Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1338

The final words had been written and the letters sealed. They would now be sent via carrier bird to a near by estate where outriders of the Imperial Messenger Service would deliver the Duke’s thoughts to a select few of the Reich’s nobles spread across the known world.

The Duke look out of his window at the sea beyond the Venetian encampment. The siege had certainly begun to take its toll he thought, disease and rationing had begun to kill members of his staff and army.

He hated sieges for that reason alone, but he knew that sallying would lead to a glorious but certain end and that was not something he could do at this time.

He must stay alive and serve the Reich further, that was the burning thought etched in his mind this morning after a disturbed and dream filled sleep. He wondered what the future would bring given the decision that had been made from the embers of those dreams.

As the waves crashed below the only thing that was certain was time. The passing of time would be the only true gauge of success or failure, of service or disservice.

Luckily the burning resolve in the Dukes eyes could only be seen by the passing gulls flying overhead. The Dread Duke’s visage left little doubt that the actions of the next few years would be conducted with all the force of will and resolve he and his father were renowned for. Those characeristics had been unhealthy for some and a boon for others. The eternal question to those around the Duke was always, WHICH, of those two results would visit them.

[flyd]

Portsmouth, 1162

The weather had cleared sooner than expected, and the fleet was to set sail immediately. Instead of reforming the army into regiments first, a general order was given that each soldier board his assigned ship.

The ship docked at Pier 12 was to take the 2nd and 7th regiments. Two walkways led up to the ship, and the First Mate paced back and forth on the pier, yelling "2nd regiment to the left, 7th regiment to the right", as a mass of soldiers shuffled back and forth. In front of each walkway stood a petty officer with a list of names.

"Name?"

"James Carpenter."

"Ok, name?"

"Edward Smith."

"Smith..." the petty officer looked at the next page, "M.. N.." He flipped to the third page, now looking a bit annoyed. "Smith, right. Go on, then. Name?"

"William Godwinson."

The officer looked at the first page again. "Fine. Name?"

"Where are we going?" asked William.

The officer looked up from his papers for the first time. "I can't tell you, keep the line moving."

"I'll give you a Florin." William pulled out a gold coin from his pocket.

The officer hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the coin and quietly said "Saxony."

[flyd]

Hamburg? 13xx?

The late morning sun shined through a stained glass window, casting red, green, yellow, and blue light upon the people inside the church. The window depicted St. Peter.

A brick, an ordinary red brick, came flying through the window at high velocity, shattering it into hundreds of little pieces.

The mob outside got louder.

The door broke open. Run! Run for the other door! She did, but the mob caught up, and...

Nuremburg, 1340

Lukas woke up. He knew what it meant. There would be no further sleep tonight.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Nuremburg, 1340:

A tiny, squashed voice rose up to Herrmann Steffen.

"Herrmann? What's going on?"

"I still can't see. Gimme a boost."

This time a groan rose up. "Come on, I'm already standing as tall as I can get."

"Then the others need to stand on their tip-toes. Come on, guys."

Another groan. There were two other voices now appearing, in the form of moderate laughter. There was a pause, and then three sounds of pain ranging from mild discomfort (near the top) to actual hurt (the bottom). Herrmann, however, being on top, didn't notice. He finally was able to see what was happening.

"Whose stupid idea was it for me to be the guy on the bottom?"

"Quiet, Harold," Herrmann said to his youngest brother, nine. "Luther's talking."

"What's he saying?" This time it came from the person directly below Herrmann on the human totem pole, Wenzel.

"Something about how the Byzantines are all going to Hell and it's our duty as good Christians to help send them there. Come on, what do you expect? It's Luther."

"What about the rest of them?" said a pained voice. This one, coming from the second man from the bottom, belonged to Bernhard, who at 11 was just a few months younger than Wenzel.

"Let's see, a couple guys are writing, - oh, there's Uncle Matthias, he's just listening though - Prince Peter just entered, looks like he just got back from the Tavern, he's talking with Tancred von Tyrolia... oh, wow..."

"What is it? Do you see Father?"

"Yeah, but that's not important. A bunch of young guys are lined up to kiss the Kaiser's butt."

"Seriously?" said Harold. "They're really kissing it? That's disgusting!"

"No, you nitwit," said Herrmann. "It's an expression."

"Then what are they really doing?"

"God, I wish you weren't nine. They're fawning all over the man, shaking when he speaks to them, afraid to stand up and forcefully give an opinion. These are the young military leaders of the Reich. These kids are only a few years older than me. It's disgusting."

"Oh, and I suppose you would make the entire Diet tremble with your words if you were old enough?"

"Shut up, Wenzel. Well, I wouldn't try to set the place on fire like Dietrich von Dassel or Jens Hummel did in their early days, but I wouldn't act like a timid little wuss either. I mean, really. Aside from that young Austrian getting purple in the face at Luther, they're all hopeless."

"Thank God the Diet's going to have us in a few years," said Bernhard.

"Yeah, really. We're highborn. We know how to deal with people. Hells, I wish I was old enough to attend! Just a few more months and I'd be an actual Elector at probably the most important Diet Session since 1080!"

"Well then, Mister Elector, what is your opinion on the issue of the day?" said Wenzel. "What do you think of 14.4?"

"Are you nuts?" said Herrmann. "For, of course! If we go on a sustained campaign against the Byzantines I'll certainly have a part of it! Imagine... Herrmann Steffen, Savior of Italy! Conqueror of Constantinople and Caesaria! We'll all get glory if this thing passes, lads."

"Herrmann?" Harold really sounded in pain. "My shoulders are killing me. Can we do something else now? Please?"

"Yeah yeah yeah, hold on. Fritz von Kastilien's bashing the Kaiser. Like, majorly. Oh, wow, this is awesome. I can't wait to be part of this whole thing. Of course, I'd rather it be in Ro- Oh, Hells, Father's walking out! Get down, quick!"

There were several shouts of agreement and then a giant lurch, and a moment later all four Steffen brothers were on the ground. Harold, having the least distance to fall, got up first and mocked his older brothers, all still on the ground.

"Quiet, Harold, Father will hear!"

"Come on! Let's get back to Theology lessons!"

The four ran off.

[flyd]

North of Hamburg, on the North Sea Coast, 1164

The entire army was assembled, and the commander, Walter Smithe, was addressing the troops.

"Men. In case you are unaware, we are in Saxony. We have come here to wage war against the unHoly Roman Empire." He pauses for laughs, but none are forthcoming. He continues, "well, uh, as you know, they have been excommunicated for waging war against the Church, and killing numerous Popes. So, we are here on a holy mission. But we are also here to secure glory for England, and ourselves. To the south lies the city of Hamburg, full of vast riches and beautiful women, and the Germans have no army that can stop us. We shall wreak havoc for a few years, get the King what he wants from the Germans diplomatically, help the Pope, and then go home rich and happy. How does that sound?"

Loud cheers erupted from the army.

Outside of Hamburg, 1174

A fresh snow had fallen over night, and it was very, very cold. About a third of the English army was manning the set of temporary fortifications around Hamburg. The rest of the soldiers were in the camp, just north of the city, sitting in small groups around fires, trying to stay warm.

"Ten years! Ten !@#$ing years! Ten years and we're still sitting on our butts!"

"Be quiet, William, they'll hear you."

"Who'll hear me!? !@#$ing Walter Smithe? I don't care if he hears me, that incompetent son of a goat. Damnit, James, we've got an army three times the size... three, it was three, right, they said three? Three times the size of their garrison, and enough siege equipment to storm freaking Constantinople."

"Constantinople? Oh, I don't know about that."

"Shut up, James, you've not been down there."

"Well, neither have you!"

"Fine. We'll ask Harold. He's been." William turned to one of the nearby groups of soldiers sitting around their fire. "Hey, Harold! Do you suppose we've got enough siege equipment to storm Constantinople?"

"We've got enough to storm five Constantinoples, William," responded Harold.

"He's been to Constantinople?" asked Edward.

"That's what he claims. Says he was in the Emperor's guard or some such. Claims he..."

The conversation was interrupted to by a call to arms. Those weren't very rare, and were often pointless. The soldiers slowly got up, and carefully put out their fires, when some of the junior officers started running through the camp, yelling, "To arms, you fools! There is a huge German army coming from the south! This is not a drill!"

The army assembled somewhat more quickly.

North of Hamburg, 1174

"Forward!"

William was in the last row of his regiment's formation. Edward was to the left, and some other guy, uh, Simon was it? to the right. Their regiment was in the center of the line.

"Charge!"

Right, they charged. William stood at the back, watching the front rank. Combat was more violent than one might have imagined. At the front, German and English spearmen faced off. Other than the colors of their shields, they looked exactly the same, and yet each put in the greatest effort to spill the guts of the other onto the snow. It was sort of weird.

While the front was very interesting, William's attention soon turned to the right, as the German cavalry charged the English flank. Even though he stood some two hundred feet away, he could feel the ground tremble. The peasants on that flank never saw it coming. Many were trampled, and only a few were fortunate enough to actually be stabbed. William wasn't the only one to notice; some of his comrades were getting nervous too.

Suddenly, however, Walter Smithe's bodyguard charged forward, right through William's regiment. Men shuffled out of the way of Smithe's horses, as the goat-man himself yelled "Onward men! Onward to glory!" On the right, a regiment of English spearmen pivoted to meet the flanking German cavalry, as they were joined by other friendly units. Maybe all is not lost?

The battle continued. William's attention was divided between Smithe in the front, and the increasingly worrisome situation on the right. And then, Smithe was brought down from his horse. William paused for a moment, turned to the right, and saw most of his comrades on the right flank fleeing, and the German cavalry making maneuvers.

"Oh, !@#$ this!" William yelled and ran away! His comrades followed right behind, but the German cavalry arrived. He threw away his spear, and dropped to the ground. Those who did the same were ignored by the cavalry, though some were trampled. Those who fled were cut down, and those who stayed were taken prisoner by the advancing infantry.

Hamburg, 1175

The English prisoners, about 300 survivors from an army of 1500, were kept in the city's main barracks. The German commander had ordered that the prisoners be released, and the arrangements had finally been made. The prisoners left for the ship early in the morning, but no headcount was made, and, well, William was left behind. He was a deep sleeper. The guards in the barracks did not buy his story, and he was kicked out. He made his way to the Governor of Hamburg. Luckily, his German had gotten better as he served as a translator for the survivors.

Office of the Governor of Hamburg, 1175

"Sir, I am William Godwinson. I was supposed to be among the English soldiers who were sent back to England, but I was left behind by accident."

"That ship left this morning," said the Governor.

"Yes, I know. I said I was left behind by accident. I need to get back to England."

"Yes, I see. I suppose we could arrange something. Might take a while, you may understand that there are few ships going to England these days."

"Well... where am I supposed to sleep?"

He was given some money and kicked out of the office.

An Inn in Hamburg, 1175

"Hi, I need a room for the night."

"That'll be a quarter of a Florin," said the young woman.

He handed her a coin, she gave him a key, smiled, and said, "you have a strange accent, where are you from?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, I'm from, uh, out west..."

"Oh, are you Frisian?"

"Err, yes. Right, that's exactly it. Frisian."

She went on, "Cool, I have some cousins who live in Emden. What town are you from?"

"Hum..." He didn't know any towns in Frisia. He couldn't say he was English. But he had to say something! He could not appear awkward or weird in any way! What was that place the army landed near? Was that even in Frisia? Where is Frisia, anyway? It has to be up there, somewhere.

She laughed. "Ok, I'm sorry, I do ask too many questions."

"No, heh, that's ok.."

The Narrator rolls his eyes. Right then, get on with it.

Office of the Governor of Hamburg, 1175

"Ah, Mr. Godwinson. We have arranged your transport back to England."

"Yeah, about that. Uh, I don't really want to go to England. I'd rather stay here."

"That's not an option, Mr. Godwinson. I do not wish to have an English spy in my city."

"You've already had an English 'spy' running around your city for two months, while you took your time in arranging that transport. I don't think that would look very good, indeed. It's best for both of us if we keep a low profile about this while our nations are at war.

Hamburg, 1242

"How about Lukas?" she said.

"I like it. In English, he can be Luke," said William.