Before Plantagenet - Chapter 267
October 1138 - Leyre, Kingdom of Navarra
The mountains were in the distance, but Geoffrey’s head was already in the clouds.
Sitting on his horse, dressed in his mail and ready for battle, the king was on a small hill, overlooking an area of flat land, with a river to his left and thousands of Navarrans and Transjuranians before him.
In between the king and his enemies, of course, was Aquitaine’s larger army, eager to get at their opposition. But at the moment, the valley remained calm and eerily silent, as a calm breeze blew through.
A bird flew overhead, it’s red plumage striking, reminding Geoffrey of the banners he carried.
“It is a sign,” his cousin Rogier told him. “A good omen. Perhaps your family watches over you.”
Geoffrey looked to Alias. The brothers exchanged grins, with the king convinced they were ready to seize the opportunity before them.
....
It was a chance Geoffrey wondered if he’d ever get.
For over a year, the king had laid siege to the Duchy of Navarra, methodically moving south, bringing keeps and towns under his control. It was effective, but slow, and he longed for another chance at a decisive battle that could bring Navarra to its knees.
His mind returned to his first success - defeating the Duchess of Dauphine at Murat, where he’d captured her to force peace. At the time, his 16-year-old mind could not comprehend demanding more than just Forez, which he had fought the war for. In retrospect, he wondered if perhaps he should have demanded total fealty, given he held the duchess in chains.
Since he’d later forced England, a stronger kingdom than Navarra, into subservience, Geoffrey had begun to think he might do the same here. Perhaps not the whole of the kingdom, but why not also take the Duchy of Aragon from the boy king, since it bordered the Duchy of Navarra?
The only way Geoffrey could do that, however, was with a decisive battle, for it would take far too long to seize the other duchy by siege.
As it was, Geoffrey was forced to keep an eye on England, which was comically undefended. His wife’s new chancellor, her uncle Osmund restored to the role, had informed Geoffrey that the bulk of the realm’s forces had been sent to the Holy Lands to take Acre.
In theory, Osmund claimed the queen reasoned, it would force the war to be fought there, well away from their shores. In reality, the heathens had not obliged.
There was little question an army from the Fatimid Caliphate of Egypt, alongside men of the Sheik of Acre, were making their way toward England’s shores. Geoffrey knew it because his coastal towns had been “raided” - the heathens had landed on the coast, demanded supplies from weakly fortified villages, and moved on, making their way toward England.
It meant there was pressure on Geoffrey to wrap up this conflict in Navarra and turn his armies north. It would take time for them to reach England, and the longer he was in Iberia, the more danger his wife and her ladies would be in, much to Berard’s dismay.
And the Perigord man wished to follow through on his vow, though Geoffrey kept him from leaving by promising to send some aid north after they took the town of Najera. He would either move his army north, or call up his vassal levy and put Berard at the head, sending it to deal with the heathens.
However, only a few days after Najera fell, word had reached Geoffrey that the combined forces of Navarra and Transjurania had come through Aragon to the east. Their goal was to attack Pamplona from that direction and reclaim the seat of the boy king of Navarra. Alias had requested reinforcements to hold Pamplona, but sensing the opportunity, Geoffrey was not going to just reinforce - he planned an attack.
The timing was perfect. Najera’s fall meant Geoffrey could simply turn his army around, having ransacked the supplies in the town, and march to meet his enemies. And between the fall of Najera and another grand victory on the battlefield, Geoffrey believed he was in position to win the war, and potentially secure much of northern Iberia for his brother.
By the time Geoffrey reached Pamplona to link up with the skeleton garrison he had left Alias, the Navarrians and Transjuranians had reached Leyre, which was about a day and a half away under normal circumstances. But by forced march, Geoffrey could be there in less than a day.
Breaking camp before dawn, Geoffrey pushed the bulk of his men forward, swinging around the flank of his enemies and coming at them from the north. He hoped to trap them in the valley with the river at their backs and destroy them.
By sunset, he learned he had done exactly that, finding them in the valley, near the river. If not for the fact his army had been marching since before dawn, he would have attacked immediately. But Geoffrey decided to hold for the day, confident he had them. They could not withdraw back from where they came - Geoffrey had covered that escape east. To the north was Aquitaine. To the west, Pamplona and to the south, the now conquered Najera.
Geoffrey figured he probably could get the Duchy of Navarra right now if he offered them a truce. But thoughts of taking Aragon, which the boy king had inherited just before the war danced in Geoffrey’s mind. He might give that to Alias, or perhaps even his Guilhem in a few years.
But his opportunity was likely fleeting. With the Fatimids bearing down on England and his reluctance to call forth his less loyal vassals, Geoffrey needed a victory that rivaled Pau. Otherwise, he would be forced to settle for just the Duchy of Navarra.
So there was no offer of peace. No offer of negotiation. Emissaries from his enemies were turned away. Geoffrey intended to destroy his enemy and nothing would deter him.
…..
That next morning, Geoffrey drew his army into two main blocks, possessing both infantry and cavalry, with the bulk moving forth under his command. Knud was at the head of the other part. The rest of the commanders would be arrayed in those two blocks, though Mayor Frederic was missing as he returned to Saumur to handle an outbreak of smallpox there.
But any concern Geoffrey might have had over Frederic’s absence was long gone as he watched the red bird fly overhead, circling high above his army. Then it flew off to the west, toward the enemy, before disappearing into the horizon. Still smiling, Geoffrey gave the order for his men to move forward.
The battle began, as they usually did, with archers and skirmishers trading fire. And much like at Pau, Geoffrey’s archers struggled against a group of lesser number. It was clear from his vantage point on a nearby hill that his men were getting the worst of it, with his forces falling more frequently than the enemy’s.
“We need to do something about this,” Geoffrey told Berard. “Do these men not know how to handle a bow and arrow? It is not that difficult.”
It truly was confounding to the king, given his own proficiency with the weapon, though he’d never actually used it in battle.
Having seen enough, he decided to quickly bring his infantry forward. As his archers let loose a few more final volleys, the rabble and infantry came forth. The archers then fell back and their comrades stormed forth, screaming at the top of their lungs.
The armies met with the thunderclap of shields colliding reverberating for at least a half-mile. Or at least that was the case on the right opposite Knud’s attack. However, opposite Geoffrey and extending along the enemy front to the river, the opposition skirmish line was not as quick at falling back. The result saw some get stabbed and trampled as the Aquitaine army rushed forward.
Closest to the center of the action, the Navarrans managed to quickly regroup, allowing the fleeing archers through their ranks, and then locking shields to receive the Aquitaine assault.
But on the Aquitaine left, where the opposition was primarily the Transjuranians, the retreat was not nearly as orderly. The Aquitaine forces cut through the skirmishers, who’s panic brought chaos to that section of the army. And instead of forming up properly, the Transjuranians broke and fled.
“Should we pursue?” Rogier asked.
Eyes wide, Geoffrey could barely get the words out to order his men forward.
Such an opportunity was a dream. Normally flanking attacks had to be made to shatter an enemy front line so quickly. If Geoffrey’s army could run and ride them down, he could eliminate the Navarrans’ allies, and then turn those pursuers on the remainder of the enemy army.
But Geoffrey did overcome his shock enough to turn toward his brother, sensing an opportunity to secure not only a grand victory, but make a show of it that would make their late father proud.
“Alias,” Geoffrey began. “Care to deliver the final blow necessary to secure your duchy?”
Alias smiled and nodded. “It will be done, brother.”
Alias rode off with the men who had joined him at Pau, to take charge of the pursuit. Some of the Aquitaine forces opposite the fleeing Transjuranians had already started after them, but the prince urged the whole of the nearby forces forward.
The rabble and the light cavalry launched the most aggressive of the pursuit, aided by the relative lack of armor. The sergeants and knights were slower, but that was to be expected. Still they hurried along, the knights at gallop and the sergeants at a jog.
Ideally, the Transjuranians falling away would have made the Navarrans easier to flank. But Geoffrey saw his enemies opposite him were able to compensate, with small groups of men on their flank in tightly packed shield walls, spears pointing out. Geoffrey guessed they wouldn’t be very mobile, but it would take time for his men to ride around them, especially if they were at a trot and not a gallop.
Still, that was fine in his estimation - if everyone around the Navarrans collapsed, they could be encircled and captured at Geoffrey’s leisure.
Along those lines, Geoffrey’s attention turned to his right, where Knud moved to get around the flank of their enemies. Unlike on the Angevin left, the resistance was stronger, and it appeared much of the Navarrans had deployed their knights there, in an effort to block the flanking effort. So Geoffrey decided to tilt the balance further in his own favor.
“Berard,” Geoffrey said. “Go around the right. While Knud has them occupied, we can hit them from the flank and rear.”
Berard nodded and rode off to get the reserve moving, while Geoffrey again viewed the battlefield. Given his victory at Pau saw him observing, rather than taking part in the initial cavalry charge, Geoffrey decided to repeat that here. But with Alias leading the pursuit on the left, he looked to Rogier to move the first wave into position, when the opportunity arose.
“They hold stubbornly,” Rogier noted of their enemies. “But we could ride around them.”
“Do so,” Geoffrey said. “I will join you shortly.”
Rogier then took his group and rode off to engage as Geoffrey looked out in the distance, and realized the pursuit of the fleeing Transjuranians had taken his men about as far as he wanted them to go - if they went much further it would take much too much effort to rejoin the battle. Letting a thousand or so men go to capture three times their number was a better use of their resources.
He hoped Alias might realize that and stop the pursuit, but it continued on without any signs of slowing down. So Geoffrey was left to send a rider over as quickly as possible to order the light troops back, while also directing Alias to bring the armored men into position to close the encirclement of the Navarrans.
In the meantime, Rogier was bringing his men around to attack the flank and rear of the center. There was no screen, so Geoffrey doubted the Navarrans would be surprised. But they likely could do little to stop it, especially if the bulk of their forces were opposing Knud and Berard. And once Geoffrey joined his cousin, they would finish the Navarrans off.
About ready to move to get into position for his coup de grace, Geoffrey took another look at the battlefield to make his final adjustments. He was pleased to see the pursuit on his left had stopped, and started his horse forward.
However, his eyes caught sight of that red bird again, which was surprising, since he thought it had left the battlefield. Unable to resist, he followed it’s path, which drew his eyes back to the left. And his gaze shifted from the bird to his men when he realized something odd. He would have expected the left to be moving closer to the rest of the army. But instead, they were static.
His eyes returned to the enemy there and, squinting due to the distance, Geoffrey was able to make out that the Trasnjuranians had stopped fleeing and turned to fight.
“They recovered?” Geoffrey wondered aloud. Did he break off the pursuit too soon?
And then Geoffrey saw, coming from the Aquitaine right, a mass of men emerging from a large group of trees that was partially obscured by a small hillside, toward the light cavalry and rabble. A chill ran down Geoffrey’s spine.
“An ambush.”
He had tried to guess the numbers of his enemy, but eyeballing what was over 5,000 men was apparently beyond his capabilities. Instead, he must have been hundreds of men short, and had not accounted for this group that was launching a counterattack.
“Get out,” Geoffrey said. “Get out. Get out now.”
The rabble was never very brave, nor trained, so running was a distinct possibility. But they did not, as perhaps the shock that their enemies had turned to fight froze them in place. The light cavalry stuck in and around them, they too were unable to get free.
And to the left flank of those men, the river. They would be trapped against it, not his enemies, and completely overwhelmed. Geoffrey’s mind raced to find a way to save them.
At full gallop it would take time to get there, he reasoned.
And the horses would be exhausted, and unable to charge when they arrived. If they arrived. We would be too good a target…
He looked toward Alias and the heavier troops.
They’re closer. They could…
But then he saw the Transjuranians converge. And like a wave breaking over his men, they soon disappeared in a mass of humanity as what must have been over 2,000 men hit them, infantry from their one flank, knights riding around to strike them at their rear.
Geoffrey could not even watch.
Instead he turned his gaze toward elsewhere on the battlefield, hoping that his men could make quick enough work of the Navarrans to turn their focus on the Transjuranians. If his rabble and light cavalry fought long and hard enough, they could buy time for the rest of his men to still win a great victory.
It was wishful thinking.
When he managed to bring himself to look back toward the left, the mass of men that was the Transjuranian army was already turning to march on Alias. If there was any part of the Aquitaine rabble still among that throng, Geoffrey was unable to see them.
He swallowed hard. Hundreds of his men… just gone in what seemed like an agonizing instant.
But he had no time to truly contemplate the loss of those men, for his thoughts shifted to his brother, now isolated and ripe to be plucked.
The prince had wheeled his men around to face them, but Geoffrey could see he was outnumbered. And his men were likely tired after running after their enemies, making them less likely to fight well. Even the knights were forced to dismount, as they had exhausted their horses in pursuit.
His stomach twisted into such a knot he nearly vomited.
It is not whether he will be overwhelmed, Geoffrey thought.
It’s only a matter of when.
That when, however, Geoffrey guessed would not be immediate. They wouldn’t be able to hold out long, but unlike the rabble, they would not break instantaneously. In that time, Geoffrey could bring his knights to his brother’s aid... though it might not be a full compliment if he could not get Rogier back to him. Quickly, he sent a rider off to try to redirect his cousin toward Alias.
Riding off from his position, Geoffrey lost one advantage he’d had - the ability to see the battlefield. Now he saw less of the enemy approaching his brother, and just the rear of his brother’s forces.
Though that changed somewhat quickly, as the Transjuranians began to swarm, with Aquitaine forces pushed against the river.
Part of Geoffrey wanted to order his knights forward now, to charge forward as quickly as possible to reach and save his brother. Of course that would both mute the effectiveness of the charge, and leave the knights hard-pressed to contribute the rest of the battle.
Yet another part of the king looked around to the relatively small group of men he had alongside and the mass of men attacking his brother and wondered if perhaps this was a mistake. Alias was caught, but was attacking the Transjuranians compounding the mistake? It was cold to abandon his brother, but was it wise to risk himself if this truly was lost? Perhaps joining Rogier in the center would result in victory…
No, Geoffrey thought.
I cannot abandon my brother. He is here because of me. I cannot fail him. Mother, father… they would never forgive me… I might never forgive me…
As he neared, Geoffrey saw his brother’s forces close up and push forward. They had engaged the enemy. Time was of the essence, and yet Geoffrey was limited in what he could do. Rush his horses too quickly and his counterattack would be muted. Move too slowly and it would be too late.
A bit of good news did arrive, however, as Rogier men neared, which meant Geoffrey could bring the full might of his remaining cavalry against the Tranjuranians. He even slowed his own men to wait for Rogier.
“The rider came just in time,” Rogier told him. “I was about to order the charge. But what has happened? Alias has been tricked?”
“The Transjuranians reformed and then attacked with a group of men concealed by a patch of trees,” Geoffrey said. “It was an attack we stumbled into. And now we must rescue my brother.”
“And we will, cousin,” Rogier assured him. “If we were not meant to, I would have attacked before you warned me to halt. I had a moment of doubt… a voice in my ear which whispered to wait for a moment. And I think it was God… holding me back, with good reason.”
That explanation sounded likely enough, and eased Geoffrey’s nerves, if only slightly. But it was temporary - his nerves grew frayed again as he lost sight of his brother’s knights as the Transjuranians began to envelop them. And somewhere in there, was Alias…
“Go,” Geoffrey ordered Rogier. “Get your men into position.”
His cousin rode on up ahead, to take part in the first wave. It was a position Geoffrey often took, but could not today. It was too risky to throw himself headfirst into this, not with Alias in danger. If the king and the prince, even if Alias was no longer crown prince, both fell, Aquitaine would be thrown into turmoil.
The Transjuranians weren’t going to be idle either. Their knights and some light cavalry quickly arranged themselves, ready to countercharge, in order to protect the men enveloping Alias’ forces.
So when the horn sounded, the thunder of two sets of horses charging forth caused the ground to shake. Geoffrey, however, did not watch intently. He was directing his own men a bit wider, so he could strike at the Transjuranian cavalry from their exposed flank, knowing if they were routed, they could likely turn the battle back in their favor, or at least avoid disaster.
Once in position the horn was sounded and Geoffrey took his opportunity - one that would have not been there had Rogier committed to the attack. He said a quick prayer, raised his arm, and urged his horse into a gallop, with the thunder of hoofbeats behind him.
His eyes should have been focused on the task before him, and they would be, but once more he saw that red bird, flying right overhead, straight toward the enemy.
…..
The midday sun beat hot in the sky, leaving Geoffrey to bake in his armor as his horse trudged along into his camp. He slumped in his saddle, more exhausted than he had ever been after a battle.
The stablehands had gathered in preparation, but Geoffrey paid them no mind and actually rode past them at his slow pace.
“Father!”
The sound of Prince Guilhem’s voice caused Geoffrey to snap free of his thoughts and the king brought his horse to a stop. The prince had been in camp, waiting for his return and seeing him made Geoffrey realize he had actually come to where he needed to be.
Dismounting from his horse, he was not oblivious enough to miss the raised brow of Guilhem, who was clearly concerned.
“Are you alright, father?” he asked.
He was, because they had survived. Barely.
The Transjuranians had been driven off. Their knights had not handled the arrival of their Aquitaine counterparts well and had fared poorly in the melee. Once they had been forced to retreat, Geoffrey had begun to attack their infantry, the Transjuranians had fled the field. Normally that would have resulted in far more deaths for the enemy, but Alias’ men were too tired to pursue any great distance.
Geoffrey’s own men were needed to potentially fight the Navarrans. As it turned out, Knud and Berard broke through in their attack, sending the Navarrans to flight. But after a long march that left the men fatigued, along with a slog of a fight in the hot sun, only a light pursuit was ordered.
“Do you need some water?” Guilhem asked.
Geoffrey nodded. “Yes, fetch me some. I will… I will be in my tent. Is your uncle there?”
Guilhem nodded and ordered some camp hands to fetch the water. But as he went to follow his father back to the tent, Geoffrey stopped him. He had to handle this matter in private.
Entering the command tent, he found Alias alone. Sitting on the cot, head down, motionless. It sent a chill down Geoffrey’s spine.
But when Geoffrey did reach him, Alias picked his head up and looked at him, his eyes bloodshot.
“He’s dead because of me.”
Again the words made Geoffrey’s stomach twist. The someone was the knight Carles, who had come into his service when he ascended, and fulfilled numerous roles in guards among his family. He had dispatched him to keep Alias safe at Pau, and again throughout the campaign.
He had done his duty… at the cost of his own life.
After the Transjuranians had been chased off, Geoffrey had found Alias holding Carles’ body, his neck twisted. There were no tears in the prince’s eyes… just fear and horror. He had been so pale, Geoffrey wondered if Alias had been wounded himself and was bleeding to death. But beyond a few bruises received from blows that his armor mostly absorbed, Alias was physically unscathed.
Mentally, however, was another story.
“He stopped a man from smashing me with a mace,” Alias said. “But his horse was wounded, it reared… and threw him from it. He landed… when I found him, he was all twisted. He was already gone.”
Geoffrey found no words. Despite Carles having been in his service for a decade, he had not been overly close with the man.
His greater concern was for his brother, who was clearly shaken by this. But then who wouldn’t be, given Alias had nearly been killed in that fight… a fight which he had entered expecting it to be a celebration.
And it was in a manner eerily reminiscent of their elder brother’s death in Iberia - thrown from his horse and broken. Carles did not survive the fall, unlike Foulques, but the d’Anjou man’s escape from death had only been temporary, as he eventually did die a mangled cripple months later.
Geoffrey was a small child when that happened and Alias was not even born yet. But both had heard the story as they grew, and it no doubt was at the forefront of Alias’ thoughts at the moment as well.
The flap to the tent opened and servants with the water entered alongside Prince Guilhem. They placed it down by Alias, and then were dismissed. Again Guilhem seemed to expect to be allowed to remain, but Geoffrey wasn’t having it. Not with the meeting he had planned for his commanders.
They began to arrive not long after, with Berard and Rogier arriving first, then Knud and Toumas. Geoffrey told his brother to get up and join the others around the large table to discuss their plans, as well as review what had gone wrong.
“We captured a few Navarrans,” Rogier said. “But the bulk of their forces escaped.”
“Do we have a better sense of our losses?” Geoffrey asked. “And theirs?”
“It seems close to equal,” Rogier said. “Perhaps we have a bit more… especially on our left. But we did hurt the Navarrans a great deal. More than the Transjuranians.”
“The Navarrans are who we fight,” Knud said. “Break them, and the war ends."
“We can look to renew the attack tomorrow,” Geoffrey said. “Have scouts watch them.”
“It will be done,” Toumas said, with the knight picking up Frederic’s scouting reigns.
“What happened out there?” Knud asked. “I could not see much from where I was, but your cousin says we were ambushed?”
Geoffrey nodded. “The Transjuranians feigned retreat. When we pursued, they turned and their knights pounced on us.”
“Prince Alias… he was nearly killed?” Knud asked.
Alias nodded slowly. “Carles… he gave his life for mine.”
“A tragic loss,” Berard said. “Unfortunate… it was needless.”
“Such things happen in war,” Geoffrey said. “We will honor his bravery, and bury him as a man of his rank and service deserves.”
“I just feel as though this should not have happened,” Berard said. “Had Frederic been here…”
“He wasn’t,” Rogier said. “That is what matters.”
Alias corked his head toward Berard, his gaze narrowed as he appeared to have finally cast off the shock that paralyzed him earlier.
“Are… are you accusing me of something?” he asked the Perigord man.
“Incompetence,” Berard said. “You stumbled into an ambush. If your men had been destroyed by the enemy, all of us would have been put in a precarious position! Our king, your brother might have shared the fate of Carles!”
The words sent a shiver down Geoffrey’s spine, as memories of his brother’s death again came to his thoughts. And it may have done the same for Alias, as his defiance faded as quickly as it came.
Lowering his head, Alias just grumbled. “I… I did not see them.”
“That’s the point!” Berard exclaimed.
“Berard!” Geoffrey interrupted. “I did not see them either.”
“You would not have pursued so far,” Berard insisted. “Had he reigned his men in, he could have met the Transjuranian attack with the full complement of his forces! Instead his light infantry were butchered, alone, and the rest were nearly overwhelmed.”
There was truth to that - and had Geoffrey not seen the attack at the last moment, or had he not notified Rogier just in time, Alias likely would have been defeated. And the army with him.
“We were all caught unaware,” Rogier argued. “I heard not a man voice concern that it was a trap. And yet all here wish to escape blame… except the king and prince.”
Berard fell silent to that, his eyes dropping away from both Rogier and Alias. Geoffrey said nothing either, feeling the shame of such a narrow victory… if it could even be called that.
“I do not know what the fuss is over,” Knud said. “They sprang a good trap. We beat them even with that. Rabble died, but our knights and sergeants mostly escaped unscathed.”
“As my brother Edouard says of his flock,” Rogier began, “without the rabble, who would toil in the fields? Raise the animals? Do not be so dismissive of them.”
“Agreed,” Toumas added. “They are… were... brave men, who have done as they were asked, in lands that are not their home. Respect is deserved.”
The Dane rolled his eyes. “I speak in martial terms, not farming. We are fighting a war, not growing crops. Our knights are the backbone of our efforts… and our knights are fine.”
That was also true. Though as Alias’ problems in this fight showed, simply having knights was not enough. Someone had to make up the numbers to hold the enemy in place, after all.
But Geoffrey had heard enough.
His military training had seen him take lessons from many great generals - Alexander, Caesar, Hannibal… and then there was Pyrrhus of Epirus. Cousin to the legendary Alexander, he had the reputation of one of the ancient world’s finest leaders of men, but had suffered through costly victories against Rome that prompted him to break off his war against them.
“If I have any more victories like this, I will be lost,” Geoffrey grumbled, echoing what he had been taught the Greek king had spoken over a millennia before.
“Forgive me brother,” Alias said. “I should have seen it.”
“Yes you should have,” Geoffrey told him. But then he felt his conscience scream out to him, for if Alias made a mistake in his ad-hoc command, Geoffrey had erred in his overall assessment of the battle. He had eagerly ordered his brother forward, believing a grand victory was near.
The so-called “brilliant strategist” had been duped.
“We all missed it,” Geoffrey finally added. “We all could have taken greater precautions. Instead, we charged forward without a care, and our carelessness saw many of our men pay the price.”
There was a silence in the tent at that assessment. Part of Geoffrey hoped someone would disagree and give him a pass for the error. And yet, the commanders all had their head down, unable to face him.
“It could have been worse,” Rogier argued. “One might have expected it to be, given the whispers of curses in Iberia. But when the worst came for us, we persevered. And won a victory - costly as it is, a difficult win is better than a difficult defeat.”
That drew a sigh from Geoffrey, but he nodded in agreement. In fact, he liked that rationale the more he thought about it - the same sinister forces that had taken his brother had come for him and Alias. But through quick thinking and good fortune, he had evaded their grasp.
After all, it was a deadly trap that nearly worked. And perhaps it would have, had Rogier not still be able to join in the assault. And that only happened because Rogier felt that moment of hesitation that stopped his assault. And the bird… the bird which alerted Geoffrey to the ambush in the first place? Divine intervention, surely.
“I think you had it right on the battlefield, Rogier,” Geoffrey said. “God was with us. He was what allowed me to see the ambush before I left the hill. And gave you that moment of doubt that stopped you from committing to the charge. He granted us mercy and protection against those that might harm us. But we must be vigilant. Such protections cannot be what we come to rely on.”
That drew nods from the commanders and Geoffrey dismissed them all. However, Alias remained behind, with an eye on continuing the conversation in private.
“Thank you,” he told Geoffrey. “For coming to my aid, both on the battlefield and here, now.”
Geoffrey grunted while nodding slightly. “It was a mistake. But… it was both of ours. Do better. Such things are required of lords. Or they do not remain lords very long… just ask our de Poitou cousins.”
Alias scratched his head. “We have living de Poitou cousins?”
Geoffrey eyed him. “My point exactly.”
Alias’ froze in place, his complexion turning pale. A slight nod was his only movement.
“I need to be alone,” Geoffrey told him.
Another slight nod followed and Alias hurried from the tent. Once he was gone, Geoffrey slumped in his chair again.
He closed his eyes and saw the battle once more. It was easy for him to imagine a situation where he didn’t see the ambush before he left the hill. And then… how Alias would have been overwhelmed… captured and perhaps killed. Once that had happened, Geoffrey’s remaining men might well have been caught by the Transjuranians and defeated, if not worse.
Just the thought of such things made Geoffrey’s heart race. And the only thing that could calm him is the fact it had not succeeded. He had God’s blessing to thank for that.
In a show of appreciation, Geoffrey dropped to his knees and prayed.
…..
However, Geoffrey’s good fortune and blessings did not appear to last long.
The king had believed his enemies were trapped and he could renew the attack once his forces had recovered from the day before. But instead, his enemies had managed to cross the river again, and then fall back to the east. Given his army had traveled so far, so quickly, to engage the fight, Geoffrey was forced to let them go.
He’d hoped the battle, costly as it was, would bring the Navarrans to the table, especially as he saw their losses were comparable to his, even if slightly less. After all, they were less able to sustain them, and had many more enemies.
But with their withdrawal, and no emissaries, Geoffrey was left to regret missing an opportunity, as well as left to wonder if Leyre had been a costly draw with nothing gained.
A true Pyrrhus indeed.
Geoffrey was now at an impasse - did he stay put? Did he march southwest, which would see him pass through Castillian lands - Castillians who might not be friendly - or did he go east, into the mountainous regions of Aragon, and risk battle in disadvantageous terrain?
Further reports of the Fatimids and the men of the Sheik of Acre also reached him, further complicating matters. He had hoped to have finished off this war by the time that happened. Now, he would be forced to demand his vassals provide their levy… or abandon Navarra, which was not a real option.
However, before he could send word out, an emissary arrived from Duke Gunzelin of Transjurania, requesting a meeting between himself and Geoffrey.
A few years younger than Geoffrey, the duke had plenty of history with the king despite having never met him. He was married to Geoffrey’s paternal aunt Ermengarde, who had come to be known as the dwarf duchess after the diminutive Angevin was the consort to a pair of dukes in her life.
Beyond that, Gunzelin’s mother was the Duchess of Dauphine, whom Geoffrey had bested in his first martial conquest. And that latter may have been enough to overrule the former when Gunzelin had decided to intervene on behalf of the boy king of Navarra.
It was odd that Gunzelin gave no word about his allies attending, but Geoffrey agreed to the meeting, wondering if perhaps the duke had enough of this war and wished to negotiate passage back to his lands. Geoffrey was inclined to let him go, though he would want something as restitution after the trouble Gunzelin had caused him at Leyre.
Despite the meeting being a neutral ground - an open field not too far from Geoffrey’s camp - the king decided to be cautious and leave Alias behind, to say nothing of Prince Guilhem. The king did take Berard, Knud - the Dane’s intimidating presence was useful in these moments - and his household knights as he rode out to meet the duke.
Banners waving in the breeze as they traveled, Geoffrey made his way to the designated spot. After his scouts returned to report no traps had been spotted, the king arrived to see Gunzelin seated in the field at a table with a few men behind him.
As he approached the duke, Geoffrey was surprised by Gunzelin’s dress - his armor was still muddied and dirty. His hair was a mess and, while Geoffrey originally thought it was the horses, it turned out Gunzelin himself smelled as if he had not bathed in weeks.
It was true, such luxuries were not frequently available on campaign for most. But a king, or duke for that matter, could have his armor cleaned, and he certainly could afford a tub to bathe. Especially when meeting a person of great importance, which Geoffrey was certain he qualified.
The king, after all, had taken care with his appearance, making sure his armor was made to look pristine after Leyre and taking care to be clean in face and body. His father, had he still lived, would not have expected anything less when meeting a lord, even if the duke was a lesser one.
To say nothing of the fact they were technically united by marriage.
“Nephew,” Gunzelin said, reminding Geoffrey of that fact.
“Duke Gunzelin,” Geoffrey replied, trying his best not to show his frustration over being addressed truthfully, but still in his mind disrespectfully. Nor the fact Gunzelin remained seated upon Geoffrey’s arrival, just staying in his hunched position over the table.
Was this man raised by wolves, Geoffrey wondered. Though he remembered that Gunzelin was the son of the Duchess of Dauphine, who Geoffrey thought was pleasant to look at, even in armor. Apparently such gifts had not passed to her son.
He almost wanted to call him out on it. But if there was one area he remained a bit uncomfortable in - it was diplomacy. Insulting the duke might be foolish, given he might offer an opportunity for Geoffrey to succeed in his goals.
Besides, Geoffrey had others to do that for him.
“Your legs don’t work?” Knud snapped. “You are in the presence of a king.”
Gunzelin’s eyes widened. “And who are you to speak to a duke in such a manner.”
“Knud is the grandson of a King of the Franks and the King of the Danes,” Geoffrey answered. “As well as a fine mentor and commander, who taught me much of war.”
Gunzelin didn’t look pleased at the disrespect, but given what had preceded it, Geoffrey couldn’t muster up any sympathy.
“This is Berard de Perigord,” Geoffrey said, continuing on. “My advisor.”
“Ah, but no Prince Alias?” Gunzelin asked. “Since you fight this war for him?”
“I was not aware he was needed for this meeting,” Geoffrey said. “Are we discussing peace? I do not see the Navarrans present.”
“Technically it is not peace talks…” Gunzelin said. “But… I think we can all but end the war today.”
The duke offered Geoffrey a seat across from him, which Geoffrey took after dismounting. Berard and Knud took their places behind him. He was offered a drink, but Geoffrey politely refused.
No need to risk being poisoned now, he thought.
“So, the battle the other day,” Gunzelin began. “Quite the fight, wouldn’t you say?”
Geoffrey eyed him. “It was certainly was a difficult encounter. But you left the field to me in the end.”
“That is true,” Gunzelin said. “There was only so far I was willing to go for the boy. Though… I must admit, I have been eager to test myself against you for some time. Ever since you defeated my mother a decade ago, I have wondered if it was her feminine weakness or her paltry number of men that allowed for such a victory.”
“And now you have seen it was far more than that,” Geoffrey told him.
“It is true,” Gunzelin said. “I thought I had you with that ambush. But you managed to force my men away, despite the advantage we had gained. Your reputation is well-deserved.”
“Then your curiosity is sated?” Geoffrey wondered.
“Quite,” Gunzelin said. “I believe me and my men acquitted ourselves well. It was a close fight - few can boast such things after having clashed with the mighty Aquitaine.”
Geoffrey did not enjoy Gunzelin’s arrogant tone, but he also didn’t think the duke was wrong. He had fought Geoffrey better than any lord previously and could have defeated him on a different day.
“But defeated you were,” Geoffrey said. “And now you are here to talk. About what, I am not certain, though I expect you will not keep me in suspense any longer.”
Gunzelin grinned. “I wish to ask for passage through the realm of Aquitaine.”
“Why is that required?” Geoffrey asked. “Could you not head east, travel along the coast back to Provence and move north?”
“My mother and the lords of Provence have not gotten along,” Gunzelin explained.
“And we have?” Geoffrey asked.
“I trust you are a reasonable man,” Gunzelin said. “It would be in both of our benefits to allow my departure, along with that of my men.”
Realizing he was offering this without the Navarrans present, Geoffrey’s brow rose. “You abandon your allies to me.”
“I have honored my obligations,” Gunzelin said. “All they have managed, what little it was, owes to the efforts of myself and my men. But I will not spill any more blood for a lost cause. The boy’s lands in the Duchy of Navarra are yours. Needless fighting for the next year will only prolong the inevitable.”
“I wonder if they will agree,” Geoffrey said.
“They will have no choice,” Gunzelin said. “For I will come to them offering a peace - they give you the duchy and the conflict ends. If they do not take it… that is their choice. But they will be at your mercy, alone.”
It was a fine offer on the surface, but Geoffrey also had begun to harbor dreams of seizing more than Navarra, establishing a stronger foothold in Iberia.
“But what if I think more is deserved?” Geoffrey asked. “We have made relatively short work of Navarra, so far. You do not wish to be here any longer - that much is clear. Why should I not demand Aragon?”
Gunzelin frowned. “I would not think you greedy, King Geoffrey.”
“This venture was to establish a strong presence in Iberia to turn back the heathens,” Geoffrey said. “Aragon would only further that end.”
“I might believe such things if you were in any rush to defeat the heathens who make for England’s shores,” Gunzelin said. “Yet you look to fight for more land here, against a fellow Christian.”
“Who said anything about more fighting?” Geoffrey asked. “They could give me those lands now, and the boy can keep what he has in Castille. I think it fair.”
“I would imagine most would disagree,” Gunzelin said. “And it would be difficult for me to justify my departure - for you will be demanding far more than what Rome granted you.”
Geoffrey eyed Gunzelin. “Do you really wish to spill the blood of your men over such things?”
Gunzelin met his gaze. “Do you really wish to confirm Christendom’s suspicions that you would extort your fellow Christians while allowing heathens free reign?”
“I allow the heathens nothing,” Geoffrey said.
“We will not quit this war if you insist on this,” Gunzelin said. “Which means you will either have to quit Navarra to go deal with the Fatimids in England, or let England burn. If you choose the latter, what else would you be doing but confirming the worst suspicions of those around us?”
Geoffrey had no real answer to that. At this point, it was probably one or the other - even if he demanded his vassals provide their levy, he was not certain how large the Fatimid army heading toward England was. Which meant deciding between England and Iberia.
He had hoped Gunzelin would not fight him on this. If Tranjurania wanted out, then the Navarrans would be hard pressed to resist any demand he was to make.
“So I am to let you go, unmolested,” Geoffrey said. “After you have caused me problems.”
“Yes,” Gunzelin said. “Is that such a strange request? Again, you benefit - the duchy is yours. If we fight, it will be in time, but not without more problems for all those involved. Is that what you wish? Or is this some type of request for greater formality? Shall I have your aunt Ermengarde plead for me so you can have the appearance of granting mercy?”
“It is more principle,” Geoffrey said. “You disregarded my offers of friendship to aid the boy. And now you wish for friendship and leniency?”
“I don’t wish for anything except a return home,” the duke said. “This war has gone on long enough and the boy has no chance against you. I am not indebted to him, nor am I his vassal. I honored the terms of our alliance and I will fight this battle no longer.”
“That is fine, but why am I to simply let you go?” Geoffrey demanded.
“Because he cannot stand without our aid,” Gunzelin said.
“He cannot stand with your aid,” Geoffrey said.
“But he will be propped up longer,” Gunzelin said. “Months. Which will delay you in defending England. If that truly is your choice, then I cannot stop you. I will look forward to another test against you on the battlefield. It will be the only good that comes of it.”
“You think you can beat me?” Geoffrey asked.
“I nearly did once,” Gunzelin said. “I would be willing to try again, if that is God’s will.”
A challenge, but put forth in an underhanded way. And Geoffrey was tempted to accept the challenge, putting this disrespectful duke in his place.
But Geoffrey also knew what might happen if he did refuse - his wife in danger. Which meant Berard’s wife in danger, and his friend likely to taking his life into his own hands by going to defend her. Plus it would involve a longer stay in Iberia, and he probably did not need to take another chance with the curse after the near miss at Leyre.
“You can guarantee the boy and his handlers give up the duchy?” Geoffrey asked.
“I would not expect you to grant me passage without it,” Gunzelin said.
Taking a deep breath, Geoffrey nodded.
“It will be done,” the duke said.
“One more thing,” Geoffrey said. “Should you violate our lands or our people, I will be forced to respond in force. Do you understand?”
“Any man who violates the people or lands of Aquitaine will be hanged by my order,” the duke swore. “You have my word, nephew.”
Geoffrey eyed him, not pleased at being called that once more. So he stood up, glared at Gunzelin and replied: “Give my regards to your mother. I should like to see her again in my tent, as I did when I conquered her at Murat.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “If you do, I look forward to another test of our mettle on the battlefield.”
“Likewise,” Geoffrey replied with a smirk on his face.
….
Despite the air of discord toward the end of their meeting, Gunzelin held up his end of the bargain. A rider arrived the next day, informing Geoffrey, who was with Alias at the time, that the Navarrans were ready to capitulate. A meeting was arranged for a few days out, but it was a formality. The war was over.
The moment the emissary left the tent, Alias fell onto a chair, wide-eyed, but silent. Geoffrey couldn’t help but grin at his brother’s reaction.
“Overcome by the moment?” Geoffrey asked as he poured them out some wine.
“A bit,” Alias admitted. “It has not been that long, and yet… it was been quite the journey. And it almost came to an abrupt end in that battle."
His eyes dropped. "For many, it did.”
The reminder of that sent a chill down Geoffrey’s spine. Their near brush with the curse of Iberia was hopefully the last twist in this road - one which had given Geoffrey arguably his finest military victory… as well as a near defeat.
And it was a reminder the best laid plans could still turn sour thanks to things outside of his control. Perhaps he might have been able to press for more than Navarra had it not been for his wife’s decision to attack Acre. Or had he not stumbled at Leyre.
But he had. England was under threat, and it would take months for him to shift his men north, both due to the logistics of taking near 7,000 men across the channel, and the fact they were exhausted after all of this fighting.
Calling forth his unused vassal levy was an option, but he again wished to hold off. Even if there was no open dissent over the war for Acre - it would look poor on any Christian who complained of such things in public - Geoffrey had heard his lords preferred if England bore the brunt of the expedition.
And naturally Geoffrey agreed. So he felt even less willing to push for their aid, and incur their wrath.
It left Geoffrey with little choice but to take what had been offered. Which was what he set out to do, after all. And yet, after conquering a kingdom, taking just a duchy felt almost… quaint.
Of course, the problems of conquering a kingdom were there for all to see. Vassals who resented him. A realm to drag him into new conflicts. His initial celebrations were joyous, but the hangover induced headache left him with a small pang of regret with his decision to win England.
But the issues that lay in the near future could wait until tomorrow. He looked to his brother and raised his cup.
“To the new Duke of Navarra,” Geoffrey told him.
Alias smiled and raised his own cup in response. “And to his generous and caring, liege.”
Geoffrey smiled at that and the two made their way to the edge of the tent flap, as the king wished to summon his commanders to inform them the good news.
And as they went outside, Geoffrey looked up and saw that red bird flying overhead once more.
NOTE: I've mention before that I thought Pau was closer than it looked and this is why I think Geoffrey would have lost that battle had the Toulouse soldiers not intercepted Transjurania. Leyre nearly went south, as those casualty numbers show. Part of it was a mistake on my part (Frederic's departure meant I needed a new commander, and I forgot to place one - hence the two blocks of men in the story, rather than the CK2 tradition of three). But that should have been balanced out by the advantage in men - on flat land no less! That it wasn't leaves me to think in the mountains, against what would have been close to equal numbers, Geoffrey would have lost Pau.
So thanks to the Toulouse retinue, which saved his bacon!
