Before Plantagenet - Chapter 240
June 1131 - Huelgoat, Brittany
“Was it worth it?”
Geoffrey did not speak those words, but he thought them. He had been standing in silence, on a hill overlooking what had been a battlefield hours before.
The king was still dressed in his armor, his surcoat still covered in the mud, dirt and blood it had accumulated in the fight. Only his helmet was off, as his shaggy brown hair blew gently in the breeze.
He was not alone, as knights and his cousins stood nearby. Yet it felt like he was. He felt empty, distant… trapped in his own world of sorrow and pity.
It was a stupid feeling, he realized. After all, he still lived. That was more than he could say as he looked out over the battlefield, bathed in the red light of the setting sun. The dead could hold no regrets, and there were plenty dead strewn out over the grass below.
Geoffrey shook his head.
“Was it worth it?”
This time he had spoken, though it was met with silence from those gathered. He glanced back at Herve, who was slumped against a tree. The king wasn’t expecting a response to the question. But it didn’t matter. He knew the answer already.
“No,” Geoffrey said softly. “It wasn’t.”
….
The day had begun in this same place, with Geoffrey standing beside the same tree, his boots sinking into the mud from the rains from the past few days. The early morning sun was at his back as the king looked over his planned place of battle with his group of commanders, and a few others.
Herve and Foulquesson were present, along with Alberic and Mayor Frederic, though Knud remained away in his de-facto exile. Ancel was by Geoffrey’s side, as was Rogier and Centolh d’Uzes, Geoffrey’s first cousins born from his late aunt Ness. Prince Alias was also present, despite the fact he would not be permitted to take part in the battle.
They were not too far from the town of Huelgoat, which had been raided the previous year by the forces of Padric and had now dealt with the men of Penthievre as well.
But as Geoffrey looked out into the distance and saw the enemy camped to the north, he felt confident he could win a victory today that would spare Huelgoat for years to come.
His numerical advantage was overwhelming - Geoffrey had some 8,000 men - despite not even calling up half the number available to him. He had not called all of his vassals - just the forces of Essa, Guilhem Adhemar, Foulquesson, Herve and Alberic - essentially just bringing with him the levy of his family and council members. He also did not call up his full levy of personal forces, electing just to take his knights and the rabble from north of the Loire - Angers, Vendome, Perche and Tours.
He figured not using everyone would endear him to the many he left alone, whether it be lords or the lower born under him, in the process show the strength of his army, that it could win despite not even being a half-strength.
And with the Breton force around 1,500, Geoffrey was convinced he was right.
They had been tricked into this as Geoffrey had stolen a march on them by letting slip a “plan” to head straight to Monkontour and take the young lord Breselcoucant’s keep right away.
This Breton force thought they could take Huelgoat in the meantime, but Geoffrey brought his forces up upon them, making even retreating a risky proposition.
And with the flat ground before them, Geoffrey was confident he could completely destroy the Bretons today, and all but win his war in one swoop.
“Ideally, we’ll engage them by that small stream,” Geoffrey said as he pointed out. “The rabble can move forth and seek to overwhelm them. If they can’t… it is no bother. While they are occupied, I want our knights to move to the flank and rear. We’ll collapse upon them from the flanks and as they break, from the rear.”
“What if they deploy in groups to prevent us from flanking?” Herve asked.
“Their numbers are tiny,” Geoffrey said. “And there are no good choke points. If they weaken their center, we will overwhelm them even faster.”
“It’s possible they may intend to send their rabble forth to give their strongest units cover to withdraw,” Frederic added. “So we may wish to be quick if we intend to get into their rear.”
“Agreed,” Geoffrey said. He looked to Foulquesson. “Uncle - I give to you some scout cavalry and sergeants. Use them to rope the Bretons in before our knights have found a way to their rear.”
“If I see an opportunity to hit them?” Foulquesson asked.
“Hit and get out,” Geoffrey said. “I don’t need to tell you that those men are not built for a long fight.”
Foulquesson’s face remained obscured by his mask for the most part, but his thin lips still formed a smirk. Even with Geoffrey’s confidence, it was unsettling, almost ghoulish.
He had better not just throw these men to the enemy, Geoffrey thought.
But then Foulquesson was given this task because he felt at ease with aggression. Geoffrey had a greater faith in Herve to carry out orders, but a more deliberate push along the flank was more his style.
Given that they were his men, and he had fewer knights than against Padric, Geoffrey probably would have opted for caution against a stronger foe. But these Bretons were gnats to be swatted, and Foulquesson seemed the man for the job.
“When do we advance?” Alberic asked.
“Mid-day,” Geoffrey said. “The ground will hopefully have dried out by then. We’ll see if they advance, but if not, Foulquesson, you have leave to take the scouts and sergeants to spur them into action. Don’t charge them - not until our other men are engaged.”
“Understood,” Foulquesson said, the smirk remaining on his face.
“My king,” Herve began, “if I might make a request.”
“You may,” Geoffrey said.
“I know your cousins, my nephews, the d’Uzes boys are no longer under my tutelage,” Herve said. “But I would still greatly enjoy having them by my side for this battle.”
It was a request that did not surprise Geoffrey. Herve had spoken with pride at the growth of Rogier as a warrior - he claimed the young man would be Aquitaine’s “next great knight.”
Of Centolh, Herve was less complimentary, though always respectful, noting the young man was “more likely to talk his way out of a fight than win it.” But Herve was also quick to add the same could have once been said about Geoffrey’s father - and he proved himself capable enough on the battlefield.
Geoffrey had high hopes for both. While he was not as close with them as he was with their half-brother Edouard these days, they had still grow up alongside of him. And he hoped to find places for them in his court when the time came.
Getting themselves more battlefield experience under his most reliable commander couldn’t hurt.
“I see no problem with that,” Geoffrey said. “Do you want Ancel as well? Getting an up close and personal view of your soon-to-be son by law?”
Ancel blushed at that mention. He had been promised to Herve’s second daughter, and Geoffrey’s first cousin, Plaisance de Semur. The wedding was still a few years off, as Plaisance was still over three years away from being of age, but they had undergone a betrothal ceremony in Charolais a few months back.
“Nonsense,” Foulquesson spoke up. “This may be the boy’s last battle with his king. He should be by his side.”
Herve smiled. “There you have it. A father’s word outweighs that of a future father by law.”
Geoffrey smirked at that. He suspected Foulquesson preferred Ancel ride with a more aggressive commander. But that was neither here nor there - he didn’t mind having Ancel around.
The king then looked at the mayor of Saumur. “Frederic, you shall accompany my uncle and oversee the flank as he proceeds to the enemy rear. Alberic, you shall command the reserve. Ancel, as has been agreed, you’re with me..”
“And what of me brother?” Alias asked.
“You will watch from the camp,” Geoffrey said. “I brought you so you may get a feel of a campaign. Nothing more - I don’t even want to think of what would happen if you were unlucky in battle.”
Alias sighed but nodded. Geoffrey doubted his brother actually thought he’d be allowed into a fight. Still, he was clearly disappointed.
Geoffrey then looked at all those gathered and pointed out toward the Bretons in the distance. “The enemy is there. They are weak, and ripe for the taking. We have done well to trick them and trap them. Let us finish this, and the spoils of Brittany shall be our just reward.”
……
In retrospect, news of death was never a good omen.
It was nearing mid-day when Alberic entered Geoffrey’s command tent, where he sat with Ancel and Prince Alias. The king was growing a bit frustrated - the sun had not been as hot as he’d hoped, and the ground was taking its sweet time drying out. That meant his knights would move slower, and any quick movement needed to completely destroy the enemy would be less effective.
I want to end this war today, Geoffrey thought.
And I will not give battle until the conditions are right.
He looked at Alberic, hoping for good news.
“Tell me the ground is better,” he said to the Count of Perigord.
“Slowly but surely it improves,” Alberic said. “But that’s not why I have come. News from Bordeaux.”
Geoffrey eyed him. “Good news, or bad news?”
“Well it is unfortunate, and something you should know of,” Alberic said. “Even if I doubt you’ll care too much. Your uncle Charles’ mother, Etiennette, has passed.”
Geoffrey’s brow rose. Etiennette Karling was one of the last of the dying great house of Charlamagne. Her blood carried on in the veins of royals - albeit far off in Hungary, where her child granddaughter ruled as queen after the murder of Charles’ wife.
But Geoffrey knew her as his aunt Agnes’ oldest and perhaps closest friend.
“It is… fitting that she joins my aunt so quickly,” Geoffrey said. “Never far apart in life… why would it be any different in death?”
Alberic shrugged at that, before continuing. “Edouard said he has sent word to your uncle Charles in Hungary. Some small gifts as condolences as well. Though he is uncertain of what to do with the body.”
“It’s a little late now for that,” Geoffrey said. “Even if he did much to preserve it.”
“I think he means he was still debating it,” Alberic said. “He did not ask for guidance.”
Geoffrey nodded and poured himself a cup of wine. He was silent as he did so, contemplating it all.
No Etiennette wasn’t anyone of importance to him - though she did serve among his wife’s ladies. But she was someone else who had ties to the world that came before him - the world of the Iron Duke Foulques. Grandfather’s world. Grandfather’s lover. A mother to grandfather’s children.
A memory of Agnes’ face flashed in his mind. And Geoffrey felt a strong pang of loss.
Shaking his head before taking a drink he looked at Alberic once more. “Have some gold given to Prince-Bishop Emmanuel for Etiennette’s absolution.”
Alberic’s brow rose. “Truly?”
“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “She was my aunt’s closest friend. A good servant to my wife… and fine servant to both Aquitaine and Anjou. But she bore three children out of wedlock - certainly a sin, even if two were to my grandfather. If I have the means to alleviate the torment of a woman who did right by my family, then how can I refuse?”
Alberic nodded. “Good man. I will send word back to Bordeaux right away.”
“That’s kind of you,” Ancel said after Alberic had left.
“I speak the truth,” Geoffrey said. “The woman may not have meant much to me, but she did to others who I admire. And that surely speaks to something about her - peace in the hereafter is the least of what someone like that deserves.”
“My father might not like that,” Ancel said. “I know grandmother Haldora never cared for her. Which, given she was grandfather’s lover while he was married to my grandmother...”
“Ancel,” Geoffrey began. Then he looked to his brother. “Alias, you too. If there is one thing I have learned over my first half-decade as king, it is that it is unwise to fight other people’s battles - especially when there is nothing for you to gain.”
“It’s still an insult to those who came before, is it not?” Ancel asked. “Is my grandmother wrong to be upset over it?”
“She can be livid,” Geoffrey said. “But her, not you. You don’t know anything of it - you weren’t even born when grandfather sired those children with Etiennette. Those who came before us fought their wars - it is not for us to continue them.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ancel said. “It was not your grandmother who was betrayed.”
Geoffrey smirked. “Have you forgotten who my parents are? They do nothing but fight old wars. My mother to Aunt Agnes, because of my grandfather Adhemar’s murder. My father to his father. My parents to each other. Everything with them was a battle - a grievance against someone. If I wasted my time with their problems, I wouldn’t have time to focus on my own.”
Ancel nodded. “Fair.”
“Ancel, answer me this,” Geoffrey continued, “did you ever feel anything toward Etiennette when you saw her? Anything? Anger, frustration, sadness?”
“No,” Ancel admitted. “She was just an old woman, who served the queen.”
“Exactly,” Geoffrey said. “So why waste time fretting about it now? Because your father will? If he wants to war with the past, he can do so on his own. There are plenty of fights out there for us. Best to focus on those.”
Ancel sat in silence for a bit. Eventually however, the teen nodded and then raised his cup. Alias shrugged and then did the same, before Geoffrey joined them.
“To our future,” Geoffrey said. “And ours, alone.”
….
The mid-day finally got hot, and the dry conditions Geoffrey wanted arrived in the midafternoon. It wasn’t going to be a comfortable day in the saddle - the sun meant they were all baking in their leather armor with mail adding even more heat.
But if it gets me total victory today, it will be well worth it, Geoffrey thought.
And had to repeat to himself over and over again, as he felt the sweat drip down his face in streams.
It started well enough, with Foulquesson’s efforts to nip at the Breton flanks and force them into action working. And Geoffrey sent his rabble forward.
Their performance against Padric had been poor, but that was fighting uphill against an enemy with closer numbers in a good defensive position. This was a five-to-one advantage, in open plains, with nothing but small streams to slow them down. The king expected a slaughter - so much so that it almost seemed unworthy of him.
But he knew this would likely be the only battle of the campaign, and it also felt like a waste to not engage in an open battle when the opportunity presented itself. Especially when he’d be left with little to do but wait when they moved to siege Penthievre.
So if he was to battle, Geoffrey decided he’d make it a charge truly worth making. He was going to add weight to Mayor Frederic’s attack on the left and drive them toward Foulquesson’s men in the rear, while Herve did the same on the right.
Geoffrey took to a different hill from the morning - one much closer to the action, to watch the battle unfold. From there he could see his men performing as he expected, pushing back the Breton center.
The suspicion the Bretons might fan out to prevent against flanking attacks had proven true, but Geoffrey was also convinced the attacks on both sides from his knights would be enough to break any resistance with ease.
The horn sounded, signaling the first charge on the flank, from Mayor Frederic. Moments later another horn went off - Herve’s charge on the right - which meant it was time for Geoffrey to move his own men into position to deliver the next hammerblow.
However, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, a group of knights charging out of a small enclave of trees on the right flank. At first, Geoffrey wondered if Herve had decided to delay deploying his whole force - something a cautious commander might do - but he saw the banners were Breton, not Aquitaine.
“A Breton ambush on the right?” Geoffrey asked.
“We were unaware of any forces,” Ancel said. “So perhaps it’s just more of Herve’s men…”
“No - see the banners,” Geoffrey said as he pointed.
The king eyed the fight, gripping the reins of his horse tighter. He doubted the Bretons could have hidden a force large enough to change the course of the battle. But then again…
“Should we dispatch Alberic to shore up that fight?” Ancel asked.
Geoffrey shook his head. “Herve can handle it. He’s seen ambushes before - he won’t lose his head.”
Ancel nodded and they continued to watch the fight unfold.
The Angevin knights did appear to buckle under the weight of the Breton charge. Geoffrey’s initial eyeballing of the numbers may have done his enemy a disservice - while being outnumbered on the field, they might well have had more knights in that fight than Herve did.
“Damn it,” Geoffrey grumbled as he realized his plans to completely destroy the Breton force were on the verge of falling apart.
I should have called up all my soldiers, he thought.
I have a large advantage in men, but not in knights! If we lose that fight - if I have to send Alberic to aid them, we won’t win a decisive victory today.
Then the Breton push seemed to slow to a standstill. Moments later another charge of a small group of Angevin knights pushed them back, and the Breton knights began to retreat.
Herve was cautious, Geoffrey thought.
Thank God.
The king breathed a sigh of relief and crossed himself. But he then turned back to Ancel and the others to say: “You see? Herve had it under control.”
A small grin came to his face with his confidence restored -
as if there was any doubt.
But with that Breton force dealt with, Geoffrey realized he was late in getting his men into position. He gave the order to begin the march toward his left, where Mayor Frederic’s men had already pushed past and toward the rear.
About halfway there, he saw a couple of riders approaching from the right and recognized one as Centolh.
“Cousin, what brings you here?” Geoffrey asked. “Does Herve have need of something?”
“Lord Herve insisted I inform you that he has been wounded in the fighting,” Centolh said. “But he assures you that the Breton knights are being routed.”
“Wounded?” Geoffrey asked, as a chill ran down his spine.
“He battled the enemy leader,” Centolh said. “The man managed to strike at Lord Herve and catch him with a mace. But Lord Herve was undaunted, and killed the man soon after. Rogier arrived moments later with a counter-charge to push the Bretons back.”
“How serious is his wound?” Geoffrey demanded.
“He claims it is not too serious,” Centolh said. “But he did not feel certain he could take part in your plans to finish the battle, and handled command of his flank to Rogier… if that is alright?”
Geoffrey was surprised and a bit concerned that Herve could not see out the battle, but perhaps he was just being careful. There wasn’t really any reason to push it in this fight - more important battles no doubt would lay ahead.
“Should we send Alberic to take command?” Ancel asked.
“Herve trusts Rogier,” Geoffrey said. “Therefore, so do I. Alberic will remain in reserve, just in case the Bretons have any further tricks left to spring upon us.”
Geoffrey then turned back to Centolh. “Cousin, return to Lord Herve and thank him for his efforts. Also tell him to rest up, for I plan to commend him for his efforts after the fight.”
Centolh nodded. “Of course cousin. I will return to him right away.”
Geoffrey watched Centolh ride off and felt his stomach twist. He was a bit worried about Herve, and wished he had found an actual physician or surgeon at this point he could trust. A woman had been found in the months before, but she had died en route to him, leaving him still searching for Jorge’s medical replacement.
However, that was a concern that would have to wait until after this battle. In the meantime, Geoffrey had an enemy to destroy, as he raised his hand to signal his men’s time to charge.
…..
It may have been the delay in getting his men into position as he watched the Breton ambush.
It might have been the ambush itself, disrupting the coordination of all of Geoffrey’s planned attacks.
Or perhaps the Bretons had just planned a way to escape regardless of what Geoffrey had planned.
Whatever the reason, Geoffrey was left unable to recreate the decisive victories he had delivered against Duchess Judith and Count Padric.
Yes, the majority of the Breton force had been dispatched, but nearly a third had managed to escape. A good chunk of those had been mounted units - knights and mounted sergeants, along with a bit of heavy infantry. The Breton rabble and light infantry had practically been destroyed.
On one hand, it ensured he’d likely never have to deal with a fighting force for the rest of this campaign - even if the Breton best troops survived, they were too little in number to stand toe-to-toe to Geoffrey now.
But they were strong enough a force that they were almost certain to spend a great deal of time raiding the Breton countryside while Geoffrey laid sieges to keeps and towns, trying to bring the child lord to heel.
A Breton commander had been killed, but he was hardly a man of great importance.
Given the overwhelming advantage he had in the fight, Geoffrey would have expected more. This was hardly the stuff of legends.
“A victory is a victory,” Ancel told him as they rode back to the camp. “Not every battle has to be one for the annals. After all, grandfather fought more than just at Rouen.”
Geoffrey could simply nod to it. Ancel wasn’t wrong - it just felt a bit hollow.
As they returned to the camp, Geoffrey was greeted by Alberic and Prince Alias, who both were still on their steeds. Despite his disappointment, Geoffrey still put on a wide grin as he approached his younger sibling.
“Did you enjoy the fight, brother?” he asked the prince.
“You didn’t exactly destroy them as you said you would,” Alias said. “But it looked a thorough enough victory.”
Geoffrey rolled his eyes at that assessment, even if it was what he himself believed.
“Let us see you win such a thorough victory,” he said. “Then you can talk.”
“You asked me,” Alias said. “I meant no disrespect.”
Right, Geoffrey thought. Then he turned to Alberic. “Where is Herve? How does he fare? I want to check in on him?”
“He has not returned,” Alberic said. “You are the first of the commanders back - Foulquesson is also still out.”
“He wanted to chase down stragglers,” Geoffrey said. “So I let him. But Herve I heard nothing of since Centolh told me he was wounded. And that Rogier was leading the flank.”
Alberic shrugged. “I was told nothing of his condition. But Centolh sent word you were requested out on the hill where we inspected the battlefield this morning.”
Geoffrey rubbed his chin. “Perhaps they have seen something about the enemy retreat. We might still be able to destroy them yet.”
“I can find out, if you like,” Alberic said. “To see if it is worth your time.”
“No, I’ll go,” Geoffrey said. “If for nothing else than to commend Herve and my cousin for their performances today. Alberic, you have the camp again. And Alias, you stay here.”
“The battle’s over,” Alias said.
“The enemy remains in the area,” Geoffrey said. “So no chances with you.”
“But you can take the chance?” Alias asked.
“Well… yes,” Geoffrey said. He flashed a grin at his younger brother. “I am king, after all.”
…..
Despite Geoffrey’s caution, there were no issues on the ride out to the hill.
There was a small crowd of armored men gathered at the crest and it was Rogier and Centolh who both approached Geoffrey and his men as they rode up.
With a small smile at seeing Rogier, Geoffrey jumped down off his horse and grabbed his cousin by the shoulders.
“Cousin,” Geoffrey began. “I heard of your heroics! It appears Lord Herve was not wrong to believe in you. I think the time has come for you to take your place among my commanders!”
Rogier did not smile, instead looked down and then back toward those behind him.
“Cousin… is something wrong?” Geoffrey asked.
Rogier nodded and motioned for Geoffrey to follow him toward the tree. The group of men parted, allowing Geoffrey a path. And then he saw Herve, sitting against the tree.
The Count of Charolais seemed at rest, still as a statue. He was still in his mail, though his helmet was off, his grey hair blowing gently in the breeze. But as Geoffrey knelt, he saw Herve’s eyes were glazed over. His body was motionless - not even his chest moved.
Geoffrey’s stomach dropped. Herve was dead.
“No…” Geoffrey said. “What… what happened? I was told his wound was not serious! Centolh, you told me it was not serious!”
“That is what he told me,” Centolh said. “But when I returned, it was clear it was more serious than he let on. I said I would go back to tell you, but he forbade it - he said it was wrong to trouble you while you were focused on the battle.”
“I would have sent aid,” Geoffrey told him.
“He said there was nothing to be done,” Centolh said. “That he just wished to be brought here, so he could watch the battle unfold.”
Centolh lowered his head as his lip quivered. “That is when I noticed the blood on his lips.”
“He should have said something,” Geoffrey said as he shook his head. “We could have helped!”
Geoffrey placed one trembling hand on Herve’s shoulder. There was no resistance… and the king pulled his hand back. His stomach twisted… and he wondered for a moment if he were trapped in a nightmare.
“He spoke well of you, cousin,” Centolh said. “He asked me to sit with him and watch the battle. He said you have a great mind for war - perhaps even greater than your grandfather, Duke Foulques. At one point he even pointed and said ‘Look at that. The realm is in fine hands with them all.’”
Geoffrey felt his eyes burn at that. A great mind? A mind who stupidly took less men into war to prove a point… and whose fewer knights were made vulnerable.
“He said it was ironic that he died in Brittany, of all places, like his father did so long ago,” Centolh explained. “He believed your father would have found it amusing.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “No, my father would not have. He loved Herve like a brother.”
“I know,” Centolh said. “I think he just wished to lighten the mood.”
“Did he say anything else?” Geoffrey asked. “Want anything?”
“He wishes for you to take fine care of Plaisance, Ancel,” Centolh said. Then he looked to Geoffrey. “He also asked for you to look after his son, our cousin, and our aunt Mascarose.”
Geoffrey nodded. “It will be done.”
“What should we do?” Ancel asked. “With his body?”
Geoffrey closed his eyes tight and forced the tears from them. “Send men far and wide. I want someone found who can properly preserve his body for the trip south.”
“Not to Charolais?” Rogier asked.
“No, it will take too long,” Geoffrey said. “As is, Bordeaux is pushing it. But he is a lord of the realm who served great men, never asking for anything. It is the least we can do for him.”
“I can ride to Charolais,” Ancel said. “To notify his family.”
“Yes… you do that,” Geoffrey said.
Ancel rode off with a few men from Geoffrey’s knights, as well as some of Herve’s. Then Rogier put his hand on the king’s shoulder.
“Should we return, cousin?” Rogier asked. “The sun has begun to set. It will be dark soon.”
“No,” Geoffrey said. “I would like to remain. I will sit here… with him, and see the battlefield. As he did… at the end.”
….
And Geoffrey did remain, for hours, standing and watching as the sun set over the horizon. He did not do so alone in body, as Centolh, Rogier and most of the other knights remained.
But he did so in spirit, as Geoffrey said nothing but the question they did not dare answer, as he stood by the tree, next to Herve’s body.
As the sun sank down, so too did Geoffrey, first sitting down and then moving a few yards away from the tree, so he might get a clear view of the night sky and heavens above.
I had to make a point, he thought.
I had to take less men. I had to win a great victory. Had I taken my full army… had I been willing to settle with a fine victory… Herve would still be alive.
And it was made worse by the fact it was a mistake Herve himself would not have made.
It was true Geoffrey did not know Herve as well as many of his father’s other former friends and advisors, despite him being married to his maternal aunt. That he spent most of his time in Charolais limited the contact the king had with him.
But the man carried an impeccable reputation - liked by almost all as a lord of honor, loyalty and piousness. It was no easy thing coming of age in the court of the Devil’s Brood, and Geoffrey could not help but respect that.
And he lived it, Geoffrey thought.
He, and he alone, warned me of the perils of war, the costs that can come from unexpected places.I did not heed it enough. And suffering continues to happen as a result.
Geoffrey rubbed his temple before sliding his fingers over his eyes. So many of those who saw his family through their ascendency… were gone now. Helie remained, but she wasn’t them. The ones who had been there with his grandfather - Agnes and Herve, were gone. So too was his father, and those who helped his father, like Count Alias. Or Geoffrey’s own elder brother Foulques. Or even Jorge, who had saved so many in Aquitaine, Geoffrey included, during the cough.
They did not all die recently. But it seemed like the realm’s faithful servants were quickly falling away.
Is this a test, he wondered.
Has God decided he wished to know if I am truly ready?
If that was the case, Geoffrey did not like the answer. He had left Aquitaine having annoyed friends and advisors alike with his decisions, especially Essa.
He thought war would prove his strength once more. But instead, his overconfidence had arguably cost Herve his life - dooming a man who had served Geoffrey’s father and grandfather faithfully for decades. A good man who had made his aunt happy, had been like a brother to his father and aunt, loyal to him, and had been his best commander.
If this is a test… then surely I fail miserably, he thought.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with him. His mother sometimes claimed God had called home Geoffrey’s brother Foulques because he was a good man - too good for this family. Could Herve had been the same? Aunt Agnes… well he didn’t think she was, but… perhaps his mother had it wrong.
Aunt Agnes. Count Alias. Even his father… they had accomplished so much in their lives, for better or for worse. All in service of Aquitaine. His brother had laid his life down to help it get free from the Frankish king. Herve had served loyally for decades. Perhaps it was not because of their goodness… but because they had all done their duty?
Geoffrey closed his eyes, and his stomach twisted into further knots. His voice trembling, the king simply asked: “My lord, they did their duty... but do I do mine?”
