born and bred: born in the saddle and reared on horses and all that they entailed.

‘Cavalry to the right’ he shouted above the pelting rain. ‘Foot archers and Horse Archers to the fore’ The massed ranks of foot archers; fully 120 in total moved forward followed by 2 ranks of the nimble horse archers who could manoeuvre swiftly to either flank on orders and pour their deadly hail of arrows on the advancing enemy. His cavalry with his own unit of Hobilars trotted towards the right flank keeping good discipline and order; the many hours of drilling and training that he had insisted on since this army had been formed seemed to be paying off. His infantry; 200 Italian Spearmen and the 200 peasant Levies advanced behind the Archers in the centre.

Over 2000 men advanced across the soggy sward towards each other. The battle commenced with a massed volley of arrows from the French and English Archers. But for the French there was a problem: with the Horse Archers included, the English were able to pour onto the French 4 times the amount of arrows. The field echoed to the sounds of the captains crying ‘Draw’ the bows were pulled back to their limit. ‘Loose’ came the cry and the air thrummed to the deadly song of the English and French war bows.

In no time at all what remained of the French Archers were fleeing before the storm of English arrows. The English Foot archers advanced slowly, screened by the horse archers: so far so good. All the while Sir Tancred was keeping his horse to the flank waiting for the inevitable rush of the French peasant levies. When they came he would unleash hell upon their unsuspecting flanks.

‘Infantry advance’ he shouted. The cry was taken up and the Infantry moved forward, the peasants in serried ranks, followed by the Italian Spearmen behind. The French peasants came to meet this new threat but were driven back by the massed volleys of the English Archery. Desperate the French Prince gathered his force of armoured knights and charged for the English lines.

‘The French Knights come’ Screamed the Captain of the Archers. ‘Steady my boys Archers Draw Archers Loose’

Volley after volley screamed towards the hurtling French knights-it was not going to be enough to stop them, thought Sir Tancred, grimly, as they swiftly closed the ground.

‘Horse to me, to me’ he frantically yelled as the French warhorses smashed into the archers’ ranks scattering them like leaves in an autumn breeze.

‘Horse advance’ he cried. 200 English horse advanced at the trot, the 60 Russian cavalrymen with their medium chargers and axes to the fore-the much lighter Hobilars at the rear.

‘Charge’ At his command the 200 horsemen broke into a fast gallop and sped towards the French armoured knights-they were magnificent fighters the French heavy horse…but no match for 10 times their number. The English cavalry charge broke like a tidal wave over the French, engulfing them, overwhelming them and absolutely crushing them. The result was never in conclusion-all over the field the French were routing in front of the rampant English soldiery; fleeing like the dogs that they were.

It was the most grievous loss yet for the harried French: on that day a French Prince was lost and the Lord of Boulogne captured but this was as nothing to the 700 French slain and 313 captured compared to only 213 English losses. Sir Tancred de Normandie was master, once more, of the field of battle…….

But if this was grim news it was as nothing to what had befallen the French 1 week earlier: King William II had surprised a small force led by the French King before the walls of Blois Castle-Philippe had fled to the safety of the castle but pitifully outnumbered the siege had lasted but 2 days-the French King had died valiantly defending the castle from William’s merciless assault. The remaining French were now penned into their sole remaining province, Toulouse-all that remained of that once mighty empire. There let the new French King, the 20 Year old stripling, Jean II, rot, thought William, he was now master of all of France.

Axeknight
06-05-2004, 09:46
Excellent, Ashanti. The pace was right, the paragraphs flowed alot better.


Quote[/b] ]There let the new French King, the 20 Year old stripling, Jean II, rot, thought William, he was now master of all of France.
I like that bit http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/bigthumb.gif

mambaman
06-06-2004, 14:39
yeah i'm really getting into this now-will post the next installment in the next couple of days and thanks once again for all the comments

http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-2thumbsup.gif

mambaman
06-19-2004, 00:57
1102 Paris Castle

It was fast approaching night when a rider galloped through the castle gates, the exhausted stallion striking sparks from the cobbles as his master pulled hard at the reins and leaped down in front of 2 startled men-at-arms

‘The King, man Quick I must see him at once; I have an urgent despatch from His Holiness himself’

The guards stared in amazement. Could this bedraggled rider really be a Papal Nuncio? Their musings were cut short by the man himself,

Gesticulating wildly he shouted; ‘Gods wounds sirrah I shall have you flayed if you do not convey me to the King-do you not recognise the Livery of a messenger of the Pope’ With that the Nuncio pulled aside his hooded riding cloak to reveal, beneath, his monk’s habit and tonsure-there was no need for any more persuasion; bowing low the guards motioned for the man to follow.

‘Interdict me’ the King spat. His face mottled red with rage as he hurled the parchment back down onto the head of the kneeling Papal Ambassador. This was grim news indeed-the Pope had decreed that unless he ceased his impious attack on this other Christian Kingdom within 2 years he would place all of England under interdict, its people cursed before God, denied worship and soulless.

Gathering his emotions the King addressed the Monk, ‘Leave us. You and your Master will have our answer presently.’

The Nuncio rose, bowed low and backed slowly from the grand audience room. The King turned to his 2 closest advisers; Thomas Howard, his friend, confidant and Lord Chamberlain and Sir Tancred de Normandie, Count of Anjou, his greatest General, Hammer of the French in countless bloody battles.

‘My Lords, what are we to make of this threat from that witless man in Rome?’

‘My Liege,’ Sir Tancred, not a man partial to long speeches, began ‘these threats from the Pope are like the turds on my boots-fit only to be sniffed at and brushed away’

Thomas Howard, always more of a thinker than a man of battle winced at the old soldiers analogy but he could find no fault with it-in the years since his friend had ascended the throne England’s stock had risen immeasurably, her nascent merchants guilds were already springing up in many provinces and the King had commissioned a navy to spread that trade throughout the known world. In addition the countryside was being improved in all the fertile provinces and an infrastructure was developing that would mean that England would soon be able to produce quality soldiery of her own and not rely so much on the Mercenary armies that had been so vital in taking the battle to the French thus far. Indeed, as a measure of the repute of the King and his land, only this very morning ambassadors had arrived from the far-flung lands of Novgorod and North Africa bringing requests for alliance from both Orthodox Prince and Muslim Khalifah.

‘Sire, for once I am in full agreement with my Lord of Anjou, the Pope’s threats are like so much hot air in the wind. We have sufficient standing amongst our Catholic brethren that even excommunication is unlikely to be heeded by the Princes of Christendom. They will offer words of outrage to the Pope and in the very same breath curse him for the meddling fool that he is.’

The king solemnly regarded his friend and mentor. He was right; he had come too far now to withdraw, so close to achieving his father’s desire, so close to extinguishing the French menace for once and all. Or rather, he mused, having it extinguished for him for he had had word from the Holy Roman Emperor, Conrad II, that the build up of his Germanic forces in Burgundy was to launch an all out assault into Provence-if only he, his brother Prince and fellow harrier of the French could also launch an assault into Toulouse, the threat from the French would be utterly defeated.

The King pulled his ermine cloak tighter about him; winter was fast approaching. ‘Thomas, my friend, go tell the Nuncio I will not speak with him. Tell him, however, from me, that England bows to no power save her own. The French have much discomfited us and they will pay the ultimate price. Tell him that, Thomas and in no uncertain terms’

And so in 1103 England was excommunicated but the call from the Holy Father for all Christian Kingdoms to rise up in arms against the English invader went unheeded throughout all of Christendom. In 1113 the English invaded Toulouse with a large force of 3000 and at the same time The Holy Roman Emperor launched his invasion on Provence. The French pincered between these 2 rapacious foes stood no chance and in the autumn of that year victorious German soldiers were displaying the French King’s head atop a pike. The French as a nation existed no more.

In 1120 William’s great friend and confidante died from consumption. Such was the old King’s grief that he would see no one, not even his loving Queen, for 2 weeks. When he finally emerged it was said that he looked as though he, himself, was half way to joining his boon companion in whatever after-life he had departed to. The King himself died only some 2 months later, of a broken heart some said. Whatever the rumours, what could not be denied was that England as a nation was now well on her way to greatness, with lands stretching from the border with the unruly Scots to the Mediterranean. The King’s eldest surviving son, also named William, was crowned the Third of that name in January of the year of our Lord, 1121-he was 48 and set on continuing his fathers good work……….

Axeknight
06-19-2004, 12:57
Interesting part. Technical detail - how likely was it for nations to just ignore the Pope like that? I'm not sure on this point, but if the English King's as powerful at this point as your story suggests, I guess it's possible.

Whatever, though, this story's getting alot better with every installment. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/bigthumb.gif

mambaman
06-19-2004, 14:31
Cheers fella-the point is a good one but remember that my story is following my game pretty closely-in reality the threat of interdiction had many a Christian Prince quaking in their royal boots (though the HRE had a long history at this time of being excommunicated due to its historical cliam to Rome etc)

In my game however the actual fact of excommunication made no difference whatsoever to England and my King's influence which was 8 before and 7 after-other nations emissaries were still beating a path to my door to be allied with me and noone made a move after the Interdict was passed. Indeed (and i didnt include this in the story) the actual excommunication was in 1100-nothing happened. the Pope then issued a Christian version of a Fatwa calling on all Christian Nations to rise against me-result-nothing http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/cool.gif

So i see your point but i have adapted what would have been the natural defiance of some Kings of the day (see Henry II and his defiance of the Pope and his own Archbishop for a good example) to the unfolding storyline. Indeed this is more of a problem for my present King (Richard I) who is young, has weak influence (only 4) and has just lost one due to killing of the said Archbishop...but you will read about that in due course

Thanks for the pat on the back too btw-appreciated

mambaman
06-22-2004, 22:45
1122-1134 Years of Plenty-A Kingdom comes of age

Many have called these years that spanned 2 reigns, years of plenty for in that time King William III built steadily on his father’s great achievements, continuing the development of all provinces for trade and urging on his shipwrights in their nascent efforts to build England’s fledgling navy. In 1124 a Royal Court was completed in London, an expensive training ground for the powerful bands of Royal Knights that would be England’s dynamic mailed fist…in a velvet glove.

But in 1127 once again the dolorous sound of the mourning bells sounded throughout the Realm as King William III, himself, died-it is said that he wept on his deathbed, lamenting that he had had to wait so long to ascend to the throne. He was without issue so his younger brother by one year, Alfred, became the 2nd of that name to grace England’s throne. Alfred, a natural leader in the same mould as his dear departed brother and father was a pious man indeed…but he was also ambitious and it was not long before he set his eye on uniting his Kingdom for once and for all. Not long after his coronation, at his first Privy Council, he decreed that he would continue his father’s continental ambitions-but only as far as that meant holding and developing the lands there. At that same meeting he tasked his most respected General, a protégé of the legendary Battle Commander, Sir Tancred de Normandie, Sir Strongbow FitzGilbert, to assemble a force in the next ten years-a force with one aim-to unite the land of Britain. Some who were there recalled that the Lords at the Council had eyed each other askance: was the new King imagining himself as a new King Arthur?
[B][I][B][I]

mambaman
06-23-2004, 00:52
http://www.totalwar.org/patrons/story/Ashanti3.jpg

1134 Gwynedd, Wales

Sir Strongbow FitzGilbert had the word passed to the column to halt and squinted up at the large hill to his front. To his right and left the small English force had formed its battle lines in the summer heat: at the rear 5 squadrons of the feared Royal Knights, his own included, comprised their armoured Strength: massive, fearsome, destrier war horses and full mail armour combined with the long reach of their Lances to make these Knights the envy of Christendom. He did not feel it at this moment, however, as he and his comrades chafed and sweated beneath the weight of their Chain Mail and Norman Helmets. To the fore there were 100 Saxon Fyrdmen, 100 Norman Spearmen and 60 Urban Militia screened by a small force of Archers.

‘Longbowmen’ Sir Strongbow spat. He rode forward accompanied by the 2 Royal Twins, Richard and Edward (Richard by fortune of birth being heir to the throne), both beardless youths at only 15, sent by their father, the King, to earn much needed battle experience-the King would not thank him if he risked their lives in this meaningless skirmish.

‘I had heard that they can engage their enemies at fully 300 paces.’ The younger, Edward opined.

‘Aye and that the bodkin arrowheads can make short work of even our mail armour-all this is true my Lords’ put in FitzGilbert. ‘but I did not learn my trade under that great man the Count of Anjou’ to throw our lives away cheaply-of that I do assure you.’ He turned in his saddle and shouted for the Captains to join him in a short battle parley.

When they had gathered around him he began: ‘Gentlemen, see atop yonder hill, there must be fully 200 Longbowmen, bolstered I am told by a force of 100 Welsh Spearmen-the man calling himself Prince of Wales, Dafydd Ap Iorweth is amongst them.’ He paused to study the faces of the Captains of his small force: Sir Roger Mortimer would command the combined infantry force-a reliable one that man-he had fought with him in no fewer than 9 campaigns on the continent with the Count of Anjou.

To his left there was the Captain of Archers, Roderick Bailey-an unknown quantity, untried and untested, his 60 archers no match for the ranks of Welsh Longbowmen atop the large hill to their front.
‘Gentlemen the weather sits fair for our venture and my plan simplicity itself. It only calls for fortitude and patience on your part Roger.’ He fixed his gaze on Mortimer-he could rely on him….

‘I will need your infantry with the Archers to their front to play the hare to fix their fox in position. I will require you to advance to yonder coppice to our front right, Roger, hasten up that hill and attack to their front.’ He paused and then softer ‘the going will be hard my friend.

Mortimer knew what was being asked: he must sacrifice his infantry to the volleys of Longbow fire in order to fix their attention whilst the knights with their greater mobility hastened to attack from the rear.

‘I understand, My Lord.’ His stout demeanour and determined mien seemed to steady the nerves of the Archer’s Captain.

‘Meanwhile, the horse will hasten round to the left and charge the enemy from what will be his rear if your attack diverts him sufficiently’ continued FitzGilbert, ‘simplicity itself. Gentlemen, to your commands. My Lord Princes you will be under my overall command-do nothing rash if you value your lives.’

Richard, ever the more impetuous of the twins, reddened. ‘My Lord FitzGilbert am I to understand-‘

‘You are to understand nothing my Lord Prince’ FitzGilbert interrupted sharply, ‘You are to obey, that is enough-now is not the time to bandy words with your Battle Commander’

The Prince hung his head-he would need to learn to bite his tongue…and yet when he became King these haughty Generals would hang upon his every word…when he became King.

FitzGilbert rode with the young Prince and spoke softly to him, ‘My Lord, there is more to what happens on the battlefield, than the need for personal glory-at least this holds true if you are a Prince, a King or a General.’ He looked the Prince in the eye, so comely of feature, almost too delicate for the battlefield. And yet there was something hard underneath the surface-he might make a good King…or an appalling one, thought Sir Strongbow FitzGilbert.

The Prince nodded once ‘I understand my Lord,’ and then under his breath as he rode to join his knights, ‘for now.’

mambaman
06-23-2004, 00:59
The Jaws of the Pincer slam shut, Gwynedd May 1134

http://www.totalwar.org/patrons/story/ashanti7.jpg

[I][B]The battle was executed to the letter by the various Captains and was prosecuted with fearful slaughter of the Welsh-they losing 86 killed and over 200 captured to only 36 English dead. During the battle the young Prince Edward earned plaudits for his fearless charge of the Welsh Spearmen, coming to the aid of Sir William Strongbow in the hard press as he had personally engaged the 100 spearmen of the Welsh Prince. The other Prince, Richard was more notable for the way he mercilessly rode down the fleeing welsh soldiery….

The King appointed the most able administrator available, Lord Burnell to the Princedom of Wales, from here forthwith to be an administrative title wholly in the power of the King. With the Welsh conquered, the King’s avaricious gaze turned to the wintry fastnesses of Scotland…..

Axeknight
06-24-2004, 17:10
Excellent part. The best thing I can say is, you didn't need the pictures in there. You described the scene very well. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/bigthumb.gif

mambaman
06-24-2004, 23:36
thanks Axe-i guess i always find it nice to see what has happened on the game when other ppl include their screenies so i decided that i'd start including some-thanks for the compliment tho-glad that you're enjoying the story-i'm certainly enjoying writing it and the game is throwing up all sorts of twists and turns-lol

mambaman
07-09-2004, 01:41
1137 at the Court of King Richard I, The Tower of London

The King’s Jester shambled through the dusty courtyard-it had been a long, hot, dry summer, such that even the wells had ran dry these last few months. He was called Alain, but no one really knew him by his name-he was merely known as ‘Fool’ or ‘Knave’ or some such. He had been with the King ever since the young Prince had reached his majority, always ready with a quick word, a witty aside or piece of outright buffoonery guaranteed to have his mercurial master’s mouth twitching with barely restrained laughter. And yet, because he was a fool his foolish words often rang true and ring true they could without any fear of censure-he was a buffoon and a jester after all-was he not?

And now on this hot summer’s day the King had summonsed to England the great and the good of the realm for a parley, the King had announced to his council. It seemed to Alain more like this young new King wanted to take stock and see exactly what he had inherited from his warlike father, King Alfred; ‘The Hammer of the Celts’ they were calling him in hushed and reverential tones, for he had conquered 1st Wales in 1134 (an expedition that the new King himself had been on) and then Scotland 2 years later, in whose wintry highlands the King had lost his twin brother Edward. Alain had always somewhat preferred the demure, gentle Edward to his brother, Richard, who was born to lead, born to be King. In any case, Alain had mused, he was less likely to feel the back of Edwards hand if his japes had cut a little too close to the bone, than he was Richard’s, for whom casual violence always seemed never too far from the surface.

‘Let me through you salty dogs-sorry you good Lords one and all’ Alain shouted above the throng-the great Hall was packed with the foremost Barons of the land and their retainers. ‘Let me through I prithee-how will the King get by without my sugary tongue to sweeten your poisonous words-let me through’ Alain was jostled and bumped, the wine had been flowing all afternoon-ever since the Kings Hunt had returned from nearby Richmond Park in fact, and that was at noon; shadows were now long upon the ground, signalling early evening.

With one last heave the Jester reached the throne, King Richard the 1st was seated half on and half off his throne, one leg up on a footstool, still in his hunting apparel of tunic, leggings and hunting boots. A knowing smile was playing across his handsome, lightly bearded face as he adjusted a golden coronet upon his sandy brow. Richard was an accomplished hunter and had vied with his friend and Lord Chamberlain, Lord Grey, Duke of Aquitaine (a distant relation of the Howard clan-he had inherited the Dukedom from his father, a nephew of the great Thomas Howard, 1st Duke of Aquitaine).

‘Come now Fool, you are late’ The king laughed.

‘I am my Liege, I am indeed-even a fool must spread his seed’ with that a large and exaggerated wink to a serving wench towards the rear of the hall to huge guffaws from the Nobles. This jester was good, no one would or could deny the fact and there was an expectant hush as the assembled gathering waited for the verses to come. Alain leapt upon one arm of the Throne-tiptoeing and dancing on its pommeled end.

He started in a sing song voice-half reciting, half singing: ‘I have some verses to sing my King. Mind they are of these nobles strong and true. Do you bid me sing my Lord-what would you have me do?’ A rhetorical question if ever there was one, thought Alain-he pressed on before the King could cut him short for he would quickly start to guess where this latest ditty was headed. And if he guessed he would cut Alain short, and this would not do-the King was about to be educated……

The King’s eyes had turned to icy blue, the smile fixed but Alain was committed: ‘There are many lords here my Liege-many Lords I fear’ he leapt from the arm of the throne. ‘the first your friend long and true, the Duke of Aquitaine, Lord Grey from Howard’s stock he does pertain’ The jester leapt and twirled towards the Duke and his retainers. Thomas Lord Grey, 3rd Duke of Aquitaine regarded Alain with a kindly and amused expression, he was a good man, Lord Grey-and trusted. He had to be for he guarded England’s southern borders on the continent with 500 men-at-arms and Hobilars under the doughty Sir Odo Borleng-the gnarled old veteran, who had been the 1st Duke’s right hand man many moons ago.

The minstrel next sallied over to a fat and pungent Lord near the back of the hall: ‘what have we here? The plumpest of plump, Sir Philip Mowbray, Count of Toulouse-the largest man I ever perused’. Mowbray struck out at Alain but he was no match for the nimble speed of the jester who danced around and then in front of the hapless lord before leaping away. The fact was Mowbray was appointed by the old King for his administrative skills and his abilities in taxing the local populace to the hilt not for his martial prowess. The real power in Toulouse was held by the King’s uncle, the legendary battle commander, Sir Stephen Plantagenet, who commanded an Army of over 2000 in readiness for any sudden incursions from the rebel lands in Provence.

‘Come fool, enough’ the King shouted, all amusement drained from his face. Alain had a point to prove, however, the King wanted to take stock of the assembled Lords and he, the King’s Jester, was going to do just that.

‘Nay my Liege, I have not finished-there are more lords for who words must embellish. See yonder Lord Audley, Count of Anjou-he holds the province most tightly for you.’ This lord was a man the King could trust with his life-most loyal-and just as well, as he too commanded one of the larger armies that England had on the continent.

The servants were starting to light the rushes to provide light as darkness rapidly fell, as it was wont to do in these months of high summer. One of the lords, a tall, waspish man, with pointy moustache and evil features crept toward the rear door. Quick as a flash Alain headed him off: ‘Lord Edmund Fitzwalter, Count of Brittany, the tales of your deeds a sorry litany. You wanted an army and what did you get? A useless backwater all soggy and wet’

The Count’s look was one of pure murder; this was not a man the King could trust, which was probably why his garrison consisted of only 100 peasants. He was in constant cahoots with his kinsman, Lord Gascoigne, the Duke of neighbouring Normandy, another noble allowed only a small personal force to command but both were kept in check by the large force under one of the King’s other Uncles, Sir Edmund Plantagenet, who was garrisoned at Paris along with the Duke of Ile de France, Lord Harry Percy.

Alain flounced up to the said Count of Brittany, bowing low and sweeping his jesters cap to the floor. ‘Mayhap my Lord King would be best offering one of his sisters for kin. That way he’ll keep the jaws of both these voracious lords from snapping.’ A glance at the King and Alain could see that his demeanour was softening; he was earning his keep this night right enough

His oratory was now almost done as he skipped and pranced about the great hall, sometimes arousing great guffaws of laughter, sometimes gasps as he stepped close to the precipice. He played a very dangerous game and one where a false step could mean a swift and bloody end at the hands of the Kings paid retainers…there was only so much even the King’s fool could say.

Lord Bolingbroke and Lord Gaveston, the Counts of Flanders and Champagne, were the last 2 of the King’s Continental nobles to be ‘eulogised’ by Alain: these 2 Lords presided over the twin ‘breadbaskets of England, the economic powerhouses that between them accounted for almost a third of England’s trade wealth. Both were excellent administrators, neither were sworn Liegemen: the King would need to watch these two.

‘Bolingbroke and Gaveston, my Lords of Flanders and Champagne-swords for ploughshares, all battle you disdain-‘

‘Enough Fool-I think your words have amused enough this eve.’ This time it was the Lord Chamberlain that rejoined him to desist and he knew that he had probably said enough. Mid prance he stopped and scuttled back to the King. Creeping to the corner of the throne he huddled like a dog that was about to get a good hiding.

All looked to the King, who sat silent, impassive. And then he let out a great whoop of laughter, nay he roared with amusement and he continued to roar until tears poured from his face. Lord Grey joined in the mirth and the rest of the Lords followed suit-even those who had been the butt of Alain’s barbs were forced to laugh, somewhat mechanically to be sure, but laugh they did. And so did the feasting, the laughter, and the dark looks continue long into the night. And so it was that the New King was apprised of the lie of his lands by none other than his own Fool, the not-so foolish Alain, Court Jester at the Court of King Richard in the Year of our Lord 1137.

mambaman
07-10-2004, 21:23
is anyone still reading this story? http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-furious3.gif

Rufus
07-10-2004, 21:52
AW - It's great Sorry I haven't posted to say so. I like the jester's role in the last part - he almost functions as a Greek chorus ...

Ludens
07-11-2004, 13:52
Quote[/b] (Ashantiwarrior @ July 10 2004,22:23)]is anyone still reading this story? http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/gc-furious3.gif
Yes, we are just reading it in silence.

For the second time: the mead hall is a relativily small forum and its patrons are not the most verbose on the Org. It is not unusual for nobody to react after you've posted a new part of your story. Don't worry. There is always someone who will respond after a few episodes.

mambaman
07-11-2004, 14:53
hi Ludens-yeah i think i had my eye more on the number ov views than the actual responses but ta anyway