Stories Thread

[Braden]

Metz castle.

Henri, Prince of the realm sat in the quarters allocated them at Metz. Across the table, Andreas idly prodded the last of his meal whilst he listened to Henri talk. They had just received a letter from the King, Henri’s father.

“It changes nothing Andreas, nothing. This is an old trick of my fathers, one he has used these past 5 years to continue to keep me side-lined whilst he groomed Louis for succession, promises Andreas, nothing but the empty promises we’ve both had these past years…I grow weary of all.”

Andreas nodded. He’d hoped, for the good of Henri, that this may have been different but it was hard to believe after so many false starts, especially now that Henri had decided to take things into his own hands…regardless of his Fathers instructions. Was the letter in response to Henri’s actions or had it just coincidentally arrived with them at this time and offered a genuine olive branch? Even Andreas, knowledgeable of court politics couldn’t be sure.

“Then what is my lords wish?”

Henri turned from Andreas and stared at the fire thinking, as he was often to do, before replying.

“Come with me?”

“Pardon my lord??”

“Come with me, to the borders. My father waits with an army there and there is where we will not only have our answers when I see my father face-to-face again after so long but we will be in a position to be unavoidably placed in harms way.”

Henri’s eyes flashed with youthful excitement at the thought of seeing an army, let alone the thrill of potential danger so near to Imperial forces. However, Andreas was of less of an accommodating nature.

“My lord…” he started as diplomatically as possible “…whilst I am your tutor, I am under the direct employ of your father and I do not feel this would be his intention.”

Andreas diverted his eyes from Henri, well aware that he’d perhaps spoken out of turn. However, it seemed that Henri was more tactically astute than he’d thought and had already come up with an answer…

“It is not just I who has been left to rot Andreas. What of your mother, passed by this last year? Did you have permission to see her in her illness, or even to attend her funeral? Do you not have reason…as much as I…to move your life forwards in the presence of the King?”

Andreas thought for long moments. It was true indeed, he had personal “grievance” with how he had been treated, and whilst as a lowly vassal to the Royal household he should perhaps expect no less, he couldn’t help but feel the pressure building in his heart for more or at least a half-chance for something greater.

Now looking more fully at the young Prince he resolved himself.

“Indeed, it is as you say my lord. I will follow you.”

“Then that is settled. Rest well now, I will start making arrangements for our travel. If my Father is in anyway genuine in his compassion, or at the very least wishes it to appear so, it may be an opportunity for us to provide more than just our horses.”

[woad&fangs]

Metz, 1096

Peasants

Filthy grubby peasants

Bertin surveyed the rabble that had assembled on the muster field. They were a decently fit lot, but they lacked even the most rudimentary of marshal training. That would change. O yes, that would change. There was no chance Bertin would let Antwerp become the military center of the north. Antwerp?! No, Metz would provide the armies of the north. He would whip these peasants into the best fighting force the royaume had ever seen. He would…

One of the maidens who ringed the muster field caught Bertin’s eye.

“Er, um,” Bertin stammered, “I’ve called you all here… to say you’re all doing excellent. You can all go now.”

Confused, the mob of peasants looked quizzically amongst each other. All the while, keeping their feet firmly planted in the muck of the muster field.

“I said, you can all go now,” growled Bertin with a hint of menace in his voice.

The peasants finally realized it was in their best interests to disperse before their Baron could change his mind and make them practice marching drills for the whole day.

Bertin worked his way through the disassembling crowd to where he had thought he had seen the lass. Luckily, the peasant girl had not moved. “obviously enraptured with my command prowess” mused Bertin. Leaning in close, Bertin whispered something in her ear.

For the next several days, much gossip in the castle would focus on what precisely the Baron had said. The tamer versions involved Bertin boasting of his skill with his “lance”. Those closest to the pair, however, swore they heard something about a horse… and that it was not meant in any sort of metaphorical way.

Whatever was said, the peasant girl blushed deeply and then raised her hand to slap Bertin. Just before she was about to slap him, she seemed to think better of it and lowered her arm. Blushing, even more then before, she whispered something back to Bertin. Smiling, Bertin gently took the her by the hand and led her back to his chambers.

Peasants

Delightful lovely peasants

[Ramses II CP]

A manor in the foothills north of the Pyrenees, near Toulouse, 1096

Heloise was terribly happy. Daddy was home and he'd brought her some of the most clever little toys from the German shops in Marseille. He'd scooped her up in an endless hug and lavished the most extraordinairy attention on her, making her feel the like the center of the world once more... a thing which had been happening far, far less since the squalling new baby, Simone, had come along. At two and a half Heloise was a genuine prodigy, she could already recite whole paragraphs from the Bible by heart and her Nanny swore she could work some of the wood cut puzzles meant for adults as well.

In the next room there was a startlingly loud crash as some object struck the door with a thump.

Daddy was 'having a talk' with Mommy now. Heloise understood what that meant, it meant Mommy had been bad. If she had been really bad she'd have a funny walk for a few days after Daddy left. Otherwise she'd just be quiet for awhile before she went back to yelling at Nanny and the nursemaids.

Voices spiralled higher and higher in the next room, the roaring boom of Prince Louis overwhelming the shrill anger of Teresa's cries.

"... a son!"

"...fault..."

"Yes it is! I've a dozen bastards in Toulouse alone you..."

Something heavy can be heard breaking and splashing against the wall.

"Pig! You filthy, rooting, whoring, pig!"

A single, sharp report can be heard, followed by a gasp. The shouting stops, and Daddy laughs uproariously. Heloise smiles at the sound, and slides the last bit of the iron German puzzle into place. Finished, and Daddy sounded like he was having fun too!

The door opened, and without a backward glance Daddy came out to scoop Heloise up. Turning back to the room he points at Mommy and says,

"A son next Teresa. A son or there will be trouble. Your father's kingdom is little more than a fiefdom of the heathens. If France did not prop him up they would run your people under in a month. Give me a son in your nation's name. Pray, take potions, bleed your veins, visit witches, do whatever you must to secure my line. No more of these lovely, useless little girls. No more!"

"Come Heloise, let's take you to Nanny. Daddy and Mommy have more to discuss, and I just know Nanny is going to love your new toys."

[AussieGiant]

Paris 1093

In a way he had no idea what the result was going to be, however he was certain that he had the commitment to at least ask. That in itself was something that surprised him more than he realised.

His letter had been short and to the point. There were matters of some urgency to discuss and he would like to "consult" with someone who at least openly seemed like he could help.

The answer was equally short. Meet at the church in Paris at the time of the Seneschal elections and a discussion could be had.

His thoughts drifted that very event. The next Seneschal, now that would be an interesting event in the Kingdoms short history of the position. His brow creased at the thought.

Hell, that was nearly half the reason he was going to the meet the man.

1095

It was well after dark, when much of the city had gone to sleep. Even though there was very little agriculture to be done in this part of the country, many people still retired for the night early, as was custom. This left the myriad streets of the Royaume's capital under a nightly siege by the various factions - the streetwalkers, the vagabonds, the whores, and, at least for one night, the men who had business to discuss. As he had indicated in a follow-up letter to his correspondent, they would meet in this particular church on this particular day at this particular hour.

As was custom for the recipient of the original letter, he arrived at the church early, in order to gain solace, look upon the various representations of the religion's oldest days, and, of course, pray. He did this for a good half hour before the doors opened and a figure walked in. Upon one quick glance, he could tell right away that this was the man he would be discussing things with, and stood up from his pew, turning around to watch as the second man slowly walked down the church's aisle.

The colonnades cast a patch work of light and shadow across the central aisle, the short squares of light caught a face stern with trouble and anger, the fluid gait of a fighter seemed menacing in a church.

The figure stop and for a moment no once spoke, finally with a hand extended Alain spoke;

"Xaintrailles, I am glad to see you are here. Before we go further, I wish to thank you for everything you have done for Princess Constance."

Alain paused for a moment to consider his next words.

"She, is, someone I have care for a great deal."

Raynaud took the Duc's hand and grasped it, looking him in the eye, his gaze as cold as ever. "Your thanks are much appreciated, Duc Alain," he said. "As a member of the royal family she is officially a treasure of the country and thus should be treated as such. I can only hope that such situations do not befall anyone else." Releasing his grip, but not adjusting his gaze, Raynaud continued.

"Now," he said, "Duc Alain, I do hope you will forgive me should I not adhere to proper protocol regarding behavior tonight, for I am still uncertain as to the nature of this meeting. I was hoping you would be able to enlighten me on this matter."

Alain motioned towards the side of the church and takes a seat in one of the side pews.

"I am interested to know what has happened to the concept of the crusade?"

His voice hardened substantially. "Recent events have caused a certain level of disilusionment. I can not say I am a religious man, my father certain was not, however my mother recently joined the church and I am uncertain as to what to do next."

"Last Conseil session, the Crusade was narrowly defeated because we were not yet in prime standing with the Pope. The general sentiment was that we should work to sweeten His Holiness over and then re-introduce the edict once that happened. However, due to certain... events... we are in even worse standing with the Pope than before," Raynaud said. "Thus, the Crusade once again resides in limbo, and the citizens of Iberia still cry out for salvation. Why do you ask, Duc Alain?"

"I ask because I believe there must be a higher calling than the one I have been...subjected to recently.

If there is nothing for me here in the realm, then I wish to give my service to a cause that my benefit from my skills and commitment."

Alain paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing in assessment before he continued.

"I would not normally, say this, but can you help me?"

Raynaud sighed for a moment. "I assume you speak of His Majesty's... disapproval... of your handling of your Seneschal term these past days. But yes, there is a way out. The Crusade is not dead, Duc Alain; it will never be dead so long as blasphemers and heretics hold any authority on the Iberian peninsula." He motioned Alain to gaze upon the large image of Christ, nailed to the cross, affixed to the wall above the altar.

"Tell me Duc, what do you see?"

Alain grunts initially but then spends a moment considering the image.

"I see an admirable thing being turned sour by the machinations of man Raynaud. Fortunately, or unfortunately my father spent a great deal of time on my tutoring. I have spent more than a few years on theology and religion.

I am not a man of blind faith, equally I must say there is much good centered in the church. You could call me a forward thinker but you will be sadden to hear that Nicaea was part of my studies."

Alain turned to Raynaud.

"What do you see?"

Raynaud sighed. Not another one. "Nicaea or not, you cannot deny that Christ was the most influential figure of all time. The achievements He accomplished, both in life and death, serve to inspire the greatest and worst of us even a thousand years afterward. What do I see, Duc Alain? I see a man who sacrificed his life in order to save the rest of us from eternal damnation. I see the very same men He died for, slowly forgetting the reason that He died over the years and centuries."

Motioning once more to the image of Christ, Raynaud continued. "You and I are in agreement that a very admirable thing has indeed turned sour, Duc Alain. The very salvation of mankind has been thrown aside. The people of the continents to the east of us and below us have willingly forsaken His message for the words of a wealthy crackpot who says that Christ is no longer relevant. In addition, the peoples of the lands where Christianity and Islam border each other are complacent. Do they remember the message and seek to liberate their neighbors from the oppressive and heretical Mohammedan philosophy? No, they forget themselves. They forget that temporal affairs are only that - temporary - and put themselves in eternal danger for the sake of a few years of stability back home. United, the various Christian factions in Iberia could easily drive back the menace to the south and secure western Europe for good. They do not, of course, embroiled in their petty disagreements. They forget themselves," Raynaud said once more.

"I want a Crusade to make up for the failures of the Iberian Catholics," Raynaud said, his words echoing throughout the quiet church. "It is unfortunate that this task falls upon us, but it must be done for the good of all of us, for if the Moorish threat is allowed to continue living then we will eventually find them crossing the Pyrenees, bearing down on us. Crusades are things of redemption, Duc Alain, both for the individuals going on them and for the entire religions as a whole."

Raynaud fell silent, waiting to see how the Duc would react.

"Redemption could work for me Raynaud. I can not say I have much to look forward to here in the burgeoning realm of France. I have soured quickly to what my father would want me to do.

Is there truly salvation to be had?"

"I believe that your definition of salvation is somewhat different than mine, Duc," Raynaud said. "However, I believe that you will find both if you do decide to go on Crusade."

"I believe you are correct Raynaud, but every crusade needs its warriors, no matter if their reasons seem noble or not.

Shall we agree to meet closer to the next Seneschal election?"

Raynaud, nodding, bowed and departed the church, muttering something about "needing to keep track of de Rethel", leaving the Duc alone.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Coop with GH

[Braden]

Metz, 1096

“Andreas, who is that person down there?”

Andreas moved to the window beside Prince Henri and looked down at the courtyard. A rabble of peasants were milling about, some had started to move away from the castle itself. They had clearly come prepared for some form of martial duties as they all carried various improvised weapons.

“Where exactly my lord?”

“There in the corner, he is finely dressed and speaking to that serving girl”

“Ahh, yes my lord, that would be Baron Bertin de Montsault. Why so you ask?”

“It pains me to view someone who is clearly meant to be of noble birth and to set an example for our citizens, debase himself in public with a peasant girl like that…that is why. At least my brother had the pretence of discretion, this “man” flaunts his status and power…and lord God forefend my tongue…his Rutting, in public view.”

“Would you meet with him my lord and impart you views on him?”

“No, not at this time. He is not directly the problem but he is clearly an indication of many Dukes and Barons in our lands…that is the problem and it is that which I can lend myself to in the years to come. For now though we must ride to Frankfurt. My father has sponsored my application to The Order and it would be amiss of me to not make haste to them whilst a German army threatens!”

[_Tristan_]

Absolution

St Thierry Abbey near Reims, 1100


Philippe walked the cloisters at a brisk pace. As anything in monastic life, nothing ever seemed to change. The only difference he could tell from the last time he was here was the missing bodies of the German prisoners and wounded.

“And to say that a war was started here” he mused.

The abbot who had been leading him since his arrival to the monastery finally stopped at the door of a small monk cell.

“He’s in there, Your Majesty… He wants to talk to you alone…” The abbot said with an insistent look to the bodyguard of Philippe.

Philippe nodded “Tancrède, stay here with the men… It is not as if I risk anything in there…”

The veteran saluted and began giving orders to the men.

Philippe hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle before finally reaching his decision and stepping into the room.

It was the stench that first told him of the state the man laying in the small cot was in… The room was dimly lit and he could not see clearly the face of the man, a wheezing breath coming out of his mouth.

Philippe grabbed a stool and sat near the bed.

Hadn’t he been told the identity of the man, lying in this sickbed, he wouldn’t have recognized him. But looking hard upon the gaunt face, it carried enough resemblance to the face of the friar he had met in that same monastery.

“Fra Matteo” Philippe called, in a low voice. The man stirred but did not wake up.

“Fra Matteo, it is me, Philippe”, the King called again. As if stung, the man sat upright in his bed, a feverish look in his eyes, looking hard at Philippe, before all strength went out of him and he slumped back on his pillow.

“It is truly you” Matteo said in a rasping voice “I didn’t truly believe you’d come… I have much to tell you and so little time…”

Philippe looked at the frail creature in front of him “What ails you, Matteo?”

“Death is stalking me… I have caught the Napolitan sickness as you French call it (OOC : syphilis)…I should have heeded my vows of chastity, one more proof of the omniscience of God… If you live by the sword, you’ll perish by the sword… And my sword was often out of its scabbard” Matteo was then wracked by a fit that could be best described as half-laugh, half cough… Philippe waited until he recovered, wincing “Suffice it to say that I will soon face St Peter but I fear he will send me to Hell for my sins, sins which I need to confess… Confess to you…”

“I am no priest, Matteo… I cannot hear your confession…”

“Oh, but you will, Philippe… For it is an earthly sin, I will not depart this earth without telling you about it… Come closer so I can tell you of my sins against you, against your Kingdom.”

Wrinkling his nose at the foul stench of the cot and the man, Philippe leaned towards the sick friar, lending him his ear.

“Do you remember our previous meeting here ?” Philippe nodded. “Have you ever wondered about the circumstances of the attack made upon you by that German captain ? Did you truly believe his story ? You’re no fool, Philippe… But you had no idea of the dark forces working against you… Dark forces led by my master, Gregory… May he rot in Hell for his own sins… I arranged for this attack, Philippe… I did it on orders from Gregory… He needed you at war with the Reich, to rid him of Heinrich, who wished to denounce him as a usurper…” A new fit of coughing had Matteo, twist in his soiled blankets, making Philippe, step away from the bed, overturning the stool, aghast both at the state of the man and the news he brought.

“Philippe !!” the man cried in anguish, whimpering “Stay by my side…”

Reluctantly, Philippe righted the stool and sat back by the bedside.

“Once you’d managed to rid him of Heinrich, he had foreseen to use the threat of excommunication to bring you to heel… Gregory didn’t want you to become too powerful at the expense of the Reich… he wanted things to be balanced, the better to reign over your Kingdoms…”

Matteo turned his face to Philippe, his feverish eyes looking deep into the King’s own. “I see you do not truly believe me… But these are not the ramblings of a sick and feverish man, this is the truth… And I have proof of it…”

At these last words, Philippe’s face lighted up. “Proof ? You truly have proof of these dealings ?”

“Ah… Now you’re prepared to believe… Yes, I have proof… We exchanged letters with Gregory, and they are yours if you promise me one thing : make Gregory pay for his sins… Force his hand to your own benefit… Make him see what it feels to be a puppet in somebody else’s hands… Make him suffer, make him beg…” Matteo stopped, out of breath, his chest heaving.

“Promise me…”

“You have my word as King, Matteo”

“I know you’ll honour it, My King” Matteo began speaking fast, babbling “Ask the abbot for my personal belongings… I’ve already asked him to release them to you, should you ask…”

Philippe could see the man was rapidly waning, the light in his eyes dimming by the second “Make him pay…” The last words were said in a whisper.

Matteo’s eyes closed and his lips parted one last time, whispering “Oh Lord, welcome me…” Then his breathing stopped and he lay still upon his cot.

Philippe drew the blanket upon his face and made the sign of the cross over the prone body of the monk. He then stood and opened the door, filling his lungs of the clean night air, needing to get rid of the fetor of the sickroom.

Tancrède watched as sad smile spread across the face of the King, torn between sympathy for the dead man and his guilt and his need for revenge on Gregory.

“Prepare the horses, Tancrede… God rides with us from this day on.” Philippe called, striding fast towards the rooms of the abbot.

[Cultured Drizzt fan]

Marseilles 1101, Let us hope for Sobriety

Yvon Rode into his manor in Marseilles, The town guards standing at attention, spears held at an angle. Yvon smirked slightly at that, Adam must have been drilling these peasants for months to get them disciplined enough to do even that! But the good mood did not hold long, not when darker thoughts weighed Yvons mind. The council….. He chose not to think of it, instead slipping into his manor and sat down to a fine meal. He was already eating when Adam and two of the manors personal guards marched into the room; Adam was holding an armful of papers and reports, his face grim. Yvon looked up, smiled briefly and motioned towards a chair.


“Newest reports and missives from the province are in my lord. And of course, tax reports are in… uuuggghhhh” Adam says, placing the papers in a pile on the table.


Yvon laughs and takes a swig of wine “That is the price of progress my friend, endless reports and figures. You know how to deal with them.”


Adam looks critically at Yvon “are you asking me to lower the taxes again? I realize you dislike taxing the citizens, but this is getting ridiculous….”


“It is not that Adam, I am just doing what I think is best for my territory. I am not good with the whole tax business… to be frank, just not the kind of thing I think a baron should be doing to the men and women under his protection….. But I am not here to talk business Adam, at least not right now” Yvon takes another swig, before going on “Have you heard the latest news? About the English?”


Adam shakes his head “Of course, every chapel in the land speaks of the excommunications of William and the Normans. And of course with tensions so high even a fool can see we will use this opportunity to take back what is ours. “


Yvon nods, his voice drips with bitter sarcasm “ Good, then you understand the basic set up of things. There is talk of a Crusade, to launch a glorious attack on London to free them from their blasphemy.” He gulps down the whole glass of wine and places his head in his palm,
“I am not sure if the course we are taking is truly His will Adam. They are still Catholics Adam. And to think we deem to attack a catholic nation under the pretense of a crusade when the heathens still rule in the holy land does not sit well on my shoulders. I want to kill the English as much as the next man does, and I plan to do as such. But I am not claiming God guides my blade as I butcher them. At the beginning I was neutral to the idea of this crusade…. Whatever gets the job done ehh? But now, it just leaves a sour taste in my mouth to bring God into this affair. I will not take up the cross against a fellow catholic. That I can not do.”

Adam sits back through the monologue, understanding that Yvon simply wanted someone to listen, not talk. After Yvon finished Adam opened his mouth, “ My friend, I am not going to say I disagree with you, your points are valid. But A crusade is a crusade, and is declared by only one man. The Pope, the voice of god on earth. If he declares as such then it must be His will.”
Adam nods his head vigorously, certain with himself. “But it is each mans decision to take up the cross. If it so displeases you then simply stay out of this crusade.”

“Perhaps you have a point Adam, although I have lost much faith in the pope in these past few years…. Hell, This crusade has not even been finalized, it is a possibility it will not even happen. But either way I have already decided what path I will take in the next few years.”
Yvon Smiles, grabbing a new glass of wine, “ we are going back to Spain my friend, The siege of Pamplona awaits!”

Adam cocks his head “What about Marseilles? Do you believe the city will be ok without your guidance? What of the guard?”


Yvon raises a hand, “Worry not, the city will be fine. My lord Prince Louis has already says he will keep an eye out for trouble, and the people will be fine with the professional guard gone. I have the utmost confidence the city will be fine while we go on campaign once again!” His eyes light up, a grin spreading on his face as he flourishes his wine glass,
“The English are going to regret sticking their fat noses into Iberia! That much I am sure of! Let us hope for a long and bloody campaign my friend! Let us hope for GLORY!” towards the last sentence, Yvon steps up on the table, wine flying from his glass.


Adam smirks “let us hope for Sobriety.”

[Ferret]

This is a co-op story with shlin28

“You should have killed them.” The first rider said, as their motley little group traversed the muddy road of Franconia.

“And disobey the Prince’s lapdog? I think not.” The smaller of the two retorted. 'Not publicly at least' he thought.

“They killed the Duc. Is that not enough of a reason?”

The other rider spat on the ground. “Don’t talk to me about what is right or wrong; I’ve heard tales of your… exploits, Villain. You would have killed the prisoners just to see how many you can kill before your arms tire.” muttered André.

The larger man chuckled quietly. “I suspect you would have let them go anyway, you hardly seem the type to butcher men in cold blood.” Villain smiled coldly at his comrade. “If it’s not the matter of the prisoners or the death of the Duc troubling you, what is?”

André glanced to the front of the column, where the Prince was riding, alone except for his two bodyguards. Prince Henri had not spoken to either of them after they set off on the journey to Paris.

“The Prince?” Villain asked, rather relieved that hours of listening to his companion had finally yielded something interesting.

“Who else… He was the commander of our army in Frankfurt, it was under his command that our Duc charged into the path of the crossbow bolts, and now, the Prince will most likely become the new Duc. Rather coincidental, don’t you think?”

“You are suggesting that the death was planned?” Villain asked matter-of-factly; he was hardly surprised, the same thought has occurred to him even before the last of the enemies were routed.

André sighed "I don't know, I am going to talk to some of the men at the battle, I need to know what happened in more detail. He is a Prince anyway, what could we do even if he did plan it?"

[Northnovas]

Antwerp 1117

Dear Gauthier,
I see you have arrived safely in the city and that you are making progress by joining the Order and assigned to fight with Prince Henri. You know either Prince Henri or Louis would be good men as comrades in arms. Germans or Moors it is all the same to us. You have made quite an impression in Paris; the ladies are still talking about you and some men are willing patrons to assist you in defending France from our enemies. You are making us proud!

You are still quite young and have been giving a great responsibility. I think it was a wise move of you to return to the city and assist in the defenses. There will be plenty of time for campaigning and fighting in fields and enemy lands.

When you have time there is someone I want you to meet. I am making the arrangements to send them your way but it is difficult to secure transportation. It may have information that could enlighten you an

.......Gauthier crumbled the paper having read it over several times but not getting any further information. He tossed the letter into the roaring fire and pondered when his guest would arrive. He was tired from the journey and it was good to be a comfortable setting of a bed and hot food. He enjoyed the camaraderie of his peers on the campaign but was tiring of the food and tent accommodations. Antwerp provided a change of pace with good drink and soft company.
There was a light knock at the door. Thinking of such he went to open the door. His mind tonight was not on siege defenses that can wait till tomorrow. There were better softer thoughts for tonight.

“Good Evening and welcome ladies!” as Gauthier mockingly bowed before them …………………….

[Ferret]

This is a co-op story with Braden

Staufen, 1117

A hooded man walked the streets in the run down area of town. His pace was fast and his stride long. After turning down a small alley he entered a small but busy pub. In the corner of the room was a tall, slim man. He looked about him with the swift attention of a bird of prey. The hooded man walked up to the bar and ordered two meads before sitting down opposite the man in the corner, "You must be Duncan."

“Aye, I am that Sir” Duncan looked closer at the man before smiling warmly “and if I’m not much mistaken your someone I know quite well. Tell me, why are you walking about in disguise?” Duncan took the Mead and took a hearty sip, apparently amused with the appearance of the person in front of him.

"This is not exactly a safe part of the city for a noble to walk through, especially one only recently captured" André dismissed. "Now, there is a rather sensitive matter I'd like to talk to you about, concerning the battle during which Duc Saint-Amand lost his life. Am I right in thinking you are quite close to Prince Henri?"

Duncan nearly chokes on his mead *cough* "Erm not really Baron, I'm where I am now through chance, pure chance. I saved his life so he see's it, and me? I'm a simple man-at-arms. Been a mercenary for over two years and found myself here and fate put me and my few spearmen were there at the right place at the right time in that forest when the Prince was down to only two men in his company. So, I wouldn't say I'm close as such...I work close to him but if you want someone who knows the man on a more personal level then Andreas is who you want to talk to but then...that depends what exactly you want to know doesn't it? I was there at the battle in the Princes company and I saw the young Duc fall...saw it all." Duncan looks at the man in front of him much like a hawk would seek out a sparrow.

"That's close enough for my purposes. I'm going to ask you something and you are going to tell me the truth. Where was the Prince when the Duc died and who ordered the Duc to the site of his end?" André had lowered his voice and leaned in closer. Two more cups of mead arrive at the table.

Duncan raises an eyebrow "Ordered? Have you ordered a Duc lately to do anything?" Duncan smiled and lifted the new cup of mead "No one ordered the young Duc to do anything. The main battle plan was given by the Prince however, to be as simple as possible…our spears march forward only after our cavalry have done all they could to kill the enemy cavalry. Said he's used the same many times with only his own bodyguard...and tis true...been there too, seen the Prince bring down many an enemy Knight himself and put himself in danger to do it. Still, after we'd dealt with that and our men-at-arms had engaged the Prince led us all to the rear of the enemy army so we could chip away at 'em. I tell you those Knights of Foot are tough swine, they wouldn't run and we'd failed plainly to get all the crossbowmen, I don't know where they'd been hiding them though. Somewhere behind the lines I guess...*Duncan drifted off for a moment remembering the battle*...nahh, we'd only got one or two of their Companies. Too many of them I say."

Duncan downs some more mead and looks quite upset with the recollection but raises his cup again to drink before continuing.

“Perhaps not what you wanted to hear huh? Know this though, it was the Princes’ battle plan…perhaps not the best, certainly not the worse…I’m not one to know such things. The Prince was with me most of the time of the battle, we got separated a few times though..heh..the general mess of combat and all that. We lost 12 good knights that day in just our company…likewise in the Duc’s company. You saw how the Prince was after the battle, it truly was the largest your realm has seen I think. Ahhh…I’m sorry I can’t give much more to you, you’ve been good to me Baron tonight and know that I’ve told you as much truth as I can be assured of.”

André sits silent for a few moments before quietly thanking Ducan and leaving the inn. After he leaves another cup of mead is placed in front of Duncan by the barman.

[shlin28]

The day after the battle…

“All the men are accounted for, Baron.” Captain Renaud said as he approached Villain, his armour still spattered with blood. “We lost five hundred and eleven men in the battle, another twelve perished in the night. I fear we will lose many more if we do not move. We also have four hundred and thirty three men battle read- ”

“The prisoners?” Villain interrupted Renaud. The number of men is not his biggest concern right now; he does not plan to linger any longer here anyway.

“Under the guard of Xavier, as you ordered.”

Villain noted that Renaud said Xavier’s name bitterly, as though his very name is poison. In truth, within many soldiers’ minds, Xavier is the poison within their little army. He, like many of Villain’s retinue, was recruited from dubious sources – they were certainly not from wealthy landed families, nor where they promoted from the rank and file of the army. Their origins were mysterious, but their behaviour is for all to see; their brutality on the battlefield and off it has become legendary amongst Villain’s men. Some more pious souls even suggested that they were worshippers of the Devil in secret, using the blood of innocents to feed their unholy hunger for violence.

Villain of course knew better. The men that formed the core of his bodyguard were in reality merely acquaintances from his Steward days – even then, as the lord of a few dirty villagers and some broken hovels, he had realised that violence can solve every problem, excessive violence doubly so. Since then, some of the ‘acquaintances’ had gone on to join the army, or moved to serve another lord to keep his peasants in line; it was simplicity itself to have a few choice words there or hand a handful of coins to another in order to regain their loyalty.

Xavier of course, was the worst of them all, and the perfect person to keep the prisoners in line.

“Excellent, Captain. Order the men to pack up their gear; we will be moving west as soon as some nasty… business gets sorted out.”

Renaud turned to leave, but stopped when he saw Villain drew his sword from the scabbard.

“Baron… are you… erm… going to execute the prisoners?”

Villain ignored him and kept walking towards to where his bodyguards were encamped. Renaud can be useful sometimes, thanks to his dogged loyalty and the respect he commands from the men, but sometimes his annoying naivety concerning matters of war annoys Villain to no end.

“But why did you order me to send an envoy to the Germans?” Renaud continued as he followed Villain.

Villain finally turned around “Because we will not be able to stop that army crossing the river, the only thing we can do is to defeat them by… other means. Now see to it that the men are packed and ready to march!”

Renaud gave a curt bow, his face full of indignation and doubt, but he obeyed Villain’s order and walked away.

Villain sighed, now there is another loose end that needed to be tied up very soon.

---

An hour later…

His bodyguards, assisted by the mercenaries, quickly forced the three hundred or so prisoners to line up on the banks of the river, whilst the rest of the army moved west to a more defensible position. Villain was taking a gamble in moving the bulk of his forces away; he was banking on the fact that this Philip is as chivalrous as he was reputed to be, to not attack whilst the prisoners are prepared to being handed over.

“Baron! They are here!” One of his bodyguards shouted as he rode back across the bridge to the French side. Indeed, minutes later, a small group of riders wearing the colours of the Roman Empire rode into view; no doubt this Captain Philip is amongst them, hoping to gain some measure of glory by negotiating the release of his fellow Germans.

Villain would not allow that to happen, in mere hours, the German army would be demoralised and defeated before a single drop of French blood had been shed.

“My good German comrades!” He said loudly to the prisoners, whilst a mercenary translated his words into unintelligible German babble. “You are free to go!” He gave a warm smile to show that he was sincere. The prisoners did not move at first, but slowly, prodded on by the translator, they began to move cautiously towards the bridge.

“Xavier? I believe the prisoners are escaping.” Villain said with a grin to the armoured warrior next to him as the first prisoner stepped onto the bridge. Xavier nodded, his face unreadable behind the metal helm, and promptly slashed his sword into the midriff of a nearby German soldier. In seconds, Villain’s bodyguards and the mercenaries moved in, slashing and stabbing at the unarmoured Germans. In minutes, they were all dead, not even a single one of them had reached the other side of the river.

The German riders were still too far away to even attempt to ride to the prisoners’ rescue, but they saw everything, and that was enough for Villain. “Xavier, the flag?” The armoured brute hoisted up a white flag, its colour in stark contrast with the red on his armour. It took a while for the German riders to decide what to do, and Villain was tempted to ride out and finish off the leadership of the German army. But then, he reasoned, what would be the point of putting on such theatrics if no-one is left alive to tell the tale?

After what seemed to be an eternity, a lone German rider moved slowly to the other side of the bridge and shouted: “You traitorous French dogs! We come here to parlay for the release of the prisoners, not to witn-”

Thank God, the fool actually spoke French, thought Villain inwardly. “My good German friend, how can you call us that, I am insulted that you even thought of it. We have nothing but honest intentions for the prisoners. It is, alas, their ill judgement that led to their deaths. Had they not tried to overpower the guards…” Villain shook his head in false regret, “But the past is the past, perhaps we can forget this unfortunate incident and cease this bloody war before more German blood is shed?” Villain asked cheerfully.

“Peace? With you?” The envoy glared at Villain and spoke with venom. “Never.” He rode swiftly back to the rest of the German riders without looking back.

“Then the war must go on… Au revoir, my friend, may we meet again soon.” Villain whispered to himself.

---

Later that night…

“The Germans are burning the bodies, Baron. They are also building some sort of fort around that area – they will not give chase to our army.”

“Excellent job, Xavier. Go and sleep for a few hours, we will continue the march at dawn”

Villain was quite pleased with himself. He had just stopped an entire German army in its tracks, now confirmed by Xavier’s scout report, and he had just received a delightful message from Paris. Even the appearance of Captain Renaud at his shoulder did not dampen Villain’s mood.

“My good captain! What may I do for you?”

“Sir, I have only one question to ask – what happened to the prisoners?”

“Prisoners?” Villain frowned, “There were no prisoners.”

Renaud was about to retort when Villain continued: “Xavier, did you see any prisoners?”

“No, my lord, I only saw honourless German cowards who fled rather than face honourable death in battle. They are not prisoners; they are scum who deserve only death.” Xavier replied.

“I agree.” Villain paused slightly to allow the message to sink in on Renaud. “Captain, you will get the men ready to march as soon as the Sun is up. I have some business in Paris to attend to; I hope that when I return the army is encamped at a secure location. Do not disappoint me, Renaud.”

Captain Renaud did not acknowledge the order, and simply walked away.

“Xavier, enforce discipline when I am away, do not let Renaud speak to his men. We must not have dissension in my army.” Villain said quietly as he stared at the figure dwindling away into the distance. “If necessary… use force.”

“I obey.”

[Braden]

Frankfurt – 1118

“Charles has asked me for aid” Henri sits in the study chambers whilst Andreas idly flicks through one of the government tomes on another table beside him.

“What does he want my lord?”

“Ha! What he’s wanted since he became a knight…land. Forestooth I think his first words in Council were to request land from our Father, I assume he’s been rebuffed again by him as he now writes to me for help….hmm…he believes that opportunity will come to him from his elder brother now he is a Duc eh?”

“Indeed my lord but you can’t just give him land. The Duchy has little enough as it is to produce money and troops.”

Henri waves his hand to dismiss Andreas’ statement “True enough but I feel that to gain we must do so.”

Andreas stops reading and regards Henri with a ‘you can’t be serious’ look on his face.

“Oh my dear Andreas, can’t you see? We are clearly overstretched. The armies facing us on our borders are large and we are…frankly…weak. Had my plans come to fruition we would not be in this predicament but we did not seize Hamburg, Thomas did not seize Magdeburg and Nuremburg has been given to the Germans again. All this leaves us, Lorraine, dangerously exposed from three fronts.”

“What’s in your head my lord?” Andreas was now intrigued.

“Charles can have Staufen. We don’t have the means to defend or Southern borders but Charles will not be left to rot by the King or council, he will be given the means to defend himself and by proxy us. We can concentrate on the threat to the East and the Order can nullify the threat in the North for now. However, we need to get something more ‘overt’ from such a deal. I cannot be seen to just give land to Charles…it would not sit well with my vassals.”

“Ok, my lord, good reason thus far but what can Charles give you?”

“Oh….Andreas…Charles can give me more leverage. You know I favour Villain?”

Andreas baulked at the name “Gah! Yes my lord but I still fail to see why…the man is lowborn at best, base in his action”

“Andreas! Stop that now, you know Villain is a means to an end, he is clearly the correct tool for the job at hand. I am a Prince of the Realm, it is beneath me to conduct a more total solution to defend the Duchy or indeed France. My personal principles hold me to a code of honour that will have us fight the same Germans three or more times…costing countless extra lives…I am sorry you find him abhorrent but he is just exactly the man the Duchy needs now.”

“I suppose so my lord but he is a beast”

“Indeed he is Andreas, indeed he is…but he is our ‘beast’ and I wish to keep him so. I have granted him title but now Charles presents me with a unique opportunity. Adoption”

Andreas nearly fell down through the chair he was sitting on “Adoption?!? Are you mad?”

“Nay Andreas, not mad…far from it indeed. Andreas, you taught me well but we find ourselves in a position where we have Villain, a man you and I know well. You know he will not remain loyal, even with a Barony…but if he had a truly vested interest in the continued health and wellbeing of the Royal household….”

Henri trailed off, the question unanswered. Andreas filled the gap in awe

“Keep your friends close but your enemies…well, potentially deadly enemies…closer still?”

“Very true Andreas and I cannot think of a closer proximity than to be my Brother…can you? Villain will serve the Duchy well and whilst I do not intend to sell him out at anytime, it pays well to have an insurance plan when dealing with such a man.”

[Braden]

The 2nd Siege of Frankfurt – 1120

Henri was worried. He had been besieged by the German force for a little over two weeks now and had sent several requests out for aid to the main army that the Duchy of Lorraine had just North East of the city but no word had come from them and no sign could be seen from the parapets of Frankfurt where he now stood looking past the German earthworks and siege engines.

News had reached that soldiers from Metz castle were on their way and could bolster Frankfurts defence but it was only three companies of men, Henri reasoned that they could…just…tip the balance in his favour but it would be the fight of his life.

The Germans were preparing. Their siege tower started to move forward and Henri looked across the walls at the few men he had. Two companies of spears, only one of them full strength and his own body guard. Looking East he made out the banners of the men from Metz, they would arrive but perhaps too little too late. Henri gazed into the distance and his eyes filled with water…was it fear he felt? Andreas put a hand on his armour shoulder.

“We will prevail my Prince” simple words of comfort and encouragement but Henri welcomed them anyway.

Suddenly a horn sounded and Henri snapped back to look at the German lines in front of the city. Men rushed too and fro, siege engines were being abandoned and they were forming up to march. Henri couldn’t believe it.

Henri asked the world “Have they lost heart?” but Andreas answered

“No my lord, I feel the answer is walking towards us now” he pointed across the wall to a herald approaching. The herald bowed and addressed the Prince.

“My liege, the Lieutenant of the Order of the Fleur de Lys sends his apologies and advises you he will join battle with the Germans in good order to the North East of the city.” Out of breath but pleased he’d completed his duty the herald bowed deeply to Henri.

Henri said in mock disapproval “So, the Order graces us with is presence finally?” the herald lost his smiling face in confusion at the comment before Henri smiled widely

“HA! Better to be late than never aye? A goblet of the finest we have for this good herald who brings us life renewed!” Henri nearly leapt from the walls as he strode to get his horse.