Re: Battle Reports Thread: King of the Franks game
The Word of God carries far
Champagne, St Thierry Abbey, 1087
Prologue
Philippe warmed his hands to the fire burning in the study the Abbot had put at his disposal for his meeting with Fra Matteo Invernizzi, Rome’s envoy. The meeting had been arranged in secrecy, for the matters that had been discussed this day were grave enough to warrant that much.
Rome was at war with the Reich. The Kaiser had claims upon the city, from which he claimed he should be ruling his empire, being the true heir of the Caesars of old, claiming to be the true Voice of God on Earth. Pope Gregory had stood defiant of the Kaiser, refusing to be formerly appointed by the Emperor but instituting a College of Cardinals, electing one of their numbers to be the representative of God on Earth, breaking a long tradition.
The Pope had sent Fra Matteo to ask for French help in fighting off the Kaiser’s claim, calling upon Philippe’s piety to come to the rescue.
Now, Philippe was considering his options, while Fra Matteo, a stick of a man in a monk robe, sat at the desk writing a proposal including all the safeguards Philippe had requested.
Suddenly, Arnaud, Philippe’s shield-bearer burst into the room.
“Majesté… Les Allemands… They’re marching on the abbey… We must have been betrayed…”
Philippe turned to face the monk, with death in his eyes.
“Is that one of your plots?” he demanded threateningly.
The monk visibly paled and began shaking.
“Non, Votre Majesté… We’ve as much to lose, more maybe, if our agreement were to be discovered…”
“Enough… Arnaud, how many are they?”
“Two companies of archers and two of spearmen from what our outlooks saw… There may be others hiding in the wood.”
“Gather everyone… We’ll ride and see what their business is in these parts…”
The players:
OOC : though this battle was initiated by Philippe, I considered it IC to have been started by the Imperials.
The Battle:
The score
Epilogue
After the battle, all the prisoners were rounded up in the cloisters of the abbey, under the guard of Philippe retainers.
The monks were busy giving the last rites to those German knights that were too wounded and applying healing balms to those that had suffered cuts and bruises.
Philippe walked the cloisters with Fra Matteo in tow.
“Now it seems Sa Sainteté will have his wish granted… From today on, France is at war against the Reich… Heinrich will never forgive the killing of his men… It has been a well-laid trap” Philippe ended with a smirk. “It seems the Word of God carries far…”
“Votre Majesté, we have nothing to do with that… Pope Gregory would never force your hand, he needs you as an ally, and he would not take the risk of displeasing you.”
“So you say… But to whom does this whole business profit? Not to the Reich… The Kaiser has enough on his plate trying to convince the Catholic rulers of the world that Pope Gregory is a usurper… Not France… My Kingdom is torn in two by the English, my people die of hunger and now we are at war with the Empire, who can field five to ten times our men and professionals to boot… So I ask you: who does profit from this? I see no one but Sa Sainteté…”
Fra Matteo was taken aback by the King’s earnestness.
“You speak the truth, votre Majesté, but I can only assure you that the Church had no hand in what happened today…”
“To your knowledge, at least…”
“Yes, I will concede the point.”
The King and the monk were nearing the part of the cloisters where the captured captain of the Imperials was in custody.
“Fra Matteo, I wish to speak to that man alone…”
“Why, but of course… Votre Majesté.” The monk said, giving a slight bow, and going back hastily the way they had come, seeming to glide, his robes hiding his feet, casting a glance over his shoulder.
Philippe stopped in front of the captain who nursed a big bruise on his forehead.
The man stood and gave a military salute with a sonorous “Heil, König”.
Philippe gave him his salute back motioning him to sit down, the man being slightly dizzy. Standing watch over him, Philippe noticed the same knight that had jumped from his horse, keeping the captain from being trampled, allowing Philippe to be able to question him.
“Remind me your name, Chevalier?”
“Tancrède de Lamarck, mon Roi”
«Your name doesn’t sound too French… » said Philippe, puzzled.
“I was born at the border of the Reich… My father was a German knight and my mother, the daughter of a French baron. I have served in the Reich’s armies for some years until the death of my father when I came upon my heritage, a small castle in Alsace… Hence I have joined the Royal Army and I have been chosen to join your bodyguard, Votre Majesté.”
“So you speak German, I gather?”
“Ja, mein König”.
“Good, I may have need of you in the years to come… I’ll need you to translate for me and teach me enough German that I can negotiate their surrender…”
“Of course, mon Roi”
“Let’s start now… Ask the captain on whose orders he was acting… And tell him that for now I’m just asking… It could become less nice quickly…”
Tancrède began uttering questions to the captain in the harsh guttural vowels of the German tongue.
The man paled, gulped and began talking. Questions and answers were thrown back and forth between Tancrède and the man, Philippe catching a bit here and there from the few words of German he had kept from his courtly education. Finally, the man hung his head dejectedly and produced from beneath his padded leather vest a leather purse.
“So what did he say, Sieur de Lamarck ?”
“He said he’s been paid to ambush us, mon Roi… though he hadn’t been told your identity. He believed you to be some lesser noble and not the King of France. Here’s the pay he received for that” said Tancrède, handing the purse to the King.
Philippe took the proffered purse and emptied its content in his hand.
“Spanish Reals… Does he want me to believe his employer worked for the Spanish?”
Tancrède asked a few other questions to the captain in German, the captain answering, nodding.
“Non, mon Roi… He says that the man who gave him the money was French… Or at least spoke in French… He had a servant translating for him. He says he seemed to be of noble birth, mon Roi.”
“So a French noble would either seek to have his King killed or bring about a war with the Reich? That’s want he wants me to believe?”
The king’s words were translated to the Imperial who could only nod, making the sign of the cross to give weight to his word.
“Any name?” asked Philippe.
“Non, mon Roi…” answered Tancrède after having asked the captive. “But he says the man had him believe it was a feud between two local lords and that being German, they would never had been suspected of the deed… He implores your forgiveness, mon Roi.”
“My forgiveness…” Philippe considered “Tell him I grant him my pardon, to him and all of his men still alive… But it will come at a price: he will have to go back to Imperial lands as swiftly as he can and turn himself in to the justice of the Reich, tell Heinrich what happened truly here… I do not want to see hordes of German soldiers invading our lands… There may still be time to bring this war to an end before it’s too late… Does he understand?”
After Tancrède’ translation, the man nodded vigorously, going down on his knees in front of Philippe.
“One last thing: before we let them go, he and all of his men will be branded so that they cannot hide what they’ve done here today…”
Philippe made a sign to the two knights that had stood behind him, guarding him, who caught the captains between themselves and carried him towards the large brazier burning in the middle of the cloisters… The man screaming all the way…
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