I'm sticking with you too Fabio just haven't had a chance to catch up with quite a few of the stories that I was following but I will get there-promise
A Dream of Aquitaine (An Old Gods AAR)
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Go Denmark, swallow the isles with the power of Thor!!! everyone elses position looks intresting thats what I like about the 867 start, the world always end up a total mess.
everyone elses position looks intresting thats what I like about the 867 start, the world always end up a total mess.
It does indeed Saxon it does indeed my old friend. I have been keeping half an eye on the goings on in the British Isles-all very interesting. West Francia by contrast with most of the other Carolingian kingdoms has remained pretty contiguous (as has Italy)Go Denmark, swallow the isles with the power of Thor!!!
Watch this space-some exciting times are a-coming hehe
Chapter 16:
The Life and Times of Duke Gauzbert II of Aquitaine Part 1, 940-950 AD
Defiance of the Dukes
My name is Gervase Hilaire-I am a humble writer from a famous family of scribes. My great grandfather was the great Lucian Hilaire, the man who chronicled the life and times of Charles the Great himself. My father served as chronicler for no less than six Popes in Rome. It has been my task to present myself to the Dukes of Aquitaine, first coming to the attention of Duke Aldebert and now faithfully serving his son, Gauzbert, second of that name who, like his predecessors, was blessed-or cursed-with a long life.
Hard at work-this is my lot!
I had passed but eight and ten summers that fateful night when his grace, Aldebert, presented me to his son and instructed me to be a faithful accounter and chronicler of his life. The young Duke, then only twenty and one certainly took his father’s instructions to heart. I was to virtually never leave his side in the long years that followed, observing his every move, eating at his table, observing his councils, great and small and sleeping on a pallet at the foot of his bed. The only times I was not his ever present companion was when he demanded the marriage debt from his wives. They even called me l’ombre for such I was and where my lord went so did I, much to my long suffering wife’s despair.
‘It is service woman!’ I had snapped once, at my wits end at her constant moaning, ‘and none is more fitting-besides it puts food on the table so cease your grinching!’
But what did I make of my Lord? That freezing January in the year of our Lord 940 found him not wanting: he was a lord well suited to whispers in the shadows, like several of his forebears-more attuned to rumour and secrecy than the brouhaha of the tourney or the savagery of war. Not once, during the many years that I served him, did he strap on his great long sword, don his fish-scale armour and lead his levies to war. Some said he was craven but his pronouncement to me one day was simple enough: ‘let my commanders make war for they are well suited to it! I will be ever their guiding hand and perform the deeds that I do best!’
As slippery as an eel...
No one argued for how could they? He was the pre-eminent lord in the realm and even at just twenty-one a force to be reckoned with thanks to his father, holding as he did the titles of not one but three Duchies. It was said that the royal council, holding sway over the infant king and his mother in Paris looked west with jaundiced eye and liked not my lord’s prestige and influence.
The first task at hand was to confirm places in the new Ducal Council as some of those that had served him as Count were not up to the jobs that encompassed many Counties rather than one. Luckily for him those who had served his father were content to so serve the son and so persuaded to stay on as Chancellor was Yves de Bordeaux, lowborn but steeped in the ways of diplomacy and well versed in the machinery of state. Also lowborn was Adalbert de Bonaguil, the new Master of Secrets and High Almoner, a skilled and effective agent and the son of the old Duke’s Spymaster. The new Lord Marshal and Master of the Horse was to be the warlike Count Wulgrin of Angoulême-a man who had served the previous Duke loyally as one of his premier generals. Bishop Sigismond of Charroux had been the Court Chaplain but was now assigned to the post of Steward and despatched immediately to collect tithes in all the Ducal counties-the treasury was full but my lord would fain have it fuller in keeping with his avaricious nature. The new Ducal Chaplain was to be the scholarly Bishop Hildebert of St Jean-d’Angély. These were learned and respected men who esteemed their new lord well enough-and well they might for their fortunes were now in lock-step to his own. His elder brother, that grizzled paladin, Nicolas de Poitou was confirmed as a Commander of Aquitaine and also Gauzbert’s heir-a position he was well pleased with.
They will do by God!
That first Council meeting was an opportunity for our Duke to get the measure of the men with whom he was entrusting the running of his vasty demesne:
‘My lord of Angouleme-you will be my trusty sword and shield-your first undertaking to raise up a host and chase the invading Saracen from our lands.’
‘It shall be done mon duc-by Christ on his cross it shall be done!’ The warrior Marshal had growled passionately. He was known already as a fearsome soldier, infused with martial valour and a religious fervour that some said bordered on madness. No matter he was the right man in the right place at the right time.
‘And what of the succession your Grace?’ This from Adalbert-he was fretting already about plots in many places and though the lords of the three Duchies were, for the moment, content with Nicolas de Poitou as heir it had escaped no one’s attention that he was much older than Gauzbert.
The emollient Bishop Hildebert added solicitously, ‘indeed-how fares your lady wife, the Duchess, my lord?’
It was a sore topic for though that proud woman had borne my master two fair twin daughters it was a scant secret that she too, like our lord’s sister Melisande, preferred the company of women and being with the Duke most hours of the day I knew that his visits to collect the marriage debt were few and far between. There was no love lost between the two and despite her obvious comeliness she was secretive and contrary and had shown with her seduction of many a gentleman’s lady that she was also grasping and full of envy.
She likes not my manhood <sob!>
‘My lady Petronilla fares most well my lord bishop,’ the Duke had shot back icily, ‘I will make sure that she is apprised of your concern.’ A short pause and then: ‘and mayhap your Grace you will be most meet to hie you up to Léon to spread the word to the uncultured Bretons there-what think you?’
The good bishop could not, of course, refuse and with that rejoinder the main affairs of that first Great Council were brought to a swift conclusion. The lesson for all was that you played games with our lord at your peril for he would always have the last word-always.
During that long, hot summer we travelled with the Duke as he went on a tour of all his lands…once Wulgrin had driven two infidel armies far to the east. With the immediate danger removed it was left to Count Ximeno of Bordeaux, Count Onfroy of Thouars and Nicolas de Poitou to run them to ground in Auxerre. They were engaged finally in November at the battle of Pontigny where fifteen hundred fanatics-how else explain their continued presence far in god-fearing Christian territory-met our two thousand in battle. They sold themselves dear accounting for over six hundred of our number before retreating from the field with barely the same number of their own remaining. Strange rumours reached us of their centre and right battles being manned entirely-with Bulgarian Mercenaries. What devilry my lord had exclaimed on reading the various missives that recounted these happenings. Yet mayhap it was God’s judgement on these routiers that it was their flanks that collapsed first.
Get thee gone infidel scum!
In the meantime we continued along our way, travelling first south to hot and arid Bordeaux with its vineyards without measure, crossing the mighty Dordogne to the east and north into Angoulême and Perigord, keeping the great forests and hills of La Marche to our east. North we went as the days lengthened, through Lusignan and the Ducal demesne of Poitiers finally turning due north west and to the welcome and cooling sea breezes as we finally approached the coast on the west side of Thouars. We tarried awhile there-at the welcome of Count Onfroy’s good lady-a bustling and friendly woman. In September we turned north, crossing the imposing Loire into Bretagne where our reception was, like the climate, noticeably cooler: no adoring crowds here come to cheer their Duke-mainly sullen faces and blank stares but if it worried my lord it showed not a whit, though I did notice his personal guard rode much closer to him and all wore the permanent frown of those who were expecting something bad to happen at any moment.
We did not tarry long in those inhospitable lands and it made me wonder at those Frankish and Occitan Lords that had been tasked with subjugating those fractious peoples. With their families and with Frankish might they had set to the task and it is a measure, I suppose, of their effectiveness that since that fateful day when my own lords forebear Ramnulf II had taken Nantes there had not been one single revolt in any of our newly acquired Breton lands.
‘They fear Frankish wrath more than they love their desire for freedom’ the Duke had opined one starry night as we finally made our way south to Saintes, huddled round a fire as we all were, for it was October now and though the days were still pleasantly warm, the nights had a bite that presaged the coming change of seasons.
‘True my lord but mayhap it is not the peasants that you should be afeared of…’ the Captain of his personal guard muttered, ‘I have heard that there are those closer to home who would wrest the Duchy of Bretagne from you…’
‘I have heard so too Tancred,’ my lord responded smoothly, ‘and that is the reason that my Master of Spies, Adalbert de Bonaguil is in such constant employ!’ He guffawed at his own levity and we had to, perforce, also laugh uproariously at this half jest and as we excused ourselves and made to our billets I caught a look on the duke’s face that bespoke a rather more serious aspect to all this: Bretagne and the lords scheming to take it were to be a constant thorn in his side throughout his long life.
It was late October when we finally saw, again, the magnificent walled city of Saintes and the gleaming castle atop its hill within the town-it was a most welcome sight! We were greeted by the Castellan and the Duke’s Steward, Bishop Hildebert: they looked worried.
‘My Lord Duke-there is a delegation here from the good Burghers of Châtellerault. They caught word of your return.’
Gauzbert, a good rider, was nonetheless shattered by the trip-we had been virtually constantly in the saddle for the best part of five months. I could tell from his countenance that he had not the patience for this.
‘And?’ Was the pointed response.
‘They are here…erm, they feel the city taxes are too high my lord-‘
‘I presume you jest my lord bishop, disturbing me on my return with such arrant nonsense. You are my Steward- now unless you want a treasury much less well stocked you had best send them packing-such insolence as this is not to be countenanced! Away sir-do not trouble me again with such matters if you value your employ!
The cheek!!
And that was that. The Castellan: a burly, ageing man, had altogether more amenable matters that needed but the nod of my master: a man who claimed to be a lord had come to the castle these last few days. Should he be turfed out?
‘No Sigbert let him stay-tell him that he has pricked my better nature.’
You see-I do have a heart!
And with that we were finally home-my lord entering within and calling for his twin daughters…and a bath!
The next year was particularly uneventful save for our Duke agreeing that his brother Nicolas could remarry-nay he would find his heir a good match, Gauzbert had promised. And in the spring the last Muslims were finally expelled-Ximeno had pursued them all the way to Arras in the low countries.
The year of our lord 942 AD found yet another Pope enthroned-this one, Annichus II was no more interested in uniting his Christian flock against the Saracen defiler than his predecessor it would seem-most unseemly the Duke had opined-and yet he was in no position to act, not whilst he was merely a Duke. But mayhap there would be opportunity to change that he had said in close compact, one afternoon in his solar with the recently returned Chancellor, Yves de Bordeaux. When together these two were thick as thieves…
‘I have heard, My Lord that Toulouse may well be pushing to force our infant king into accepting an elective system for choosing the Kings of Aquitaine…’
‘Really? Tell me more Yves.’
‘Yes I have some contacts in the Toulouse court who attest to that-he has some minor lords in his sway already-if you were to come on board…’
‘Jesu!’ Gauzbert exclaimed-but we would need to be strong-he would surely be able to call on all his Karling kin for succour.’ I could see the Duke turning it all over and over in his mind’s eye, ‘sound them out Yves and in the meantime let’s test the mettle of this Regency Council shall we? Yes…I think that mayhap later in the year I will request a pegging back of the royal privileges that were afforded to his great grandfather-let us see how they respond eh?’
Yves de Bonaguil appraised his Lord with wonder and no little awe, ‘oh expertly done mon duc-this will either let you know that they feel they can stand against you and if not you will, at last have the wherewithal to force Agen back into our demesne! I like this plan!’
The Duke, looking pleased with himself, clapped his Chancellor on the back and called for spiced wine for we were still in the early days of spring and there was some snow round about. For my part I could only wonder too at the brazenness of a lord who was yet set on a course to defy his king.
‘And in the meantime, Yves, I must perforce find my ageing brother a new bride-it seems he has not been content to settle for a maid from Hispania who became Queen, has his heart set on an Occitan beauty-like my wife-hah!’
Clearly you are a sucker for punishment brother!
It was clear from his countenance that the Chancellor was unsure whether to join in this seeming japery for all knew relations between our lord and his lady were difficult to say the least. He opted for carefully placed sympathy: ‘Indeed your Grace but it must be hard indeed to be in permanent exile from his own children-the princes and princesses-nay hostages of the Kingdom of Galicia…’
At this Gauzbert’s demeanour changed-the jesting gone, ‘true true Yves-he has been a most loyal brother, uncomplaining of his lot-come let us consider who we can match him up with so that he can get more heirs and this time Frankish ones.’
And so they went on-it was a most close alliance, some would say even friendship between these two: the highborn lord and his lowborn Chancellor and though, in this case, they were concerned with the Duke’s brother and his heirs it was the Duchess who was the subject of such talk when it was announced, in March, that she was with child.
Please God grant me a son!
‘Finally I may have a son!’ The Duke had exclaimed to me, his eyes shining fervently on hearing the news but it was not to be as in October, once more, a daughter was born to the disappointed couple. My lord was not interested in the naming, such was his ill humour-she was named Solène, after Petronilla’s great grandmother.
Whether the two matters were related I know not but it was not long after this that the Duke announced that, having been injured in the tiltyard, practicing at matters of war he would no more take up his sword and armour. There were whispers all around the Ducal court that their lord was craven and whilst if I ever heard servants or scullions say it I would admonish them roundly I could not but wonder…
I am a lover not a fighter...honest
As November arrived with its usual chill and gloom the Duke answered these whispers with an audacious letter addressed to the Royal Council. As his official chronicler it had fallen to me to audit the letter to see it was written suitably prior to its despatch. It read as thus:
To the Royal Council and Guardians of our Liege Charles IV
November 7 the year of our lord 942
For too long have we, your barons, laboured under a burdensome yoke; that of royal prerogatives and authorities willingly given in the past and dispensed with fairly and justly by our present King’s forebears.
We take issue now however with those self-same prerogatives being exercised on behalf of our infant king by men of no great standing and lowborn history.
These prerogatives include being at liberty to pursue our own territorial wars and battles without censure or hindrance from the crown but there are many more that our lawyers shall make available to you presently.
As the pre-eminent Lord of the realm I Gauzbert II, Duke of Aquitaine, Poitiers and Bretagne have taken responsibility to now demand back such prerogatives and to exercise them until such time as the King reaches his majority.
As you will see from the undersigned I have amassed considerable support for this proclamation-we do not expect a declination of our proposal, indeed any such would, of necessity, have to be met with armed resistance-we are fully ready to protect our ancient baronial rights.
Your faithful servant always
Gauzbertius II, Dux
It was an ominous declaration of intent by the Duke and his allies-many of the highest born lords in the realm.
‘Let’s test the mettle of this hellspawn mayor, Henri d’Aubusson!’ My lord had declared brashly to a meeting of some of his co-conspirators. The Lord of Toulouse, also called Duke Gauzbert, was, I noted, amongst those pressing for firm action against the ‘Council of upstarts’ as he called them. It escaped no one’s attention that between them the two Gauzbert’s presented a formidable threat to not just Aquitaine as a kingdom but to all of West Francia and it seemed that neither was in the mood to do much compromising.
Toulouse was quite the soldier-dubbed ‘the able’ for his high handed but fair administration of his demesne-on accession to his titles he had tamed the often fractious Occitan lords who were his vassals in a most determined manner. He rarely travelled anywhere without full fish-scale armour and a great clanking broadsword that seemed permanently attached to his side. If my Gauzbert was the brains of this particular outfit then this Occitan one was certainly the muscles!
It was in one of their many clandestine meetings, this one attended also by the Chancellor, that the news arrived hotfoot from Melun, the mud spattered royal emissary was ushered in immediately to the audience room where our Duke sat atop his Ducal throne, resplendent in Crimson velvet and wool tunic and long mantle, his coronet, for once atop his brow. His ally Gauzbert of Toulouse stood to his right, Yves de Bordeaux to the left.
Kneeling low the emissary simply held out a vellum scroll-clearly the response from the Council. A servant fetched it to the Duke who read the couple of lines quickly a smile appearing on his handsome features. A nod of dismissal to the messenger and then a passing of the scroll to Toulouse and De Bordeaux who were somewhat less restrained in their expressions of triumph.
Attaboy!
‘Hah! I said that the whoresons would buckle Gauzbert! That milksop Mayor and his “Council” can see the lie of the land. I will away back to my Manors to prepare, for I don’t think that our next proposal will be met with such a lack of backbone. What think you?’
‘Aye my friend but I would that you allow me time enough to strike at Gascogne-I would have my county of Agen returned to my demesne after all these years.’
I was at a loss to work out what this next venture was but I did understand the Duke’s intentions pertinent to Agen. For over a hundred years this County had been lost to Aquitaine and it had been the stated intention of successive Dukes to win it back. The Royal Laws of Authority instituted by Louis II some sixty years previously had expressly forbade his vassals to war on each other but with those laws now in abeyance Aquitaine could once more strike at Gascony.
All was set to preparation during that winter of 942 and throughout 943 with musters called and, troops trained. We all thought that we would launch our armies south in the summer but yet we waited and for what only became clear to me as I was privy to many a Council meet and travelled with my Lord on his trips to Gauzbert of Toulouse’s capital where yet more plotting and planning was effected. It seemed that the next stage of the two Dukes plan of defiance was no less than a demand to change the accession laws of the ancient kingdom of Aquitaine itself to an elective one much as was favoured by our Duke. No one seemed to be in any doubt that such a demand would precipitate war and as such extra preparations were required. Toulouse, as the leader of this faction, had to marshal his own allies and secretly muster his troops. It was a tense and difficult time, my own long-suffering wife seeing hardly sight nor sound of me all year as I remained constantly at my restless Lord’s side.
Our faction is bigger than yours!
Finally as the weather began to turn warmer in 944, presaging the arrival of spring, Aquitaine sent its declaration of war to Duke Sigismond of Gascogne-an act that immediately also drew in Anjou as Sigismond was Duke of that princely territory through his marriage to Adelinde the wise. Our allies Count Alberic of Charolais; our Duchess’s father and Countess Elsebed of Mortain answered the call swelling our army under our Marshal Wulgrin of Angouleme and Ximeno, Count of Bordeaux with Nicolas de Poitou as the other Battle Commander. In answer we were informed that the Angevins were marching to engage us.
A bit more reliable than your daughter thank God...
That April our army set off north and east to hunt down the Angevin power and destroy it. After that it would come south to take on the Gascons. None doubted the mettle of our troops nor the prowess of Wulgrin, now almost completely taken over by his belief that the spirit of our saviour led his every move. It might have been inappropriate in any other setting but all accounts said this made him virtually unbeatable in battle.
We were at repose one evening having just returned from Vespers when, once more, a commotion outside signalled messengers. My Lord was rarely without Yves these days-he was becoming almost as much of a shadow as myself I noted sourly. When they entered there were, unusually, two emissaries. One, judging by his livery, came from our army in the field-the other wore the colours of Toulouse.
‘You sirrah-let us have your news first!’ De Bordeaux had ordered peremptorily addressing Wulgrin’s ambassador. My guess is that what was of greater import was the stern faced messenger from the Duke of Toulouse.
‘My Lord Count Wulgrin sends his greetings, by the grace of God and Jesus Christ, his saviour-‘
‘Cut to the chase man!’ The Chancellor had cut in ‘was it a victory or no?’
Chastened the man gave us the particulars: our army of almost five thousand had tracked then trapped the Angevin one that had been heading south presumably to link up with a similar sized Gascon one massing in Agen. The battle at Cholet, if battle it can be called given they only numbered half ours, resulted in the shattering of that force and the cessation of it as a credible or coherent fighting body.
‘Good enough’ The Duke intoned ‘God has willed us a significant victory-I am confident that Wulgrin will now come south and take the fight to the Gascons-his strategy to take on our enemies piecemeal has been carried out to perfection.’
He then turned to the other man: ‘You sir! What news from my friend of Toulouse?’
This second herald clearly had a message of even greater import for kneeling low he declared in ringing tone: ‘My Lord of Toulouse wishes to bid you prepare, for the fox is loose. He has, this last week, made demand of the King to change the laws of succession for Aquitaine. The Royal Council’s answer has been “let there be war!”’
Gauzbert was visibly shaken by this and stuttered ‘he was supposed to wait..’
The herald responded ‘he could tarry no longer, my lord, for his plotting was discovered. My lord bids warn you that the king has sent a call to aid to his Karling cousins in East Francia, Italy and Middle Francia-all have answered.’
At this Gauzbert paled, ‘so we are at war not only with West Francia but three other kingdoms to boot?’ His hands started to shake as the full import of this began to set in and it was as well that the quick thinking Chancellor ordered the room cleared and steered the Duke to a more private setting.
When there Gauzbert collapsed into a chair, face white with fear. Yves was all purpose, however: ‘your grace, compose yourself-let me recall Wulgrin from the field and send for Bishop Sigismond-our treasury is replete-we must recruit another army, mayhap more than one.’
‘Think you we can win Yves?’ The Duke whispered almost plaintively.
The Chancellor of Aquitaine turned to face his lord, ‘that I cannot say for certes my lord but for that to happen you must be strong for whether you like it or no we are now at war…war with the full might of the Karlings…’
Whatever happened to WAIT?!!!
The Life and Times of Duke Gauzbert II of Aquitaine Part 1, 940-950 AD
Defiance of the Dukes
My name is Gervase Hilaire-I am a humble writer from a famous family of scribes. My great grandfather was the great Lucian Hilaire, the man who chronicled the life and times of Charles the Great himself. My father served as chronicler for no less than six Popes in Rome. It has been my task to present myself to the Dukes of Aquitaine, first coming to the attention of Duke Aldebert and now faithfully serving his son, Gauzbert, second of that name who, like his predecessors, was blessed-or cursed-with a long life.
Hard at work-this is my lot!
I had passed but eight and ten summers that fateful night when his grace, Aldebert, presented me to his son and instructed me to be a faithful accounter and chronicler of his life. The young Duke, then only twenty and one certainly took his father’s instructions to heart. I was to virtually never leave his side in the long years that followed, observing his every move, eating at his table, observing his councils, great and small and sleeping on a pallet at the foot of his bed. The only times I was not his ever present companion was when he demanded the marriage debt from his wives. They even called me l’ombre for such I was and where my lord went so did I, much to my long suffering wife’s despair.
‘It is service woman!’ I had snapped once, at my wits end at her constant moaning, ‘and none is more fitting-besides it puts food on the table so cease your grinching!’
But what did I make of my Lord? That freezing January in the year of our Lord 940 found him not wanting: he was a lord well suited to whispers in the shadows, like several of his forebears-more attuned to rumour and secrecy than the brouhaha of the tourney or the savagery of war. Not once, during the many years that I served him, did he strap on his great long sword, don his fish-scale armour and lead his levies to war. Some said he was craven but his pronouncement to me one day was simple enough: ‘let my commanders make war for they are well suited to it! I will be ever their guiding hand and perform the deeds that I do best!’
As slippery as an eel...
No one argued for how could they? He was the pre-eminent lord in the realm and even at just twenty-one a force to be reckoned with thanks to his father, holding as he did the titles of not one but three Duchies. It was said that the royal council, holding sway over the infant king and his mother in Paris looked west with jaundiced eye and liked not my lord’s prestige and influence.
The first task at hand was to confirm places in the new Ducal Council as some of those that had served him as Count were not up to the jobs that encompassed many Counties rather than one. Luckily for him those who had served his father were content to so serve the son and so persuaded to stay on as Chancellor was Yves de Bordeaux, lowborn but steeped in the ways of diplomacy and well versed in the machinery of state. Also lowborn was Adalbert de Bonaguil, the new Master of Secrets and High Almoner, a skilled and effective agent and the son of the old Duke’s Spymaster. The new Lord Marshal and Master of the Horse was to be the warlike Count Wulgrin of Angoulême-a man who had served the previous Duke loyally as one of his premier generals. Bishop Sigismond of Charroux had been the Court Chaplain but was now assigned to the post of Steward and despatched immediately to collect tithes in all the Ducal counties-the treasury was full but my lord would fain have it fuller in keeping with his avaricious nature. The new Ducal Chaplain was to be the scholarly Bishop Hildebert of St Jean-d’Angély. These were learned and respected men who esteemed their new lord well enough-and well they might for their fortunes were now in lock-step to his own. His elder brother, that grizzled paladin, Nicolas de Poitou was confirmed as a Commander of Aquitaine and also Gauzbert’s heir-a position he was well pleased with.
They will do by God!
That first Council meeting was an opportunity for our Duke to get the measure of the men with whom he was entrusting the running of his vasty demesne:
‘My lord of Angouleme-you will be my trusty sword and shield-your first undertaking to raise up a host and chase the invading Saracen from our lands.’
‘It shall be done mon duc-by Christ on his cross it shall be done!’ The warrior Marshal had growled passionately. He was known already as a fearsome soldier, infused with martial valour and a religious fervour that some said bordered on madness. No matter he was the right man in the right place at the right time.
‘And what of the succession your Grace?’ This from Adalbert-he was fretting already about plots in many places and though the lords of the three Duchies were, for the moment, content with Nicolas de Poitou as heir it had escaped no one’s attention that he was much older than Gauzbert.
The emollient Bishop Hildebert added solicitously, ‘indeed-how fares your lady wife, the Duchess, my lord?’
It was a sore topic for though that proud woman had borne my master two fair twin daughters it was a scant secret that she too, like our lord’s sister Melisande, preferred the company of women and being with the Duke most hours of the day I knew that his visits to collect the marriage debt were few and far between. There was no love lost between the two and despite her obvious comeliness she was secretive and contrary and had shown with her seduction of many a gentleman’s lady that she was also grasping and full of envy.
She likes not my manhood <sob!>
‘My lady Petronilla fares most well my lord bishop,’ the Duke had shot back icily, ‘I will make sure that she is apprised of your concern.’ A short pause and then: ‘and mayhap your Grace you will be most meet to hie you up to Léon to spread the word to the uncultured Bretons there-what think you?’
The good bishop could not, of course, refuse and with that rejoinder the main affairs of that first Great Council were brought to a swift conclusion. The lesson for all was that you played games with our lord at your peril for he would always have the last word-always.
During that long, hot summer we travelled with the Duke as he went on a tour of all his lands…once Wulgrin had driven two infidel armies far to the east. With the immediate danger removed it was left to Count Ximeno of Bordeaux, Count Onfroy of Thouars and Nicolas de Poitou to run them to ground in Auxerre. They were engaged finally in November at the battle of Pontigny where fifteen hundred fanatics-how else explain their continued presence far in god-fearing Christian territory-met our two thousand in battle. They sold themselves dear accounting for over six hundred of our number before retreating from the field with barely the same number of their own remaining. Strange rumours reached us of their centre and right battles being manned entirely-with Bulgarian Mercenaries. What devilry my lord had exclaimed on reading the various missives that recounted these happenings. Yet mayhap it was God’s judgement on these routiers that it was their flanks that collapsed first.
Get thee gone infidel scum!
In the meantime we continued along our way, travelling first south to hot and arid Bordeaux with its vineyards without measure, crossing the mighty Dordogne to the east and north into Angoulême and Perigord, keeping the great forests and hills of La Marche to our east. North we went as the days lengthened, through Lusignan and the Ducal demesne of Poitiers finally turning due north west and to the welcome and cooling sea breezes as we finally approached the coast on the west side of Thouars. We tarried awhile there-at the welcome of Count Onfroy’s good lady-a bustling and friendly woman. In September we turned north, crossing the imposing Loire into Bretagne where our reception was, like the climate, noticeably cooler: no adoring crowds here come to cheer their Duke-mainly sullen faces and blank stares but if it worried my lord it showed not a whit, though I did notice his personal guard rode much closer to him and all wore the permanent frown of those who were expecting something bad to happen at any moment.
We did not tarry long in those inhospitable lands and it made me wonder at those Frankish and Occitan Lords that had been tasked with subjugating those fractious peoples. With their families and with Frankish might they had set to the task and it is a measure, I suppose, of their effectiveness that since that fateful day when my own lords forebear Ramnulf II had taken Nantes there had not been one single revolt in any of our newly acquired Breton lands.
‘They fear Frankish wrath more than they love their desire for freedom’ the Duke had opined one starry night as we finally made our way south to Saintes, huddled round a fire as we all were, for it was October now and though the days were still pleasantly warm, the nights had a bite that presaged the coming change of seasons.
‘True my lord but mayhap it is not the peasants that you should be afeared of…’ the Captain of his personal guard muttered, ‘I have heard that there are those closer to home who would wrest the Duchy of Bretagne from you…’
‘I have heard so too Tancred,’ my lord responded smoothly, ‘and that is the reason that my Master of Spies, Adalbert de Bonaguil is in such constant employ!’ He guffawed at his own levity and we had to, perforce, also laugh uproariously at this half jest and as we excused ourselves and made to our billets I caught a look on the duke’s face that bespoke a rather more serious aspect to all this: Bretagne and the lords scheming to take it were to be a constant thorn in his side throughout his long life.
It was late October when we finally saw, again, the magnificent walled city of Saintes and the gleaming castle atop its hill within the town-it was a most welcome sight! We were greeted by the Castellan and the Duke’s Steward, Bishop Hildebert: they looked worried.
‘My Lord Duke-there is a delegation here from the good Burghers of Châtellerault. They caught word of your return.’
Gauzbert, a good rider, was nonetheless shattered by the trip-we had been virtually constantly in the saddle for the best part of five months. I could tell from his countenance that he had not the patience for this.
‘And?’ Was the pointed response.
‘They are here…erm, they feel the city taxes are too high my lord-‘
‘I presume you jest my lord bishop, disturbing me on my return with such arrant nonsense. You are my Steward- now unless you want a treasury much less well stocked you had best send them packing-such insolence as this is not to be countenanced! Away sir-do not trouble me again with such matters if you value your employ!
The cheek!!
And that was that. The Castellan: a burly, ageing man, had altogether more amenable matters that needed but the nod of my master: a man who claimed to be a lord had come to the castle these last few days. Should he be turfed out?
‘No Sigbert let him stay-tell him that he has pricked my better nature.’
You see-I do have a heart!
And with that we were finally home-my lord entering within and calling for his twin daughters…and a bath!
The next year was particularly uneventful save for our Duke agreeing that his brother Nicolas could remarry-nay he would find his heir a good match, Gauzbert had promised. And in the spring the last Muslims were finally expelled-Ximeno had pursued them all the way to Arras in the low countries.
The year of our lord 942 AD found yet another Pope enthroned-this one, Annichus II was no more interested in uniting his Christian flock against the Saracen defiler than his predecessor it would seem-most unseemly the Duke had opined-and yet he was in no position to act, not whilst he was merely a Duke. But mayhap there would be opportunity to change that he had said in close compact, one afternoon in his solar with the recently returned Chancellor, Yves de Bordeaux. When together these two were thick as thieves…
‘I have heard, My Lord that Toulouse may well be pushing to force our infant king into accepting an elective system for choosing the Kings of Aquitaine…’
‘Really? Tell me more Yves.’
‘Yes I have some contacts in the Toulouse court who attest to that-he has some minor lords in his sway already-if you were to come on board…’
‘Jesu!’ Gauzbert exclaimed-but we would need to be strong-he would surely be able to call on all his Karling kin for succour.’ I could see the Duke turning it all over and over in his mind’s eye, ‘sound them out Yves and in the meantime let’s test the mettle of this Regency Council shall we? Yes…I think that mayhap later in the year I will request a pegging back of the royal privileges that were afforded to his great grandfather-let us see how they respond eh?’
Yves de Bonaguil appraised his Lord with wonder and no little awe, ‘oh expertly done mon duc-this will either let you know that they feel they can stand against you and if not you will, at last have the wherewithal to force Agen back into our demesne! I like this plan!’
The Duke, looking pleased with himself, clapped his Chancellor on the back and called for spiced wine for we were still in the early days of spring and there was some snow round about. For my part I could only wonder too at the brazenness of a lord who was yet set on a course to defy his king.
‘And in the meantime, Yves, I must perforce find my ageing brother a new bride-it seems he has not been content to settle for a maid from Hispania who became Queen, has his heart set on an Occitan beauty-like my wife-hah!’
Clearly you are a sucker for punishment brother!
It was clear from his countenance that the Chancellor was unsure whether to join in this seeming japery for all knew relations between our lord and his lady were difficult to say the least. He opted for carefully placed sympathy: ‘Indeed your Grace but it must be hard indeed to be in permanent exile from his own children-the princes and princesses-nay hostages of the Kingdom of Galicia…’
At this Gauzbert’s demeanour changed-the jesting gone, ‘true true Yves-he has been a most loyal brother, uncomplaining of his lot-come let us consider who we can match him up with so that he can get more heirs and this time Frankish ones.’
And so they went on-it was a most close alliance, some would say even friendship between these two: the highborn lord and his lowborn Chancellor and though, in this case, they were concerned with the Duke’s brother and his heirs it was the Duchess who was the subject of such talk when it was announced, in March, that she was with child.
Please God grant me a son!
‘Finally I may have a son!’ The Duke had exclaimed to me, his eyes shining fervently on hearing the news but it was not to be as in October, once more, a daughter was born to the disappointed couple. My lord was not interested in the naming, such was his ill humour-she was named Solène, after Petronilla’s great grandmother.
Whether the two matters were related I know not but it was not long after this that the Duke announced that, having been injured in the tiltyard, practicing at matters of war he would no more take up his sword and armour. There were whispers all around the Ducal court that their lord was craven and whilst if I ever heard servants or scullions say it I would admonish them roundly I could not but wonder…
I am a lover not a fighter...honest
As November arrived with its usual chill and gloom the Duke answered these whispers with an audacious letter addressed to the Royal Council. As his official chronicler it had fallen to me to audit the letter to see it was written suitably prior to its despatch. It read as thus:
To the Royal Council and Guardians of our Liege Charles IV
November 7 the year of our lord 942
For too long have we, your barons, laboured under a burdensome yoke; that of royal prerogatives and authorities willingly given in the past and dispensed with fairly and justly by our present King’s forebears.
We take issue now however with those self-same prerogatives being exercised on behalf of our infant king by men of no great standing and lowborn history.
These prerogatives include being at liberty to pursue our own territorial wars and battles without censure or hindrance from the crown but there are many more that our lawyers shall make available to you presently.
As the pre-eminent Lord of the realm I Gauzbert II, Duke of Aquitaine, Poitiers and Bretagne have taken responsibility to now demand back such prerogatives and to exercise them until such time as the King reaches his majority.
As you will see from the undersigned I have amassed considerable support for this proclamation-we do not expect a declination of our proposal, indeed any such would, of necessity, have to be met with armed resistance-we are fully ready to protect our ancient baronial rights.
Your faithful servant always
Gauzbertius II, Dux
It was an ominous declaration of intent by the Duke and his allies-many of the highest born lords in the realm.
‘Let’s test the mettle of this hellspawn mayor, Henri d’Aubusson!’ My lord had declared brashly to a meeting of some of his co-conspirators. The Lord of Toulouse, also called Duke Gauzbert, was, I noted, amongst those pressing for firm action against the ‘Council of upstarts’ as he called them. It escaped no one’s attention that between them the two Gauzbert’s presented a formidable threat to not just Aquitaine as a kingdom but to all of West Francia and it seemed that neither was in the mood to do much compromising.
Toulouse was quite the soldier-dubbed ‘the able’ for his high handed but fair administration of his demesne-on accession to his titles he had tamed the often fractious Occitan lords who were his vassals in a most determined manner. He rarely travelled anywhere without full fish-scale armour and a great clanking broadsword that seemed permanently attached to his side. If my Gauzbert was the brains of this particular outfit then this Occitan one was certainly the muscles!
It was in one of their many clandestine meetings, this one attended also by the Chancellor, that the news arrived hotfoot from Melun, the mud spattered royal emissary was ushered in immediately to the audience room where our Duke sat atop his Ducal throne, resplendent in Crimson velvet and wool tunic and long mantle, his coronet, for once atop his brow. His ally Gauzbert of Toulouse stood to his right, Yves de Bordeaux to the left.
Kneeling low the emissary simply held out a vellum scroll-clearly the response from the Council. A servant fetched it to the Duke who read the couple of lines quickly a smile appearing on his handsome features. A nod of dismissal to the messenger and then a passing of the scroll to Toulouse and De Bordeaux who were somewhat less restrained in their expressions of triumph.
Attaboy!
‘Hah! I said that the whoresons would buckle Gauzbert! That milksop Mayor and his “Council” can see the lie of the land. I will away back to my Manors to prepare, for I don’t think that our next proposal will be met with such a lack of backbone. What think you?’
‘Aye my friend but I would that you allow me time enough to strike at Gascogne-I would have my county of Agen returned to my demesne after all these years.’
I was at a loss to work out what this next venture was but I did understand the Duke’s intentions pertinent to Agen. For over a hundred years this County had been lost to Aquitaine and it had been the stated intention of successive Dukes to win it back. The Royal Laws of Authority instituted by Louis II some sixty years previously had expressly forbade his vassals to war on each other but with those laws now in abeyance Aquitaine could once more strike at Gascony.
All was set to preparation during that winter of 942 and throughout 943 with musters called and, troops trained. We all thought that we would launch our armies south in the summer but yet we waited and for what only became clear to me as I was privy to many a Council meet and travelled with my Lord on his trips to Gauzbert of Toulouse’s capital where yet more plotting and planning was effected. It seemed that the next stage of the two Dukes plan of defiance was no less than a demand to change the accession laws of the ancient kingdom of Aquitaine itself to an elective one much as was favoured by our Duke. No one seemed to be in any doubt that such a demand would precipitate war and as such extra preparations were required. Toulouse, as the leader of this faction, had to marshal his own allies and secretly muster his troops. It was a tense and difficult time, my own long-suffering wife seeing hardly sight nor sound of me all year as I remained constantly at my restless Lord’s side.
Our faction is bigger than yours!
Finally as the weather began to turn warmer in 944, presaging the arrival of spring, Aquitaine sent its declaration of war to Duke Sigismond of Gascogne-an act that immediately also drew in Anjou as Sigismond was Duke of that princely territory through his marriage to Adelinde the wise. Our allies Count Alberic of Charolais; our Duchess’s father and Countess Elsebed of Mortain answered the call swelling our army under our Marshal Wulgrin of Angouleme and Ximeno, Count of Bordeaux with Nicolas de Poitou as the other Battle Commander. In answer we were informed that the Angevins were marching to engage us.
A bit more reliable than your daughter thank God...
That April our army set off north and east to hunt down the Angevin power and destroy it. After that it would come south to take on the Gascons. None doubted the mettle of our troops nor the prowess of Wulgrin, now almost completely taken over by his belief that the spirit of our saviour led his every move. It might have been inappropriate in any other setting but all accounts said this made him virtually unbeatable in battle.
We were at repose one evening having just returned from Vespers when, once more, a commotion outside signalled messengers. My Lord was rarely without Yves these days-he was becoming almost as much of a shadow as myself I noted sourly. When they entered there were, unusually, two emissaries. One, judging by his livery, came from our army in the field-the other wore the colours of Toulouse.
‘You sirrah-let us have your news first!’ De Bordeaux had ordered peremptorily addressing Wulgrin’s ambassador. My guess is that what was of greater import was the stern faced messenger from the Duke of Toulouse.
‘My Lord Count Wulgrin sends his greetings, by the grace of God and Jesus Christ, his saviour-‘
‘Cut to the chase man!’ The Chancellor had cut in ‘was it a victory or no?’
Chastened the man gave us the particulars: our army of almost five thousand had tracked then trapped the Angevin one that had been heading south presumably to link up with a similar sized Gascon one massing in Agen. The battle at Cholet, if battle it can be called given they only numbered half ours, resulted in the shattering of that force and the cessation of it as a credible or coherent fighting body.
‘Good enough’ The Duke intoned ‘God has willed us a significant victory-I am confident that Wulgrin will now come south and take the fight to the Gascons-his strategy to take on our enemies piecemeal has been carried out to perfection.’
He then turned to the other man: ‘You sir! What news from my friend of Toulouse?’
This second herald clearly had a message of even greater import for kneeling low he declared in ringing tone: ‘My Lord of Toulouse wishes to bid you prepare, for the fox is loose. He has, this last week, made demand of the King to change the laws of succession for Aquitaine. The Royal Council’s answer has been “let there be war!”’
Gauzbert was visibly shaken by this and stuttered ‘he was supposed to wait..’
The herald responded ‘he could tarry no longer, my lord, for his plotting was discovered. My lord bids warn you that the king has sent a call to aid to his Karling cousins in East Francia, Italy and Middle Francia-all have answered.’
At this Gauzbert paled, ‘so we are at war not only with West Francia but three other kingdoms to boot?’ His hands started to shake as the full import of this began to set in and it was as well that the quick thinking Chancellor ordered the room cleared and steered the Duke to a more private setting.
When there Gauzbert collapsed into a chair, face white with fear. Yves was all purpose, however: ‘your grace, compose yourself-let me recall Wulgrin from the field and send for Bishop Sigismond-our treasury is replete-we must recruit another army, mayhap more than one.’
‘Think you we can win Yves?’ The Duke whispered almost plaintively.
The Chancellor of Aquitaine turned to face his lord, ‘that I cannot say for certes my lord but for that to happen you must be strong for whether you like it or no we are now at war…war with the full might of the Karlings…’
Whatever happened to WAIT?!!!
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Dammit, man! you made me stop writing an essay titled "To what extent were the motives and methods of Somerset + Northumberland in Government similar?" in order to read this. Still great chapter, here's hoping that you force elective sucession on France, despite being dragged into the war by your leige.
Still great chapter, here's hoping that you force elective sucession on France, despite being dragged into the war by your leige.
Haha-I make no apologies for that Saxon heh. Somerset and Northumberland? Which era are you writing about?Dammit, man! you made me stop writing an essay titled "To what extent were the motives and methods of Somerset + Northumberland in Government similar?" in order to read this.
Re my game-well my 'liege' is now the Duke of Toulouse as faction leader so wait and see how it pans out....thanks for the feedback as always
So the die is cast, and Francia is now wracked in civil war. It seems that the two Gauzberts must now either prevail or perish.
I'm liking the outside perspective that Gervase is providing for this chapter. Having him around to speculate really helps to build up a sense of mystery around Gauzbert's plans and intrigues that we might not get if we were peeking inside his head.
I'm liking the outside perspective that Gervase is providing for this chapter. Having him around to speculate really helps to build up a sense of mystery around Gauzbert's plans and intrigues that we might not get if we were peeking inside his head.
Ah, a Great War cometh !
Will all the Karlings band together ? Probably. Will they do battle bravely ? Perhaps. But Gauzbert II of Aquitaine shall fight even more bravely ! Right ?
Will all the Karlings band together ? Probably. Will they do battle bravely ? Perhaps. But Gauzbert II of Aquitaine shall fight even more bravely ! Right ?
Thanks so much Specialist I have been casting around looking for a narrative style that I can truly be at ease with and seem to have alighted on one so think I will continue in the main like this.
Thanks Fabio we will see-will try and get the next post out in next couple of weeks. I am painfully aware that I am posting far too slowly...life eh?
Chapter 17
The Life and Times of Duke Gauzbert II of Aquitaine Part 2, 940-950 AD
The Drumbeat of War
Throughout the summer of 944 AD West Francia echoed to the drumbeat of war-its territorial landmass effectively split in half by the defiance of the two Gauzberts such was extent of the domains that both possessed. Moreover so weakened was the State by its endless warring with the Saracen, recently expelled, once more from the Baleares, that no Royal Army of any great note could be mustered. It was to be left to the King’s remaining loyal barons to contest our demands.
Oops we appear to have broken our shiny toy...
Wulgrin immediately concentrated his forces with those of Toulouse, himself marching hotfoot from his own lands to the East of Gascogne, where he continued to take the fight to Duke Sigismond, now in his capacity as a loyal defender of crown rights-what irony! It was his father who had not ten years earlier rebelled, most foully, against this King’s father! A combined army of no less than ten thousand men laid waste to Gascon lands whilst the royal council fretted safe many miles to the north.
‘But it is not West Francia I fear!’ Gauzbert had whined to any who would listen, one sweltering August day, by the banks of the Charente, where his Ducal party had fled to escape the airless castle. ‘It is the wrath of our boy king’s Karling cousins…’
Ever one to pour cooling balm on troubled waters Yves de Bordeaux quickly interjected, ‘but your grace we have news that Middle Francia is even now embroiled in putting down a major revolt-I would doubt that our enemies will receive any succour from there-not at this time at any rate.’
‘That may be so Yves but that still leaves East Francia and Italy in play no? Either one of these could send armies to easily crush us…’
The urbane, smooth, Bishop of St Jean d’Angély intoned ‘the good lord will provide your grace-see if he doesn’t.’
Barely disguising a snort of derision, my lord merely rejoined with the comment ‘well I wish he would provide us with the wherewithal to hire or recruit more soldiery my good bishop or we will soon find ourselves caught between the royal anvil and a Karling hammer-come let’s to some shade I am verily broiling in this sun!’
And he was correct though, as our Steward Bishop Sigismond kept reminding his Duke, the treasury was stock full even with the purchase and upkeep of two thousand Routiers to swell Wulgrin’s power.
LOADSA MONEY!!!!
‘We have coin for another few years yet my Lord-never fear! The Lord is providing in tax revenue for certes!’
As summer turned to autumn and then to winter no significant royal army materialised and no succour came to the king from his kin either. To that end Gascogne was brought to heel by the Spring of 945. We all began to breathe a little easier and military patrols of the surrounding countryside were gradually lessened.
That autumn we were the beneficiaries of a visit by none other than Gauzbert of Toulouse himself-come hotfoot, it seemed from Limousin, where he was attacking our Duke’s kinsman-a loyalist.
My Lord had been in his solar discussing with Bishop Sigismond ever more inventive ways that he could add to the Ducal treasury, still standing at well over a thousand pounds of gold, when he had been appraised of the illustrious arrival. He hurried outside to greet a man who nominally was the lesser lord but whose martial exploits had elevated him to a position that towered over his ally and partner.
‘Well met Gauzbert!’ Toulouse had cried flinging his bridle to a stable hand and ordering wine and food for his retainers, ‘I have come hotfoot from Limousin-your own cousin’s lands-ha!’ And with that he had clapped a brawny arm around his younger namesake’s shoulders and led him inside.
Once cooling wine and wafers had been fetched Toulouse outlined the latest goings on in the field: it seemed that he had despatched Wulgrin with our army north to Paris. At their time of parting we still had over four thousand men under arms-an experienced and formidable fighting force. If Gauzbert of Aquitaine was affronted that his own Marshal was taking orders from another Duke he did not let it show, patiently hearing Toulouse out. The plan now was to bring the King and his Council to heel by attacking them in their own domains-bold and risky.
‘I see.’ Our Duke had opined, his jaw set, ‘but why split your army? Surely that is a risky stratagem?’
The other Duke assessed his counterpart as he might a child. ‘You sirrah-fetch me a map so that I can more easily explain the ways of war to your master!’ This to me! Rather than acceding to this peremptory demand I gave the nod to one of the many scullions near at hand who scurried away and was back hastily with a large leather-bound roll under his scrawny arms.
‘Now see here Gauzbert-this is where we attack Limousin-he will not stand but it also allows me to move quickly to the south and east should the King of Italy decide to intercede and send an army to the aid of his Karling kin!’
‘Ahhh I see now-a clever ruse my lord.’
Toulouse was looking more than a bit pleased with himself, ‘and should the need arise you are well placed here to send us reinforcements seeing as your treasury is so well stocked-ha!’ And with that another clap on the shoulder, a deep guffaw that seemed to start at his feet and then he turned on his heel, sword clanking against his armour and he was gone, calling for a bath, wine and more food. It was a wonder that the servants didn’t reckon that their own Duke had been usurped by this swaggering one such was his effrontery.
The rest of that year of 945 and throughout the following one, the Council in Paris learnt what it was for the depravations of war to be brought to their very doorstep as Wulgrin pursued a strategy of siege warfare in the capital’s very environs. Melun was first to fall in March of 946 prompting the headlong flight, from the palace, of both the Council and Royal Family-it was said that such was the speed of our Marshal’s arrival that the Queen Mother and her aides barely had time to gather up the essentials as well as the frightened seven year old king. Paris fell in the hot, dusty July of that year-Parisians wondering at these warlike Aquitainians, Poitevins and brutish Bretons that had appeared suddenly in their midst. There was no general sack of the city, though, as strict orders had been issued by their devout general as he moved to invest the town and castle before turning his attention to the neighbouring parish of Saint Denis.
Back in Saintes we received each piece of good news with quiet determination for none knew better than my scheming master how quickly fortune’s wheel might turn-always Gauzbert of Aquitaine looked fearfully to the east, watching and waiting for word that the Kingdoms of Italy or Middle Francia had joined the fray.
So it was with some astonishment that, as we had just finished celebrating the Feast of St Riquier in the dog days of April, we received stunning news from Anjou. Yves de Bordeaux had not been well these last few months-a worry to my lord-so the news was brought by his Spymaster, Adalbert- recently appointed bishop of Chancelade.
‘I have so many men of the cloth in my Council that some are dubbing me “his holiness”’ the Duke had confided to me one afternoon laughing. It was nice to share a moment of levity with him so pressing were the times.
‘Well met your grace the Duke had hailed his newest bishop, ‘In all these years I had not reckoned that you coveted a bishop’s mitre Adalbert’ the Duke had laughed. ‘What news?’
The smooth and urbane spymaster was nonetheless looking somewhat flustered-unusual.
‘There are-ahem-certain advantages that may be gained from turning to the ways of God mon duc. As for my news, your grace may wish to be seated to hear this. For certes I do.’
The solicitous Gauzbert ushered him over to a seat beside him at the solar great table-at the same time he called for cooling wine.
‘Come speak sir-what news is it that discomforts you so?’
Adalbert then told us the whole tangled tale: ‘My lord it would seem that your father’s friend, though not yours, Adelinde of Anjou, has herself declared war on the King…’
Well well well...
The duke spat out his wine, truly stunned. ‘Adelinde? Whose husband, Sigismond of Gascogne, was one of the King’s most loyal stalwarts until we bested him? On what pretext?’
The Bishop, now more composed after taking a long, deep draught of wine, muttered ‘I was as shocked as yourself your grace-she is pressing the claim of one of her relatives-a lesser lord from East Francia and grandson of Louis the German, Count Dietwin of Forez-it would seem, that your attacks on the royal personage have made some of his Lords and Ladies most bold indeed…’
My Master sat thoughtfully mulling this new set of affairs over in his bright and calculating mind. I always did wonder, then, whether he was considering that he had maybe backed the wrong side-after all a win for his faction merely set things up for either he or his successors to be elected to the Royal Throne of Aquitaine-should he have tried for independence himself? At last he merely said ‘very well-it brings her in on our side effectively-the war goes on.’
And on it went but even with so much of his kingdom effectively in revolt against him all we received from the Royal Court, now based in Flanders, was continued defiance.
Throughout the summer of 947 Wulgrin won several set piece battles against desperately cobbled together armies but on each occasion, Comborn, Blois and Orléans, the enemy force numbered no more than one third of ours with predictable results. It would seem that concentrating their powers and fighting as one was beyond the fractured and quarrelsome lords that still counted themselves loyal to the king.
These weaknesses were further exposed in September, when the Count of Troyes, himself one of the more influential of the lesser lords declared war on the king to press his ally, King Markward of Bavaria’s claim on the kingdom. With him went the counties of Nevers, Reims, Sens and Auxerre-a significant bloc in the North East of the Kingdom. By the spring of 948 we held Agen, Armagnac, La Marche, Limousin and Paris but even with the kingdom tearing itself apart no word of surrender came from the Council. Even the welcome news that Italy was embroiled in a major peasants revolt did little to dispel the air of gloom that had settled upon my master and his countenance soured further when, in October, Adalbert brought grim news that his two premier battle commanders, namely Counts Wulgrin and Ximeno were heavily involved in factions that wanted, for themselves, the Duchy of Aquitaine..
That'll keep them occupied...for now
I reward these men and this is what I get!!
‘My two most able generals you say? Perfidious treachery!’ The Duke had banged his fist on the table where he was sat-it was one of the few occasions that I can remember seeing him truly wroth-a trait that his forebears had possessed in full measure. When he had finished pacing and muttering he turned to his spymaster, ‘what think you should I do?’ It escaped none of us that they were in command of our army and may not be easily discouraged.
‘My Lord I would seek the counsel of your Chancellor too in this matter for I know how much you do value his advice but as you know…’
‘my cousin is grievously ill-not like to last the month…I know your grace and my heart is heavy for it. What think you I should do my lord bishop?’
The cleric looked thoughtful then opined that he could ‘dissuade’ Ximeno-he had some leverage there that he could bring to bear. Wulgrin, however, coveted Aquitaine and firmly believed that the Good Lord Jesus wanted him to have it. Sterner measures would need to be taken there…
‘Sterner measures? What sterner measures can I take think you? The man controls my army and is the foremost battle commander in the realm even if moon mad!’
A shuffling figure bent double and walking with a stick entered the solar and stopped for a moment as it was wracked by a hacking, rattling cough. It was with a start that I recognised our erstwhile Chancellor.
‘True my lord but you are the Duke of Aquitaine, Poitiers and Bretagne-the authority is with you. Face him up-go arrest him in person’ the apparition croaked.
‘Yves!’ Gauzbert cried moving quickly to help his friend and Chancellor to a seat by the table. I had not seen the man in many months and what I saw convinced me that he was at death’s door.
‘You should not have come cousin’ the duke reproached his friend. It was rare that he acknowledged their shared blood for he was the bastard grandson of my master’s Great Uncle Gauzbert, his namesake. That he did was both touching and in some way a marker of an impending passing.
‘Aye I know my lord but Adalbert has the right of it. Take a strong escort and ride north to arrest Wulgrin in person-it is the only way. If Ximeno acts as we think he should, make him the new Marshal-he is as respected as Wulgrin, if not as feared.’
Gauzbert had regarded his kinsman, confidante and ally with moist eyes and said simply ‘thank you my friend-it was the last time they would speak for we set off on the road north within days and Yves de Bordeaux finally died of consumption the following week.
News reached us of his death even as we had sent orders to our army in the field to halt their advance on Compiègne as their Duke was bringing them substantial reinforcements. We had ridden with two thousand men of the Irish Band, newly recruited with Aquitainian gold-a boon to the war-weary army but also a sufficient number to focus the minds of any who might contest the actions that must perforce be carried out.
The two powers met before the walls of Lacroix Saint-Ouen-a village, by the river Oise, which had been invested by Wulgrin some weeks previously. I had been much afeared as a meeting was arranged between my master and the Commanders of his army that included Captain Bertrand of the Swiss Company, the Duke’s brother, the ever-dependable Nicolas, and the two recalcitrant Counts.
If any suspicion was raised at the large numbers of retainers and bodyguards ringing the manor house where the Commanders meet was to be held, none raised it. For my part all I could hear was the thudding of my heart against my chest-the Duke looked a picture of studied calm.
As it was late October and the nights already cool and evening was drawing in there was a hearty fire crackling in the hearth. Ximeno was first in, flanked by Nicolas. Some minutes later came the Mercenary Commanders-the tidy looking Swiss Commander contrasted by his Irish counterpart, all braes and furs. Finally a twitchy looking Wulgrin arrived, clutching tightly an over large crucifix that hung on his chest before his hauberk. He looked no less impressive for his massive bushy grey beard and piercing staring eyes.
‘Well met my friends.’ The duke began ‘for certes you will welcome the fresh soldiery that has been recruited with the gold of three duchies.’
Nicolas, who had been apprised of what was to happen, moved imperceptibly closer to his general, hand tight on the sword at his side.
It was Wulgrin who answered: ‘we do indeed welcome this boon mon duc. Jesus has truly answered our prayers for we have been hearing word that the royal forces have finally concentrated off to our east and is reckoned to number well over four thousand..’
‘Indeed my lord.’ Gauzbert rejoined, ‘and I wonder, also, whether our saviour also condones plotting and treachery?’
Silence.
‘Come sir-answer me?’ Duke Gauzbert ordered his voice rising menacingly. From Wulgrin there was at first confusion emanating from those beady eyes, then defiance. Quick as flash his hand dropped to the broadsword that he could wield with such ruthless efficiency on the field of battle, but before he could get it even half out he was apprehended by, first Nicolas, then the Ducal bodyguards who, on a signal, had come rushing into the room. The protesting count was quickly relieved of his weapons and forced to his knees before his liege lord.
Spitting his rebellion the Count of Angouleme cried ‘you can chain me my lord but it is god’s will that I have Aquitaine-GOD’S WILL I SAY!!!’
‘Get him gone from my sight-and gag him! He will have much to ponder on the long ride back to our dungeons at Saintes!’ Gauzbert who was trembling, now turned to Ximeno of Bordeaux, ‘My lord I trust that you understand the responsibilities that I entrust to you and that there will be no more foolish dalliances with factions inimical to our cause?’
Ximeno now also knelt ‘I swear it your grace-on Christ’s cross’
Gauzbert at last smiled, relaxing visibly, ‘I am sure that would be more your predecessor’s style Ximeno-no that will not be necessary. Take up the reins and do us all proud.’
Let's see how much bleating you can do from there!
Three months later, the day after the Feast of St Paul on the 11th January 949, two armies clashed on the plains before Compiègne. Our army had the slight advantage in numbers but the battle was hard fought nonetheless and turned on the buckling of their right flank, no longer able to withstand the relentless assaults by the heavily armed Swiss Company. With their right battle gone the pressure in the centre and on the left became intolerable and a general collapse and rout ensued. At final tally the royalists had lost almost four thousand of their number to our fifteen hundred. It was effectively the last throw of the dice for the king…and we had won.
A mighty battle was fought...and we won...just saying
But yet no surrender came from the king.
As the year 949 stretched into 950 and the Duke could see the reduction of his treasury, down to just five hundred pounds of gold by the summer, his countenance became strained. He ordered Wulgrin cast into the Oubliette-some would say an act of needless cruelty-others maybe a way to vent his frustrations for at the same time he ordered his cousin Jacques, Count of conquered Limousin moved to more comfortable surroundings with a perfunctory guard.
I SAID SHUT UP!
Yet another Pope came and went, Pope Benedict IV succeeded by Pope Martinus but whether this new one would be any more invested in the calamity unfolding in Hispania was anyone’s guess. Even the news that the siege of Compiègne had been finally won that June did little to dispel the gloom that had descended on all of us in Saintes. For my own part the one morsel of brightness in that dreary summer was the boon of a son granted to myself and my long suffering wife. We named the child Gilbert after my maternal grandsire.
As summer wore on and we endured a breathless August, word reached us of the death of the Duke’s drooling simpleton brother and then two more battles in quick succession, at Étampes and Gien, must surely have persuaded the Royal Council that further defiance was futile? The new Chancellor, Mayor Godefroi of Carhaix advised that Duchess Amèlie of Burgundy had died in Charles’s dungeons-she was the daughter of old King Louis II and had been ill handled by the royal party after she had rebelled. The Duke had not heeded these tidings at the time but that insouciance was to return to haunt him with a vengeance when, out hunting one early October day we were intercepted by messengers from the Chancellor bidding us return with all haste to the castle.
On return we arrived to a scene of pandemonium-various messengers had arrived, some, I noted with unease, bearing the insignia of the Royal Kingdom of Aquitaine. Why had the king sent messengers and why were they not wearing the customary Fleur de Lys on blue?
My lord must have thought the same for he upbraided one such in peremptory fashion: ‘you sirrah! What news from the King and why this strange, unused, livery? I trust that you have come to finally discuss terms for your surrender?’
The Herald, not cowed or awed one jot retorted at once ‘I am come from the King indeed my lord Duke-the new King of Aquitaine: King Onfroy, first of his name. I come to receive your fealty in age old custom…’
I could see the wheels turning in the Duke’s mind as he tried to digest what he had just been told, ‘Onfroy? Do you mean Duchess Amèlie’s whelp? King did you say?’
The Herald turned cool eyes upon the Duke, ‘I did indeed say kingand you would do well to maintain some respect for your new liege lord-he is after all, grandson of Louis II of West Francia and to that end has a far better claim to Aquitaine through his mother than the current King of West Francia.’
The unctuous man continued before the wide-eyed Duke: ‘furthermore my liege bids you his grateful thanks for weakening Charles sufficiently such that he could press his claim. This was done last week-there has been no objection. Onfroy is now king of Aquitaine and will fight to bring those fractious lords who are still rebelling to heel.’ A long hard look at Gauzbert now and then; ‘I trust that you are not to be counted as one of those your grace?’
The cheek of it!
I could see the shattering of a thousand dreams right there in Gauzbert’s face-all had been undone because of the vaunting ambitions of another and yet he had no choice. Slowly and stiffly he bent the knee to show his fealty to the herald and to his new master, King Onfroy, sometimes called ‘the cruel’ of Aquitaine…
Oh what a tangled web...
The Life and Times of Duke Gauzbert II of Aquitaine Part 2, 940-950 AD
The Drumbeat of War
Throughout the summer of 944 AD West Francia echoed to the drumbeat of war-its territorial landmass effectively split in half by the defiance of the two Gauzberts such was extent of the domains that both possessed. Moreover so weakened was the State by its endless warring with the Saracen, recently expelled, once more from the Baleares, that no Royal Army of any great note could be mustered. It was to be left to the King’s remaining loyal barons to contest our demands.
Oops we appear to have broken our shiny toy...
Wulgrin immediately concentrated his forces with those of Toulouse, himself marching hotfoot from his own lands to the East of Gascogne, where he continued to take the fight to Duke Sigismond, now in his capacity as a loyal defender of crown rights-what irony! It was his father who had not ten years earlier rebelled, most foully, against this King’s father! A combined army of no less than ten thousand men laid waste to Gascon lands whilst the royal council fretted safe many miles to the north.
‘But it is not West Francia I fear!’ Gauzbert had whined to any who would listen, one sweltering August day, by the banks of the Charente, where his Ducal party had fled to escape the airless castle. ‘It is the wrath of our boy king’s Karling cousins…’
Ever one to pour cooling balm on troubled waters Yves de Bordeaux quickly interjected, ‘but your grace we have news that Middle Francia is even now embroiled in putting down a major revolt-I would doubt that our enemies will receive any succour from there-not at this time at any rate.’
‘That may be so Yves but that still leaves East Francia and Italy in play no? Either one of these could send armies to easily crush us…’
The urbane, smooth, Bishop of St Jean d’Angély intoned ‘the good lord will provide your grace-see if he doesn’t.’
Barely disguising a snort of derision, my lord merely rejoined with the comment ‘well I wish he would provide us with the wherewithal to hire or recruit more soldiery my good bishop or we will soon find ourselves caught between the royal anvil and a Karling hammer-come let’s to some shade I am verily broiling in this sun!’
And he was correct though, as our Steward Bishop Sigismond kept reminding his Duke, the treasury was stock full even with the purchase and upkeep of two thousand Routiers to swell Wulgrin’s power.
LOADSA MONEY!!!!
‘We have coin for another few years yet my Lord-never fear! The Lord is providing in tax revenue for certes!’
As summer turned to autumn and then to winter no significant royal army materialised and no succour came to the king from his kin either. To that end Gascogne was brought to heel by the Spring of 945. We all began to breathe a little easier and military patrols of the surrounding countryside were gradually lessened.
That autumn we were the beneficiaries of a visit by none other than Gauzbert of Toulouse himself-come hotfoot, it seemed from Limousin, where he was attacking our Duke’s kinsman-a loyalist.
My Lord had been in his solar discussing with Bishop Sigismond ever more inventive ways that he could add to the Ducal treasury, still standing at well over a thousand pounds of gold, when he had been appraised of the illustrious arrival. He hurried outside to greet a man who nominally was the lesser lord but whose martial exploits had elevated him to a position that towered over his ally and partner.
‘Well met Gauzbert!’ Toulouse had cried flinging his bridle to a stable hand and ordering wine and food for his retainers, ‘I have come hotfoot from Limousin-your own cousin’s lands-ha!’ And with that he had clapped a brawny arm around his younger namesake’s shoulders and led him inside.
Once cooling wine and wafers had been fetched Toulouse outlined the latest goings on in the field: it seemed that he had despatched Wulgrin with our army north to Paris. At their time of parting we still had over four thousand men under arms-an experienced and formidable fighting force. If Gauzbert of Aquitaine was affronted that his own Marshal was taking orders from another Duke he did not let it show, patiently hearing Toulouse out. The plan now was to bring the King and his Council to heel by attacking them in their own domains-bold and risky.
‘I see.’ Our Duke had opined, his jaw set, ‘but why split your army? Surely that is a risky stratagem?’
The other Duke assessed his counterpart as he might a child. ‘You sirrah-fetch me a map so that I can more easily explain the ways of war to your master!’ This to me! Rather than acceding to this peremptory demand I gave the nod to one of the many scullions near at hand who scurried away and was back hastily with a large leather-bound roll under his scrawny arms.
‘Now see here Gauzbert-this is where we attack Limousin-he will not stand but it also allows me to move quickly to the south and east should the King of Italy decide to intercede and send an army to the aid of his Karling kin!’
‘Ahhh I see now-a clever ruse my lord.’
Toulouse was looking more than a bit pleased with himself, ‘and should the need arise you are well placed here to send us reinforcements seeing as your treasury is so well stocked-ha!’ And with that another clap on the shoulder, a deep guffaw that seemed to start at his feet and then he turned on his heel, sword clanking against his armour and he was gone, calling for a bath, wine and more food. It was a wonder that the servants didn’t reckon that their own Duke had been usurped by this swaggering one such was his effrontery.
The rest of that year of 945 and throughout the following one, the Council in Paris learnt what it was for the depravations of war to be brought to their very doorstep as Wulgrin pursued a strategy of siege warfare in the capital’s very environs. Melun was first to fall in March of 946 prompting the headlong flight, from the palace, of both the Council and Royal Family-it was said that such was the speed of our Marshal’s arrival that the Queen Mother and her aides barely had time to gather up the essentials as well as the frightened seven year old king. Paris fell in the hot, dusty July of that year-Parisians wondering at these warlike Aquitainians, Poitevins and brutish Bretons that had appeared suddenly in their midst. There was no general sack of the city, though, as strict orders had been issued by their devout general as he moved to invest the town and castle before turning his attention to the neighbouring parish of Saint Denis.
Back in Saintes we received each piece of good news with quiet determination for none knew better than my scheming master how quickly fortune’s wheel might turn-always Gauzbert of Aquitaine looked fearfully to the east, watching and waiting for word that the Kingdoms of Italy or Middle Francia had joined the fray.
So it was with some astonishment that, as we had just finished celebrating the Feast of St Riquier in the dog days of April, we received stunning news from Anjou. Yves de Bordeaux had not been well these last few months-a worry to my lord-so the news was brought by his Spymaster, Adalbert- recently appointed bishop of Chancelade.
‘I have so many men of the cloth in my Council that some are dubbing me “his holiness”’ the Duke had confided to me one afternoon laughing. It was nice to share a moment of levity with him so pressing were the times.
‘Well met your grace the Duke had hailed his newest bishop, ‘In all these years I had not reckoned that you coveted a bishop’s mitre Adalbert’ the Duke had laughed. ‘What news?’
The smooth and urbane spymaster was nonetheless looking somewhat flustered-unusual.
‘There are-ahem-certain advantages that may be gained from turning to the ways of God mon duc. As for my news, your grace may wish to be seated to hear this. For certes I do.’
The solicitous Gauzbert ushered him over to a seat beside him at the solar great table-at the same time he called for cooling wine.
‘Come speak sir-what news is it that discomforts you so?’
Adalbert then told us the whole tangled tale: ‘My lord it would seem that your father’s friend, though not yours, Adelinde of Anjou, has herself declared war on the King…’
Well well well...
The duke spat out his wine, truly stunned. ‘Adelinde? Whose husband, Sigismond of Gascogne, was one of the King’s most loyal stalwarts until we bested him? On what pretext?’
The Bishop, now more composed after taking a long, deep draught of wine, muttered ‘I was as shocked as yourself your grace-she is pressing the claim of one of her relatives-a lesser lord from East Francia and grandson of Louis the German, Count Dietwin of Forez-it would seem, that your attacks on the royal personage have made some of his Lords and Ladies most bold indeed…’
My Master sat thoughtfully mulling this new set of affairs over in his bright and calculating mind. I always did wonder, then, whether he was considering that he had maybe backed the wrong side-after all a win for his faction merely set things up for either he or his successors to be elected to the Royal Throne of Aquitaine-should he have tried for independence himself? At last he merely said ‘very well-it brings her in on our side effectively-the war goes on.’
And on it went but even with so much of his kingdom effectively in revolt against him all we received from the Royal Court, now based in Flanders, was continued defiance.
Throughout the summer of 947 Wulgrin won several set piece battles against desperately cobbled together armies but on each occasion, Comborn, Blois and Orléans, the enemy force numbered no more than one third of ours with predictable results. It would seem that concentrating their powers and fighting as one was beyond the fractured and quarrelsome lords that still counted themselves loyal to the king.
These weaknesses were further exposed in September, when the Count of Troyes, himself one of the more influential of the lesser lords declared war on the king to press his ally, King Markward of Bavaria’s claim on the kingdom. With him went the counties of Nevers, Reims, Sens and Auxerre-a significant bloc in the North East of the Kingdom. By the spring of 948 we held Agen, Armagnac, La Marche, Limousin and Paris but even with the kingdom tearing itself apart no word of surrender came from the Council. Even the welcome news that Italy was embroiled in a major peasants revolt did little to dispel the air of gloom that had settled upon my master and his countenance soured further when, in October, Adalbert brought grim news that his two premier battle commanders, namely Counts Wulgrin and Ximeno were heavily involved in factions that wanted, for themselves, the Duchy of Aquitaine..
That'll keep them occupied...for now
I reward these men and this is what I get!!
‘My two most able generals you say? Perfidious treachery!’ The Duke had banged his fist on the table where he was sat-it was one of the few occasions that I can remember seeing him truly wroth-a trait that his forebears had possessed in full measure. When he had finished pacing and muttering he turned to his spymaster, ‘what think you should I do?’ It escaped none of us that they were in command of our army and may not be easily discouraged.
‘My Lord I would seek the counsel of your Chancellor too in this matter for I know how much you do value his advice but as you know…’
‘my cousin is grievously ill-not like to last the month…I know your grace and my heart is heavy for it. What think you I should do my lord bishop?’
The cleric looked thoughtful then opined that he could ‘dissuade’ Ximeno-he had some leverage there that he could bring to bear. Wulgrin, however, coveted Aquitaine and firmly believed that the Good Lord Jesus wanted him to have it. Sterner measures would need to be taken there…
‘Sterner measures? What sterner measures can I take think you? The man controls my army and is the foremost battle commander in the realm even if moon mad!’
A shuffling figure bent double and walking with a stick entered the solar and stopped for a moment as it was wracked by a hacking, rattling cough. It was with a start that I recognised our erstwhile Chancellor.
‘True my lord but you are the Duke of Aquitaine, Poitiers and Bretagne-the authority is with you. Face him up-go arrest him in person’ the apparition croaked.
‘Yves!’ Gauzbert cried moving quickly to help his friend and Chancellor to a seat by the table. I had not seen the man in many months and what I saw convinced me that he was at death’s door.
‘You should not have come cousin’ the duke reproached his friend. It was rare that he acknowledged their shared blood for he was the bastard grandson of my master’s Great Uncle Gauzbert, his namesake. That he did was both touching and in some way a marker of an impending passing.
‘Aye I know my lord but Adalbert has the right of it. Take a strong escort and ride north to arrest Wulgrin in person-it is the only way. If Ximeno acts as we think he should, make him the new Marshal-he is as respected as Wulgrin, if not as feared.’
Gauzbert had regarded his kinsman, confidante and ally with moist eyes and said simply ‘thank you my friend-it was the last time they would speak for we set off on the road north within days and Yves de Bordeaux finally died of consumption the following week.
News reached us of his death even as we had sent orders to our army in the field to halt their advance on Compiègne as their Duke was bringing them substantial reinforcements. We had ridden with two thousand men of the Irish Band, newly recruited with Aquitainian gold-a boon to the war-weary army but also a sufficient number to focus the minds of any who might contest the actions that must perforce be carried out.
The two powers met before the walls of Lacroix Saint-Ouen-a village, by the river Oise, which had been invested by Wulgrin some weeks previously. I had been much afeared as a meeting was arranged between my master and the Commanders of his army that included Captain Bertrand of the Swiss Company, the Duke’s brother, the ever-dependable Nicolas, and the two recalcitrant Counts.
If any suspicion was raised at the large numbers of retainers and bodyguards ringing the manor house where the Commanders meet was to be held, none raised it. For my part all I could hear was the thudding of my heart against my chest-the Duke looked a picture of studied calm.
As it was late October and the nights already cool and evening was drawing in there was a hearty fire crackling in the hearth. Ximeno was first in, flanked by Nicolas. Some minutes later came the Mercenary Commanders-the tidy looking Swiss Commander contrasted by his Irish counterpart, all braes and furs. Finally a twitchy looking Wulgrin arrived, clutching tightly an over large crucifix that hung on his chest before his hauberk. He looked no less impressive for his massive bushy grey beard and piercing staring eyes.
‘Well met my friends.’ The duke began ‘for certes you will welcome the fresh soldiery that has been recruited with the gold of three duchies.’
Nicolas, who had been apprised of what was to happen, moved imperceptibly closer to his general, hand tight on the sword at his side.
It was Wulgrin who answered: ‘we do indeed welcome this boon mon duc. Jesus has truly answered our prayers for we have been hearing word that the royal forces have finally concentrated off to our east and is reckoned to number well over four thousand..’
‘Indeed my lord.’ Gauzbert rejoined, ‘and I wonder, also, whether our saviour also condones plotting and treachery?’
Silence.
‘Come sir-answer me?’ Duke Gauzbert ordered his voice rising menacingly. From Wulgrin there was at first confusion emanating from those beady eyes, then defiance. Quick as flash his hand dropped to the broadsword that he could wield with such ruthless efficiency on the field of battle, but before he could get it even half out he was apprehended by, first Nicolas, then the Ducal bodyguards who, on a signal, had come rushing into the room. The protesting count was quickly relieved of his weapons and forced to his knees before his liege lord.
Spitting his rebellion the Count of Angouleme cried ‘you can chain me my lord but it is god’s will that I have Aquitaine-GOD’S WILL I SAY!!!’
‘Get him gone from my sight-and gag him! He will have much to ponder on the long ride back to our dungeons at Saintes!’ Gauzbert who was trembling, now turned to Ximeno of Bordeaux, ‘My lord I trust that you understand the responsibilities that I entrust to you and that there will be no more foolish dalliances with factions inimical to our cause?’
Ximeno now also knelt ‘I swear it your grace-on Christ’s cross’
Gauzbert at last smiled, relaxing visibly, ‘I am sure that would be more your predecessor’s style Ximeno-no that will not be necessary. Take up the reins and do us all proud.’
Let's see how much bleating you can do from there!
Three months later, the day after the Feast of St Paul on the 11th January 949, two armies clashed on the plains before Compiègne. Our army had the slight advantage in numbers but the battle was hard fought nonetheless and turned on the buckling of their right flank, no longer able to withstand the relentless assaults by the heavily armed Swiss Company. With their right battle gone the pressure in the centre and on the left became intolerable and a general collapse and rout ensued. At final tally the royalists had lost almost four thousand of their number to our fifteen hundred. It was effectively the last throw of the dice for the king…and we had won.
A mighty battle was fought...and we won...just saying
But yet no surrender came from the king.
As the year 949 stretched into 950 and the Duke could see the reduction of his treasury, down to just five hundred pounds of gold by the summer, his countenance became strained. He ordered Wulgrin cast into the Oubliette-some would say an act of needless cruelty-others maybe a way to vent his frustrations for at the same time he ordered his cousin Jacques, Count of conquered Limousin moved to more comfortable surroundings with a perfunctory guard.
I SAID SHUT UP!
Yet another Pope came and went, Pope Benedict IV succeeded by Pope Martinus but whether this new one would be any more invested in the calamity unfolding in Hispania was anyone’s guess. Even the news that the siege of Compiègne had been finally won that June did little to dispel the gloom that had descended on all of us in Saintes. For my own part the one morsel of brightness in that dreary summer was the boon of a son granted to myself and my long suffering wife. We named the child Gilbert after my maternal grandsire.
As summer wore on and we endured a breathless August, word reached us of the death of the Duke’s drooling simpleton brother and then two more battles in quick succession, at Étampes and Gien, must surely have persuaded the Royal Council that further defiance was futile? The new Chancellor, Mayor Godefroi of Carhaix advised that Duchess Amèlie of Burgundy had died in Charles’s dungeons-she was the daughter of old King Louis II and had been ill handled by the royal party after she had rebelled. The Duke had not heeded these tidings at the time but that insouciance was to return to haunt him with a vengeance when, out hunting one early October day we were intercepted by messengers from the Chancellor bidding us return with all haste to the castle.
On return we arrived to a scene of pandemonium-various messengers had arrived, some, I noted with unease, bearing the insignia of the Royal Kingdom of Aquitaine. Why had the king sent messengers and why were they not wearing the customary Fleur de Lys on blue?
My lord must have thought the same for he upbraided one such in peremptory fashion: ‘you sirrah! What news from the King and why this strange, unused, livery? I trust that you have come to finally discuss terms for your surrender?’
The Herald, not cowed or awed one jot retorted at once ‘I am come from the King indeed my lord Duke-the new King of Aquitaine: King Onfroy, first of his name. I come to receive your fealty in age old custom…’
I could see the wheels turning in the Duke’s mind as he tried to digest what he had just been told, ‘Onfroy? Do you mean Duchess Amèlie’s whelp? King did you say?’
The Herald turned cool eyes upon the Duke, ‘I did indeed say kingand you would do well to maintain some respect for your new liege lord-he is after all, grandson of Louis II of West Francia and to that end has a far better claim to Aquitaine through his mother than the current King of West Francia.’
The unctuous man continued before the wide-eyed Duke: ‘furthermore my liege bids you his grateful thanks for weakening Charles sufficiently such that he could press his claim. This was done last week-there has been no objection. Onfroy is now king of Aquitaine and will fight to bring those fractious lords who are still rebelling to heel.’ A long hard look at Gauzbert now and then; ‘I trust that you are not to be counted as one of those your grace?’
The cheek of it!
I could see the shattering of a thousand dreams right there in Gauzbert’s face-all had been undone because of the vaunting ambitions of another and yet he had no choice. Slowly and stiffly he bent the knee to show his fealty to the herald and to his new master, King Onfroy, sometimes called ‘the cruel’ of Aquitaine…
Oh what a tangled web...
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That.... must have been a crushing message. If I'd seen that happen, I just know I'd be staring at that message for a while before concluding that the game was officially out for blood.
Well, it appears this non-Karling has undone all that work (And this despite a rebellion that had not gone asunder). It seemed like this was all but wrapped up in fairness. Will Gauzbert decide to bring his wrath to bear? (What was the percentage on the rebellion when it ended?
Well, it appears this non-Karling has undone all that work (And this despite a rebellion that had not gone asunder). It seemed like this was all but wrapped up in fairness. Will Gauzbert decide to bring his wrath to bear? (What was the percentage on the rebellion when it ended?
Well, that's quite a twist! All that effort and bloodshed bringing Gauzbert to the point that victory is well within his grasp - only to have it snatched away by a carefully-timed move by a clever opportunist! Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here for someone as talented with intrigue as our good Duke...
Meanwhile, this stood out to me:
I guess the Poitevins aren't important enough to get an adjective of their own to claim?
Meanwhile, this stood out to me:
I guess the Poitevins aren't important enough to get an adjective of their own to claim?
I was truly spitting feathers! I couldn't believe it had happened at 1st to be honest and then I was mad. Many thanks for the feedback. Watch this space as it gets even more tangled from here on in...
Hahahaha. Well pointed out-you have an eagle eye sir!Well, that's quite a twist! All that effort and bloodshed bringing Gauzbert to the point that victory is well within his grasp - only to have it snatched away by a carefully-timed move by a clever opportunist! Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here for someone as talented with intrigue as our good Duke...
Meanwhile, this stood out to me:
I guess the Poitevins aren't important enough to get an adjective of their own to claim?
Amazing twist... and at the last minute ! I hope he had the courtesy to at least found a faction before convincing helpless Charles IV to surrender to him rather than to Gauzbert
Curses! Aquataine is not free from the shackles of West Francia. (damm backroom politics)
I have no idea what happened or how I didn't get to hear of it! I presume that he had founded a faction but it passed me by sadly-need to look at my notification settings-was spitting mad. It does, however, bring up the wider point of how wise I was getting involved with the Duke of Toulouse's faction which was only pushing for Elective anyway...I am at his beck and call and not even leader of the faction. Quite annoyed with myself but kept looking for faction to press for independence-couldn't see it nor a faction for me as King. Still haven't mastered those game mechanics.Amazing twist... and at the last minute ! I hope he had the courtesy to at least found a faction before convincing helpless Charles IV to surrender to him rather than to Gauzbert
I know right!?
Typically, my best experience with factions has usually come with the tactical use of my Chancellor (to raise relations with other powerful vassals who might be displeased with the current king) and Spymaster (you can use them to blackmail other lords into your faction with the "Scheme" option as a vassal just like you can use it to get them out as a ruler). That said, I wouldn't say I've had enough success to be able to say anything is a particularly sure-fire way to get people into a faction, but it might be helpful if you haven't already been trying these.
I have played this game for years, but never really done anything on the forums. After reading through all of this I had to make my account here so I could say awesome job. I really enjoyed reading this so far and look forward to more.
Nope-I think this has shown up a flaw in my gameplay as I wasn't aware of the 'scheme' option-nor indeed raising relations with other powerful vassals who might be displeased with the King. If I do enough of that would there be a chance that they would then start a faction to install me as King?
Hey Iron great to have you on board! Always a pleasure to gain a new reader I have to say. As long as you're ok with the rather long gaps between posts-am trying to do 2 a month but it has sometimes stretched to just one or one in 6 weeks
. Anyway I hope you stick with me as I am really getting into this now
Again, I won't guarantee anything, but there's a chance they might try to install you as king, or join a faction that you start, if you raise relations (and, again, you can basically try to blackmail them into it with your spymaster if he's good enough).