Stories Thread

[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.”

[Braden]

*Royal Army encampment, Upper Rhine, Frankfurt crossing*

Henri had only recently joined the army formally, under the leadership of the Order of the Fleur-de-leys. He sat in the tent pouring over the recent documents the Royal courier had delivered that morning, for it was morning although it was gloomy and dark outside. Winter was here and the ground in the encampment varied from frozen solid areas to sticky-cold mud which even a horse would have difficulty negotiating.

Andreas, Henri’s former tutor and now constant companion and mentor worked hard behind him trying to breathe life into the small stove of the tent whilst readying a pan to make either a hot drink or hot food…when and if the stove co-operated of course! Henri cared neither way however and was intent on the letters and reports.

Andreas broke the silence.

“So, war starts finally against the English my Lord?”

Henri put down the documents and paused…of course, Andreas had read them already, he always did. He pinched the top of his nose and sighed, he was already tired this morning. Tired of the cold and inaction.

“Yes, though a formal declaration is still to be made but the war itself and a crusade against them is but a mere formality. Come on Andreas…has the war against the English ever really stopped?”

Andreas ignored the question, assuming it rhetorical.

“I hear you are not joining the rest of the Order when they ride West in the Spring. I must admit to being a little confused. I thought you keen for action.”

“And indeed I am but I am no fool also. A war and a crusade against the English changes everything, no longer is the nation and her lower nobility focused on the Germans and the West. They are happy to leave here and leave those they deem “lesser men” in charge…like myself.”

“So, the crusade leaves you with an army already? Fortune has favoured you my Lord”

“Oh cut the over formal nonsense Andreas…you know full well how this has come about.”

Henri pursed his fingers in a steeple and placed them to his lips, a smug look on his face before turning to regard Andreas…as expected Andreas had a wide beaming smile glaring back at Henri.

“Stop toying with me Andreas, we’ve been together to long for me to know that there is not much of my life, my intentions or indeed my supposed secret communications between my father and I, that does not escape you…me thinks your face is betraying you as well.”

Henri matched Andreas’ smile before continuing.

“Yes Andreas, of course this situation could not have turned out better even if we “had” known what my father was going to do. Now, is that pottage you have there or mulled wine? I declare that you are a most wise, honourable, loyal and skilled with a blade retainer but..truthfully, I fear your cooking will be the death of me and not the Germans.”

[Braden]

*Road East of Frankfurt – 1104*

The mercenary companies mixed freely in the evenings, eating, drinking, swapping stories and gossiping. Prince Henri rode past them and barely contained a sneer. He did not like “hired killers” like these, they were after all Germans, hired to kill their own brethren and it did not sit particularly well with him.

Two mercenaries stood by the fire and watched Henri ride past.

“So what do you think of this little Prince?”

They continued to watch Henri ride off into the dark towards his tent and the French trained companies.

“Hime not too sure as yet there. Honest truth is that he let them ‘ovr guys off the hook, just rode up to them and told them to leave. Not sure if them other lot would have done that.”

“Still, he’s driven us hard to get here. Rumour is that there’s a German army just down the road and quite a large one just Sou’East of here, bet we’ll have te do some fighting then huh?”

“Bah, you English never cease to annoy me eh? Wot you want eh? To get paid well but do no march’in and no fight’in? Well get it in do your head that we do wot we is told’er, he holds the coin so we follow heem huh.”

“Company life innit yea? I wonder if any of dem knobs realise what we’re thinkin or wantin.”

“Wot it matter to you eh English? If you die tomorrows, who cry for you eh? Not me that who. You fink too much English, me think that why you here an no at home wif a bed under ye back an a woman on your man huh?”

The English mercenary chucked to himself.

“Aye, be truth enough there cap’n. Still wonders where this little lad’ll take us huh?”

The German shook his head and sighed heavily before turning around and walking back to the fire muttering.

“Too much finking..bah..English finkers…”

The Englishman just stood there staring into the darkness where Prince Henri had gone…wondering…

[Braden]

Frankfurt to Steinbach-Hallenberg road – Winter 1105


“Andeas I have a tough choice ahead of me”

Henri and Andreas were in the command tent on the road just past Steinbach-Hallenberg, Henri sat at the camp table as usual dealing with the day to day documents running an army in the field required him to. They had passed the site of their previous battle a few days previously and now encamped awaiting a response from their request to Frankfurt for re-enforcements.

“What so my lord?” Andreas as was common now, was preparing something indescribable on the camp stove.

“Well, provided we get the expected spearmen from Frankfurt we are left with a significantly difficult road ahead of us. My scouts report at least one other large German army just outside Magdeburg and that the majority of the garrison from Hamberg has left to move West. If we march well we will still not reach Hamberg for another six months, besides its quite possible that the armies at Magdeburg may block our most direct route anyway. The other consideration I have is that we must besiege Hamberg and potentially for a season or more…it does not sit well with me to leave a large enemy army to my rear whilst we sit at a siege.”

“So, you defeat the German army at Magdeburg and then move on to Hamberg of course…but then you already know that, so what is the real problem my lord?”

Andreas looked at Henri, 18 years of age, in charge of an army and two difficult battles under his belt already…he looked older beyond his years.

“The problem I have is that when I defeat that army I would like to ransom them back. Save their lives as much as possible. IF, the ransom is accepted then what? I march on Hamberg with potentially still an enemy army behind me of those I released? Or siege and take Magdeburg which will be re-enforced by those same men? So…the other choice I have, in order to make sure the men under my command do not face the same forces twice, and potentially in a siege…is…well, that is the issue I am struggling with.”

It dawned on Andreas what his lord was dealing with…his conscience. To release the prisoners was the honourable and chivalric thing to do, but in doing so, he would significantly endanger his own men’s lives and potentially jeopardise the entire aims of his campaign.

He thought hard before answering

“My lord. You are a Prince of France, that you struggle with the choice ahead of you is display enough that you are both honourable and caring for those whom you command. I will remind you that you are not alone in this matter, although they are far away there are others you can turn to for council.”

“Fetch me some paper and a quill will you? I have an idea to buy some time.”

“What have you planned my lord?”

“We do neither action! I truly believe the spearmen from Frankfurt will be released to us, they will have already have marched a significant journey which means they will not be able to march much further. I am sending another letter to Frankfurt to urge that the spearmen be sent North and await our column marching West. We will meet them there and release a company of crossbowmen as was agreed to march back to Frankfurt. We will continue to follow the road thereafter West and then North West. From this more Northerly position…”

Henri stood, rummaged through the maps on the table and swiftly pointed to an area on one of them showing North East Europe to Andreas who watch on.

“…here, once we reach this point we will be able to strike due-East again more directly to Hamberg. We avoid the German armies, assuming they do not take the offensive. Ideally, they will follow us….away from Frankfurt and we will seize Hamberg castle before they reach us. We will then meet them in the field, defeat them, and THEN move South East, unopposed on Magdeburg. Edicts dictate that Hamberg will be pre-ratified and we will be able to raise more troops…God willing…before the main German armies converge on us. It’s a gamble but in our present strength, even with another company of spears we will be sorely pushed to take both Hamberg and Magdeburg AND defeat a large field army.”

“IF, your father agrees that is my lord.”

Henri looked disgruntled at this.

“Hmmm..my father. Ultimately, yes, but practically…I am in command but I will go where my Country needs me most. At least if we march North West we will not only buy time for the situation to develop more but also for our own forces to address themselves again.”

With that Andreas nodded. He’d never really commanded more than a company of men back on his fathers Italian estates so the concept of armies moving, vying for position on a continental scope was beyond him. He looked at the maps and understood it to a certain extent and realised the boy always was good at chess. His brother often commented on the sharpness of Henri’s mind, his swiftness of thought and he was seeing that in action now.

Henri returned to his letters and maps whilst Andreas thought, both of them were interrupted by the entrance of a messenger.

“My Lord…*pant*…message from Frankfurt.” The messenger was out of breath and clearly fresh from the road.

Andreas took the message and started to unfurl it for Henri

“Thank you, please ask the guards to find you some refreshment and wait outside.”

The messenger bowed slightly to both men, Henri halted him.

“Hold there friend…here!” he tossed him a silver florin which the messenger caught “Be sure to wait nearby but tend to your horse first.”

With that the messenger bowed again and left.

“Here” Andreas passed the open missive to Henri and he began to read

“Hmmmm…that may cause a problem” the Prince looked a little worried “It would appear that the garrison troops released from Hamberg have marched exactly due West and now immediately threaten to besiege Antwerp but in better news Frankfurts spears await us along the road.”

Henri thought for a moment and sighed

“No. This doesn’t change our immediate plans. It may mean we must march West to relieve Antwerp if others cannot be mustered to do so. Andreas?”

“Yes my lord?”

“Do you ever get the feeling we’re fighting fires during a thunderstorm? We may find ourselves facing a German army outside Antwerp only to dash back to face another near Hamberg or even Frankfurt and then to rush North for Hamberg castle all the while fighting the Kaisers men along the way.”

Andreas chuckled “Indeed it does, and there you were a few months ago complaining of inaction!”

Henri smiled “Tis so…and as such we shall not complain my friend! Rouse the army. We MARCH!”

[Braden]

Beatrix entered the quarters issued to her in the travel inn. The inn itself was well appointed being along the main routes to Frankfurt, Antwerp, Hamburg and other places if significance, trade and travel being frequent and the Royal household having paid for finer lodgings…as befitting a prospective bride for a Prince.

Prince Henri himself however, was absent when she arrived. Being well trained in the ways of court she took no slight in the matter as she had been well aware that the young Prince was still actively campaigning. She sighed to herself, she was young…only just 16…and had been told of the virtues of the young Prince’s earlier life but the reality was far closer to his boorish elder brother Louis, who’s own reputation was well known within the court. She had no impulsion to be “tethered” to such a man, young as he was, whilst more noble suitors might be found but her father was determined to ally himself with the Royal line and it was her duty to father and greater France perhaps.

So she waited in the well appointed surroundings for her fateful meeting with the man who, her father hoped, would be her husband.

Day’s passed with no messages or sign of the Royal and Beatrix started to resign herself to the fact that this man was just like Louis…a womaniser, warrior…aggressive and without tact! Not even the kindness to send any message to her as she waited.

On the fifth day, a messenger arrived. A retainer of Prince Henri announced as Andreas, who came fresh from the road to meet with her. Beatrix was ushered into a private room with two of her ladies to await the man.

Andreas entered soon after, he had clearly not bathed since his arrival or even changed clothing! Such a show was unfitting Beatrix felt for a first meeting but the man before her bowed deeply and announced his honourable intent before being asked to proceed.

Beatrix, demure and composed bid him to proceed “You may announce yourself and your intent Sir”

“Thank you m’lady” Andreas’ accent was lilting and awkward, his hair almost white in places, his face still grubby from the road but there was a youthful light behind his eyes “It is my honour to be his Royal Highness Prince Henri’s Retainer, he brings you news that he is still held outside Hamburg awaiting the Germans surrender. He has bidden me to ride to you and consult directly on his behalf.”

Again, Andreas bowed deeply and awaited composed for Beatrix to respond.

“Sir, you may address me more formally as The Lady Beatrix Capet and I must admit that I am not only shocked and upset by the Princes continued absence but also the..frankly…beshevelled appearance of his supposed favoured retainer!”

Andreas regarded Beatrix. She was small and slight of build, clearly only just what could be considered a woman. Beatrix for her part had said her piece and sat regally before him more intent on un-ruffling creases in her dress than actually holding a conversation with him.

“That is so The Lady Beatrix Capet, but the Prince is at the behest of his most noble enemy the Germans. If they saw fit to surrender before him instead of plying the folly of trying to actually fight him, well, I am certain the Prince would be here in person and much more appropriately attired than myself.”

The heavy sarcasm was completely lost on Beatrix.

“That is indeed so, well, perhaps he should impart my impatience and indignation to the people of Hamburg directly and make it known that a lady of good breeding is being kept waiting in a hovel due to their stubbornness!”

Andreas smiled a little “Why certainly Lady Beatrix Capet, I will make sure I pass the Prince a true level of your..erm..discomfort and anger so that he may impart such to the Germans personally. I am sure he will use your indignation to fuel his anger at them.”

“Indeed, and you will do this for me now Sir. Please ensure the Prince knows of me and my dire situation immediately.”

Clearly Beatrix had ended her conversation, such as it was, as she rose, nodded to Andreas before Imperiously leaving the room.


Prince Henri walked out of the Inn via the back door immediately making for the stables. Locating the nearest watering trough he dunked his head directly in to wash the chalk from his hair and the grim from his face. The icy waters seemed to slap him in the face but in truth he needed the cold shock to calm his temper down.

He was not known to have a temper of any sort, even in battle, but that child…for she was too petulant to be considered a woman…raised an anger within him he hadn’t known before.

Andreas stood nearby holding both horses.

“So my lord, how does she sit with you?”

“Not well Andreas, not well at all. She sets herself higher than even the status of the whole land, she does not please me, fair of face though she may be there is no inner core…no soul that I would like to be in company of that is certain.”

“Very well my lord, I shall inform her family to expect her back home shortly then?”

“Indeed you may Andreas for I would not be as complementary as you would be in such a letter.”

With that Henri and Andreas re-joined their bodyguard outside the Inn and rode back towards Hamburg.

[Northnovas]

Paris 1113

The mansion was packed with people for the social event of the season. Gauthier de Beauvis was one of the younger members in the crowd intermingling with the aristocratic guest. He was a very unique individual his origins blurred but had been raised an aristocrat with schooling in Rome and Paris. He had recently completed his military training and was ready to join the Chevalier of France. What made de Beauvis unique were his features, he was an individual who was asked if he hailed from a particular region or was he the father or brother of a noble because of the striking resemblance to members of the nobility. No one knew and he always replied that he was not but never explained where he came from……

“There he is by the window from here I would say he looks like the King Philip in his younger days.” whispered the man. His partner looked over and acknowledged his remark but disagreeing.
“No I don’t think so to me from up close I say he reminds me of the late Duke de Champagne god rest his soul.” then quickly downing the goblet of wine before pouring himself some more. The third quickly interjected on the gossip of the young nobles origins.
“Mmmm, could be Henri my friend, but from what I heard he was a bastard son of a high ranking clergy member, possible the Pope himself. He did spend a lot of his early childhood in Rome.” The other two looked at their friend with astonishment of the mentioning of the B word and fearing the young noble would hear them gossiping about him.“Oh come on you two! Stop with the antics! He is a fine man and if he had a legitimate father, that man surly would be speaking up and proudly announcing his son to the world. There is no one but a wealthy benefactor. The young man has been well looked after.”

The other two men agreed with their friend and then strategically moved about the crowd to participate in more gossip with the many guest.

[shlin28]

Paris, 1114

A hulk of a man sat silently in the corner of the dark and dingy inn, silently grumbling about his lot in life.

He had everything – strength in both mind and body, faith in his heart, and perhaps most importantly, his dashing good looks which sent many a fair maiden falling to the ground. His family was wealthy enough to support their favoured son and a small retinue of retainers on campaign for one of the nobles of the Realm, and with luck, he probably would have risen to the very top, becoming one of the great Dukes that rules the ever expanding Kingdom.

All of that would have happened had that pig-headed excuse of an older brother not been born three years earlier than Villain.

Thanks to him, Villain is now reduced to being merely a landless slave to his father, managing their estates whilst his irksome brother sent back daily reports of his glorious conquests, if guarding some snotty noble could be counted as ‘glorious’ and seducing illiterate barmaids counts as ‘conquests’.

Villain hated this. To drown his sorrows, he has taken to frequenting this shabby tavern on the outskirt of Paris, hoping that the drinks would somehow mollify his indignation.

He was so engrossed in the details of downing his third bottle that he didn’t notice a messenger wearing the livery of Villain’s father entering the drinking house. The messenger walked delicately through tavern, as though touching any of its patrons would somehow contaminate him with some sort of disease. ‘In God’s name! How can the son of Lord de la Salle sit in this place… let alone eat and drink!?!’ thought the messenger as he gingerly approached Villain.

“My lord?” The messenger asked cautiously, hoping that Villain de la Salle is at least somewhat sober.

Villain glanced at the messenger; no doubt his father has more tasks regarding the state of their farmlands to bestow upon his son. Rather than giving the messenger a reply, he merely nodded.

“I bear grave news, Sire. Your brother… Théophile… is dead.”

That shook Villain out of his reverie, he stood up, suddenly alert to the fact that this could be his chance to escape his mundane duties. “What… how… what happened to him?”

“Sir Théophile followed his commander, a Bertin de Montsault, into battle against the vile Germans. Unfortunately, no man escaped the skirmish to tell the tale. As such, you are now the heir to the de la Salle fortune. Your father commands you to ret-”

A feral grin came over Villain’s face. With his older brother dead, a large amount of the family fortune is freed up that could be diverted to another use instead – Villain’s advancement as a Chevalier of France.

He quickly left the shabby building before the messenger could finish and climbed up on the messenger’s horse, before riding full speed towards the family manor. In his giddy imagination, he thought of battle and glory, of women and gold, but most importantly – power, pure unadulterated power over his subjects.

They would all be mine…

[Braden]

Forests South West of Hamburg – 1114, winter

Henri sat astride his horse as the army marched through the forest, Andreas beside him, they were all tired, all dirty…all running away


Andreas, do you have the latest reports?

Andreas rummaged in a bag, and withdrew some parchments before replying

Aye my lord…he began to read whilst they rode on…seems the Germans are at our heels but we have outpaced them sufficiently but it is still a matter of a dozen miles between us and it is by no means certain we will reach Frankfurt before being overtaken.

Henri looked pensive

That…is not…good news Andreas…Henri abruptly smiled at Andreas though…still the Duc of Lorraine awaits us in Frankfurt and re-enforcements are on their way East also, we will prevail Andreas..take heart.

Andreas smiled also but it was much more weakly and there clearly wasn’t too much belief in his eyes…he continued to read

Ah…reports on a few Chevaliers who have made themselves known in court..

Andreas handed them to Henri who read them

Hmm…he threw one to the ground off hand…ok…another went into the mud on the road as he muttered to himself…ahh…now this man interests me Andreas…he passed the parchment back to Andreas

Him? This man my lord? But why, he appears quite ignoble by all accounts…almost brutish…what interests you of this man?

HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE ARMY BEHIND US?!? Henri alarmed himself with his volume and animation but looking at the hollow eyes of his tired men around him he bent in closer to Andreas before continuing in low tones

…that army behind us Andreas could destroy all of Lorraine, such troops we have not faced before or even seen their quality..ever…what interests me of this man is the same essence that abhors me about him. He is ignoble, perhaps even a brute but we will have ignoble work ahead of us and I am a Prince of the Realm not to mention the Captain of a Noble Order of Chivalry.

Andreas started to realised what Henri was suggesting and paled

No my lord, what are you suggesting?

Andreas, faithful servant and guardian, you have taught me well the ways of Chivalry, of honour but you also told me that often not such high ideals have no place on a battlefield. When..and I mean…when, we defeat that Satan spawned army behind us…we must think hard on what to do and it is a man like this I will turn to, to ensure our ultimate victory.

Andreas couldn’t quite believe the young man in front of him and what he was intimating, what had become of Henri?

[Ituralde]

The Channel, 1114:

Simon let himself be soothed by the gentle rocking of the boat as the last remnants of land sank into the grey mist that had formed. The air was so humid that the hair clung wetly to Simons scalp. His face was set in a permanent scowl. He couldn't help but remember how he had felt when he had first seen the steep shores of Southern England.

It was pride that had filled him, pride and zeal. Feelings of a younger man it now seemed to him. He had been full of purpose. The discussions in the Magnaura had been tedious but finally his ambitions, the ambitions of the Order had been cast into legislation that had been passed by the Counseil. They were to ride at the head of an army to show William the might of Christendom! It would have been a grand show of Chivalry and Faith and France's soldiers at the front. The Order among them, led by their King to bring justice and freedom to the English! He fondly remembered the eagerness with which his Brother Knights had joined him, even those that had never ridden with the Order before. So much had gone wrong since then.

They had traveled further and further north, without word from the Papacy. How could they have recieved any when no request was ever sent? It seemed all had turned against them. The Moors in the South, the Germans in the East, suddenly France seemed surrounded by heretics. And their King. He had conquered one settlement after the other with them and then gone off alone to face William by himself. No judgement, no justice, no Crusade. The King had lied to them, and even in his head Simon knew that those words were treason and that he would rightfully die should he ever speak them aloud.

From that moment on he had only wanted to leave Albion. But of course it hadn't been that easy. The English had finally found their will to fight, after leaving their settlements abandoned they had gathered a large force. It had been a good battle, but it had cost dearly. Robert Bouchart dead. Dead while conquering a land he didn't want. Dead while following the empty promises of his Captain.

Simon knew that he could never forgive himself for this. With a last sigh he turned away from the graying mist, turned away from that cursed Isle that he never wanted to see again!

[Cultured Drizzt fan]

1107 Anjou, near Angers

Elias Stood watching the soldiers swarm across the town. They were frantic, everyone had heard that the French were moving on Angers. And everyone also knew there was nothing the English could do to stop it. Geoffrey was finished, and in that thought his brother took great pleasure. When the French soldiers swept on this place and disposed of his him almost decided to stay behind, even to just see his brother’s expression. He was sure it would be delicious.

However, even hate for his brother did not overwhelm Elias’s wish for self preservation. He would still be considered a nobleman of England, and whether or not he was killed mattered far less to him then keeping his wealth and at least some stripe of Nobility. Frankly he was quite put off by the whole distinction between French and English. As long as you had the land and the gold to back your opinion up then your culture mattered very little. But…. Tensions ran far to high between the two for that to ever catch on. So Elias had made his choice, and he did not consider it the cowards way out. He was going to get out of this little piece of hell with everything he could carry, and start over. He already had the fake papers identifying him as a lesser noble of France. He sincerely hoped that would be good enough. But even if that failed, he was not too adverse to letting on his true heritage. His lineage was a good one, And he hoped the fact they had been toiling under the English would not diminish that. His father had been a good enough Duke. But Elias could not rely on that. And so he had to leave.


He turned back to his horse, and to all the gold it carried. He motioned forward to the servant he had brought with him. The man stepped forward hesitantly, he had the same hair as Elias, and similar face. Just what he needed.

The dagger came up and slit the mans throat, and Elias kept his arm pumping forward, slashing the servants face again and again until it was a mangled wreck. Elias switched cloths with the man, and put a heavy purse and his jewelry on him as well. Hopefully it was good enough.

He saddled his horse and rode south. As he did so he thought, what was he going to call himself? Micheal D’Anjou.... Yes, he liked the irony of that. Well, he may as well start his new life as a Frenchman.



(so Rushed.... I need to put aside more time for this.... )

[_Tristan_]

The weight of a Crown

English Coast, near Dover, 1114

The ship sailed away from the coast under full sails, rising and falling in the heavy seas. Wind lashed at the lonely figure of a man standing on the white chalk cliff overlooking the battering sea.

Philippe had wanted to say goodbye to Brother de Montpierre but had not found enough courage to face the man. When he could face odds some would deem insurmountable on the battlefield, he couldn’t stand the gaze of a man who thought he had been betrayed.

Was he wrong to think so ? Philippe thought not, however hurtful those thoughts were.

In his heart, the King knew he had betrayed the trust of these men who had followed him to these wretched isles. But in the depth of his heart, Philippe knew that he had been led to act like this… Had he not advocated for many years a truce or even an alliance with England? Had he not pushed for the return of English holdings in France to be made peacefully? Had those same nobles who now called for England to be given back to its people called in the past for English blood at any cost ?

Philippe felt he had been lured by the siren’ calls of those nobles, had failed to see the traps in their advice… Now with the departure of de Montpierre, he felt lonelier than he had ever felt before… Even more than after the death of Bertrade, his queen… The crown felt heavier by the day on his head…He had wanted peace more than anything in this life but had been a warrior king, deemed by some one of the fiercest of his time… And what did have as a reward for his life ? A mangled face under a leather mask and a lonely life in these barren lands with nothing but still more fights ahead of him…

Philippe wished Godspeed to the ship sailing towards his country, to carry safely back to France the knight it carried.

A single tear ran down the leathery surface of the mask, dropping down to the heaving sea, its salt mingling with that of the sea.

After a last look to the ship disappearing in the Channel fog, Philippe turned and walked back to his horse.

[KnightnDay]

On the walls of Frankfurt

Summer, 1116

On the walls of Frankfurt, three men stood looking over the army of the Holy Roman Empire under the command of one Captain Oskar Jonas. The besieging army kept a respectable distance from the walls, staying well out of range of any archers that might try to engage them. It was also clear what the intentions were of this veteran army, the battering ram, ladder and siege towers being assembled in full view.

Thomas spoke to Baron Vaux. "You can see that becoming a lord of Lorraine creates all sorts of opportunities to meet new people who wish to create the greatest trouble for you.
But it will be nothing compared to the trouble we shall make for them. The insolence, to lay siege to a city so well defended!"

Just then, three men could be seen making their way past the siege equipment, and walking steadily towards the front gate. As they came closer, it was apparent that two of the men were soldiers in the employ of the empire, but the third in civilian attire was not.

"Strange that one in the middle does not appear to be German at all", noted Henri.

These men continued to approach until they were within range of any skilled archer when one of the men began waving a white cloth.

"Now what shall we make of this, surely all these Germans did not march all the way here to surrender", Andre mused.

Twenty yards or so from the front gate, Thomas shouted down. "That is far enough, gentlemen. What is your business here?"

"You are Prinz Heinrich?"

"No, I am Thomas, Duc of Lorraine."

"We wish to speak to your master, Prinz Heinrich."

"His name is Henri, and I am afraid you have it backwards. I am the master of Frankfurt and of all Lorraine."

The German in charge was clearly confused. He spoke to his compatriot who seemed to no better comprehend the situation. "Nein, nein. Thomas ist der Prinz nicht. Moment."

"I am Dieter. Mein Captain, the honorable Oskar Jonas, wishes to know if the Prinz Heinrich, ja?…will surrender Frankfurt and his forces to him. If so, his men will be treated with the most respect."

Henri was becoming amused as the conversation was clearly irritating Thomas now.

Andre showed little patience. "Shall I order the archers to kill them, mon Duc?"

"No, but if all of them are this confused, this might be easier than we thought."

"I will not surrender the city nor any man within its walls." Retorted Thomas.

"Nein, auslander schwein. You must tell Prinz Heinrich- Henri? Henri, ja. You must tell him that the honorable Captain Oskar Jonas will guarantee safe passage for himself and his nobles if he will lay down his arms."

"Prince Henri is my vassal and as Duc of Lorraine I can assure you neither of us will lay down our arms."

"Was? You are Duke? That is rank subordinate to a Prinz, how can one of such position be your vassal? That is unbelievable. Unbelievable nonsense! No wonder you are losing this war", Dieter scoffed.

"Well in the land of the Franks we do things differently." Thomas called down, and then Andre taunted “And if we’re losing the war, then explain why Frankfurt, Bern and Stauffen are in the hands of our people and not yours!”

A temporary setback, and one that we will soon rectify! Shouted Dieter as his frustration grew. With that the German pushed the man who did not appear to be one of them forward.

"Diese mann… we capture him trying to ride to your city with a message. The honorable Captain Oskar Jonas gives him to you as a sign of our intentions to be lenient with your men if the Prinz…or you…whichever one of you is in command of this place…capitulates. But be warned, we will not wait long for your answer!"

With that, the two Germans trudged back to their lines, Dieter saying something in German about stupid Franks and tossing the white cloth to the ground in disgust. Meanwhile, the stranger quickly made his way for the gate and was then let in. Thomas, Andre, and Henri quickly made their way down to meet the man.

"Thank you Duc of Lorraine, I thought they were going to kill me, but apparently thought better of it when they came to realize I was no one of importance. I am Louis Vertin, and I bear a message from the House of Capet to his highness, Prince Henri." Louis pulled a piece of rolled parchment from a small sack he carried and handed it to Henri. He carefully read the message.

"What is it?", Andre asked. "Is the King sending more men to aid us?"

Henri replied belatedly, "No, this is to inform me that my brother Charles has received an offer of adoption and his credentials are listed. I have been asked if I have an opinion on the matter.."

With that, Thomas and Andre roared with laughter. "You should suggest the offer be rejected, for if I was not good enough to be adopted into the Royal family, no one is." Thomas jabbed.

"Seigneur Vertin, you poor soul. You risked your life to deliver a message like that. What are they thinking back in Paris? Mon Dieu!"

Henri then replied, "Do not be jealous, Mon Duc, you must just hope for better luck next time, yes?. In any case, I will deal with this matter after the “honorable Captain Jonas” and his friends are driven far from the walls of this city."

"Indeed" chucked Thomas. His tone and mood then turned serious. "And that hour is fast approaching."

[Braden]

The funeral procession passed through the centre of Frankfurt in the early evening. It was soon after the battle, Prince Henri, distraught with the death of Thomas had insisted the proper blessings had been observed immediately after the battle and now in the evening he allowed no period of mourning.

“Thomas wouldn’t have wanted that” he’d said simply when asked.

They stood, the survivors, still in the armour they had worn in the battle. Still bloodied, still dirty. None had felt the need to eat, for none had felt hungry, none had felt the need to wash or change, for to wash the dirt of battle had seemed false to the Duc’s memory. They wore the colours of the battle that had claimed their Duke proudly, as the coffin was slowly interred into the ground.

The sunny day turned and it started to rain.

When it had all ended one of them stood alone. He had not spoken at the funeral for he could not find the words. The rain washed some of the grime from his armour and matted his hair. He felt…cold, but not just because of the rain, it was a coldness of the soul, a coldness brought by the knowledge that someone you’d known and had been close to for several years, someone who’d shown you kindness, would not be there again in the morning. Had gone forever.

Henri stepped forward and knelt at the freshly dug grave and drove one hand into the soil. He lifted the mud in his hand and crushed it tight to his chest, the wetted sod slowly slid down back to the ground but Henri didn’t notice. He looked up at the rain sheeting down and felt it a fitting tribute from God for such a vile day. He smelt fresh urine and realised he also heard a light clattering noise behind him…he looked round…before him was a small boy. The gravediggers son, at least one of them, not more than 9 or 10 years old…he stood as Henri did beside the grave…wet and shivering in the cold.

“Wh…why are you still here lad?” Henri’s voice was full of kindness. He had no anger left in him, only a hollow.

“M…m….my f-f-father said I had to wait here until everyone had left” The boy was clearly distressed, had even urinated himself, but had not seen fit to disturb Henri during these hours of private mourning.

“You have done your duty above and beyond lad, there is no need for you to suffer now” then privately and quietly to himself “time will come to us all to suffer enough.”

Henri reached into his coin bag and handed the boy some coins. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Take these and return home, give one to your mother…if you have one…and one to your father. Tell them Prince Henri of France has released you from your duty this night. Warm thyself well and keep the other for thyself to make sure you have a full belly tomorrow.”

With that the shivering waif nodded and ran into the darkness.

Henri checked his coin bag again absentmindedly and realised he’d most likely given the boy more coin than his father earned in a year…he smiled to himself…perhaps Thomas still lived in some way.

A firm hand landed on Henri’s shoulder and he turned. It was Duncan…the tall, lanky, birdlike man had once been known simply as “English” in the mercenary spear company but that changed one day in the German forests when he’d come to Henri’s aid. He had been promoted to Henri’s bodyguard as soon as it had been found out he had riding experience and now he had adapted well and been proven in battle at the side of Henri and Andreas.

“Time to leave my lord…come” Duncan beckoned Henri to follow him with a nod

“Where is Andreas?” It was a well founded question, Andreas had been Henri’s loyal retainer for more years than he remembered at the moment.

“He is seeing to the army and has already sent a letter announcing the Dukes death to Paris”

“oh…” Henri seemed weak

“My lord,, time for you to return to Paris eh? You now have more duties to do.”

Henri simply nodded and accepted Duncan’s friendly arm to aid him as they walked away.

**Several hours before**

“My Prince! My Prince…the Duc has fallen, the Duc is unhorsed!!”

Henri and his bodyguard had just extracted themselves from combat with some German Knights, crossbow bolts continued to whiz pass them as they galloped away.

“What was that, what did he say?” Henri turned in his saddle to seek out the man who’d just shouted as Andreas caught up with him.

“They have no regard for their own men my lord, they loose crossbows into us even as we fight with their Knights on horseback!”

“I know, I know…who said THAT…has any of you seen the Duc?”

“My lord! My lord!” Duncan galloped to join Henri. “The Duke has fallen my Lord” Duncan addressed his horse beside Henri, panting “The Duke has fallen, crossbows have claimed him my lord, I saw him fall”

Henri did not visibly react to the news, he pulled down his visor, raised his sword and shouted…“CHARGE!” The troop committed to battle again.

****************************************************************************


“We have found him my lord” Andreas reigned in his horse beside Henri’s. Henri sat astride his own surveying the some 400 prisoners they had captured. André des Vaux’s own men guarded them and André himself was interrogating captains.

Henri blanched at the news but followed Andreas as they rode back into the centre of the field. Thomas’ bodyguard had all dismounted and stood in vigil at the point where Andreas was headed. As they drew closer Henri could no longer contain himself and leaping from his still moving horse let out a cry of pure pain and anguish as he ran to the centre of the troop.

He fell to his knees at the body, and clawed at it. Several bolts protruded from Thomas’ chest plate, his helmet had been removed by his bodyguard and lay upright beside the prone form.

Henri cried. This was not meant to be, this was not Henri’s battle and should not have been Henri’s glory to have…alone...this day should belong to the young Duc, not him.

Soon strong arms dragged Henri upright.

“Where are they!” Henri’s voice was corse and filled with pain “Where are these men who would shoot down someone so noble with such a vile contraption!?!”

Duncan tentatively spoke “The crossbow captain is being spoken to by André des Vaux my lord”

Henri did not pause, Andreas and Duncan struggled to keep up with him as he ran across the field to André. André looked up as he heard Henri get closer…what he saw made the large man baulk and stumble…such pure anger and vengeance was in Henri’s face. Henri crashed into the German soldier whom André had been talking to sending him sprawling.

Henri pointed at the fallen man “André! Is this the captain of the crossbowmen? Is THIS that man?”

André composed himself rapidly, realising the target of Henri was not himself. He had done no wrong but he was Henri’s vassal.

“Yes, yes my Lord. This is the last one alive.”

Henri spun on the man lying on the ground. “Get up! Get up you cur and arm yourself!”

The German lay there for a moment, one of André’s men translated. The German looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“Geeettt! UP!” Henri reached down and dragged the man upright even though he was clearly a larger man. Henri pushed him away, reached round and grabbed André’s sword…he threw it on the ground before the German.

“Arm yourself! Die now like a man or later hanging by your giblets on the road to Hamburg! I swear now to God, that I will CRUCIFY you if you do not pick up that sword!”

This also was translated whilst Henri glared.
The German made a lunge for the sword and brought it up quickly, Henri didn’t draw his own immediately but relied on his armour as he brought a vambrace up to deflect the blow before shoving the German back a pace. Whilst he stumbled Henri drew his sword, spun and sliced open the Germans chest in one fluid motion. The German paused, the nerves in his hands went dead and he dropped André’s sword before falling to his knees and collapsing in a heap.

Henri did not appear sated and raised his sword again. He was pounced upon from behind by Duncan, Andreas and André…the latter removing Henri’s sword from his grasp and handing it to one of Henri’s bodyguard. Duncan and Andreas forcibly dragged Henri from the battlefield.

Henri roared with rage and hatred and sorrow as he was taken away from the waiting prisoners.

André turned to the assembled captives.

“See that man! He is Henri, Prince of France. Fear him! For he has forsaken all articles of war this day for you have slain a great friend of his. The next one amongst you who fails to answer my questions with truth under God! I will personally turn over to him!”

André had no difficulty with the prisoners after that moment.

Andreas returned to André later.

“How is he?” André was concerned, he had not seen or heard of Henri since early that day and the incident with the prisoner.

“He is…inconsolable. He has insisted the Duc’s funeral is today and has personally seen to organising it.”

“What of the prisoners then?” André was a big man, and did not shirk from duty.

“The Prince is…not himself. Ransom them back, I will take full responsibility…he would have all of them killed but he would condemn his soul and take a lifetime of penance when this grief left him.”

André nodded, this was true. The Prince was known as a chivalric man, a man of honour…he was certainly not himself and could not be trusted with this choice.

[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.