Before Plantagenet – A House d’Anjou AAR

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet- Chapter 41
September 1083 - Anjou, France


Foulques looked at her with some apprehension.

She did not appear as she should. After all, he had grown used to Beatritz’s more corpulent form, her gluttony, slothfulness, combined with birthing two children had conspiring to make her grow fat in her advancing years.

The duchess was certainly not thin now, but she had shrunken quite a bit over the last few months. Her dresses hung much looser off her frame - her skin sagged a bit as well. Her hair, completely white, now thinned. Her eyes were a bit sunken.

Yes, it should not have been unexpected, given she was 57 years. But for the first time since he had married her, Foulques could not help and see Beatritz as old.

And for some reason, it frightened him.

“You do not need to attend this meeting,” he told her. “It is important you rest.”

“I have rested for months,” Beatritz said, her voice raspy.

“Because you needed it,” Foulques said. “Adalmode believes that flu nearly took you. Given your age…”

Beatritz’s gaze fixed on him. For a moment, he could see the strength of will return to her.

“She also believes I am through the worst. And yes, I am old,” Beatritz said. “So old that I should lay here and wait for death to arrive?”

“I do not wish for him to arrive at all,” Foulques said. “Which is why I suggest as I do.”

“He is coming regardless,” Beatritz said. “But I do not feel he is coming today. Which is why I rise. And because you plan war. And if I am to serve as regent once more, I must be there at your council meeting.”

Foulques smiled and kissed her forehead. Then he helped her to her feet.

Slowly, they made their way to Foulques’ strategy hall. They walked arm and arm - it was deception of course - Beatritz needed the assistance to move. It was hardly the first time either but the pair had grown proficient at hiding her weakness. Or at least that is what Foulques believed - he had not had the will to ask Alearde what others truly thought of the duchess’ condition.

Upon arriving in the hall, Beatritz pulled away from her husband and motioned for him to move forward without her. With some caution he did, but she slowly trudged in behind, in full sight of the other councilors, who were gathered for the meeting. They lowered their heads as the pair entered. She managed to make it to a chair, and sat down.

“Let us not waste any time,” Foulques said as he arrived at the long table, the map still laid on it. It had changed much over the years - what with the expansion into Vendome and Nantes. And now, Foulques aimed to alter it once more.

“Has Duke Guilhem responded to our overtures?” Foulques asked.

Godfrey nodded. “He seems favorable, my lord. It appears he understands your reasoning for departing the siege of Tudela and said he prays his sister returns to good health soon.”

“You may pass along to my brother that I am in health,” Beatritz said. “And that I thank him for his prayers.”

Godfrey smirked and nodded. Foulques did the same.

In truth, he doubted Guilhem was even needed. Countess Sulgwen, by herself, stood no chance against Anjou. But with the war in Navarre now done, and Foulques still frustrated by what a waste of time it proved to be, he was not going to let Guilhem off easy in his obligations.

And besides, Foulques thought to himself, how much longer will I be able to call on the old man anyway?

“Do we have wish to summon the Count of Charolais? Or Evreux?” steward Guilhem asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “They will not be needed.”

With William of Evreux part of the war with Philippe, Foulques doubted he would answer the call anyway. And Foulques had grown a bit suspicious of the Count of Charolais, given the rumors that his murder of the Duke of Toulouse was done at the behest of Duke Hugues.

I do not need Hugues meddling in something that should be straightforward, Foulques thought.

“What of King Philippe?” Foulques asked Godfrey. “Has he been informed?”

“Yes, my lord,” Godfrey said. “The king passes along his approval, and his best wishes in your adventure. He says he has no doubt you will have little issue in dealing with a child.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze. Always a biting comment from the king. He imagined Philippe passing along the remark, full-on smile plastered from ear to ear.

Perhaps he had said the same to Duke Guilhem’s emissaries when he left to attack Navarre, though Foulques doubted the king would have said it to his face for fear it might be bitten off on the next full moon.

But then, perhaps Philippe had right to be confident. His war with England continued to do well despite the setback of losing Duke Etienne of Champagne to smallpox, who was succeeded in his duchy by his young brother Philipp.

In his place rode the Duke of Berry, who had won Philippe a smashing victory over King Godwine’s newly assembled force when the armies met in Rouen.

The result was not only victory for the Franks, but Godwine himself had fallen in battle, attempting to rally his men. The English were once more in disarray, and their armies forced to fall back and regroup.

Foulques had heard rumors Robert of Normandy demanded to be installed king - arguing his armies could turn the tide back toward England’s favor.

The Saxon dukes would not hear him.

Instead, they had recently chosen Aelfmaer, who was the Duke of Hwicce… and had but one county to his name. Supposedly, Robert had stormed from the gathering, swearing England would be ruined by their stubbornness.

More than likely, it would be Robert ruined, Foulques knew, as he remembered Philippe’s desire to take Normandy for his own demesne.

“Then we are ready to proceed,” Foulques said. “All in favor of the motion to declare war upon Countess Sulgwen and rightfully add the county of Vannes to Anjou?”

All of the council raised their hands. Times had certainly changed from the days of Andre and his obstinance.

“It is settled,” Foulques said. “Leon, raise the levies. And as before, Duchess Beatritz will resume her role as regent in my absence. Should she be unable to perform her duties, Mayor Guilhem will assist her.”

The council nodded and Foulques ended the meeting.

There was one more order of business however, one that required the spymaster Baudouin, and greater privacy than the strategy hall could provide. Thus a few minutes later, Foulques and Beatritz had relocated to a small chamber, where the spymaster soon joined him.

“I assume,” Baudouin began, “this is over the matter of Mayor Uther of Guerande?”

Foulques nodded. The Breton mayor of the town in Nantes opposed his efforts to change the succession law in the duchy. He was but the only one who did - well, aside from Bishop Telent, who remained in the dungeons.

“We cannot have the progress of Anjou held up by an obstinate Breton,” Beatritz said. “If he cannot be made to see reason, he must be dealt with.”

Baudouin nodded. “I have a plan afoot, my lord and lady. Steward Guilhem and Renaud of Saumur will invite him to a small council of mayors. There, they and Alearde will take care of the matter.”

“Alearde?” Foulques asked. “Are you certain that is wise?”

“She is quite good at such matters,” Baudouin said. "Easy on the eye, but very skilled at what needs to be done."

“I recommended her,” Beatritz said. “We can afford no failures in this and must send our best. For the sake of our children, to ensure they are as strong as possible.”

Foulques lowered her gaze. He could not rebut such an argument. He loved Alearde yes, but his children came first.

“Take care of it as you see fit,” Foulques said.

Baudouin nodded. He then slipped from the room, leaving Foulques and Beatritz alone.

“You have been busy,” he told her. “Even while ill. It is impressive.”

Beatritz gave him a smile. “I have worked hard for this. I would not squander it.”

“No,” Foulques said. “You would not.”

“There is one more matter,” Beatritz said. “My niece, Aines writes me.”

Foulques felt his stomach clench for a moment.

“What did she say?”

“She wished me good health,” Beatritz said.

“Sweet girl, she is,” Foulques replied.

Beatritz laughed. “Yes, and after she finished sending me her prayers, she inquired about the availability of young Geoffrey. She made mention of her daughter Margaurite as a potential match.”

Foulques nodded. “She did the same when I met her in Bordeaux.”

“She mentioned as much,” Beatritz said. “And that you were not opposed.”

“I have done little thinking on such matters,” Foulques said.

“I have noticed,” Beatritz replied. “As our daughter remains without a marriage betrothal.”

“I am in little rush to send her away,” Foulques said. “I have seen the mistake your brother made with Aines. I look for a good match.”

“No, you do not look at all,” Beatritz said. “But if you like, I will seek unions for both our children.”

“Such things will be taxing,” Foulques said. “I do not wish for you to push yourself. Given your health, running the duchy will be enough.”

“I would do much for my children, husband,” Beatritz said. “It is no bother.”

Foulques shook his head. But he knew full well she would go about exploring things regardless of his approval. He may as well do his best to limit it, lest she try to overreach herself.

“You may explore,” Foulques said. “But that is all you shall do. I do not want even a negotiation to begin without me present.”

“Of course, husband,” Beatritz said. “I would not think of making such a big decision without your consent on the matter.”

No, you would merely make the decision and then convince me it was my idea, Foulques thought. But, he could not bring himself to be angry at the moment. Looking at her brought again the reality their time together was growing short.

And despite his feelings at different points in the marriage, it was not something he looked forward to.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 42
December 1083 - Vannes, Brittany

She was still gorgeous.

Alearde’s slim frame remained perky, even as she had grown older. Now 26 years of age, her beauty was growing more refined and her other skills… more proficient. Nothing was as satisfying as a night with her.

“Are you so certain?”

Foulques looked over to his right. Laying next to him was Aines de Poitou.

“She is a lowborn wench who has cannot even bear children,” Aines whispered to him. “I have already borne my brute of a husband three. It would be no bother for me to the same for you.”

She pulled his hand to her belly, which was swollen, yet firm.

“You are married,” Foulques said.

“As are you,” Aines said. “But such things do not last forever, as you know.”

“My lord!”

Aines kissed him on the cheek, then moved her lips down his neck, chest and toward…

“My lord!”

Foulques looked up. Amaury stood above him, his face illuminated by the flickering flames of a small torch. Around him was the dull and lightly decorated area of the command tent.

“What… what time is it? Why do you bother me?”

“Duke Guilhem has requested your presence,” Amaury said. “It is urgent.”

“Does he wish to howl at the moon?” Foulques asked. “Or merely complain about my strategy?”

“I do not know, my lord,” Amaury said. “Just that his emissaries said he requests to join him in his tent and that it cannot wait.”

Foulques sighed. He debated telling Amaury to leave him in peace, in hopes of returning to his blissful dream with Aines. Whatever Guilhem wanted could wait until morning.

“I will go,” Foulques said as he pushed himself up. He tossed on mail over his torso, made his way out to his horse with Amaury and rode forth.

They had not been long in Vannes. Foulques had marched forth in October, before Guilhem arrived to meet the forces of Countess Sulgwen, commanded by Bishop Euhoiarn. It was hardly much of a fight, as Foulques routed the force he outnumbered four-to-one.

Still was more of a fight than any in Navarre, Foulques said at the time.

After, Foulques had settled in for a siege, with Guilhem joining him personally in early November. Once more, King Philippe had given him leave, despite the war with England still raging.

Perhaps he does not want a howling madman anywhere near his men, Foulques wondered.

Guilhem’s tent was a half mile away, though in the darkness it took a little longer to reach it than it would have during the day. Upon arriving, Foulques saw more activity there than he expected at this hour, given it the middle of the night with torches providing the only light.

The guards let Foulques and Amaury through, and they saw a small group of people around the Duke, who rested on a cot. Among them, a man who did not wear any armor, and a priest.

“Duke Foulques has arrived,” one of the guards announced.

The group moved to free a path for Foulques to Guilhem. Once he reached him, he could see the old man sweating, his skin pale and his eyes bloodshot.

“Leave us,” Guilhem commanded, as strongly as he could with his weakened voice.

“My lord,” the priest said. “I am not certain now is the time.”

“You will have your time for your rites,” Guilhem said. “Now leave us!”

The priest and the others did as they were told. Foulques gave a nod to Amaury, having him do the same.

“They fear for your life,” Foulques said after they had all left.

“They have nothing to fear,” Guilhem said. “My life is at an end regardless.”

“It is early to say that, is it not?” Foulques asked as he poured himself a cup of wine. “Your sister appeared to be on death’s door, and she has recovered. You share the same blood, after all.”

“Bah,” Guilhem said. “I need not your platitudes. I do not fear what awaits me. My only regret is that I have been struck during the new moon. Had it been full, I would have recovered. But I am not strong enough to last until then.”

Foulques chuckled at that thought. Mad, even at his supposed end.

“Why did you wish to see me then?” Foulques asked. “Was it to chastise me for one last time?”

“You mock me when I have always been your supporter,” Guilhem said. “My lectures have made you a better leader. They will serve you well as the king’s marshal.”

Foulques raised a brow. As much as Guilhem’s defense of his past behavior was annoying to listen to, he knew about Foulques’ ambition to become marshal?

“Philippe let it slip, once or twice,” Guilhem said. “He likely sought to drive a wedge between us. He is a wily king, but not as clever as he thinks. After all, that one of my fellow dukes is a snake poised to strike is no surprise. It is our nature.”

“You bare me no ill will?” Foulques asked. He poured Guilhem a cup of wine and brought to him.

“You followed me to Navarre,” Guilhem said. “When others, even the king, called me mad. There is honor in that.”

The Duke of Aquitaine sipped on his wine, though he nearly choked on the contents.

“So it will end here,” Guilhem said. “In Brittany. Does not seem odd to you?”

Foulques shook his head. “Should it?”

“Do you remember when we were last here?” Guilhem asked. “When that blasted count… what was his name? Hoel? The one who you took Nantes from. He cursed us - that we would pay for your ill-gotten gains.”

“You think this a punishment?” Foulques asked.

“And you do not?” Guilhem demanded, his voice gaining strength. “I felt the first symptoms of this illness soon after. And it has weakened me slowly over the last decade, a painful torture. Death by a thousand little cuts.”

“So… you blame me?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Guilhem said. “You did as I would. We are men of ambition - we take what we see as ours. And anything we can reach, is ours.”

Foulques had a small laugh at that as well. “Then what do you wish of me?”

“This curse Hoel has laid upon us,” Guilhem said. “I fear it will not end with me. It may pass to my son. My daughters… and it affects you and your family - my niece and nephew, perhaps even my sister.”

“And you wish for me… to do something about it?”

“My son is but a child, not even 10 summers,” Guilhem said. “My daughters would not understand. You are the only one who can take up this charge.”

Foulques smirked. “I am no priest. I know not how to break curses.”

“Bah,” Guilhem said. “If I told you breaking this curse would grant you a county, you would find a way in days. You are an industrious man when you choose to be, Duke Foulques.”

“So you ask me to find a way to break the curse,” Foulques said.

“No, I ask nothing of you,” Guilhem said. “I am no fool. As I have said, you are duke of the Franks. You are a snake. As am I, the king, Boudewijn, Hugues and them all. I would not ask anything of you and expect you to aid me out of the kindness of your heart. I tell you this as a warning - the curse will strike at you and your family, even if it has not yet. Perhaps it has chosen me first, or Count Hoel wished you would be visited last, but it will come. It would behoove you to find a way to break it - saving your family and mine.”

At least he is honest, Foulques thought.

“And how do I go about breaking it? Return Nantes to his family?” Foulques asked.

“I am not certain,” Guilhem said. “I would not return Nantes, no. But there are ways to battle such things. Find a way. Before it is too late.”

Foulques nodded. “I will see what I can discover.”

Guilhem sighed. “I do not believe you. But there is little I can do now.”

“You can not spend these moments worrying,” Foulques said. “It will not help you recover.”

Guilhem did not respond to that. Instead he uttered: “Beatritz.”

“What of her?”

“Tell her she has done well,” Guilhem said. “I am proud of her, as I was our sister Empress Agnes. I will see her again one day… but hopefully not too soon.”

And it was that moment Foulques truly realized Guilhem was at his end. It left him with a hollow, empty feeling. Was it… even sadness?

“You… we have not always seen eye to eye,” Foulques said. “But you have helped me accomplish much. More than I did for you. I… I thank you.”

“As I said,” Guilhem said, his voice growing weaker, “we are dukes. We help ourselves.”

“I was not a duke when we first met,” Foulques said.

“Ah yes, a count,” Guilhem said. “A boy playing knight whom I bested to take Saintonge. And look what you have become. Had you won there, would you have even fathomed taking Anjou from your brother?”

Foulques finished his wine. “Of course. Because I could reach it.”

Guilhem uttered a weak laugh before raising his cup, then managing to just barely finish it off.

“Send for the physician and the priest,” Guilhem said. “It has been a journey Duke Foulques. Remember my warning, if you do not wish for yours to turn as sour as mine as ended.”

Guilhem closed his eyes, though Foulques could see he still was breathing. With that, he left the Duke of Aquitaine’s tent, briefly talked to the priest and physician as instructed. Then he mounted his horse, Amaury his, and the two rode off in the darkness.

“Is he dying?” Amaury asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said.

The two said nothing the rest of the way back to Foulques’ command tent.

….

Foulques did not sleep well that night. As much as he wished for Aines or Alearde in his dreams - he would have settled for a younger Beatritz as well - all he had were nightmares. Faces of Count Hoel, Count Bouchard, the disfigured King Konan… Jafrez, whom Foulques had slain… and death. Death of family. Beatritz, Agnes. The young Geoffrey. His own…

“My lord!”

Foulques sat up once more. His eyes adjusted to the light. Perhaps the late morning? At least the call was at a reasonable time.

“What is it?” Foulques asked as Amaury again entered.

“A visitor,” Amaury said. “A special one, my lord.”

“Has the Duke found a miraculous recovery?” Foulques asked.

“No…” Amaury said. “He…”

Before the knight could finish, a pair of men entered the tent to proclaim “Presenting Philippe, first of his name, King of the Franks!”

Foulques’ heart skipped a beat as the bearded king, dressed in mail, ducked his head underneath the fabric and entered. The duke and Amaury dropped to a knee. Philippe motioned for them to rise.

“Ah, Amaury, the not-so-simple knight,” Philippe said. “How do you fare?”

“I… I am well my lord,” Amaury said, seemingly surprised at Philippe’s question.

“A knight’s life is battle and you have been to Navarre and now back to Brittany,” Philippe said. He paused to cough. “You must be enjoying serving under Duke Foulques.”

“I could not ask for a better lord, my liege,” Amaury said.

“Things a king always wishes to hear,” Philippe said. “Now, if you do not mind, I wish to have a few words with your lord in private.”

“Of course, my liege,” Amaury said. “I thank you for your recognition.”

“You need not thank me for something earned,” Philippe said. “Until we meet again.”

Foulques watched as Amaury left with an even larger smile than the last time he met the king. He has him wrapped around his finger.

Once Amaury and Philippe’s two men left the tent, the king embraced Foulques. “It is good to see you again, Duke Foulques.”

“The same to you, my liege,” Foulques said. “But I must confess, I was not expecting your visit. I heard nothing of it.”

“Then my men did their jobs,” Philippe said. “I travelled in secret, with a small group. We did not wish to alert the English, so that they grow bold. But we also did not wish to move the whole army from Normandy for this task. Secrecy was essential.”

“What is this task?” Foulques asked.

“I heard a few weeks ago Guilhem had grown sicker,” Philippe said. “I decided it would be wise to come and see him. Unfortunately, it appears I have arrived too late.”

Foulques felt his stomach sink.

“He has passed?”

“Early this morning, just before the sun rise,” Philippe said. “A great man has left us.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “A sad day.”

Philippe coughed and then helped himself to some wine. “For his family and subjects. For others, more bittersweet.”

Foulques could not resist replying with a sly grin.

“I would imagine you are relieved,” Foulques said. “A threat removed.”

“A man who commanded perhaps the largest levy in my realm and howled at the moon,” Philippe began, “replaced by a child. I have had worse days.”

“So you came to make sure he was gone?” Foulques asked.

“Now, now,” Philippe said. “I said it was bittersweet. Guilhem served me well for much of my time as king. I had to work to keep his loyalty, but he still did not betray me. I believe change was necessary, but I did wish to see him one last time.”

Foulques nodded. “Then I am sorry for your loss, my liege.”

“And I yours,” Philippe said. “You have lost a valuable ally. Already I hear the men of the late Duke talk of leaving this war behind.”

Foulques furrowed his brow. “They do not even wait a day before abandoning the vows of their lord.”

“It is the way of these matters,” Philippe said. “But I do not believe you will suffer much for their defection. It seems these Bretons are already well beaten.”

Foulques thought of the long sieges that awaited him. “Not soon enough.”

Philippe chuckled. “Understood.”

The king turned to leave the tent. But stopped as he neared the exit.

“Oh, there is one more matter,” Philippe said. “Part of the reason I came here from Normandy was not just my current marshal lay dying, but that my new one was here orchestrating his war.”

Foulques’ eyes widened. “My lord…”

Philippe walked over and embraced him. “Congratulations Duke Foulques. The position you have long sought is yours, should you want it.”

“I would be honored, my liege,” Foulques said as he knelt before Philippe.

“It is not a simple honor,” Philippe said. “I will need of you to keep my armies strong and, yes, lead them. I will permit you to remain here as you are already engaged in this war, but I will call you from Anjou frequently. If you are not willing, or will be unhappy, it would be wise to voice your objection now.”

Foulques looked up. This is the role he had desired for a decade. He could not say no.

“As always, I am your loyal man,” Foulques said. “I will aim to see your will done as marshal, my liege.”

Philippe smiled. “Then arise Duke Foulques, marshal of the Kingdom of the Franks!”

Foulques took Philippe’s hand as the king pulled up and once more into a hug.

“I will not fail you,” Foulques said.

“If I thought you would, you would not be marshal,” Philippe said. “Now then, if you will excuse me, I must return to the army. Once you have completed your business here, I will summon you. I grow tired of these English. Now on their third king and still they refuse to admit they are beaten.”

“A stubborn lot,” Foulques said.

“That they are,” Philippe said. “I hope to see you soon enough Duke Foulques. Keep me informed with your task here. I shall do the same for you with the English.”

The king left the tent and Foulques did all he could to resist cheering loudly. It was finally his - a position on the king’s council. Recognition. Appreciation. Influence.

It did not seem so long ago that he merely wished to be left alone. But all around him, the realm was being shaped by other dukes - the other snakes, as Guilhem had aptly pointed out. And whether Foulques liked it or not, that would affect him. There was no use hiding from it - he needed to be a part of it.

And now he was.

Amaury entered the tent once more, moments later, as did Geoffrey de Semur. They embraced Foulques and toasted him as they shared celebratory cups of wine.

“Our future is bright,” Foulques said. “And you, my loyal men, where I go, I shall take you both with me.”

Amaury beamed and even de Semur, who Foulques noticed appeared to be in a douer mood since during the Navarre campaign, even cracked a smile.

Curse?

Foulques drank down his wine.

Curse this, you poor superstitious old fool.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 43
May 1084- Vannes, Britanny


“It was a difficult decision.”

Foulques was staring off into the distance as he said those words - over at the outside of his tent, the sunlight filtering in. The duke turned back to see the monk seated on the stool before him, quill in hand with parchment laid on the table, glancing toward him.

“For your uncle, my lord?” the monk asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “After a successful life leading men to battle, he found himself a new calling… your line of work.”

The monk smiled, though it appeared to be an uneasy one. Foulques gave him a reassuring tap on the shoulder and began pacing the tent once more.

After his appointment as marshal, Foulques had received plaudits from many in the realm. Some were courtesies, others no doubt attempts to worm their way into his good graces. But one of interest to the duke was that of a monk who wished to catalogue the history of the Anjou line. Unable to pass on such an opportunity, Foulques eagerly accepted.

Though at war, there was plenty of time to dictate to the monk the story of the family, given all the Angevin forces were doing were laying siege to the different parts of Vannes.

In telling the story, Foulques had focused on his mother’s line, rather than his father’s, the Counts of Gatinais, as both his grandfather, Foulques III and his uncle, Geoffrey Martel of Anjou, were far more distinguished in his eyes.

Foulques had just finished recounting on how his uncle had, with King Henry I of the Franks, managed to stave off William of Normandy’s repeated attempts to claim Maine. But now came the tricky part - explaining away how Foulques was bypassed for his brother.

“It was a matter of age,” Foulques said. “I was but 16 when my uncle decided to give up his title for life as a monk. He saw my value, but said that I still had much to prove. Thus, he was forced to to give Anjou to my brother, while I received Tours and Saintonge.”

“He told you this?” the monk asked.

He had not. But it would sound better if he had.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “We stood on the ramparts on the keep at Angers, overlooking the Maine. There, he told me that if I proved myself worthy, in time, it could be all mine. And, in time, I have.”

The monk turned back from writing for a moment to give Foulques a look. Rather than deliver another reassuring tap on the shoulder, the duke narrowed his gaze. The monk returned to his writing.

Foulques was about to continue when he heard footsteps fast approaching. Amaury rushed into the tent, visibly out of breath.

“My lord,” he said. “You must come quickly.”

Foulques traded glances with the monk. “What is it? Are we being attacked?”

“No my lord,” Amaury said. “But it is of the gravest import. Please, come with me.”

“Can you not tell me?” Foulques demanded.

Amaury looked toward the monk. “I would rather not, in the company of others. Please my lord.”

Foulques sighed and looked toward the monk. “We will continue when I return.”

The duke followed Amaury out of the tent and, to his surprise away from the camp.

“What is this matter that is so important?” Foulques asked as they walked into a small glade of trees. “I was in the middle of dictating my family’s chronicles to that monk. It had been weeks since I had it come to me as well as it did today.”

“It is your brother-in-law, my lord,” Amaury said. “De Semur.”

“What of him?” Foulques asked. “We drank with him last night. Where is he?”

Amaury stopped walking. “He is dead, my lord.”

Foulques stomach dropped and he felt the blood rush from his face. “Dead? I did not hear you right.”

“You heard me correct,” Amaury said. “He is dead.”

“I drank with him last night,” Foulques repeated. “You were not there? Do you not remember?”

“I do, my lord,” Amaury said.

“Why are we here then?” Foulques demanded. “We should be at his tent. Where his body is.”

“That is where we walk to, my lord,” Amaury said. “He was not in his tent.”

Foulques did not understand at first. He could still barely process what he was being told. And it only got harder as he saw de Semur’s lifeless body, dangling from a rope which hung from a tree branch.

“My God,” Foulques said as he made the symbol of the cross across his chest. “Murder!”

“I do not think so,” Amaury said. He pointed to the two men standing near the body, a pair of Angevin soldiers. “They are the ones who discovered it. They found no signs of struggle. You may look yourself my lord, but his hands were not tied, nor do his wrists show any sign they ever were. There are no marks to show he was hit, or burns to show he was dragged.”

“What are you saying?” Foulques demanded.

“I believe he did this to himself,” Amaury said.

Foulques’ eyes drifted to the earth. He could scarcely believe such a thing. Yes, de Semur’s mood had dimmed ever since the early days of Navarre. But all of their moods had - Navarre was a worthless endeavor after all.

But here things had been different. They had fought and won a battle. Their sieges were less of a bother.

The king himself had visited us.

And yet, his mood never improved, Foulques realized. He rarely smiled, was often sullen and kept to himself. He drank more, slept longer and some days did not venture from his tent.

Foulques looked up at the body again, and found himself with an immense burden of guilt.

How could I have not seen this?

“What shall we do my lord?” Amaury asked.

Foulques was silent. Amaury waited another minute before asking again.

“I want him to be buried with full honors,” Foulques said.

Amaury’s eyebrows rose. “He has committed a sin my lord. The priests will not approve.”

“I do not care for what the priests have to say,” Foulques said. “I want him to receive a proper burial.”

“But my lord,---”

“ENOUGH!” Foulques bellowed. “The man was my brother by law. And he served me better and more loyally than my brothers by blood ever did. Even as his mood dimmed, he said nothing to me, never once attempting to burden me with his troubles. He spent the last three years from his only son, a boy he treasured, in service of his lord. Does that not deserve honor, Amaury?”

Amaury lowered his head. “It does my lord. I just do not know if the priests will see it the same way.”

“FIND A WAY,” Foulques said. “I give you responsibility because I trust in your ability Amaury. Think of something. Do not mention his manner of death. Keep it vague. Say he was found. I don’t know and do not care, so long as he receives the burial he deserves.”

Amaury gave a nod. “I will not fail you my lord.”

Foulques looked at the body again. “Good.”

The duke stormed off. He felt numb as he walked, still struggling to come to grips with what he had just seen. When he returned back to his tent, still in a daze, the monk quickly realized there was something off and told Foulques they would continue whenever he was ready. The duke made no effort to keep him from leaving the tent.

Despite the awkward way de Semur had come into his life, Foulques meant what he said to Amaury. The man had never done him wrong, and never showed him any reason to believe he knew of Aureade’s plans to murder young Geoffrey. He had never been anything but a faithful servant, and proven himself a capable commander of Foulques’ armies - not quite Amaury, but close.

And while he had not been there in the beginning, de Semur had been there in the recent successes in Foulques’ life, including his victory over the English and the meeting with Philippe afterward.

He had been so happy when the king knew of him, Foulques remembered. What if he had been there when the king visited last? Would that have made a difference?

A drink was poured. Then another. His head swam. But Foulques found no clarity as he stared out at the world past his tent, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

…

A few weeks later, Foulques sat on top of a horse. Beside him was Amaury, chancellor Godfrey and a few other knights. De Semur’s absence was both impossible to notice by the casual observer and yet the most glaring thing in the world to Foulques.

He was momentarily distracted, however, as a small group of Breton knights approached. With them some advisors, in dressed in mail as well, as was the young woman in the front.

“Sulgwen of Vannes,” Foulques said as she brought her horse to a stop in front of his.

“Countess Sulgwen of Vannes,” the teen replied. “Do you Franks have any respect?’

Foulques almost had a laugh at such a reply from a child who was wearing the armor of a small man, yet it was still far too large on her thin frame.

Her party were less amused and more frightened by her outburst.

“Please forgive, my lady,” one of the men said. “She is upset…”

“She can be upset if she chooses,” Foulques said. “I care not. My only concern is she recognizes the county as part of my rightful demesne.”

“It is my birthright!” Sulgwen insisted.

“It was your birthright,” Foulques said. “But you could not defend it. So now, it is mine by right of force. Your vassals look to you for protection, but you have failed in your duty.”

“You brought four times the number of men,” Sulgwen said. “It does not show I could not protect it.”

“Then you should have sworn allegiance to someone stronger,” Foulques said. “A good leader realizes when they lack the ability to stand on their own.”

Sulgwen narrowed her gaze and was practically turning purple.

“You are a disgraceful man, Duke Foulques,” Sulgwen sneered. “My people will never submit to you Frankish brutes. We survived Caesar and hundreds of years of Romans, Huns, Franks and Saxons.”

“Then you wish to continue?” Foulques asked. “That is your choice. But be warned, this is your last chance to surrender. You may still leave here a free woman. You may get married, perhaps to a count or duke, and find yourself in a similar position. Perhaps you will be the mother to a great man one day…

“Or you can fight, and you shall end up in irons. I should warn you, the last child who dared to resist in such a manner never left my dungeon.”

As much as Foulques disliked thinking of the poor Count Bouchard, it was worth bringing him up if it ended this girl’s foolish resistance.

And he could see the hint of her fear break through her angry, determined exterior, at least for a moment. It was enough.

“You may take Vannes from me,” Sulgwen began, “but they will never accept you. We will live on. As we have for a millennia.”

“You live because I have allowed you to,” Foulques said. “Do not make me think again on that decision.”

Sulgwen’s face scrunched up and she grunted. But there were no more words left to be said. She turned her horse around and rode off.

And with that it was done.

….

That evening the Franks celebrated. The wine flowed, there were prostitutes brought in from the nearest towns for the knights, and toasts were made to Foulques, who had once again accomplished his goal.

That it was also once against a child was not mentioned, at least in his presence.

Perhaps that is what made it feel so hollow, he thought as he walked alone, the light of the full moon guiding his path just outside the camp.

He had taken Vannes. He now held a near third of Brittany. While he did not have designs on pushing further there, perhaps one day the opportunity would arise.

For now though, he would return home and see to Anjou before returning to war once more, this time as an important member of the king’s council.

And he had received word the resistance against his succession law change had melted away. Mayor Uther had been dealt with - how exactly, Foulques was not sure. The missive sent by Baudouin suggested while they had planned on foul play, it had not been needed. Regardless, a Frank was now the mayor, and he had little problem with acquiescing to Foulques’ desires.

It has been an eventful year, he thought. A successful one.

But as he looked up at the glade of trees where they had found de Semur, a thought occurred to him - one that had rarely ever entered his mind in his many years of life.

Success and happiness were not always one and the same.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 44
June 1084 - Anjou, France

“How is the wine?”

Aureade de Bourgogne took another drink. After swirling the liquid around in her mouth, she swallowed and then paused a moment before replying: “It is good, brother. Stronger than I would expect.”

“A gift,” Foulques said. “From the regents from Duke Alberic in Aquitaine.”

“Oh?” Aureade asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “They were concerned I may have tried to press Beatritz’s claim Poitou and Aquitaine. Instead I offered a non-aggression pact. This was a token of their gratitude.”

Aureade raised an eyebrow. “I admit, I am surprised you would pass on an opportunity such as that.”

“My levies have been at war for three years,” Foulques said. “I have been called to serve the king. Now is simply not the right time. And control over those two duchies, even if they are won, is no simple thing.”

“Then perhaps you mature brother,” Aureade said. “I do not know if you would have said such a thing even a few years ago.”

“We all mature in time sister,” Foulques said. “You as well.”

Aureade looked down at her food, a mix of chicken and pork. “I am not so certain about my nephew. Even now he plots on the king’s council and launches war on his vassals for territory.”

Then not so different than myself at his age, except I was in no position to plot on the council, Foulques thought. He still did not trust Hugues, the man obviously desired to be king one day, but he understood his rationale.

“How is your son?” Foulques asked.

Aureade shook her head, her eyes again dropping toward her food. “He does not fully understand. He knows his father is not returning, and yet, I think he still believes somehow he will.”

“I am sorry, sister,” Foulques said.

“Thank you, brother,” Aureade said. “But I do not blame you. He had never been the same since his first son died. There were good moments - when our son was born. When you summoned us to court. When he met the King. But… he never felt as though he could find his true purpose. However, I thank you brother. You treated him well, despite what I had done. I could not ask for more.”

“He was always loyal to me,” Foulques said. “I would have treated him no other way.”

Aureade nodded and went back to her food. An awkward silence fell in the dining hall.

It was not uncommon, especially on the rare occasions the pair ate alone together. While that had happened perhaps twice in Aureade’s time in Anjou prior to the war in Vannes, it had already occurred three times since Foulques’ return.

He could still see her uneasy with him - uncertain if perhaps at some point he may decide to punish her for her plot against young Geoffrey seven years before.

Had de Semur not been such a loyal man to him, perhaps he would have. But it would not feel right now.

“You appear concerned sister,” Foulques said.

Aureade kept her head down. “It is nothing, brother.”

“You are false with me,” Foulques said.

She stopped eating and looked toward him, her eyes watering in the flickering candlelight.

“My husband is dead,” she said. “My son has no father. I am unmarried and I worry you do not trust me. I say nothing because I do not wish to be ungrateful.”

“And because you fear I will punish you,” Foulques said.

Aureade gave a slight nod.

“My promise was if you did anything to harm my son,” Foulques said. “You have not, thus far. As long as you uphold your word, there is nothing to fear.

“As for your son,” Foulques continued, “I will not turn my back on him. I will treat him as blood should be treated and see him trained as a knight. When he is of age, he can choose to serve here or elsewhere, but I shall never turn my back on him, should you keep your word.”

Aureade’s somber expression melted a bit as she managed a small smile. “Thank you, brother. That eases me quite a bit.”

Foulques raised his goblet toward her. He did not mention her future - while he was pleased as his sister’s apparent reformation, there was no chance he could completely trust her. She was still a prisoner in his court, even if her cage had no bars. He would never allow her to marry someone outside his court for fear she could plot against his family when freed.

In fact, Foulques was fairly certain she would never remarry at all. But he would never tell her such things.

“How is the duchess?” Aureade asked.

Now it was his turn to give a concerned look. Beatritz had been complaining of fatigue and pain as of late. She insisted it was just the realities of age, but a few days before, she had nearly collapsed. Bed rest had been Adalmode’s diagnosis for now, while she examined the duchess for more.

“I am concerned,” Foulques said. “But there is little I can do. I only hope for some clarity before I depart for Maine.”

He did not have much time before that. Philippe had granted him a few weeks to get the affairs of the duchy in the order before he took command of the army, which laid siege to the county to the north of Anjou. But he could no longer delay - he prepared to depart by the end of the week.

“Is there anything I can do for her?” Aureade asked. “It would be an honor.”

Perhaps for Aureade, but Beatritz had never truly forgiven her. It was why Foulques had never entertained thoughts of placing his sister among her ladies. And he doubted that would change now.

“I will ask her if she has need of you,” Foulques said. “If she does not, do not fret. You have a great to shoulder now. Look to your son. That is your first concern.”

Aureade nodded. And they finished out their meal in silence.

….

After dinner, Foulques made his way to Beatritz chamber. She remained in bed, but was well-attended to, with her ladies and Adalmode present. Even Agnes and Etiennette were by her side.

“How she?” Foulques whispered to his daughter.

The teen gave her father a nervous smile. “I think she looks better father. But Adalmode remains concerned.”

Foulques gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead and approached his wife. Beatritz gave him a slight smile.

“You look concerned husband,” Beatritz said. “I am fine. I am certain I am just fatigued. Feeling stronger already.”

Foulques took her hand. “And I will be leaving again soon. Yet you need more rest.”

“If I must administer the duchy from the bed for a time, I will,” Beatritz said. “You need not worry. Adalmode will keep me in good health.”

Agnes surged forward with such haste, she actually bumped her father back. “Father is right, mother. You need rest!”

“Child, your concerns are noted and appreciated,” Beatritz said. “But this is not something you yet understand. This is a matter for your father and I to discuss.”

Agnes glared at her mother, but Foulques also noticed the fear in her eyes. She was frustrated - and scared for her mother’s life.

“There are still a few days before I am due to depart,” Foulques said. “We will see how your mother fares then.”

Agnes nodded.

“Alearde,” Beatritz called. The young woman approached. “I believe it is time for my daughter’s next lesson. Will you see to it?”

Alearde gave a nod. Agnes’ glare returned, but she said nothing as she followed her teacher from Beatritz’s chambers.

“Headstrong girl,” Beatritz said. “Beautiful, but stubborn.”

“She is of our blood,” Foulques said.

“I think her a good option for the Duke of Toulouse,” Beatritz said. “He comes of age soon and has yet to be promised a wife. A powerful alliance, he would bring as well.”

Foulques did not respond. He had little mood to discussing his daughter’s future at this time. There were more pressing matters.

“I do not think you healthy enough to handle the duchy by yourself,” he told Beatritz.

“You thought such things when you went to Vannes,” Beatritz said. “And I was fine.”

“I returned to see you like this,” Foulques said. “And that war promised to be short. I do not know how long the king’s war with England will last. It already drags on. They are a stubborn bunch, those Saxons.”

“With you leading, I think it will end soon enough,” Beatritz said.

“You flatter me,” Foulques said. “But there is no reason to.”

“I do not,” Beatritz said. “You have many faults and weaknesses, husband. But leading men in war is not among them. The king will see success quickly with you in control of his armies.”

Foulques smiled at the compliment and took her hand. He believed her words.

“My lord,” Adalmode interrupted. “A word.”

The nun pulled Foulques away and out of the chambers. He was immediately suspicious - it was clear she did not wish Beatritz to hear her words.

“You know what ails her?” Foulques asked.

Adalmode nodded. “She has a growth on her body. A tumor, I believe.”

“Out with it.”

“I think her body afflicted by a cancer,” Adalmode said. “I can try to cut the tumor out in hopes it has not spread. I can go deeper if you choose, but I promise you that such a treatment, at her age, may be fatal.”

Foulques said nothing. The words still had not fully processed in his head. A cancer? Beatritz could not survive such a thing for long.

Lithuaise had not. And she was younger. She was dead within a year. Granted she had been with child, but Beatritz was also much older…

“Does she know?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Adalmode said. “I was uncertain if she had the mental strength to handle such things.”

Foulques sighed. “Tell her what she faces. And then decide with her what needs to be done. I believe she will take your mild option. But she has earned the right to make such a decision on her own.”

Adalmode bowed her head. “It will be done.”

….

Two days later, Foulques again stood in the the duchess’ chambers. This time, her ladies were not present. However, steward Guilhem was there, as was Agnes and young Geoffrey. The group gathered around Beatritz, who was propped up by pillows.

“My orders are simple,” Foulques said. “The duchess will continue as regent. But she will have assistance from you, steward Guilhem. And so too from you, Agnes.”

The teen’s face lit up almost immediately. But she was composed enough not to hug her father.

“What of me, father?” Geoffrey asked, his face nearly as bright as his sister’s.

“You are still a boy,” Foulques said. “Almost 11 summers. Your time nears, but it is not yet here. I wish for you to shadow your mother and Guilhem, learning what you can of administration. Depending on how long I am gone, your say may well increase.”

Geoffrey’s face lost some of it’s luster. “I understand father.”

“Your will shall be done,” Guilhem said. “We will not fail you.”

Beatritz said nothing. Foulques could sense her unhappiness, though he was not certain if it were with him, her disease, or both.

“Leave us,” Foulques said. “I will bid each of you farewell in the morn.”

The three left, leaving husband and wife alone.

“You disagree with my decision,” Foulques said to her.

“I… No,” Beatritz said. “Given what Adalmode told me.”

“I do not wish for you to exert yourself more than needed,” Foulques said. “Guilhem will aid you. You two have worked well for years. He aims not for your position.”

“If he did, he would not have a long wait for it,” Beatritz said.

Foulques sighed. “And lean on the children. I wish for Geoffrey to grow into a man capable of overseeing Anjou as well as I… as we have. And Agnes is a loyal daughter who seems diligent in her duties. It would be good experience for her.”

“Agreed, husband,” Beatritz said.

He kissed her on the forehead. “You are strong wife. And as you have said, Adalmode is a most excellent healer I do not believe this illness will take you.”

Beatritz looked to Foulques. Her eyes were strong for a moment. But they gave way quickly to tears.

“I do not wish to die, husband,” she sobbed. “I am afraid.”

Foulques hugged her tightly. He tried to think of words to reassure her.

“I do not think this illness will take you,” he repeated.

But as she stained his shirt with tears, Foulques knew she did not believe him.

And as she clutched him, her grip much weaker than it used to be, he knew he did not believe those words either.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 45
June 1085 - Maine, Normandy

Another violent coughing fit filled the air of the camp.

It was sickening. The uncomfortable hacking, the sound of phlegm and blood combining as they were forcefully expelled. And the struggles to breathe afterward, wondering if this time, perhaps that struggle would be in vain.

Consumption is a horrible malady, Foulques thought. Thank God it is not me who suffers it.

But as the Duke of Anjou waited outside of the king’s tent, he knew he could the effects could still ripple forth. Such was the reality when the King of the Franks found himself afflicted by such a terrible illness.

Foulques remembered to the cough Philippe had when he visited him in Brittany. He thought nothing of it at the time, but when he joined the king in Maine, it was clear to all who spent more than a courtesy moment around Philippe of the nature of his illness.

Thankfully for Foulques, he was distracted from the latest fit by the arrival of a hooded man on horseback, who came with a few other knights around him. He dismounted alone and gave his horse to a squire, who led the beast off while the other knights moved alongside of him.

But Foulques had seen this enough times to know who was under the hood, even before the man pulled it down to reveal the chubby face of Duke Philipp of Champagne.

“Ah, Duke Foulques,” Philipp said as he clasped his hand. “How do you fare?”

“I have seen worse days,” Foulques said. “And yourself?”

“My latest errand for the king is nearly complete,” Philipp said. “I am overjoyed.”

“Was it that tedious, or that successful?” Foulques wondered.

“Sadly the former, rather than the latter,” Philipp said. “You can hear for yourself when I speak with the king. How does he fare?”

Foulques shook his head. “He sounds poor. His cough is strong. Violent. And it has not abated.”

Philipp sighed. “Unfortunate news.”

“I would have him see my physician,” Foulques said. “Especially given we are so close to Anjou.”

“You swear by your man?” Philipp asked.

“Woman,” Foulques said. “A nun. She has served me since I became the Duke of Anjou. Delivered my children safely. And she has managed to aid my wife. I have begun to wonder if she truly is touched by god.”

Foulques was not exaggerating. From what he had heard from Anjou, Beatritz seemed to be in better health than she had been in sometime. Of course, Adalmode cautioned such a thing may not last, but Foulques was grateful for Beatritz received as much time as possible.

And who knew, perhaps the nun really had cured it.

Then the hooded physician Roger poked his head from the command tent and told them the king would see them.

Philippe lay on the cot, his complexion pale, his lips red and hair wet from sweat. A bloodied rag sat on the table, with a few droplets on his tunic. He managed to muster a smile toward the pair, but did not rise.

“Excuse me for my rudeness, my dukes,” he said. “But I do not know if it would be wise for me to stand at the moment.”

“You should not, my liege,” Philipp said. “You must conserve your strength.”

“What do you have for me then?” the king asked. “Did my counterpart say?”

“His emissaries say they have interest in your proposals,” Philipp said. “They returned to the king and said they will be in contact soon. But in truth, I believe they stall for time.”

“I would agree,” Philippe said. “What say you, my marshal?”

“I think they are willing to let Normandy burn to give their armies time to recover,” Foulques said. “If the Norman subjects of Robert die so that the their Saxons live, it is a trade they are willing to make.”

“So what would we do then?” Philippe asked. “Perhaps we cross the channel and take the war to them?”

“I would not,” Foulques said. “It would not be easy to transport large numbers of men. We would be forced to fight them where they are strongest. And you seek Normandy, not England. If the Saxons remain on their island, then you shall own every keep, town, village and bishopric in the duchy. See then who the people would recognize as their liege.”

Philippe nodded but then fell into another coughing fit. He reached for and pulled the rag from the table and covered his mouth as his body trembled, wracked by the convulsions caused by the violet cough. When it was done, he placed the cloth, freshly bloodied back on the table, and leaned back.

“Perhaps the Saxons do not bide their time to reform their army,” he muttered. “But for this cough to take me.”

“They shall be disappointed then, my liege,” Philipp said.

“You have more faith than I,” the king replied. “This cursed consumption took my beloved Aliyah. Then it came for my mother. It seems fitting that I should be its next victim.”

The king closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breathe. He found it a struggle.

“What are your plans, my Duke of Champagne?” he asked. “Do you make for your home?”

“I will in a few days my liege,” Philipp said. “But first, I wish to spread some joy to Duke Foulques. Having experienced siege warfare myself as of late, I know it is a thankless endeavor. And the poor Duke has spent much of his past four years undertaking one after another.”

Foulques eyed Philipp. "So you plan, what?"

“You shall see,” Philipp said. “So long as I have the permission of the king.”

“What king would not like to see his dukes going off by themselves and agreeing on a great many issues?” the king asked. “But, you are free to do as you wish. You have both shown yourselves loyal. Enjoy yourselves. Just make sure my marshal is kept in one piece. It increasingly falls on him to conduct this war.”

The two dukes bowed before the king before departing his tent. One of the knights who had travelled with Philipp stood outside and the Duke of Champagne went with him to prepare - telling Foulques he would meet him at the Duke of Anjou’s tent in a little while.

As Philipp and the knight walked off, Foulques noticed how the duke seemed to be giving detailed orders to the man, appearing every bit a figure of authority.

It was an interesting sight given Foulques’ first impression of the Duke of Champagne - it was not that long ago that Philipp was merely the Count of Blois, a minor player in the realm who seemed to be in awe of the Duke of Anjou. But his brother’s untimely death smallpox had vaulted him to the Duchy of Champagne as well.

Foulques chuckled. If we could all be so lucky.

In truth, though, Foulques knew even if perhaps Philipp had not earned his position through anything but fate, he had endeavored well to keep it.

It was not long after his ascension that Philipp’s younger brother, Eudes, Count of Chartres, had rebelled against him. The young man aimed to claim Champagne as his own, and waged a bloody conflict to get it.

He had lost said conflict. And if he had hoped to receive mercy for his actions, he would be sorely disappointed. Philipp had not only stripped Chartres from Eudes, but taken hanged him as punishment, being willing to be branded a kinslayer in the process.

It was something even Foulques was not certain he would have done, even if he managed to trap Geoffrey.

Foulques returned to his tent and a little while later, Philipp arrived. Along with him came a large man hauling a barrel, and another with a large sack, which he emptied to reveal mugs, a game board and pieces.

“I hope you enjoy Saxon ale,” Philipp said. “The King of England sent some along as a gift to our king. Our liege graciously gave me two barrels.”

“I have had some once before,” Foulques said. “Though it has been a while.”

“You will have your fill of it when I am done with you,” Philipp said. “While it is not what I would have every day as they do, it is a nice change from wine all the time.”

After the two men who accompanied the duke had set up the barrel, Philipp filled the mugs then offered Foulques one.

“Let’s brighten the mood of this camp, Duke Foulques” Philipp said as he raised his mug. “Cheers!”

….

Hours later, Foulques found himself in pain. But it was not from a wound, or illness, or, God forbid, poison.

He was sore from laughter.

It turned out the Duke of Champagne was quite the talker and had an excellent sense of humor. He had shared stories from his experiences on the king’s council and from of the interactions he had with other dukes of the realm over the last few years.

Of particular mention was Duke Hugues of Burgundy, who apparently had been humbled a few times by none other than his wife, Duchess Adelaide, who was also Philipp’s mother.

“Does it not concern you that he may attempt to discipline her?” Foulques asked Philipp.

“She has been a duchess for two decades,” he replied. “She has navigated life with my father who had a far shorter temper. And Hugues remains taken with her, even if she irks him. She will manage fine.”

Foulques got up and poured himself another mug of ale. It was not the strongest of beverages, but he had drunk more than enough to feel its effects. He walked back to his stool and plopped himself down on it, nearly falling in the process. But he managed to keep himself upright, and not spill any of his drink in the process. Philipp toasted him for that.

“I am surprised to hear you jest at the Duke of Burgundy’s expense,” Foulques admitted after he got resettled. “You two appear close. I hear you follow him on the council.”

“I value the words of Duke Hugues,” Philipp said. “He has been a friend through difficult times. But… I am not foolish. He has his own desires. They may not always run in line with my own.”

“And what do you desire?” Foulques asked.

“I suspect the same as you,” Philipp said. “I wish to be an important man in the realm - important enough to have say within it but also allowed to manage my demesne as I see fit. That sets us apart from the likes of Hugues or Boudewijn.”

Foulques met Philipp’s stare. “Because they wish to be king.”

Philipp nodded. “They both stand close, yet so far. Boudewijn has the men to make life difficult for whoever sits on the throne. But he is from Flanders, and the claim is through his mother. Such things do not make him popular. Hugues’ great-grandfather was King of the Franks, and the claim is through his father and grandfather, but he has such little land to call his own. He makes attempts at gaining more, but…”

“But he has a long way to go,” Foulques said.

“You understand the politics of the realm better than you let on, Duke Foulques,” Philipp said. “As I see it, we stand in a unique position.”

“How so?”

“Around us, the realm changes. Guilhem of Aquitaine and Etienne of Berry, both now dead,” Philipp said. “In their place, children, not yet old enough to make the presence felt. Toulouse could, but he hides, terrified someone makes a play for his life.”

Foulques smiled at the thought that Berry was gone. The old man had passed just a few weeks before and word had only reached camp a days ago. Now, young Gilles, Foulques' nephew, ruled over Berry, at least in name.

“You know, it shames me to admit I know little of either,” Foulques said. “But… given that you serve as chancellor to the king, you must have met them. How are they like?”

Philipp cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? I am surprised you would ask of your nephew.”

“I have never met the boy,” Foulques said. “He lives close, yes, but my sister gave her life birthing him. And his father and I were not friends.”

“Of course,” Philipp said. “My apologies. I did not mean to bring up old wounds.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“So, the boy,” Philipp said. “Charming lad. Almost of age. His regents speak well of him, and I believe they do so in truth and not to stay in good graces. I have also heard the boy is… sweet on women.”

“What do you mean?” Foulques asked. “He is affectionate?”

Philipp smirked. “That is one way of putting it. Another is that he has supposedly bedded a few servant girls already - even though he is not yet 16 summers. Your wife's niece may have a difficult time with him as his wife.”

“I see,” Foulques said. “And what of Toulouse?”

“He is a bright man,” Philipp said. “Some even call him a poet. But, as I said, he hides.”

Foulques shook his head. “I confess to being disappointed to hear of such cowardice.”

“Cowardice?”

“I have had a plot hanging over my head since the moment I became Duke of Anjou,” Foulques said. “My brother plots my demise. But I have never once considered hiding. I have surrounded myself with the right people to keep myself safe.”

Philipp finished his mug and went to get another. “I see what you say, Duke Foulques. And I understand.”

“But you do not agree,” Foulques said.

“Consider if you will, Toulouse’s mind,” Philipp said. “His father was murdered. Successfully. It is clear the court is not as safe as he would like it. I think he takes a risk in hiding, but I understand his fear.”

“His father was a boor,” Foulques said. “If he is a poet, as you say, there is nothing to fear.”

“We are all boors,” Philipp said. “It is the way of dukes. And even if he were not - that hardly prevents plots against one’s self.”

Fair enough, Foulques thought as Philipp sat back down at the table.

“So, where were we with the state of the realm?” Philipp asked. “Oh yes! You have two men who wish to be king. Two children who play at being duke. One man who hides. And then you have us - the king’s chancellor and the king’s marshal. Between us, we control lands from Brittany to the Empire.”

“But what are we to do with it?” Foulques asked.

“Who says we must do anything?” Philipp asked. “The realm is in balance - a balance that suits me. If it suits you, then would it not be beneficial to maintain such a balance?”

Foulques raised his cup to that.

“Of course, should the king succumb to this illness,” Philipp said. “We would be wise to evaluate our options. His brother… we shall see if he is made of true royal stock.”

“I know little of him,” Foulques admitted.

“Prince Hugues is not quite his brother, from what I have seen of him,” Philipp said. “Stubborn, and weak in temperament. He is also jealous of the King, but then he has not even barony to call his own. Their father gave land to Robert, after all.”

“I see,” Foulques said.

“But perhaps of more import for you,” Philipp began, “Is his wife. She is of House de Bachaumont - sister to the former Count Bouchard of Vendome.”

Foulques lowered his head. “Naturally.”

“But… I would not worry,” Philipp said. “As I have said, we will assess matters should that come to pass. And should it, the prince may find things difficult - should he choose his battles with his dukes poorly.”

Foulques raised his mug to that.

“I must thank you for this,” Foulques said. “It has been the best night I have had in some time. A great deal has happened of late, and most of it has not been good.”

“I understand,” Philipp said. “I have had my share of difficulties as well. It is not easy to make the decision to… end your brother’s life.”

“A tough choice, no doubt,” Foulques said.

“I did not wish to,” Philipp said. “But he was envious of me and would likely never rest from trying to harm me or my family to take what he believed was his. And then there were those who claimed he may have even given his soul to a demon for power.”

“You believe such stories?” Foulques asked.

“I do not know,” Philipp said. “There were men who confessed to aiding him in his devilish pursuits though. I found my hands tied.”

“Unfortunate,” Foulques said.

“Yes,” Philipp replied. “But I look on the bright side. My duchy is now stable. I do the king’s business. I no longer have to chase my brother’s armies. And, my wife’s belly swells with our first child.”

Foulques raised his mug to that. “Congratulations. Such things are to be cherished.”

“Thank you,” Philipp said. “But it is what I mean. When there are storm clouds, one needs to wait them out for the sun to appear again. Or something like that. Or perhaps it is nothing like that, and I have just had too much to drink!”

“Perhaps it is both?” Foulques asked.

“Here, here!” Philipp said. He raised his mug. “To us, Duke Foulques, - may we see through the storm clouds and emerge cleansed, and ready for a brighter future!”

Foulques smirked and raised his glass.

“I will drink to that Duke Philipp,” he said. “I will drink to that.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 46
December 1085 - Evreux, Normandy

“We should storm the walls.”

Foulques stared at the King of the Franks, sitting atop a white horse on a high hill overlooking the keep in Evreux, before trading a glance with Philipp of Champagne. Before them, sat the siege camp and then the walls, where the defending garrison waited, no doubt huddled together to stay warm on a cold December day.

On cue, a biting wind caused Foulques to pull his cloak closer. A battle would warm his bones. But it was also suicidal.

“I would advise against it, my liege,” Foulques said. “We haven’t the numbers.”

The irony of arguing against battle was not lost on the Duke of Anjou. And if it had been, he would have likely figured it out after the tenth or so time Philippe had made the suggestion.

“Men will die, yes,” the king said. “But is an honorable death such a bad thing?”

He brought his bloodied rag to his mouth as another coughing fit came on and the rationale for the king’s desire for battle became clear enough once more.

“An honorable death is welcome,” Philipp said. “But there is no honor in seeking death as release, especially if it is not required.”

Foulques continued. “We are winning this war. And our victory here is near-assured, if we wait.”

Philippe scowled. “Yes, your agreement with the count here. And what if he betrays your trust?”

“His family’s life is on the line,” Foulques said. “He will not.”

The frown did not leave Philippe’s face. “We will see won’t we?”

It all had started a few months before. After completing the siege of Maine, and respite for a feast in Anjou to allow the king some time to recover his health, they had marched on Evreux, which left Foulques with some mixed emotions as he would be laying siege to the keep of his nominal ally, William.

But their conversation when Foulques had arrived to demand the surrender in October had gone cordially enough.

“There is no way to avoid this?” William had asked Foulques.

“My liege desires this keep,” Foulques replied. “You would be wise to surrender now. The English king will not come to aid you. Neither will your kinsman, Robert. We will allow you passage from here, should you agree.”

“And what good would that passage be?” William asked. “If my king does not hang me for cowardice, Robert certainly will.”

“And you may die in the dungeons of King Philippe,” Foulques said. “He is of ill-temper these days.”

“Perhaps a compromise then,” William said. “I will maintain my forces in this keep until the end of the year. If neither my liege, nor my lord marches to our aid, I will open the gates to your king then, provided I am permitted to depart with my family and those within the walls are not harmed.”

“I am not certain my king will accept such a deal,” Foulques said. “But I shall take to him.”

In truth, Philippe had not wished to take such a bargain. But Foulques had argued hard for it and had managed to convince his king of its merits.

Philippe had certainly complained since, but had yet to overrule his marshal. Though Foulques did wonder what might happen if there was no surrender by the new year…

With a heavy sigh, the king rode back toward his tent and motioned for Foulques and Philipp to follow. Upon returning, they dismounted and each had a cup of wine to warm them.

“I do not know why I listen to you on this matter,” Philippe continued. “I wonder if you go soft on your former ally. Or does he remain your ally?”

“My loyalty is to you, always,” Foulques said. “And I do not do it for him. I do it for the sake of the war. And for you my lord. The realm would not be served by your passing, honorable or not.”

The Duke of Champagne nodded. “And I think the Queen would like it even less, seeing as she is convinced she is likely to birth a boy. I speak from experience - you will not find a more joyous moment than when you first hold your son.”

Philippe waved them off. “She hears what she wishes to hear. She is with child. That is all we know.”

“Regardless, would you not be best served in living long enough to find out?” Foulques asked. “If it is a boy, his only chance at survival is you being alive to keep your enemies at bay.”

The king’s eyes drifted toward the heavens and he sighed once more. “I do not think it would be a month before Boudewijn would demand the crown. And I do not trust my cousin to keep the realm together.”

“Your work undone,” Philipp said. “A waste, given what you have managed and what you can accomplish.”

Despite his friendship with the Duke of Champagne, Foulques did not always like his visits to the camp. It was another duke, and another person who could undermine his opinion with the king.

But when it came to matters like this, Philipp was an incredible asset. They were on the same page - for any issue they had with Philippe as the King of the Franks, neither saw Boudewijn, who would be likelier than Hugues to seize the throne, as a preferable alternative. And Philipp was far better with his words than Foulques and could usually calm the king down.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a man requesting entry to the command tent. However, the message was not for the king, but for the Duke of Anjou.

Such messages always left Foulques with his heart in his throat. He knew that one would be telling him that Beatritz had died - but he did not know when. He had heard she remained in good spirits, but things could change quickly.

“If I may speak to you in private, my lord,” the man said.

“Who is this message from?” the King demanded.

“It comes from… the duke’s humble servant in Anjou,” the messenger said.

“Humble servant in Anjou?” the king wondered. “Would not all your courtiers in Anjou be considered such?”

“My liege,” Philipp began, “Perhaps the message is for the duke’s ears only.”

The king looked over the messenger, then Foulques. “I do not like the look of this man. And I’ll not have my marshal felled by an assassin. Accompany him, Philipp.”

“I am in no danger,” Foulques said, insulted that either Philippe did not trust him to defend himself or that the king simply did not trust him at all.

“I insist,” Philippe said. “I hope you will humor me, as I have you.”

Foulques said nothing, but was seething internally. He said nothing as he marched from the command tent and toward his own, with the messenger and the Duke of Champagne following close behind.

“I am sorry,” Philipp told Foulques. “You know the king is of ill-temper these days.”

“I have not blighted him with Consumption,” Foulques said. “And I keep him safe from his own foolhardy desires to end his life prematurely. For that he speaks ill of me.”

“Sieges make foul moods of us all,” Philipp said. “It will pass.”

They arrived at Foulques' tent and after entering, he turned to the messenger. “Out with it.”

“Your humble servant would like to pass along that a surprise gift is en route,” the messenger replied. “It is due to arrive in the summer.”

“Cryptic enough,” Philipp said. “So this servant wishes to hide the truth?”

Foulques frowned. He did not need this. If the king suspected him, messages like this would only make matters worse.

“That means little to me,” Foulques said. “What gift would take another half year to arrive? And why would my wife not tell me of such a gift if it was of import?”

Philipp’s eyes suddenly widened. “Duke Foulques, that woman you introduced me to when I visited you and the king in Anjou in September. Alearde, was it? Perhaps this is from her?”

Foulques raised an eyebrow. “And if it is? What does she mean by…”

And suddenly it fell into place. Alearde was pregnant.

Foulques thought back to their return to Anjou in September. There were celebrations upon arriving - primarily as a show of respect and wealth to the king. And Foulques was pleased to see his children looking well, while Beatritz, though she had lost some weight, appeared to be in relatively good health.

Yet after months on campaign, what he longed for the touch of Alearde. So he had indulged himself, repeatedly, during the three-week stay in the keep. She spent every night with him, and quite a few days as well.

It seemed as though she had missed him as well. Her laughter that had enraptured him years before was back in full force and she seemed genuinely happier than she had been.

“I do not know why,” Alearde had told him. “But yes, I do feel a greater joy in seeing you than I have of late. Perhaps it is because you have been gone so much over the last few years.”

“I returned,” Foulques said.

“For moments,” Alearde said. “I know this but a moment as well, yet… it feels different. As I said, I do not know why.”

He stroked her cheek. Her beauty was eternal it seemed. After all, she was not the teen whom he had seduced. Nearing her 30th summer, she was no longer young. Her looks were growing more refined, and while she had always been wise for her age, she carried herself with a growing maturity.

And given Beatritz’s health, he found himself wondering once more if perhaps Alearde might make a fine duchess.

He would not bring it up to her of course. Not only did he remember her dismissal of the thought years before, he was uncertain if he would go through with it when the opportunity arose.

His common sense told him that there would be more useful marriage candidates. But his heart insisted there would not be an opportunity like this again - she loved him and he her. He already had status, and even still, the King had married two lowborn women himself.

And the fact that Alearde had not conceived a child despite their long affair gave him pause at considering her as the duchess. But now that she had...

He grimaced. Now that she had, he knew not what Beatritz would do. Given her reaction to Lithuaise, Foulques was not optimistic.

He looked to the messenger. “Tell her I am pleased and that I will return to Anjou when I am able. In the meantime, she must tell no one of how this child came to be. And, of course that she will always have my support. I shall not abandon her.”

The messenger looked at Foulques with some apprehension.

“What is it?” Foulques asked.

“The lady wished for secrecy,” the messenger said.

“Then grant her secrecy. Spin it as you did the last message,” Foulques said.

“It was not me who crafted the message,” the man said. “It was her.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. Now he had to come up with some ridiculous message by which he was to convey his happiness and support while also delivering a warning? Such things were not his forte.

Instead, Philipp stepped toward the messenger. “Tell her this: ‘I am overjoyed to hear such news. But you would do well to keep the manner of how this gift has come to be secret for the time being. Know that I will not abandon you, no matter what comes.’”

The messenger looked to Foulques, who replied “That is good. Use that.”

Foulques gave the man a few coins and then sent him on his way.

“Thank you for that,” Foulques told Philipp.

“It is nothing,” Philipp replied. “I understand such conversations can be difficult.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “I think I have a few more hard ones in my future.”

The Duke of Champagne chuckled. “My friend, you are not the first man to sire a child with a woman who is not his wife. And I dare say you will not be the last. Worry not over such matters.”

You do not know my wife, Foulques thought.

“One more matter,” Philipp began, “what shall I tell the king when he asks of this messenger?”

Foulques shrugged. “He knows of Alearde. Hiding this matter will only make him suspect me more.”

“The king’s suspicions are merely borne of frustration over the length of the war and is poor health,” Philipp said. “He trusts you. Otherwise you would not be his marshal.”

True enough, Foulques thought to himself. But should he lose patience, either with me or my strategy, knowing the true reason will serve me little good.

The conversation was interrupted by the sounds of movement about the camp. The dukes poked their heads outside to see the men moving about in a hurry, as if something were about to happen.

“He has decided to assault the keep,” Foulques said. “I’m sure of it.”

“There could be another reason,” Philipp said. “But if that is the cause, we must hurry to stop him.”

The two made a quick dash to the command tent. There the King was donning his armor, having already put on his leathers and having one of his servants help him into his mail.

“Ah,” Philippe said upon seeing the two men. “You return at a good time.”

“My liege,” Foulques began, “I must advise one more against assaulting the keep.”

“I beg my liege to listen to your marshal’s counsel,” Philipp added. “He has not earned his reputation for nothing.”

The King of the Franks laughed. “Very well, Duke Foulques. I shall listen to your counsel and not assault the walls.”

Foulques and Philipp traded glances. That was far too easy.

“I have no need,” the king said. “Your man agreed to surrender, provided his family is allowed safe passage, and the people within are not harmed, which I will grant.”

Foulques breathed a sigh of relief. “So, he has done as promised.”

“He has, yes,” Philippe said. “There are still other keeps in this county that we will need to take, but this is an important first step.”

The king patted Foulques on the shoulder. “I plan to meet with William shortly. I trust you will want to be present?”

Foulques nodded. He and Philipp then quickly made for their own tents to get properly dressed in their armor, his mind racing as he moved.

This had worked out. Perhaps Alearde would work out as well.

Yes, he was sure of it. His fortunes were back on the upswing.

As the Duke of Anjou walked, he smiled.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 47
June 1086 - Anjou, France

He found her beautiful. She stirred things he did not fully understand, urges he at times felt ashamed of. She had sparked dreams of he with her, and he had done things himself which he knew were sinful.

But Geoffrey d’Anjou could not help it. He was in love.

It was with his sister’s lady, Alearde. She was a good 16 years his elder - old enough to be his mother! And she was practically bursting with child as well.

Yet he could not overcome these feelings that surged forth whenever he saw her. It filled him with lust, desire and a fair bit of guilt.

Aubry told him not to worry, that such things were part of becoming a man. He also reminded Geoffrey that Alearde was lowborn, so perhaps when he was older, he could sample her forbidden fruit.

Of course, he knew someone already had, given her pregnancy. Not that the teen thought less of her. Nothing could take away from her pretty face and delightful laugh…

“Are you are right, Lord Geoffrey?” she asked him.

He snapped back to reality. “Oh, no, I…”

“You were looking at me for some time,” Alearde said. “I was concerned.”

He should have known better. Standing the the courtyard, watching her in the open, he made it too obvious.

“Well, I…” he stammered. “I… just wondered if you were feeling… well… uh, given your condition?”

Alearde narrowed her gaze. “I am fine. My time is near, but it is not here yet.”

“G...good,” he said. “I uh… just would like you to stay safe. That is all.”

Her stern glare broke and a small smile formed on her lips. Those sweet, thin lips, how I wish I could kiss them!

“It is sweet of you,” Alearde said. “But I am well. Truly.”

Geoffrey nodded. He was unsure of what to say next. “You remain very beautiful today.”

Alearde blushed. “I thank you for that, my lord. I do not feel so.”

“You should!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “Nothing could make you less so!”

“Geoffrey!” Agnes shouted to him. “A moment?!”

Geoffrey did not wish to leave. He had that stirring in his loins again, and Alearde seemed to be receptive to him. Perhaps he could just get a brief touch of her skin…

“Geoffrey!”

“Your lady sister calls, my lord,” Alearde said. “It is impolite to keep her waiting.”

Geoffrey scowled. Of all times, sister, why now??

But Alearde was telling him to go. He would get nowhere now. So he hurried over to Agnes, hoping she could be done with whatever she wanted quickly so he could return to Alearde.

“What do you want?” Geoffrey demanded.

“For you to stop bothering Alearde,” Agnes said.

Geoffrey blushed. “I… I was paying her compliments. She felt ugly.”

“You flirt with her,” Agnes said. “It is clear as day. And it does not look well upon you.”

“It doesn’t?”

“She is swollen with another man’s child,” Agnes said. “Yet you would chase her? Your future is as the lord of this land. You do not settle for someone else’s scraps like a hound at the table.”

Geoffrey’s eyes drifted to the ground, before they snuck another peek at Alearde.

“She is so pretty,” he said.

“She is,” Agnes said. “And she is also bedding another. So put her from your mind.”

“You do not know that!” he insisted. Though he quickly realized the foolishness of his comment. “It may have been one time. She has no husband.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “Abandon this foolish pursuit. It is unbecoming of you brother. The eyes of others fall on you. They judge you even now for what man you will be when you take father’s place. Impressions matter.”

It was not what he wished to hear. But he did not know how to argue against it.

With that, Agnes left him as she took his desired place beside Alearde, with the two returning to the keep. Geoffrey was left to stew, as he marched out to toward the practice field, where he found Aubry swinging a blade against a strawman.

The older boy was a few inches taller than Geoffrey, though still thin, with his armor rustling as it moved on his body.

“Come to finally join me?” Aubry said as he tilted his helmet up slightly. “Your father will want to see some improvement in your sword arm if you are to join him on campaign.”

Geoffrey glared at his friend before picking up a sword nearby and hacking wildly and uncontrollably at the straw man.

“Have I offended?” Aubry asked.

“You and everyone else wishes to tell me as to how to behave,” Geoffrey said. “They say I am to be the Duke of Anjou and yet they treat me as if I was a servant!”

“Who else?”

“Agnes,” Geoffrey said. “She lectured me for talking to Alearde.”

“She is protective of her,” Aubry said. “Alearde has been her second mother. Your sister is sensitive to the whispers she hears of her. Take what she says with that in mind.”

“Sometimes I think she believes herself duchess,” Geoffrey said.

“Worry not,” Aubry said. “One day she will be married, away from here. And you will not have to suffer her meddling.”

“I wonder such things,” Geoffrey said. “She is of age, but has not even betrothed. I do not know what my father waits for.”

“He has yet to find you a bride,” Aubry said. His lips formed a sly smile. “Perhaps he waits for the right suitor for her.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “I do not think you will be who he chooses for Agnes, Aubry. You would best forget such things.”

“I do come from a house of great repute,” Aubry noted.

Repute, yes, Geoffrey thought. Great, is another matter.

“I jest Geoff,” Aubry said. “You would do well to not always be so serious.”

Aubry lowered his head. “And I suppose you are annoyed I again tell you what to do.”

Caught in a difficult spot of agreeing and confirming Aubry’s criticism and denying it but being frustrated on the inside, Geoffrey said nothing. Instead he picked up the sword once more and slashed away at the strawman, imagining it was the faceless man who bedded his sweet Alearde.

….

Agnes d’Anjou stared at the child in her arms. She did not know how to feel.

“She is beautiful,” was what she mustered to Alearde, who lay in the bed beside where she stood.

“I thank you for that, my lady,” Alearde said.

She could tell Alearde sensed her discomfort. But how could she not? Here Agnes was holding her own bastard half-sister.

Agnes had time to come to grips with this, even if she had not yet managed. Not only had the child been born a few days ago, but it also wasn’t as if she didn’t know of her father’s affair with her former tutor. She may have been innocent enough to ignore it a few years ago, but she had spent enough time around both to know something was happening between them.

I do not understand how Geoffrey does not see it, Agnes wondered.

But then her brother merely lusted over Alearde. He did not spend the days with her. And he did not learn how to read people and situations from her.

And he likely had not heard them one day in these very chambers, when Agnes had sought her out only to decipher the sounds of passion coming from the other side of the wooden door.

Still, he might learn soon enough. Alearde believed Foulques would acknowledge the child. Agnes was not so sure.

“Have you decided on a name?” Agnes asked.

“I think Belleassez,” Alearde said.

“Belle,” Agnes said. “Pretty.”

They remained in silence for a few moments, with the soft cry of the child the only south. Agnes gave Belle back to her mother, who brought the child to her breast.

It was a sight that Agnes was unsure of when she would emulate. She was now of age - but had no husband. Her mother talked of the Duke of Toulouse, but nothing had come of it. He was still in hiding anyway. And even if he did come out of it - leaving her home to marry a man who not only had threats to his life, but also seemed to run from them, did not seem appealing.

In truth, Agnes was not sure she wished to be married. Etiennette always talked of how she desired such things, but part of Agnes would prefer to remain in Anjou - aiding her father and later her brother. This was her home, where she had grown. She was in no rush to leave it, or its people.

“Are you angry with me, my lady?” Alearde asked, bringing Agnes back to reality.

Agnes shook her head. But she was not truly sure. She did not wish to be. But it was all so much more real now that the child was here.

“Has my mother spoken with you?” Agnes asked.

“No,” Alearde said.

That was no different than it had been in months. Agnes could only imagine her mother’s conflict - she had allowed the affair to go on because it provided her valuable information on Foulques - information she insisted was necessary to protect herself and Agnes and Geoffrey. That Alearde had always provided, though telling Beatritz that she had means to make conceiving a child unlikely.

But unlikely was not certainty.

Alearde had told Agnes she had received a lecture from Beatritz upon admitting to the pregnancy - the duchess chastising her for not being careful. Then the duchess had demanded Alearde get rid of it, somehow. But that was a bridge too far for her, and she refused.

Only Agnes’ intervention had kept Alearde in decent standing - while she was no longer serving the duchess, she had taken her place among Agnes’ ladies now that the young woman had come of age.

She hopes in time, Beatritz would calm. She did not need such aggravation given her own health.

There was a knock on the door. The steward, Guilhem entered.

“Pardon if I interrupted anything,” he said. “I have received word from Duke Foulques.”

“And?” Agnes demanded.

“The Duke acknowledges the child you have borne, Alearde, is his,” the steward said. “It will not have any inheritance rights and is barred from succession. But he will raise it as his own.”

The fear on Alearde’s face, which had gone pale upon the steward’s arrival, gave way to a smile.

“Thank you, lord steward,” Alearde said. “I am grateful for the duke’s generosity.”

“A word to the wise,” the steward said. “I would avoid the duchess. She is in a foul mood.”

“Of course,” Alearde said. “Thank you.”

“I was speaking to Lady Agnes,” Guilhem said. “She does not approve of your presence here.”

“Oh,” Agnes said. “Thank you for that warning then.”

Guilhem nodded and then bowed his head as he left the chambers.

“I am sorry,” Alearde told her. “I did not wish for any of this. I love your mother as I would my own. And you like a sister. I did not mean to drive a wedge between us.”

Agnes wished to reassure Alearde - tell her it was not her fault. She followed orders after all… but in truth she was not sure.

Part of her did suspect Alearde enjoyed being her father’s mistress. And perhaps she should have taken better precautions.

Or was that frustration over this child talking? Worse, was that her mother talking?

Agnes admired much of what Beatritz had done. But her paranoia and petty vindictiveness was not among them. She told herself to be better than the duchess in that regard.

It was just so damn difficult.

“It is difficult,” Agnes admitted. “I do not know how I feel. But… you have always been good to me, Alearde. I will not turn my back on you, or… my… sister.”

The words sounded so odd. But they drew a smile from Alearde. And seeing that made Agnes feel just a little better.

….

Beatritz glanced up at Etiennette Karling. The chubby girl was fast growing into a pudgy woman. As the girl placed the tray down, which held a pitcher of wine and two goblets, she gave the duchess a smile. All she got was a scowl for her trouble.

She would bed him too, Beatritz thought.

“She displeases you?” Aines de Poitou asked her.

The duchess turned her gaze to her niece. The scowl remained for a moment, though Beatritz was experienced enough to lose it quickly.

“I do not think well of her, no,” Beatritz said. “She comes from poor stock. But my daughter loves her like a sister. So I permit her.”

Aines chuckled before sipping her wine. “She is a Karling, is she not?”

“Whatever that means these days,” Beatritz said. “Which I do not believe is much.”

In truth, she did not know if she feared Etiennette bedding her husband or her son more. The girl offered nothing. She hoped they would see that, but from her brother and husband, she knew how men could be.

But an alternative sat before her. Aines had come with her eldest daughter Margaurite to Anjou for a visit. It was clear what Beatritz’s niece’s intentions were. And if there was any doubt, that Aines insist the girl meet Geoffrey made it obvious.

Geoffrey had been with the monks, as was often the case, so Beatritz had sent the girl with Aubry Karling to find her son. She did not believe Geoffrey would think much of her - a child would hold no candle to the mature Alearde, whom he foolishly pined for. But there was little harm in humoring her niece.

It was the least of her worries. Her annoyance over the bastard Alearde had borne could not escape her thoughts, while concern over Geoffrey, who would be riding with Amaury to join Foulques in Evreux in the coming days, along with the fact that pain was becoming a routine part of her life, all weighed heavy on her mind.

And apparently, her face as well.

Aines raised an eyebrow. “What troubles you my lady?”

“Many things,” Beatritz said. “I fear I do not have much patience these days. There is much to do, a little time to do it.”

“I have heard many compliments on your ability to do just that,” Aines said. “I have little doubt you will succeed in your tasks.”

“You flatter me, niece,” Beatritz said. “And I know you did not come from Limousin to do that. You wish to talk marriage.”

“To the point,” Aines said.

“As I said, I do not have the time to waste,” the duchess replied.

“Then it is simple,” Aines said. “I believe my daughter Margaurite would be a fine match for your son. They are close in age, and I think her a lovely girl.”

“You are her mother,” Beatritz replied. “What else would you say? But she brings no alliance - your child count is of no consequence even if he could be moved to provide us support. Meanwhile, Foulques is owed a favor by Hugues of Burgundy, who has but one daughter and a wife who may not give him another child.”

“How… did he manage that?” Aines asked.

“He promised him support for a time on matters of the council,” Beatritz said.

Aines took another drink of her wine. Then the smile returned to her face. “She is a child. Nearly seven summers my cousin’s junior. It would be a decade before they would be wed. If you wish such things settled soon, that is not the way.”

“Patience…”

“Which your husband does not always have,” Aines said. “I would imagine he would like a grandson sooner, rather than later. Which my Margaurite, I believe can help him provide.”

“If it is just a woman to give children,” Beatritz said, “there are many of them. What do you offer us?”

“Aquitaine, Poitou and Gascony,” Aines said.

“Your brother’s lands,” Beatritz said.

“They do not have to remain as such,” Aines said. “He is a child, who is also not loved by his counts. They look down upon his culture - my mother now raises him in the Norman way, an even more distasteful choice than Frankish. And there are rumors he is not even my father’s son! They whisper my mother, disgusted with my father’s disease, took to bedding another man, who is true Alberic’s father.”

The scowl returned to Beatritz’s face.

“That is the woman who gave you life, girl,” Beatritz said. “And your father who thought the world of you. You would be wise to show them respect.”

“I speak to rumors,” Aines said. “They live whether I speak them to you or not. And I must look to my daughter’s future. I will do a better job of it than my father did with mine.”

“So you expect us to press your claim?” Beatritz asked.

“Perhaps, if such an opportunity arises,” Aines said. “And when my time comes, it would go, in part to Margaurite.”

“In part,” Beatritz said. “And only if you do not have a son, which you still have much time for.”

“Then do not press my claim,” Beatritz said. “Wait until my daughter would have it, and then you could have a grandchild who would control all of the western half of the realm. Think of it, my lady - Anjou, Brittany, Poitou, Aquitaine, Gascony - all under the Angevin banner. With such holdings, not even the King of the Franks could hope to touch your family.”

It was quite the vision. A very opportunistic one - it would take a great deal to secure such territory. Young Duke Alberic may have detractors, but it would take more than that to accomplish what Aines spoke of.

And yet, Beatritz could see a way. It did not offer the likelihood of taking Burgundy, but Hugues’ title sounded greater than it was. He had few holdings. It would enhance the prestige of her progeny, but power? Not as much.

The thought of her potential grandson having near total control of such a vast expanse was appealing - so much so a smile finally penetrated her face.

And there was something to the issue of urgency - Beatritz knew her time grew short, even she did not wish to think on it. Soon, Foulques would remarry. And that wife may produce a son. It was imperative Geoffrey produced a child of his own - if he did not, it may be the child of this second wife who inherited Anjou.

“Perhaps there is something to this match, niece,” Beatritz said.

“I have long thought as much,” Aines said. “And I knew you would see the value in it.”

“I cannot promise you this will be done,” Beatritz warned. “I must still discuss this with my husband.”

“Of course, my lady,” Aines said. “I would not expect anything else.”

She raised her goblet toward Beatritz, who responded in kind.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 48
December 1086 - Anjou, France

She had not changed.

Foulques stared at Aines de Poitou from across the room. Perhaps her body had grown a touch heavier - not surprising as she had birthed another daughter since they had last met - but she was as beautiful now as she had been when he first met her in Bordeaux those five years ago.

Those piercing eyes met his as he walked up the dais. She did not look away, instead, her thin lips formed a wry smile.

She was standing, as was her husband, Adhemar, and daughter Margaurite. So too were Philipp of Champagne and his wife Esclarmonde.

Also present was someone Foulques had only met in person for the first time days before - his nephew by his late sister Hildegarde - Duke Gilles of Berry, who was present along with his wife, Aines’ sister, Peronelle.

It had not been Foulques’ plan to have his nephew present, but it did not seem wise to refuse the request of the King of the Franks.

It was Philippe and his family that Foulques, Beatritz, Agnes and Geoffrey entered the hall alongside. The queen had travelled from Melun to be here, along with their daughter Adalmode and the young prince Alphonse, less than a year old. The princess would not be joining them at the dais - she veered off and sat with the other noble children - among them Aines’ younger daughters and Foulques’ nephew Hevre.

Normally, Geoffrey would likely have joined them, but he, like Margaurite, were the reason for this feast. Tonight, they would become officially betrothed.

The guests all took their seats, with the king and Queen Sybille taking large chairs normally reserved for Foulques and Beatritz. To the king’s right sat Geoffrey and Margaurite, followed by Adhemar, Aines, Peronelle and Gilles. To the king’s left the queen, and to her left, Foulques, Beatritz and Agnes, then Philipp and Esclarmonde. Also present, at the end of the table, was Court Chaplain, Bishop Telent, who had been reinstated by Foulques after renouncing his heresy, and apologizing for attempting to convert the duchess.

The rest of the hall was a mix of knights, courtiers and nobles. As this was happening in Anjou, most were from Foulques’ demesne, with an appearances from his direct vassals, including Andre, the son of the Baron de Cholet. He was nearly a man grown now, and Foulques had high hopes he might one day serve him as well as his father had.

Soon it was time for the ceremony itself. Geoffrey and Margaurite were walked to the center of the hall, where Bishop Telent now stood. He conducted the ceremony, with the two children making their vows to one another - vows they promised to uphold in the future. Then Geoffrey and Margaurite marched before a table that had a goblet of wine and an apple. He stood taller than her - not unexpected given he was 13 summers while she just 10.

They each took a step forward and drank from a goblet of wine. Then they took a bite of the apple. Finally the pair kissed, with Geoffrey appearing disinterested and Margaurite closing her eyes. That drew the applause of the hall as the two walked back to the dais, holding hands - with the pair taking the seats between Philippe and Adhemar.

“Lovely,” Beatritz said as she applauded.

“Agreed,” Philippe said as he raised his goblet. “May God bless the union of these two!”

A cheer went up in the hall and with that, months of planning had finally been realized.

It had started sometime before when Beatritz had convinced Foulques to go along with the betrothal of Geoffrey to Margaurite. He had his reservations, but the duchess had focused a great deal on the potential claims the family brought in such a union.

Another matter turned out to be the negotiations themselves - the young count Thomas of Limousin did not wish to allow the union to proceed. However, Aines had suggested to her aunt that if her family were offered a place in the court of Anjou, her husband would gladly accept. He did - and they had arrived in late November - while Foulques along with Geoffrey was still on campaign.

Foulques and Geoffrey had arrived just days before the ceremony was to happen, along with the king and Philipp. Evreux had fallen completely, and Foulques hoped to use the opportunity to attend the betrothal ceremony in person. He gave an invitation to both the King and the Duke of Champagne, and both had accepted, with the King deciding he also wished the young Duke of Berry present so he might finally get to take stock of the man.

Foulques had expected to dislike the boy, but he had endeared himself to his uncle earlier in the day. While Foulques had been practicing his archery, Gilles had approached him.

“Morning uncle,” Gilles had said. “Mind if I join you?”

Foulques had given the teen a look, but allowed it. After all, perhaps he overreacted to his nephew. His dislike of Berry was because he sought Tours. Gilles may be more humble and respectful, especially since they shared blood.

“Your keep is impressive,” Gilles said as he loosened his first shot. It was not a good one, and missed short of the target. “I have heard it discussed in passing but am happy to see it myself - given our family’s roots here.”

Your family is de Bourges, Foulques thought as he fired a shot of his own - a decent one, which struck the target but did not come close to the center. Though he was not foolish enough to ignore the hypocrisy of the idea - after all, Foulques own connection to House d’Anjou was through his mother.

“It is impressive,” Foulques said. “I hope to improve it further in the years to come as well.”

Gilles aimed and fired another arrow. This shot was better and actually hit the target.

“I do not know why I am not doing well today,” Gilles said. “I have practiced much over the years to accompany my father on his hunts.”

“Yes…” Foulques said. “I imagine your father prefered to hunt deer over boar?”

“Prefer would be far too strong a word,” Gilles said. “But he was not so proud that he was blind to his limitations.”

Gilles fired another shot. He again hit the target, though on the outer edge.

Foulques looked the boy over. He was tall - not surprising given they were related - though he had yet to fill out. But there was something about his appearance that rubbed him the wrong way. At first, he wondered it was because he looked like Berry, but upon closer inspection, Foulques realized it was the opposite.

The boy looked like his other uncle - Geoffrey.

“I must ask you, Duke Foulques,” Gilles began. “For a favor.”

“A favor?”

“My mother,” Gilles said. “I did not know her. And her time in my father’s court was short so most do not know her either. I hear generalities, like ‘she was beautiful’. Or kind. But you would have known her best. Can you tell me of her?”

Foulques had been aiming for another shot, but instead he lowered the bow. It was a question he perhaps should have expected. But it was not one he found himself prepared for.

“She was… lovely,” he said. But he realized Gilles had heard that before. “She was determined. Strong of will, but never neglectful of her duties and her role in life. She was fiercely loyal to her family… even those undeserving of such devotion. She was a woman to be proud of - I know I am to have had her as a sister.”

Gilles lowered his head. Foulques thought he might have seen the boy tear up, but his eyes were hidden away from the duke for a time.

“Thank you for that, uncle,” Gilles said. “It means a great deal to me.”

The conversation had reminded the duke of his poor, late sister. It was enough to remind himself that, as he sat at the same table as Gilles, whatever Foulques’ issues with Berry, they were buried with him. Perhaps the boy could turn out to be a useful ally in the future.

After the meal was complete the king gathered the dukes around him. Adhemar also followed though not invited to participate. It was enough to draw an eye roll from Foulques, who was beginning to understand how Guilhem must have felt when the man visited his court.

It was not unnoticed by the king, who finally motioned for Adhemar to join them. He bowed before the king.

“Rise Adhemar de Limousin,” Philippe said. “Such acts are not necessary. After all, your family are among the honored tonight.”

“You are most gracious, my king,” Adhemar said. “It seems you are in better health these days. I had heard distressing rumors over the last few months.”

“Yes, you are good to notice,” the king said. “My cough is not what it was. I have hopes that this dreaded disease may have found me too difficult an adversary. But, I do not take anything for granted yet, especially when I return to Normandy.”

“A wise decision,” Adhemar said.

“You should know, your late father in law often spoke of you,” Philippe said. “You and Aines were often at the forefront of his thoughts.”

Adhemar’s eyes widened. “Such talk humbles me, my king. I did not know the late Duke spoke of me so.”

“Oh yes,” the king said as he sipped wine from his goblet.

“Adhemar,” the Duke of Champagne said. “If I might have a moment of your time. There are some men in service to the king I would like you to meet.”

“Of course, my lord,” Adhemar said.

The Duke of Champagne led him off and Philippe sighed before having a mild coughing fit.

“This is a moment when I am grateful for my chancellor,” the king said after he had regained his breath.

“Were you true with him?” Foulques asked. “Adhemar.”

“That Guilhem spoke of him?” the king replied. “Completely true. I just did not mention how my former marshal spoke of him. And it was not well. He lamented his choice for his daughter - even admonishing me for not having the foresight to demand her hand myself! Thankfully, he seems to have done better for his second daughter.”

Gilles raised his goblet in appreciation of the complement.

“Let us hope then,” the king began, “that the girl takes after her mother, more so than her father.”

Foulques gulped down a large helping of wine. Such talk was hardly making him feel secure in his decision.

Philippe looked over and called for Geoffrey to join them. When the teen did, the king shook his hand.

Geoffrey had been with his father in Evreux, so meeting with the king was hardly new. Foulques smiled as he thought his son was already learning how to show just the proper amount of reverence.

“Congratulations, my boy,” Philippe said. “You will no doubt have a fine wife when she comes of age.”

“Thank you, my king,” Geoffrey replied.

“You do not seem pleased,” Gilles said to his cousin. “If young Margaurite grows to be like her mother or her aunt, I do not think you will find her wanting in looks.”

“There is more to a wife than looks, cousin,” Geoffrey replied. “I beg pardon, Duke Gilles.”

Gilles chuckled and waved Geoffrey off. “There may be more, but it helps a great deal.”

“I think young Geoffrey chafes at having his wife decided for him,” Philippe said. “It is understandable. And I am hardly one to speak on such matters. But the girl is the granddaughter of a great man.”

“Yes, my king,” Geoffrey said. “My father has relayed the tales of Duke Guilhem’s importance to the realm, may he rest in peace. I am grateful for this union. It is just overwhelming, my king.”

“I would not worry,” Philippe said. “You have some six summers to make your peace with it. And should you not, there are always mistresses - is that not right Duke Gilles?”

The teen’s eyes grew wide. He gulped down a large helping of his wine.

“I know not what you speak of, my liege,” Gilles said.

Philippe stared through the teen. “I should warn you, my young lord, you are a man. Indiscretions with women other than your wife are frowned upon, but not forbidden. Being false with your king - as a duke such actions carry with it a far harsher penalty.”

Gilles lowered his head, though he did not break stare from the king. “Of course, my liege. Please forgive me.”

“You are forgiven,” Philippe said. “You are young. Mistakes happen.”

Foulques doubted Gilles was pleased by that, but the teen kept his composure well. On the other hand, Foulques noted Geoffrey had a scowl on his face.

“Duke Foulques,” the king said. “A word.”

Foulques naturally walked away with the king so that they were safely out of earshot of anyone. As he did, he also noticed Geoffrey’s scowl had not faded. And… he appeared to be shooting quick glances at him.

Is he angry with me? What for?

“Young Gilles is more confident in his abilities than he should be,” Philippe said. “His affairs are already becoming gossip in the realm. The queen herself has heard of them.”

“As you say, he is young,” Foulques said. “Is this what you wished to discuss?”

“Yes, but we will return to that matter, ” the king said. “There is a more important issue that we must deal with first. It comes to my attention that you believe I do not trust you.”

Foulques grimaced. Philipp, you mouthy bastard.

“My liege, I think perhaps the Duke of Champagne misunderstood what I meant,” Foulques said.

“No, I think he understood well enough,” the king replied. “But you need not worry Duke Foulques - I do not think ill of you for voicing it. Far from it - my behavior in Evreux was ill-fitting of a king. And I apologize.”

Foulques did not think he heard the king correctly at first.

“My liege, such talk is not necessary,” he said.

“I questioned your loyalty,” Philippe said. “When such a charge was underserved. So yes, such talk is necessary. You have served me well on campaign. My doubts were of myself, and my health. Those remain, but I have full confidence in you, lord marshal. Let there be no doubt of it.”

Foulques bowed. “Thank you my liege.”

Philippe smiled and raised his goblet. After his sip he looked back toward the hall. “Now, back to the other matter. Something comes to my attention that I feel the duty to share with you, as a friend.”

A chill went down Foulques’ spine. “Gilles?”

The king nodded. “I believe he has been… friendly… shall we say… with your daughter since his arrival?”

“Friendly?”

“He speaks with her a great deal, going so far as to seek her out,” Philippe said. “My attendants say they have seen him more in her company than with his wife.”

“They are cousins,” Foulques said. “Perhaps they have struck a fast friendship.”

Philippe cocked an eyebrow. “You are aware the boy already has a reputation? I did not jest with him. Rumor has it he’s already sired a bastard with a servant girl in his keep.”

Foulques felt his stomach clench. “So you believe he attempts to bed my daughter?”

“I do not know,” Philippe admitted. “But I think it possible. And therefore I wished for you to know so that you might stop it, if indeed that is his plan.”

“And I am to confront him?” Foulques asked.

“I would not,” Philippe said. “He is confident, as I said. He will not heed your warnings.”

“How do you know?” Foulques asked. “Do you not think me intimidating enough?”

“I know what it is like to be young, confident and believe yourself invincible,” Philippe said. “You close your ears to others and chase only what you desire. For me, it was land. My beloved Aliyah.”

Foulques grunted. “Then how would you proceed?”

“Your daughter,” Philippe said. “She is the one under your control.”

Foulques nodded and thanked the king for his information. Then he moved to seek out his daughter.

He found Agnes with Etiennette, Margaurite and Duchess Esclarmonde - the Duchess of Champagne was far closer in age to them than to Beatritz or Aines, and did not have a comforting figure like Peronelle did in her sister. Though if Philippe’s information was correct, perhaps Peronelle remained away for other reasons.

Foulques whispered for Agnes to follow him away from the group so that he could discuss something with her in private. She did, following her father into a hallway.

“What do you need of me father?” she asked.

“Your cousin,” Foulques said. “Gilles of Berry. What is your relationship with him?”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “He is my cousin.”

“Have you spoken with him at length?” Foulques asked.

“I have,” Agnes said. “He is as charming as they say.”

“Have you spoken to him alone?”

“Yes…” Agnes said. “As he said he did you, this morning.”

“That is different,” Foulques said. “He is not attempting to lure me into his bed.”

Agnes’ eyes widened. “I know not what you speak of, father. Gilles is friendly because we share blood. Nothing more.”

“I hear otherwise,” Foulques said. “He has already done so to others and is not to be trusted.”

“You speak ill of your own blood,” Agnes said. “On vile rumors?”

“He is a Bourges, not of Anjou,” Foulques said. “I’ll not have him ruin my only daughter.”

“I think my bastard sister would beg to differ,” Agnes said.

That earned her a slap from Foulques. Agnes rubbed her cheek, but did not break her defiant stare.

“What is going on here?”

The two turned to see Beatritz standing in the flickering candlelight. She approached, scowl on her face, glaring at both of them.

“Mother… I…”

“Silence, girl,” Beatritz said. “Husband, why have you struck her?”

“Disrespect,” Foulques said.

“She spoke truth,” Beatritz said. “You have sired a bastard, which shames all of us.”

Now it was Foulques turn to glare at his wife. Agnes smirked.

“But it is not your place, girl, to say such things to your father,” Beatritz said. “Apologize to him.”

The smirk vanished as quickly as it came. Agnes lowered her head. “I am sorry for my tongue father.”

Beatritz looked toward Foulques. The duke sighed.

“It is forgotten.”

“Good,” Beatritz said. “I’ll not have our family have the look of barbarians in front of the king and queen. Now what is this about?”

“The king believes the Duke of Berry tries to bed our daughter,” Foulques said.

“So it is the king who says such thing?” Agnes asked. “The one they call the ‘Son of Satan’ himself?”

“What did I just say about your tongue, girl?” Beatritz demanded.

Agnes looked down. “I am sorry mother.”

“I tire of this,” Foulques said. “You may deny what you wish. But from this moment on, you are not to be alone with him. Is that understood?”

“Father! Mother!”

“Your father’s decision is final,” Beatritz said. “I expect you to honor it.”

Agnes glared at them before storming back off into the hall. Foulques watched her go. Somehow, it did not feel like a victory.

“Have Alearde watch her,” he ordered.

“I will not,” Beatritz said. “I do not trust her.”

“You do not trust her with me,” Foulques said. “But I am not having her watch me.”

“I will find someone else,” Beatritz said.

“I care not who else you find,” Foulques said. “So long as Alearde is watching her. Understood?”

“Agnes will know that,” Beatritz said. “She is a worthless spy if everyone knows whom she works for.”

Foulques frowned. But the point was a good one. Belleassez proved Foulques and Alearde were involved - if Agnes did not already know. She would naturally suspect Alearde would act as an agent of her father in this matter.

“Make sure nothing comes of this while my nephew is here,” Foulques said.

“Nothing shall,” Beatritz assured him before returning to the main hall.

Foulques followed a minute later and got himself some wine. Feasts and celebrations never sat well with him before. Could it be getting worse as he grew older?

No matter, he thought. Soon he would be back in the field. Rumors had it the Saxons had fielded a new army and would soon land in Normandy.

Foulques drank down his wine and sighed.

These feasts could not end soon enough. Perhaps the sweet sounds of a pitched battle might finally find him again.


-----

Notes: On the slap - I am not a fan of men hitting women, even in fiction. But in this case, I found it unavoidable. I wrote the scene without it originally, but given Foulques' temper, the situation and the cheap (but deserved) shot Agnes threw at him, I figure a slap of his daughter was the only realistic way for the character to handle it.

On the ceremony - I did some quick research on betrothal ceremonies in an attempt to get it in the ballpark. I don't expect that I nailed it by any stretch, but I hope it was passable enough so that those more knowledgeable than me don't have too many issues with it.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet -Chapter 49
January 1087 - Rouen, Normandy

A cold wind pierced Foulques to his bones as he sat atop his steed. He pulled his cloak tight against his body.

Armor or not, it was chilly. The overcast sky refusing to allow the sun to warm the morning did not help either.

But he was not the only one who felt the chill. His son had his own cloak wrapped so tightly you could not see his arms. So too did Geoffrey’s friend Aubry. Amaury and some of the knights present attempted to brave the elements by merely keeping the fabric loose around them.

King Philippe had attempted to hold off, perhaps to show his refusal to be intimidated by anything, whether it be man or nature. But this latest wind proved too much for him, and he pulled the fabric tight as well.

The group, all on horseback, remained still and in silence. To the southwest, on the horizon, lay the Seine. To the north, the small village of Tancarville. But before them lay the Saxons. And approaching them, was the English king Aelfmaer.

They came to parlay - the English king had spoken of peace. There was skepticism among the knights in camp, Foulques included, but Philippe had decided to meet him anyway.

The Saxon rode up with his own group of knights. He brought them to a halt not far from the Frankish party. Then he and another man rode forward. Philippe motioned for Foulques to join him as he moved to meet him.

“King Philippe,” Aelfmaer said. “A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh.”

“Likewise, King Aelfmaer,” Philippe replied. “I am glad you have finally come to visit my realm. You have stayed away too long.”

“I have heard Paris to be a sight to behold,” Aelfmaer said. “I plan to see it, one way or another.”

Philippe chuckled. “One way or another?”

“I would hope to see it as your guest, once a deal for peace is struck,” the Saxon king said. “But if not, I will not hesitate to march there with the men I have brought with me.”

“So you come here for peace?” Philippe asked. “I have heard such talk before. And each time it came for naught. I had begun to think you uninterested.”

“I had not made the proper preparations,” Aelfmaer said. “Now I have.”

He looked back toward the army in the distance.

“I have with me close to 5,000 men,” he said. “I hear you have but 3,000. I thought it a perfect time to talk.”

“And here I am, having misplaced my chancellor,” Philippe replied.

Foulques smirked. The Duke of Champagne was currently in Bourges, in the court of Duke Gilles. The king had sent for him once more, but it would be some time before he arrived.

“We are both equals,” Aelfmaer said. “I have no chancellor with me - just a commander, Bishop Aethelfrith. And is this man a commander?”

“My marshal, Duke Foulques of Anjou,” Philippe said. “A man your Saxons know well.”

Aelfmaer looked Foulques over. “Yes, but I should warn you Duke Foulques, King Godwine is dead. You will not find us as easily dealt with.”

“I should hope not,” Foulques replied.

“Then what is your peace offer,” Philippe demanded. “Or do you plan to speak until another 5,000 men arrive on my shores?”

Aelfmaer shook his head. “I come to you humbly and with gratitude and you mock me?”

“You threaten to march to Paris,” Philippe said. “Speak your offer.”

“Very well,” Aelfmaer said. “As I have said, I come with 5,000 men behind me. They hunger to avenge themselves after their setbacks here. But it need not come to that. I will allow you and your men to depart, if you declare an end this war for Normandy.”

“And what would I receive in such a deal?” Philippe asked.

“Your survival,” Aelfmaer said. “And you will pay nothing. We will return to what we were before this war began.”

“Ah yes,” Philippe said. “When your foolish King Morcar refused to return my vassal to me. I think that is hardly an equitable trade. Already the entirety of Maine and Evreux recognize me as their rightful liege.”

“But will they if your army is smashed here?” Aelfmaer said.

“Will we be smashed here?” Philippe asked. “Need I remind you what fate befell the last two English kings who challenged the might of the Franks? Neither left these shores.”

Aelfmaer smirked. “Your confidence is admirable. But I would think on it if I were you. Your men may not wish to join you in the hereafter.”

And with that, Aelfmaer rode off, along with the bishop, back to his knights. Philippe and Foulques did the same.

“Duke Foulques to my tent,” Philippe commanded. “The rest of you, prepare the men for battle.”

Foulques did as he was instructed, following his king back. After dismounting they entered the tent with Philippe frowning.

“He insults me with that offer,” the king said. “After my gains, to try and demand I renounce my claim to Normandy. And to suggest he will move on Paris.”

“It is the confidence from his advantage in men,” Foulques said.

“Was he true with that?” Philippe asked.

“He boasted larger numbers, but not by much,” Foulques said. “He has around 4,600 to our 3,300. It is not quite 2,000 men, but there is no question he has the larger army.”

Philippe began to cough, and poured himself some wine. It was not as bad as it had been, but Foulques always wondered if perhaps his king’s health might suddenly turn at an inopportune moment. The cold probably did him no favors.

“This is poor defensive ground,” Philippe said.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “But it is open. We may well be able to press our advantage in knights.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Philippe asked.

“I think you would be wise to depart the field,” Foulques said. “I know not if we can win here today.”

“Then accept the Saxon’s offer?” Philippe demanded.

“No,” Foulques said. “Leave the Saxons to me. I shall face them.”

Philippe smiled and placed his hand on Foulques’ shoulder. “Brave man. Very well, you shall stay and fight them. But you will not fight them alone. My place is here. I will leave the command of the army to you, but I shall be with you, in the thick of it. I am not craven, no matter the odds.”

“Thank you my liege,” Foulques said. “I am certain the men will be inspired by your presence.”

“Make your preparations,” Philippe said. “We will draw up the men shortly.”

Foulques bowed and hurried out of the tent. There was one thing he had to do, and time was of the essence.

“What does the king decide?” Amaury asked as Foulques returned to his tent.

“We give battle,” Foulques said. “Odds be damned.”

“But… we do not have a good defensive position,” Geoffrey said.

“We have knights,” Foulques said. “That will be enough.”

Geoffrey said nothing, though he did not appear confident. For that matter, neither did Aubry, nor Amaury.

Foulques looked at his son. He was a boy, not yet 14. He might soon be a man, but he was not one yet, This was not the time, or place to try to force him to become one. There was too much on the line.

“Geoffrey, you, Amaury, Aubry and a small group of knights shall depart immediately for Anjou,” he told him. “You will have Marshal Leon raise the levies and then prepare to march them north as quickly as possible.”

“My lord,” Amaury said. “This battle will be long---”

“That is my command,” Foulques said. “Now prepare to depart.”

Amaury nodded and prepared to leave. But Foulques pulled him back, allowing over Geoffrey and Aubry to depart.

“I am aware of the situation,” Foulques said. “I want my son far from here, do you understand? Word of the result of the battle will travel quickly. If we have won, you may return with the boys. If not, double your pace to Anjou.”

Amaury gave his lord a solemn look. But he nodded.

“Do not look so poor my friend,” Foulques said. “This is what I long desired. A grand battle.”

“Aye,” Amaury said. “And I should be at your side for it.”

Foulques smiled and took the knight by the shoulders. “You do me a great service. I know that in your hands, my son is safe. I trust you will keep him such, regardless on how the events here play out.”

“God be with you, my lord,” Amaury said as he left the tent.

Foulques closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been years since he had encountered a real challenge. Outnumbered by 1,300 men - that might be the most difficult fight he had ever faced.

There was a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had much more to lose now than he did 20 years ago when he first made his move against his older brother. And this battle, even if he was victorious, would not net him a county.

But he had longed for a test - a battle that would show he was the most capable warrior in the realm. One that might even show him among some of the great warriors of the annals of history.

Foulques walked out to his horse and mounted the beast.

This was his chance. He intended to take it.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 50
January 1087 - Rouen, Normandy

My God, they have so many more men.

In the abstract, 1300 men just seemed like a number. In practice, seeing it was almost staggering.

The Saxons gathered less than a mile away. Their infantry numbers were enormous compared to the Franks, taking up the width of the horizon as they approached. Foulques guessed there had to be near 1500 light and heavy infantry, respectively, which put them nearly equal to the total number of men Philippe had at his disposal. And that said nothing of the archers Aelfmaer had brought forth.

The Franks mustered just over 1000 infantry, so the light and heavy units clustered together on the left bank of the Seine, in a defensive formation, taking up far less space. As Foulques had noted prior, there was not particularly good defensive ground to hold here for infantry. The Saxons would not need to charge up a hill. Even with the river providing some protection, they would likely could eventually envelop, flank and eventually overwhelm the Frankish position.

That is, unless they were driven off by the many knights Philippe and Foulques had at their disposal.

The Saxons had a decent group of lightly armored cavalry - units best used for transport and chasing down enemies after a fight. They could certainly do damage if left unattended, but if engaged against the heavily armored knights of the Franks, would likely fold quickly.

Meanwhile, Foulques could not spot much in the way of equivalent knights on the Saxon side. One or two interspersed perhaps. That was nothing compared to the 560 the Franks had brought to the field.

And so that would be Foulques’ plan. He needed the infantry to hold fast. Once his enemies were committed, the Frankish cavalry advantage would be put to use, using the maneuverability and shock power to break the Saxon light cavalry, if they committed and infantry.

It sounded simple in planning. But seeing the enormous infantry advantage, Foulques felt his stomach knot. This would be difficult.

The lines closed. The Saxons infantry stopped its advance to allow the archers to move forth. The Franks followed suit. Here too Aelfmaer held the edge - he had nearly 800 bowmen to some 500 for Philippe. And it showed. The Saxon arrows darkened the sky and rained death on their Frankish equivalents, who gave as much as they could. But their losses weakened how they could retaliate. Rather than lose them entirely, Foulques gave the order for them to fall back behind the infantry.

“What are you doing?” Philippe demanded. “You are going to let them have free reign on our infantry?”

“We will lose men, until our archers break,” Foulques said. “Then the Saxons will pick up the arrows we shot at them, and use them on our infantry anyway. I will preserve your bowmen, and deny our enemies ammunition. We will form a tight wall to protect against their barrage.”

“And if that wall does not?” Philippe asked.

“I have your light cavalry at the ready,” Foulques said. “We will pressure the Saxon archers and hopefully chase them off.”

“Will that not draw out their light cavalry?” Philippe asked.

“Such a thing would be good for us,” Foulques said. “If we can force them into a cavalry engagement early, we can pin their light with our own and have our knights engage. It will destroy their maneuverability on the field.”

“Then order them forward now,” Philippe said. “Make them act. I would prefer we force a cavalry engagement. It is where we hold the edge.”

“They may retreat their archers,” Foulques said. “Then once our own cavalry withdraw, move forward once more. Then we will be in the same place, but with tired horses.”

“A fair point,” Philippe said. “Order them forward.”

Foulques glared at the king, but restrained any other sign of discontent. He, with some reluctance, ordered the light cavalry forward.

Sweeping in from the Frankish right, the lightly-armored horsemen pushed forward quickly. The archers attempted to fall back through the ranks of the infantry, as Foulques had predicted. But they were not the most well-drilled of units, and the cavalry succeeded in picking off some of the stragglers. The Saxons pushed their housecarls and spearmen forward, and the cavalry pulled out, retreating, back toward the safety of the Frankish lines.

The Saxons could not realistically give pursuit - doing so would make them prey for the Frankish knights. Instead, the order was given for them to march forward on the Frankish infantry. And they did so, banging their axes against their shields.

Or at least the center did. It appeared Aelfmaer kept his housecarls in the center, while much of his levy fyrd was out on the flanks. Those fyrdmen were lightly armored, if they had any armor at all, and were poorly equipped. Once engaged, they would be absolutely mauled by the Frankish cavalry.

The question is whether the Frankish center would hold. While the housecarls represented the best of what the Saxons would offer, the militia and peasant levy the Franks had were not. Armed mostly with spears and lightly armored they would have hope their dense ranks, tight formation and spears could keep the housecarls at bay long enough for the Frankish cavalry to win the day.

An eye was kept on the Saxon light cavalry. It had yet to commit.

Foulques hoped they would, but Aelfmaer had to know once they did, it would only be a matter of time before they were routed by their stronger Frankish counterparts. Instead, the king likely hoped to keep them there - waiting, hoping that would cause the Franks to delay. All the while the housecarls would wear down and eventually break the Frankish levy.

“Have the light cavalry move against the Saxon light,” Foulques ordered.

A few minutes later the Frankish cavalry began their trot toward the Saxons. Before they could close to charging distance, the Saxons broke into flight. The Franks continued their pursuit, and the two groups of cavalry moved further and further from the upcoming infantry skirmish.

“You will let them fight on their own?” Philippe asked. “No knights in support?”

“We have more men than they,” Foulques said. “I trust our men can win that engagement.”

“And if they do not?”

“Then we had best do our business here quickly,” Foulques replied.

….

Aelfmaer had to know his weakness to the Frankish cavalry. His men pressed forward but were keeping themselves in a dense, tight formation.

If they faced similar numbers of infantry, it would be a problem. But with the large advantage, his men could still push for the flanks while maintaining their thickness.

Of course, he could not defend against attacks against his infantry’s rear everywhere. The Franks could maneuver around faster than he could reposition his spearmen and reserve housecarls and fyrdmen. But every moment the cavalry delayed was a moment that the Frankish infantry struggled under the pressure of their enemies.

Still, there was little Foulques could do but move his knights around. The Saxons had no answer to it - their pursuit saw them accomplish nothing as the knights simply rode past them.

With Philippe next to him, in a full hauberk, helmet and crown on head, Foulques raised his arm to signal the initial charge.

It was not his idea to have the king with him now. There would be waves of attacks - this was merely the first. The king might be better served being in one of those secondary waves. But Philippe insisted, and there was only so much resisting the duke could do.

So they began their trot toward the rear of the Saxon center and then entered the gallop as their distance closed. Lances couched and primed, the knights slammed into the Saxons, even as some had turned to attempt to brace themselves against the charge.

It was futile - the mass of men were immediately shoved back by the combined force of impact of the beasts and the lances, of which some exploded in a hail of splintering wood, while others stayed relatively intact as they found their way through some unfortunate Saxons.

The assault continued, with Foulques jabbing his broken lance at the enemy. They hit behind their shields, but elevated, Foulques was able to evade those defenses, as droplets of blood from his felled enemies flew toward his face. Screams echoed around him, but he did not know if they were of his allies or enemies.

It hardly mattered at the moment. Foulques had to keep going, keep thrusting, keep stabbing, until his lance offered nothing more. Then he would grab his sword and continue this bloody business.

The Saxons buckled. Foulques looked up to see another wave of 20 or so knights had struck the lines.

Keep it up, this group will melt from the pressure on both sides soon enough, he thought.

Another thought occurred to him. His eyes scanned quickly for the king in the melee. Philippe, with his crown, was not difficult to find.

Foulques began to move through the gaps in the Saxon line back toward the king when he saw Philippe knocked from his horse.

The duke’s eyes widened - Philippe’s life was now in grave danger.

Though he wanted to reach him quickly, Foulques still had to navigate the chaos of the melee. A Saxon moved to block his path and Foulques veered to the side thrusting his lance at the man. It did not connect cleanly, but did enough to knock him down - allowing Foulques to move on.

He again caught sight of the King of the Franks, who was back on his feet, sword in hand, facing down a Saxon warrior. The Saxon swung wildly, perhaps eager to cut down a king, but Philippe sidestepped him, then swung his sword into the into the man, penetrating his leather armor and causing him to fall. As he ripped the blade back, the king screamed “Who would be next?!”

Admirable as that was, Foulques knew it was incredibly stupid. He spurred his steed forward to assist his liege when he saw a housecarl knock the king down with his shield. As he raised his axe to deliver the killing blow, Foulques drove his broken lance hard into the man. Turning back, he saw the man stumble and fall over, the axe dropping to his side, a large chunk of the splintered lance stuck within him.

“TO THE KING!” Foulques shouted as he pulled out his sword and raised it in the air.

Some of the Frankish knights had already made their move toward Philippe, attempting to drive back the Saxons who approached. A few fell, as the Saxons resorted to slashing at the horses that carried the men, bringing them down. It soon devolved into further chaos as the knights and Saxons clashed with wounded beasts howling and stampeding.

Foulques, urged his own steed forward through the melee, slashing any Saxon he saw. The shield wall had lost its cohesion, and if the king were not in the mix, the Duke of Anjou would have pulled the knights out for another charge - the Saxons would melt before it.

But ordering the knights out now would potentially leave Philippe and the few men around him to their own devices. They had to fight, secure the king and re-form for another charge - or pray another cadre of knights did it for them.

So Foulques fought his way through toward those knights. Some others joined him and they cut a path through. They managed to reach the king, who was back on his feet, surrounded by Frankish knights, some on horseback, others on foot.

“We must get you to safety,” Foulques told Philippe.

The king’s face was pale. Never in their previous encounters had Foulques seen Philippe in any other manner than confident. Sometimes cocky, other times angry, but never uncertain and certainly never fearful.

One of the knights dismounted and offered his horse to the king. He was helped onto it and the knights formed a protective circle around him. They moved through, with Saxons springing up to block their path, no doubt drawn to the sight of the king. Foulques’ concern was less killing, and more making sure they could move out of the melee and to open ground, where they could regroup and get the king back to the safety of the Frankish lines. Every Saxon that came into their path was a hindrance that needed to be dealt with in the quickest manner possible.

A last final push through saw them emerge from the fracas. The king was safe, for now.

….

They had managed to return safely to the Frankish lines. How safe they would remain, however, was an open question.

The cavalry assaults had caused problems for the Saxons. Parts of their line had broken. But the majority of their advance on the Frankish positions were continuing, while the defenders buckled under the pressure.

Meanwhile Foulques looked for any sign of the light cavalry. Neither the Saxons nor the Franks had returned to the field.

Despite the odds, Foulques had not believed defeat was truly possible. But now…

“The king requests your presence, my lord,” one of the knights told Foulques.

The duke shook his head and hurried toward Philippe, who was a few hundred yards back. He was still on horseback, but he was being supported by a pair of men.

“My liege,” Foulques said. “Are you wounded?”

“I am dizzy after the blow I received,” Philippe said. “But I will be fine. What of our chances?”

“They… we can still win the day,” Foulques said.

“You do not seem certain,” Philippe said.

“The Saxons, as you have said before, are a stubborn lot. But we will prove ourselves just as resilient.”

Foulques did not know if he believed his own words. Yet it only mattered if Philippe did.

“Then let ourselves prove our worth,” Philippe said. “We shall lead another charge.”

“You cannot my lord,” Foulques said. “Your head wound may not be as obvious as an arrow or a cut from a sword, but it affects you still. Leave this to me.”

Philippe did not argue and motioned for Foulques to go.

Foulques gathered another 20 knights, all men equipping fresh lances. Another 15 were returning to do the same. Then he looked to the battlefield for the best place to launch his next charge.

The answer came not by choice, but by necessity. The Frankish right had begun to disintegrate under the weight of the Saxon left. And the Saxons were breaking ranks in pursuit. These were not the housecarls - but the men of the fyrds.

Foulques gave the signal and his first wave of knights followed him forward. They closed quickly on the fyrd which moved as a unit, but with no shield wall and with less cohesion than normal. Lacking good armor, they were easy prey for the knights. Lances were deadly on impact, and continued to wreak havoc on them even after being bent and broke.

Things improved further for the Franks as the next wave struck. The momentum of the fyrd was stopped. Instead, they began to run away from the Frankish lines.

Foulques, his armor splattered with the blood of his enemies, rode forward, leading the pursuit. Then he caught a glimpse of something he had not seen, a Saxon man on horseback.

He hoped it was the king, but there was a lack of a crown on his head. As he neared the man, who was trying to rally the fyrd, he remembered the face as Bishop Aethelfrith.

Was it right to kill a man of God, even in war?

Foulques didn’t have time to debate such questions. Bringing down the commander could change the course of the battle in the Frankish favor. So he moved forward with his broken lance, aiming to draw the old bishop into combat.

Perhaps the bishop was distracted. Perhaps his reaction had slowed. Either way Foulques lance struck him, and broke completely, knocking the bishop from his horse clean. Foulques dropped the weapon and pulled forth his sword, but the bishop did not rise.

That sent the already disintegrating fyrd into further panic, as it the men ran from the field as quickly as they could.

That, and the regrouping Frankish militia, was good news. The bad was the housecarls in reserve, which moved forward to take the place of the panicked villagers. They were in a dense, shield-wall formation, meaning a charge without lances would not be as effective.

My God, how many soldiers does he have?

The cavalry broke off pursuit and re-formed on the Saxon flank. Meanwhile the militia had also reformed, but Foulques doubted they would hold long.

Among the knights, Foulques formed the 15 or so men that still held functioning lances and held them, ready to give the order for a charge when the Saxons committed. He also ordered the militia forward, hoping to pin his enemies, and allow the cavalry it hit them on the flank.

It worked - the Saxons were likely surprised the militia could muster an assault. Then those knights with lances charged the flank of the Saxon line, near the front. The combined pressure caused a loss of cohesion, so Foulques ordered the remaining knights with him into the fray.

Now it was a race against time. Foulques cut, and slashed around him, hoping to take as many Saxons down as he could. If they could spur a similar panic in the housecarls that they did the fyrd, this flank could be won. If not…

Then in the distance, Foulques saw a large group of men on horseback approaching. The light cavalry, returning from the battle no doubt. But which?

He could not see from this distance. So he continued to attack the Saxons around him, bringing another down, only to have his sword get stuck in the man’s head. Unable to retrieve it, Foulques reached for the last weapon he had available, a mace. It had a shorter reach than his sword, but it was better than nothing.

Smashing it against the heads and faces of his opponents as he went, Foulques again peeked up toward the approaching force. If they were Franks, the flank was surely won. If it was Saxon, the flank, and likely the day, was almost surely lost. But he could not tell - they had not raised their banners - perhaps not to draw enemy attention prematurely.

Another Saxon dead. The drops of blood hit Foulques in the face. He wiped it the best he could with his gloves. Screaming. Coming closer. He recovered his vision just in time to see a Saxon charging him with an axe. Foulques managed to maneuver his horse just enough to evade the swipe. He countered by swinging his mace, and connecting, smashing the man’s skull in.

He looked up. A knight was toppled from his horse. Then another. The housecarls were stunned by the charge, but they were not broken. And now they were pushing again. Against the militia. Against the knights…

A glance toward the cavalry approaching. At this point, it was more desperation than hope. He needed this to be the Frankish light cavalry. They would not have the same impact per a man than the knights would, but their numbers would no doubt overwhelm the Saxons. Or… if these were the Saxon light cavalry, finish off the Franks.

Then, the light cavalry raised their banners. Foulques breathed a sigh of relief as the emblem of the Fleur de Lis was among them.

….

Foulques rode back to the Frankish camp. Every part of him ached. His back from being upright for hours, his arms from holding his shield and swinging a weapon. His legs from keeping himself in the saddle through all his movement.

His armor was covered in mud, and blood. It had seen damage from glancing blows, but had not been penetrated. His eyes stung as mud, blood and sweat mixed.

But he gave a look to the field. The Saxons were in retreat. The Franks militia had held well enough, while the Saxons had broken.

After the success on the Frankish right, they had turned on the Saxon center. It was not long before they broke, and the Franks soon finishing things off on their left.

The pursuit was light - the light cavalry and some of the knights did most of it. The militia did not have the energy to engage. But that was fine - they had done their job.

Foulques dismounted from his mount and staggered, feeling every muscle in his body ache. He moved forward thanks to adrenaline, the joy of being acknowledged for winning the day against the odds.

He found Philippe with his physician, who was still looking the king over. Upon seeing the duke, Philippe pushed Roger out of the way and greeted Foulques.

“Tell me the news is as good as it appears from here,” the king said.

“It is,” Foulques said. “The Saxons flee the field. The day is ours.”

Philippe pulled Foulques closed and gave him a tight embrace. Then he called for a horse to be brought to him, and told the duke to join him.

A little while later, they sat atop their mounts, in front of the militia, some of the light cavalry and knights. There, Philippe spoke.

“The Saxons came at us today with greater numbers! They pushed forward against you all and made you bend beneath the weight of their shields and axes. But you did not break! The men of Champagne did not break! The men of the Ile de France did not break! Nor did the men of Aquitaine, Poitou or Gascony! Toulouse remained strong, as did our brothers in Flanders.”

He turned to Foulques. “And the men of Anjou held fast, behind their great duke!”

A cheer went up from the soldiers.

“We did not break,” Foulques said. “We Franks did not break. And neither could they break our king!”

Another cheer went up.

Then one of the attendants handed Philippe the banner of the crown, the Fleur de Lis. Another gave Foulques the banner of Anjou. The king looked toward Foulques.

“I thought you may want to take part,” Philippe said. “It is well-earned, my marshal”

Foulques smiled. Then he and Philippe rode all the way down to the banks of the Seine, shouting “VICTORY” to the cheers and applause of the triumphant Franks.

His arm ached as he held the Angevin banner high. But Foulques was too overjoyed, and relieved, to care.

....

Notes: So this was it. The grand battle which I fully expect Foulques to lose but somehow won. I tried my best to find good references on how the French fought at this time. Most references come from much later - during the Hundred Years War. Bouvines, which happened over a century later than this, was the best at what I could do. I also referenced Dyrrhachium (1081). There were smaller skirmishes but most were knight-heavy encounters, not infantry vs. knights. So... if it isn't the best historical representation, I apologize.

Since this was an all-AI battle, I couldn't get the battle statistics. So that last shot is the best I show on how it finished. That suggests the French lost about 400, and the English/Saxons some 1900. A smashing victory, much to my surprise, given the terrain and man disadvantage. But I guess between having Foulques, who outclassed any of the English commanders on marshal skill, and the heavy cavalry, that won the battle.

Hopefully the battle itself was not too dry. It's not my strong point.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 51
April 1087 - Paris, France

It had been some time since Foulques had been to the Ile de la Cite in Paris.

Sixteen years in fact - after that grand feast following his victory in Mallorca, Philippe’s feasts had been at his residence in Melun. The impressive views of the palace on the Ile de la Cite was something Foulques had longed to see again, but had not been fortunate enough to.

But that would change soon enough.

Already he could see the gates and outer walls of the city as they moved along the road. The Seine had come into view as well not long before, letting them know they were close.

“It is a sight to behold,” Foulques reiterated to his son as they, on horseback, led the procession of soldiers. “A magnificent view of the city and the river - and is protected by the Seine as well. They say it helped withstand the invasion of the northmen.”

“Why does the king not hold court there?” Geoffrey wondered.

“Perhaps the king keeps with the tradition of his ancestors by residing in Melun,” Foulques said. “But I am not sure.”

“Did you not ask him? Geoffrey wondered.

“There are some things which you will learn it is not worth the trouble of knowing,” Foulques answered.

The boy was curious. And he was already far more diplomatic than his father ever was. But he had a habit of courteously pushing the boundaries - it did not help much to politely ask something one should not.

Others knew it. Foulques could see Geoffrey’s friend Aubry Karling just behind looking away, knowing the teen had overstepped his bounds. It was a habit Foulques would have to reign in if the boy wished to survive in the Frankish court.

As they approached the city, Foulques decided it might be wise to check on their “guest” of honor. The Duke slowed the pace of his horse until he reached Aelfmaer, King of the Saxons, who was flanked by Amaury and three Frankish knights.

After victory in Rouen, the Saxons had fled west. Philippe returned to Melun, citing his wound, leaving the duty of potentially finishing off the enemy to Foulques - an honor the duke happy accepted.

Foulques had chased the Saxons down in Mortain, where he had cornered them. With slightly greater numbers, similar terrain to Rouen and his enemy already demoralized after their crushing defeat there, Foulques entered the battle supremely confident. He even had Geoffrey take part in the battle along with Aubry, a first for the teens, though Foulques had Amaury stay close to Geoffrey as if they were joined at the hip.

The Saxons formed as strong a defensive position as they could, but the open ground was as good for the Frankish knights as it had been in Rouen. The Saxons were routed, and a wounded Aelfmaer was captured and hauled off to the Frankish camp.

The Duke would have preferred to immediately transport the captured king back to Melun. But Aelfmaer’s wound was serious after his leg was caught under a horse. The bone smashed, his lower left leg had to be amputated, leaving him in no condition to be transported.

So instead, they had waited nearly a full two weeks before setting off for the capital, and by then King Philippe had notified them of his desire to host Aelfmaer at the palace on the Ile de la Cite in Paris.

It had been Foulques’ concern that the journey would prove too much for the man, but he had made it this far. The duke wished to make sure Aelfmaer would not be in poor health upon reaching the king - it was unlikely Philippe would take kindly to his trophy being too damaged.

“How do you fare, your highness?” Foulques asked him

Aelfmaer raised a brow. In truth, he did not look as a king should. He was dirty, his beard haggard, his clothes partially torn and his crown gone, likely pilfered by a Frankish soldier as loot.

“I have been dealing with humility for months now,” Aelfmaer said. “And I suspect I will suffer the most upon our arrival. So, to answer your question Duke Foulques, I have fared better.”

“How is your leg?”

“It is uncomfortable,” Aelfmaer said. “But I would expect losing one’s leg below the knee will do that. I do not feel feverish and I do not smell rot, if that is your concern.”

“It is,” Foulques said.

“A noble man,” Aelfmaer said. “Or one who wishes me alive to present to his king as a trophy. Tell me Duke Foulques, am I worth more dead or alive?”

“You live,” Foulques said. “Does that tell you?”

Aelfmaer laughed. “A man with a certain degree of honor would not care the price but keep me alive, as I surrendered. From your response… well, I would mind my tongue, but as you say, I am more valuable alive.”

Foulques smirked. Arrogant, even now. He would look forward to Philippe humbling this Saxon fool.

The duke looked up to see Geoffrey had dropped back alongside him. The teen looked toward Aelfmaer.

“Your highness, will the Saxon people admit defeat after this?” he asked.

“I would think so,” Aelfmaer said. “In truth, I do not think many of my lords' hearts were in this war. Normandy has been a blight. When Morcar refused Philippe, many, including myself, were frustrated with him.”

“Was King Morcar not murdered?” Geoffrey asked.

“I do not know,” Aelfmaer said. “It was suspicious, but sometimes we look for shadows where there are none because it is more comforting than the truth that your time may come at any time.”

Foulques shook his head. “If you were against the war, why continue it when you did become king?”

Aelfmaer looked toward the sky. “Do you have children, Duke Foulques?”

Geoffrey looked glared at the King. Foulques smirked.

“The king may not have realized it, son,” Foulques said. “Forgive my boy. He is eager to be recognized as the future Duke of Anjou.”

“My apologies, boy,” Aelfmaer said. “I did not realize.”

Geoffrey lowered his head. “Forgive my outburst, your highness. It is unbecoming of me.”

“Then do you have any siblings?” Aelfmaer asked.

“A sister,” Geoffrey said. He looked toward Foulques. “Excuse me, two sisters.”

“My boys had sisters too,” Aelfmaer said. “Do you know what happened to them?”

Both Geoffrey and Foulques shook their heads.

“Killed by rebellious rabble,” Aelfmaer said. “Each of them. Murdered. My eldest, the sweet girl - not yet 14 summers… she was violated by those monsters before they took her life.”

That response sent a chill down Foulques spine. He glanced toward Geoffrey, whose face had gone pale.

“I blame this war for that,” Aelfmaer said. “It was before I became king. But my men were away from my county to answer the call of King Godwine. And the rebels eventually stormed my keep, and took my daughters. If I had more men… if the king had more housecarls…

“That is why I strove to be king when Godwine was killed a few months later. I wished to turn the war to our favor. If we could win this conflict… it would make their deaths mean something. But now… now I am tired. I wish for this to be over. Behind us. Perhaps then I can properly mourn my girls.”

“They are with God, your highness,” Geoffrey said. “Surely he had a place for them.”

“I pray every night that is the case, my young lord,” Aelfmaer said. “I would gladly offer my place for them.”

If you had a place to offer, Foulques thought. Though he could not help but feel sorry for the Saxon king - there was a limit to how far he could go. The girls deserved pity. Aelfmaer? He was a beaten man who merely felt sorry for himself. He imagined Geoffrey would feel different if he had been with him before the battle in Rouen…

An hour or so later, crossed the bridge onto the Ile de Cite and dismounted, then Foulques and Geoffrey led the the procession into the keep.

“Presenting Duke Foulques of Anjou - and his captive, Aelfmaer, Lord of the Saxons, King of England!”

The people gathered in the hall stood aside, creating a path. Foulques led Aelfmaer into the hall, the king helped along by two Saxon prisoners, and caught a glimpse of the King of the Franks. Philippe, seated in his large chair perched on the small dais, did not even bother to hide his pleasure at seeing Aelfmaer brought before him.

Also with him was Philippe’s council standing off to the side - Philipp of Champagne, Hugues of Burgundy and Boudewijn of Flanders. Charles, Mayor of Paris, the king’s spymaster was absent, as was Philippe’s brother, Prince Hugues, who was sent to Mallorca to help convert the duchy to the faith.

“My liege,” Foulques said as he bowed. “I bring with me, the Saxon king. He is yours to do as you see fit.”

“Well done, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “You are proving every bit worthy of your marshal title.”

Foulques rose and gave a nod to the king, before moving off to the side. Geoffrey joined him. Both received a warm embrace from the Duke of Champagne, who whispered a congratulations to Foulques.

“Step forward, Aelfmaer, King of the Saxons,” Philippe said.

The captive king was moved forward. He did not bow before Philippe, staring up at him with an unflinching gaze.

“How do you like Paris?” Philippe asked. “I made certain to meet you here. I would not want to deprive you of the promise you made to me.”

“Your generosity is only matched by your humility, King Philippe,” Aelfmaer said.

Philippe laughed. “I am certain you would treat me no different if our positions were reversed. But they are not.”

Aelfmaer narrowed his gaze.

“So then, the terms of your release,” Philippe said. “Normandy, for your life. I think a single duchy a fair trade.”

“I do not know if Robert will agree,” Aelfmaer said.

“Robert’s vassals have abandoned him, their holdings lost,” Philippe said. “Already the barons and mayors flock to me to swear vassalage. If he wishes to challenge the might of the Franks, let him.”

“That will be your concern,” Aelfmaer said. “Not mine. The duchy is yours. It has been nothing but a burden ever since Robert’s bastard father came to our realm. A blight, poisoning the well for good, Saxon folk. We will do well to be rid of that cancer.”

“Had you Saxons realized this a decade ago, it could have saved many lives,” Philippe said. “But better late than never I suppose.”

The King of the Franks rose. “King Aelfmaer, you will remain here until all the documents are signed and recognized by our Holy Father in Rome. Then you shall return to your shores. You shall receive the treatment befitting a man of your station while here. If you need something, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Your graciousness is appreciated, your highness,” Aelfmaer said.

And with that, Philippe motioned for two of his guards to take the Saxon king away. Then he dismissed court and signaled for Foulques and Geoffrey to follow him. The other council members remained in the hall.

“Will send him to the dungeons?” Foulques asked.

“No, I have what I wanted,” Philippe said. “Normandy is mine. He can be treated well before he returns to England. Who knows? I may have use for him in the future.”

“Provided he survives,” Foulques said. “One never knows with wounds. And his is serious.”

“Truth,” Philippe said. He looked to Geoffrey. “Tell me my boy, how was battle like?”

“Different than the practice field,” Geoffrey said.

Philippe laughed. “That is certainly true. Did you enjoy it?”

“It was a rush,” Geoffrey said. “But… I think I have a great deal to learn.”

“You have a fine teacher for such things,” Philippe said. “Your father is a hero of the realm. They will toast his name from these halls all the way to Gascony.”

“I hear they speak of you moreseo,” Geoffrey said.

“Yes,” Philippe said. “Though I do not know if it is good. My name inspires fear as much as it does respect. Though perhaps that is not such a bad thing. What do you think, my marshal?”

“I think such a question would be better posed to your chancellor,” Foulques said.

“Perhaps you are right,” Philippe said. “I have you to crush my opposition, not guess their intentions.”

“There is a matter I wished to discuss, my liege,” Foulques said. “Regarding the distribution of your newly conquered land.”

“Your rightful claim,” Geoffrey added.

Philippe pointed at the teen and smiled. “What of it?”

“Maine,” Foulques said. “It is rightfully part of Anjou. My uncle held it, until the Bastard stole it from my brother.”

“Your brother’s failure is known to me,” Philippe said. “He could not maintain dominion over his land, so he lost it. As he did with his duchy, to you.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “But I am not he.”

“What my father means,” Geoffrey began, “is that he has shown himself to be a greater man than my uncle ever was. Given how he’s helped win your war, perhaps you would find it proper to return Maine to our family?”

“Proper?” Philippe asked. “There are few favors in life my boy. But… the contributions of Anjou loom large in this conflict. I will think on this. Once I have the counties, I will explore the matter further.”

The king stopped as a man stood ahead of them. Foulques recognized him as Charles, the spymaster.

“My lords, if you will excuse me,” Philippe said. “I have some matters I must discuss. But we will celebrate this victory tonight and tomorrow! Boar, wine, perhaps even ale, for such an occasion. And you, young Geoffrey - you have seen battle. We will see to it that you experience the other joys of becoming a man before you leave here.”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened and he blushed. The king gave him a tap on the arm before departing.

The two walked the halls after, and once they were far from the room in which the king entered with his spymaster, Geoffrey whispered to his father: “I do not think he intends to give you Maine.”

“He said he would think on it,” Foulques said. “I have won him his war.”

“If he wished you to have it, he would have given it to you,” Geoffrey said. “He did not.”

“He has nothing to give yet,” Foulques said.

“He does,” Geoffrey said. “It is a formality that Normandy is his.”

“You would be wise to not question the king so vehemently,” Foulques warned. “He is not his father. And now he can stand with any Duke in the realm. Even me.”

“In men,” Geoffrey said. “But he cannot match you on the battlefield. I think he grows fearful of it. See how he did not join you in pursuit of the Saxon king?”

“He was not yet recovered from his blow to the head,” Foulques said.

“I do not understand why you make excuses for him,” Geoffrey said.

“Enough,” Foulques said. “The king has not yet wronged me. And the alternatives are far worse. Hugues is an overambitious fool who thinks too highly of himself. I have little desire to bow before Boudewijn, that Flemish pretender.”

“Perhaps you would consider yourself for the throne?” Geoffrey asked.

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “You would be wise to forget such things. Look to Aquitaine and Poitou. There is possibility there, especially once you have wedded Margaurite.”

“But if we were to secure…”

“I said enough,” Foulques said. “You must learn patience. And you must learn to plan. I have never rushed headfirst into anything. There is a reason my armies have found success and why I have expanded as I have. I have set goals I can attain, and worked to achieve them. Do not get ahead of yourself, it will lead to setbacks. Do you understand?”

Geoffrey lowered his head. “Yes, father.”

He is young and wishes to grab all he can, Foulques thought. He is my son.

Geoffrey still had to be molded. He had potential, but there was much for him to learn. Thankfully with the war over, Foulques believed he would have time to teach him.

But for now, Foulques patted his son on the back.

“Now then, I will talk to the king” Foulques said. “I will make sure the wench he chooses for you is pretty.”

Geoffrey blushed once more, turning even redder than before.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 52
April 1087 - Anjou, France

It was the largest crowd yet.

Foulques was not surprised by that - after all, he was arriving back in Anjou for the first time since his two victories over the Saxon King Aelfmaer. And every village in his duchy had greeted he, Geoffrey and the procession of knights with celebration and reverence. Still, though he had seen the people and heard their cheers, he could not hold back a smile, especially as he saw the pride in Geoffrey’s face as the teen heard his father’s and his family’s name praised.

It is good to be home.

While travelling from Paris, Foulques had gotten respect at all of their stops. But the celebrations were larger and more jubilant when he reached the Duchy of Anjou. It made sense to him - he was not just their lord - he was a hero of the realm. A great among the Franks - so King Philippe himself had declared.

And here, in his home, everything would be at its greatest. And here, he could truly take part. He already planned to hold a small feast before he returned to his duties as marshal in Melun in a few weeks.

Upon arriving, the crowd allowed Foulques and his main party space so they could make their way into the keep. They were greeted by Foulques’ councilors and Duchess Beatritz, with her niece Aines by her side. Foulques found that odd - he would have expected his daughter Agnes.

“It is good to see you safe and well husband,” Beatritz said as she embraced him.

Foulques was surprised - and disheartened. His wife had grown thin and her complexion almost sickly. It was a far cry from when her weight would affect her gait or make it harder for her to perform certain tasks.

“How do you fare, wife?” Foulques asked her.

“I live,” she said and before he could press her further, she moved over to Geoffrey and squeezed him tightly.

“My son!” she exclaimed. “I hear you took part in battle! How did you fare?”

“I live, mother,” Geoffrey replied.

Beatritz smirked and gave her son a kiss. He was her height now, but Foulques guessed it would not be long before he shot well past her.

While Geoffrey dealt with his happy mother, Foulques noticed that his son's friend’s, Aubry Karling, welcome did not appear as joyous. The teen was greeted by his mother, Ermengarda, not his father Eudes, and then slipped from the crowd along with her.

Oddly, Foulques noticed then that Etiennette was also missing. And unlike her mother, he had not seen her.

Etiennette and Agnes, he thought. Something is not right.

“It is good to see you return safely, my lord,” Aines said to him.

He made eye contact with Aines de Poitou and smiled at her. And it is good to see you again, he thought.

It was strange to look at her in a way - he wondered again if this was how Beatritz looked in her younger days. And given how Beatritz looked now, he could not help but feel drawn to Aines.

“How do you fare?” Foulques asked her.

“Well, my lord,” Aines said. “My family has taken a liking to this keep. We are treated with more respect here than we were in Limousin - my aunt… excuse me, the duchess, has been very generous.”

“Good,” Foulques said.

“I am happy you return,” Aines said. “When I heard of what you faced in Rouen, I was worried. I prayed for your safe return. And now you have - thank God.”

A smirk formed on his lips. It did help that she did appear rather inviting.

“My lord,” Mayor Guilhem interrupted, breaking his train of thought. “There is much to discuss. We will need to go over the finances of the duchy and…”

“Did Beatritz not handle such matters?” Foulques asked.

“She has, my lord,” the steward replied. “But… she requested this. She considers it of great import.”

“It can wait,” Foulques said. “I do wish to speak to you about organizing a feast.”

“I expected you might,” the steward said. “Preparations were already started. Within a few days, your feast can begin.”

“Excellent,” Foulques replied.

“Now, about the matter of finances,” the steward continued.

Foulques rolled his eyes. “Are we without gold?”

“No, my lord,” the steward said. “In fact, our coffers are fuller than they have been.”

“Then there is no problem,” Foulques said. He looked to Beatritz. “Wife, where is our daughter?”

The smile that Beatritz had on her face after seeing her husband and son vanished. She shook her head.

“Not here,” she replied. “In private.”

A chill shot down Foulques’ spine. “Is she ill?”

“She is… she is… I...” Beatritz stammered. “Please husband, this is a matter we must discuss privately.”

Foulques was growing frustrated, and concerned. Why could his wife not tell him what was wrong with his daughter? Was it something having to do with Etiennette Karling? Could they both have taken seriously ill? Could one… or both, have died?

He would have pressed her further, but Beatritz had already started back into the keep. Foulques followed, along with Geoffrey. They came to Beatritz’s chambers, where Agnes sat alone on a bench.

“Father!” she exclaimed. But, to Foulques surprise, she remained seated.

It did not make any sense. She seemed healthy. What is going on, he wondered as Beatritz closed the door behind them.

“What is this matter?” Foulques demanded.

Beatritz sighed. “Our daughter is with child.”

Foulques did not think he heard her right. After all, Agnes was not married. To his knowledge Agnes did not have any suitors in the keep.

But Agnes stood up and tugged her dress tight. Sure enough, her abdomen bulged slightly against the fabric of her dress.

Foulques stormed up to her. “What is the meaning of this? Who did this to you? WHO?”

Tears began to well up in Agnes’ eyes. She muttered weakly: “Duke Gilles.”

“Your cousin?” Foulques demanded. Agnes nodded. “I forbade you to be alone with him! Did I not?”

Agnes again nodded. “I’m so sorry father.”

“You disregarded what I said and laid with him after your brother’s betrothal feast?”

“No father,” Agnes said. “He visited a few weeks later, in January. He told me that he loved me… and that he hated his wife the Duchess because she was so cold and… I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“You are a fool, girl,” he said before turning to Beatritz. “HOW? I told you to make sure he got nowhere near her.”

“I apologize husband,” Beatritz said. “I was bedridden when he arrived. I was not even made aware Gilles was in the keep until the day after he arrived.”

“Bedridden?” Foulques asked.

“Yes,” Beatritz said. “My condition worsens. That is another matter for when we are finished with this.”

Foulques glared at her, before doing the same to Agnes, who was still sobbing, trying to hold back her tears, and failing miserably. Geoffrey appeared uncertain - whether to comfort his sister or shun her.

“Remain here with your sister,” Foulques ordered him. “I must discuss this matter with your mother.”

“I am sorry father,” Agnes said. “You must believe me.”

“Quiet!” Foulques shouted at her. “I do not need or want to hear your apologies. You’ve ruined yourself. I doubt Toulouse will have anything to do with you now.”

In truth, Foulques had barely started discussing the prospect of marrying Agnes to the Duke of Toulouse - the man was still in hiding. But he was angry and said what came to mind.

That sent Agnes into full on tears and sobs as she buried her face in her hands, muttering “I’m sorry father” over and over. It was enough to have Geoffrey walk over to console her, while giving his father a dirty look.

Foulques wished to yell. He wished to curse. He wished to strike something. But since the only things around were stone walls, his sickly wife and pregnant daughter, he restrained himself until he reached his own chambers, followed by Beatritz.

Then he released a tirade, using every swear word he had ever learned, a few he had heard in other languages and one or two he may well have made up.

“I understand your anger husband,” Beatritz said. “But we must deal with the issue.”

“Can she be rid of it?” Foulques asked.

“I… do not know,” Beatritz said. “I have heard women say such things work, but others tell me they are dangerous. I know Agnes does not wish such things.”

“She does not matter,” Foulques said.

“You are angry,” Beatritz said. “As am I. But she remains our daughter. Do you wish her ill?”

Part of Foulques did. But a much larger part knew he could not harm her. She was still his first-born, a child he was not certain he would ever have.

“What do you suggest?” Foulques asked.

“I am uncertain,” Beatritz said.

“A convent?” Foulques asked. Beatritz frowned.

“Do we truly wish to give away a daughter who is still your child?” Beatritz asked. “She is… tainted by this but there are powerful men who would still wed her, after the child is born.”

“So you have nothing for me,” Foulques said.

“There is no simple solution, husband,” Beatritz said.

That was not what he wished to hear. “Leave me.”

“Husband…”

“I said LEAVE!” he bellowed.

Beatritz was surprised enough by the outburst she took a step back. Her face showed her concern and worry, but she did as she was told, shutting the door behind her.

Foulques sank his face into his palm. This was not supposed to be what greeted him upon his return. It was meant to be celebration and adulation. This was nothing but a headache.

Perhaps I should return to war, he thought.

But, he knew that was not an option. For the first time in a decade, the realm was at peace.

…..

When Foulques drew up a list of possible distractions from his problems, this was certainly one of the best.

Alearde has just turned 31 years. She was now a mother. And she had dealt with the stress of having the duchess essentially disown her.

But she remained beautiful. Perhaps even more so than she was when Foulques first seduced her… some 15 years before.

It was true that while his mind used to be monopolized by fantasies of being with Alearde, more and more Aines found her way into his thoughts. But he could not deny that his time with Alearde was nearly always enjoyable. She understood him, in both mind and body.

Now she slinked away from the bed, her naked form on display in the candlelight. She was a little heavier now, though her station and activity limited how much weight she could gain, and she had marks indicating her motherhood. He cared not, instead smiling when she crawled back into bed wine for him in hand.

“How is it that when I leave you only grow more beautiful?” he asked.

She blushed. “You flatter me more than I deserve. I think you just miss seeing a woman on campaign.”

It was somewhat true. Foulques did not see that many women - and the ones he did were often in a poor state after the sacking of a keep or town.

He pulled her close, enjoying the touch of her soft skin on his. With those beautiful eyes and smile that he fell in love with years before, she looked up at him.

“I ask you a favor, my lord,” Alearde said.

“What is it?”

“It is a difficult subject,” she said. “It involves your troubles.”

He looked away. “Agnes.”

“I merely ask you show leniency to her,” Alearde said. “She is young and was naive. She is not the first woman your nephew has ensnared. Nor is she the last.”

“If you speak of Etiennette Karling,” Foulques said. “I am aware.”

As it turned out, Etiennette was also with child, further along than Agnes. He learned the girl had been seduced while Gilles had stayed during the betrothal.

It had been a tumultuous month for the Karling clan. Eudes had died in March, with Aubry only learning of it, along with his sister’s pregnancy, upon his arrival.

“There are others,” Alearde said. “Rumors even speak to the Duchess of Flanders.”

Foulques raised his eyebrows. “Wife of Boudewijn? Is he aware?”

“I know not,” Alearde said. “Perhaps he is in denial. Or maybe he knows but says nothing for his reputation. Admitting to losing your wife to the bed of a fellow duke… it does not do wonders for a man who fancies himself a king.”

Foulques stroked his beard. It was an interesting tidbit. But it hardly helped him with Agnes’ situation.

“So I am to show leniency to my daughter because she is one of many fools?” Foulques asked.

“No, you are to show leniency because you care about her,” Alearde said. “And because you are within your rights not to aid her at all.”

“Explain,” Foulques said.

“Do you know why I risk your wrath by speaking for her?” Alearde asked. “Because she once did the same for me, when I grew heavy with Belle. She did not have to, but she drew the ire of the duchess on my behalf.”

“So now you would do the same for her,” Foulques said.

“Yes,” Alearde said. “And if you are kind to her now, she will never forget it. Because she believes she is going to suffer.”

“So I am to give her no punishment?” Foulques asked. “I cannot abide by that. She ruins this family!”

“I imagine she will be kept largely in this keep as the child grows within her,” Alearde said. “And she will still carry the shame when it is born. To say she carries with her no punishment… is not true.”

“Her crime is great,” Foulques said.

“And her guilt and shame greater,” Alearde said. “But consider this - if you give her leniency, she will be loyal to you for as long as she remains here. And when you find her a proper husband, you will have an agent in his court, should you need it.”

“If I can find her a proper husband,” Foulques said.

“She remains your daughter,” Alearde said. “Just as the duchess had her faults when you wed her, so too will Agnes. And just as Guilhem of Aquitaine was too valuable an ally to ignore, so shall you be.”

Foulques stroked his beard. There was truth in what she said. He was angry with Agnes, but… sending her to a convent, which would have made the most sense, may not be the best solution. He did not wish to be rid of her. And she still had some value.

“I will think on this,” Foulques said.

“That is all I ask,” Alearde said.

“I thought you asked for her forgiveness,” Foulques said.

Alearde smiled. “I stand corrected. I ask you to consider. But I beg you for her forgiveness.”

Foulques pulled Alearde close and kissed her neck. She pushed him back onto the bed and went back to work.

….

The feast should have been more enjoyable.

Despite being put together rather quickly, it had most of what Foulques could have wanted. Wine, some from Champagne, gift of the Duke Philipp. It had its share of meats - a hunt for boar led by Leon had even managed to secure two, despite Foulques doubting the odds of success. He was pleased about that - Beatritz was able to enjoy it once more.

But he could not shake the reminders the troubles around him.

For one, he sat alone now. Beatritz had retired early, not long after eating. She felt unwell - and Foulques was not in any position to demand her remain.

For once he wished she would be her old self, stuffing her face on the assorted meats and drinking enough wine to stumble her way back to her chambers, where he would take her… but those days were past. Possibly forever.

And then there was Agnes. He had come around to Alearde’s pleas and decided to allow her to remain in Anjou, with her bastard child. He had yet to inform her of his decision, though he would before he departed.

However, she was not in the hall now for this feast - barred as per her parents orders. Foulques had briefly wondered what would happen if she decided to test them, but Beatritz and Alearde had both assured him separately that Agnes was in no state to.

It was hardly a good feeling to know his daughter was alone, pregnant with his nephew’s bastard, and he had little power to do anything about it.

Foulques drank down his goblet of wine. He had half a mind to raise his levies and march on Duke Gilles. But such things would be frowned upon. Even if Philippe might excuse it, the rest of dukes, and possibly others, would not take kindly to it.

“Is this seat taken?”

Foulques looked up to see Aines smiling at him. He motioned for her to sit.

“You seem in deep thought,” she said.

“I return to troubling things,” he replied.

“Ah, that business,” Aines said. “The duchess has told me.”

“Of what?”

“Of your daughter,” Aines said. “Of the child your nephew put in her belly.”

“The duchess tells you such things?”

“I speak with her often,” Aines said. “We are family.”

Foulques scowled as he looked for more wine. Aines smiled and took his goblet, refilled it and then returned to him.

“You need not worry,” Aines said. “I have told no one. Not even my husband.”

Foulques took the goblet from her. “I am surprised.”

“You should not,” Aines said. “He seeks favor and cannot be trusted.”

“You would betray your husband in that manner?” Foulques asked.

“My husband has provided me with nothing,” Aines said. “You and the duchess have given us a home. You have graciously offered young Geoffrey to my Margaurite. I am no fool. I know where my loyalty must lay.”

“You hate your husband,” Foulques said.

“I think as little of him as he thinks of me,” Aines said. “Which is often the way of things in marriage.”

Now it was Aines turn to gulp down a large helping of wine. “I admit, Duke Foulques, I am envious of you. God shows you favor.”

“You believe I am blessed?” Foulques asked.

“You do not?” Aines asked. “Look at all you have accomplished. You even fathered a son with my aunt, though most thought her too old to ever produce a child, let alone two. A boy who grows strong… and one day may be able call half the realm his own.

“Then I look at myself - for years I thought myself the future Duchess of Aquitaine. Then my brother is born, I am given a husband who cannot find his way to anything beside bending over to kiss the behinds of different lords, hoping they throw him scraps.”

Aines shuddered, finished off her wine and slammed the goblet down. “I was forced to marry a dog, not a man. A cruel, brutal dog, who hates his life and takes it out on me.”

“I am sorry to hear such things,” Foulques said. “You certainly deserve better.”

“But God deems I do not,” Aines said. “Which is why I find myself envious of you, and your family.”

“A dangerous thing to admit,” Foulques said. “Envy is a sin.”

Aines laughed. “I do not think you concern yourself with that - if my aunt is to be believed.”

Foulques shook his head. Beatritz was certainly chatty with her niece.

“I think you underestimate my part in achieving what I have,” Foulques said as he sipped his wine. “I was but a Count of Tours, the single county. Today I am the Duke of Anjou, ruler of five counties, some of which belonged to the King of the Bretons. I am the marshal of the King of the Franks, who has defeated the English when he was needed most. I did not wait for those things to be handed to me. I took them.”

“And you think God had nothing to do with any of that?” Aines asked.

“I would never say as much,” Foulques said. “But what is the expression our Lord Christ once said? God helps those who help themselves?”

Aines smirked. “I do not know if that is what Christ meant by such things. But then, I am no priest.”

She looked out and saw Adhemar. She bowed her head.

“I must leave you for now Duke Foulques,” she said. “Or my husband will think you aim to bed me. And I do not wish to promote such a thought.”

Foulques smiled as he watched her walk off, enjoying the sway of her hips as she did so. He did wish it, even if he would not.

For now, anyway.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 53
June 1087 - Anjou, France

As the keep in Angers appeared on the horizon, Foulques could only hope he was not too late.

His target in view, he urged his horse forward. Geoffrey and the knights accompanying him did the same. It wasn’t the brightest idea - the fading light made riding fast risky. But the duke was driven by urgency above all else.

Once inside the walls, he dismounted in a flash, not even bothering to see if the stable hands had hold of his mount. He practically sprinted toward the entrance of the keep, and once inside, he was intercepted by Mayor Guilhem rushing to greet him.

“My lords,” he said. “I had heard you were on your way, but did not expect to see you so soon.”

“Does she live?” Foulques asked.

“What my lord?”

“Does she still live?” Foulques demanded. “My wife. The duchess. Beatritz!”

His voice echoed through the keep and caused those present to look toward their duke. The steward was taken aback for a moment, but regained his composure quickly.

“Yes, I believe,” the steward said. “Adalmode was with her, as is your daughter.”

“How does she fare?” Foulques asked. “I was told she collapsed and Adalmode feared the worst.”

The steward lowered his head. “I be not a doctor, my lord. But the duchess suffers greatly. Adalmode believes her time nears. I do know much beyond that my lord. You must speak to her.”

Foulques hurried toward the duchess’ chambers with Geoffrey close behind. As they approached the door, Foulques saw Adalmode leaving it. The old nun had her headed down and was uttering a prayer.

“Are we too late?” Foulques asked her.

Adalmode looked up at the duke and shook her head.

“No, you come at a good time,” she said. “She has asked for you. Both of you. It will brighten her spirits.”

“How does she fare?” Geoffrey asked.

“She is lucid, but in great pain. I have given her something that will help her sleep,” Adalmode said.

“Thank you,” Foulques said. He moved to enter the room.

“My lords,” Adalmode said. “Know that once she falls asleep, she may not ever wake again. I would make your peace with her. I have tried to help her do so with God.”

Foulques eyes’ drifted to the stone floor.

“She has been ill before,” Geoffrey said. “Bedridden even. But she has always recovered.

Foulques placed a hand on his son’s shoulder before looking toward the old nun. “Thank you for the time you have given her.”

The nun bowed before Foulques and Geoffrey entered the room, where the duchess’ ladies, moved about. Agnes was seated by the bedside with Aines standing beside her. Upon seeing her father, Agnes awkwardly pushed herself upright and hugged him tightly. She had grown quite a bit - her pregnancy was now clear to see.

“Praise God,” she said. “I did not think you would come in time.”

“We rode as quickly as we could,” Foulques said. “I am glad we are not too late.”

“Is that your father?” Beatritz asked. “Your brother? Agnes?”

Agnes moved back to her mother. “It is. They just arrived from Melun.”

Foulques stepped forward and took Beatritz hand. He was surprised at how limp it was. “I am here wife. I moved as quickly as I could.”

Beatritz gave him a weak smile that was quickly replaced by a grimace. Her face scrunched up and she gritted her teeth, but she did not scream. Her hand regained enough strength to squeeze her husband’s.

Foulques turned to Aines. “Leave us. This is to be a private moment.”

Aines may have wished to stay, but she bowed her head and did as she was told. The ladies followed her out.

“I knew you would return,” Beatritz said. “As you did when Agnes was born.”

“That was not proper,” Foulques said.

“You have never been proper,” Beatritz said. “As I told you then.”

It was not exactly then, but Foulques knew well enough not to correct a dying woman.

“The king gave me leave,” Foulques said. “In fact, he insisted.”

That was no lie. Philippe had instructed Foulques to return to Anjou and take as much time as he needed.

“The king is feeling generous after his victory over the English king,” Beatritz said. “And to you for giving it to him.”

“You know, he refers to them as Saxons,” Foulques said. “He speaks as if he has equaled Charlemagne. But who am I to correct him?”

Beatritz let loose a weak chuckle which turned into a cough and wheeze.

“Geoffrey, you are here?” she asked.

The teen approached her. “Yes, mother.”

She reached for him and Geoffrey moved his shaking hand to meet hers.

“You are becoming so strong,” she said. “Like your father.”

Geoffrey nodded but remained silent.

“Say something to your mother,” Foulques ordered.

Geoffrey looked at him then her and shook her head. “I… I do not know what to say.”

“It is fine, my beautiful son,” Beatritz said. “That you are here now is enough.”

She grimaced again, and then curled tightly as she struggled to deal with the pain. Finally a weak moan escaped her lips. Agnes gently stroked her hair.

“You are a good girl,” Beatritz said.

“I am not mother,” Agnes said. “I have caused you and father such grief. I am sorry for my foolishness. I…”

“It is fine girl,” Beatritz said. “What’s done is done. You must now take care of this child. I am sorry I will not be there to help you. But you must be strong. You had me and your father to raise you. This child will have nothing but you. Be good to it, as I tried to be to you. And support your father and your brother. They do men’s work, but that does not mean they cannot be helped in times of need.”

Agnes nodded, tears in her eyes.

“Geoffrey,” Beatritz called weakly. She reached out for his face, but the young man had kneel beside her so she could touch him. “I did not think I would ever have you. I thank God everyday for delivering you to me safely.”

She paused as the pain bubbled to the surface once more. After a few moments, she continued.

“Learn from your father,” she said. “He is not perfect, but he has done well. He has done what he does best at, make war, and listened to others where is not as strong. And he has made his wife happy. Do both, and you will be as successful as he.”

“I will mother,” Geoffrey said.

“Good,” Beatritz said. “Now leave us. I wish to speak to your father alone.”

Geoffrey and Agnes did as they were told. The door shut behind them and Foulques knelt by the bedside. Now it was he who did not know what to say.

As he gripped his wife’s hand, he felt it clench around his, showing more strength than he believed possible. But he could see the struggle in her face.

“You are brave,” he said.

“That is something I have not heard very often,” Beatritz said. “But I prayed to God that if you came, I would not scream with you present. I know you would not like such things.”

Foulques shook his head. “It is no sin to scream. God knows you suffer. He will understand.”

“What do you know of God?” Beatritz asked. “You are a man of war, not the church. An oaf, who is better served on a horse than he is in a ducal chair.”

Foulques was surprised to hear her say such things. He was taken back even further when she began to laugh.

“You are my oaf, though,” Beatritz said. “I am grateful for you. You saved me.”

“Saved you?”

“I never told you,” she began, “My brother was not long from sending me to a convent.”

“You jest.”

“I do not,” Beatritz said. “He was in a rage over something which I forget. He told me that I was old, fat and no man would have want me as a wife. He would send me away by the end of the year. And then… the next time I spoke with him, he told me I was to go to Tours.”

The duke was surprised as he felt a lingering rage toward his brother in law, despite the reality he himself had thought many awful things of Beatritz over the years as well.

“Why did you never tell me this?”

“I did not wish for you to think less of me,” Beatritz said. “They all did. My brothers. My sister. Dukes. The Empress! And then old, fat Beatritz. But you saved me from that. I became a duchess. I ruled Anjou while you were away. I have children. A son I know will do great things. I wonder what they will say of me now, when they see me?”

“If they are not proud, then they are envious fools,” Foulques said.

Beatritz smiled. “You have been a good husband.”

“I have not,” Foulques said. “I belittled you. I laid with other women when I was not confident you would have a son. I even seduced your friend’s daughter.”

“You did as men do,” Beatritz said. “I do not hate you for it. You have stood by me, even as I have grown old and frail. I hear stories of other men, who seek to harm their wives or annul their marriage when she becomes an inconvenience.”

Foulques said nothing. The thought had crossed his mind, though he had not acted on it. But would he have been so virtuous if he had not a strong son in Geoffrey?

“Have you a new wife picked out?” Beatritz asked.

“Never,” Foulques said.

“You lie,” she said. “You want more sons. As you should. My father had three sons. All were dukes.”

Foulques said nothing.

“Will you take Alearde?” Beatritz asked.

“She’s lowborn.”

“The King of the Franks has married twice, both lowborn girls!” Beatritz said. “If a king can…”

“I am no king,” Foulques said.

“True enough,” Beatritz said. “And… it is a good thing. I see how you look at Aines. And she at you.”

“She reminds me of you is all,” Foulques said.

“I am your wife,” Beatritz said. “And I have seen how you look at me. I have never doubted that.”

Foulques smirked and kissed Beatritz on the forehead. “It is no matter. Aines has a husband.”

“And you have a wife,” Beatritz said. “But not for long, I think.”

The duchess relaxed in her bed, stretching herself out and laying flat on her back. Her breathing calmed and she closed her eyes.

Foulques stood up as his heart began to race.

“Wife? Beatritz!”

Beatritz eyes opened. “I am not gone yet, husband. But it is nice to hear you worry. I think.. I think, what Adalmode gave me takes hold. It is a relief. Please thank her for me.”

“I shall.”

“Not for only for this,” Beatritz said. “For all she has done. I hear of what has happened to others in the care of these doctors. She has been good to us. You remain with us. I have lived longer than my siblings. And our children our healthy. Reward her. She truly has a holy touch.”

Foulques nodded.

“You will have much to do,” Beatritz said. “Marshal to the king, winner of his wars. Needing to find a new wife. Taking care of the children…”

Her expression changed as her face went from relaxed to stern. “You must look after Agnes’ child. It may be a bastard. But it is of our blood. I know it angers you, but treat it as you would any of our grandchildren. If it is a boy, make him a knight. If it is a girl, see to it that she is married to a good family.”

“You need not worry. It will be done,” Foulques said.

Beatritz smiled and relaxed once more. She closed her eyes.

“Beatritz, you have been a good wife,” Foulques said. “I would not have done as I have without you. They were all wrong. But I was just as wrong. I thought you an alliance. But you were more. And I thank you. And I will miss you.”

Beatritz smiled a tears rolled down her cheeks. “Stay with me husband. I know you have much to attend to. But at least until I sleep. I… I try to be brave but I am scared.”

“You are not alone,” Foulques said. “And I will stay as long as you have need of me.”

It did not take long for the duchess to drift off. Foulques stood up and moved to the door. When he opened it, he saw Agnes and Geoffrey waiting.

“She is asleep,” Foulques said. “Agnes, fetch her ladies. They can resume their duties. I will remain by her side.”

And he did, through the night. He sent Agnes off to bed, saying she needed her rest. The duke was exhausted and eventually fell asleep in his chair.

….

He did not dream of anything that he remembered when he awoke to the site of Agnes, Geoffrey and Aines by the duchess’ bedside.

“Has she awoken?” Foulques asked.

Aines turned back. “No. She sleeps peacefully.”

“I told you to rest,” Foulques told Agnes.

“I could not sleep long,” Agnes said. “I want to be with her.”

Then Agnes turned back to her mother. “What did you say mother? Did you say ‘so pretty?’”

Foulques had not heard anything. He jumped back to his feet and rushed over to the bedside. Aines was leaning in close.

“Who is so pretty, Aunt Beatritz?” Aines asked.

But there was no response. Foulques picked up her hand again and found it limp. When he looked at her chest, he saw it did not rise.

“Get the nun!” Geoffrey ordered the duchess’ ladies. "Get Adalmode!"

But Foulques knew he didn’t truly need the nun. After all, there was nothing she could do.

The duchess had left them.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 54
August 1087 - Anjou, France

“Are those the only options?”

Godfrey de Boulogne, standing by the map in the strategy hall, gave a slight nod. “The realm is… unfortunately, short on strong marriage candidates. The others… require waiting.”

Foulques gave a glance toward Mayor Guilhem, and then sat in thought. He thought perhaps there would be a daughter or sister of a Frankish prominent noble to marry. But there was no such luck.

That was not to say there were no candidates - Douce de Bourgogne remained an option. So too was King Philippe’s daughter, Princess Adalmode. But both were not even 11 summers. They would require a wait - one Foulques was not interested in.

He wished for more sons. Now that his realm would not split upon his death, it made sense to make certain he had others, in case something befell Geoffrey.

“Then that is it?” Foulques asked. “There are no more?”

“There is Robert’s sister,” Godfrey said. “As William’s daughter, she has a claim to the throne.”

“The sun is soon to set on the Normans,” Foulques said. “The less said of them, the better.”

“What of Haldora?” Guilhem asked Godfrey.

“Haldora?” Foulques asked.

“The granddaughter of the King of the Norge,” Godfrey answered. “She is 15 summers and will be of age soon. And her father may well be king in the future. And she has a sister as well, who is not much younger.”

“Daughter of a potential king is nothing to scoff at,” Guilhem said.

“What worth is she?” Foulques wondered aloud. “We are not the Saxons or Scots. It is a long journey from Norge to our realm.”

“But not impossible to make, as their cousins the Normans proved,” Godfrey said.

“And the Norge once held England by the throat,” Guilhem said.

“These men are hardly the stock of their Norman cousins,” Foulques said. “Whereas William conquered England, Hardrada was defeated by Harold Godwinson. Bested by the men bested by their cousins. Neither William nor Canute are they.”

“Then do you intend to wait out Hugues daughter?” Godfrey asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “I think, perhaps, Alearde.”

The councilors traded glances with one another. They did not smile.

“My lord,” Guilhem said. “If I may have a word in private?”

Foulques knew this was meant to be a private disagreement with his choice. But he would allow it - Guilhem had earned that right. So he allowed Godfrey to depart, leaving the duke and his steward alone.

“You disagree with Alearde,” Foulques said.

“You are, of course, free to do as you wish, my lord,” Guilhem said. “But I think you would be better served selecting another.”

“She has been my lover for 15 years,” Foulques said. “And she has served me faithfully. She knows the duchy well, from its people to its politics. Why not her?”

“She is the daughter of no one of note,” the steward said. “She brings with her no alliance. No prestige. The opposite in fact.”

“I have children for that,” Foulques said.

“A son who is already betrothed for claims and not an alliance,” Guilhem said. “And a daughter who carries a bastard.”

Foulques did like hearing his family spoken of in such a way - but there were few who could question him like Guilhem. He had been his steward for two decades. He and Leon were the only remaining members of his original council in Tours - and only Guilhem had served him every day since.

“So you think I should search for another strong alliance?” Foulques asked.

“I would, my lord,” Guilhem said. “Perhaps our ambitions will see us return to Brittany. Or perhaps move on Aquitaine. We may be able to defeat either on our own, but would be certain victory with a strong ally.”

Foulques rapped his fingers on the table. It was his reasoning some two decades ago. Back then, he was not spoilt for choice - his only opportunity to gain a strong alliance was to take a woman who, he now knew, was considered near-worthless by her brother.

He did not have a wide bevy of options now either. But the daughter of the King of the Norge… it was not necessarily something to scoff at, if for no other reason than it was a king.

As he sat in thought, there was a knock at the door. The courtier Henri entered, bringing news of the arrival of the Duke of Champagne.

“I will think upon what you say,” Foulques told Guilhem.

The steward nodded and followed the Duke as he walked to the main hall. A brief look toward the dias showed just one empty chair. Foulques pushed Beatritz from his mind and Philipp.

“I bring news from the king,” Philipp told him.

“What is it?” Foulques asked.

“Not here, my friend,” Philipp said. “We should discuss the matter in private.”

“So much secrecy these days,” Foulques said as he looked toward Guilhem.

Philipp gave him a curious look.

“Not you my friend,” Foulques said. “Let us move to my quarters.”

There, Foulques poured them a cup. He noticed the Duke of Champagne, normally cheerful and outgoing, seemed far more unsettled. He kept looking around, as if trying to ascertain if anyone was taking an interest in him. Even now in the room, his eyes kept scanning, as if he were searching.

“Are you well?” Foulques asked. “You seem… nervous.”

“There is much to discuss, and much of it unpleasant,” Philipp said.

Foulques frowned. He had enough unpleasantness since the victories in Normandy. But he signaled for Philipp to continue.

“The king has made a decision on Maine,” Philipp said. “He is giving it to Leonard de Bage.”

“Who?” Foulques asked.

“A knight in his service,” Philipp said. “Served with him at Rouen. He gave the king his horse when Philippe was knocked from it in the melee…”

“I was there,” Foulques said. “That is the man who did it? I saved the king's life! If not for my arrival…”

“The king understands your desire to reclaim Maine,” Philipp said. “But he is concerned you may have difficulty meeting your obligations with yet another county. As it stands, few men in the realm directly control as much as you - not even the king himself.”

Foulques shoved himself away from the table and punched the wall.

“Who is he to decide such a thing?” Foulques demanded. “We have little issue collecting taxes and my levies are strong. Another county is nothing.”

“He has mentioned that the death of the duchess may have impacted such things,” Philipp said. “I do not agree, but… that is his reasoning.”

“I will find another wife,” Foulques said. “He denies me over something temporary?”

Philipp shrugged. “Perhaps he does not believe you will find someone as capable.”

“Perhaps I shall address my concerns in person,” Foulques said. “It may be time for me to return to Melun.”

“Do not rush your business here for the sake of that. The king’s mind is made up. Meanwhile your affairs need to be dealt with. This is an important moment. Careful considerations must be made.”

Foulques sighed. He was angry. But perhaps the more diplomatic Philipp was correct on this matter. Certain things did need to be sorted before he could depart. As much as he wished he could leave matters to his children - Agnes was in no state to and he doubted Geoffrey was ready. And though Guilhem could handle the financial affairs of Anjou, the matter of Foulques’ search for a wife was not to be left to his councilors alone.

“There is another matter,” Philipp said. “Though, I speak of this matter to you as my friend. And I must swear on your life for secrecy. It is not to leave this room.”

Foulques’ curiosity was piqued. He returned to the table and sat down.

“My lips are sealed,” Foulques said. “What is this matter?”

“The king’s victory in Normandy,” Philipp began, “Not all are pleased by it.”

“They fear the king grows too powerful?” Foulques asked.

“You do not?” Philipp asked.

Foulques chuckled. “I assume your lips are as sealed as mine?”

Philipp smirked. “I understand your concern.”

That was no promise, Foulques knew. And he had not forgotten how Philipp had let Foulques’ dissatisfaction during the siege in Evreux slip.

“Continue with your matter,” Foulques insisted.

“Regardless of his land,” Philipp continued, “He grows confident. Almost… arrogant. If you had been in Melun more over the last few months, you would see.”

“And what of it?” Foulques asked.

“There are murmurs of discontent among the nobility,” Philipp said. “Not just the dukes. Even the counts, mayors and barons.”

“I have heard of no new factions besides Raoul of Amiens,” Foulques said. “Your cousin.”

“Because we are on the council,” Philipp said. “While Toulouse hides and Alberic of Aquitaine is a child. And the newly minted Duke of Orleans is beholden…”

“Orleans?”

“Ah, you had not heard that?” Philipp asked. “He has raised the Count of Angouleme. One that shares your namesake, Foulques. Another thing which has displeased our peers.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “He is terrified of granting any of his current dukes more power.”

“Now you come to the truth of it,” Philipp said. “That is why you did not receive Maine. Why you, myself, Alberic, Toulouse or Hugues did not receive Orleans.”

“You speak on this,” Foulques said. “But what do you intend to do about this, if you cannot formally stand opposed to the king?”

Philipp got up and poured himself more wine. He took a sip and glanced toward the ceiling.

“Did you know I am descended from the Karling line?” Philipp asked.

Foulques shook his head.

“It is true,” Philipp said. “My grandmother was herself the granddaughter of Louis IV, and King Conrad of Burgundy.”

Foulques chuckled. He could see where this was going.

“Aye,” he said. “Did you know my uncle’s fourth cousin’s brother’s wife may have been a descendent of the third bastard child of Clovis himself?”

Philipp shook his head. “Mock it all you wish. But I could do with your support.”

“I am on the same council as you,” Foulques said. “I cannot.”

“Not that I be king,” Philipp said. “Merely that my connection is a valid one. I would be named the true heir of the throne, as the true descendent of the Karlings.”

“You cannot expect such a thing to be accepted,” Foulques said. “Boudewijn struggles with his claim and he is the grandson of a king.”

“I do not fight for the strength of the claim,” Philipp said. “Just that it exists. After that, true strength depends on the levies I can raise and allies I can gather.”

Foulques shook his head. Part of him wished to get some sort of payback against the king for not giving him Maine. But this seemed petty, and destined to fail. And over what? So that Philipp could toss his hat in with the other pretenders - with all three vying for support? It risked angering the king for nothing.

“You advised me not to leave for Melun,” Foulques said. “For the good of my duchy and family. So now, I will return the favor to you, my friend. This will earn you nothing. You may struggle to have such a claim recognized. If you gain the claim, you will struggle to attract supporters, as others also desire the throne. It is folly.”

“I am surprised a man as ambitious as you would say such a thing,” Philipp said. “Could not your adventure against the Bretons have been considered folly?”

“Perhaps, but it has more chance than this,” Foulques said. “I had the men. And the alliance. You have neither. You and I alone cannot overthrow the realm. And you will not receive support from Boudejwin or Hugues - they are too ambitious for that.”

“But perhaps Toulouse or Alberic, in time,” Philipp said.

“Perhaps in time,” Foulques said. “But… you risk a great deal for many ‘ifs’.”

Philipp closed his eyes and sighed.

“You have fair points my friend,” he said. “I will think on whether this is an avenue worth pursuing. I thank you for your honesty.”

“And I for yours,” Foulques said. “I have not forgotten our conversation in Evreux - together we can do much - and we need no crown for that.”

Philipp raised his cup to that and perhaps for the first time since arriving for his visit - smiled.

….

A few days later, Foulques decided he wished to partake in his view of the Maine - it had been sometime since he had done so.

The events of the last few months had drained him and he had been so involved with trying to sort the future, basic pleasures like that had been forgotten.

Only, when he arrived on the ramparts, he found he would not be alone. Aines de Poitou was there already, staring out at the horizon.

He was about to announce his presence to her, but she turned to him first.

“My lord,” she said.

He noticed her eyes appeared bloodshot, with dried tears on her cheeks.

“Have you come to admire the view?” Foulques asked her.

“Yes... Agnes mentioned that you enjoy it, so I wished to see for myself,” Aines said. She sniffled.

“Are you feeling all right?” Foulques asked.

Aines smiled, but it was clear it was phony. “Yes, I am fine.”

“I think you are being false with me,” Foulques said.

“I… I do not wish to burden you with my problems,” Aines said. “They are mine alone to deal with.”

“I asked of your concerns,” Foulques said. “It is no burden.”

Aines smirked but shook her head. “I disagree. But if you must know, my husband is the problem.”

“What of him?”

“He is a failure of a man, who is cruel and mean, yet thinks himself better than all of us,” Aines said. “But that you already know.”

“It is something new?” Foulques asked.

“New situations but old results,” Aines said. “Nothing has changed after over 10 years.”

“You grow tired of him, then?” Foulques asked.

“I have long since grown tired,” Aines said. “He is a monster. I wish no part of him. But I do not know what I am to do. I cannot end this marriage. I cannot pray to God for something to befall him. I am at a loss.”

“So you look to me to do something of it?” Foulques asked.

Aines shook her head. “No, my lord. You cannot change the past. This was my father’s mistake, not yours.”

“You seek to play me,” Foulques said. “You wish me to correct his mistake.”

“What I wish is of no consequence,” Aines said.

Foulques rolled his eyes. “Then leave me in the solitude here. I have no desires for games. Speak plain or do not speak at all.

Aines bowed her head and walked toward the stairs. She paused upon reaching them, then turned and walked back to him.

“You wish for me to speak plain?” Aines asked. “Then I shall. I wish to be your wife.”

Foulques brow rose. Aines came over and pressed herself against him. He could not resist holding her, his hands sliding down her waist.

“I have long wished it,” Aines said. “Since our first meeting in Bordeaux. Of course, I would never harm my aunt, so it was a mere fancy. But now she is with God. You are alone, and I…”

“You remain married,” Foulques said. “A problem, is it not?”

“A large problem,” Aines said. “But as I stand here, I am left with this truth - I long to be your wife, I desire to have my first sons be yours, I wish to finally become the duchess I should have been… and yet, all that is blocked by the dog of a husband that is Adhemar.”

“An unfortunate situation,” Foulques.

“Yes,” Aines said. “And yet, I seem to remember a man I spoke to recently praise taking action to see one’s wishes come true.”

“And you would do what?” Foulques asked.

“I would ask you to free me,” Aines said. “So that I may become your wife… if you desire it. Do you desire such a thing?”

Foulques could not resist. He kissed her and then began to fiddle with her dress. But her hands stopped his.

“I am still another man’s wife,” Aines said. “Until that is not the case, I cannot be yours.”

Foulques furrowed his brow and walked away from her. “What do you want me to do then? I am not the church. I cannot grant you an annulment. I cannot free you from your vows.”

“There is more than one way to end one’s vows,” Aines as she approached him once more.

Foulques’ eyes widened. “You mean for me to kill him.”

Aines placed her slender finger on his lips. “As you did with that troublesome mayor my aunt told me about. And like then, you need not be the one who drives the blade in his back. There are whispers through the court. Many, many wish for him to depart this world. Even poor Agnes.”

“What of my daughter?”

“The dog drove her to tears the other day,” Aines said. “I was aiding Agnes prepare for bed and he stormed into her chambers, drunk, demanding I leave her to lay with him. The poor girl was nude, and tried to cover her shame, but could hardly hide her belly at this stage. When I told him to leave, that I had to aid my lady, he cursed me and then mocked Agnes, saying a wife’s duty is to her husband not to a 'foolish whore' who cannot keep her legs closed… It sent her into tears! We spent the night trying to console her!”

Foulques gritted his teeth. He knew Agnes would suffer for her indiscretion. But to have that landless leech insult so… and intrude on her without permission!

“Why am I just learning of this?” Foulques demanded.

“Her lady Alearde threatened to tell you what he said if he did not leave immediately,” Aines said. “He did not realize his mistake at first, but upon her reminding him that Agnes remains your daughter, he wised up and left us.”

“But you tell me now,” Foulques said.

“Because he forced himself upon me the next night,” Aines said. “In cruel fashion.”

She lifted the sleeve of her dress to reveal bruises on her right arm. “I owe him nothing.”

Foulques paced about the room. He was furious - the man had taken his hospitality and insulted his family. And then to do this to a woman as beautiful and desirable as Aines…

“You say he is disliked,” Foulques said.

“Very,” Aines said. “I hear the whispers of it. You can go to others if you doubt me. They will tell you the same thing.”

He would - taking Aines at her word would be height of foolishness.

But he did desire her. And she offered a compromise between desire and usefulness. Her brother did rule Aquitaine, Poitou and Gascony. He could renew the alliance if he chose - providing him with someone who could match his levy.

“So, you would be my wife,” Foulques said.

Aines smiled. “In time. It would be… suspicious for me to marry you so soon after his death. But six months after… I think would be a good time.”

Foulques pulled her in close for a passionate kiss as breeze blew in off the Maine.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 55
September 1087 - Anjou, France

He should have been filled with hate, or at a minimum disgust, anger and frustration.

How else could Foulques have been expected to react upon seeing the embodiment of disdain for his authority presented before him in the swaddled newborn that was Agnes’ bastard child?

He could see the look of concern on Agnes’ face as she held the child out for her father to inspect. Perhaps that was because he had mentioned, in her presence, what he had heard of the old Roman tradition of the patriarch of the household judging children, and if he deemed it not worthy, literally leaving it for the wolves.

Yet, despite what he knew he should feel, and the reluctance that kept him from seeing the child for two weeks since it was born, Foulques found himself enamored with the cooing infant.

Perhaps it was Agnes’ concerned face, the fear in her eyes that were so similar to her mother’s that left Foulques’ heart softened. Or that the duke believed the child did look like her mother and, in turn, her grandmother.

Or maybe it was the fact she screeched at the top of her little lungs upon being separated from her mother. Fire in this one.

Foulques smirked and handed the child back to Agnes, who tried to calm her bastard back to sleep. When that did not work, she grabbed a cloth, draped it over her breasts and then pulled the child underneath.

“It appears you take to motherhood well,” Foulques said.

Agnes managed a smile, though she remained uneasy, as if uncertain her father’s true intention. “Thank you father.”

“You are fortunate,” Foulques said. “She reminds me of your mother. If she possesses a similar temperament, she will do well, despite her stature.”

Agnes seemed to ease a bit after hearing that. “I am saddened mother did not get to meet her. I even am considering naming her after her…”

Foulques raised an eyebrow. While he appreciated the gesture, he did not think it would be appropriate to name a bastard after Beatritz.

“Perhaps you can do her honor with a name close, but not exact,” Foulques said.

Agnes frowned but nodded. “How about Beatrice?”

“Is that not the same?” Foulques asked.

“It is different, slightly,” Agnes said.

He rolled his eyes, but did not forbid it. She obviously wished to do this, and he could not say no to honoring the duchess.

Foulques noticed Agnes’ face appeared to grow concerned.

“I will not forbid it, if you wish it,” he said.

“It is not that father,” Agnes said. “I… I just had a question and I am afraid to ask it.”

“What is it?” Foulques replied.

“Has… has Duke Gilles given any response to our child’s birth?” Agnes asked.

Foulques turned from her, in hopes she would not see his face redden. His bastard of a nephew has refused to acknowledge the girl at all, denying he had any contact with Agnes and calling her a liar. Given his growing reputation in the realm, Foulques did not think Gilles’ denial would find many believers, but it angered him still.

Perhaps it should not have surprised him, as he refused to acknowledge Etiennette’s bastard daughter Ermengarde as well. But that Agnes was both Gilles’ cousin and the daughter of the Duke of Anjou made Foulques think that the boy would not dare denounce the child.

Foulques wondered if his nephew would have if Agnes had birthed a boy, since a legitimate boy would have had a claim on Anjou. But in the end, it did not matter. Foulques was not pleased to have his daughter’s honor further besmirched.

“He has denounced the child,” Foulques said.

He looked back to Agnes and saw her face sadden. “He told me he loved me…”

“He is a liar,” Foulques said. “He preyed on your innocence. Never again.”

Agnes used her free hand to wipe tears from her face. “Of course, father.”

She looked around at her ladies. “I have to discuss something in private with my father. Leave us.”

They all did, with Agnes and Aines trading glances as she left the room.

“What is this matter?” Foulques asked.

“I wished to thank you,” Agnes said. “I know you could have… taken other actions with me and my daughter. That you have allowed us to remain here… I am eternally grateful.”

“A difficult decision,” Foulques said. “But I will not allow Duke Gilles to tear this family apart.”

“I cannot he would behave this way toward his own blood,” Agnes said. “Aunt Hildegarde would be disgusted.”

“I do not consider him part of this family,” Foulques said. “He does not consider himself part of ours.”

Agnes smiled. Then she took a deep breath. “On the matter of family father, there is another matter to discuss. On our potential addition.”

Foulques’ brow raised. “What… do you refer to?”

“One of my ladies has professed a desire to join our family, by marrying into it,” Agnes said. “Given the circumstances, I do not see a problem with it, aside from the… dog that keeps her from doing so.”

Foulques smirked. “You speak in code?”

“If there is something I have learned from Alearde,” Agnes began, “it is that you never know who listens. In matters such as this, it is better to be careful.”

Foulques nodded. She is learning.

“So then, you support it,” Foulques said.

“I have done more than that,” Agnes said. “I have found others who wish to aid us. I have not spoken with all of them, but I hear your marshal and Henri may be of interest, to you, if you desire assistance.”

“I believe I do,” Foulques said.

“I also have dispatched Alearde to investigate some other leads,” Agnes said. “She will report back to you shortly.”

He was impressed at Agnes’ efforts, especially since she had given birth just two weeks before. And yet, he was also concerned - did he want his daughter mixed up in this plot?

“I appreciate what you try to do,” Foulques said. “But this is dangerous. I do not know if your heavy involvement is wise.”

“You will soon return to Melun, father,” Agnes said. “You will need someone here to carry out your orders. Am I not the best choice? Someone you can trust?”

“There is risk,” Foulques said.

“One I am glad to take,” Agnes said. “If not for your kindness toward me, I would no longer remain here.”

One thing Foulques noticed was that his daughter was not asking. She was doing. And thus, he was hesitant to stop her. If she desired to help so badly, and it helped move things along smoothly, then why disappoint her by standing in her way?

“Take care in this matter,” Foulques said. “And your help is appreciated. Both from myself and… the lady, I’m sure.”

Agnes smiled. “I am certain of that. We have discussed it extensively.”

He was not certain he liked Aines’ chatting with Agnes about such things - but if he was to go through with this, it was good his daughter was on the same page as her new stepmother.

…..

A few days later, Foulques was in his chamber as he prepared to return to Melun. There was little for him to do in Anjou now - he had put any talk of marriage on hold. Guilhem would essentially take Beatritz role as regent, though Foulques had told him quietly to involve Agnes, for now, though he wanted that kept relatively quiet given how she might be viewed after birthing a bastard.

He would be taking Geoffrey with him again. Foulques debated having him remain and learn, but decided it would be better for him to maintain a personal hand in teaching him. And being around other dukes and the king in Melun would not hurt either.

Henri told him the stable hands were preparing the horses and they would be ready shortly. As he waited Foulques decided to enjoy a little wine.

A knock on the door left the duke expecting he needed to finish his drink quickly. But it was Alearde, not Henri.

“My lord,” she said.

He approached her and gave her a kiss. She did not respond in her usual way - accepting it, but not escalating things.

“Do you need something?” Foulques asked.

“I wished to inform you that I am working all leads in regards to your plan with Agnes,” Alearde said.

“Is it that difficult to do something when so many wish it so?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Alearde said. “But it is difficult to do without anyone learning of who and why it was done. Rushing this will harm all those involved, including those close to you.”

Foulques would have liked this taken care of sooner rather than later, but his daughter’s involvement meant he had some reason to be patient.

“Understood,” Foulques said.

“Thank you,” Alearde said. She bowed. “My lord.”

Alearde turned to leave. That she did not even attempt to show any affection, especially as Foulques prepared to leave her for months, surprised him. And he needed to know why.

“Wait,” he said. He stood up and approached her. “Are you dissatisfied?”

“What do you mean, my lord?” she asked.

“You appear upset,” Foulques said. “Are you angry with me?”

“I help you, do I not?” Alearde asked.

But Foulques knew her well enough to understand that was not the full answer.

“You help me, but that is not what I asked,” Foulques said. “Speak true to me.”

Alearde closed her eyes and let loose a small sigh. “You plan this murder because you plan to marry Aines de Poitou. Am I right?”

Foulques did not answer immediately. “I… such things have not been decided.”

“Now who denies to speak the truth?” Alearde asked. “You cannot play false with me. I know you too well.”

Foulques frowned and shook his head. But he did not deny it.

“We would not do it immediately,” he said. “But some time after.”

“And what shall happen to me?” Alearde asked.

“Nothing,” Foulques said. “Why would anything between us change?”

“You take another woman as your wife and you say nothing would change?” Alearde asked.

Foulques eyed her. “Did you expect me to remain unmarried?”

“I…” Alearde said. She turned from him. “Never mind. As I have said, your will shall be done.”

She move to the door but Foulques moved quicker, blocking her from opening it.

“You had more to say,” he told her. “Out with it.”

“I would prefer to leave, my lord,” she replied.

“And I would prefer you speak your mind,” Foulques said.

Alearde looked up, her brow furrowed with tears in her eyes. “I thought you would marry me. Have I not been your love for so many years? Have I not been loyal to you? I even birthed you a daughter, as the duchess shunned me for it.”

“You always insisted on not wishing for this,” Foulques said. “That you did not have the ability to be duchess.”

“I was a girl then,” Alearde said. “I was fearful of it when I was 19. But I am a different woman now. I would share in the responsibility with you. Together, we could accomplish so much. And… we could be happy. You cared for the duchess, I know. As did I. But our feelings for each other have always been different, have they not?”

“They have,” Foulques said.

“Then we should not waste this,” Alearde said. “My lord… I love you.”

“Marriage is not for love,” Foulques said. “It is for alliance… security, power…”

“You have security and power,” Alearde said. “You are perhaps the king’s closest ally. You rule over Anjou and half of Brittany. Why be miserable with another wife you do not love, when you could be with someone who has always cared for you, and you her?”

Foulques was silent. A different person may have taken that as simply him being unable to think of a strong answer.

But as he saw Alearde’s eyes widened and her hand cover her open mouth, he knew she was different - because she truly knew him. He dreaded the question that would come next.

“You do this… not for alliance… you do this because you love her,” Alearde said. “You could choose me. You simply, choose her over me.”

“Alearde, I… I still love you,” Foulques said.

“But not as much as you do her,” Alearde said as the tears began to stream down her cheeks. “It was one thing to be second to the duchess. There was little choice in the matter. But this…”

“Alearde,” Foulques said as he tilted her head up toward him.

But she pulled away. “My lord, if you would, I would like to return to my duties.”

“Alearde, there is more than that,” Foulques said. “She is still the daughter of the late Duke of Aquitaine - her aunts were the Duchess of Anjou and the Empress of the Romans. She…”

Alearde grimaced before covering her face with her hands. Her whole body trembled before pulled her hands away and she shouted: “ENOUGH!”

Foulques was taken back by the outburst enough to where he flinched and took a reflexive step back.

“Foulques d’Anjou… I wish to hear no more excuses or lies,” Alearde said, tears flowing down her cheeks in a stream. “It is simple. Choose me or choose her. But you shall not have both. Not willingly.”

“Alearde, do not make me choose,” he warned.

Alearde smirked, the tears not stopping. “You already have.”

She moved to the door. This time Foulques did not attempt to stop her. Alearde stormed out, not even bothering to close the door behind her. He watched her go, her head down with her arm glancing up to no doubt wipe her tears.

Foulques staggered to a chair and plopped himself down upon it. His mind replayed the last few minutes over and over - especially Alearde’s last tirade. She had, a common-born girl, called him by name and demanded something of him.

He should have been angry.

Instead, Foulques just felt empty.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 56
December 1087- Melun, France

“Keep your guard up!”

It was third or fourth time Foulques had ordered that of his son. Geoffrey responded each time, but eventually, he would revert back to being careless with his shield. In battle, his opponent would offer no warning.

The two were in the yard, taking advantage of a cool but not frigid December day to work on the teen’s combat skill. Dressed in leather armor, hauberk over it with a helmet on, they clashed with shields and dull swords.

It was clear from his sparring sessions with the teen that battle was not his strong point. Given how much Foulques had spent honing his fighting abilities when he was Geoffrey’s age, it was disappointing. At times he was left wondering if his son had inherited anything from him. Aside from their ambition, it seemed the two were complete opposites.

Again, Geoffrey was slow with his guard. Frustrated, Foulques hit him with dull edge, which was not strong enough to pierce the mail, but would hurt and bruise. He then knocked Geoffrey onto his rear, using his shield.

“That is what happens when you are not mindful of your guard,” Foulques said. “Only in battle, you would be dead. Understood?”

Geoffrey, holding his side, nodded.

“Up,” Foulques said. “We will go again.”

But as Geoffrey slowly got back to his feet, one of servants in King Philippe’s court approached them, informing Foulques he had a visitor in his quarters. When asked who it was, the man only told him it was a woman, whom he would know.

Foulques had a good idea of who it would be, given his visitor a week before.

He told Geoffrey they would continue again in a few days. Then he returned to the keep and found his hooded visitor in his chambers. Upon him entering, the hood fell away, and revealed Alearde’s pretty face and long, brunette locks. Though the smile he had fallen in love with was nowhere to be found.

“You bring word?” Foulques asked.

“The dog is dead,” Alearde said.

Foulques smiled. She had come to him a week before, telling him of a plan to have Adhemar travel with Marshal Leon, Henri and Mayor Guilhem on an inspection of Foulques’ keep in Vendome. On the way, they would stop at an abandoned inn, where manure had been planted under the floorboards. An explosion would leave little trace of evidence.

Alearde had not liked the plan - she did not believe in the farmer who they would buy off for placement of the manure. But Foulques was growing impatient. He wished to be married again, he desired Aines, and did not want her to be with her husband any longer. Every day they waited pushed back when he and Aines would be wed, since they had agreed on a six-month delay. And.. there was always the chance Aines would become pregnant, given her husband still bedded her, against her wishes.

But it had been done. The dog was dead. Aines was free. Six months from now, he would have a wife again.

“A good day,” Foulques said. He poured himself a cups of wine for himself and Alearde. But she did not accept the cup when offered.

“There is a problem, my lord,” Alearde said.

“What of it? Foulques asked. “Did someone not escape the explosion?”

“It is not that,” Alearde said. “The farmer confessed of his crime.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your involvement is known,” Alearde said.

Foulques cursed. She had been right after all. The fool was not to be trusted.

“I expect he will be executed,” Foulques said.

“Already hung,” Alearde said.

“Good,” Foulques said.

He sighed and took a drink. The reputation of a murderer would not help. But… he would not be the first noble of high rank to have been branded a killer. Perhaps with some clever tales spun by his councilors, he could make it seem as though Adhemar had deserved it for reasons beyond the duke coveting his wife.

At the very least it would muddy the waters.

“There is another matter,” Alearde said. “Agnes was implicated as well.”

Foulques eyes widened. “HOW?””

“She insisted on meeting the man,” Alearde said. “She wished to be a judge of him.”

“And you let her?” Foulques demanded.

“I told her it was a poor idea,” Alearde said. “But she insisted. What am I to do in such a case? I am her lady, not her mother or father. She does not need to listen to me.”

“Unacceptable,” Foulques said. “I trusted you to make sure this went off well and you failed me.”

“I warned you,” Alearde said. “I told you the man was not to be trusted. But you could not wait because you desire to be with your lady so much. Look what this has wrought.”

“You dare accuse me?” Foulques demanded. “Remember your place.”

“My only place now is beside your daughter,” Alearde said. “I would gladly have taken this blame for her. But she wishes to please you so greatly, she has ruined herself again.”

“She did as you told me she would,” Foulques said. “Or have you forgotten?”

“I never wished for her to be involved in this,” Alearde said. “A pointless murder so that you could engage in pleasure with a conniving shrew.”

“And what would you call yourself?” Foulques asked.

“I have never planned a murder to marry a man,” Alearde said. “In the two plots I have taken part in were at your and the duchess’ behest. She… she does it because she does not like her lot in life. I may have laid with a married man. But I did not kill my husband to do it.”

“She will be your duchess soon enough,” Foulques said. “You had best be ready to accept her as such.”

“And so I will,” Alearde said. “Because I serve Agnes. I would go where she does.”

“And when she is married off?” Foulques said.

“I will go, if she will have me,” Alearde said. “But I do not think her likely anytime soon to depart Anjou. She is the mother to a bastard. And now a murderer.”

“You dare you speak of her that way!” Foulques shouted.

“I speak the truth,” Alearde said. “It hurts me to say such things. But it remains true.”

“Perhaps I shall forbid you from serving her,” Foulques said.

Alearde narrowed her gaze. “If that is your wish, my lord. But you would deprive your daughter her most loyal and capable servant. Aines is out for herself and will be your wife soon enough. Etiennette is a loyal fool. If that is what you wish for her in this dangerous time…”

Foulques eyed her. “You will remain among her ladies. But mark my words, if you do not mind yourself, I will not hesitate to throw you from my keep, whether Agnes leaves or not.”

“And our daughter?” Alearde asked.

Foulques closed his eyes. Bella’s pudgy face flashed in his mind. An adorable girl. One he did not wish to discard.

“I may keep her,” Foulques said.

“Separate us then?” Alearde asked.

“Do not tempt me any further,” he replied.

Alearde glared at him. But she did not say another word, instead pulling up her hood and departing, without bidding Foulques goodbye.

Foulques finished his wine in silence. But that quiet was temporary as he hurled the cup against the wall. Then he overturned his table, spilling the pitcher of wine to the ground. He picked it up and threw against the wall, spraying what remained of his contents across the room.

….

After he had tired himself out, Foulques sat in silence on the floor of his chambers, leaning his back against the wall. The room was a mess of spilled wine, overturned chairs and a knocked over table. An attendant had peaked in on the commotion, but snuck back away in silence upon seeing the state of things, but that the duke was alright.

Foulques sighed. In his better moments he would have chased down Alearde. It was not her fault. She had tried to warn him. He had not listened. Neither had Agnes - a common refrain with her.

Morbidly, he chuckled. She is my daughter.

In personality. And now in reputation.

Murderers. With bastard children. A fine example I have set.

The frown returned as reality set in - His daughter’s reputation was completely destroyed. His relationship with Alearde likely the same. His own name tarnished possibly beyond repair. It hardly seemed worth it.

He closed his eyes.

He had gone too far now. The deed was done. Adhemar was dead. He had paid a heavy price, but that goal was accomplished.

He took a deep breath.

In time, he would speak to Alearde. Her anger would cease eventually. She would likely never be his lover again - a heavy price - but she could still be of use to him in other ways.

He got to his knees.

Agnes would be difficult - he was uncertain if he could find her a match now. But… she was not yet 20. Possibilities remained in the future. And if not, perhaps he could find value in her in Anjou.

Using the wall as leverage, he got to his feet.

And most importantly, Aines was now unmarried. She would be his duchess. And that… in itself was a victory.

A Pyrrhic victory, perhaps. But even that was better than a total defeat.


----
Note: The storyline/gameplay segregation I mentioned before was Alearde's and Foulques' argument. It did not happen in game. But I could not see such a backfire in the plan, with Agnes being implicated, as going without complaint. And I could not see Alearde, who is bitter over being passed over and now being blamed for not being listened to (by both father and daughter), allowing that happen without response. (After 15 years of being allowed a great many liberties as well). And this was how it turned out.

Hope that explanation makes sense!

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 57
January 1088 - Melun, France

Foulques stood outside the keep in Melun, alongside Geoffrey. It would not be long now.

A rider had arrived a little while before to inform him of the arrival of the party from Anjou. And soon they came into view, passing the gates and arriving. At the head of the party was Amaury, accompanied by a small cadre of knights. Also with him were Aines de Poitou and her eldest daughter Margaurite.

They dismounted their horses and have their steeds to the stable hands. The group all bowed as they passed by Foulques, with Margaurite shooting him a dirty look as well.

Foulques embraced Amaury, greeting him with a smile.

“Easy trip then?” he asked the knight.

“It was not too difficult,” Amaury said. “I have a greater fear of our return for certain. We did not announce our journey to anyone but those in Anjou. Here, the lady Aines and her daughter will be known to lords of the realm. They may see opportunity.”

By opportunity, you mean kidnapping, Foulques thought.

The reality of the situation was ever-apparent to him. After all, why else would he have sent a guard for Aines and Margaurite to travel? Both were unmarried and thus prey for an ambitious lord who might wish to kidnap them and force marriage upon them. Margaurite would be harder - both due to her betrothal to Geoffrey and her age - but no chances were to be taken, if possible.

“We will see what happens,” Foulques said. “Stay vigilant. Listen well.”

Amaury nodded. Both men saw Aines waiting for them to finish and the knight needed no further hints. He bowed before Foulques and then rejoined the others. Then Foulques turned to Geoffrey.

“Take your future wife and show her the keep,” Foulques said. “Perhaps she will be lucky enough to meet the king himself!”

Margaurite did not smile. But she did not resist as Geoffrey took her hand and led her off toward the keep.

“She seems unhappy,” Foulques remarked to Aines.

“Well, the talk has been everywhere,” Aines said. “It is no surprise, sadly.”

“And what have you said to her?” Foulques asked.

“I told her that Adhemar mistreated me, and that I was subjected to things I would not wish upon her when Geoffrey takes her as his wife,” Aines said. “I spoke the truth.”

“It appears she did not hear it,” Foulques said.

“It was her father,” Aines said. “She will not understand unless it happens to her. And I pray your son is more of a kind man than the dog was.”

Foulques was unsure about that. Geoffrey did not strike him as cruel. But he was petulant at times and certainly immature - a growing concern since the boy was approaching a proper age.

“How are you beside your daughter’s unhappiness?” Foulques asked.

“Daughters,” Aines said. “And as a result, it is bittersweet. We can now be together, but there are complications. Many more than I anticipated. There is talk among many about your involvement and that of others…”

“You need not worry,” Foulques said. “It appears you are not implicated in this crime.”

Aines shook her head. “Even if I am not, you are. And poor Agnes. The girl has… been through too much for one so young.”

Foulques sighed. “Her decisions are her own. She made a foolish choice in meeting with the farmer.”

“But it shall weigh on her more that she is a woman,” Aines said.

Foulques raised his brow. “I am surprised to hear your concern for her.”

“She is my cousin,” Aines said. “I have grown close to her over this last year. And I understand the difficulties of being the eldest child, when you are also a woman. It can be difficult to live up to your father’s expectations.”

“I appreciate your concern for her,” Foulques said. “You will make a fine mother for her when we wed.”

Aines’ eyes drifted to the ground. “My lord, there is a matter we must discuss. In private, if possible.”

Foulques heart skipped a beat. After the last few months, he dreaded what words she would say next. But Aines was insistent on not speaking them until they were alone and out of earshot of anyone else. So he led her to his chambers in the keep and closed the door behind.

“What… what is it?”

“I… I am with child,” Aines said.

“With… child?” Foulques asked.

She nodded.

Foulques remained motionless as he processed it. He had not bedded Aines yet - so the child was certainly not his.

“Your husband?”

“I tried to avoid this,” Aines said. “I tried to keep myself from him, but he insisted at times. I… could not stop him.”

“This, this is what I wished to avoid!” Foulques exclaimed. “I pressed for the plan to go into motion quicker to make certain you would not end up swollen with his child once more. And now you are, and mine and my daughter’s reputations suffer for our haste!”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Aines said. “Had I known this would happen, I would never have allowed a risky plan to go into motion. But I only discovered it after Adhemar had been killed.”

Foulques brought his hand to his face. This was turning into the hollowest victory he could imagine.

Aines approached him, but she did not touch him. “My devotion to you is unwavering. This changes nothing. I will gladly be your wife, if you will have me.”

Foulques looked at her. Now that he knew she was pregnant, he could more easily see the telltale signs. Her bust was a little larger, and her dress blousier, to give more room for her expanding belly.

All for naught, he thought.

No, Aines is not Beatritz, he remembered. He would marry Aines when she was nearly a decade younger than his wife had been at the time of their wedding. Beatritz had given him two children. Aines could certainly do that, if not more.

He pulled her close and kissed her. She seemed to be caught off guard by his aggressiveness, but she did not resist. And soon she embraced it.

“I have changed my mind,” Foulques said. “I am known to have killed Adhemar. I will draw no greater suspicion by not waiting to take you as my wife.”

Aines’ eyes widened. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “I will send word for us to be married in a few months, come spring.”

“But, I will be further swollen with child,” Aines said.

“It is of no concern,” Foulques said. He was lying on that account, but he was determined to make the best of a bad situation. “This month has been filled with unhappiness. It is a new year - the perfect time to begin our lives anew.”

Aines smiled and kissed him. He tugged at her dress.

“But my love,” she protested, “I am with child.”

Foulques’ lips formed a sly grin. “Not my child.”

Aines replied with a grin of her own.

…..

The feast was as extravagant as any King Philippe had put on during his reign.

There were men who literally spit fire, to the amusement and delight of the guests. There were minstrels, jesters and other performers.

And of course, there was plenty of food. Meats of different varieties - beef, chicken, quail, pork, rabbit and boar. Wine from across the realm.

The large and varied spread made Foulques think of Beatritz, and for a moment wish she were here. But Aines more than put in a fine effort of her own - sampling plenty of the food. He had not known her to be gluttonous, so perhaps it was her pregnancy that caused her increased appetite.

Foulques glanced around the hall. As expected most of the dukes were present. Boudewijn, Foulques, Phillip and Hugues were already on the council, so they were already in Melun. Foulques of Orleans and Gilles of Berry also attended, as did the young Alberic of Aquitaine. The one exception was the Duke of Toulouse, who remained in hiding.

Foulques did his best to hold his temper upon seeing Gilles and was aided in this matter by Philipp of Champagne and Aines. The young man was smart enough to not even bother with the pleasantries, avoiding any conversation with Foulques.

The awkward nature of the situation even extended to his wife Peronelle, pregnant with their first child. She did not even openly speak with her sister, though Aines had mentioned to Foulques they did chat briefly in private.

Peronelle did not reveal much to Aines - beside her disgust over the "lies" coming from Anjou over her husband, thinking Foulques out to disgrace him to save face over Agnes and Adhemar.

A laughable idea, Foulques thought, but easier for the woman to digest than the fact her husband seems to aim to bed every noblewoman in the realm.

But while Foulques kept an eye on his nephew, he was not his primary concern. He was far more interested in how the dukes took to him now that he was known to be Adhemar’s murder, while also having Aines at his side.

They did not seem enthused, but not much else had changed. Boudewijn never had cared for Foulques and barely said a word to him, even in meetings of the council. Hugues came to him for favors, but not much else. But Foulques suspected Hugues would use Philipp as a go-between anyway.

The Duke of Champagne, who had mentioned to Foulques one day that he had abandoned his plans to fabricate a claim on the kingdom, meanwhile did not seem plussed at all over it - perhaps not surprising given he had the reputation of being a kinslayer.

As for the king, Philippe had not shown a great deal of anger over the murder, though he had chided Foulques at a council meeting prior to the feast - warning the dukes not to let Foulques fall for their wives, or to make sure they avoid abandoned inns if they did.

Between the jokes and the situation with Maine, Foulques found himself annoyed with the king, but there was little point in drawing his ire. For one, aside from the jokes, Philippe seemed to elevate Foulques over most of the other dukes. He ate with the king routinely, hunted with him, trained with him - was his official cupbearer. Not even the Duke of Champagne managed all of that.

And the other problem was the reality of the situation. There were but two ways he could take Maine - hope the king gave it to him, or seize it through force. The latter would brand him a traitor and likely bring the full might of the realm on him. It was even more pointless than Philipp’s abandoned plan to fabricate.

So Foulques was left to bide his time and restrain his frustration. Admittedly, being the king’s favorite made that a bit easier.

So it was no surprise when, as Foulques sat with Aines, King Philippe interrupted to speak with them.

“Aines de Poitou,” Philippe said as he kissed her hand. “It is good to see you once more.”

“Likewise, my king,” Aines said. “It has been too long since I have been here in Melun.”

“Yes, I remember when you ran the halls as a girl,” Philippe said.

“You make it seem as though I am much younger than you,” Aines said. “And I am not.”

“It just seems a lifetime ago,” Philippe said. “For all of us. Your father stood as the prominent man in the realm. Duke Foulques was but a minor player. And myself? I was a boy-king that the dukes looked at as easy prey. But times have changed. I have conquered Mallorca and Normandy. Duke Foulques stands as one of the strongest of the dukes. And you, soon to finally become a duchess!”

Aines appeared surprised. “You know of this?”

“My marshal informed me,” Philippe said. “He talked proudly of it as well. From the way he speaks of you, the people of Anjou could not be more fortunate.”

“I… thank you my king,” Aines said. She looked to Foulques. “And to you my love. I mean, my lord.”

Foulques kissed her.

“My lady,” Philippe said. “If I can have a few moments of your future husband’s time. I promise I shall return him to you shortly.”

“Of course my king,” Aines said. She bowed before him and then walked off, with a spring in her step that Foulques could not remember ever seeing.

After she had gone, Philippe’s cheery demeanor turned more serious.

“You are bold,” he said. “The realm knows you murdered her husband. And now you flaunt her as your lover, promise to take her as your wife in a few months, even as her belly swells with child. Some think it is yours. Others believe it her husband’s. I am not certain which is worse for you.”

Foulques could not help but smirk. “You would know well on unpopular marriages.”

Philippe did not smile. “A sensitive subject. You should know better.”

“Of course, my apologies, my liege,” Foulques said.

“Duke Foulques,” Philippe began, “I do not blame you for your… eagerness. Aines is a beautiful woman, and capable. I believe she will serve you as a wife as well as Duchess Beatritz did. But it is unwise for you to be too bold - it will make you unpopular.”

“You are concerned about how I am viewed?” Foulques asked.

“You reflect on the realm,” Philippe said. “You stand beside me far more than any duke beside perhaps Philipp of Champagne. Now, you have proven yourself loyal and capable, so you are deserving. But… it can reflect poorly on a king who shows favor to a known murderer who flaunts even the basic tenets of the church.”

Rich, coming from the so-called “Son of Satan, Foulques thought. Be he knew he could not say such things to his king.

“Of course, my liege,” Foulques said. “Forgive me.”

“What’s done is done,” Philippe said. “This business has been unfortunate for all of us. Speaking of which, how is your daughter? Did Aines bring word?”

“She is… unhappy,” Foulques said. “And perhaps fearful. She remains cloistered inside the keep in Anjou most days I hear. I hope in time, that will change.”

“A sad state of affairs,” Philippe said. “When I dealt with her in Anjou those times, she was most pleasant. I think well of her.”

“I am certain she would be pleased to hear such praise in these times,” Foulques said.

“Then make certain Aines informs her of it,” Philippe said. “And that she must one day attend a feast in Melun herself. A personal invitation from the king. Perhaps that shall draw her out of her darkness.”

Let us hope, Foulques thought. Though he did give slight pause to it - given Gilles’ actions, he wondered if perhaps Philippe was interested in bedding Agnes.

But he put it out of his mind for now. Especially as Philippe patted him on the shoulder.

“Let us put all of this behind us friend,” Philippe said. “This is about celebrating the victory in Normandy, which, without you, would not be possible!”

And so Foulques did. He ate, he drank and after dinner, he took Aines once more. And for the rest of the evening, the troubles of the last month faded away.

….

But the evening turned to morning. And in the morning he was roused from bed by a knock on his door. To his surprise, it was Geoffrey, who marched into the chamber.

“Father, there is something we must discuss,” he said before pausing to see Aines in the bed, naked, blushing and covering herself the best she could with the linen sheets.

Foulques was turning red as well, but it was not from embarrassment.

“Leave,” he ordered. “I will seek you out later today.”

Geoffrey lowered his head and slinked out of the room, with an apology muttered as he departed. Foulques slammed the door behind him and returned to his lover.

“The boy may know how to speak honeyed words, but he has no concept of decency,” Foulques said.

“That is not entirely true,” Aines said. “He is normally quite charming to strangers. He just… maintains a level of comfort with his family that makes him more brash. He is young. In time he will outgrow it.”

“I have said such things for over a year now,” Foulques said. “I am losing my patience.”

“Then that is why it is good you have me,” Aines said. “I will endeavor to make sure you keep yours with him.”

Foulques smiled. “You will make a good wife,” he said as he pushed her back down onto the bed.

….

Later that day, Foulques made good on his promise and summoned Geoffrey to his chambers when Aines was out and about with Margaurite. The teen seemed a bit spooked at first, perhaps concerned who he might find in his father’s bed, but eventually the color returned to his face.

“What is this matter that was so urgent?” Foulques demanded.

“Adhemar de Limousin,” Geoffrey said.

“What about him?” Foulques asked. “You know he is dead. And you are aware I am implicated in it. I have told you the reasons.”

“Yes, that he was cruel, insulted my sister and did not respect her and may have been working against us to gain favor,” Geoffrey said. “I am aware of your words. But I find myself questioning them.”

“As your lord, that is unwise,” Foulques said.

“As a future lord, how can I not?” Geoffrey asked. “Only a fool follows blindly without care or thought of his own. Were you not the lord who once refused command until King Philippe made him his marshal?”

He is quick with his words, Foulques thought.

“What is it you seek?” Foulques asked.

“I spent much time with Margaurite during the feast,” Geoffrey said.

“And did you bed her?” Foulques asked.

“She is too young for that,” Geoffrey said. “And in truth, I think she cares little for me. Especially now.”

“You were not involved,” Foulques said. “She has little reason to hate you for it.”

“I think it matters little to her,” Geoffrey said. “Her father is dead by the hand of two members of this house - my father and sister. I believe I am guilty by blood, in her eyes.”

“And she will be your wife soon enough, with little say,” Foulques said. “Her mother speaks well of you. She certain has no second thoughts of the betrothal.”

“I have noticed,” Geoffrey said. “It seems she has no second thoughts of anything.”

“What does that mean?”

“Margaurite heard last night that you plan to wed her,” Geoffrey said. “I was uncertain myself, but, given what I… saw this morning, I have no doubt.”

“It is true,” Foulques said. “We will be wed in March.”

“I see,” Geoffrey said. “And you do not find that odd?”

“Why should I?”

“You murdered her husband and she marries you?” Geoffrey asked. “Should she not hate you, as her daughter does?”

Foulques chuckled. “The girl does not know her father’s crimes. Aines despised the man. She does not mourn his death.”

“I think you speak the truth,” Geoffrey said.

“Then what is the issue?” Foulques demanded.

“I think you murdered her husband to bed her and marry her,” Geoffrey said. “I see no purpose beyond that. For all your talk of Adhemar’s crimes, it seems the first thing you have done since learning of his death is to bring his wife here and then declare your intention to marry her. It seems obvious.”

“You infer much,” Foulques said.

“Do you think me a fool?” Geoffrey demanded. “I should hope not, if you think me capable of one day ruling Anjou. Or perhaps you do not think that. Perhaps you pray for a son with her. Or maybe God has answered your prayers already, given she is with child.”

“I have no designs on replacing you, or your sister,” Foulques said. “That much is the truth.”

“And what else is?” Geoffrey demanded. “Margaurite may be young, but what she sees are so simple a child far younger than her could see it.”

“Geoffrey…”

“Do not insult me, father,” Geoffrey insisted. “What makes her so special that you would go to such lengths to have her?”

Foulques lowered his head for a moment before picking it up and meeting his son’s stare directly.

“Because I desired her,” Foulques said. “And what I desire, I will have.”

“That is it?” Geoffrey demanded.

“That is it,” Foulques said. “That has always been it. I desired Anjou. So I married your mother to gain the alliance necessary to make certain I could take it.

“I desired Vendome. So I took it from Count Bouchard, even though I felt shame over it.

“I desired revenge on my brother. I could not touch him directly, so I took his wife.

“I desired your safety from your aunt, so I schemed to get her to Anjou, so that I might end her plot, and watch her.

“I desired Nantes, so I allied myself with those barbaric Normans.

“I desired Vannes, so I again put my shame aside and marched out against a child.

“I desired glory, so I fought against odds, risking myself to destroy the Saxons.

“I desired Alearde, so I took her as my lover.

“And now, I desire Aines as my wife and she desires me to be her husband. So yes, I killed him, and will make her mine, even though the child she carries is not. Because the next one she carries will be.”

Geoffrey was wide-eyed and pale. His mouth was agape.

Foulques continued: “My lesson to you son, is that you should never consider something impossible just because it is difficult. What I desire I take. I am not foolish about it - I take calculated risks. But I do not fail.”

“Do not fail?” Geoffrey asked. “Do not fail? You speak of successes and nothing of what has been lost in the process! Alearde was practically run from the keep by mother, who was furious over your bastard! Lithuaise is dead! Your brother hates you. As does Sulgwen of Vannes. Bouchard is dead. And now, our sister’s name is forever ruined and our family is associated with cold-blooded murder! And you say you did not fail?”

“I have those counties,” Foulques said. “And I will have Aines as my wife. So no, I did not. There will always be unpleasant outcomes, boy. If you wish to achieve anything, you must be willing to accept them.”

“You say that,” Geoffrey said. “But I do not believe you.”

“You have spoken of one day securing what you believe is your birthright through your mother,” Foulques said. “How do you think you shall take Aquitaine and Poitou? By asking Alberic nicely?”

“I shall find a better way than you did,” Geoffrey said. “I shall not destroy my family to satisfy my ambitions.”

“You have a great deal to learn,” Foulques said.

“And I have learned as much as I wish to from you,” Geoffrey said.

With that, the teen stormed off from the chamber, this time slamming the door behind him. Foulques shook his head.

Naive, he thought. He will learn. Or he will find himself having a difficult time in achieving anything in this realm.

And I have achieved them, he thought. As Philippe said last night, I was but a minor player. I began as a count.

Foulques chuckled as he thought back two decades. Guilhem would not even consider giving me Aines as a bride then. He gave me his old, fat sister to secure my alliance. And now look, I have his daughter. And perhaps one day, a son of mine may have his duchies or perhaps a grandson.

Yes, the cost was high. But… it was worth it. It had to be. Geoffrey is as naive as Margaurite is with her father’s nature. He does not understand. But he will, in time...

Foulques poured out some wine for himself. He sat down and drank it alone, in silence.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 58
March 1088 - Anjou, France

“Truly a blessed union for thee, when a child is born not in nine months, but three.”

Aubry Karling cocked a brow. “What are you mumbling about?”

Geoffrey took his eyes off Aines de Poitou and brought them to his friend, flashing a smirk.

“It is something I learned studying with the monks,” Geoffrey said. “When Caesar Augustus married his second wife, Livia, she was carrying the child of another man, though some suspected it was his. So it was rumored that was said after Germanicus was born. That may not be the exact translation but you get the point.”

Aubry shook his head and took a drink of his goblet of wine. “That is what you choose to spend your day doing instead of training? Do you plan to win your wars with clever quips about long-dead Romans and their wives?”

“You don’t think it appropriate given today?” Geoffrey asked.

The two sat on the dais in the main hall in Anjou, where the families of Duke Foulques and Aines of Poitou were seated. Aubry, by Geoffrey’s request, was allowed with him on the dais. And in the hall others were gathered to witness the wedding of Foulques and Aines and participate in the feast that followed.

“So it is appropriate,” Aubry said. “What have you gained? Even if it is clever, I am the only who has heard your joke.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. He was uncertain if Aubry was unappreciative of such refined humor, or if he was too stubborn to admit Geoffrey gained something from spending time with the monks. Regardless he would not let that him garner some enjoyment from a miserable evening.

Though this was meant to be a celebration, everything about it seemed unseemly. From the fact the bride was so heavy with child that she could be awkwardly be escorted by her brother Duke Alberic to Foulques, to the looming specter that the father of her child was brutally murdered to ensure this union could take place.

And Geoffrey knew he was not the only one who felt that way. His future wife, Margaurite, had a scowl that seemed have been made permanent on her face. She sat by his side, saying little, but grunting with arms crossed as her mother took the hand of her new stepfather while Bishop Telent conducted the rites of marriage.

Then there was poor Alearde - who could not even stand to be in the hall for this. Agnes had given her leave to not attend, which Geoffrey was grateful for. It pained him to see her in such a state. Even if she had bedded his father, and birthed Geoffrey’s bastard sister, he could not completely get over his first crush.

All for his desire, Geoffrey thought. A disgrace.

Of course, some did not seem to care. Aines’ sisters, Filipa and her husband, some courtier whom Geoffrey had already forgotten the name of, were enjoying themselves through wine and drink. And young Patricia, Aines’ youngest sister who was 10 summers, appeared captivated by the large celebration.

Geoffrey took a glance toward his other cousin, Alberic, who had now returned to his seat on the dais. The boy was 12 summers and growing somewhat portly - perhaps not surprising given how much he gorged himself on the meats around him. The two had spoken briefly earlier, which Alberic snarking at the entire show.

“You object?” Geoffrey had asked, expecting to find someone to vent to.

“I object to having to attend this,” Alberic said. “It is a long ride from Bordeaux to Angers. And it was made longer by storms. We were forced to remain in my vassals keep for days. It was drafty and… unpleasant.”

All keeps are drafty, Geoffrey thought, but he held his tongue.

“Do the rumors that surround this union bother you?” Geoffrey asked.

“Rumors?” Alberic asked. “They are fact. Your father did murder my sister’s husband. And the child in her belly is likely his, even if she claims otherwise. But no, I have no problem.”

Geoffrey was surprised to hear that. “You don’t?”

“No,” Alberic said. “I never liked Adhemar. He thought himself better than me. I never forgot how when your father visited, he tried to tell me I was to sit with the other children. Father made a mistake in letting Aines marry him. He realized that too, but, there was little he could do. Let us hope your father proves better than that.”

“Than your father?” Geoffrey asked.

Alberic glared at him. “No, than Adhemar. My father ruled a third of the realm and was a marshal of the king. Philippe would not do anything without his consent. Your father has done much, but he has far to go.”

Instinctively, Geoffrey replied. “He is a marshal who has won the greatest victory the realm has seen since the days of Charlamagne. But time will be the judge.”

“Time will be the judge, my lord,” Alberic said. “Did your father not teach how you to address a proper duke?”

Geoffrey found himself silent. Did… this boy pull rank on him? Alberic was a duke, but Geoffrey was the heir to Anjou. And older.

“This will be my keep…”

“But it is not your keep,” Alberic said. “It is your father’s keep. Or have I missed something?”

Geoffrey lowered his head and mumbled a few curse words. But he eventually picked his head up and said: “Of course, Lord Alberic. Forgive me. I had lost my head.”

“You are forgiven,” Alberic said.

That ended the conversation. Geoffrey had heard enough. His mind drifted soon after of how best he might humble Alberic one day - and most revolved around him taking Aquitaine and Poitou. Easier said than done, of course.

He looked back to Aubry, whose eyes followed Aines as she moved alongside her new husband, with the two presented to the cheering people in the hall. Geoffrey, going through the motions of clapping, nudged him.

“Have you no shame?”

“What?” Aubry asked. “She is comely, even in her present condition. And I just look Geoffrey. It is not as if I plot to lead your father to an inn - though I am unsure you would have a problem with that.”

“I am no kinslayer,” Geoffrey said. “My father has done much wrong, but it is not for me to take his life. I would have no part in it, even in jest.”

“Well no, because that would require you to jest,” Aubry said.

“I will one day rule Anjou,” Geoffrey said. “It is something be taken seriously.”

“Life requires some bit of carefree,” Aubry said. “Otherwise, you shall stress yourself into an early grave. And grate on others. It would help you make better impressions, too.”

“I don’t make good impressions?” Geoffrey asked.

“You make them fine enough,” Aubry said. “You are well-mannered and courteous, even if brash at times. But being well-mannered does not make you charming, or likeable. It is as if you play a part. It is appreciated that you know your lines, but there is more to it than that.”

“And how do I go about doing that?” Geoffrey asked.

“As I said, relax,” Aubry said. “In time, it will come. You have the words. I think you have the mind. So it is just putting it all together.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Geoffrey scoffed.

“You just need practice,” Aubry said. “And I think a good opportunity comes.”

“What are you…” Geoffrey began when he looked up and saw his new stepmother approaching, alone. Aubry patted him on the shoulder before standing, bowing before Aines and then offering his seat next to Geoffrey to her. She graciously accepted and then eyed Margaurite. The girl got the message and, still scowling, left the two alone.

Geoffrey searched for his father. Foulques was speaking with Amaury and Duke Philipp of Champagne, who was there as Foulques’ friend but also the king’s representative. The Duke of Anjou did glance toward his son, but seemed to have little concern over Aines speaking with him.

“May I have a few minutes of your time…” Aines trailed off. “What would you prefer I call you? I would have said son, but I do not wish to overstep my bounds.”

Lord would do nicely, Geoffrey thought. But he suspected he would draw his father’s ire for it.

“Geoffrey will do, my lady,” he replied.

“Lovely, Geoffrey,” Aines said.

“Is there a matter who wished to discuss?” he asked.

“A few things,” Aines said. “After all, I speak frequently with your sister. But you and I have barely shared two words. That will not do now that I am your father’s wife. As duchess, I will have to ensure his will in Anjou is done. And such responsibilities will fall on your shoulders as well in the near future. We must work together.”

“Of course, my lady,” Geoffrey said.

Aines stared at him with her piercing blue eyes while a smirk formed on her lips.

“When you are a lord, Geoffrey, you will need to do better at concealing your emotions,” she said. “Your father realizes it. And I see it too.”

Geoffrey cocked an eyebrow. “You have a sharp tongue.”

“To better sculpt you with,” Aines said. “Your father wishes great things for you, even if he is not the strongest at expressing such. I think he will not be disappointed - you shall lead this duchy to glory when it is your time.”

Frustrated, Geoffrey blurted out: “A time which will pass the moment you and my father have a son.”

He looked to her belly. Despite his father’s denials, and really, why admit to everything else but deny that, part of Geoffrey wondered if the rumors were true. Perhaps sensing his gaze, Aines moved her hand over her swollen abdomen.

“I understand why you would think that,” Aines said. “But it is not what I wish. I desire Margaurite to be a duchess one day - as I longed to be. I know what it is like to be the eldest, only to have one’s birthright stolen away, seemingly at the last. No, Anjou is to be yours, and her with it.”

“So you would be content to let a potential son go unlanded,” Geoffrey said.

“I did not say that either,” Aines said. “I eye what was lost to me - Gascony, Aquitaine and Poitou.”

Geoffrey nodded, a smirk forming on his face before sipping some wine. “I see. You hope my father will press your claims.”

Aines smiled. “He would do me more than I deserve if he did so. No, I think he will have no need to. My brother is not popular among those within those duchies.”

“He has poor regents?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes, and my father spoiled him,” Aines said. “So already he is whiny, selfish and gluttonous. Not becoming of a lord. In time, I have no doubt the nobility will seek another option.”

“And they would select you?” Geoffrey asked.

“I do not see why not,” Aines said. “If they seek to cast off Alberic, why would you not turn to the wife of one of the realm’s most powerful duke? I can provide them aid, should it be required.”

“I see,” Geoffrey said. “And should you win those duchies?”

“In time, they would go to my children,” Aines said. “My son, if I had one. My daughters, if I do not. That includes Margaurite.”

Geoffrey tapped his chin in thought. “Why do you tell me these plans?”

“Because I wish you to know I am not your enemy,” Aines explained. Her hand slipped over his, surprising Geoffrey. Her touch was… soft, gentle… warm... “I have my ambitions - but I know I cannot accomplish them alone. I need your father - and together we will able to achieve my dream and his. Yet gains can be fleeting. That is why you and Margaurite are so important. In time, both of you will have roles to play, together, to make certain our gains are made permanent.”

She smiled at him and then patted his hand. He… wanted to believe her.

“Enjoy the evening, Geoffrey,” Aines said. “And think upon what I have said. Together we can do much for Anjou.”

Aines tried to stand but had some difficulty. Geoffrey jumped from his chair and helped her. She flashed him another smile before waddling off to rejoin his father.

She was… charming, for sure. Geoffrey could see how his father might be enraptured by her. He did not fully believe that she held no designs against him. But… her logic made some sense. And if she was the rallying cry which helped Margaurite secure Aquitaine or Poitou, which would be passed to their son one day, all the better. There was no guarantee Aines would ever have a boy, after all.

Geoffrey got up and looked around. He saw Margaurite with Aubry, though his friend soon left her to chat with Agnes. Geoffrey shrugged and approached his fiancee.

She looked at him but did not reply. She rarely spoke to him at this point. it was as he told his father - he was as much to blame for Adhemar’s death as his father and sister were.

Still, she was to be his wife in some four years time. And he did not want to have her spending her life hating him.

“You know,” Geoffrey began. “Truly a blessed union for thee, when a child is born not in nine months, but three.”

Margaurite looked at him with her brow raised.

Then, a smile formed on her lips.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 59
August 1088- Anjou, France


Why will she not shut up?

Agnes d’Anjou spun her head back toward Etiennette, giving her a nasty glare in the process. She pudgy-faced young woman was too busy sobbing to notice.

There are enough babies in this keep bawling their eyes out, Agnes thought. We could do without a grown woman doing the same.

It was a cold thought, especially one for her friend. But they came more frequently over recent days and she could not silence them.

“Are you going to mope all day?” Agnes finally demanded.

Etiennette looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “I…”

“Your mother is not dead,” Agnes said. “She is with child. I could see frustration but this?”

“Agnes, she bedded him! After what he did to me! To you!” Etiennette whined. “My own mother…”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “Your mother has been desiring for a man to lay with her for sometime. She made such an offer to my father and he was uninterested. It is no surprise she could not resist an offer from my cousin.”

“I would not have blamed her for laying with your father,” Etiennette said. “He is a strong, handsome man. But Duke Gilles…”

“Is young and charismatic,” Agnes said.

“But I am her daughter!” Etiennette sobbed. “How could she… after what he did?”

Agnes shook her head. Etiennette’s daughter, Ermengarde, was over a year old now. Gilles had disavowed ever bedding Etiennette, as he had Agnes. Yet Etiennette refused to move on, wishing for him to acknowledge their bastard. She had mewed enough to have her mother travel to meet the duke.

Agnes did not think Gilles would see her. But she underestimated how lecherous he was. Now Ermengarda had begun to swell with another bastard, with Etiennette’s daughter still denounced, leaving Agnes’ friend a sobbing mess.

My mother would have dismissed you long ago, Agnes thought.

But Agnes was not her mother. She did hold some sympathy for her friend - she was in a similar situation after all - but she was nearing her breaking point. Etiennette did nothing but mope now, and had been derelict in her scant duties as one of Agnes’ ladies.

“Enough,” Agnes said. “You were a fool to think he would change his mind.”

“But… he told me he loved me,” Etiennette said. “That Peronelle was cold, and…”

“Yes, he tells that to everyone, I’m sure,” Agnes said. “You are not special. I am not special. We were conquests to him and he has since moved on to others. You can cry and hold your head in shame, or you can stand and get on with your life.”

“You do not feel shame?” Etiennette asked.

“Yes,” Agnes said. “I do. But there is greater shame in praying and begging for him to take you back like a disowned dog. You are one of the last members of the house of Charles Martel and Charlemagne. Act like it!”

“It is easy for you to say,” Etiennette said. “Your father will still find you a husband. But I shall never be the wife of a high-born man. If I were Duke Gilles lover…”

“Which you will never be,” Agnes said. “Now if you would just accept this---”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. When it opened, Helie de Bourgogne, wife of Chancellor Godfrey entered.

“The duchess would like to see you my lady,” Helie said.

Thank God, Agnes thought. She could get away from Etiennette for a time.

Still, she knew that she would have to come back to her once her time with Aines was done. And she wanted this moping stopped.

As she walked toward the door she stopped and looked back at Etiennette.

“If you feel as though your mother has betrayed you in an unforgivable way,” Agnes began, “then I should throw her from the keep.”

Etiennette’s eyes widened. “You would not…”

“I would,” Agnes said. “You are my friend and I grow tired of watching you cry all day. If this betrayal is the cause, then I will punish the betrayer. My father will have no qualms with it if I request it of him.

“No… please do not,” Etiennette said. “She has hurt me, but she is my mother.”

“Then you will get over this?” Agnes asked.

Etiennette nodded.

“Good. Do so quickly,” Agnes said as she marched out the door and closed it behind her.

She followed Helie to the duchess’ chambers. It was odd - these had been her mother’s. Now Aines resided here, though she left much of it intact. There were a few changes - adding a few more religious symbols, even though Agnes thought of Aines as a less pious woman than Beatritz had been.

When she arrived Aines was in a chair, having one of her servant girls finish up preparing her for the day, with her long, thick, black hair being braided. A wet nurse was present, feeding Aines’ son, Adhemar, who was born a month before.

Aines had taken to the role with excitement. Foulques was in Melun, and while Aines would join him once she was fully recovered from giving birth, she acted as the regent in Anjou for the time being.

“Lady Agnes,” Helie announced.

Aines smiled at Agnes and motioned to sit in the chair beside her.

“You wished to see me, my lady?” Agnes asked.

“I did,” Aines said. “There is a matter I intend to do, but wished to have your blessing before I did so.”

“What is it?”

“I wish to send an emissary to the Duke of Berry,” Aines said. “To convince him to recognize your daughter by him.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Agnes, given her forceful condemnation of Etiennette’s desires just minutes before.

“I… I am flattered, my lady,” Agnes said. “But I do not think it necessary.”

“Of course it is necessary,” Aines said. “It is your reputation.”

“He is a liar and a lecher,” Agnes said. “All in the realm know this.”

Aines looked to her ladies. “Leave us.”

Agnes was surprised Aines sent them all out, including the woman doing her hair, leaving it unfinished, and the wet nurse, taking baby Adhemar with her.

“He is a liar,” Aines said. “But he is a man. And as such, people want to believe his story over yours.”

“And how did my child appear in my belly?” Agnes asked.

“There are plenty of men in this keep,” Aines said. “Any one of them could have done it.”

It did not seem possible. How on earth could they believe him, she wondered, given all that he has done?

“It does not help… that you were implicated in Adhemar’s death,” Aines said.

“But you know the true story!” Agnes pleaded.

“I do!” Aines said. “I know the truth about all of this. But I also know how they work.”

“They?”

“The high-born men of the realm,” Aines said. “It is in their interest to accept his story - so that theirs will be accepted as well, if needed. And the women? They are not much better. Women like my sister, who would rather lie to themselves than face the truth.”

Agnes shook her head, her stomach churning and her hands trembling with rage. It’s not fair.

“That is why we work to undo such things,” Aines said. “And get him to admit the child was born of an illicit affair between the two of you. It shall not make your daughter legitimate, but it shall restore your honor.”

“And what good is that?” Agnes asked.

“It may help your father find you a husband,” Aines said. “And do you not want that?”

Given her experience with men was her father, who had two mistresses, Gilles, Aubry, who constantly leered over her, and her brother, who had his own problems, Agnes wondered if she truly did.

When father is the best of them, what am I to do?

But she knew her father likely wished for it.

Meanwhile, Aines took her hand.

“And for you,” she said. “I know what it is like to have a dirty reputation. It does not go away. But this can lessen your burden some. I would wish nothing less for my favorite cousin, and my step daughter.”

Agnes sighed. “And he would accept, why?”

"Your father has many more knights, many more counties, a great deal more gold, and is a close confidant of King Philippe… I think Gilles would be wise not to refuse such a generous offer.”

“And that offer is?”

“Acknowledge Beatrice,” Aines said. “The matter will not be forgotten, but Foulques will be prepared to conduct civil relations with him as a fellow duke.”

“And if he does not?” Agnes asked.

“Then he will have made a powerful enemy,” Aines replied.

Agnes nodded. She did not like this. She had moved on with her life. But if her father did wish for this, then she would allow it. After all, he had graciously not thrown her and Beatrice from the keep. She would forever serve him loyally for that act of kindness.

“You may do as you wish,” Agnes said.

“Lovely,” Aines said. “I will send Alearde to handle it.”

“Alearde?” Agnes asked. “Not Chancellor Godfrey?”

Aines smirked. “Your cousin’s weakness is women. Alearde is quite comely. I doubt he will be able to resist her charms.”

“He will try to bed her,” Agnes said.

“And if he does?” Aines asked. “It would be a small price to play for your reputation. I think she would agree.”

Agnes glanced away. She knew that to be true. And it made her feel guilty.

“I do not know if this is a wise idea,” she said.

“You are the important one here, not her,” Aines said. “It is her duty to serve you any way she can.”

Also true, Agnes knew. But that did not make it feel any more right.

“Godfrey can…”

“You’re right,” Aines said. “Godfrey can. So we shall send him. And Alearde will accompany him. Together, I do not think Gilles will hold out. I will leave nothing to chance.”

It did not feel much better, but Agnes nodded. She was met with a tight hug from Aines.

“Mistakes have been made,” Aines said. “But we will fix this the best we can. Know that you have my support, as much as your father’s.”

Agnes again nodded. “I appreciate your concern my lady.”

The two walked toward the door.

My lady,” Agnes began. “How fares your son?”

Aines’ face grew darker. “He is sickly. But we shall see… how your holy woman does. Your father swears by her.”

“As do I,” Agnes said. “And I shall pray for his well-being. Your son.”

Aines lowered her head. “Thank you for such prayers.”

Agnes no sooner realized she was out the chambers when the door closed behind her, leaving her alone in the hall, in silence.

….

That evening, Aines sat alone in candlelight, sipping a cup of wine. She had dismissed her ladies a few minutes earlier. She wanted this meeting conducted in private.

Alearde entered the chamber quietly. Aines smiled upon making eye contact and offered her a cup of wine. She refused.

“You wished to see me, my lady?” Alearde asked.

Aines nodded. “I have something for you to… do.”

She placed her cup down and leaned forward, sly grin on her face. “Duke Gilles.”

“What of him?” Alearde asked.

“I am sending Godfrey to convince him to acknowledge Agnes’ bastard,” Aines said. “The lady needs some improvement to her reputation.”

Alearde did not smile or nod. She stood motionless, her eyes fixated on Aines. The two remained in silence.

“Is that all, my lady?” Alearde asked.

“You are to go with him,” Aines said.

“What would I have to offer the chancellor?” Alearde asked. “I am no diplomat.”

“But you are many other things,” Aines said. “Skilled at hearing the whispers. Perhaps starting a few of your own. And pretty on the eye. Such things can only help with Duke Gilles.”

“I hear it matters not how pretty one is,” Aines said. “Just what falls between one’s legs. Or what doesn’t.”

Aines smirked. “You understand then.”

Alearde did not smile. “So he shall look at me, and bend to the chancellor’s will?”

“I imagine he will wish to do more than look,” Aines said. “He bedded that pig of a woman Ermengarda.”

“That puts him in the company of another duke,” Alearde said. “I believe he was… the marshal of the realm at the time.”

Aines’ eyes widened before her gaze narrowed. “You would be wise to mind your tongue when you speak of your betters.”

“Whom did I insult, my lady?” Alearde asked. “I passed no judgement over the act. Merely said it was more common than some might think.”

Aines reached back for the wine and began to drink it once more.

“I want Gilles to recognize Agnes’ bastard,” Aines said. “As should you, if the love you profess for her is real. And you should be advised to take whatever steps necessary to complete this task.”

“Whatever is required?” Alearde asked. “Is this an order from Foulques?”

“Your lord - the duke, who I act for in his name for his will is mine,” Aines said. “As it would be for any good wife.”

“Should I ask him?” Alearde asked. “Of his will?”

“If you wish to travel to Melun,” Aines said. “I will not stop you. Of course, I would warn you that he will be most displeased you forget your place and question your duchess, at the expense of his daughter.”

Alearde remained silent, her eyes locking with Aines. They did not move, trading glares.

“I will discuss this matter with Agnes,” Alearde said.

“I asked for her blessing first,” Aines said. “She will, of course, worry about how far you must go. Such a caring girl. Deserving of a better fate.”

Alearde eyed her.

“You may speak with her if you wish,” Aines said. “After you do so, return to me. We may speak again.”

Alearde stood and glared at her before bowing her head and quietly slipping out from the room.

After watching her go, Aines sipped her wine and smiled.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 60
March 1089 - Anjou, France

Is this what Adhemar saw before his end?

Foulques wondered that as he stood alone just outside of an inn. It was not abandoned - visitors along the road to Anjou had stopped here as well. But it evoked memories nonetheless.

It did not help that he knew that his purpose here had similar intent.

That is why he stood in the near-darkness, the moonlight providing what little illumination there was. He travelled from Melun with a large enough party - Amaury and his knights, plus Geoffrey and Aines. His wife had come near the start of the year from Anjou, and he had enjoyed a blissful four months with her.

She had enjoyed life at court, commenting how she could grow used to such things. Foulques knew she most loved being revered as the duchess of one of the most powerful duchies of the realm - something Aines had long viewed as her proper destiny.

And Foulques had his beautiful wife, one who was eager to produce a child for him. It showed well enough - whereas before he would have missed Alearde, Aines gave him as much as he could handle.

It was not just Alearde either, that left him in good spirits. Philipp of Champagne provided a good time, drinking, discussing matters of the realm. The king would join them at times, as would Hugues of Burgundy and, rarely, Boudewijn. But mostly, Foulques and Philipp relaxed with alcohol and traded stories and court rumors gained from their respective wives.

However, as enjoyable as the last few months had been Foulques knew he had to return to Anjou for a few months a year. He could not leave it to Aines and Guilhem, especially as Aines spent much less time in Anjou than Beatritz did.

But she, nor Geoffrey, could not know of this meeting. A chilly late March evening, the duke had but his cloak and a large cup of wine to keep him warm. Neither did the job against a biting wind that came too frequently for his taste.

A hooded figure approached and stood beside him. Foulques sipped his cup of wine. This was the messenger Philipp had suggested he meet after one of their more recent discussions.

“I thank you for meeting with me.”

The voice was was feminine, but deeper. An older woman, who was revealed as she dropped her hood.

“Do you come of your own accord?” Foulques asked. “ Or is this for your son?”

Sibila de Barcelona did not look at Foulques when she replied. “I come for neither Duke Hugues, nor for my former brother by law, Philipp of Champagne. I come for the betterment of the realm.”

“I hear that a great deal these days,” Foulques said. “It is good to hear we have so many good souls who take interest in it.”

“You scoff,” Sibila said. “But are you not angry over the king bypassing your claim on Maine?”

Foulques did not respond.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” she said.

“You wished to meet with me for something,” Foulques said. “What is it?”

“We look for aid in… removing the threat to the realm,” Sibila said.

“The king?”

“I do not name names,” Sibila said.

“And you plan to revolt?” Foulques asked.

“We will not,” Sibila said. “There are other ways to make change. One man removed. His young son in his place, who should be far more malleable.”

An understatement, if that were possible, Foulques thought. Should Philippe be killed, his son Alphonse would come to the throne. The designated regent? Hugues of Burgundy. He would be de facto king of the realm.

“And what would that son think on the Maine question?” Foulques asked.

“You know I can make no guarantees,” Sibila said. “But the boy is not possibly the son of Satan himself. Certainly a good thing, do you not agree?”

Foulques chuckled. “I am not a religious man, my lady. Nor do I think a lustful choice made as a young man makes one the spawn of the devil. I care most about what is rightfully mine. What can you promise of that?”

Sibila lowered her head. “You would be looked at with greater favor however and such things can go a long way.”

“Promises can go even further,” Foulques said.

“I can lie to you if I wish,” Sibila said.

“And I you,” Foulques said. “So it appears we are at an impasse.”

Sibila chuckled. “Understood, Duke Foulques. Then I shall retire for the evening. I wish you the best of luck in your journey.”

“Likewise, my lady,” Foulques said.

And with that she was gone, leaving Foulques to ponder whether he needed to take the ultimate step with his liege.

He had much to ponder.

….

A scream echoed through the keep in Angers. It was enough to get Foulques, Mayor Guilhem and Geoffrey to stop their conversation and look up, first at one another and then toward the door of the duke’s chamber.

Foulques shook his head. “Women’s work, they say.”

“Do you think her all right?” Geoffrey asked.

“Does it matter?” Foulques asked. “You did not put the bastard in her belly.”

Geoffrey looked down, before again looking back toward the door.

“Adalmode has done masterful work with this before. I am certain Ermengarda will be fine,” Guilhem said. “And that Aubry would appreciate your concern for his mother.”

Foulques raised an eyebrow. That was enough to concern his son?

Such compassion was admirable for one’s friends and family - but there had to be limits. Caring too much for the extended family of your friends was probably a bridge too far.

“You would be wise to focus on our discussion,” Foulques said as he looked to Geoffrey.

“The matters of the duchy are settled, are they not?” Geoffrey asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Guilhem said. “The measles outbreak that began in Normandy has now spread to Anjou proper.”

“What are our options?” Foulques asked.

“There is not much we can do for the people,” Guilhem said. “But we could close the keep and hope to prevent it from spreading here. The people will not care for it of course - especially if the death toll is high.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “What would you do, Geoffrey?”

“I… I would keep the gates open,” he said. “The people need strong leadership during a difficult time.”

A chuckle escaped Foulques lips. Naive.

"You find my answer funny, father?" Geoffrey replied.

“In times of crisis, the people turn to prayer,” Foulques said. “Meanwhile, while you conduct business as normal, you risk yourself and your family.”

“But the people will suffer,” Geoffrey said.

“The people will suffer regardless,” Foulques said. “Nothing changes to them, whether or not the gates are open are closed. But the people in this keep? They are affected. You, myself, your sister, the duchess, your future wife, her sisters, your friend and… your friend’s mother. Whom will be weak after this birth.”

Geoffrey furrowed his brow before looking away. “Close the gates.”

“Wise boy,” Foulques said. “Deliver the order to the guards.”

Geoffrey’s head spun back toward his father. “Why do you not give the order?”

“You must learn to deliver words you do not enjoy in powerful enough a manner to still inspire confidence,” Foulques said. “Go. I will see how you have done later.”

Geoffrey could barely contain his anger, his complexion reddening. But he said nothing through gritted teeth and marched out of the chamber.

“A tough lesson, my lord,” Guilhem said.

“One he must learn,” Foulques replied. “Now, for our final matter…”

“Duchess Aines,” Guilhem said. “You wish to know how she handled Anjou in your absence?”

“I have not heard much wrong,” Foulques said. “But you would know best.”

“She is not the administrator Duchess Beatritz was,” Guilhem said. “But she has other strengths. The lady carries herself with a certain… elegance. She speaks well, and is rarely ever caught at a loss for words. I am certain there are some who dislike her - no one is beloved by all - but those whispers are quiet. I think she is liked. In time, she will be loved.”

Foulques smiled. “That is good news. And how does Agnes fare?”

“Well enough,” Guilhem said. “Aines has made use of her well. That is perhaps why even those who do not care for the duchess do not whisper. Agnes has many friends here as well - Aines has worked to make her sympathetic to the courtiers here and Agnes in turn has spoken well of her.”

“They work well together,” Foulques said. “Excellent.”

“Agreed my lord,” Guilhem said.

“Thank you for your input, my friend,” Foulques said. “You are dismissed.”

The steward bowed and headed for the door.

“Oh, one more thing,” Foulques said. “You have done a fine job administering the duchy while the duchess and I have been away. I commend you for your work and urge you to keep it up.”

Guilhem looked back to the duke and smiled. “Of course my lord. It has always been a pleasure to serve you.”

Foulques smirked as Guilhem left. He knew the steward might well be happier now than he was under Beatritz, if for no other reason than Aines left him alone much more than Beatritz did. That was fine - as he noted Aines had different strengths than Beatritz. And Anjou seemed to be thriving. So what was there to complain about?

Alearde.

He could not help it. It was the one thing he despised upon returning to Anjou. She had not been among the group to greet them when the party had returned. When he saw her, among Agnes ladies the next day his eyes drifted to a familiar face, whose body had taken an unfamiliar shape - her middle bulged with life - no doubt the spawn of Duke Gilles.

Aines had told him Alearde had been with the duke a few months back while attempting to negotiate a compromise over Agnes’ daughter. In the end, Gilles still denied Beatrice was his daughter, and he had managed to put a child into Alearde anyway.

Foulques nearly demanded Alearde be thrown from the keep. But Agnes had defended her to him.

“She went along with this on my behalf,” Agnes said when it had come up.

“Are you certain?” Foulques demanded. “I do not see her having achieved anything but carrying another bastard.”

“She did not succeed,” Agnes said. “But I do not fault her. She had an impossible task.”

“She did not have to lay with him,” Foulques said.

“I know not her specifics of her work,” Agnes said. “But I believe she was encouraged to do what was necessary.”

“By you?” Foulques asked.

“I would not ask such a thing of her,” Agnes said.

“Then who?” Foulques demanded.

“If you did not, then it would be the duchess,” Agnes said.

“She would not,” Foulques said.

“She would, for my benefit,” Agnes said. “I do not… begrudge her. But I do not blame Alearde either.”

He wished to anyway, but he acquiesced to his daughter. She reminded him Alearde had given him a daughter, aided him with two murders to help him achieve his ends, and been willing to give herself to aid Agnes.

It was enough to get Foulques to resist the urges.

For now.
……

If he was frustrated with Aines, it was forgotten that evening, as it often was. Such was her skill in the bedroom - it amazed Foulques that Adhemar did not appreciate what he had.

Perhaps if he had, he might still be among us, he thought.

When they had finished, Aines poured wine for the both of them and returned to bed.

She had impressed him, as both duchess and lover. It left him wondering if perhaps it was time to involve her in his pressing debate - whether or not to engage the plot against Philippe. He had come no closer to an answer himself. He needed someone to help him sort his thoughts.

Geoffrey was not ready - his naivety with the epidemic proved that. Agnes simply made poor choices - she may learn in time, but she had to prove herself to Foulques before she could be trusted.

Beatritz… she would be a sound option. But she was gone. And Amaury and Guilhem, while friends, were lowborn men. They lacked understanding of how the world of the nobility moved.

No, it had to be Aines.

“My love,” Aines said as she brought him out of thought. “There is a matter we must discuss.”

“There is a matter I wish to discuss with you as well,” Foulques replied.

“Then you first,” Aines said. “Your business is of the utmost importance.”

Foulques did not dispute that - instead explaining to her the basics of what he had been told. And it was basic - the conspirators would not fully reveal themselves or their plans until he committed to them.

“So they wish for you to aid in his murder?” Aines asked when he was finished. “Interesting.”

“And you wish me to take part?” Foulques asked.

“I did not say that,” Aines said. “It is unwise to make any decision until all options are evaluated.”

“And those options are?” Foulques asked.

“You know as well as I do that the choice is not between Philippe and Alphonse. The boy will not last long,” Aines said. “It shall be Boudewijn, Duke Hugues, or Philippe’s brother’s Hugues, if he can promise to bootlick the nobles enough.”

“Do you think any of them better than Philippe?” Foulques asked.

“It is not for me to decide husband,” Aines said. “You are the duke. And you are the one he has wronged in Maine.”

“I do not know if joining in this plot will get me Maine,” he admitted.

“You should be skeptical,” Aines said. “I think it is too much to promise. The realm will be anything but certain should this succeed.”

“Then you would not wish for me to take part in this?” Foulques asked.

“If Maine is only reason,” Aines said. “Then it is a risk. But is Maine the only reason? Perhaps you think another man would make for a better king.”

“Certainly not Boudewijn,” Foulques said. “Prince Hugues is less of a problem now that he is done with my cousins, the Bachaumonts.”

“Tragic business that,” Aines said.

“They say Hugues’ wife died of the great pox,” Foulques said. “It lessens my sympathy for her.”

“Perhaps,” Aines said. “But all of the siblings met tragic ends. Bouchard was regrettable. Euphrosine by the pox. And poor Agathe! Married to the Prince of the Scots, then eaten by her insane father-by-law - even though she was with child!”

Foulques’ eyes widened. He had not heard that.

“When did that happen?”

“It was a few years ago,” Aines said. “It serves as a warning not to let your daughter join the court of those barbarians.”

Foulques could scarcely believe such a thing. Literally murdering and eating your son’s pregnant wife? King Malcolm Canmore was a monster - thank God he had finally died a year ago.

“Moving on from that unpleasant business, is one more matter to consider,” Aines said. “I know you have grown frustrated with Philippe in the last year. Such things are understandable. But… there is something to the devil you know.”

“Pun intended?”

A sly smile formed on Aines’ thin lips. “Philippe has plenty of machinations. But we know this of him - he is ambitiously trying to expand his control - but it is to where the realm does not currently reside. He also has a strength to protect our interests, but has shown little inclination to stop his powerful vassals from doing what they wish. In fact, he often placates them - as he did with my father and now with you.”

“Yet he does not give Maine,” Foulques said.

“He placates, but it is because he fears you,” Aines said. “That latitude has cost you Maine, for now. But it allows you free reign to do much.

“And Philippe considers you a friend. They try to tempt you with favor, but you already have that favor.”

“Then you think it best for me to remain loyal,” Foulques said.

“I lay out fact,” Aines said. “If the facts seem to make it clear your path, then that is good. I will not tell you there is no opportunity in pursuing this, but there is risk. And the gain is far from certain - that much we agree upon.”

Foulques nodded. Her case, whether facts or opinion, was sound. He would put his anger aside for now, and not back this plot.

But he would not reveal it either.

“Thank you for your consul, wife,” Foulques said. “You continue to prove yourself every bit worthy of your title.”

“Thank you my love,” Aines replied.

“Now, what is your matter?”

Aines smiled. “It appears our time together has been fruitful. My monthly visitor is nearly four weeks late.”

“You are with child?” Foulques asked.

“I believe so, husband,” she said.

He kissed her and moved his hand to her belly. It was still relatively flat - there was no sign of the pregnancy just yet.

Though he wished to do more than just kiss her at the moment, he decided that would be unwise. While he had certainly bedded his mistresses while they were with child, and Aines herself when she was carrying her late husband’s, he always avoided the sinful behavior with his own wife.

But Aines did not show much disappointment when he told her. Instead, replying with a smirk: “There are other ways to please, my lord.”

As she slid her hand down, Foulques only had one thought.

My God, she is perfect.

.....

Note: OK, I have to make special mention the sad fate of Agathe Bachaumont. I did not intend for that to go into this update, but when I looked up what happened to her sister, then her... the does not do my face justice. CK2! Having the king literally eat his pregnant daughter-in-law? What are you doing? (Answer: Doing the things that makes CK2 great)