I’ve read with great enjoyment and admiration the works of Eber, Frogbeastegg, Earl Uhtred and others in this AAR forum and I have decided to give it a go myself. This is my first attempt, so please bear with me if it’s too detailed, not detailed enough, too fast, too slow, whatever. All feedback gratefully received. If someone can tell me how to take and include screenshots I’ll try and include them in later updates.
I’m still relatively new to CK, but I think I’ve got the hang of the game mechanics now. My first two games crashed without recovery, so this story is based upon my third game. I’m playing as Flanders in 1337 scenario on normal/normal. The Duchy is small (4 province demesne) with only 1 heir and no vassals, so survival seems to be the immediate objective. I’m writing as I go along, so if I don’t succeed, it will be a short AAR! The events are as they happened in the game, although I have taken some liberties with the timing in some cases to suit the story. I hope you enjoy reading it and I’ll try and update regularly.
CHAPTER 1 MEET THE FAMILY
The man in the fur-trimmed cloak winced as the full force of a North Sea gale slammed into him as he left the church. Winter in Bruges was certainly not for the faint-hearted, and not for the first time Louis wondered how much responsibility the weather shouldered for his impoverished circumstances and reduced court.
It was the Feast of the Circumcision in the year of the Lord 1337 and Louis had been on his knees for three hours, yes praying for the infant Jesus, but also for his court, his dynasty, and not least, himself. He was all that a Christian prince should be – merciful, wise, valorous – so why had God apparently deserted him? He knew he had a temper and could be vengeful, but he confessed his sins regularly and Father Benedict absolved him with reassurances that his place in heaven was assured. Right now though, Louis was more concerned about his place on earth.
He had been Duke of Flanders for nearly 15 years now – all his adult life in fact. As his father’s only son he had been groomed for his responsibilities from an early age and had undergone all the usual knightly training as befitted the heir to the de Dampierre dukedom. He still remembered with horror the day he became duke – he still had vivid nightmares reliving the awful scene of his father’s broken body being borne on a litter into the castle bailey following his horrific hunting accident. He had lived for but a few short hours more, and Louis had cried and cried when his father’s soul left his tortured body. He had always been a strong man, and now at only 33 he was dead, leaving Louis and his sister on their own. That awful day had surely been the start of all his problems Louis reflected as he entered the Great Hall and stamped the snow off his boots.
The servants were busy preparing for the Great Feast that Louis was holding that evening in honour of the Holy Day it was. They hardly seemed to notice their Lord and Master as they strewed fresh rushes on the stone flagged floor and laid freshly baked trencher loaves on the long table on the dais below the canopy emblazoned with the de Dampierre arms, a black lion rampant on a yellow field. A few did notice him and paid him due deference as he strode through the Hall on his way to his private apartments in what was still referred to as the new wing of the castle.
Two hours later, resplendent in a flowing crimson robe and wearing his ducal coronet, Louis entered the Hall formally to a trumpet fanfare, inexpertly played by the small band of musicians Louis had hired for the occasion, the broken notes floating through the Hall from the gallery at the far end of the long room. Louis’s mind wandered back to his childhood when the court musicians were valued retainers and their music was an ever-present delight on occasions such as this. It had been one of the saddest decisions he had taken as duke when he had to let the musicians go – he simply could not justify their expense for such a small court – but he longed for the day when the court musicians of Bruges would once again delight him and his court with their melodious playing. The decisions he was about to announce tonight would be the first step towards that he hoped.
The Great Hall was full tonight, as it had been for the Feast of the Nativity exactly one week ago – it was like the old times thought Louis, although in those days the attendees would have been the duke’s retainers and maybe a vassal or two, with only a select few of the town’s burghers invited. Tonight, the burghers dominated, a necessity if the paucity of Louis’s court were not to be exhibited for all to see. Pierre, the priest from the Chapel of the Holy Blood was here as was Father Benedict, along with his acolytes and servants, these latter sitting farthest away from the dais in accordance with their lowly status. Louis had nothing against people like this (as long as they did their job and knew their place) but he would rather the Hall be filled with his own people and court and tonight he would set out his plans to achieve this.
The meal was splendid – one thing Louis had not compromised on was the kitchen staff. Although he had struggled to find a suitable steward to run the ducal administration, he was fortunate to have found Gordon de Ramsay who ruled his kitchen with a rod of iron, yet produced the most superb cuisine in the Low Countries. Louis often suspected that the King himself ate no better than this in far away Paris. Tonight de Ramsay had excelled himself – despite the obvious sounds of disharmony that had emanated from the kitchen throughout the day. There had been broth and stuffed songbirds to start with, and then roast haunch of venison, three whole suckling pigs, braised rabbit, and in pride of place, a huge stuffed swan. This was followed by freshly cooked marchpane and fruit with spiced posset to drink. Louis had drunk deeply throughout the meal, especially of the delicious and tasty local beer from the monastery at Chimay. He belched contentedly and rose, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet, motioning with his hands for those observant souls who had noted him rise and followed suit in deference, to resume their seats. Gradually, a silence fell over the gathering, and Louis cleared his throat, took a swig of beer and spoke.
“Tonight, you are all witnesses to the re-birth of the de Dampierre dukedom. For too long I have allowed things to slip, brooding on my father’s untimely death and doing nothing as courtier after courtier departed Bruges. I have ignored those closest to me and denied them offices that are rightly theirs.” He glanced as he said this to his right and left, at the uncertain countenances of his wife and his mother, and at the uncomprehending and, frankly, disinterested, visage of his only son and heir, young Louis, now 7 years old. “My mother, Jeanne, the dowager duchess of Flanders, I hereby appoint as my ducal chancellor. My wife, Marguerite, in recognition of the innate intrigue of one born of Valois blood, I appoint as my spymaster.” If the ladies were surprised, they gave no sign, other than an inclination of the head in recognition of their newly acquired powers (if the truth be told they saw this as their – long overdue – rights as Louis’s only close family). “Marguerite de Bruges will become my steward, responsible for the administration of my demesne lands here in Bruges, in Yperen, in Gent and in far away Nevers. I have one further appointment. Father Pierre will become my personal chaplain with added responsibility for the upbringing of my son, Louis, and the provision of a full ecclesiastical education.”
Young Louis was a bright boy, energetic, trusting and pious. The duke had somewhat reluctantly agreed that his son should be educated by the church. He had hoped that his only son would show martial prowess and one day lead the armies of Flanders on the battlefield, but that seemed unlikely. Indeed at the moment, the duke had no-one suitable to lead his armies – another reason for his apparently sudden and decisive series of announcements tonight. The duke loved his son nonetheless, and he himself was the least of his problems; the fact that he was his only son, only child, was a big problem though. The duke was his father’s only son; he had a sister, Jeanne, married off to some courtier in distant Brittany. She had had a daughter, but the child, whom Louis had never met, had died several winters past. Had she lived it would have made no difference to Louis’s plight; the ducal succession law had long been Salic primogeniture, so neither Jeanne nor any of her offspring would be of use in providing possible future heirs. Louis had thought often about changing the succession law – after all he had no vassals who might object, and he had to do something to secure the future of his dynasty. Right now though, the problem was not finding the right successor, but that he had too few. Louis loved his wife, Marguerite de Valois, but she was now 37, and unlikely to be capable of bearing him any more children. She was, however, in rude good health, and seemed likely to live for many more years. This pleased Louis because she had always been a faithful and loving wife and a good mother to their precious son in whom the hopes of the de Dampierre duchy and dynasty depended. Lately though, Louis had begun to wrestle with his conscience; didn’t he owe it to his people and his ancestors to secure the future of the dynasty? How could he do this with an ageing and apparently now barren wife. Surely God would understand…….
CHAPTER 2 DEUS VULT!
The months passed and harsh winter turned into gentle spring. Louis’s mid-winter announcements had spread throughout the land, and some new courtiers started to appear at the castle, eager to pledge allegiance to Louis. Marguerite the steward announced on Louis’s behalf that schools were to be built in Bruges and Yperen intially and then later in Nevers. The duke rarely visited this distant county, and longed for a suitable candidate whom he could appoint as its Count. In the meanwhile, he hoped that the provision of some basic educational facility there would persuade its inhabitants that their absentee duke had not forgotten about them entirely. And, of course, Louis was not blind to the added prestige that the schools would bring him.
Spring became summer and Louis watched with interest as the school in Bruges was completed and its first pupils admitted. He knew that his plans would take time to mature, and only hoped, that, God-willing he would be around to see this happen. He was now in his 34th year, and more conscious than ever before of his own mortality, given that this was the age his father was at his, admittedly accidental, death. Louis spent the summer enjoying the warm Flemish climate, playing with young Louis in the meadows surrounding the castle, or idling away long afternoons on one of Bruges’s many canals. All the time though, his mind was active with future plans to write the de Dampierre name indelibly into the pages of history.
Bruges was at its most beguiling and beautiful in autumn. The mellow golden stonework of the town’s more substantial buildings reflected the molten rays of the low sun in a glorious sheen that seemed to light up the very air itself. The waterside trees dipped their dying leaves into the cool canal waters as if searching for some elixir to prolong their days. Their death was not in vain though, marked as it was by the miraculous annual metamorphosis from green, through, gold and yellow and red to brown before they eventually gave up the ghost and started to flutter, one by one initially, but then in scores and eventually hundreds, on the strengthening autumn breezes that marked the inescapable passage of time.
The winter weather of 1337/8 was thankfully mild and dry, and as Advent and the Nativity came and went, Louis gave thanks to God for the year passed, and reflected that his plans laid so publicly one year ago, had on the whole gone rather well so far. He had planned to say as much at the Great Feast of the Circumcision, the anniversary of his announcement, and he had spent several hours that afternoon with his mother, the chancellor, polishing his speech. de Ramsay had provided another spectacular effort from the kitchen, accompanied by the by now customary shouting and swearing, raised voices and dropped utensils – Louis often thought it must be like that in Hell’s Kitchen. Just as Louis was about to rise and call for silence, the real sting of that winter pricked the unsuspecting ducal court of Flanders as the door from the courtyard to the Hall burst open unexpectedly, admitting a rare icy blast of air to the duke’s presence, along with a saddle-weary messenger clad in the king’s unmistakable livery of the golden fleur-de-lys on an azure blue field.
“Your grace, may God be with you, and my humble apologies for interrupting your festivities, but I bring urgent news from King Phillippe. The Pope has called for a crusade against all pagans and moors. He has issued a papal bull, Deus Vult, calling all Christian princes to arms. I have a copy for you here.”
Louis took the document and read it speedily, for he was a good Latin scholar, before passing it across to his chancellor.
“My thanks, Sir Messenger. I do hope that you will join us in our feasting – I am sure there must be plenty left over. Charles” he said to his personal cup-bearer “send word to the kitchen that we have one more mouth to feed – and take no lip from that bastard de Ramsay”. Louis indicated that the messenger should be seated – with the servants in a lowly position of course – but the rider accepted the duke’s offer of hospitality with alacrity. He had been treated far more harshly by many another host in all his years in the royal messenger service.
The duke was now in no mood to dwell on his achievements of the last 12 months and he contented himself with a public reinforcement of the Pope’s crusade and an expressed hope that all able-bodied Christian men would offer their services – when the time was right – to join him in answering the Pope’s call. Privately, this would not be for some time he thought to himself, but this news may be a wonderful opportunity in other ways.
CHAPTER 3 GOOD NEWS….AND BAD
Louis knew that the longer he resisted the Pope’s call to arms, the greater his piety would fall in the eyes of the church. Plans were soon announced in the spring of 1338 for a Templar house in Bruges, and then a couple of months later, in reaction to the enthusiasm with which this foundation was greeted, a similar facility was begun in Yperen. Louis was every inch the virtuous, pious Christian prince, and his standing with the church rose accordingly. The new schools in Bruges, Yperen and Nevers had been a great success, so Louis now decided to build one for the citizens of Gent, and work duly commenced in August 1338.
One late summer’s afternoon, Louis was alone in his solar, when with a respectful knock on the door, and a deep obeisance, his steward, Marguerite sought him out. “My Lord, I have some good news. I have been working for some time on our books, exploring means of making them more efficient, and scrutinising them for signs of waste. I have evolved a new means of record keeping; it involves writing entries twice, but it gives far more potential to save money – I’ve called it double-entry book-keeping and I reckon it could add as much as 4% per annum to the income here in Bruges. Over time we can introduce it to our other lands too. Who knows, it may catch on widely some day.”
“Marguerite, you are a veritable genius of the Exchequer” said Louis, delightedly. “Next you’ll be telling me how I can save an extra 10 gold pieces per month!”
“Well, your Grace, it’s funny you should mention that, but I’ve been looking at our donations to Father Benedict, and I am sure that we could reduce what we give to the church by around 10 gold pieces per month, without too great a strength of feeling against you – and you have just built those Templar houses so who could accuse you of impiety?”
The duke leant back in his chair and smiled a deep smile of satisfaction. Had it not been for the unannounced arrival of his wife, he might very well have kissed his steward, he reflected later, for she was a comely wench in addition to her obvious financial qualities. She was not the only one with a head for figures he thought, as he watched her slender form depart his presence, her fashionable narrow waisted gown accentuating her swaying hips as she curtsied to the duchess and left the chamber.
Marguerite de Valois noticed her husband’s eyes as they followed the steward’s retreating form and, not for the first time of late, thought of the coldness that seemed to be permeating their marriage. They had once been so happy, and yes she knew that she had only borne Louis one child, but he was a healthy and strong boy, doing well in his studies according to Father Pierre and she knew that one day he would be a fine duke. It was, in fact, young Louis who had prompted this unscheduled visit to her husband’s solar. It was true that he showed great application to his studies, but Father Pierre had confided in his mistress, that of late Louis had showed increasing signs of stress, and he begged Marguerite to ask the duke not to place too much pressure on his son nor to have too high an expectation of him.
“Stressed, my arse!!” exploded Louis when his wife explained the situation. “How can he be stressed with all those monks and priests? This wouldn’t have happened if he’d had a proper man’s education with the army. I’ve been too soft on him by half.” Marguerite knew her husband well enough not to argue with him when he was in this sort of a mood. But she also knew that Louis’s anger would soon pass, and she could but hope that he was not serious in what he said about their son. Her mother’s instinct told her that right now their son needed all the love and support he could get.
I’m still relatively new to CK, but I think I’ve got the hang of the game mechanics now. My first two games crashed without recovery, so this story is based upon my third game. I’m playing as Flanders in 1337 scenario on normal/normal. The Duchy is small (4 province demesne) with only 1 heir and no vassals, so survival seems to be the immediate objective. I’m writing as I go along, so if I don’t succeed, it will be a short AAR! The events are as they happened in the game, although I have taken some liberties with the timing in some cases to suit the story. I hope you enjoy reading it and I’ll try and update regularly.
CHAPTER 1 MEET THE FAMILY
The man in the fur-trimmed cloak winced as the full force of a North Sea gale slammed into him as he left the church. Winter in Bruges was certainly not for the faint-hearted, and not for the first time Louis wondered how much responsibility the weather shouldered for his impoverished circumstances and reduced court.
It was the Feast of the Circumcision in the year of the Lord 1337 and Louis had been on his knees for three hours, yes praying for the infant Jesus, but also for his court, his dynasty, and not least, himself. He was all that a Christian prince should be – merciful, wise, valorous – so why had God apparently deserted him? He knew he had a temper and could be vengeful, but he confessed his sins regularly and Father Benedict absolved him with reassurances that his place in heaven was assured. Right now though, Louis was more concerned about his place on earth.
He had been Duke of Flanders for nearly 15 years now – all his adult life in fact. As his father’s only son he had been groomed for his responsibilities from an early age and had undergone all the usual knightly training as befitted the heir to the de Dampierre dukedom. He still remembered with horror the day he became duke – he still had vivid nightmares reliving the awful scene of his father’s broken body being borne on a litter into the castle bailey following his horrific hunting accident. He had lived for but a few short hours more, and Louis had cried and cried when his father’s soul left his tortured body. He had always been a strong man, and now at only 33 he was dead, leaving Louis and his sister on their own. That awful day had surely been the start of all his problems Louis reflected as he entered the Great Hall and stamped the snow off his boots.
The servants were busy preparing for the Great Feast that Louis was holding that evening in honour of the Holy Day it was. They hardly seemed to notice their Lord and Master as they strewed fresh rushes on the stone flagged floor and laid freshly baked trencher loaves on the long table on the dais below the canopy emblazoned with the de Dampierre arms, a black lion rampant on a yellow field. A few did notice him and paid him due deference as he strode through the Hall on his way to his private apartments in what was still referred to as the new wing of the castle.
Two hours later, resplendent in a flowing crimson robe and wearing his ducal coronet, Louis entered the Hall formally to a trumpet fanfare, inexpertly played by the small band of musicians Louis had hired for the occasion, the broken notes floating through the Hall from the gallery at the far end of the long room. Louis’s mind wandered back to his childhood when the court musicians were valued retainers and their music was an ever-present delight on occasions such as this. It had been one of the saddest decisions he had taken as duke when he had to let the musicians go – he simply could not justify their expense for such a small court – but he longed for the day when the court musicians of Bruges would once again delight him and his court with their melodious playing. The decisions he was about to announce tonight would be the first step towards that he hoped.
The Great Hall was full tonight, as it had been for the Feast of the Nativity exactly one week ago – it was like the old times thought Louis, although in those days the attendees would have been the duke’s retainers and maybe a vassal or two, with only a select few of the town’s burghers invited. Tonight, the burghers dominated, a necessity if the paucity of Louis’s court were not to be exhibited for all to see. Pierre, the priest from the Chapel of the Holy Blood was here as was Father Benedict, along with his acolytes and servants, these latter sitting farthest away from the dais in accordance with their lowly status. Louis had nothing against people like this (as long as they did their job and knew their place) but he would rather the Hall be filled with his own people and court and tonight he would set out his plans to achieve this.
The meal was splendid – one thing Louis had not compromised on was the kitchen staff. Although he had struggled to find a suitable steward to run the ducal administration, he was fortunate to have found Gordon de Ramsay who ruled his kitchen with a rod of iron, yet produced the most superb cuisine in the Low Countries. Louis often suspected that the King himself ate no better than this in far away Paris. Tonight de Ramsay had excelled himself – despite the obvious sounds of disharmony that had emanated from the kitchen throughout the day. There had been broth and stuffed songbirds to start with, and then roast haunch of venison, three whole suckling pigs, braised rabbit, and in pride of place, a huge stuffed swan. This was followed by freshly cooked marchpane and fruit with spiced posset to drink. Louis had drunk deeply throughout the meal, especially of the delicious and tasty local beer from the monastery at Chimay. He belched contentedly and rose, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet, motioning with his hands for those observant souls who had noted him rise and followed suit in deference, to resume their seats. Gradually, a silence fell over the gathering, and Louis cleared his throat, took a swig of beer and spoke.
“Tonight, you are all witnesses to the re-birth of the de Dampierre dukedom. For too long I have allowed things to slip, brooding on my father’s untimely death and doing nothing as courtier after courtier departed Bruges. I have ignored those closest to me and denied them offices that are rightly theirs.” He glanced as he said this to his right and left, at the uncertain countenances of his wife and his mother, and at the uncomprehending and, frankly, disinterested, visage of his only son and heir, young Louis, now 7 years old. “My mother, Jeanne, the dowager duchess of Flanders, I hereby appoint as my ducal chancellor. My wife, Marguerite, in recognition of the innate intrigue of one born of Valois blood, I appoint as my spymaster.” If the ladies were surprised, they gave no sign, other than an inclination of the head in recognition of their newly acquired powers (if the truth be told they saw this as their – long overdue – rights as Louis’s only close family). “Marguerite de Bruges will become my steward, responsible for the administration of my demesne lands here in Bruges, in Yperen, in Gent and in far away Nevers. I have one further appointment. Father Pierre will become my personal chaplain with added responsibility for the upbringing of my son, Louis, and the provision of a full ecclesiastical education.”
Young Louis was a bright boy, energetic, trusting and pious. The duke had somewhat reluctantly agreed that his son should be educated by the church. He had hoped that his only son would show martial prowess and one day lead the armies of Flanders on the battlefield, but that seemed unlikely. Indeed at the moment, the duke had no-one suitable to lead his armies – another reason for his apparently sudden and decisive series of announcements tonight. The duke loved his son nonetheless, and he himself was the least of his problems; the fact that he was his only son, only child, was a big problem though. The duke was his father’s only son; he had a sister, Jeanne, married off to some courtier in distant Brittany. She had had a daughter, but the child, whom Louis had never met, had died several winters past. Had she lived it would have made no difference to Louis’s plight; the ducal succession law had long been Salic primogeniture, so neither Jeanne nor any of her offspring would be of use in providing possible future heirs. Louis had thought often about changing the succession law – after all he had no vassals who might object, and he had to do something to secure the future of his dynasty. Right now though, the problem was not finding the right successor, but that he had too few. Louis loved his wife, Marguerite de Valois, but she was now 37, and unlikely to be capable of bearing him any more children. She was, however, in rude good health, and seemed likely to live for many more years. This pleased Louis because she had always been a faithful and loving wife and a good mother to their precious son in whom the hopes of the de Dampierre duchy and dynasty depended. Lately though, Louis had begun to wrestle with his conscience; didn’t he owe it to his people and his ancestors to secure the future of the dynasty? How could he do this with an ageing and apparently now barren wife. Surely God would understand…….
CHAPTER 2 DEUS VULT!
The months passed and harsh winter turned into gentle spring. Louis’s mid-winter announcements had spread throughout the land, and some new courtiers started to appear at the castle, eager to pledge allegiance to Louis. Marguerite the steward announced on Louis’s behalf that schools were to be built in Bruges and Yperen intially and then later in Nevers. The duke rarely visited this distant county, and longed for a suitable candidate whom he could appoint as its Count. In the meanwhile, he hoped that the provision of some basic educational facility there would persuade its inhabitants that their absentee duke had not forgotten about them entirely. And, of course, Louis was not blind to the added prestige that the schools would bring him.
Spring became summer and Louis watched with interest as the school in Bruges was completed and its first pupils admitted. He knew that his plans would take time to mature, and only hoped, that, God-willing he would be around to see this happen. He was now in his 34th year, and more conscious than ever before of his own mortality, given that this was the age his father was at his, admittedly accidental, death. Louis spent the summer enjoying the warm Flemish climate, playing with young Louis in the meadows surrounding the castle, or idling away long afternoons on one of Bruges’s many canals. All the time though, his mind was active with future plans to write the de Dampierre name indelibly into the pages of history.
Bruges was at its most beguiling and beautiful in autumn. The mellow golden stonework of the town’s more substantial buildings reflected the molten rays of the low sun in a glorious sheen that seemed to light up the very air itself. The waterside trees dipped their dying leaves into the cool canal waters as if searching for some elixir to prolong their days. Their death was not in vain though, marked as it was by the miraculous annual metamorphosis from green, through, gold and yellow and red to brown before they eventually gave up the ghost and started to flutter, one by one initially, but then in scores and eventually hundreds, on the strengthening autumn breezes that marked the inescapable passage of time.
The winter weather of 1337/8 was thankfully mild and dry, and as Advent and the Nativity came and went, Louis gave thanks to God for the year passed, and reflected that his plans laid so publicly one year ago, had on the whole gone rather well so far. He had planned to say as much at the Great Feast of the Circumcision, the anniversary of his announcement, and he had spent several hours that afternoon with his mother, the chancellor, polishing his speech. de Ramsay had provided another spectacular effort from the kitchen, accompanied by the by now customary shouting and swearing, raised voices and dropped utensils – Louis often thought it must be like that in Hell’s Kitchen. Just as Louis was about to rise and call for silence, the real sting of that winter pricked the unsuspecting ducal court of Flanders as the door from the courtyard to the Hall burst open unexpectedly, admitting a rare icy blast of air to the duke’s presence, along with a saddle-weary messenger clad in the king’s unmistakable livery of the golden fleur-de-lys on an azure blue field.
“Your grace, may God be with you, and my humble apologies for interrupting your festivities, but I bring urgent news from King Phillippe. The Pope has called for a crusade against all pagans and moors. He has issued a papal bull, Deus Vult, calling all Christian princes to arms. I have a copy for you here.”
Louis took the document and read it speedily, for he was a good Latin scholar, before passing it across to his chancellor.
“My thanks, Sir Messenger. I do hope that you will join us in our feasting – I am sure there must be plenty left over. Charles” he said to his personal cup-bearer “send word to the kitchen that we have one more mouth to feed – and take no lip from that bastard de Ramsay”. Louis indicated that the messenger should be seated – with the servants in a lowly position of course – but the rider accepted the duke’s offer of hospitality with alacrity. He had been treated far more harshly by many another host in all his years in the royal messenger service.
The duke was now in no mood to dwell on his achievements of the last 12 months and he contented himself with a public reinforcement of the Pope’s crusade and an expressed hope that all able-bodied Christian men would offer their services – when the time was right – to join him in answering the Pope’s call. Privately, this would not be for some time he thought to himself, but this news may be a wonderful opportunity in other ways.
CHAPTER 3 GOOD NEWS….AND BAD
Louis knew that the longer he resisted the Pope’s call to arms, the greater his piety would fall in the eyes of the church. Plans were soon announced in the spring of 1338 for a Templar house in Bruges, and then a couple of months later, in reaction to the enthusiasm with which this foundation was greeted, a similar facility was begun in Yperen. Louis was every inch the virtuous, pious Christian prince, and his standing with the church rose accordingly. The new schools in Bruges, Yperen and Nevers had been a great success, so Louis now decided to build one for the citizens of Gent, and work duly commenced in August 1338.
One late summer’s afternoon, Louis was alone in his solar, when with a respectful knock on the door, and a deep obeisance, his steward, Marguerite sought him out. “My Lord, I have some good news. I have been working for some time on our books, exploring means of making them more efficient, and scrutinising them for signs of waste. I have evolved a new means of record keeping; it involves writing entries twice, but it gives far more potential to save money – I’ve called it double-entry book-keeping and I reckon it could add as much as 4% per annum to the income here in Bruges. Over time we can introduce it to our other lands too. Who knows, it may catch on widely some day.”
“Marguerite, you are a veritable genius of the Exchequer” said Louis, delightedly. “Next you’ll be telling me how I can save an extra 10 gold pieces per month!”
“Well, your Grace, it’s funny you should mention that, but I’ve been looking at our donations to Father Benedict, and I am sure that we could reduce what we give to the church by around 10 gold pieces per month, without too great a strength of feeling against you – and you have just built those Templar houses so who could accuse you of impiety?”
The duke leant back in his chair and smiled a deep smile of satisfaction. Had it not been for the unannounced arrival of his wife, he might very well have kissed his steward, he reflected later, for she was a comely wench in addition to her obvious financial qualities. She was not the only one with a head for figures he thought, as he watched her slender form depart his presence, her fashionable narrow waisted gown accentuating her swaying hips as she curtsied to the duchess and left the chamber.
Marguerite de Valois noticed her husband’s eyes as they followed the steward’s retreating form and, not for the first time of late, thought of the coldness that seemed to be permeating their marriage. They had once been so happy, and yes she knew that she had only borne Louis one child, but he was a healthy and strong boy, doing well in his studies according to Father Pierre and she knew that one day he would be a fine duke. It was, in fact, young Louis who had prompted this unscheduled visit to her husband’s solar. It was true that he showed great application to his studies, but Father Pierre had confided in his mistress, that of late Louis had showed increasing signs of stress, and he begged Marguerite to ask the duke not to place too much pressure on his son nor to have too high an expectation of him.
“Stressed, my arse!!” exploded Louis when his wife explained the situation. “How can he be stressed with all those monks and priests? This wouldn’t have happened if he’d had a proper man’s education with the army. I’ve been too soft on him by half.” Marguerite knew her husband well enough not to argue with him when he was in this sort of a mood. But she also knew that Louis’s anger would soon pass, and she could but hope that he was not serious in what he said about their son. Her mother’s instinct told her that right now their son needed all the love and support he could get.