Wulfhere “The Saxon” Haraldsson Crovan
King of All Norway of Sweden, of Denmark and of Serbia
Ruminations on the middle years, 1344-1349
And it seems my German vassals are in trouble again. Since it isn’t their fault this time, I will send some help.
The Sheik of Plauen is defeated and absorbed in short order. I don’t know what the little guy was thinking! Like the King of Germany was going to try and stand up to Norway?
And Byzantion falls! I immediately sent word of my conquest to the Pope. He, of course sent back a note to inform me that while he might have said “Crusade to liberate Constantinople,” what he really meant was “Crusade to liberate Antioch.”
I hate that guy.
William de Montfort, one of my most disloyal, vile and just all around pissy courtiers (he is English, you know), has committed Murder Most Foul. Traditionally, Crovan monarchs have looked upon court murderers with affection and favor. In fact, William murdered his brother Alfred, thereby destroying another disloyal and vile English courtier.
Usually, this would be cause for promotions, but I think I will hang him instead. It will keep the other courtiers on their toes and, really, William is just the kind of guy you want to kill.
Halland seems to have acquired some Heretics. They are tax-paying Heretics, so I’ll probably just ignore it for now.
Edric the Monkey Boy stumbled into my offices today.
He loudly demanded to know the reason why he cannot have some lands to rule over and then launched into some monologue about how he is unappreciated and how I’ve always loved Thurcytel more and how he can’t eat with the corks on his forks and on and on and on.
I ever so quietly rose from my seat and slipped past him and out the door, leaving Edric alone in the room.
The last thing I heard as I tip-toed out the hallway was him blathering on about how the Count of Hasingland has offered him a job and if I’m too mean to want to help my own son he might just…blah blah blah, you get it.
In the hallway were emissaries from the King of England requesting a formal alliance. I cut them off and asked who the English were at war with.
The emissaries looked a little embarrassed. “Enemies of the faith sire, The Shieks of El Bierzon and Plasencia, the Emir of al-Murabitids, Scotland.”
“Scotland?” I replied.
The emissary cleared his throat, “I think I head the Scottish King say that Jesus was crucified on an ‘X’ shaped cross rather than a T-Bar…so…you know…he is
kind of a Heretic.”
I turned and went back to my office. Better Edric’s prattle than this.
When I returned Edric was involved in a spirited argument with an armoire. Apparently it did not hold him enough as a child. I slipped up behind him and yelled “Boo!”
Edric collapsed on the floor clutching his chest. I’d forgotten he had a heart condition.
As he writhed, I tried to lighten the moment with some humor.
“Good news Edric, you will get your lands to rule over now…all six feet of them!”
This was a good plan, because I certainly had a hearty chuckle and I’m sure Edric would have too if he wasn’t so busy expiring on my floor.
Edric’s death got me thinking about my own mortality, which of course led me to consider the future of the family Empire. Elective Law was fine for Bard, because, let’s face it, I was by far the mightiest vassal. No one was going to mess with Wulfhere the Saxon.
My boy Thurcytel is another story. He has done well in England, although he has picked up a couple of unpleasant habits, but…well…let’s just say there are some powerful Norse Lords who wouldn’t mind making a solid play for the throne.
This is going to anger the nobles, but then, they’re always pretty mad anyway.