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Asantahene

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Chapter 10: An Excerpt from Lords of Aquitaine: a history from 9th to 15th Century by Professor Benedict De Poitou-Hughes (Emeritus Professeur de Sorbonne)


1st Published 2005 (2nd Edition)


897-912 AD: Europa-the unquiet continent


The next fifteen years were to be characterised by the continuing turmoil in the Christian kingdoms all around West Francia and its sibling, Aquitaine. Like Alexander of Macedon before him, Charles the Great of the Franks would have been spinning in his grave if he had been able to see what a legacy his descendants had made of his conquests. ‘The age of war’ as it came to be known was characterised by the pitiless feuding between the Carolingian successor monarchs, the relentless march of the Saracens in Hispania and elsewhere and ceaseless Viking raids all along the European and Britannic coasts and much further inland.


Aquitaine Unrest:


In Aquitaine, meanwhile, the war that was started by a petulant Duke Bertaland of Auvergne, to limit the authority of his king, was going badly for the rebels in early 897. The return of the royal army under the famed battle commander and ‘the most puissant and noble lord Gauzbert’ turned the tables decisively against them. In addition the Duke of Aquitaine mobilised his own levies against his age-old foe, Duke Gartzia, with the attention of returning the rich county of Agen, at last, to his own de jure demesne.


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Frigid at 14...tsk tsk


Stopping only briefly in his own lands to see to the personal matter of his teenage daughter Gerberge’s wishes to take holy orders, the fighting duke descended on Gascony like an avenging angel, linking up with his Saracen Marshal Mukhtar of Saintes and the Poitevin and Aquitainian power numbering some two thousand men at arms. With a combined force of three and a half thousand there was to be but one outcome so one can imagine the thunderbolt that struck Gauzbert when he was summarily ordered by the young king, in May, to cease hostilities as an ‘agreement in amity’ had been reached between all parties.


We can only but conjecture what the Duke must have felt as there have been no surviving records of the Aquitaine Chronicle from that period-indeed it is a source of great frustration that Gauzbert was not as conscientious in maintaining it as his forebears and descendants. We can only imagine that the unwanted turn of events would have set off one of his rare but famed towering rages and imagine him storming around his command tent even as he was putting the cities of Agen to the sword.


On the 11th September 897 Pope Honorius II died and was succeeded by a man even older: the new 69 year old Pope Constantine II who held Duke Gauzbert (but not his king) in very high esteem indeed.


Towards the end of the year Charles IV wasted no time in despatching his most trusted baron and Chancellor into the land of his enemies: Armagnac-his task to mollify and smooth his master’s path with Duke Gartzia. We know that Gauzbert spent many months at the Capitol of Auch and though we have no record of exactly what passed between them we do have letters from Gartzia to his liege dated from early 898 that describe The Duke of Aquitaine as ‘our most beloved friend and ally’.


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Still got it!


Something must have worked and it is testament indeed to Gauzbert’s powers of diplomacy that not only was he able to smooth the waters between his king and the fractious Basque lord but by the end of 898, when his embassy was ended, Duke Gartzia was restored as marshal and made designated regent should anything befall him. Again quite what Gauzbert was to make of this snub from his King is anyone’s guess-it cannot have been good…


An interlude in the Ducal lands


A brief return to Saintes to order his affairs and no doubt to console his twenty year old daughter Ermessinde whose husband, King Ordoño II of Asturias had come to a most wicked end at the hands of one of his brother’s murderer’s. The new King, Artal promptly, of course expelled this throwback from the previous reign. It is said that Gauzbert, upon witnessing the hysterical weeping of his traumatised eldest girl, vowed everlasting revenge upon the Hispanic ruler and all of his descendants.


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How dare they!


At the same time his wife was warning him of various plots to either present various lords as alternatives to his designated successor, Aldebert, or in one case, at least, a plot framed by his own son Jourdain’s wife, Ermengarde, to kill him. This was one of the occasions where Gauzbert’s quiet diplomacy and visits in person to the nefarious parties was able to defuse matters well in advance. The Duke was a patient man but that patience was to know its limits as his own niece and indeed nephew were to find out in later years.


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Stop it!


His sojourn in his own lands was not to last as at the turn of the century Gauzbert, once more, found himself in the field at the head of the Royal army of Aquitaine in support of Carloman’s endless wars to subdue his own barons of West Francia.


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Dear me-when will it end?


The ‘Traitor twice over!’


It was said that when Charles IV became angry, which for him was often, he would shake with rage and stammer almost uncontrollably. One can imagine, then, his state as he dictated this letter to his unfortunate scribe:


The damnable churl and villein! He has impugned me and taken me at my mercy once too often-he is a traitor twice over and I command you, by all that is holy, to wage unstinting war on this ingrate and cease not until he is brought in chains before me.


In this you have all the power that I hold and are to be my strong and vengeful right hand in the field. Let the Gascons and the Basques tremble before the fighting Duke and his King.


Carolus Quartus Rex


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Gartzia-the weasel-faced churl!


Such was the despatch that greeted an incredulous Gauzbert, now in Holland at the head of his liege’s forces. A quick turnaround and forced march south-it must to him and his veterans, been like déjà vu as they proceeded south once more that February 890.


Gascogne Independence War February to December 900


This war was prosecuted in almost exactly the same vein as the last. Gauzbert linked his Royal army with that of his Aquitaine and Poitevin levies under Marshal Mukhtar. This time the Duke urgently requested his allies, Count Foucher of Foix, his sister’s husband and Count Guillaume of Limousin, his wife’s ten year old grandson-the heir of the erstwhile spymaster of Aquitaine Loup, who had died suddenly from pneumonia a few years previously.


Foix promised help and despatched four hundred men at arms to join with the Aquitainians whereas the Council of the young Count of Limousin declined to assist. This must have been hurtful to Gauzbert given the close ties between the lords that had existed both under his uncle and his cousin.


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As if you would refuse me cousin!!


By June the combined levies of Gauzbert numbered over three thousand and were besieging Cahors in Agen whilst the Gascons totalling only a little over half that sat off in next-door Bordeaux. They could not avoid battle forever however and by a clever ruse Gauzbert made it appear that the main force remained at the siege of Cahors but had secretly at night detached the main body of his troops and force marched them across the border. By the time the Gascons realised what was afoot they had been run to ground by Gauzbert’s hard marching power and were brought to battle at Blaye where three thousand four hundred royal and Poitevin/Aquitainian troops met the seventeen hundred Gascon/Basques led in person by Duke Gartzia himself. At last the two finest warriors of the land had the chance to cross swords and test their mettle one against the other.


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Crush them!


With his superior numbers Gauzbert, no mean battle commander, could hardly fail and executed a classic fix and strike-fixing Gartzia’s forces with his heavy and light infantry whilst his over four hundred horse, who had been stationed to the extreme left flank swung in and turned Gartzia’s right to bloody ruin. The Gascons lost over a thousand to the three hundred on the royal side-a decisive victory. Gartzia himself fled the fighting to organise the remnants of his defences.


The remorseless attacks continued with Mukhtar assaulting into Marsan whilst Gauzbert and his royalists headed back west to bring Agen to heel. The war was, of course unwinnable but the real question was whether Gauzbert would conquer Agen in time to force it back into his demesne. In the event, on the 3rd December 900, Gartzia cannily surrendered with no conditions, was brought in chains before his King at Bellac and thrown into the dungeons immediately but not before he ordered Gartzia’s teenage son flogged before the pitying crowds at the capital-a heinous act that earned him the sobriquet ‘Charles the Cruel’.


Trouble in Nantes July 901-November 902


It was at this time that trouble closer to home reared its ugly head. It took the form of an unholy alliance between Gauzbert’s niece on his recently deceased brother Èbles’s side-the erstwhile Count of Nantes had died bedridden and infirm at the age of 52. Gauzbert, by contrast, seemed to still have the vim and vigour of a man half his age and was going strong at 55. Èbles had left a single daughter, Adelaide to inherit his County. Meantime Ramnulf the younger, the naturalised bastard son of Gauzbert’s eldest brother, started agitating, at this time, to place himself as a competitor to his half brother Aldebert.


One might have imagined that given the summary treatment of Geoffrey of Thouars that these two close members of the family might have been a little more circumspect but apparently not for in July 901 Gauzbert ordered Adelaide to hand back her titles. He was within his rights, of course, as her overlord but she decided to fight.


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You ungrateful wench! Have at thee!


At the same time ample evidence has been uncovered describing a plot had been hatched by Duchess Belleassez to do away with Ramnulf by murder. Many of the great and the good both Poitevin and Aquitainian were implicated which rather reinforces the general impression that the unlanded son of Gauzbert’s brother was delusional. Nonetheless the Duke must have seen enough of a threat to his succession plans to strike at both.


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I never did like the bastard...


The war against the ‘tyranny of Duke Gauzbert’ lasted until November 902, if war it could be called. Adelaide was neither able to draw upon the support of any allies and nor did she have battle commanders of the likes of Onfoy de Saint Savin or Otton de Mirabeau, the two generals most likely to be commanding the left and right wings of Mukhtar’s armies. That the conflict dragged on for sixteen long months was purely down to the need to besiege and starve out each and every donjon and holdfast that Adelaide possessed-a slow and laborious process given the lack of siege weaponry or sheer weight of manpower to overcome them by direct assault.


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Now-what were you saying strumpet!


Adelaide was duly stripped of her titles and thrown into confinement, though a comfortable one but the other part of Gauzbert’s counter plotting, namely the murder of Ramnulf, didn’t go quite so smoothly when one of the courtiers that he had drawn into the ploy spilled more than just his guts one drunken night and let all who were in earshot know of what had been planned. Angered as the Duke might have been the uncovering of so many names willing to support Gauzbert in his nephew’s murder was proof enough, if any were needed, that meddling in the matters of a worthy successor to the Ducal fiefs was just not worth it. Ramnulf the younger duly disappeared into obscurity and is not seen again in any records.


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Let's see how well that mouth functions without it's tongue you blabbermouth!



Consolidation 902-906


For the fighting Duke, ever more stressed at trying to ensure his legacy and that of his eldest brother there was consolidation and a watchful eye on what remained of his Breton neighbours to the north.


One event, however, was to once more throw him at the mercy of the whims of his sovereign and that was the death in August 904 of King Carloman, who had been struggling with poor health for some months. Carloman had a son but, in an uncanny echo of one of his forebears the child had died, sickly, only a few months before his sire. The net result was that his liege Charles IV of Aquitaine became Charles III of West Francia and suddenly, like Duke Ramnulf before him, Gauzbert was operating in a much bigger realm, with much more at stake.


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We are whole again: rejoice!!


In a few short years he had seen Mortain re-conquered by the victorious Franks, his niece, Adelaide released from prison and daughter, Ermessinde, granted her wish to remarry with an excellent match being found in the sixteen year old Prince Alvaro of Asturias.


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Awwww-How could I say no?


He had, at the same time ennobled two of his most loyal retainers: the generals Onfoy de Saint Savin who was titled Count of Thouars and Otton de Mirebeau who was made Count of Nantes. With the stark words ‘what can be given can so too be taken away’ both of these paladins immediately let it be known that they unconditionally supported their lord in his choice of successor-there were to be no more challenges to Gauzbert’s authority on this matter.


On the 5th August 906 Count Arc’hantael of Roazhon died of pneumonia, thus taking with him perhaps the last vestiges of hope that a concerted Breton resistance to the slow dismemberment of their ancient kingdom.


Duke Gauzbert turned avaricious eyes to his north and instructed Aldebert to redouble his efforts:


Turn to it nephew so that you may, when Duke, enjoy the fruits of thine own labour. Leon is next and when I am gone it is my most fervent wish that you may crown yourself Duke of Brittany such that all in West Francia may tremble at the power of the De Poitous!’


Rousing stuff indeed but if Gauzbert, now 60, was to think that he could now rest on his laurels he was to be rudely disabused of such fanciful notions by events far to the south.


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This King will be the death of me...



Gauzbert the ‘Saracen-bane’ 906-909


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Historians have long debated the motivation that led to Duke Gauzbert’s last appointment for his King. Was it because he was the best man for the job at the venerable age of 60 or were there more sinister reasons to ascribe to Charles’s appointment of his most noble ‘friend and ally’ as Lord Commander of the West Frankish armies that were to march south and do battle with the self styled ‘Emir of Africa’, Sultan Muhammad III of the Aghlabid Sultanate? This insolent Muslim prince who controlled most of what is now Libya and Tunisia had decided to launch holy war to claim the Balearic Islands, held under the fief of the Duke of Barcelona.


So how was the mighty kingdom of West Francia, now whole again, to respond? Would the affronted King send his most vigorous generals or even ascribe the task to the Lord Marshal of his kingdom? Apparently not, it would seem, as the task of putting the Emir firmly in his place was, instead, assigned to none other than the fighting Duke himself. It was a duty that ‘weighed most heavy’ according to secret letters sent by Belleassez to Aldebert ‘for my lord is grievous tired and desires nothing more than to lay himself to repose within the soft embrace of my arms.’


There is some evidence too that the Duchess was using her influence to try and sway the king to recall the old warrior as records state that several ‘secret embassages were brought before the king to plead to his charity and kindnesses for to lay the dove of peace before the Duke but always the king did turn his face away nowise in change of his mind…’


If Gauzbert was aware of any of this he did not show it, instead in the fall of 906 commanding a large force of soldiery into the County of Barcelona to attack one of the two Mussulmen armies that had embarked on Frankish soil. The other was a larger force that had landed in Menorca and was laying waste to the Island.


Meanwhile in November 906 Charles was at last delivered a son and heir, a boy called Louis to be nursed and fussed over by his adoring elder sisters, little three year old Adelaide and her much older sister the thirteen year old princess Bertha.


The fighting Duke, for his part, fought town-by-town, holdfast-by-holdfast and keep-by-keep to restore Barcelona and its environs to Christian rule. It was hard and painstaking work with the fanatical north Africans providing a fearsome enemy.


By the autumn of 908, two long years later, Gauzbert had achieved this primary aim-next it would be time to turn his armies to the vanquished and cowed Balearic Islands.


Meanwhile the Christian kings and queens of Europe continued to fight and war amongst themselves:


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The great and the good of Christian Europe..apparently!
 
Last edited:

Specialist290

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Certainly an eventful set of years there. Conspiracies, plots, and revolts a-plenty for Gauzbert to deal with, and a final war against the Saracens on top of that. Let's hope Gauzbert returns safely to finally rest on his laurels after all this.
 

Asantahene

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Certainly an eventful set of years there. Conspiracies, plots, and revolts a-plenty for Gauzbert to deal with, and a final war against the Saracens on top of that. Let's hope Gauzbert returns safely to finally rest on his laurels after all this.

Indeed-a whole lot going on Specialist I am hoping to post the next update this weekend so watch this space. Good to have you still on board. It sometimes seems that you are the only person still commenting

I wonder if I have lost some of my followers in the forum switch as I wasn't being notified of updates in some of the AARs that I am following and only saw through assiduous checking of the forums...
 

Specialist290

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I do try to make a point to keep active in threads for AARs I really enjoy, especially since most of those seem not to attract large crowds in the first place (I'm guessing because the lengthier prose narrative style I like just takes too much time to read for a lot of fans). I read an article in the AARlander a while back about how writers tend to appreciate feedback even if the commenter doesn't have anything profound to say, so I've been trying to make a conscious effort to comment more on works I enjoy.

And yeah, the formatting changes might have thrown a lot of people for a loop. I know it's made it a little harder for me to keep track of what I was following regularly as well.
 

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I do try to make a point to keep active in threads for AARs I really enjoy, especially since most of those seem not to attract large crowds in the first place (I'm guessing because the lengthier prose narrative style I like just takes too much time to read for a lot of fans). I read an article in the AARlander a while back about how writers tend to appreciate feedback even if the commenter doesn't have anything profound to say, so I've been trying to make a conscious effort to comment more on works I enjoy.

And yeah, the formatting changes might have thrown a lot of people for a loop. I know it's made it a little harder for me to keep track of what I was following regularly as well.
Just that. It's really appreciated you still following and commenting Specialist. Thanks again. Will get new post up later
 

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Chapter 11


Gauzbert’s Story: the winter of my life


I can only proffer my sincerest apologies, chronicle, for the lack of writing herein-all these years I have had so many battles to fight both within and without, real and imagined that, in truth, the upkeep of this document has been the last thing on my mind. In this year 908 as my army broils in the merciless Catalan sun I have suddenly lost the will to fight-at least to place myself in the frontlines of the press of battle…I have not become craven but I have somehow lost the bravery to throw myself headlong into the fray. No wonder, say my generals-you must take care my lord as you are in your dotage. It shames me but they are right-I have passed sixty-two summers after all-a term that most men would envy greatly. And though my body is suddenly tired my mind remains agile as I plan the invasion of our Islands of the Balearics-let the Muslim scum tremble before our righteous Christian fury.


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eek eek!


In March 909 finally the news I have long waited for from my nephew in Brittany-we have a claim on the county of Léon. My letters have been despatched with all haste from Menorca-let Mukhtar and the council prepare for war once more!


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All of Brittany shall soon be mine!!


Here I have won a great victory over the Infidel crushing their main force of three thousand with my inferior numbers. Our soldiers are better by the mass! Majorca is liberated, Menorca now-our final goal is Ibiza and then mayhap I will get to go home and rest my weary bones. Belleassez has done everything possible to have me relieved of this onerous burden of war and short of defying my liege I will have to see out my commission-she says that the King will be the death of me…mayhap.


I have excitedly received news in October of 910 that our army has prevailed in Léon. Sixteen hundred men under Rorgués ably supported by Otton, Count of Nantes and that other Poitevin paladin, Othon de Chancelade, have destroyed Count Devi’s resistance winning two key battles at St. Maloù and Kastell-Paol. Mukhtar writes that the County will be mine within the year-God be praised for I am the bringer of light to that benighted land.


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March my pretties march!

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Owned!


My wife writes that the holy father, Constantine, has also died…I care not: my time in this world is coming to a close methinks and the benefices of the new man, John Paul, will merit me not a whit when I stand before the gates of judgment. All I will say is that I did my best, in the end, both by my people and my dear brother whose face I hope to see very soon. Him and Èbles of course.


For now, it is time to embark my generals tell me-Ibiza awaits!


We landed on the White Isle in December 910 and meet fierce Mosselman resistance-they fight like tigers these Saracens i’faith! From the sable beaches through the groves and mountains we fought and finally on the 18th August 911, the Feast of Saint Helena, cornered a new army, freshly landed before the walls of the old citadel of Ibiza Town. They have brought another three thousand to the fray to meet my battle-hardened veterans. Once more we meet them lance for lance, horse for horse and sword for sword and send them reeling, at last, after many hours in bloody rout and confusion. They sold themselves hard, though, for at the final tally I am told, we have lost half our numbers. I have sent urgent despatches for reinforcements to the king in Paris for my fear is that there will be more.


As the siege of Ibiza Town continued-we had not the numbers to assault the walls I have received news that I am now the Count of Léon. We have prevailed! Just as we will prevail against these Moorish invaders. I will grant this new territory to a hard man who can keep the rebellious Bretons in check: my general, Othon, shall be Count of Nantes.


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Beautiful...just beautiful!


23rd September in the year of our lord 912


My darling


I have taken ill here on this island-some ague of the body and mind that has gripped me these last months. I have been too weak to travel-my physicians, only interested in bleeding me dry-god rot them-have forbade it.


I fear I will not see out the week my love-I feel the spirit draining from my body hour-by-hour and day-by-day.


Word has reached me that those fearless Norsemen have raided inland as far as Melun, capturing Princess Adelaide and making off with a horde of treasure-the insolence! I trust our liege will respond in the same measure. They must be taught a lesson these Vikings by God! For shame that I am not there to wield the avenging sword in person!


Othon does well in Léon I have heard-it was well done.


And Aldebert’s eldest son, Ramnulf, is an imbecile you say-what bad providence is this? Mayhap that name is ill-starred-think on the fortunes of my brother who died untimely and his son who challenged my power. Tis no matter he has a younger son of promise-let him succeed! There are times when I think that this elective system of succession is not so moon mad after all.

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Dear me-what is it with 1st sons in this family!

I grow weaker-my secretary right by my side to catch every word…


Speak to Aldebert-tell him to envisage a plot to force the royal family to adopt a similar way of choosing successors-this madcap gavelkind law bequeathed us by Charlemagne does not keep the realm strong and intact. Set him on it my love-he is as smooth tongued a diplomat as I have met-he can sway his fellow barons to his side. And then, and then who can say that the De Poitous may not be in a position to, at last, benefit from the weakness of the Karlings.


Commend me to my children my love, Jourdain who you love not, Ermessinde and Gerberge…ah Gerberge who you castigate for forgiving her trespass against me and against holy God-what else could I do, my love? I could not turn her and the little one out whatever her ruined state. Tell them all I have loved them from the day that they entered as puling children into the world.


Enough! I have done-I have fought my last battle my love-my one true regret...that we did not get to see out our dotage in each other’s arms. I have missed you, Belleassez. I love you


Fare thee well, until we shall meet in the next world


Gauzbert Dux



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Gauzbert died on the evening of 24th September 912


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Europa 912
 

RossN

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Slowly working my way through this. Liking it a lot so far even if I am far from caught up. :)
 

Specialist290

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Quite appropriate that you chose to make Gauzbert's final point-of-view update a farewell letter, though it is a shame that he didn't get to return home to rest a spell in the company of his family before going on to his eternal repose. Let us hope Adebert proves to be a wise ruler himself.
 

Asantahene

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Slowly working my way through this. Liking it a lot so far even if I am far from caught up. :)
Hey welcome aboard RossN! Always good to have new readers especially ones whose writing I admire as much as yours. Thanks for the support. Means a lot. I'm enjoying writing this too though I'm not sure this story is as popular as my previous AAR.

Quite appropriate that you chose to make Gauzbert's final point-of-view update a farewell letter, though it is a shame that he didn't get to return home to rest a spell in the company of his family before going on to his eternal repose. Let us hope Adebert proves to be a wise ruler himself.
Thanks Specialist! Yes it was a good long reign by The Fighting Duke and one in which he has seriously enhanced his power base. I'm hoping that if Aldebert continues in a similar vein he can appropriate a 3rd Dukedom in the form of Brittanny though I'm not sure if it would be the Petty Kingdom of Breizh that would be available. I've now caught up with myself in terms of play through so watch this space!
 

RossN

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Hey welcome aboard RossN! Always good to have new readers especially ones whose writing I admire as much as yours. Thanks for the support. Means a lot. I'm enjoying writing this too though I'm not sure this story is as popular as my previous AAR.

I remember that one. :)

I'd say you probably have plenty of readers (judging by that viewcount) but people are maybe less inclined to post in AARs with a strong narrative bent.
 

fabiolundiense

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A fine and mighty ruler, Duke Gauzbert, an epic rule. How unfair that down the line awaits an imbecile ! :(

That was quite the emotional post, Asantahene. Looking forward to the continuing saga ! :)
 

Asantahene

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A fine and mighty ruler, Duke Gauzbert, an epic rule. How unfair that down the line awaits an imbecile ! :(

That was quite the emotional post, Asantahene. Looking forward to the continuing saga ! :)
Hey thanks Fabio glad you're still on board. I think it will be exciting times for the new man and yes I did feel a pang that Gauzbert was never to return home. Duty came 1st for the 'noble' Duke!
 

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Kill the Imbercile, before he breeds...
 

Asantahene

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Kill the Imbercile, before he breeds...
I was thinking instead of sending him the way of Aldebert's elder brother i.e. to the Monastery until I realised that he is married. Damn! Aldebert has the kind trait however, so doing away with his own son would be highly out of character...I will have to have a good think about what to do-one thing is certain: he will not suceeed and I doubt sincerely if any of my vassals will vote for him either

Watch this space :eek:
 

Asantahene

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Hi guys-haven't given up on this but have been swamped with some presentational work that I need to do for Amnesty so have been working hard on that in my spare time. Will hope to get posting again maybe in 10 days-apologies
 

Saxon125

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take your time, real life woes and AARS never mix well. :)
 

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Mustn't let your AAR take precedence over RL work (and I ought to take my own advice....) Have a good week-end !
 

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Take all the time you need :) Real life always takes precedence, of course.

take your time, real life woes and AARS never mix well. :)

Mustn't let your AAR take precedence over RL work (and I ought to take my own advice....) Have a good week-end !

Thanks very much guys. Means a lot. Believe you me I've been following your own excellent AARs and been feeling most guilty for not continuing but I'll be done with this presentation stuff by middle of next week so can get cracking again.
In the meantime thanks for the continuing support...and patience :)
 

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Chapter 12


Aldebert’s Story: a time to build

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Let's get to it!



It is the month of October in the year of our lord 912 and I have just received news that my uncle has died on the Isle of Ibiza. I am the new Duke: a wish that he had carried for my father most steadfastly. The twin Duchies are returned to our line once more God be praised.


With his missives have come this chronicle and an instruction to be truer to its contents than he was-very well. It shall be so. I have set down to start the process this very afternoon-a beautiful cloudless Bretagne day-the autumn sky so clear it looks veritably bleached. My secretary Henri is an attentive scribe but he must bend all his wits to the task as I dictate the background particulars of Aldebert De Poitou, puissant Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou, overlord of the best part of Brittany and the second most powerful Lord in West Francia after our King.


Of family my consort, Imagina, a proud and haughty Dutchwoman of thirty-five summers, has borne me no less than five children: the eldest, Ramnulf-so named after my esteemed father, is sadly a drooling imbecile but I cannot confine him or, as some have advised, worse. I love him and there is an end to it. He will never succeed me though. That honour I intend to bequeath on my third born, Nicolas-a lively fourteen-year-old boy who shows none of the dull wittedness of his elder brother. I have instructed one of my best generals, Mayor Rorgués, to school him in the art of war to supplement the skills he has already learned in diplomacy from Mathieu de Bonauil-my new Chancellor. My second, fourth and last born are all girls-what a sweet brood they are: Constance, Aléarde and young Mélisande. By the mass I shall be glad to set eye on them again in the soaring marble halls of our family home in Saintes.


Letters have been sent forth summonsing my new Council. On it the above named Rorgués as my Marshall, Mathieu de Bonauil-Chancellor, his brother Bernard is to be my new master of spies with Alberic de Sarlat as my Steward and my Uncle’s Chaplain, Bishop Jaspert of Saint Savin continuing as my own. Let there be some continuity to counter the base accusations that I have heard that I have elevated too many men of low birth to greatness-not a noble amongst them…pah! I raise up those who deserve to be raised up-the quality of their blood matters to me not a whit! These men have served me loyally as Chancellor of the Duchy and latterly as Count of Perigord-why should they not be so honoured by a place at my right hand?


zDP145.png

A loyal...and lowly bunch



Of vassals I can number no less than six Counts, Léon, Bordeaux, Thouars, Nantes, Angouleme and Vannes; four Mayors, Bergerac, Niort, Châtellerault and Royan and of Lords Spiritual I have the Bishops of St Jean-d’Angély, Chancelade, St-Savin and Charroux.


At that first Council meeting that takes place towards the rump of October in a Saintes that is just beginning to feel the crisp air of winter in the early morns, I make my wife Regent, in case some ill befall me-my eldest will not inherit-her undertaking: to preserve the titles safe for Nicolas until he comes of age.


Benefices are granted to my vassals that like me not, namely Count Jourdain of Vannes-my uncle’s son and therefore direct rival.


‘Send him twenty four pounds of gold!’ I declare-that will sweeten his ire. It does but not so much as to remove the canker growing in his heart…


There are another six hundred and seventy pounds of gold in the treasury-a princely sum! I order a castle town built in Poitiers, a guildhall in Châtellerault and Royan’s walls to be fortified. Let me be also known as a builder of walls as well as dreams.


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Aldebert the Builder!


And then I encompass my vaunting ambitions to my rapt Councillors: I will not rest until I have conquered all of Brittany and become its overlord-I will be the foremost baron of this kingdom-let none doubt it!


I fix my Chancellor with a baleful eye, ‘set to it sir! Get me a claim to one of their remaining Counties: it shall be Domnonia, Kernev or Roazhon-I care not which!’


‘This was a good beginning my lord’ murmurs old Belleassez-the Dowager Duchess, after the meeting, her eyes glistening with tears. I acknowledge her approval with a smile-she is still formidable even today.


In December heralds arrive from the king to announce that the war against the filthy Saracen Muhammad III, that my uncle died for in the Baleares, is over-we are victorious! Or rather Duke Jean of Toulouse is-the battle commander who has earned the sobriquet ‘the mad’ for what reason I know not-mayhap the rumour that he takes his finest mare to bed as his new wife.


Ml5GaV.png

Get thee behind me infidel!


On the Feast of St Honoratus, the sixteenth of January 913 mud-spattered messengers arrive hotfoot from Paris. They bear a missive and entreaty from the King:


My noble lord of Aquitaine


I would have you serve as your uncle did before you. The whole of our kingdom has heard tales of your diplomacy-of how your smooth and emollient manner can turn the most recalcitrant of magnates to your purpose. We would fain have use of such skill, sir, as we have need of a new Lord Chancellor.


We await your answer and fully expect it to be in assent


Your King


Carolus Rex


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How could I refuse..Sire?


Very well then. It shall be so. In truth there is nothing to discuss either with my wife or the Council-this is what my soaring ambition desires: to be as close to the levers of power within the realm as I can be and there is nowhere closer than the King’s Council. I order the household to prepare to travel as soon as the roads are passable.


The very next day my beloved daughter, Constance comes of age. She is betrothed immediately to Prince Liutbert, the son of the Bavarian King Stefan-a match well made!


We arrive in Paris in February 913 and soon settle in and whilst my wife and my children acquaint themselves with the ‘delights’ of that sprawling city I familiarise myself with my Liege, a man whose character had been wholly formed in my mind by my Uncle’s less than complimentary reports.


In the event all that he had told me was writ large in the person of my suzerain…and more. I had been warned that he was deceitful and cynical but my uncle had not warned me of that man’s innate cruelty nor made mention of the simmering rage that lurked not far beneath the surface. At that meeting I had been appraised in forceful terms of the magnates that the king misliked-or who misliked him-foremost of these was Duchess Adelinde of Anjou and Flanders and her powerful spouse Duke Boudewijn II.


First though I am ordered peremptorily to attend to ‘the snake within my bosom’ namely Duke Gartzia of Gascony, a man that Charles had appointed to a position of none other than the realm’s Marshall!


‘Get you to Armagnac and bring that haughty lord back to our benefices!’ I am told or rather stuttered at as the king’s control of his rebellious jaw is at its most unruly when he is wroth, as now…


‘Sire.’ I say, bowing low. As I depart I marvel that such a beautiful palace with its soaring arches, beautiful tapestries and imposing stonework can harbour such a grubby character as its figurehead. Suffice it to say that I like him not!


Days later, as I am making Armagnac my temporary home at the pleasure of my Uncle’s erstwhile enemy Gartzia, despatches reach me from Bernard de Bonauil that Jourdain of Vannes is conspiring to whip up ferment against me-there are some informations, however, that can be used against this perennial thorn in my side to stop him from acting. I send back: do not hesitate to use whatever you can to bring that recalcitrant lord-my cousin no less-under my heel!


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Treacherous tyke!

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That's more like it sirrah!


As winter starts to turn to spring and nature gathers itself for its great renewal, we are drawn into a war to support King Lothair the Great of Middle Francia. An inconsequential affair but one which we should offer nominal support at least I had advised at the King’s Council-one of the rare occasions that I could get away from the stultifying court of Gartzia and return to my wife and family in Paris.


On the 21st March Count Otton of Nantes, one of my Uncle’s paladins, dies-he is succeeded by his three-year-old son, Bérard. Such is the natural turn of the wheel that only a few weeks later a marriage is announced: my daughter Constance and her Bavarian Crown Prince. My wife writes that she looked positively glowing as she was given away in far away Munchen.


In November 913 I receive sad news from the Priory of St Ignatius. Word of my monkish elder brother who through no fault of his own was found wanting by my Uncle and ordered to take holy orders. He had fallen ill with the sweating sickness and had died on the feast of St Martin-he had only passed forty summers. I grieve his passing, though we had not been close for many years. I think he had never quite forgiven me for usurping his inheritance.


That Yuletide I take my leave of the royal court and return to Saintes with my family-the Christ Mass is a time to be at home not swimming with the sharks at Mélun. It is a time, as always, of great jollity and merrymaking-I order no expense spared and we are treated to lavish feasts for days, mummer’s farces and the sharing of a great many gifts. Throughout we entertain a steady stream of visitors-the great and the good of Brittany, Poitiers and Aquitaine reaffirming their loyalty and sharing in my munificence. And through it all I maintain an eye on my brood: simple Ramnulf and his protective wife, Berthildis, keeping the young girls, Aléarde and Mélisande, amused in japery and games. Meanwhile at a small distance is Nicolas-the apple of my eye you might say-always observing all with a practiced soldier’s eye-he is only fifteen but all the word is that he will be a brilliant strategist and the soldier that I could never be.


Would that I could have stayed in that idyllic place for longer but alas politics has other ideas: in the middle of January in the year of our lord 914 yet another infidel, Sultan Murad, declares jihad for Barcelona-these Saracens are hell bent on taking these lands and the Baleares it would seem. It is time to call upon our allies. King Herbert of Burgundy and ironically King Berenger of Breizh-or what is left of it-the only thing that is stopping me from swallowing up this latter Princeling’s three remaining counties piecemeal is the treaty signed after my Uncle had won Léon from him three years previously.


That summer of 914, as the holy war rages in our south I am despatched by an increasingly paranoid King Charles to Brugge to treat with Duke Boudewijn and no wonder: between he and his powerful wife, Duchess Adelinde they can cause great trouble if they rebel and at this time both their loyalty and their intentions are suspect. I have only just been proud to see my second son, Nicolas, come of age-and what a fine young man he is: a brilliant strategist in martial matters whilst also patient and like myself and my father before me, a kind man. If I have one of criticism it is his propensity to over-indulge whether in the cups or at the feast hall. I have found him a good match in Princess Aldonca of Galicia. I also let it be known that this man is my chosen heir and am heartened to see most of my vassal lords indicate that their votes would match my own in an election.


I am made most welcome by the Duke and Duchess of Flanders and Anjou for, whatever malice they bear our King, they show only the greatest respect to me. Indeed so keen are they to gain my good benevolences that I am invited to settle for a while in Bruges-a spacious townhouse is commandeered and my wife joins me from Paris. This is of the utmost necessity I write my King-he ever more suspicious of the welcome that I have been afforded but knowing that if I am to succeed then I must be allowed a free hand.


And so it is whilst settling into wet, dank Flanders for winter that altogether different news arrives from Bernard, written in his customary sparse hand:


Your Grace


Your cousin, Jourdain is dead, murdered in his own manor and I have it on good authority that the author of his demise is none other than his own wife, Ermengarde!


What will you have me do? Arrest her?


I send back immediately to do nothing-let her young daughter Agathe succeed to the County-I will find her a match that suits me more than it will suit her. As for her mother she should probably be congratulated rather than sanctioned-still it is an object lesson in what dark secrets lurk behind the closed door of any family whether great or small.


In July of 915 the pressure that I am piling on my Chancellor, Matthieu de Bonauil finally breaks him and his brother writes me that he has died, untimely, locked away in some library in Brittany earnestly seeking the loophole or precedent that will allow me to stake a claim to one of its remaining sovereign counties. I appoint Mayor Arnoul of Royan in his stead telling him sternly


‘This commission sent the last Chancellor to an untimely grave-I trust that you are made of sterner stuff sir!’


‘I am at your service your grace’ is the rather enigmatic response but the man has been highly recommended to me by none other than my wife so only time will tell!


In November of that year I become a Grandfather as my son Ramnulf has a son, they name Benoîte. I am not certain how I feel about becoming a grandparent but it is my wife’s comments that remain rooted in my mind:


‘Pray God, husband, that he inherits none of his father’s wits-hopefully it is his mother whose traits are passed on!’


In spring of 916 I am pleased to write to my Liege:


Sire


I am delighted to report that, as a consequence of my ceaseless work here in Brugge, you may start to ease your mind about the Duke and Duchess of Flanders and their intent towards you thereof. There has not been a day when we have been together whether hunting or feasting or just taking pleasure in the many parks hereabout that I have not endlessly sung your praises.


It would seem that my honeyed words are having their effect as the Duke was heard to remark just yesterday that his previously intemperate estimation of your person may be wrong.


Whither next for your trusty Chancellor as, by my reckoning, my work here is done?


Your servant always


Aldebert Dux


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Oh you silver tongued cavalier you!


He returns:


Good my Lord of Aquitaine


It is well done but you shall tarry there awhile-I would have the Duke and Duchess not only revising their previous incorrect estimation of my good character but fully allied to me and my cause. If anyone can wring such a change then it is you!


The war with the infidel is almost won-we have no need of you back in Paris…yet.


Carolus Rex


So be it I had thought and bend my mind to what other means I can impress upon my generous hosts that the man I serve is someone that they can learn to love…when I love him not myself. Well ‘all the world’s a stage’ a troubadour once sang and mayhap my wife and myself are the embodiment of that age-old adage.


That summer whilst I am hawking I am brought news from Spain that shake my carefully laid succession plans to the core. As I read the missive with increasingly grim visage my wife who has accompanied me asks what news has clouded my features so: it seems my son, Nicolas’s spouse is now Queen of Galicia-he is King and therefore out of the line of succession to our Duchy. The laws of Galicia forbid their sovereign…or consort to inherit in ‘foreign’ lands!


‘Mayhap we will have to make another son then my Lord’ Imagina says pouting prettily. I look at her askance-we are now in our early 40s-I have not really looked at her in that way for some years-five births and the attendant strictures on a body do not make for a lithe physique…yet I am still very fond of her…


Throughout the next year we try regularly for a new child both highly conscious of her advancing age. We do not share a bed and in truth it is more like a marriage debt-I gain little pleasure from the act these days. She is, at least, comforted that when I am not with her I take no one else to my bed. Meantime our son Ramnulf has another son and I marry off my daughter Aléarde, who I had been careful to educate in person, to Count André of Foix. As the son of a trusted friend of my Uncle’s this is the best I can do for she who is my most treasured child.


Throughout the year 918 I busy myself appointing a new Court Chaplain; Bishop Payen de Brest to replace the elderly Jaspert. I order also that Saintes has a town built to support the castle there. St Jean d’Angély also gets a town around the church there-something that pleases its Bishop no end. But it is news of something that I am trying to build closer to home that I am most concerned with and finally my wife announces triumphantly in the month of July that she is with child. I treat her, at once, as if she is made of glass praying fervently at every waking hour that the child she carries is a boy.


It is February of 919 before she is brought to her full term and with me fretting downstairs-kept there by my friend the Duke of Flanders as the midwives go about their business telling me sternly at each entreaty that the birthing chamber is no place for men. And so I sit and fret-a proprietary hand from Boudewijn on my shoulder thinking that it is different for martial types such as he. He says that he always approached these sorts of things like one of his battles. I am not, however, of a warlike bent-have never been and indeed feel particularly craven at the thought of fighting-something I have never done and do not intend ever to do.


At last the waiting is over and I am ushered into the presence of a beaming, but exhausted wife and puling baby boy! A miracle that we have done it at such advanced years-I raise the lad to the heavens mouthing my heartfelt thanks to God for answering our prayers. We name him Gauzbert after my noble uncle-a man who has done so much for me and mine and who will not be forgotten.


But as the Lord does give so does he take away and I am shaken to my very core not more than three months later when I am greeted one sweltering July afternoon by a messenger from Foix. My heart is beating a tattoo in my chest as I snatch the parchment from the wearied rider, my eyes quickly scanning the scrawl of ink upon vellum. The paper drops from my nerveless hand as tears start to my eyes. I cannot envisage how God would favour us with his presence and give us a healthy son and then in the same year he must rob me of my beloved daughter Aléarde-dead from pneumonia-and in the height of summer too. I dismiss the page and hurry to find my wife-we will share in the heart-breaking wail of grief and somehow find it in us to seek solace in each others company.


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My beloved daughter Aléarde of Foix's tomb and effigy-God rest her
 
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