With its weak defenses and lacking any hope for relief, the garrisons within Empuries’ central fortress surrendered as Count Sanc brought his army into view of the citadel and the short victorious war against the Sheikdom ended as cities opened their gates to his army as it spread to each corner of the province. Aquitania had gained more territory at the expense of the vulnerable independent beydoms of Spain.
In Calatyud, Guitard’s opportunity to atone for his cowardice in the battle came sooner than he expected. The Sheik of the province, defeated in the field and under siege within his keep, had nonetheless sought to continue the fight against the invader by other means. Dispatching riders to gather volunteers from the border regions of neighboring sheikdoms, the chance to fight against the “great infidel dogs of Aquitania” was a powerful recruitment tool for the freeriders and mercenaries of those regions. Within weeks, a significant force was soon assembled under the leadership of Calatyud’s marshal and marching to the relief of the keep.
Arriving outside the siege lines, this patchwork force at once tried to pierce the thin Aquitanian lines in order to reach the castle with supplies and ensure its continued resistance. Caught slightly off guard, Guitard soon rallied a large part of the forces surrounding the main camp to engage the new threat. Fighting amongst his pickets and the advancing elements of the relief army had begun in earnest by the time the King was suited and ready for battle. Fired with an energy he knew must be resultant of his desire for vindication, Guitard drove his hastily assembled cavalry element into the flank of the relief army.
Time seemed to speed up for the King as his division made contact with the foe. A flurry of images stalked his mind as the fighting unfolded around him. A bodyguard grappled with a Muslim horseman then fell to the ground dragging his opponent with him, the enemy infantry feebly trying to defend against the slashing attacks of the Aquitanian light cavalry, men and animals screaming in pain as they were wounded and died. Guitard himself never struck an enemy, keeping close within the box formation his guards provided and eagerly overseeing the relief army turn to rout. Wagonloads of supplies were abandoned and did much to alleviate the increasing attrition suffered by the Occitans.
Watching their last chance to resist wither away over the surrounding hills, the garrison within the citadel of Calatyud seemed to give up hope. Late May saw the flag of surrender flown from the parapets and Aquitanian dominance of the province was quickly made fact. The land was, like Zaragoza, dominated by the Muslim faith and Berber immigrants and Guitard prayed that the light of Christianity would soon be shed on their souls. Leaving behind a small force to continue operations, the King set his sights on quickly returning home.
A sense of celebration and merriment greeted Guitard as he returned to Bordeaux, many of the local nobility congratulating the King on his successful operation against the Muslims. Feasts and other entertainments keep the castle staff busy while the King even commissioned a series of fine tapestries to be woven celebrating his achievement in Calatyud. Still, news of his behavior at the first battle seemed to have preceded his return, every time Guitard noticed a group of couriers whispering he could not help but feel that his cowardice was being derided. The sense of paranoia was a distraction to his efforts to enjoy the fruits of victory.
The fête was tinged with sadness as well when news arrived three days after Guitard’s return that Marc Kerne of Brittany had died. Saddened by the loss of so faithful and capable an ally, the King at once sought to learn more of his successor to the Breton throne; Llywelyn Mathrafal was of the Welsh royal line and the late Marc’s nephew by a sister. Guitard’s ambassadors were very guarded in their opinions of the man, none had met him personally before his ascension and rumor was a difficult mark to judge character by.
All the court gossip they could pick up invariably compared him unfavorably to the departed monarch. For one, he was Welsh by blood and custom, barely speaking the Breton tongue and the local nobility was exasperated at the tedious process of translation required for even the most minor court function. Second, he was incredibly untalented in all matters required for rulership. He could not mount a horse without help, nor could he apply basic math to his demesne finances. He was deathly afraid of spiders and rats and would not enter a room before his servants had inspected the area for any sign of the vermin. Dissatisfied by this report, Guitard nonetheless gave his permission for them to conclude a continuation of the alliance that had bound Aquitania and Brittany to friendship in years past.
Even more troubling than the death of a capable ally was the developing situation with the King’s brother Guiges. He had grown steadily more eccentric in the months of the southern campaign, finally shutting himself off completely except to take delivery of food and drink. Then, just before the King’s return, a madness finally overtook the young man’s mind. He had fresh rolls brought to him so that he may roll them down one of the castle tower’s spiral staircase in an effort to make it from the top to the bottom with one push.
When asked the reason for his behavior, Guiges noted that a voice had told him that all the unbeliever hordes would be converted instantaneously if his task was completed. He tried every method available to him, rolling gently, violently tossing, even demanding cylinder shaped rolls always left the roll stranded far from its goal at the bottom of the stairwell. Considering the scores of steps that separated the top floor from the ground level, it looked to be quite awhile before any conversion could be expected. The King’s conversations with court physicians left him clueless as to how to deal with the problem since each had a different method of treatment for the obviously confused Guiges. Guitard decided to let the matter rest for awhile, the madness was not threatening anyone but the weary cooks in the kitchen.
It was high summer before another event broke the regular measures of the Bordeaux court. A tired messenger arrived bearing a message addressed from the new Breton King reading that rebellion led by the Breton nobility was sweeping his lands. Llywelyn, Aquitania’s ever faithful and ready ally, feared that his own forces would be unable to hold off the pernicious dogs that coveted his rightly accorded crown. Sighing at the news and telling the messenger that he would have a response in a day, Guitard called for a meeting of his military leaders.
After hours of discussion over what form the intervention should take, Guitard returned with a written notice that he would be dispatching regiments gathered from the capital (black) to assist the Breton throne in its moment of need. They would be expected to meet with the loyalist armies (red) in a matter of weeks. The rebellious armies of the Bretons (green) would soon fall to their combined might.
