DRAGON RISING -- A Welsh AAR

Sorry for the delay in the next chapter. (I've been out of town, and then slammed at work.). Should have it ready soon, hopefully. (I really appreciate the interest from everyone.)

Thirty years ago, I spent a week travelling around Wales and visiting the massive stone castles that the English built to pacify the land and people there. Ever since then, I've been idly fascinated by the question of what would have been necessary for history to have turned out differently. My research has led me to the conclusion that lack of unity among the Welsh people was a salient weakness that led to what historically happened. And this game allows me to explore alternatives to that. Which is one of the things that makes this game one of my all-time favorites.

I'm currently working steadily to get the next chapter out ASAP.

Sleight of Hand has continued to work on his mod, and the current version is even better than what I'm using. But I don't think he's posted the most recent versions, and I don't know if it's compatible with 1.06 yet. You should PM him if you're interested.

The excellent thing the mod does regarding the Marches is that it makes them part of de jure Wales, so a Wales player doesn't have to fabricate claims in order to invade the Marches. This just feels more historical than vanilla.

I'm shooting for publishing the next chapter of the AAR sometime this coming week.

CHAPTER 3 -- Sowing the Seed​

In the late spring of that year, when the air had warmed and the snow had melted, the banner of rebellion against the Normans was raised by the Saxons in Norfolk and Northampton. And William the Bastard of Normandy, who called himself King of the English, gathered his host and marched north, bringing fire and the sword.

Bleddyn gathered all the information he could. He questioned travelers from the Saxon lands, plying them with food, drink, and a soft bed for the night in return for whatever they knew. And he sent out spies, who rode in disguise and returned with tales of villages in flames and bodies lying unburied in the fields. In June there came reports of a major battle in Norfolk, and it was said that William’s men outnumbered the rebels three to one, or five to one, or even ten to one. Whatever the truth, by all accounts it was agreed that William had won a great victory, and that the Saxons seemed powerless against him.

All things considered, the picture remained sketchy, but the conclusion was undeniable. Cain was right: the Cymry could not hope to match the numbers at William’s disposal. And while Cain's ideas still did not sit well with Bleddyn, he began to see them as necessary.

The question remained of how best to implement Cain’s solution. And for that, Bleddyn turned to the one man he knew who truly understood commerce.

Arthwr de Radnor was only twenty-seven, but already he was Lord Mayor of the largest town in Powys. That was due, in no small part, to the fact that he was also the richest man in Powys. And he owed all that wealth to his own efforts, not to any inheritance. He was a man of humble origins, with a natural gift for trade: it was said that if you gave him a peach pit, he would turn it into an orchard. And he seemed utterly single-minded in his pursuits. He was known to have no time for the affections of women -- or of men, for that matter; his passion was gold, and he was relentless in seeking it. It was said, and not always jokingly, that those who negotiated with him should bring a second set of clothes, in case they left without what they had been wearing when they arrived. And Arthwr himself did not deny that he dealt sharply. But it was acknowledged by all that when he reached an agreement he was scrupulous about keeping it -- while if anyone breached a contract with him, he was merciless in seeking redress. And it was for these last reasons that Bleddyn had elevated Arthwr to be Steward of Gwynedd: the Steward acted on his behalf in many things, and Bleddyn was resolved that such dealings be executed honorably, while at the same time he was determined not to be made a fool in matters for which he had only limited understanding.


As Arthwr listened to Bleddyn describe Cain's solution, an expression of pleased surprise grew on his face, along with a look that Bleddyn had seen before in the eyes of hunters just after their prey was flushed from cover. Arthwr seemed to be glimpsing what were to him previously unexpected possibilities, which obviously riveted his attention. "Bishop Cain has always been an astute man," he said, rubbing his fingers together as if he could feel coins in them already. "These plans are simply further proof of that."

"But where do I begin?" Bleddyn asked him, with a feeling of vexation that confounded him. He had the sense that Cain's enterprise was nothing like a military campaign, and that left him at a loss for ideas that he found unbearably frustrating.

Arthwr was silent for several moments, apparently deep in thought. "You propose to sell people something they don't even know that they want," he said finally, framing the dilemma from a merchant's perspective. "To accomplish that, you must seize their attention." He leaned in toward Bleddyn then as he spoke, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, as if he were divulging a trade secret. "And the best way to seize their attention is to make your wares fashionable."

Bleddyn snorted. He was a leader of men -- and everything about this was seeming less and less manly. "You sound like I should cater to women," he said disdainfully.

"Exactly so," Arthwr replied, with a knowing smile. "Most men will go to great lengths to keep a woman happy. Appeal to the women, and they will carry the men along in their wake."

Bleddyn opened his mouth to retort, but then stopped. Instead, he thought about his own life: about his relationship with his first wife -- God rest her soul -- and about his life now with Morien, to whom he was only recently married. And eventually, he swallowed his retort. "Go on," he told Arthwr.

"To make this fashionable, you must put your stamp upon it," Arthwr said. "Without your support this would be perceived as just a mean enterprise, fit only for base merchants like myself. But with your backing, even great lords and ladies will want to be involved, if only to associate themselves with you." He gave Bleddyn a self-deprecating smile, as if to acknowledge the distance in status between them -- but in his eyes, Bleddyn saw a hint of sardonic self-satisfaction, as if Arthwr actually thought himself superior. After all, he was the one with the answers, and he was also a self-made man, not someone who owed his position solely to his birth. And Bleddyn could even see a certain justice in that viewpoint. Still, it rankled his dignity. Arthwr had never so much as set foot on a battlefield, and yet he presumed to elevate himself, even if only in his own mind. Bleddyn could imagine that his half-brother, Gruffyd, would have backhanded the man across the face, had Gruffyd been alive and sitting there then. But Bleddyn was inclined to be more charitable: Arthwr was too useful to be disposed of precipitously. And Bleddyn could take satisfaction in the knowledge that Arthwr was already everything he would ever become, a merchant and a mayor and a rich man, but never a great lord, no matter how proficient he might be or think he was.

Arthwr was quiet then, as if again deep in thought. "You should hold a great summer fair, at which all manner of goods can be found," he said after a moment. "Send notice of it to every corner of Cymru, via a proclamation emblazoned with your seal. Send notice also to the Saxon lands, to draw them in as well. They are most necessary, since their coin will be required to bring the bishop's plans to fruition." By that point, he had the look in his eyes once more of the man who sees his prey flushed out before him. "To facilitate the Saxons' attendance, the location should be close to the border, so their greed will not be outweighed by the difficulty of travel." He stared at Bleddyn earnestly then, as if doing his best to appear committed to the cause -- and yet the barest hint of a smile still managed to escape around his lips. "I suggest holding the fair at Radnor. It is centrally located between Gwynedd and the south of Cymru, and also near the border of the Saxon lands. A more convenient location for all will not be found."

So there it was: the ultimate source of Arthwr's motivation. Bleddyn could imagine that holding such a fair in Arthwr's home town would likely bring great profit to Arthwr's own purse. And at first breath, that angered him -- Arthwr clearly ranked his personal interests above those of the Cymry as a whole. But he decided that if such concerns drove Arthwr to greater efforts, then so be it, as long as it led to success. Because success was paramount.

He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword -- the sword that, of the two of them, only Bleddyn wore, that Arthwr would never wear -- in such a way as to make sure that the gesture caught Arthwr's eye. Because it was clear by then that Arthwr needed a reminder of who was truly in charge, if only to ensure that the man didn't lose sight of that completely before his work was done. He locked eyes with Arthwr. "Do not fail me," he said, simply.

For just an instant a flicker of complex emotion passed over Arthwr's face: uncertainty, insecurity, possibly even fear, tinged with disdain, perhaps -- it was hard to tell, because Bleddyn had never seen such a look on Arthwr's face before.

Arthwr bowed low, and left without saying another word.

My apologies for how long it took to get this chapter written -- real life got very much in the way during the interim. I'll do everything possible to have the next chapter out much faster.

I'm very glad people are enjoying the story. And many thanks for the kind words.

In the story, Arthwr will continue to oversee the attempt at development of a commercial economy. (At least so far as I can foresee at this point. Something unusual might develop on its own as I continue writing. Sometimes unexpected inspiration strikes me.) His good feelings toward Bleddyn are, I perceive, founded in his well-reasoned calculation of who keeps his bread buttered -- since in that era there were things that money couldn't necessarily buy, like social position and appointment to high office. But as Chapter 3 shows, he feels a particular range of emotions because of his perception/belief in his own merit vis-a-vis his social betters. And this may lead to places I haven't yet anticipated.

(Well, now that I'm done with trial on the case I was prosecuting of a hit and run where two people died, things are back closer to normal. My apologies for the delayed reply.)

Actually, I started with the scenario where William has already won at Hastings, so Godwinson is dead. Someday I'll likely play the one that starts before Hastings, but this time I wanted the historical constant of a successful Norman conquest to be a feature of the story.

I hope to publish the next chapter soon.