Before Plantagenet – A House d’Anjou AAR

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 81
May 1094- Autun, France

“You throw cows at them?”

Foulques turned away from the catapult for a moment to look at his wife. With her brow raised and nose pinched by her fingers, it appeared she was both serious and disgusted.

“Your people don’t conduct sieges?” he asked her.

“We eat cows,” Haldora replied. “Not throw them. Your men are not hungry?”

“These cows are diseased,” Foulques said. “We would not eat them unless we wished to poison our own men. It is a common tactic. I am certain your people use it.”

Haldora shrugged. “I have never been to a place like this. My father said what happens in places like this.”

Foulques looked away to mutter under his breath. She is such a disappointment.

The duke remembered hearing stories of the shield maiden of the northmen, and while he did not expect Haldora to be a great warrior, there had been times when he fantasized of her as a powerful, strong woman, who needed to be conquered.

But once more it proved to be just that - fantasy. Haldora was not the northern woman of the tales. She was like any other woman of the realm.

Perhaps less - she is not Beatritz. Nor is she Aines.

Part of him wished that he had summoned for Agnes instead, just for the excuse of bringing Etiennette with her.

But Haldora did do one job. Foulques had been away from Anjou for some time and he had avoided laying with just any woman - his memories of how he may have contracted the pox remained. He summoned her for relief during this dull siege, and even if she could not deliver on much of it, she did a decent enough job in one area he needed.

And at least he could have some conversation with her. She did not have a full grasp of the language, but she knew enough to express herself.

Haldora had not come alone. With her came her Godfrey and Helie de Bourgogne, who looked upon the keep of her birth having suffered under siege with some sadness. To her credit, her anger was focused on her brother, Duke Hugues, for, as she called it “profitless war of greed.”

Foulques had also allowed Haldora one more lady for her journey - to which she took Aureade, Foulques' half-sister. That actually suited the duke fine - while Godfrey led the group on its journey from Anjou to Autun, it was Aureade’s son Herve, who was given command of the knights.

And it was Herve he turned to now as the cow was sent over the walls of the bishopric. Haldora had clearly seen enough.

“Take the duchess back to the camp,” Foulques ordered. “I shall return as well near sunset.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Herve said. “Do you have any other orders you wish for to pass on to Chancellor Godfrey?”

“Not at this time,” Foulques said. “You are good for asking.”

“Of course my lord,” Herve said as he bowed. Then he led the duchess toward her mount and assisted her up before mounting his own horse and leading the small group of Angevin knights away.

Foulques smiled. Why couldn’t all his nephews be as Herve?

The boy appeared to have a good grasp for strategy - as his father had. No, he’d heard he was even better than the late de Semur.

Perhaps a reward is in order for the boy, Foulques thought.

A pleasant idea. It was a nice change from the ugly drudgery of a siege.

But it proved to be brief, as another diseased animal - this time a pig - was loaded onto the catapult.
…..

That evening, Foulques sat across from Godfrey in the former’s tent, a pitcher of wine between them, with the modest meal of a stew their supper.

“You do well to well to survive on this,” Godfrey said.

“It is weak,” Foulques said. “Mostly broth. And I pulled a few favors to get this stronger just for you, my chancellor.”

Godfrey chuckled. “You honor me, my lord.”

Foulques raised his cup toward the chancellor, who returned the favor.

“How is my… grandson?” Foulques asked.

Godfrey’s cheery disposition faded quickly.

“Sickly,” Godfrey said. “But Adalmode does as she can. She personally looks over the babe as if it were her own.”

“A godly woman, her,” Foulques said. He scanned the tent quickly before leaning across the table. “Have you found any evidence this child is not my son’s?”

Godfrey shook his head. “It appears this one, at least, is Geoffrey’s.”

Foulques could not shake these doubts, and that the child was sickly only made him more suspicious.

“Does my son believe it?” Foulques asked.

“Outwardly, at least,” Godfrey said. “But he is increasingly distracted.”

“The weight of ruling Anjou in my stead?” Foulques asked.

Godfrey chuckled again. “Sadly no, my lord. His eyes drift toward Aquitaine. The rebels make steady gains, and have completely taken the county, though Alberic has won a few victories of his own.”

“Do you believe they will emerge victorious?” Foulques asked.

“I begin to think, my lord,” Godfrey said. “And your son believes it as well. His communications with Alias have become more open. He even visited their camp a month ago.”

It was a strange feeling - on one hand, Foulques found himself frustrated and angry that Geoffrey was derelict in his duties in Anjou. On the other hand, Steward Guilhem was capable at administration and… his son appeared set to truly become the Duke of Aquitaine.

Without my help.

And even to that, Foulques did not know whether to be pleased at his desire not to rely on him, as Alberic had with his father, or to be angry that Geoffrey may have made himself beholden to these rebel counts.

“What else do you have for me?” he asked.

“I have been speaking with some of the other chancellors in the realm during my travels,” Godfrey said. “There is talk about your nephew.”

“Gilles?”

“Yes,” Godfrey said. “It appears he garners a great deal of mistrust these days. Lords do not wish him to visit their keeps for fear he may bed their wives, daughters or lovers.”

“That is not much news to me,” Foulques said. “I have heard these whispers myself.”

“Have you a plan then?” Godfrey asked.

“A plan?”

“Yes, a plan to remove him as Chancellor to the king?” Godfrey wondered.

Foulques raised his brow. “That would be possible?”

“Yes, my lord,” Godfrey said. “I do not know that he would agree to it right away given the state of the war, but in time, I think the king would be amenable. You must focus on that it hurts him to have a lecher whom his lords do not trust among be the one he sends to conduct his business.

“If he were marshal or steward, there would be no problem. But as chancellor he visits them. Stays in their keeps. When he leaves their unwed daughter with a bastard in her belly, they grow angry at him of course, but also the king for knowing Gilles does this and still gives him reign to… find new victims, as it were.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “I do not think I could put it as eloquently as you.”

“That may serve you well enough,” Godfrey said. “He has hurt you first hand. You can speak to what the other lords of the realm feel. The king will not be deaf to that, I don’t think.”

“Aye. I will discuss it with him… when we are in a little better stead in this conflict,” Foulques replied. “Now then, I wish to discuss another matter. Actually, another nephew…”

…..

The next day, Foulques rode up toward a hill overlooking the bishopric of Autun. He doubted they would last much longer - this was not a keep after all. They were far less equipped to handle such things.

“I pray the damage within will be limited.”

Foulques looked to his right as Aureade rode up beside him. His half-sister’s big eyes focused on the interior, beyond the walls, visible from the hilltop.

“You have visited there before?” Foulques asked.

“We would go often,” Aureade said. “Father, he would ride through the old Roman gates and fancy himself Augustus.”

Foulques chuckled. “Robert. Not surprising.”

Aureade nodded. “Mother… actually enjoyed looking at the old Roman structures. And she enjoyed praying in the chapel there as well.”

Foulques closed his eyes and once more saw Emengarde’s face. He did not think of his mother often - she had been gone over two decades now. Her influence, though powerful at the time, had faded.

And yet, hearing Aureade mention her just pulled back memories. He could almost see her, wandering the town, looking up at those relics of an age gone by and probably telling Foulques that Augustus would not be foolish enough to fight with his brother in full view of the Roman Senate.

The duke smirked.

“My nephew is foolish,” Aureade said. “Helie and I are at a loss at the ruin he may bring upon our home.”

“A tragedy,” Foulques said. “But I have rarely been impressed by him.”

“I hear whispers those in his duchy grow tired of him,” Aureade said.

“The Countess of Charolais already rebels,” Foulques said.

“Yes, I was not surprised,” Aureade said. “I knew both her and my nephew, after all. But they talk of one of our brothers, Robert or Simon, over him.”

“Simon?” Foulques asked. “Robert I understand. He is a fine commander. But what is Simon?”

“That is why?” Aureade said. “He is considered weak.”

“Interesting,” Foulques said.

Aureade looked at him. “You did not bring me out here to discuss our siblings, did you brother?”

“No,” Foulques said. “There is another matter. I have never forgotten the vow you made to me all those years ago.”

“Do… you believe I have not honored it?” Aureade asked.

“No, quite the opposite,” Foulques replied. “You have been faithful to your word. I have heard nothing of suspicion about you sister. And you, and your late husband, have served Anjou faithfully.”

Aureade raised her brow. “What is this about brother?”

“Herve,” Foulques said. “He is a man grown now. And I hear he is a fine warrior with a mind for strategy.”

“That is all he has a mind for,” Aureade said.

Foulques smirked. “Yes, I have heard that too. But there are many places for a man like that to serve. I want his to be as one of my knight commanders.”

Aureade’s eyes widened. “Truly? Brother… you have no idea how happy this will make him! He has long dreamed of riding beside you in battle as his father did. And… he wishes to achieve a great victory, as you did at Rouen. He idolizes you, I think.”

“Really? I have not spent much time alongside him,” Foulques said.

“He lost his father young,” Aureade said. “So I spoke well of him, what he did… how the king once praised him. The fine things you spoke of him after his passing. And Herve, he took it to heart. But his father was gone. You were someone he could actually see. After Rouen, he could not stop speaking of his “heroic uncle, the greatest warrior since Charlemagne!”

Foulques’ eye brows rose. “I knew there was a reason I liked the boy.”

Aureade smiled. “Thank you brother. After what I had done… you need not have honored us like this.”

“I do no favors,” Foulques said. “You have kept your word. And Herve has the makings of a fine commander. That he is determined to equal his father only makes me more certain of this choice.”

“Have you told him?” Aureade asked.

“No, not yet,” Foulques said. “I will this evening.”

“I would like to see his face,” Aureade said. “My boy… I am so happy for him. Just… please, make certain he is not reckless in his pursuit of glory. I do not wish to lose him. He is all I have left.”

Foulques lowered his head. He had lost her husband, Geoffrey de Semur. He could not promise that he would not lose her son as well. Battle was always uncertain.

“I will look after him the best I can,” he said.

Aureade nodded. She understood.

The two looked back toward the town.

“Do you think mother would be angry if I damaged one of the Roman gates?” Foulques asked.

“She would,” Aureade said. “But I think she would secretly be proud one of her children out did the grandson of Robert’s first wife. Mother was proud of her blood.”

“As we were of her,” Foulques said. “As we were of her.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 82
December 1094 - Troyes, France

The door to the keep in Troyes was pulled open and a cold air rushed into the drafty hall.

That alone would have been reason enough for the remaining courtiers to pull their cloaks close and curl as tightly as they could while still remaining upright.

But they had further cause for it, as the shuffling of boots and rustling metal echoed around then.

King Philippe’s stride was heavy - his footsteps thundering and he moved through the hall. Under his hood, his head was straight - his lone eye never seemed to make contact with those around him.

Foulques followed close behind. He did look toward those present and saw them pale and fearful. Some shivered. Many averted their eyes down toward the ground. All were silent.

Behind Foulques was Duke Alberic and Duke Gilles, all dressed in mail as if they had just come from battle.

They had not, of course. They had completed the siege of Troyes, as Philippe had wanted, with the keep of the Duke of Champagne now in their hands. It was, on the surface, a victory that delivered a measure of revenge for Melun.

But in truth, Philipp of Champagne was not here. He was in the field with his army. His wife and daughter were also not present.

And it appeared, the family of the king were not present either.

Philippe strode up to the small staircase, leading to the dais where the unoccupied chairs of the duke and duchess resided. He stopped short however, and Gilles moved forward toward them.

“Would you like to sit in his chair, my liege?” he asked.

“No, I would not,” Philippe said.

The one-eyed king turned toward the court and removed his hood. His greying hair was shaggy, his beard long and somewhat unkempt.

“I will not sit in this chair, which is unbefitting of a king!” Philippe boasted. “This is a chair of a man who deludes himself into thinking himself greater. He raises himself above you all, he thinks, but he is no different than any of you! A subject of this realm and not above its laws!”

He looked to some of the knights behind the duke. “My good sirs, take that chair down from its high place. Neither it, nor its owner, deserve their lofty status.”

The knights did as they were told, moving up the stairs, lifting the two chairs and bringing them down to the lower ground.

Once that was done, Philippe looked back at the courtiers.

“Your lord is a deceitful traitor and no friend to his fellow man,” the king shouted. “He will pay for his crimes. Choose wisely to make sure you do not suffer beside him.”

And with that the king marched from the main hall and down one of the hallways, motioning his dukes to follow.

“A fine show, my king,” Gilles said.

“It was not enough,” Alberic said. “You should have pissed on it. Show how worthless his seat is.”

Philippe rolled his one good eye. “You may do as you wish with your rebels. I will handle mine as I see fit.”

Alberic scowled. “My king… I merely wished to…”

“And I merely state facts,” Philippe said. “You have leave to deal with your rebels and I will deal with mine.”

“Then, may I go and do so?” Alberic asked. “This siege is won and there are pressing matters in Aquitaine.”

“You mean you stand on the verge of losing it and wish to see if your personal touch can change matters?” Philippe asked. “I think it a foolhardy task, but as I said, you are free to deal with the rebels as you see fit.”

Alberic began to redden. “My king, you insult me with---”

“You have leave,” Philippe said. “Why do you not take it? You may stay and argue if you wish, but then I will take it as a sign you wish to remain, and your leave will be revoked.”

Alberic began to tremble and a vein in his forehead throbbed. But the duke remained silent, instead turning and marching off. He did not bow.

“Is it wise to antagonize him, my king?” Gilles asked.

“He speaks of foolishness to me, then demands to run back to his war,” Philippe said. “I was lenient with him. And my words are the least of his concerns.”

“Aye, my king,” Gilles said. “That is part of it. His war fares poorly. HIs younger sister is in the clutches of Boudewijn - they even say they will make her wed his brother. It is difficult - even my lady wife is fearful for what will become of their sister.”

“It is a tragedy when one’s family falls prey to the enemy,” Philippe said. “They should be grateful it is but one of their siblings.”

Gilles’s eyes widened. “Of… of course, my king.”

They came to the small strategy hall. Philippe looked to Gilles.

“Go, I wish to speak with Duke Foulques in private.”

Gilles arched his brow and glared at his uncle. Foulques could not resist smirking.

“As you wish, my king,” Gilles said.

After the Duke of Berry left, Philippe shook his head.

“I grow weary of those two,” he said. “They are more… unbearable now that Toulouse is off fighting in Dauphine.”

Foulques nodded. He had noticed it too. Perhaps they thought it a time to consolidate their power with a potential powerful rival away.

It may have worked, had the king’s family not been in the hands of Philipp of Champagne. But it did not take a genius to see the king’s mind was of a singular focus - to inflict a heavy defeat on Champagne and bring the duke to his knees.

And Alberic’s petty plans more infuriated Philippe than intrigued him. No, he wished for total and complete victory, and for that, he turned to the man he believed could get the job done.

“Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “I have a task for you.”

“What is your bidding, my king?” Foulques asked.

“The men deserve a reward for their victories, both in Dijon and here,” Philippe said.

“You… wish me to organize a celebration?” Foulques asked. It was not his specialty - Toulouse was much better at that.

“No,” Philippe said. “Organizing it would take too long. I wish to be on the move again quickly. Philipp lays siege to his rebel count Henri in Sens. He likely thinks it will take more time than it will to make it there. If we hurry, we can catch him and destroy his forces.”

“Then… what would you have me do?” Foulques asked.

“Instruct the men they have reign to do as they please with the surrounding town and villages. What they find is theirs,” Philippe said.

“And the keep?” Foulques asked.

“We will leave it untouched,” Philippe said. “I want these fools to see me as generous, but know what I could do to them. Then, if they are wise, they will realize it is dangerous to align themselves with their lord.”

“As you wish, my king,” Foulques said.

Foulques turned to leave. As he did a servant entered the room with wine and cups.

“Those orders can wait a moment,” Philippe said. “Join me, my friend.”

Foulques saw no harm in it and took the cup poured out to him. Philippe raised his cup toward him.

“To the destruction of Philipp of Champagne!” he said.

Foulques raised his cup, somewhat hesitant. He wanted to defeat Philipp, but… he had hoped for more amicable solution than the total destruction of his old friend.

“If we win in Sens,” Philippe said. “Perhaps I shall give you leave to return to Anjou. How far along is the duchess?”

Foulques sipped his wine. “It may not be much longer. Her belly is great and quakes from the child within.”

“Another son then?” Philippe asked.

“It happened once,” Foulques said. “It does not mean it shall happen again.”

He was downplaying it to keep his own expectations in check. Haldora’s visit in May and her stay through much of the summer appeared to have finally produced a child. In fact, she was sent back to Anjou upon discovering she was with child.

Haldora had suspected by July, but Foulques could not escape the memories of Aines, so he wished for her to be examined by Adalmode. Once it was confirmed, of course, a siege was no place for her, so she remained in the duchy.

“I also hear your daughter-in-law also is with child,” Philippe said. “Truly a blessed time in Anjou.”

Foulques merely grunted. It was true Marguerite was nearly as far along as Haldora. But it was also true that Geoffrey was often away from Anjou during that time. And rumors again circulated she may have found a way to see Aubry, leaving strong suspicions the child was not Geoffrey’s.

“Yes, blessed,” Foulques finally said.

Philippe smirked and finished his cup. He poured another.

“I think perhaps you do not wish to return to Anjou,” Philippe said. “And would prefer this life, even if it means sieges.”

Foulques shrugged. “Perhaps there is truth in what you say.”

“I may disappoint you then,” Philippe said. “I believe we are close. Boudewijn is weakened, even if he takes Amiens. We can take it back. And if we catch Philipp in Sens.”

Philippe slammed the table with his fist.

“You grow obsessed, my king,” Foulques said.

“I want him,” Philippe said. “I want to draw him in battle. I wish to face him. I want him defeated. Not killed - though I would accept it - I want him captured. I want him strung in my dungeon and made to beg for his release.”

If it was not for the mask Foulques wore, his wide eyes would have given away his shock. Philippe had spoken disparagingly toward the rebel lords before. And he had long desired to capture them, to bring about the end of the war.

But this… this was something personal.

“You say nothing,” Philippe said. “Not even a yes, my king. Or a nod. You are dumbfounded?”

“I… I have not heard you speak in this way before,” Foulques said.

“Because I have been betrayed in the foulest way!” Philippe said. He choked down his wine, slammed the cup and then again reached for the pitcher. “Boudewijn and Hugues - entitled fools they are - I thought them untrustworthy. Both dream of being king. They think themselves my equal. I knew that. I kept them on my council to sate them.

“But Philipp? That welp had no such claim. He took my hand of friendship and has spit upon it… no… worse, as Alberic would suggest, he pissed on it.

“He spoke to me as a brother! ‘Named after you, my king,’ he said. I elevated him, gave him respect, praise, I trusted him. And this, THIS is how he repays me! By taking my family as captives!”

“It is war, my lord,” Foulques said.

“HE SHOULD NOT BE IN THIS WAR!” Philippe shouted. “DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT? I GAVE HIM ALL HE COULD ASK FOR! AND THIS IS HOW HE REPAYS ME TRUST!”

Foulques said nothing. Philippe closed his eye, sat down and then drank more.

“You are still his friend, are you not?” Philippe demanded.

“The last time we were together alone, I left him unconscious on the floor after hitting him in the face,” Foulques said.

“That does not answer my question,” Philippe said.

It was because Foulques had no answer. While he had not been friendly with the Duke of Champagne after the incident, that did not mean they despised one another. They were clearly on opposite sides of struggle then, and treated each other as such. He did not harbor ill will toward Philipp, and he doubted Philipp did toward him.

“I see,” Philippe said. “You would side with a man who betrays your king over your king?!”

To that Foulques narrowed his gaze.

“You insult a man who stands with you, when he was offered to stand with ‘his friend?’” Foulques demanded. “Is this the road you wish to travel, my king?”

Philippe finished his cup. “Is that a threat?”

“If I wished to threaten you, I would speak plain,” Foulques said. “I do not, so no, I do not. But I will not stand here and listen to you again insult my character and loyalty to you when no man in the realm has stood with you as much as I, and for so little reward. I received little of what Philipp got from you, and I held the levies to make your life difficult. Never did I receive Maine. Yet I remain.”

“You receive more than you know,” Philippe said. “I turn a blind eye as your son takes Aquitaine. Alberic wished for me to intervene. I refused, in part, because you are a friend of the crown. And remember, Boudewijn was not my first vassal to marry into a royal family.”

“You questioned me then,” Foulques said.

“But I allowed it,” Philippe said.

“Because you need me,” Foulques said. “That is the only reason.”

“And you remain loyal, because you believe you need me as well,” Philippe said.

Foulques stared at the king. “It appears then, we have common ground.”

Philippe started to chuckle and in a few moments, it turned into a full belly laugh. “The fates mock us both. And because of that, I fear you are right.”

The king leaned forward on the table. His head drooped. “I had dreams of all of us - myself, you, Toulouse, I mean his father, Etienne, Philipp’s brother. Perhaps even Henri, Hugues’ father. Together we would shape the realm and this area, for years to come. We would make our mark in Iberia, drive the Saxons from Normandy, push back the Emperor…”

“You have Normandy. You won a war in Iberia and remain close in another,” Foulques said.

“I have Normandy yes,” Philippe said. “But the war in Iberia turns against us. The Emperor is ripe for attack now, but I am too busy fighting my vassals. And my dukes… you and I are all that remain. The others, they are all of a different time. Boudewijn a time before. Toulouse, Alberic, Hugues, Philipp, a time after.”

Foulques sipped his wine. He preferred not to think about that. After all, it was a reminder of how much the world was changing. The face of a grey-bearded Amaury flashed in his mind.

“But we are still here, my king,” Foulques said. “And still fighting.”

Philippe looked him. “Tell me Duke Foulques, why do you remain by my side?”

“As you said, I have need of you,” Foulques said.

Philippe shook his head. “No, you do not need me. Even if Boudewijn wins this conflict, he will not be strong enough to take Anjou from you. So what is the real reason?”

Foulques shrugged. “I have grown used to you. I do not think I wish to learn the mannerisms and whims of another.”

Philippe laughed. “Now THAT is the truth of it.”

The king poured them both a cup of wine.

“We have been through much together these last two decades,” Philippe said. “May we have yet another two decades together in the pursuit of glory!”

“Two decades?” Foulques asked.

“You wish to be rid of me before?” Philippe replied.

“No, but…”

Foulques could not bring himself to say it. While he did not truly wish to comprehend his own death, two decades was a long time…

Philippe smiled. “They said we had little chance at Rouen, did they not? They said you would never have a son, did they not? They said I would never be able to wrest power from my vassals who thought themselves kings, did they not?”

That remains to be seen, Foulques thought.

“To proving them wrong,” Philippe said as he raised his cup to Foulques. “As we have been doing, and will continue to do for years to come.”

Foulques raised his cup and drank. Years to come?

How could he say no to that?

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet: Chapter 83
January 1095 - Sens, France

The mid-day sun was finally starting to warm the day. It would not be enough to remove the chill from Foulques bones, as he saw his breath in the cold January air, but he hoped combat would.

Combat that had yet to start unfortunately. The army of King Philippe had arrayed on the west side of the Yonne river, with Sens just to their southeast. Their enemies awaited them to the north, with their left flank secured by the river.

Originally, the army of Champagne had offered a piece of ground on their left to fight - a small area on the west bank that would have clearly limited the amount of men Philippe’s army would have been able to commit.

And yet Philippe wished to take his opponent up on the offer. But Foulques had counseled against it, warning they would give away their tremendous advantage in numbers - around 8200 to just over 2400, if they did so.

Philippe was concerned that his enemy would escape, but Foulques doubted that - if the forces of Champagne could have escaped, they would never have even offered battle.

“A fine insight, uncle,” Herve had told him when Foulques pointed it out, away from the king.

“It is nothing,” Foulques had replied. “The king would see it too, if he were not blinded by rage.”

Foulques chuckled. “A fine choice of words given our king.”

Herve did not seem to get unintentional pun, a reminder for Foulques that while his nephew showed talent on the battlefield, he lacked that cunning elsewhere.

For the king’s forces, Alberic was on the right, and Gilles on the left. Foulques commanded the center, with the king by his side.

Among the men in the center was Herve, who had been handed command of the Angevin forces Philippe was owed as Foulques’ liege lord. The teen sat atop his horse, looking over the men. He was silent, and wide-eyed.

“Nervous?” Foulques asked him as he rode up beside him.

“I… I will be fine uncle,” Herve said. “I have been in combat before - hunting bandits.”

“Aye,” Foulques said. “Think of these men the same way. They will both kill you if necessary, but they would prefer to take you prisoner. No ransom for a dead man.”

Herve flashed a nervous smile.

“Have you talked to the knights yet?” Foulques asked him.

“No…” Herve said. “I thought of doing it closer to battle.”

“There is not much time,” Foulques said. “We will move soon and this is not something to be rushed.”

“Will you and the king make a speech?” Herve asked.

“Yes, but never rely on that alone,” Foulques replied. “Every leader should provide inspiration, no matter if he leads but a few knights or commands an entire army.”

Herve closed his eyes and nodded. Foulques could see his nephew stressed over this. The duke grabbed him by the arm.

“You would not be the commander without the support of these men,” Foulques told him. “You think I simply appointed you because you are blood? As a favor to your mother? Or because of your father? I asked these men about the kind of warrior you are, and they spoke of you well. You are here because we believe you to be worthy. Remember that and speak to the men.”

Herve squeezed his eyes shut again, took a deep breath and then raised his arm. The knights looked toward him.

“Men! Today we face the enemy,” he said. “I… I…”

He fell silent. Foulques shook his head.

“The boy is so driven with bloodlust he can hardly get out a word!” Foulques shouted. “There will be plenty of men to chop down in short order, boy, don’t worry!”

He slammed his hand into Herve’s back. The teen looked on with fear.

“Herve de Semur, do you believe yourself better than the men of Champagne?” Foulques demanded, loud enough for the men to hear.

Herve looked at him and nodded.

“I told you boy, there will be plenty of men to kill in time,” Foulques said. “Get yourself composed and tell me if you believe yourself their better.”

“Yes,” Herve said.

“I’m an old man boy,” Foulques said. “Speak up!”

“YES!” Herve shouted.

“You’ve killed and captured bandits, have you not?” Foulques asked.

“Yes!” Herve shouted again.

Foulques would have accepted a simple nod there, but this was fine as well, especially as he noticed a few of the knights nod in agreement.

“What is the difference between the bandits and these fine knights of Champagne?” Foulques asked.

“Nothing…” Herve said.

“Nothing?” Foulques asked. “Do you think there’s no difference?”

The knights remained silent. Foulques smirked.

“Bandits don’t have nearly as fine armor and weapons,” Foulques shouted. “Fine things to add to your collection, if that is your fancy! Or to sell for gold for your wives! Or… your lovers!”

The men chuckled. Even Herve managed a small grin.

“My nephew, I think you are ready to lead these men,” Foulques said. “But it matters not what I think. Do you think you are ready to lead these men.”
Foulques made sure to catch Herve’s gaze and stare him down. It was a delicate balance - hoping to pressure him into accepting his role while also not making him feel to intimidated to make an imposing figure.

“Yes! Uncle, I am ready!” Herve shouted.

“Then tell them!” Foulques said. “Tell them what you shall have them do today!”

“We, we… men! We shall ride down and cut a path through those knights from Champagne!” Herve shouted. “We have all seen combat before. Some of you in a grand battle like… Rouen. Rouen… I have long wished I was old enough to be there. I’m certain those of you that weren’t there, wish you were… today is your chance! Glory can await even the smallest of skirmish - for bravery is required whenever one picks up a sword or lance!

“Some of you have followed me around Anjou! Those of you know my worth. Those of you that have not… you will soon learn!”

A few of the knights cheered and others followed.

Not the greatest, Foulques thought. But… it was his first time. He would learn with experience. He gave Herve a pat on the back.

“Give them hell,” he told him.

The teen nodded and Foulques led his horse away. As he did, he stopped by Renaud, the old mayor of Saumur, who was the second today.

“Make certain he does not lose his nerve,” Foulques whispered as he moved past.

The gray-haired man gave a slight nod as a reply.

As he led his horse off, Foulques looked back to his nephew. A strong, strapping lad like him would do well, he thought.

Then why did he have a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach?

….

“He mocks us!”

Foulques turned to look at King Philippe, whose face was beet red. They were with a group of their knights - a most from Philippe’s guard and a few Angevin ones.

Some 100 yards away was Duke Philipp of Champagne, his banners flying in the late afternoon wind. His small group of knights were across the field. Beside them a group of footmen armed with spears. And there lay the problem.

The spearmen were the incentive not to charge. Foulques knew that - a wall of men with spears would deter the horses from completing their charge and kill the brave, or foolish ones who did.

And yet, Philipp presented himself - no doubt hoping to draw the king into a foolish charge.

“He seeks to bait you, my king,” Foulques said. “We cannot take it.”

“We have more men,” Philippe said. “He bluffs.”

“I assure you, he does not,” Foulques said. “All he tries this day is to use your desire for revenge against you. If you take the bait, he shall win.”

Around them it was almost serene. The battle raged on the right and the left. But in the center, there was hesitation.

Foulques wished to advance the center forward. The king’s levy would take some time to break through the Champagne forces, but on this open ground, there was little doubt it would happen. The problem was if they spread their forces wide enough to outflank the units in the center, Champagne would likely withdraw, denying Philippe the chance to catch him.

And yet, if Foulques sent the forces narrowly, they would weaken themselves, and might end up losing Champagne anyway - to say nothing of Philippe’s desire to charge with the knights before advancing the footmen.

He faced a choice - king risk himself and the battle over his desire for vengeance, and with it the war, or take the easy victory and move on. Granted it was not Foulques family that was being held, but…

“I want him brought to heel,” Philippe insisted.

Philippe narrowed his gaze as he looked across the field at Champagne. The enemy hurled insults at the king’s forces. Champagne trotted out in front of his spearmen, motioning for Philippe to charge him.

“Are we to let such an insult go unpunished?” Philippe demanded.

Foulques closed his eyes. A charge was suicidal. He glanced back at his men. Somewhere behind him, Herve and Angevin knights waited. Could he really doom them all?

But could he get the king to listen to reason?

And it was the thought of family that gave Foulques one last possible route away from disaster.

“He holds your son,” Foulques said.

“Which is why I demand this,” Philippe said. “Are you not listening?”

“I listen well,” Foulques said. “He holds your son. He gambles that if you attack recklessly, you will be captured or killed. Because he holds the prince, if that happens, the war will be over and Boudewijn will have won. And then what will befall your son? Do you think Boudewijn will want the prince around?”

“But if we win,” Philippe started…

“It will mean nothing if you are killed needlessly,” Foulques said. “There are ways to save your son and the rest of your family. But this charge is not it.”

Philippe shook his head. “We must.”

“Then you shall give the order,” Foulques said. “Order us forward into their spears.”

“You technically command the center,” Philippe said.

“But you override my wishes,” Foulques said. “It is your right as king to do so. But then you should give the order. It shall be your glory. Or your eternal shame.”

Foulques believed the king would not. He knew that for all his bluster, Philippe did not have a warrior’s heart.

But as Philippe started out at Champagne, and heard the insults, Foulques felt his stomach clench. It was enough to provoke a moment of madness.

The king began to raise his arm. It came up all the way. Philippe’s mouth opened.

But no words came out.

He shut his one good eye and then turned toward Foulques.

“Command the center as you like,” he said. “Command it as you like.”

Foulques nodded. He could not smile - he was too relieved to.

“Footsoldiers ready!” Foulques shouted as he raised his arm.

….

A few hours later, Foulques, the king and the group of knights made their return to the camp, muddied, bloodied, but victorious.

Battles were never academic - Foulques knew any fight could be his last. But the king’s footsoldiers had occupied the spearmen. Their deliberate action ensured safety, and there was little the forces of Champagne could do.

And once the spearmen were committed, Philipp of Champagne had pulled himself and his knights back. His bait not taken, he made a hasty exit from the field. By the time the king’s knights had managed to get around the occupied spearmen, Champagne was gone, which made victory in the center a certainty but brought Philippe no joy.

“You did wise to resist his temptation,” Foulques said to Philippe. “He had but one chance of winning this encounter - perhaps even the war itself. And you denied him that.”

“And yet he escapes to fight another day,” Philippe said.

“With a weakened army,” Foulques said. “We can retake Melun, attack Boudewijn, and then restore Amiens to our control without Philipp’s interference. You grind down your opponents. In time, we will be victorious.”

Philippe looked back toward the field. “If I am not grounded down first.”

Foulques said nothing of that. He had seen much of Philippe over the past year. First confident, then weakened and afraid after his injury, then angry over his family… and now… this was the first team he seemed weary, almost broken.

“You will outlast them, my king,” Foulques said. “Your family depends on it.”

Philippe nodded. “Join me in my tent, Duke Foulques. We should celebrate this victory properly.”

“If you would give me a few moments,” Foulques said. “I would like to find someone first.”

“A friend?” Philippe wondered.

“My nephew,” Foulques said. “The son of de Semur.”

Philippe thought on it for a moment. “Ah. He is the one who died while you campaigned in, Brittany was it?”

“Yes,” Foulques said.

“Well, I hope the boy is safe and sound then,” Philippe said. “When you find him, bring him to the tent as well. I should like to meet him.”

For a moment, Foulques saw the old, diplomatic king he remembered from their younger days - the one who always seemed to know even the vassals of his vassals, was quick of wit and left those he met feeling as if they had impressed a king.

But it was brief as Philippe and the other knights with him continued on, the king’s shoulders slumping, possibly due to exhaustion. Foulques shook his head.

But he could not concern himself too much with Philippe for now. Instead his mind turned to Herve.

Foulques rode to where many of his Angevin knights were camped. He looked around but did not see his nephew. Renaud was present, however.

“Where is he?” Foulques demanded.

Renaud shrugged. “I am not certain my lord. He was performing well in the fight, but we were separated. He was exuberant and rode off with some of the men, after a fleeing enemy.”

“Have you seen any of those men?” Foulques asked.

“No, my lord,” Renaud answered.

A good sign, in one sense, Foulques thought. If none had returned, perhaps they remained out together.

Or perhaps they were all killed and captured together.

“Renaud, with me,” Foulques said.

The mayor of Saumur did not argue. He quickly donned his hauberk over his padded armor and then mounted his horse.

The two moved through the camp and searched. Herve was nowhere to be found. Foulques’ mind raced.

Not again.

He did not wish to spend the night searching again. He did not wish to have to see his sister’s face upon returning without a member of her family, again. He did not want to see potential snuffed out before its time… again!

He led Renaud to the exit of the camp and began to ride out.

But as he did a group of knights rode in triumphantly. At their head was Herve.

“Uncle!” he shouted. “You have come to greet me!”

Foulques was not sure if he was hallucinating at first. But he eventually exhaled as the teen rode his horse in circles around him.

“Where have you been boy?” Foulques demanded. “It is nearly dark.”

“Pursuit,” Herve said. He pointed. Behind his group of Angevin knights were captives, some dressed in armor, some not, being led into the camp, all tied together by one long rope. “We have captured quite a few prisoners.”

“How many are knights?” Foulques asked.

“I… I don’t know,” Herve admitted. “Does it matter?”

“Only knights will be able to pay a ransom,” Foulques said. “And perhaps wealthier peasants. But many are worthless. Kill them or release them, but trying to ransom them is a waste of your time.”

Herve frowned. “I see.”

The duke led Herve away from the others.

“When you command, you cannot abandon your men,” Foulques warned. “Cowardice or glory - it matters not - you leave them all the same.”

Herve lowered his head. “I… I am sorry uncle. I did not mean for it… I just… they were running. The opportunity was there…”

“Then you must let your men know, so they may follow,” Foulques said. “Or they at least know. If you disappear, in the chaos of combat, they may think you dead or abandoned the field. And they will lose heart. Often times, you must remember your role, and send others to finish the job.”

“I am sorry… I am sorry I failed you, uncle,” Herve said.

Foulques patted him on the shoulder. “You did not fail me boy! We have won the day, you have fought well and captured prisoners. It is a fine first battle - the rest, you will learn in time.”

“You are not angry?” Herve asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “I am relieved. I did not like the thought of telling your mother that you were missing. Instead, I shall be able to tell her your glories. She will be proud.”

The fear faded on Herve’s face, replaced by a wide smile. “Do you think my father would be, uncle?”

Foulques nodded. “Of that I have no doubt.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 84
August 1095 - Anjou, France

It is sinful.

The thought was inescapable. Everything about this was wrong. But resisting proved impossible.

And did he not deserve the pleasure after such a long time away?

Etiennette stirred but did not turn, instead pressing her large behind up against his groin. She usually did that - always seeming to be as close to him as possible, trying to get him to keep his arms around her.

She was not a small woman - in that respect she reminded him quite a bit of Beatritz. And she had grown quite a bit in this last few months - the cause quite clear as Foulques’ hand moved over her belly, which before was soft and a bit flabby and was now firm and swollen.

On cue, the child within pushed back against his fingers.

It prompted a smile from Etiennette, who glanced at him. She said nothing - the look of contentment spoke volumes. She did not seem to care that this was a sin any more than he did.

Then again, they had violated the church by having this affair - Foulques was a married man and Etiennette not supposed to have relations outside of wedlock. Yes, it was against the church’s teachings for a man to bed a woman who swelled with child, but it seemed to be the lesser of the two crimes.

And Foulques needed relief. Haldora had yet to resume her wifely duties since their son was born in February. A disappointment - both Beatritz and Aines had returned to the marital bed within two months of their children being born. But it was hardly surprising given Haldora’s chaste nature.

On one hand, Foulques was glad at least one woman in the realm was uninterested in his nephew Gilles’ advances. And he could not be too angry with her - she had given him a son, whom they had also named Foulques.

After years of being concerned Geoffrey would be his only child, the succession was now safe - between Geoffrey and the two Foulques, his son and grandson - it would take a cruel twist of fate to see them undone.

Yet on the other hand - his physical relationship remained a chore.

Which is why Etiennette was here. She was not the lover his first wives were, but she was devoted and eager to please.

He had also taken another girl - Ildegarde de Cholet - the daughter of his old friend, the late baron of Cholet. That had not been his original plan, but for a time in the spring Etiennette had been too ill to lay with him - in retrospect the result of the child she carried.

And Ildegarde had offered, so why refuse, Foulques thought?

He still saw her from time to time, though she was not his favorite. He had grown attached to Etiennette over the past few months, and she to him, so he spent much of his time in Anjou with her. She had even accompanied him, with Agnes, to Melun after it had been retaken.

But the king had given him a short leave where he could attend to the affairs in the duchy. In truth, he came to conduct one affair, his one with Etiennette, having not seen her since June - she was growing too large to be risked in campaign.

A knock on the door to Foulques chambers. His lover again pressed herself into him, as if to try to convince him not to leave her.

Had it been the cold winter, he may have obliged her wishes. But it was summer, and hot, so he was grateful for a moment free of her - though as he looked back at her naked body he decided it would only be a moment.

Throwing on a long shirt he demanded who was at the door. When it was Mayor Guilhem, Foulques poked his masked face out from the door.

“Chancellor Godfrey has returned from Bourgogne,” Guilhem said.

Foulques nodded. The chancellor had gone to county, which sat under the domain of the Empire on the border of the realm of the Franks, to follow up on his own idea. And the duke was curious as to what news he brought.

“I shall meet with him soon,” Foulques said.

“Understood, my lord,” Guilhem said.

The door was closed and Foulques tossed off his long shirt - it would never be appropriate for a meeting with his chancellor anyway.

“What is that about?” Etiennette asked.

“Godfrey has returned from Bourgogne,” Foulques said. “We will see what news he brings about his planned marriage negotiations.”

“A marriage?” Etiennette asked. “Mine?”

Foulques smirked as he approached her, then ran his fingers through her hair, down now though it often was tied in a bun. “No, I think I shall keep you to myself.”

Her reply was a sly smile. “I would not have it any other way.”

Hearing that devotion stirred a desire to ravish her once more. But he did have to see about this matter...

“Must you go?” Etiennette whined, as if reading his thoughts. “I awaken with a hunger, my lord.”

“Yes, I must go.” Foulques said. “But not right away.”

Etiennette grinned and tossed aside the sheet to reveal her swollen body once more.
….

A little while later, Foulques, now properly dressed in a shirt and hose, arrived in the strategy hall, where Godfrey sat, conversing with his own son Henri.

In truth, Foulques was not sure whether he wished for news the negotiations with Count Renaud had gone well or poorly. It was a subject that admittedly left the duke a bit uncomfortable. But he would hear it out.

The chancellor hoped to solve a question of what to do with Agnes’ bastard daughter Beatrice, who was now eight summers. She was a sweet girl from what the duke heard and saw from his brief interactions with her, and beloved by her mother.

Unfortunately, Agnes wished for her daughter to be in the line of succession - something Foulques was less interested in happening given her bastard status, and that her father was Duke Gilles. Foulques wished to give little pleasure to his lecherous nephew.

But Godfrey had a solution. Agnes wished for Beatrice to be fourth in succession - behind Geoffrey and his son, and Foulques' newborn son. There was a way to do that without legitimizing her.

“We marry her to Eduoard,” Godfrey had suggested.

Foulques grimaced upon hearing the name. By all rights his nephew, Foulques knew that secretly, the boy was his son. And Godfrey knew of it as well. But it did not deter him when they had discussed it earlier.

“Most will think of it as a marriage between cousins, once removed,” Godfrey had said. “No different than Geoffrey and Marguerite.”

“Yes, but we know different,” Foulques had replied. “And… the girl is the daughter of first cousins already. The children they might produce… weak, invalids…”

“A risk,” Godfrey admitted. “But it is a way to please your daughter. And, it is a way to bring your bastard son back into the fold. I know you have desired that.”

That was true. But Foulques was uncertain it was possible - that this might aid in those efforts, made him willing to at least hear out negotiations.

“Leave us,” Godfrey told Henri. “I have matters to discuss with our lord.”

Henri nodded and bowed before Foulques before departing.

“He is nearly of age, is he not?” Foulques asked.

“Yes,” Godfrey said. “Sadly, I do not see him as much as I would like with my travel.”

“Take him with you,” Foulques suggested.

“I may, in the future,” Godfrey said. “But I think he likes it here. He…”

“He what?” Foulques asked.

“I believe he has a bit of a crush on your daughter Agnes,” Godfrey said. “I have seen him follow her around like a puppy at times.”

Foulques chuckled. “He chooses well. My daughter is a lovely girl.”

“That he does,” Godfrey said. “Now… about our more pressing matter.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “What did Renaud say?”

“He has no issue with it,” Godfrey said. “In truth, I suspect young Edouard would like to return to Anjou, though your brother forbids it, for now. But he will have no say when he comes of age.”

“And how is my brother?” Foulques asked.

“I did not know him when he was in the realm,” Godfrey admitted. “But he eyed me with suspicion. He likely thought I was there to kill him. A guilty conscience projects, I suspect.”

Probably true, Foulques thought. After all, Geoffrey still tried to kill him, even if the plot went nowhere.

“Does Count Renaud care for his objections to the union?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Godfrey said. “He is a lowly courtier. You are the most powerful vassal of the King of the Franks. It would be foolish for him to choose your brother’s side over you.”

Foulques sighed. “So this betrothal can occur?”

“Yes, my lord,” Godfrey said. “All we need to do is agree to it and it will be done.”

The duke closed his eyes. He had many reservations about this. But, he knew it was a compromise of sorts - one that could hold many benefits. And it was not likely Edouard or his descendents would ever see power in Anjou. Why not make Agnes somewhat happy?

“See that it is done,” Foulques said.

Godfrey bowed. He turned to leave but Foulques motioned for him to remain. The duke poured them both a cup of wine.

“You have done well for me over the years,” the duke said. “I wish you to know it is not unnoticed.”

“You have given me and my family a home in Anjou,” Godfrey said. “And have given me an important role in the handling of your lands. It is the least I can do.”

“Be that as it may, I feel as though there is more than can be done to show appreciation for your service,” Foulques said. “Your daughter - she has just come of age, correct?”

Godfrey nodded. “Yes. Do you… have a match for her in mind?”

“I do,” Foulques said. “A man on the rise, I feel.”

Foulques was about to continue when there was a loud knock on the door. Godfrey opened it to reveal Guilhem.

“An urgent matter, my lord,” the aged steward said. “Alias of Perigord is present. He wishes to speak to Geoffrey.”

“Was… he expected?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Guilhem said. “It is a surprise.”

“This has to do with the rebellion in Aquitaine no doubt,” Foulques said. “I wonder why he could not meet with my son in secret as they normally do.”

“Perhaps this message is too important to wait,” Godfrey suggested.

“Perhaps,” Foulques said. “No matter, I will meet with him. Do not tell Geoffrey of his arrival… yet.”

The councilors nodded in agreement and Foulques walked out to the main hall. There the count, dressed in full knightly attire of mail, though holding his helmet, stood and waited.

“Duke Foulques,” Alias said as Foulques approached. They shook hands.

“Count Alias,” Foulques replied. “Your visit is a surprise. We were not told to expect you.”

“Urgent business, I’m afraid. It could not wait. I have ridden from Bordeaux to deliver it to your son,” Alias explained.

“And what news is that?”

“I apologize, Duke Foulques, but that news is for him first,” Alias said.

“He is my son,” Foulques said. “And I rule in Anjou. I will deem what is heard when and by whom.”

Alias glared at him. “With all due respect, Duke Foulques, I am not one of your vassals,” Alias said. “There is another I take my cue from.”

Who does he think he is, Foulques wondered.

He was about to give Alias a piece of his mind when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“What is the meaning of this?” Geoffrey demanded.

The duke saw his son enter the hall, his pace quick as he noticed the Count of Perigord.

“This does not concern you at the moment,” Foulques replied.

“Oh but it does,” Alias said as he pushed past Foulques and approached Geoffrey. The count stopped short of him and then dropped to a knee.

“Let me be the first to swear my loyalty to you,” Alias said.

Geoffrey and Foulques’ eyes widened.

“You mean?” Geoffrey began.

“Yes, my lord,” Alias said. “You are now Geoffrey, Duke of Aquitaine, first of his name!”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 85
August 1095- Anjou, France

Geoffrey was silent as he looked himself over.

His leather armor was a proper fit. At his side, his sword was attached at his belt It looked sturdy, well-made from the blacksmith in Anjou.

It all appeared new - never worn, never used. That was because it had not - Geoffrey had not seen true battle before. But it looked the part - and that, perhaps, was the most important aspect.

“You fuss too much,” Agnes said. “Travel to Aquitaine will not be kind to your outfit.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “Even now, you criticize.”

“Because I will not be able to for some time,” Agnes said with a smile. “I do not know when you shall return. And…”

“You do not want to wish for it,” Geoffrey said. “Because of what that would mean for our father.”

“I hope that your time apart will mend your relationship,” Agnes said. “You can do much for one another, especially now that you are a duke.”

Yes, a man with but three counties under his control can do much for a man with five under his direct oversight, Geoffrey thought.

That was frustrating. Geoffrey had thought he would gain control over all of the de jure counties of Aquitaine. Instead, the agreement saw Alias win just Bordeaux, Perigord and Ages, just a fraction of what Geoffrey would have expected. It left Aquitaine weak and divided, and Geoffrey, who controlled just the keep in Bordeaux, the most powerless duke in the realm.

“I would have expected you to point out that I control but a tiny bit of Aquitaine,” Geoffrey said.

“You are a duke,” Agnes said. “Your plan has succeeded. I shall only congratulate you - it is deserved.”

“Thank you sister,” Geoffrey said, realizing he had been too harsh. He knew he must do better now - his survival depended on it.

And as he looked into her eyes and felt a measure of sadness. He was leaving her… leaving this place, where he had called his home, for who knew how long?

“You should come with me,” he said. “I would find you a husband. I know not what father waits on, but I will not.”

Agnes smiled but crossed her arms. “I wonder, do wish for me to come, or do you mainly wish for Alearde to join you?”

Geoffrey blushed. “I’ll have you know… I could have. But I didn’t.”

“She told me as such,” Agnes said. “Very mature of you. A good sign that you will be wise as a ruler.”

It wasn’t entirely maturity. Not long after finding out the success of the rebellion from Alias, Geoffrey had celebrated the victory. That evening, feeling the alcohol, he had stumbled upon Alearde and told her of his long-standing affections for her and told her to accompany him to Aquitaine - he would treat her like the duchess herself.

She had blushed, perhaps flattered that a man half her age still desired her. But she did not have much interest, to Geoffrey’s disappointment. She was wise to frame it as asking whether Geoffrey wished to have a woman who had been with both his father and his cousin.

As much as Geoffrey wished to say yes - after all he felt far worse about having a wife who had repeatedly laid with his former best friend - the appeal to his pride worked.

Instead of laying with him, she had told him how proud she was of his success and wished him the best. Even though he wished for more, her words were oddly comforting.

“Perhaps I just fear having no one I know around me,” Geoffrey admitted. “No one I can trust. Alearde was also from there. She likely knows it much better than me, even if she has been gone for sometime.”

“You cannot have her, regardless,” Agnes said. “And you will do fine. You are, dare I say, charming, when you wish to be. You will win them over in time.”

He did not feel as certain. And that Agnes tried to make him believe made this departure even more bittersweet - he now truly wished she would come with him.

But she would not. Nor would Herve, whom he had approached as well. Geoffrey offered to make him his marshal, but Herve declined. His cousin preferred to remain in Anjou, where he felt loyalty to Foulques - not surprising, but still something Geoffrey did not wish to hear.

No, instead of having his sister and his cousin with him to aid his transition in Aquitaine, he was leaving Anjou to them.

Geoffrey took another deep breath. “I think it is time for me to speak with our father before I depart.”

“I shall leave you to it then,” Agnes replied.

Geoffrey smiled, but he felt the stinging in his eyes again. The two siblings embraced, with Geoffrey giving his sister a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you for all you have done for me,” Geoffrey said. “I know I was not always appreciative…”

“We are family,” Agnes said. “It is what we do.”

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Geoffrey began. “Look over Anjou as you have me. I wish for it and its people to be strong for when I return. And I would trust no one more than you for that task - not even father. He is… too blinded at times by desire.”

Now it was Agnes’ turn to tear up. She squeezed Geoffrey so tightly he could feel the air being pushed from his lungs.

Their embrace over, Geoffrey began his walk to the main hall. But when his father was not present, he changed course and went to the duke’s chambers.

Before he could knock the door opened and Etiennette walked out. She turned red upon making eye contact, which she quickly averted as she shuffled past him, prompting Geoffrey to roll his eyes.

I do not know if my timing is excellent or poor, Geoffrey thought.

However, his father was dressed when Geoffrey entered.

“Do you need something?” Foulques asked him.

“Yes, I depart shortly, but there is business that we must discuss,” Geoffrey replied.

Foulques offered him a seat at the small table, followed by a cup of wine. It was a strange feeling. For the first time in his life, Geoffrey was his father’s equal. His peer. Direct vassals to the King of the Franks. Second only to Philippe in terms of rank within the realm.

And yet, Geoffrey knew it to be untrue. He was his father’s peer in rank, but in reality, he held but a fraction of the power Foulques did. With the war draining resources everywhere, Foulques held the largest levy in the realm. He was the king’s most trusted adviser, at least by appearances.

And the cold hard truth was Geoffrey needed him now more than ever.

“What is your business?” Foulques asked.

“The relationship between Anjou and Aquitaine,” Geoffrey said. “I would like us to be allies.”

“Allies?” Foulques asked. “An interesting proposition.”

Foulques paced about the room, sipping his wine. He eventually threw Geoffrey a glance, sly smile on his face. “Duke Geoffrey, alliances usually are mutually beneficial. Yet you hold barely any army to speak of. What benefit would I see from such an agreement?”

A chill ran Geoffrey’s spine. His father would not… abandon him now, would he? He had less than 500 men to his name after Aquitaine’s resources were drained in the war, and few vassals to back him thanks to the poor agreement that had been negotiated. With no alliance, there was a strong possibility his reign in Aquitaine would be short.

“You would… abandon me?” Geoffrey asked. “Your son?”

“You made your plans,” Foulques said. “And did not include me in them. This is your bed. I should allow you to lay in it. But… I offer you a chance. Prove to me why this alliance is worth my time, and I shall consider it.”

He wishes me to dance for him one last time, Geoffrey thought. It was infuriating. Humiliating. Infantile.

But what choice did Geoffrey have?

“My forces are weak now, but they will grow in time,” Geoffrey replied. “You invest much now, for pay off later. As my uncle once did for you. And…”

“And?”

“You know mother would not have hesitated to make certain you defended her claims,” Geoffrey said. “I do not know if you would have listened to her, but… she would have tried.”

Foulques’ smirk disappeared.

Geoffrey wished to get his father to respect him, to value him, to see his potential - not for his approval, but for his own survival. He suspected his father held an affection for the late duchess so, it felt like a good idea to use her for his argument.

But upon seeing his father’s reaction, Geoffrey could not help but wonder: Have I pushed too far?

Foulques was silent for a time. He slowly walked over to the table and sat down across from Geoffrey. “I would… like to think I would have.”

He chuckled and Geoffrey could breathe once more.

“This was her dream, you know,” Foulques said. “She wished for you to hold Aquitaine and Poitou. At the time she thought it unlikely her brother would have a son. And so she thought you would be the perfect heir. Perhaps she had better foresight than any of us.”

Geoffrey felt the stinging in his eyes once more.

“Well, I do not have Poitou yet,” he said. “But perhaps, with your aid.”

“Perhaps, but you must be wise in your ambition,” Foulques warned. “It is no accident that you are victorious but not strong. The lords of the realm dislike Alberic as much as his vassals do. But they wish him humbled and weakened. They will not like you if you completely replace him. They are not fools - they can see a future where one man controls most of the western half of the realm.”

Geoffrey could not resist a smile at that thought. “Then I shall have to be careful in how I move about things.”

“Very careful,” Foulques said. “I shield you somewhat. But I will not be here forever.”

A strangely uncomfortable thought, Geoffrey said to himself. It was not what he expected.

“Then, we have an alliance?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” Foulques replied. “Do not make me regret it. I risk drawing the ire of the dukes and the king, should you make a wrong move.”

Geoffrey nodded. He was not certain he could avoid it - but he would be cautious in the early days.

“Thank you father,” he said. “I have… another request.”

“An alliance is not enough?” Foulques asked. “You would be wise to not overreach as your predecessor likes to do.”

“It is not for me,” Geoffrey said. “It is… Agnes.”

Foulques’ brow raised. “What of her?”

“She is a woman,” Geoffrey began. “But a wise one. Like mother. And you would do well to listen to her counsel. Grant her say in the affairs of the duchy, as you did before. I would daresay do so over your current wife. I do not think the duchess is a bad woman, but she does not know Anjou like my sister.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “I will think on what you say.”

“Thank you father,” Geoffrey said.

“Is that it then?” Foulques asked.

Geoffrey sighed and looked down. “No, there is one more matter. But I am not proud of it.”

“What is it?”

Geoffrey pushed himself from the table and began to pace the room. Finally he looked back at Foulques.

“I go to Aquitaine alone,” Geoffrey said.

“I am aware,” Foulques said. “You asked your sister and your cousin to join you, but they refused.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “But that is not what I speak of. I will go to Aquitaine without Marguerite and the children.”

“You leave your wife and children behind, here?” Foulques asked. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am serious,” Geoffrey said. “I… struggle to look at her without being overcome by rage. I know the daughter she has just borne me is not mine, even if publically I accept her as such. It… I simply cannot be around her at this time.”

“What of your son?” Foulques asked.

“I do believe him to be mine,” Geoffrey said. “And yet… part of me even doubts that. I hate her, father, I hate what she has done to me. Perhaps I can forgive her in time, but… not now.”

“It will not look well upon you,” Foulques said. “On either of you. And did you not wish to use her to make your claim stronger?”

“I have won the duchy,” Geoffrey said. “And your armies are stronger than any marriage bond.”

Foulques did not appear pleased, staring Geoffrey down by tapping the table with his fingers.

“I know I ask much of you father,” Geoffrey said. “Perhaps more than should be. But… I do not think myself capable of handling her or my son now. If that changes, I will send for them. I swear to it.”

Foulques shook his head. “I expected more from you.”

“That is the first I have heard of it,” Geoffrey said. He paused. “But… I am sorry to let you down, father.”

“You will have what you wish,” Foulques said. “Now go.”

“Thank you father,” Geoffrey said. “It means a great deal--”

“Go!” Foulques ordered as he pointed toward the door.

It took Geoffrey aback. He did not expect his father to be angry over that decision. Surely he understood why he did not wish Marguerite and the children with him? And Geoffrey had presented it in as flattering a light as possible to his father - he declined to blame him for the mess once more, after all.

But Geoffrey said nothing, instead slinking from the chambers quietly.

….

Not long afterward, Geoffrey had mounted his horse, at the head of a small group of knights. Some were from Anjou, but most were part of the levy of Alias of Perigord, who had remained after delivering the news.

“Are you prepared, my lord?” Alias asked him.

Geoffrey looked back at the keep. His home for much of his life - and even when it was not, its inhabitants looked after him, shaped him. He did not always agree with them, but… their influence on him was undeniable.

And there was no guarantee he would see any of them again.

Did mother feel this way, he wondered to himself, when she came to Anjou?

He remembered his father’s words on how Beatritz de Poitou once dreamed of her son returning to claim her birthright.

He had managed part of it. And in time, he might take all of it.

“I am, Alias,” Geoffrey said. “Let us go and continue what has been started.”

Geoffrey checked back as the keep of his birth grew smaller in the distance. Yet as he glanced up to the heavens, he smiled.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 86
September 1095 - Tours, France

I must compliment the innkeeper on the stew.

Foulques was impressed as he sat at an inn nearby his keep in Tours. Considering what he normally found on campaign or on the road, this broth had a good, distinct beef flavor. The wine was strong too. An impressive combination and something he rarely found.

Of course, the innkeeper likely would not know the praise was from his lord and duke. Foulques had taken pains to avoid that. Aside from wearing a cloak and hood, he did not don his mask, revealing his scarred, misshapen and disfigured face.

It rendered him a hideous, ragged figure, but it also likely left few with any idea of his true identity. Even those he travelled with would be unlikely to recognize him at first glance now.

Such precautions were necessary. This was the height of foolishness, to be sure, but Foulques felt oddly compelled to be here. Perhaps he saw opportunity. Perhaps he felt pity.

Either way, another cloaked figure soon cut a path toward him, and plopped himself on the bench, across the table from him.

His head down, the man mumbled: “So you have granted me an audience, old friend.”

Code words which was thinly veiled.

“Against my better judgement,” Foulques replied, his own head down.

The man picked his head up, revealing the chubby face of Duke Philipp of Champagne, his lips forming a sly smile.

“Your curiosity could not be helped, I suppose,” Philipp said.

Foulques picked up his head. The Duke of Champagne practically blanched at seeing him.

“And you see that curiosity is not all it is cracked up to be,” Foulques said. “I know you, and others, wonder what I look like under this mask.”

Philipp shook his head. “It is… unfortunate. But you live, which is the important thing. Your impact remains felt by the realm - perhaps more so than the king’s.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Foulques said.

“It is more than flattery,” Philipp said. “It is truth. I saw you at Sens. You prevented the king from falling into my trap. I feel you keep him afloat in these turbulent waters.”

“He is more than just afloat,” Foulques said. “He will emerge triumphant.”

“Most think the war remains in the balance,” Philipp said. “We win victories…”

“Your victories are pyrrhic,” Foulques said. “Our levy stands at near 10,000 strong. Your numbers are two-thirds of that. Hugues is beaten. Boudewijn may be ill. Within the next few years, the rebellion will end.”

Philipp lowered his head. “You are confident, with good reason. But… what will you get out of this victory?”

“Influence,” Foulques said remembering Philippe’s words to him on how he did not interfere against Geoffrey in Aquitaine. “Such a thing can be valuable.”

“You can have that and more with Boudewijn,” Philipp said. “If you switch sides now, he would reward you greatly. A leading role in the realm.”

“Which I already have,” Foulques said.

“Positions for your son, a husband for your daughter,” Philipp continued. “More can be worked out.”

The offer could not have been more hollow-sounding to Foulques. There was almost nothing Boudewijn could promise Foulques that he could not also extract from Philippe. And that would not require betrayal to get it - such a thing could not be walked back from.

Once you have betrayed your liege, you can never be trusted again, Foulques thought. And the truth was in the man across from him, as he could never be entirely sure the Duke of Champagne would not sell him out if required.

“I will not lead you on,” Foulques said. “The answer is no. Nothing you offer can change my mind.”

Philipp nodded. “That you say that does not shock me. But I had to ask. I promised Boudewijn I would.”

“Have you said what you wished to say?”

“Not entirely,” Philipp said. “It is also no secret your coffers are fuller than perhaps any man in the realm’s.”

“My steward has long done me well,” Foulques said. “What of it?”

“I could use money to fund the effort against my own rebels,” Philipp said. "I am in debt to Jewish moneylenders. Such a thing is problematic for a man of my stature."

“And that money would not be used against the crown?” Foulques asked.

“I swear,” Philipp said.

“Do you take me a fool?” Foulques asked. “There would be no way to ensure that.”

Philipp sighed. “Then you leave me to my fate?”

“I cannot aid you without betraying my king,” Foulques said. “You know that. But there is another option.”

“What is that?”

“You surrender yourself,” Foulques said. “Return with me to the king. Throw yourself at his mercy. Release his family. Pledge yourself to his service once more. He has grown to hate you, but he is not so foolish as he would pass on a good deal when he sees it. If you returned to the fold, we could finish off Boudewijn, then return to the war in Valencia.”

“He aims to punish me by revoking Blois,” Philipp said. “He will not relent from that. And in time, he will move onto other territories. I know his hatred for me - he feels more wronged by me than the men who wish his crown.”

“If you lose Blois, is it not better than losing everything?” Foulques asked.

“As long as I hold his family, I have leverage,” Philipp said. “If I throw myself at his mercy, I will have to release them. It is a foolish notion.”

“How do you expect this to end, Philipp?” Foulques asked. “If you lose the war, you will pay, one way or another.”

“Then I should make sure I do not lose,” Philipp said. He stood up. “I do appreciate you taking the chance to meet with me, even if I am disappointed nothing has come of it. When this conflict ends, no matter how it ends, know that I remain a friend of Anjou.”

“And you are lucky I consider you such,” Foulques said.

Philipp said nothing, lowering his head and slipping out into the twilight.

Brazen fool, Foulques thought. He would doom himself in the long-run by not accepting defeat now. But there was nothing Foulques could do to stop that.

Foulques remained a little while longer, savoring the stew and the wine. Once he had finished he pushed himself from the bench and wandered to the exit. There he saw the innkeeper, who appeared to be keeping an eye on Herve and the two knights beside him as they sat outside on their mounts outside the inn.

A natural caution since the men did not seem interested in actually entering. It was easy to see how they might put him on edge, especially they held an extra horse as well. Foulques had had them follow at a distance, and then approach when they saw Philipp of Champagne arrive - though they were forbidden from actually entering the inn unless a commotion broke out.

“A fine meal,” Foulques replied. “I shall recommend this as a stop on anyone’s journey through Tours.”

He dropped gold into the palm of the man, whose eyes widened upon seeing the coins, which were enough for three nights - certainly not something one would expect from a hideous, cloaked man who now appeared to be departing after but a few hours.

“My word!” the innkeeper said. “Who?”

But Foulques said nothing. Instead he approached Herve and two other knights, who waited with the duke’s horse. Then Foulques mounted the beast, flashed the innkeeper a sly smile from his disfigured face, and rode off for the keep at Tours in the fading light.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 87
February 1096 - Autun, France

The sounds of the early morning had already begun to filter into Foulques tent as he looked up to the underside of the fabric canopy. It had been surprisingly quiet the night before despite the presence of over 9000 men in total.

And yet Foulques had not slept at all.

He bounded from his cot, armor already equipped, boots on, and sword at his belt. He was greeted by the sun, still low in the clear sky, and the crisp, cold morning air. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A smile came to his face.

A perfect day for battle.

And what a battle it promised to be. The king's forces had moved against Boudewijn's which now grouped near Autun after retaking Hugues' keep in Dijon. Like at Saintonge, most of the major lords of the realm were present. Even Toulouse had returned from Dauphine, his war with the Emperor ending inconclusively after the Emperor was overthrown by his own rebels - he would command the left.

Alberic, smarting over his defeat with Geoffrey and dealing with more discontent in the territory he kept, remained at the king’s request, with the promise he could leave after this engagement. He would command the right.

There was even the oddity of a woman present among the knights. Countess Almodis, the woman who had rebelled against Hugues, accompanied her levy along with her husband, Eudes of Vermandois. Foulques had seen her arrive in full armor, her hauberk and helmet, at first making her hard to distinguish from any other knight. He was pleasantly surprised upon seeing her, with the scar she had earned fighting Hugues forces in her own rebellion across her face only seeming to enhance her mystique and appeal.

Had her husband not been here… Foulques had thought to himself. And he suspected he was not alone in that.

On the other side, Boudewijn was at the head of the rebels, with Hugues of Burgundy alongside. Like at Saintonge, Philipp of Champagne was not present. But this time, there was a chance he might arrive, as rumors swirled his army marched from the north.

The forces of Champagne would not even things up, but it would make the gap smaller. The rebels had over 6000 under Bourdewijn and Hugues, while Champagne had another 1700 or so.

There was an air of finality, and yet uncertainty about. And it was glorious.

Foulques wandered toward the hitching post, where his and many of the lords’ horses were kept. There, to his surprise, he found his nephew, in his armor, looking about his own mount.

“Inspecting to make sure he is fit?” Foulques asked.

Herve nodded. “I am. It seems there is a great battle ahead of us. I wished to make certain my courser is ready. And… I did not sleep much.”

Foulques smiled and patted his nephew on the back. “Good man.”

“I have heard you speak to the king that you believe we will win the war here today,” Herve said. “Do you speak to raise his spirits, or is it truth?”

It was true the king’s spirits did need lifting. He had suffered a frustrating setback - ironically in victory.

The vanguard, lead by Alberic, had stumbled upon some knights from Champagne, and had heard they were being accompanied by their liege lord. Upon telling the king, Philippe had rushed forward with part of the larger army in order to prevent his escape.

He had succeeded and even killed the lord. But it was frustratingly revealed to be Count Henri of Sens - the man who was leading the rebellion against Philipp of Champagne.

“YOU FOOL!” Philippe had bellowed at Alberic. “Because of your faulty intelligence we have slain my enemy’s enemy! You have won his war for him!”

Foulques still remembered how Alberic had turned white as a ghost, perhaps fearful that becoming a spirit was going to be his fate sooner rather than later. And perhaps it would have been, had Foulques and Toulouse not restrained Philippe from further action.

While neither man liked Alberic, the truth was he had not guaranteed it to be Philipp of Champagne. The king had jumped to that conclusion on his own accord.

Calmer heads did prevail. Philippe, for all his anger, could not risk losing Alberic’s levy, and killing him would have sent Poitou and Gascony into further chaos as he had no sons, nor did have a wife yet. So he received a dressing down, assurances that the king had been talked out of it by his generous dukes but allowed to continue.

So the king did need good news. However, Foulques did truly believe this would break the rebels - there were only so many defeats the lords could take before they lost faith in their leaders. And Boudewijn had yet to win a large engagement with the king - in truth, only Champagne had achieved any lasting success against him.

“I speak the truth,” Foulques said. “These lords believed Boudewijn could lead them to victory. But as he is smashed by the king at every turn, they lose heart. Eventually, they will see no hope and flee from him, throwing themselves at the king’s mercy.”

“You mean you smash Boudewijn at every turn, uncle,” Herve said. “You are his marshal.”

“My victories are the king’s,” Foulques said. “It is important you realize that.”

“Of… of course uncle,” Herve said. “I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

“No, it is an important lesson,” Foulques said. “As is this - you do what you can for your liege, but you are not his slave. If he treats you as such, you may well need to find a new lord.”

Herve nodded.

“You must be careful about it in those situations, though,” Foulques said. “Or you may end up like these fools on the other side.”

Again Herve nodded, but Foulques could see the somewhat blank expression of his nephew’s face. He will never have a mind for politics. But that was fine - he could have a fine career as a blunt force to hammer the enemies of Anjou with.

Perhaps it was for the best. Geoffrey would need that hammer. Foulques knew his son had no real stomach for battle and he doubted he ever would develop it. After all, if he wanted to, he’d be here now.

But the new Duke of Aquitaine was in Bordeaux. His excuse was that he had no levy to contribute to the king - just a few knights. It was such a paltry number that Philippe had essentially excused him from his duty, for now.

More likely, his paltry levy made any possible conflict with Alberic not worth Philippe’s time. But Foulques had no doubt that if Geoffrey wished to be here, he would be.

So Foulques was left with the strange feeling of living a moment he had thought of before - being alongside his son as they prepared to ride off in a potentially grand battle - yet having it happen with his nephew instead.

Still, if he was not to have the moment with Geoffrey, Herve was an acceptable substitute. He had found himself growing fond of the boy over the last year. Foulques had even arranged for Herve to marry the daughter of his chancellor Godfrey de Boulogne, Sybille, though that would be done likely in the summer.

There remained that slight bit of nervousness for Herve’s safety before a battle - each new addition to the boy’s life just made it worse. But Foulques had to trust that God would see the boy back safely - he knew his own first duty remained with the king.

The sound of footsteps and movement around them caused Foulques to look around. Other lords were moving to their mounts and looking them over before combat. Among them, the Countess Almodis, who stood out now, as she did not wear her helmet, so her long, reddish locks were tied up in a pair of buns.

Foulques tapped his nephew on the shoulder and walked up to the lady, who unaccompanied by her husband at the moment.

The king planned to place her forces in the center - as an honor for her long-running rebellion against Hugues. Foulques was uncertain he would see her actually fight, but he was looking forward to the possibility of finding out.

“It is an uncommon thing to see a lady in battle,” Foulques said to her as she stood by her mount - a destrier - a prized war horse which only few lords in the realm, Foulques among them, could call their own.

Almodis did not turn to him, instead keeping her eyes on her saddle, which she appeared to be inspecting. “It is because you have not spent much time in Burgundy, Duke Foulques. I have spent many of the last few years fighting against the tyranny of Duke Hugues.”

“I had heard,” Foulques said.

A sudden jerk of her head brought her eyes in line with his. “You heard but did not listen. Had you, you would have known the overgrown ambitions he harbored. And perhaps this war could have been stopped.”

Foulques pulled his head back. He did not expect that.

“Your tongue is sharp girl,” Foulques said.

“And my blade sharper,” Almodis said. “As many of Hugues’ knights have learned.”

“Is that how you came to acquire your scar?” Foulques asked.

“A scar in one fight,” Almodis said. “This destrier in another. Such is the way in war.”

“And do you consider yourself an expert in matters of war?” Foulques asked.

“I do not fashion myself anything,” Almodis said. “Except what I am - a countess, a wife, and a leader of men. What you make of it is your choice, Duke Foulques.”

“You are a fascinating woman,” he replied.

She mounted her steed and placed her helmet on head.

“And you have much in common with most dukes that I have met,” Almodis said. “Though at least you at least sniff before attempting to bite, unlike your foolish nephew Gilles.”

Before Foulques could respond, the countess had given her horse a kick with and the beast galloped off.

The duke shook his head. In his youth he may have made a more serious play toward her. Now, he was merely content to take in the sight and spectacle of it all.

He might approach her again - but only because he wished to hear how she dealt with his lecherous nephew.
….

The battle raged. And yet, it was only about to begin.

The footsoldiers of the two sides battled in the center. That fight was a slog with no clear winner. The king’s forces had the numbers, but flanking was not simple as the rebels shifted to avoid it. So the larger force of men literally pushed forward, but made little progress.

But it was hardly a surprise. The cavalry engagement was where things would really be decided.

Boudewijn had gambled. He had arrayed his flanks defensively, meant to stall. He had placed the bulk of his cavalry in the center, in hopes of matching Philippe, who had spread his larger force out more evenly.

And underlying in Philippe’s thinking was that his men were just better than his enemies. He had long believed it, and even Foulques had to admit, they had rarely given him reason to doubt it.

So Foulques raised his arm and gave the order to charge. The first wave of knights made their trot across the open battlefield, followed by a gallop as they closed. The rebels mirrored the action until the two sides crashed into each other and the cavalry engagement truly began.

Foulques and Philippe were not among the initial charge. And neither was Boudewijn. Both sides held forces in reserve, ready to launch their attacks in waves. Philippe wished to be in the final, and in his mind decisive, wave, to which Foulques had no objections to. Since he would be beside the king, he would have vantage of the battle, and be able to adjust as necessary.

The early part of the engagement seemed to be going the way of king’s forces, though it was not easy to tell for certain. One tell may have been the movement of the rebels across the field. A horn went up. Their next wave was set to charge.

“Should we send our men to meet them?” Philippe asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “I believe our knights can withstand this charge. We will wait until they are committed and then launch our next wave.”

Philippe gave a nod and their eyes returned to the battlefield. The king’s forces did buckle under the second attack, but it did not break. For minutes, Foulques watched, seeing the pressure on his initial knights. As they started to lose ground, Foulques gave the order for the next wave to charge.

Boudewijn seemed to mirror this by sending a third wave to counter that immediately.

“We’re outnumbered in the melee,” Philippe said. “We should send the third wave in.”

“That’s what he wants us to do,” Foulques said. “For it to devolve into a mess, a scrum. We must remain disciplined. If we wait long enough, an opportunity will emerge.”

“You had better be right,” Philippe said. “I grow tired of the failures of my dukes.”

“Then be grateful you were wise enough to give me this role, instead of Alberic,” Foulques said.

Philippe could not resist a smirk.

Though that smirk faded a bit as his forces struggled to reclaim the initiative. Foulques knew Boudewijn would likely send a new wave to counter his own, so he waited once more, watching as the king’s forces buckled, before sending in this next wave, of which Herve and the Angevin cavalry were among.

He watched his nephew charge into battle, shouting at the top of his lungs, urging his comrades to follow. And the old duke could not help but smile and swell with pride - the boy may not be of his house in name, but he was in spirit.

But as difficult as it was to take his eyes off him, Foulques knew he had to to maintain a watch on the whole field. It was equally painful to see Boudewijn launch another wave in, crash into the king’s forces. Though he did not see Herve fall, Foulques lost sight of him in the melee.

“I think now is the time,” Philippe said.

“No, he recklessly charges his knights forward to commit them,” Foulques replied. “He wants us to do the same.”

“Yes, in the melee,” Philippe said. “But that is where he makes his error. We should bypass the melee and charge him directly. We will outnumber him in that fight. And if we can capture him, we can end the war today!”

“We leave our men in the melee,” Foulques said. “I trust them to hold for a time, but I do not know if they will last the length this melee with Boudewijn you propose. If they break, we could be hit from both sides.”

“And if we break them faster, we can rout them,” Philippe said. “I doubt he expects such a rash decision. He will not expect it. That is to our advantage.”

The king was likely right about that - Boudewijn probably did not think Philippe would be bold or foolish enough to make such a charge.

There was some merit in it. If they caught Boudewijn by surprise, they might rout him quickly, then chase the remainder of his cavalry from the field. That would eliminate the possible threat of Champagne’s arrival, and likely turn the battle completely in their favor.

And, if they ever could capture him.

But then Foulques looked back at the melee knowing he might be leaving his nephew and many other Angevin knights in harm’s way. He trusted them to hold but if he saw them falter, he could send in reinforcements from their current position. If they charged Boudewijn, that would not be possible.

Philippe had his eyes focused on his rival across the battlefield. The king’s lust would not be sated by patience. And there was merit in what he proposed. It was bold, even if it may have been foolish.

“Let us charge,” Foulques said. “We will send our next wave forward, but they shall veer away from the melee. Then we shall move forth and engage Boudewijn directly.”

Philippe smiled broadly. “Let us go forth then.”

Foulques closed his eyes and raised his hand. The horn was blown and the next wave moved toward the melee. Boudewijn’s cavalry did the same. But as Foulques had instructed, the king’s forces did not go to the melee - they veered and slammed into the oncoming rebel knights. Then Foulques gave the order for the remainder of the king’s forces to maneuver around the two scraps and make quickly for Boudewijn’s position.

If they had been on a hill, it would have been completely inadvisable. But Boudewijn’s slight elevation would not stop them. And soon, he realized it, as he sent his forces forward against them.

The rebels did hold one advantage - they could wait until launching their charge. In order to make certain they did not allow Boudewijn much flexibility with his forces, Foulques had moved his knights quickly across the field, at a near gallop. So their steeds would not be as fresh as their enemies when they attacked - but he hoped the difference in numbers would be enough to win the day.

The knights did not veer and crashed into each other’s lines in a hail of splintering wood from lances while the thunder of horses and men colliding rumbled the earth like a violent thunderstorm. Boudewijn had initially deployed this group wide to match Philippe’s charge, but the depth and successive flank from the rear of the king’s forces put the Duke of Flanders’ forces in a difficult spot.

As Foulques moved through the melee, he spotted the banner of the Duke of Flanders. His first instinct was to engage him but as he looked to his right, he saw the king on his own. And then he noticed a rebel knight moving toward Philippe - who bore the insignia of the Duke of Burgundy on his shield.

Deciding against moving against Boudewijn, Foulques veered and moved toward the king to render aid if it was needed. It was simply too important a moment - Foulques had long since abandoned belief in his king’s skills at personal combat and if Hugues wounded or killed Philippe, they would all be lost.

But it was not as simple as moving to him. A knight moved to intercept Foulques. A middle-aged man with a greying-beard, Foulques guessed this was a man of experience. He showed it, not giving away much as Foulques feinted with his sword and shield.

A sudden aggressive move by the knight actually caught Foulques off guard. The hacks and cuts were blocked by the duke’s shield, but he found himself struggling to regain the initiative.

Then a cut caught Foulques arm. It stung, but Foulques could not look to see if the blade had penetrated his mail. Regardless it slowed him further.

Then all of a sudden, the knight fell forward toward Foulques, who quickly drove his sword into an exposed part of the man - at the base of his neck. Blood spurted onto the duke’s face, and he let the knight fall.

When Foulques looked up, he saw a friendly knight. He raised his sword to him.

“The fortune of war smiles upon you today Duke Foulques,” Almodis said. “Do not forget it.”

The duke’s eyes widened at the sound of her voice. But he remembered himself. “We need to hurry to the king. He battles Hugues of Burgundy.”

Almodis did not need to be told twice as she kicked her horse toward where Foulques pointed. The two arrived just in time to see a vicious strike come down on the gloved hand, nearly severing it from the body.

And the Duke of Burgundy howled in pain.

It may have been unexpected for Philippe, for the king did not follow up his strike immediately. And that allowed other rebel knights to join in to try to save their lord. Foulques and Almodis joined their king, as did other loyal men.

The scrum around Hugues did not last long however. The rebels began to pull back en masse.

“They are in panic,” Philippe said. “We must give pursuit.”

“My lord!”

Foulques, Philippe and Almodis turned to see a friendly knight ride up.

“My lord, our men behind begin to break, we must give them aid!”

Philippe’s face, already flush from combat, turned even redder. “We can end this now!”

“Not if our cavalry breaks!” Foulques said. “They can regroup and we will be trapped between them. We can fall on them as they think they win, and their organization falls, rout them, and the crush Boudewijn’s infantry.”

“And if Boudewijn and Hugues escape, again?” Philippe demanded.

“We will leave them no army to escape with!” Foulques shouted.

Philippe looked out toward where his enemy ran and then glanced back to the melee behind. “Turn and crush the rebels behind us.”

The horn was blown and the men quickly regrouped once more. Foulques, with the countess by his side, led the men back toward the melee.
….

The celebrations were loud. And they were joyous.

Foulques sat on a stool, cup of wine in hand, with the arm that was bruised from the blow earlier, but fortunately not cut. His face was still covered in mud and blood, having not found a good stream to wash in. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought. Tonight, he would relax his sore, aching body.

And he was not alone. Around him in the command tent, many of the lords drank. A few danced, though Countess Almodis was not among them, rejecting even requests from her husband to do so, instead choosing to merely drink and speak with the other lords.

Herve did dance, though Foulques could not help but smirk at how awkward the boy looked as he tried to move along to the music the minstrels played.

He lives, and that is enough, Foulques reminded himself.

The mood was so high that even Alberic was smiling - and was joking around with Toulouse.

There was one man who did not appear to smile, however. And that man quietly slipped from the tent and into the darkness outside. Foulques followed.

It was not before they were some distance from the tent that Philippe finally spoke.

“We win another battle, but the war will continue,” the king said.

“You may have taken Hugues hand,” Foulques said. “An impressive feat.”

“I need more than impressive feats,” Philippe said. “I need them finally beaten. This war drags on. Our gold reserves dwindle. We weaken further. And I know not what happens to my family.”

“You blame me for not pursuing Boudewijn?” Foulques asked.

Philippe sighed and shook his head. “Philipp of Champagne did not take the field.”

“Yes, it guaranteed our victory,” Foulques noted.

“And guaranteed this war will continue,” Philippe said. “If not for him, this war would be over. He holds my family - my wife, my heirs! Without them… the lords would already be abandoning Boudewijn, and throwing themselves at us for mercy.”

“Then we must defeat Philipp of Champagne,” Foulques said.

“Do you think it that easy?” Philippe demanded. “If it were, we would have already done so. But… but he is no fool. No, I begin to think he is the brain of the beast. And I do not think he will allow us to strike him.”

“We will find a way, my king,” Foulques said.

But Philippe said nothing, instead staring out into the darkness of the night. And Foulques found himself unable to do anything else but join him.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 88
March 1096 - Paris, France

The streets of Paris were predictably lively.

Villagers moved along the road, navigating past men on horseback, like Foulques and his party, carts and those beggars on the side. Large men hauled barrels, women and men carried loaves of bread, while others lugged buckets of water.

It wasn’t completely unlike what Foulques might have seen in Anjou or Melun, but there was just much more of it as Paris was a growing city - even larger than the last time Foulques had spent time here.

Perhaps the biggest difference between it and Anjou was in the buildings, which had their upper stories jut out over the street. At points the houses on the two sides of the road were so close, it was as if group rode in a hallway, with torches, not sunlight, illuminating their path.

There was also the smell, which even made Foulques grimace at times. Foul, stale with the odor of feces, human and animal. One of the knights had even vomited.

A beggar approached their small procession. Foulques continued on by, uncertain if this latest pungent smell was of the area or the man himself. But the duke did take a glance back to see Herve give the man, or was it a woman, the duke could not tell, some coin.

Pointless, though if that’s what the boy wishes to do with his money, so be it, Foulques thought.

They continued on, traveling along the road until they reached a more open area, where a large stone building stood - odd in itself as most of the others they passed were made of wood.

A couple of teens approached them and took their horses after they dismounted, leaving Foulques and his accompanying knights to bound up the stairs and into this structure.

Columns rose up in the entry hall with two paths, one to the left and the other to the right, offered. An attendant directed them to the left, where they found themselves in a moderately sized room, surrounded by large wooden tubs all around them, all equipped with curtains. But silhouettes revealed people behind the curtains, and a few of the tubs had beautiful, youthful looking women exposed as they soaked in water.

It was all new for Foulques. He had long heard of public bathhouses, places that dated back to the Romans. But he had never actually been in one, usually choosing to bathe in private.

Long had he heard rumors of debauchery and sin taking place in these institutions. Though that was not a true concern for him he could certainly see how that might be true as his eyes were locked on the lithe body of a pale, freckled red-haired woman...

“Duke Foulques,” the attendant said, snapping him back to reality. “Your host awaits you in the hall to your right… your men can wait here and partake, if they desire.”

Foulques gave Herve and the knights nods. They would have to pay, but they would be free to do as they chose in this bathhouse.

As he moved to the center, a woman in a cloak slipped past. They quickly traded glances with one another, before she continued on, head down and covered. It was a sense of deja vu for Foulques who could not help but think he’d seen her before.

But he had to put it out of his mind as he entered a moderate-sized room, lit entirely by candles. In the center, a pool was built into a marble-tiled floor, filled with water. In that water, was the naked Duke of Toulouse, easing back against the edge pool, goblet behind him.

“Duke Foulques,” Toulouse said as he made eye contact with him. “I’m glad you could join me.”

“What is this?” Foulques asked.

“A bathhouse,” Toulouse said. “I know you have never been in one, but I had assumed you heard of them.”

“I know what a bathhouse is,” Foulques said. “But this room. It is not like the others.”

“Ah yes,” Toulouse said. “This reflects a more traditional bath, as it was in the days of the Romans. Few can afford to do something as this, but… the owner of this establishment makes his investment back by reserving this room for only the highest of society.”

“And how did you come to learn of it?” Foulques asked.

Toulouse chuckled and sipped his wine. “I know not if that is an earnest question, or a subtle blow. But I enjoy it nonetheless.”

“So how did you learn of it?”

“I asked,” Toulouse said. “I have grown fond of these in recent years in Toulouse. You can bathe in private, but there’s something… about the bathhouse environment that is just so appealing.”

“Yes, I think I walked past her on my way in,” Foulques said.

Toulouse smirked again. “Join me. The water is warm and it is refreshing to the body and its humors.”

Foulques had never bathed with another before, so there was a natural hesitation. It didn’t help that he could see his body looked much weaker and frail than his much younger peer. However, there appeared to be no harm in it, seeing as they were alone in the room beside a couple of servants, so he slipped out of his clothes and then stepped into the pool.

The water was warm, and the marble underneath was smooth and temperate.

“Not so bad then?” Toulouse replied as one of the servants brought Foulques a cup of wine.

“I am surprised to see you in such a place,” Foulques said. “I hear the church frowns upon such things.”

“The church does not have to be right about everything,” Toulouse said.

Foulques raised his brow. “Now that is truly surprising to hear you say. You, a friend of the pope. You who fought a war against the Emperor for the church.”

“I will defend the church till my last breath,” Toulouse said. “But the pope himself enjoys the finer things in life, I can tell you first hand. In any case, there are rules which I feel are best served for men of the cloth. I am not one of those men, so I can enjoy some of the more… sensual pleasures in life.”

“Including your woman there,” Foulques said. “She seems familiar.”

“Margot. She is my sister in law,” Toulouse said. “Visiting with brother.”

“And where is your brother?” Foulques asked.

Toulouse smirked. “In Melun.”

“You would admit such a thing?” Foulques said.

“Not widely,” Toulouse said. “But I thought you may understand. After all, did that Karling girl not just birth a bastard of yours? How does she fare?”

“Etiennette, or the child?” Foulques replied.

“Both,” Toulouse said.

“The mother does well,” Foulques said. “The child… she is not the strongest. But my physician does incredible work and she shows some improvement. It amazes me what she is capable of.”

“Your physician is not restricted by the frailties of her gender,” Toulouse said. “Impressive.”

“She is an exceptional woman,” Foulques said. “I wonder if she is truly touched by God.”

“An exceptional woman,” Toulouse said. “I wonder if we live in the age of the exceptional woman. I see quite a few who play at the near equal of men.”

“The Countess Almodis,” Foulques noted.

“She certainly stands out,” Toulouse said. “But she is not alone. The Countess of La Marche is another - she may be the wife of Count Raoul of Vexin, but I think her more important to the realm than he. Your son would not be Duke of Aquitaine without her support. And she now seeks to make Alberic concede Gascony to another.”

Foulques shifted in the poor and stared down Toulouse. This was not unknown to him. “Alberic’s sister - your newest sister-in-law. Quite the coincidence.”

Toulouse grinned. “I suppose you have a great deal of questions for me over that matter. But I assure you, I offer no support to this rebellion. It is carried out by the Lady of La Marche and Roger of Bourbon. I merely give a home to my younger brother and his wife.”

“A wife who was supposed to marry Boudewijn’s brother,” Foulques noted. “How did she end up in your clutches?”

“Her expected groom took the cloth,” Toulouse said. “Perhaps he wished to avoid punishment for his brother’s likely failure. Regardless, her release was paid for. Along the way, she stopped at the keep of the Lady of La Marche. And… the lady convinced her that she was not safe with her brother. After all, he may have killed their sister, Filipa. So she fled to my court. I had a brother who needed a wife, so it worked out best for all parties.”

“Quite the coincidence,” Foulques said.

“It isn’t, but not in the way you think,” Toulouse said. “The countess wished for her to flee to rebel once more. But where could poor Patricia go? Certainly not to Aquitaine - Duke Geoffrey would not likely keep neutral on a claim he no doubt hopes to gain through his wife. The same could have been suspected of you. Perhaps the king, but Alberic serves on his council. Where else could she go, but to me?”

“And you did not incite the countess?”

Toulouse laughed. “She needs nothing of the sort. Alberic has brought this on himself. If he was wise, he would have let her and Bourbon go in his peace deal with your son. They would have been Duke Geoffrey’s problem. But Alberic would not concede his weakness and kept them. Now he pays for it once more.”

Foulques shook his head. He had long come to believe Alberic was a fool, and nothing about that story sounded out of the ordinary for him.

Still it was frustrating - partially because he strongly suspected Geoffrey did harbor intent to go after the entirety of Alberic's demesne one day, including Poitou and Gascony - that Alberic was so patently inept.

“That boy will lose all his family built,” Foulques said.

“Some men are simply not fit to rule,” Toulouse said. “You will find no better example than Alberic. He is spoiled, short-sighted, and cruel. It is no wonder he has been on his own for just a few years yet he is considered a tyrant.”

“And you stand to benefit,” Foulques said.

The smile faded from Toulouse’s face. “You already have.”

Then the younger man leaned back and smirked once again. “But, that is why I requested you to join me here. I knew you would not like this rebellion, so I thought it best if we… discussed it.”

“So you do block my son’s ambition,” Foulques said.

“No, it is as, I suspect, you were with Alberic,” Toulouse said. “I will not support the venture. I even moved to smooth things over by agreeing to a non-aggression pact with Alberic. But I will not hand my sister-in-law over. If it is successful, then I will not be upset. If it is not, I will lose no sleep over it.”

“But you wish to keep Geoffrey from Gascony,” Foulques said.

“If I had my way, I would,” Toulouse said. “While I pray you grace our presence for years to come Duke Foulques, no man lives forever. Eventually Duke Geoffrey will inherit Anjou. And Aquitaine. If he has Poitou and possibly Gascony, he stands to be a formidable figure. However, as I said, I do not plot against him. For that is the thing I wish to discuss.”

“Geoffrey’s future?”

“The future of our houses,” Toulouse said. “We stand as the most powerful lords in the realm. It’s natural that we would seek to further our own ambitions. In a different realm, that would put us against one another. But it need not here.”

“Go on.”

“My desires lay to the south,” Toulouse said. “I look to Iberia, especially as the king struggles there. Even our fellow Christian kingdoms lack… strength and unity. I think they would do well with a guiding hand.”

“Yours?”

“I see no reason why a man who could hold off the Emperor would not be a fine choice?” Toulouse said. “And then there is you. Brittany struggles under constant infighting among its lords. Who knows what shall remain of Blois after the king is done with Philipp of Champagne. You have ties in Burgundy. And there is still Normandy.”

“The king’s demesne of Normandy?” Foulques asked.

“Maine, at the very least,” Toulouse said. “And I do not say attack the king. I quite enjoy him, given the freedom he has allowed us and will likely continue to permit. But…”

Toulouse lowered his head. “Like you, the king will not live forever. His descendants may not be as enjoyable.”

Foulques said nothing. He did not harbor much thought at moving against the king, though he still hoped to at least gain the Count of Maine as his vassal. And he had not truly thought on moving against Blois, given his friendship with Philipp of Champagne.

However, Toulouse was not wrong. He knew the king wished to revoke Blois from Champagne. If opportunity presented itself…

And yet, he could not help see this for what it was. Toulouse wished to placate him on his pseudo-intervention in Gascony. Not that Foulques could involve himself now, besides pressing Marguerite’s claim. And he had little interest in doing that.

“You speak of mutual ambition but yet your family moves on Gascony, and I wonder of Poitou, since Patricia is the heir there, is she not?” Foulques asked. “You may try to frame it as I did, but… I did frame it first.”

“I speak truth to you,” Toulouse said. “I see the benefit in it. But I also do not have the greatest relationship with my brothers. So, if it fails, I will not shed a tear.”

“So… you mean to tell me you win either way?” Foulques said. “And that you do not care either way?”

“I do win either way,” Toulouse said. “But I would prefer to win with the weakest Gascony possible, which happens if Patricia becomes Duchess.”

The unstated point was that Geoffrey would be the worst option. But at the moment, Foulques knew that could not happen. So he left it alone.

"What of Poitou?" Foulques asked. "If Geoffrey moved on it, what would you say?"

"I would not love it, but if he holds Aquitaine and Poitou... and leaves Gascony, then that will be acceptable," Toulouse said. “As I have said, Duke Foulques, I think we can turn this realm into our own. Alberic is weak. The other strong dukes rebelled and will have their power cut from them. We will be in position to benefit - together, few could stand against us.”

Foulques began to laugh. The words were too familiar.

“You think my offer humorous?” Toulouse asked.

“I think it less unique than you think,” Foulques said. “Philipp of Champagne once offered me similar honeyed words. And look where we stand now.”

“Ah,” Toulouse said as he leaned back. “I think myself smarter than to follow a Flemish fool in pursuits. But… it is worth saying, you are still his friend are you not? He has betrayed the king, not you.”

That was the truth of it.

The boy has an answer for everything, Foulques thought. He knew Toulouse was merely talking, and likely could not fully be trusted. But… he could not deny it, he liked him. He was, in many ways transparent, though he moved to hide his plots in plain sight. It was something Foulques found himself appreciative of.

“Your future is an interesting one,” Foulques said. “One I might be able to get behind.”

“I can see little reason why you wouldn’t,” Toulouse said. He reached back and raised a goblet of wine. “To the future!”

Foulques raised his as well.

But he could not get more than a quick sip before he was distracted by the sound of a little commotion behind him. It was an argument of sorts.

Foulques looked back and saw Herve at the entrance of the room, trying to get past the attendant.

“Let him through!” Foulques shouted.

The attendant looked toward Foulques. He did not move at first, before bowing his head and stepping to the side.

“What is the commotion about boy?” Foulques demanded.

“Uncle… I mean, my lord,” Herve began, “they have just brought the news into the bathhouse but… it is the Duke of Flanders.”

“What of him?” Toulouse demanded. “Has he surrendered to the king?”

“No, sir,” Herve said. “He is dead.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 89
April 1096 - Melun, France

It had been some time since the royal court had been so full. In fact, it may not have been since news of the rebellion arrived in the king’s residence.

Of course, back then the king was not present - executing his war in Valencia. Today he was on his throne, though the empty seat beside him was a reminder of how much things had changed.

On the dais was the king, and by his side, his prominent council members - Foulques, Toulouse, Alberic, who had rushed back to Melun for this, Gilles and Bishop Hugues, the king’s brother.

The hall was stuffed as courtiers jockeyed for positions, all looking to get a view of of what was about to occur.

Too few from Melun itself, Foulques realized as he looked out at the crowd. The keep had not yet fully recovered from being seized by Philipp of Champagne a few years before. Their ranks were filled today by visitors from nearby areas, Vexin, Orleans, and some well to do lower-ranking knights and nobles from across the realm.

But at the front, men from Flanders stood, as did men from Champagne. So too did a pale looking Duke Hugues - the only prominent member of the rebellion present.

Philippe looked them over with his good eye, fist under chin, thumb stroking his greying beard.

“Who is first?” he said, without taking his eyes off the lot.

Duke Gilles stepped beside the king’s throne. “Count Robert of Artois, regent and representative to the child duke, Arnulf, third of his name, of Flanders.”

A portly man with a goatee stepped ahead of the group and dropped to a knee. Rotund, with his shirt struggling to fit, the count still made the effort to adorn himself with a few rings of modest appearance. His long hair did not hide that it thinned near the top.

“Thank you for receiving us, your highness,” Artois said.

“I have allowed you to come because I have heard whispers Flanders tires of war and is prepared to submit to me as her liege lord,” Philippe said.

“That it has your highness,” Artois said. “In truth, we had grown tired of it before. But we could not resist Boudewijn.”

“Then you were cowards,” Philippe said. “If you wished to, you could have banded together and forced your voices to be heard - as your lord tried and failed to do with me. And what Count Henri of Sens did in Champagne.”

“Aye,” Artois said. “We… we feared our plight may fail as both Boudewijn and Count Henri’s did. Please… please forgive our weakness.”

There were a few murmurs from the courtiers present. A couple of chuckles and laughs could be heard as well. Philippe scoffed and shook his head but Artois remained on one knee, headed bowed in reverence.

“So what do you propose?” Philippe demanded. “Why should I inflict no punishment on the counts of Flanders after their betrayal? Or on House of Vlaanderen?”

“The Duke is a babe,” Artois said. “Not yet a year of age, though that soon approaches. He was not even a twinkle in his mother’s eye before his great-grandfather committed this ill-fated, treacherous deed. It would be harsh to a child to suffer the sins of his father, let alone his great-grandfather.”

“Harsh, and yet perhaps the way of the world,” Philippe said. “And what of you, and your people? Do they not deserve the blame?”

“Perhaps we do, your highness,” Artois said. “But we too have paid with the blood of our knights and those forced into Boudewijn’s levy. And… beyond that, we would be the ones who would see to the growth of the young duke. So I swear, people of Flanders will make nary a peep against you while we rule in the boy’s stead. And when he comes of age, we shall counsel him on your graciousness and forgiving nature.”

Philippe smirked. “And if he disregards that counsel?”

“I think he will find support less robust than his predecessor,” Artois said. “But it is all up to you, your highness. We, the people of Flanders, throw ourselves upon your mercy and judgement. We beg for your forgiveness.”

Philippe stood up from his throne and walked to the base of the small stairs. He held out his ring, which Artois kissed.

“Arise, Count Robert of Artois,” Philippe said. “Tell the people of Flanders I have indeed seen it fit to offer forgiveness. I will inflict no further punishment on them, or their lords.”

Artois stood up, still clasping the king’s hand. Tears were actually forming in his eyes.

“Thank you, thank you your highness,” he said.

Philippe focused his good eye at Artois. “Tell them this as well. There will be no second reprieves, should they get any other ideas again. Not. A. Peep. Understood?”

Artois gulped. “Of… of course your highness. You need not worry.”

“Trust me, I do not,” Philippe said.

The king trudged back up to his throne and sat down before looking to Gilles once more.

“Who would be next?”

“Duke Hugues of Burgundy, my king,” Gilles replied.

The king fixated on the somewhat sickly-looking Hugues, who walked forward. He also dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Foulques could see the casualty from the last engagement clearly - Hugues was now missing his right hand.

“So, cousin,” Philippe said. “You have come to beg for forgiveness?”

“I have,” Hugues replied. “To submit to your will, and pray you show the same kindness you have shown the people of Flanders.”

“The people of Flanders were not of my blood, or of house Capet,” Philippe spat. “Even Boudewijn, though my cousin, was of the Flemish house Vlaanderen. But you… you may be of the House of Burgundy, but we are both branches from the same tree.

“And yet, that is not even the end of it. You betrayed your immediate house by favoring Vlaanderen over it. And you betrayed both our houses - our tree - to run to our Flemish cousins. So in truth, you have betrayed not only your blood, but also you Frankish kin.”

Hugues said nothing, just keeping his head down.

“Do you not have a defense for yourself?” Philippe demanded.

“No, my lord,” Hugues said. “All you have said is true.”

There were a few gasps from the crowd.

“Then what is to be done with you?” Philippe asked. “Surely a man who is a traitor three times over deserves the headsman.”

“If that is what you see as fit,” Hugues began, “then that is your right as king. But, I ask forgiveness for you. I am the only man among the leaders to return to you to face judgement. My lands, more than any other of the lords, were where the action took place. My people have suffered the most. And you… my king, personally have delivered justice to me in battle.”

Hugues held his stump. But Philippe shook his head.

“And I lost my eye in pursuit of you,” Philippe said. “An eye for a hand - it is not quite how the saying goes.”

There were a few chuckles from around the court. Even Foulques could not resist a grin.

Philippe again stepped off the throne and down. He held his hand out for Hugues, who kissed the ring on his finger, as Artois had.

“Arise, cousin,” Philippe said. “Your bravery in coming here has saved you. You are a fool to have been led astray. And, like I told Artois, I will not be lenient should you stray again. But you have come, alone, to face judgment. That is to be commended. And… unlike some others in House Burgundy, I am no kinslayer.”

Hugues stood up and also kept his hand clasped around Philippe’s.

“Thank you cousin,” Hugues said. “I know I am not deserving of your mercy. But I shall endeavor every day to make prove that I am.”

“Good,” Philippe said. He walked back up the stairs to his throne. But instead of sitting down, he turned around.

“As proof of my generosity, cousin, I wish to return the Countess Almodis as your vassal,” the king said.

Hugues eyes widened. But he did not smile. In fact, he almost looked fearful as what little color in his face faded.

“I… I am grateful for that… kindness,” Hugues said. “But if you do not wish to.”

“I insist,” Philippe said. “The woman is very capable. One of the most capable I’ve met! And she possesses sound judgement. I think she would be useful, to make certain you do not stay once more.”

Hugues blinked. He seemed to have stopped breathing. Eventually he managed a few weak nods, before muttering. “Thank you, my king.”

“Is there any others?” Philippe asked Gilles.

Foulques looked toward Bishop Hugues of St. Aignan, who stepped forward. The wizened man with a bulbous nose served the the chancellor to Philipp of Champagne. In the times Foulques had met him in the past, they had gotten along well. Foulques had once even saved him from attackers, cementing the bishop’s friendship.

“No, no other business today, your highness,” Gilles said.

“Then court is adjourned,” Philippe said. “My council, with me.”

The king stood up and began his walk out of the main hall. As they approached the exit, the king leaned into Foulques.

“Send the guards to bring your friend to meet with us,” the king instructed. “I want this discussion to occur in private.”

….

Soon afterward, Philippe stood in his strategy hall, his council gathered around the table. Across from him stood the bishop. He was the only one without a cup of wine in hand, as the council had been served but he excluded.

But, if he was intimidated, he did not show it. Perhaps he was confident the king’s ire was toward his master. Or perhaps he held confidence the king would not go so far as to harm a member of the clergy, especially with Prince Hugues, a bishop himself, and also Toulouse, a friend of the Pope, present. Either way, he stood up straight - or as straight as he could with his slight hunch, and did not flinch from the king’s gaze.

“Tell me bishop,” Philippe said. “Where is your master?”

“He remains away,” the bishop replied. “He was wary of meeting with you today.”

“So he sends you,” Philippe said. “He hopes if there is punishment to be meted out, it will be you who bears the brunt of it. How can you serve such a sniveling coward?”

The bishop looked Philippe in the eye. “I serve God, your highness. The Duke of Champagne requested that, as his chancellor, I meet with you. It would be improper for me to refuse, so I have come. I care not for his reasons - for they are not important for me to carry out my duty.”

“Duty to a traitor?” Philippe demanded. “And a kinslayer? Are you not a priest? Do you not stand in judgement of the sins he has committed?”

“I hear sins, but the fate of his soul rests not in my hands, but God’s,” the bishop said.

“And I care not for his soul, but his mortal body,” Philippe said. “And why it is not here, begging for forgiveness, like his father-in-law, the Duke of Burgundy, has. And why my family remains in his clutches despite the cessation of fighting.”

“I can answer both, for they are related,” the bishop said. “The Duke believes you will not accept his pleas for forgiveness. He has heard of your plans to revoke Blois from him and wishes for that threat to be removed.”

“He… he makes demands of me?” Philippe asked. The king looked toward his council. “He makes demands of ME! His fellow rebels are either dead or crawling back on their hands and knees and he makes demands of ME!”

Philippe slammed the table with his first. It may have caused Gilles and Prince Hugues to flinch, but the bishop remained unbowed.

“He keeps your family hostage,” the bishop said. “Because he does not trust you will be fair with him. He has heard stories that you hate him more than the other lords and is thus wary.”

“He hears rightly,” Philippe said. “The other lords, despite their foolish notions that they deserve the throne more than me, did not go as far as to hold my family prisoner.”

“You have your answer then,” the bishop said. “That is why he is not here, and why your family remain with him.”

“And should I forcibly take them back?” Philippe demanded.

“The Duke makes certain they are safe and well-treated,” the bishop said. “He can make no assurances when there are threats to his survival.”

Philippe turned red and again slammed the table.

“I want them released,” Philippe said.

“The duke will release them happily if you agree to not inflict any punishment on him, his family or his duchy,” the bishop replied, “Including the revocation of Blois.”

“He is in no place to make demands!” Philippe shouted. “He has no allies! If we march on him, he will be defeated and I will make certain a part of him is sent to each corner of the realm!”

“You know what shall happen if that occurs,” the bishop said. “If you value revenge above all us, your highness, so be it. If you simply wish for your family back, it is not difficult for you to have them. Agree to end your plans to revoke Blois. That is all my lord requests. He will then once more swear his oaths to you.”

“Who is the king here?” Philippe asked his council. “I tire of this. Perhaps I should show Philipp I am serious by sending his emissary here back to him in two pieces.”

To that, the bishop did take a step back.

“He is a man of the church,” the prince said. “It would be… inadvisable.”

The king’s glare was turned on his brother.

“I think the prince is right,” Toulouse added. “You had it right before, my king. The duke baits you into taking your your rage upon the poor bishop here. If you do, you shall look like a monster, and all the generosity you have showed today will be erased. Furthermore, the church will look negatively upon such actions.”

Philippe looked toward Toulouse, scowl on his face. But he did not debate the point.

“I have no wish to harm a man of the church,” the king said. “My council is right. You are just the messenger.”

“I thank you for seeing the wisdom in their words,” the bishop said. “I apologize I cannot bring you better terms, your highness. I only speak for my lord - I cannot force him to action.”

“But you may counsel him,” Philippe said. “Counsel him to return my family to me.”

“I shall, if you make good on what is asked,” the bishop said. “Without it, I cannot in good conscience recommend he release them. I am sorry for that.”

Philippe glared at the bishop once more, not saying anything for a moment. Finally he waved him away.

“Go,” Philippe instructed. “I have nothing to tell your master. I will not move on him, but I will not agree to drop my revocation of Blois.”

“I shall depart then, your highness,” the bishop said. “I will report back that we are at an impasse. However, I was instructed to tell you that, as a sign of good faith, the Duke will release the queen to you. She should return, unharmed, in the next few days.”

“She had better,” Philippe said.

The bishop nodded before turning and leaving the hall. Philippe then looked to his council.

“Anjou and Toulouse,” Philippe began, “you remain. The rest, you are dismissed.”

Foulques glanced at Toulouse before looking to the others. The prince seemed relieved to be allowed to leave, while Alberic and Gilles appeared aggravated. They likely felt cut out of the important doings, but Foulques could not help but feel that it was deserved.

When the others were gone, Philippe looked at his remaining two dukes. “Can you defeat him?”

Toulouse and Foulques again traded glances.

“Of course we can defeat him,” Foulques said. “His army is a pittance compared to yours.”

“The problem is not that,” Toulouse said. “It is that we cannot guarantee the safety of your children in such an event.”

“He would not harm them,” Philippe said. “He would be consigning himself to death.”

“If you move against him, he may think that has already happened,” Toulouse warned. “With nothing left to lose, he may lash out against you the only way he can.”

Philippe stroked his beard. “What of you Duke Foulques? You know him better than perhaps any of us. Do you think he would risk his life for this?”

Foulques remained silent for a moment as thought of his dealings with Philipp.

“I do not wish to stake your family’s life on my belief,” Foulques said. “But… I know he does not wish to lose anything. I think he will fight against it until his last.”

“My king,” Toulouse said. “Is it not best to just… pass on revoking Blois?”

“He must be punished,” Philippe said. “He betrayed me.”

“So did Hugues and Boudewijn,” Toulouse replied.

“Boudewijn is dead,” Philippe said. “He spent his final years moving from camp to camp, and died because he knew his grand plans collapsed all around him. His debt is paid. And I am not so cruel as to punish a child.

“I took Hugues’ hand. His lands are devastated. Almodis may well take his duchy from him. And yes, he did come to face me. Philipp is different. He not only does not ask for forgiveness, he makes demands while cowering in the shadows.”

“Because he can,” Toulouse said. “It is unfortunate he holds your family, but he does. We must plan around that.”

“Do you agree, Duke Foulques?” Philippe asked.

Foulques sighed. “I do. Deal with him. It is not what you may want, but… you have mourned the loss of your family. Is it not worth allowing Champagne to escape punishment to see them returned to you safely?”

“And what of my crown and what it stands for?” Philippe asked. “What of the authority I have sought to build? If he can challenge it so, then is it all for not?”

“I know… you have not lost many battles, my king,” Toulouse said. “But… you have achieved much in your wars. Likewise, there will be time to win this one. Accept a draw… even a defeat here, but know that in time, you will emerge triumphant.”

Philippe closed his eye and sighed. “Words, but ones I feel do not carry the weight you think they do. Not now. Not given what we face.”

To that neither duke had a reply.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 90
June 1096 - Melun, France

I must talk him out of this madness.

Foulques walked toward the king’s strategy hall with purpose. Summoned for a meeting with Philippe, he expected this to be about plans to renew the war in Valencia - as the king had asked him to drum up support for a new offensive in Iberia. It was something Foulques was not pleased to do - he knew the lords of the realm had tired of conflict after over half a decade.

While the war against the King of England did last longer - that was against an pair of groups the lords did not like - the Anglo-Saxons and the Normans - on land that many believe was rightfully part of the realm. As much as the lords did not care for the Moslems, what was happening in Valencia was of little concern to them.

But the king appeared insistent. And now, having been summoned the the strategy hall, Foulques suspected he had one good opportunity left to convince Philippe of the foolish nature of this venture.

When Foulques arrived, he found the king was by his large map, which encompassed the realm and Iberia, talking with his spymaster, Natroi.

Upon seeing Foulques, the king finished his conversation with the spymaster and sent him on his way. The duke could not help but eye the man - while he did hold any real animosity toward the people of the Jewish faith, that this foreigner had managed to place himself so close to the king was a concern.

But one thing at a time - he had other issues that took priority.

The king seemed to be in a decent mood though - he did not scowl as he offered Foulques a cup of wine.

“You wished to speak with me over Valencia?” Foulques asked as he took it.

“Yes, but we can get to that in a moment,” Philippe said. “There is another matter first."

"Another matter?"

"Yes. I have heard you have a distaste for my chancellor.”

That was not what Foulques expected to hear. “And who have you heard this from?”

Philippe smiled. “From a few different persons. But… in the decades I have known you, Duke Foulques, you have never been one to cover your emotions well. Had I heard nothing, your dislike of your nephew would be apparent to even a man with one eye.”

A good sign for these talks, Foulques thought. The king is joking - his whim today is more upbeat than somber.

“I think Gilles does you a disservice as your chancellor,” Foulques said.

“They say he has a silver tongue,” Philippe said. “Is that not what I would want out of a man in his position?”

“I have heard women in the realm have given him other nicknames involving his tongue,” Foulques said. “Names that their lordly husbands do not like.”

Philippe raised his brow, but then began to chuckle. “Or their lordly fathers, I would imagine.”

Foulques did not reply with a smile, though he understood it was deserved.

“I will concede the boy can talk and he can be convincing, if you are not closed off to him,” Foulques said. “But many of the realm are. They see him arrive at their keeps and they worry he will seduce their wives and ruin their daughters. He has enough bastards to fill out a small group of knights. And their ranks grow by the month.”

“And you wish me to do what about it?” Philippe asked.

“Relieve him of his duties,” Foulques said. “He represents you poorly. It is time he suffers the penalty for it.”

Philippe eyed Foulques, and tapped his beard, refusing to release the duke from his gaze.

“As I said, it is no secret you dislike your nephew,” Philippe replied. “Your opinion on him is far from unbiased.”

“But is it wrong?” Foulques asked.

Philippe smirked. “No, it is not. I have thought on this before. And I agree, I think the Duke of Berry could use some time to think on his actions, away from the role of chancellor. Though knowing Gilles, our lords will have to worry even more now, since he will have much more time on his hands.”

Foulques breathed a sigh of relief. While he could be forceful with military advice, attempting to sway the king on matters of politics was not his strong point. He merely was reciting what Godfrey had instructed him the best he could - and it seemed to have worked. Or perhaps it was unnecessary.

“So… if I need a new chancellor,” Philippe began, “who should I turn to?”

Foulques met the king’s gaze. “I have heard my son can be very convincing.”

The king began to laugh. “I am not surprised. Even though your… rocky relationship is known to all, you can not resist elevating your son at the opportunity.”

“He is blood,” Foulques said. “And he would do well in the role.”

“I think he well might,” Philippe admitted. “But… I have heard rumors about him as well.”

“Rumors?”

“You have not heard?” Philippe asked. “The Countess of Eu. They say the child that grows in her belly is your son’s.”

Foulques’ brow rose. “I… was unaware. Is it proven?”

“It is not,” Philippe said. “She is spymaster for her husband for a reason. But, the point remains, it seems as your son shares much in common with your nephew. Perhaps it is in the blood - after all, you have had plenty of women yourself.”

“My son… and even I, have far to go to approach the levels of debasement Gilles approaches,” Foulques said.

“That is correct, but I see no value in replacing Gilles and replacing him with a duke who seeks similar vices,” Philippe said.

Foulques eyed him. “You keep him off because he is my son and you fear we will plot against you.”

“I think that a very rational concern,” Philippe said. “And you lie if you say it is not.”

“Then who will you use to fill the role?”

“I have already dispatched an envoy to summon my cousin,” Philippe said.

“Hugues of Burgundy?” Foulques asked. “And you have dispatched already?”

“Yes,” Philippe said. “Your complaints are not unknown to me. Why did you think I asked you? I needed confirmation.”

“I see…” Foulques said. “But Hugues? Is he best suited? Does he offer anything?”

“It keeps him where I can see him,” Philippe said. “My cousin is a fool. But he harbors animosity toward me, and there are no doubt those in the realm who would use his claim against me.”

“Philipp of Champagne?”

“He is his step-son,” Philippe said. “And they have moved in close step before. I would not doubt it.”

The reasoning made sense. Meanwhile king and vassal remained hopelessly deadlocked in their negotiations over Philippe's family. Neither would budge off their demands, seemingly expecting some outside force to somehow make the other back down.

Of course Philippe’s war in Valencia could shift things once more. If it moved against the king, Champagne might just get him to back down. If it went in the king’s favor, Champagne might realize he had no end game.

“Now then,” Philippe said. “Valencia.”

“Yes, Valencia,” Foulques said. “I must insist this a poor venture.”

“I did not expect to hear you say that, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “I have rarely ever heard you speak so often against war.”

He looked at the king with a straight face, or as straight as it could appear with his mask covering. Philippe did not appear angry. His brow was raised, and he appeared curious.

Perhaps it is deserved, Foulques realized, given his own history of war-mongering.

But this was different. As they looked at the map of Iberia, and the pins on the map, it told the tale of a war that had gone from near-certain victory to one that’s outcome was very much uncertain. The king’s gains in Valencia had evaporated as the combined forces of the Moslem Emirates had driven the Franks out.

Their numbers in total were near equal to the remnants of the forces the king had one hand - something that was not the case a few years ago. It would be a struggle - one that even Foulques was ready to avoid.

“You can achieve victory,” Foulques admitted. “But it will be long and arduous. Their numbers are near-equal to us. But our knights are weary. We have battled for years, first there, then here. Rest is required.”

“We have the levies of Flanders and Burgundy,” Philippe noted. “They would not dare refuse the call.”

“That is true, but those knights are as weary as our men, who we will still have to call upon,” Foulques noted. “Can we trust them to perform at their best?”

“The Moslems have to weary as well,” Philippe said.

“But they fight for their homes,” Foulques said.

“There is still the Danish king,” Philippe said. “He has agreed to help our cause.”

“I do not trust him,” Foulques said. “He only joined you after Boudewijn’s death. Do you think he has the stomach to send his men all the way to Valencia? I have my doubts.”

“We will see,” Philippe said.

Foulques sighed. “Nothing I say will change your mind?”

“My power in the realm is not where it needs to be,” Philippe said. “I grow reliant on you. And you will not be around forever.”

“You doubt my son?” Foulques asked.

“I knew him as a boy,” Philippe said. “But I have seen little of him since he became Duke of Aquitaine. I hear things of him… good and bad… beside the rumors we have discussed. But even from what I know now, I know not what he will be when he has Aquitaine and Anjou behind him.”

Foulques said nothing. He knew the king’s fear to have merit.

“When do you plan for us to depart?” Foulques asked.

“In the summer,” Philippe said. “And there is another matter. You will remain here.”

“Did… did you say you are leaving me behind?” Foulques asked.

“I did,” Philippe said. “I feel the realm would be best served with you here, where you can oversee the slow rebuilding of the forces we have lost during the rebellion. The Moslems are not so difficult - we had them nearly beat before.”

Foulques was nearly speechless. His first banishment from the Valencia campaign was the result of the betrayal the king felt over the war vote. Had he done something again? Perhaps… he was aware of his conversation with Toulouse?

“Have I done something to offend?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Philippe said as he grasped Foulques by the shoulders. “You have done much to save this realm. I am forever grateful. But I believe I can handle this, as I did before. However, I cannot inspire the knights and lords here, as you can. And I believe I will need them once more when this war ends.”

“More… fighting?” Foulques asked. “You have another target?”

“No, I just… I do not feel this peace is to last,” Philippe said. “I would remain here as well but… having Valencia may be key to defeating what comes next.”

Foulques locked his gaze upon the king. He did not seem angry. If anything, he seemed to remain a bit weary, but with a resigned look. Obligation, perhaps?

“I would be best beside you,” Foulques said.

“And hopefully, you will be again soon,” Philippe said. “I have the utmost confidence our men will once again drive these Moslems from their holdings and achieve our victory.”

…..

“Madness.”

Foulques did not look at Toulouse as they stood in the courtyard, his eyes remaining fixated on the knights practicing their swordplay on the straw dummies. He did not need to see his fellow duke’s reaction - not when he had expected it.

Toulouse had been hoping to get Foulques to convince Philippe to abandon the war. That he was unable to was always going to leave them both disappointed.

“I do not like it either,” Foulques replied. “And have told him so.”

“My knights have little desire to venture south,” Toulouse said. “Not for a king whom they believe they have given more than enough to - he would not still have his crown without them. I’m sure your knights feel the same way.”

“They are not happy, no,” Foulques said.

“The realm needs to recover,” Toulouse said.

“I am to see to that,” Foulques said. “Or at least his levies.”

“When you return from Iberia?” Toulouse asked.

“I am not going to Iberia,” Foulques grumbled. “He thinks I would best serve here. I do not agree, but he is the king. If he does not wish to learn from his mistakes, that is his problem.”

Toulouse shook his head. “You will have company here at least my friend. I am not going either.”

“Your solidarity is appreciated,” Foulques said.

“I would enjoy claiming it is that,” Toulouse said. “But it is not. He informed me I would not be leading my levy either.”

“He leaves you behind as well?” Foulques asked. “Why?”

“He states it is because he would like it if I keep an eye on the realm,” Toulouse said.

“Has he made you regent?” Foulques asked.

“No, that remains Alberic,” Toulouse said. “Who… I hear also will not be going. In fact, we all remain here.”

“All of us?” Foulques said. “That seems odd.”

“It us, until you realize why he does this,” Toulouse said. “It is because he feels threatened - by Champagne’s actions. And by us. So he is out to prove to the realm, to the lords, that he is the one who rules. That we do not prop him up.

“And aims to make it more than just show. He seeks to take new land to strengthen his hold. If he does not keep it himself, he will raise others who support him.”

“It concerns you,” Foulques said.

“That I have to send my men off again, and that I will not command them, concerns me,” Toulouse said. “In the long-term I think he has enough trouble containing his lords close to Melun. He will never be able to hold these lands in Valencia, even if he wins them.”

“You hope he does not,” Foulques said.

“There is no need for me to hope for anything,” Toulouse said. “I know he will not. It is a waste.”

The younger duke sighed. “But I am on his council as are you. We must show him that support, or else we may as well fly our flags in rebellion. And I am not ready to move down that road yet.”

“Aye,” Foulques said. “He does say he will leave in a few months. Perhaps there is time to make him see reason.”

Toulouse shook his head. “He finds his reason on whatever whim discovers for himself at the bottom of a bottle. Perhaps fortune will smile upon us, but it shall not be the result of your words. Or mine.”

And with that, Toulouse walked off, leaving Foulques to lament their situation. He agreed that moving against the king was hardly an option they wished for. Not so soon after war where they had borne much of the brunt of it.

Both men wished for a realm that could be strong when pointed toward a common goal - one that would allow them their own interest but protection against outsiders, like the Emperor. If another civil war broke out - the realm might find itself fractured beyond repair.

Foulques frowned. Nothing was simple.

.......
Note: Just have to mention Duke Gilles - those are his legitimate and recognized illegitimate children, not the ones he doesn't acknowledge. So, for example, neither Agnes' nor Etiennette's children appear there. So he has quite a few more than pictured - just to show you how out of control he's been.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 91
August 1096 - Anjou, France


“He laughed in my face.”

Foulques, sitting in his chamber in Anjou, raised a brow as he looked at his chancellor. Godfrey’s face was pinkish, his own brow furrowed. It was clear he was irked, even in telling the story.

“Alberic lacks tact,” Foulques said.

“Arrogance, given his situation,” Godfrey said. “He struggles against the weak Duke of Orleans and deals with a rebellion. He should be looking to curry favor whenever he has a chance to.”

“He knows he will likely get no aid here,” Foulques said.

“But you represent the king,” Godfrey said. “And if he annoys the king, his highness will say nothing when these rebels or Geoffrey come for his lands.”

Foulques sipped his wine. “You will hardly find me upset by that.”

The redness faded from Godfrey’s face. “I would imagine few would be.”

The duke gave a nod to his chancellor as he reflected on the situation. To fulfil the request of the king, Foulques had been sending Godfrey across the realm, looking to make sure once the war in Valencia ended, the king would still have lords and knights to call upon.

Most had been cold - understandable given the length of these conflicts. But few had been as outrightly disrespectful as Alberic - even Gilles could manage a snarky put down of his uncle. Foulques had already forgotten what Godfrey had relayed to him - an insult was well worth the trade of Gilles losing what little influence he had over the king - even if he now made noise of a faction against Philippe.

It was for Foulques’ half-brother Simon, the same one whom Aureade found to be useless.

Figures, Foulques thought, Gilles wishes a puppet.

“Where would you have me go next?” Godfrey asked.

“Nowhere for now,” Foulques said. “The date of your daughter’s wedding approaches. You would be here for that. And, since you are here, you can see to the preparations with Steward Guilhem.”

A smile came to Godfrey’s face. “It will be done, my lord.”

The chancellor bowed and left the chamber, leaving Foulques to his business. Which, thankfully for the duke, was not too complicated. Anjou, untouched by the conflict of the past few years, prospered. He had been a bit fearful that Geoffrey’s departure might cause problems, but Guilhem and Agnes had done a masterful job at maintaining the course.

The duke looked toward the ceiling of his chamber and breathed a sigh of relief. To think, he had almost married her to Alberic! She was far more useful to her father here, than she ever would have been suffering with that spoiled fool as a husband.

He looked back down and nearly fell out of his chair. Alearde stood before him. When had she arrived? She certainly did not knock, though the door was now closed.

“Where… when did you get here?” Foulques demanded.

“You were unoccupied,” she replied. “I thought it no better time to see you.”

“Did you knock?”

“No, I wished to slip in and out quickly,” Alearde said. “I have information for you.”

Foulques brow rose. She did not do that much anymore.

“What is it?”

“Your daughter in law acts against your family’s honor,” Alearde said.

“How does she do that?” Foulques asked.

“Are there many options?” Alearde asked. “She is nothing if not consistent in her petulance.”

“Karling again?”

Alearde nodded.

Foulques lowered his head and grunted. He grew tired of this girl. She needed to be put in her place - but he was limited in options. With her being Geoffrey’s wife, technically it was on him to decide what punishment she should suffer - if Foulques did it without his blessing, it would undermine his son’s authority.

He looked to Alearde, who did not appear pleased at delivering the news.

“You dislike her?” Foulques asked.

“She thinks ill of Agnes,” Alearde said. “And she has been cruel to Geoffrey, though he has done nothing to her. My sympathies for her situation only go so far.”

“So you spy on her,” Foulques said.

“Primarily to make certain she does not plot against my lady, your daughter,” Alearde said. “But I have no patience for the embarrassment she inflicts upon Geoffrey.”

“And to me?”

Alearde smirked. “You may see that as you wish, my lord.”

Just seeing the hint of the old smile that he fell in love with made it impossible to be angry with her. In truth, there were times when he saw her with Agnes that he found himself again pining for her, even the beautiful young woman turned into an older lady. But even as her looks, in theory faded, he just thought they appeared more refined.

But… he that ship had long since sailed. A regret, for certain.

“I will deal with this now,” Foulques said. “Thank you for informing me.”

Alearde bowed and slipped out like the shadow she had always been.

….

As Foulques walked toward Marguerite’s chambers, with no Alearde to distract him, the rage in him built.

The nerve of this girl - for all her anger toward him, he had been lenient with her. And if not him, Geoffrey had been. They both could have seen her punished for her adultery, and she had no one to protect her.

No, perhaps that was not entirely true.

Foulques did still remember her mother Aines. And she was another he missed, as it seemed today would just remind him of the women he cared for that he had lost, and lament his poor fortune in that department.

He had Haldora, now pregnant once more, and Etiennette, though he had quickly grown tired of Ildegarde. None approached what Alearde or Aines had given him. A few nights before, he had even dreamed of Beatritz. She was not the prettiest of women, but she had… something that Haldora and Etiennette lacked.

It perhaps was through lack of trying with Haldora, who seemed to view relations with men as strictly an exercise for procreation. Once she had fulfilled that duty, that was all that mattered.

Etiennette did try - he never had a woman as devoted. But she was a diversion - a food that was acceptable to satisfy a hunger yet not one that he craved. Not like the ones before - a fact that had become apparent to him now that the war was over and he had no more battles to distract himself with.

But regardless of how much he longed for Aines, she was gone, with a brood of ungrateful children left in her stead.

He pushed open the door to the chamber without knocking, which was enough to cause Marguerite to jump. The ensuring slamming of the door caused her to shake further.

But her shock faded quickly, replaced by her usual indignant look of defiance.

“It is not enough that your husband has all but disowned you as a wife,” Foulques said. “But you continue to look upon the generosity he shows you by not having you thrown in a dungeon by spitting on his face and bedding his former friend?”

“Geoffrey busies himself with women who are not his wife these days,” Marguerite said. “I think he cares little for me.”

“Because you have betrayed his trust already, girl,” Foulques sneered. “I do not like the rumors which pop up about him, but I can hardly blame him after what you have done.”

“I have been forced into a marriage I do not approve of,” Marguerite said. “Orchestrated by the man who has destroyed my family. Even now you plot the fall of the House of Poitou for your own benefit.”

“You are not of that house,” Foulques said. “Your beautiful, wise mother was and it was much to her consternation that her children were not - she wished for something better for you. That you would spit on that as well is not only foolish on your part, but an insult to her and her memory.”

Marguerite scowled - a look that caught Foulques off guard in how much it reminded him of Aines. “My mother, deserves no honor in memory. She betrayed her oaths in the foulest way possible, not only laying with another man but murdering her husband.”

“You accuse her of such things without evidence,” Foulques said. “Her own daughter…”

“Evidence?!” Marguerite scoffed. “That she would lay with you and happily become your wife after you killed my father is all the proof that is needed. Her own daughter? She may have birthed me, but I am no daughter of hers.”

Foulques laughed. “You are more her daughter than you know. She held a grudge against your father for years. Despised the way she was treated. And aimed to do better, anyway she could. But she was not a fool about it.”

“A fool who seems to be causing you a great deal of anguish,” Marguerite said. “Am I so foolish that I act against you, yet my only punishment is to remain here?”

That confident smirk - another gift from her mother. And through the haze of his anger, Foulques realized there was truth in her words - she was more like Aines than she knew and perhaps he had known.

And it had caused a stirring in his loins.

A dark idea came to his mind. And in his anger - he moved to act on it, grabbing her and throwing her on her bed.

“What… what are you doing?” she demanded, her voice wavering.

“You do remind me of your mother,” Foulques admitted. “I have missed her. And since I will never have her again, I suppose I shall have to make do with you.”

“You… you would not!” Marguerite exclaimed.

“I will,” Foulques said. “Then at least when your belly swells with a child that is not my son’s, I shall know it is of my blood.”

Marguerite closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths. Then she looked Foulques square in the eye and began to undo her dress.

“If that is what you wish,” Marguerite replied. “Then I will not resist.”

That made Foulques hesitate. He had not expected her to bend so quickly. Could she… have wanted this?

“So… this has been your desire?”

“No, I can assure you, it is not,” Marguerite said. “But I am no fool. I know I am not able to resist the most powerful duke in the realm’s advances. If you want me, you shall have me.”

Foulques smirked and crawled onto the bed. He planted a kiss on her neck and began to work his way toward her chest.

“Of course, I will not be silent on this,” Marguerite said. “Becoming the lover of the most powerful man in the realm, is something to be boasted about.”

“You… you what?”

“I will scream to the high heavens that you have taken me to your bed,” Marguerite said. “And if you are successful and planting a child in me, I shall make it quite clear that it is yours.”

“They will never believe that I have raped you,” Foulques said. “Especially if you grow heavy with child.”

“I do not think your son will care,” Marguerite said. “Nor will those who serve him, knowing he is so impotent his own father has cuckolded him. A poor, poor thing to have in one’s reputation, as he seeks to solidify himself in Aquitaine… and then when you die and he ascends here in Anjou.”

A chill ran down Foulques’ spine. Everything that she said was right. Every bit of it.

“What do you wait for, my lord?” Marguerite demanded. She let her dress fall. “I am ready. Perhaps you shall prove a better lover than either Aubry or your son. It will not be difficult to do.”

Her confidence restored, she looked at him with that same powerful glare as her mother. But now he felt confusion - he did… in fact desire her. But… he was also frustrated by her. And… was he fearful?

Foulques slowly backed away and pushed himself off the bed. Marguerite now crawled toward the edge of it.

“You, no longer desire me, my lord?” she asked. “But… do you not wish to imagine yourself with my mother once more? I’m certain she would approve greatly of you siring the child with me that you were unable to do with her.”

Foulques grimaced before shouting: “DAMN YOU!”

He did not need to look at Marguerite to know she smirked at him. And he did not want to, as he stormed from the chambers and slammed the door behind him.

….

Hours later, Foulques sat in his chamber, alone. He had lowered the light, so that he could bask in a room that very much reflected his mood.

A knock on the door. Alearde had arrived.

He needed her. He also desired her - a desire that only grew upon seeing her.

But need outweighed that desire - she had expertise he required.

“You have need of me, my lord?” Alearde asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “My daughter-in-law confounds me. I know not how to deal with a woman I cannot punish, who seeks to destroy this family at all costs.”

“And how would I be able to help with that?” Alearde asked.

“Because you are a woman who once carried on affairs,” Foulques said. “And you would know what would have stopped you.”

“Fear for my life,” Alearde said. “But I do not think the lady Marguerite cares about such things.”

Foulques nodded. He offered her a seat across him, which she took.

“Then how can I stop her?”

“You cannot,” Alearde answered.

“That answer is not good enough,” Foulques grumbled.

“It is the true answer all the same,” Alearde said. “But, have you considered that, perhaps, you ask the wrong question?”

Foulques’ brow rose. “The wrong question?”

“You seek to stop her,” Alearde said. “But that cannot be done. What if, instead, you stopped any man from being willing to lay with her?”

“Stop men from laying with her?” Foulques asked. “I would sooner stop the sun from rising. There will be at least one fool in this keep who will take her offer.”

“Will there?” Alearde asked. “I am not certain, if you make it clear what will happen to those who do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean to punish Aubry Karling,” Alearde said. “Make it clear that his behavior will not be tolerated and in doing so, showing others’ will not be either.”

“Kill him?” Foulques asked.

“Perhaps,” Alearde said. “But I admit, you would know better than I what dissuades a man from seeking the comfort of a woman who is not his wife.”

Foulques could not resist a grin. She was something - something he missed dearly.

“You remain a great asset,” Foulques said. “I am sorry I have forgotten that at times.”

“It is no concern,” Alearde said. “I know how you are.”

Foulques was hesitant. But… he had to try.

“I would like to know you, again,” he said. “I realize now what I have lost. I do not know that I can regain it, but…”

Alearde looked down. “I am an old woman now, my lord. Surely your appetites are better sated with someone younger.”

“No, I think not,” Foulques said. “These women lack what you have. You are unique.”

“I am flattered,” Alearde said.

“But... “

“But I do not think this is a wise idea,” Alearde said. “Believe me when I say it is incredibly painful to say that.”

“Why not?”

“It is the past,” Alearde said. “It would be best served by remaining there. I do good things for your daughter now - and aid her as she acts in your stead here. We need not add complications to that.”

She does not wish to, Foulques realized. And this was not Marguerite. He could not force himself upon her. It would ruin what she thought of him. And that, he could not allow to happen.

“You remain wiser than me, Alearde,” Foulques said.

“That you listen to me now shows wisdom as well,” Alearde said.

As he looked at her in the flickering light, his desire did not diminish. If anything it was enhanced. And yet, he knew he could not do anything about it - it would disappoint her - something he would not do.

“Thank you for your assistance, my lady,” Foulques told her.

“It is my pleasure, my lord,” Alearde said.

….

Two days later, Foulques sat in his ducal chair, Haldora by his side. The courtiers had gathered in the main hall - an impressive showing given that no important persons were visiting.

But that was by intention. Foulques had let slip that there would be punishment meted out today and possibly, blood shed. Such things were catnip to courtiers.

And it appeared they would not be disappointed. Herve marched forward, two guards behind, with the trio escorting a chained Aubry Karling forward. Any slight hesitation drew a poke in the back from the blunt handle of the guard’s spears.

When Aubry reached the dais, he was forced two his knees. He fell even further farther forward, landing face first on the cold stone. Whimpering, he was yanked up by the hair by Herve, drawing some laughter by those in the hall.

“Presenting this pathetic scum before you, my lord,” Herve said.

“Strong words from you, nephew,” Foulques said. “I am surprised.”

“He betrayed my lord cousin, who so graciously treated him as a brother,” Herve said. “That he is allowed to face you is more than he deserves. I would have just run him through without a second thought.”

The proclamation drew some gasps from the courtiers.

Foulques smiled. “Good man, but, fool as he is, he deserves to chance to plead his case.”

Godfrey stepped forward. “Aubry Karling - you are accused of betraying your oaths of service to House Anjou, and conspiring to do our lord and his son harm. Do you have a word to speak in your defense?”

“I… I am sorry,” Aubry said weakly. “I did not mean to harm your family. I have been foolish.”

“Truly foolish, for you continue to act against us, even when shown mercy before,” Foulques said. “It would seem the punishment is simple then. Godfrey, prepare the headsman.”

“NO! Please!” Aubry begged.

“How many chances do you deserve?” Foulques asked. “Have I not been generous in the past?”

Aubry shut his eyes tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You have my lord.”

“Then consider this the end of my generosity,” Foulques said.

Foulques motioned for Aubry to be taken away. But as he was dragged to his feet, Etiennette rushed forward and threw herself at the base of the dais.

“My lord, please! Spare him!” she begged. “My brother knows not what he does.”

“He knew full well,” Foulques said. “What he did not know, was whether I would end his life over it. And now he does.”

“Please my lord,” Etiennette begged. Tears now streamed down her cheeks. “He is my brother. Aside from my children, he my only family left.”

There was truth to that. Ermengarda had left the court - Etiennette and she had a falling out over her mother’s affairs and the older woman left to avoid any ire from her daughter’s lordly lover. Margot, her younger sister, had recently birthed yet another bastard by Gilles, while Etiennette obviously did not care for her bastard brother who shared the same father as her first-born daughter and her sister's child.

“Pick yourself up woman,” Haldora said. “The duke has spoken. Your family is nothing.”

That drew gasps as well. The court knew full well the weight of the Karling name. The descendants of Charlemagne - rendered to insignificance.

Perhaps it was true. But these Frankish courtiers certainly did not enjoy hearing a Northwoman speak such words.

It also does not help that she hates Etiennette for birthing my bastard, Foulques thought. But she should not have said that.

“Now, now, wife,” Foulques said. “She can plead for her brother’s life. But he has harmed this family, repeatedly. What punishment would you have me levy on one such as he?”

Etiennette looked back at her brother, her lips trembling. “Send him away. Banish him from Anjou. He will live, but he will not be in position to do anything further against your family.”

“Not enough,” Haldora said.

The duchess’ pale complexion had reddened considerably. It was by far the most emotional Foulques had seen her.

So she has a spirit after all - perhaps her warrior blood finally awakens, he thought.

“My lord, please,” Etiennette repeated.

Foulques eyed her. She was a devoted lover. And in truth, she served him well here, though her actions were a surprise. He did not know she had it in her.

Foulques rose from his ducal chair. “I am moved by your devotion to your brother. As such, I will accept your suggestion. Banishment, not death, shall be the punishment.”

The duke descended the dais, bypassing the weeping Etiennette and approaching her whimpering brother.

“You are to be out of this keep by sundown,” Foulques said. “If you are seen you after that, anyone who does is instructed to, as my nephew suggested, run you through without a second thought. And should you ever be found inside Anjou’s borders again, I will have you dragged before me so that I may personally cut out your entrails.”

Aubry gulped.

“So I would go far enough away to make certain you are not ever tempted to return,” Foulques instructed. He walked back to his chair and sat down. “Or don’t. I would very much enjoy carving you up.”

The duke waved his hand and the guards shoved Aubry from the meeting hall. They would allow him to gather a few things, under guard, and then force him from the walls. Such had been Foulques’ instructions to Herve before this show.

It had not gone exactly as intended but it worked well enough. Foulques had not planned to kill the boy, just appear as though he would, before giving him a last minute reprieve and banishing him. Etiennette’s act surprised him, and caused him to quickly alter how the scheme played out.

Though while it had worked well in one aspect, Haldora’s barely contained fury was a drawback. As soon as court was dismissed, she stormed from the hall, her face still red.

Unfortunate, Foulques thought.

Regardless, the objective had been achieved. Aubry would be gone, Marguerite would lose her lover and those in the duchy knew the punishment for thinking about replacing him.

He looked over toward Alearde, who nodded in approval.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 92
May 1097 - Troyes, France

Foulques looked up at the towers of the stone keep in Troyes, under the overcast spring sky. The rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance.

He was calm. Godfrey was not.

“It is a mistake for you to be here,” the chancellor said as they, and the knights who accompanied them, approached on horseback.

“The king has received notice I am here,” Foulques said.

“It is not the king you should fear,” Godfrey replied. “Philipp of Champagne is a snake. He betrayed his lord. He may well betray you as well.”

“And do what? Kill me? Hold me prisoner?” Foulques scoffed. “He is not that foolish.”

“Your importance to the king is no secret…”

“If he kills me, he runs the risk Geoffrey turns and attacks him in revenge,” Foulques said. “And our levy far outpaces his.”

“And if he holds you hostage?” Godfrey asked.

“I have given Guilhem and Agnes leave to move against him,” Foulques said. “But it will not come to that. Because Philipp does not wish conflict with me.”

Godfrey shook his head.

“If you wish to turn back, there was the village a half a day’s journey away,” Foulques said. “But I do not know how long the rain will hold off…”

“I will follow you as command, my lord,” Godfrey said. “I just wished to voice my concerns.”

“Consider them heard,” Foulques said. “Should something happen, I will make certain the monks carefully detail your objections in their histories.”

There was no smile on the chancellor’s face as they rode forward.

Soon they were past the gatehouse and into the courtyard, where they were greeted by stablehands, ready to take their mounts. It was just in time too, as the first droplets of rain had begun to fall.

At the entrance to the keep, Foulques was greeted by the jowled face of Philipp of Champagne, which sported a surprisingly warm smile. The younger duke pulled the older man in close for an embrace.

“It is good to see you again, my friend,” Philipp said. “I am pleased you have been permitted to make the journey.”

“You can rest easy on the pleasantries Philipp,” Foulques said. “You have never known me to be a man won by simple flattery.”

“No flattery, but simple truth,” Philipp said. “It is good to see you. There have been times when I was uncertain that would be the case.”

Duchess Esclarmonde of Champagne and her two daughters were present as well. They all bowed before Foulques. He kissed the duchess’ hand in reply, though it was pulled away rather quickly afterward. He could see the revulsion in her face.

There was a time that would not have happened, Foulques lamented. But being a gray-haired disfigured lord was is reality now.

The men walked into the keep, followed by the duke’s family and Foulques’ small retinue. As expected, a good many courtiers gathered to see their arrival. He saw quite a few unhappy faces - they likely had not forgotten when Foulques had accompanied the king here after successfully taking it during the war.

“A feast has been prepared for your arrival, of course,” Philipp said. “I do have a bit of business to attend to before hand, but we shall speak afterward.”

Foulques glanced at Godfrey, who arched his brow. The duke rolled his eyes.

…

That evening, Foulques and Philipp sat together in the latter’s chambers, examining a board. The older duke, after carefully examining the situation, swung his knight around to position.

“Checkmate.”

Philipp chuckled and shook his head as he looked at the chessboard in disbelief.

“Six years and I still cannot beat you,” Philipp said. “I would have thought after this time at war, my tactics would have improved!”

Foulques smiled. “You forget that I have not been sitting in my keep either during that time.”

“Touche, touche,” Philipp said. “You earn your reputation as both the greatest warrior in our realm and also the master of games.”

The Duke of Champagne raised his cup toward Foulques, who responded in kind, before both men took a drink.

The feast had been lively, with music and excellent food. Godfrey had been cautious to drink his wine, but seeing as no one fell to anything but inebriation, there was no poison.

There had even been somewhat of a surprise as Prince Alphonse was present. Philipp had the 10-year-old sit at the table with them as if he were a man grown. He seemed healthy, and in good spirits, and assured Foulques he was being well taken care of, though his wished to see his mother and father again.

After the feast, rather than deal with negotiations between their chancellors, Foulques had been invited back to Philipp’s private chambers, where the two engaged in some chess. Foulques had proved as dominant over the younger duke in the game as he had in the years before.

The defeats appeared to leave Philipp reflective.

“Six years,” Philipp said. “Six years since we truly did something like this? It has been too long.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Foulques asked.

“I should say you!” Philipp said. “After all, it was you left me on the floor of the king’s keep in Melun with a bloodied nose, and then so rudely decided to not join our carefully planned rebellion.”

“And I carefully advised you against it,” Foulques said. “Of course then you had to insult my dearest daughter.”

“Of which I apologize for,” Philipp said. “I should have told you when we met in Tours. But there were other matters pressing at the time.”

Foulques nodded and took another sip of wine.

“How is she?” Philipp asked. “I have not heard she is wed yet.”

“She does well,” Foulques said. “And no, I have not found the right husband for her yet.”

“A pity my eldest son did not live,” Philipp said. He looked down.“He would have been nearing his 12th birthday. Perhaps they might have… well it is no use thinking on that. God had other plans for us, it seems.”

“You have been blessed with two daughters and another son,” Foulques said.

“Yes…” Philipp replied.

“Something wrong?”

Philipp looked away for a bit, then down at the stone floor. “The boy… I feel he is… that he is not right. But we shall see, I suppose.”

“Ill health?”

“Sickly yes… but… I don’t know,” Philipp admitted. “He just has not been as my daughters have been or… his poor older brother.”

Foulques gave a solemn node. “I have some… concern with my youngest as well.”

“Your daughter by the duchess?” Philipp asked. “Is she ill?”

Foulques shook his head. She was not - not like Antoinette, whom Adalmode had saved. But the young Ermengarde looked to be… perhaps misshapen. It was early yet but...

“I am concerned,” Foulques blurted out. “That is all I can say for now.”

His counterpart did not press further.

“But it is not all poor news for your family,” he replied. “I suppose you deserve some congratulations. Your son! Quite the accomplishment - taking a duchy for one’s self. You must be proud to have a son who so closely takes after you.”

In more ways than one, Foulques thought.

But it always remained a jumble of mixed feelings with Geoffrey for Foulques. The two did have many similarities, but thus far Geoffrey seemed to be treating his father as simply a levy from which to be called from. There was little back and forth between them.

They had not seen each other since his departure and the only real communication was when chancellor Godfrey visited him to check on what he could provide the king. The chancellor had reported back that he was friendly and treated him like a member of the family - but when the Duke of Aquitaine had asked of his family in Anjou, he had only inquired about Agnes and his son, Foulques.

Well, and Alearde, but Foulques had rolled his eyes to that.

“I am… of course,” Foulques said.

Philipp eyed him. “But…”

“But we shall see how he handles the rigors of his position,” Foulques said. “I think him capable. But capable does not mean he will succeed.”

“It would be a greater accomplishment if he failed as spectacularly as his predecessor,” Philipp said. “My wife looks at those events with great interest. If you remember, her birthplace is Thouars, in Poitou.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “Just on the other side of the Loire from Anjou.”

Philipp smiled and swirled the wine in his cup. “I hope that look does not mean you have any idea of venturing south to take her old home. Her brother is young but I think a decent count he might yet make.”

In truth, Foulques had not truly considered moving across to seize Thouars. His wildest dreams involved Poitou itself and with it Saintonge, which he had lost over three decades ago, in Geoffrey’s name. And with Alberic’s struggles, he certainly did find himself dreaming more frequently these days.

“I do not think of displacing… the boy,” Foulques said. “If that is what you are concerned about.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. And Philipp responded in kind.

“He will be glad you have grandeur designs,” Philipp said. “But… don’t we all?”

“And what are your great plans?” Foulques asked.

The Duke of Champagne leaned across the board, inching close to Foulques’ masked face. “Why, I wish to remove the greatest threat to my family.”

“The king,” Foulques said.

Philipp nodded and then stood up. He started to pace about the room. “Do you think this situation is tenable?”

“No. Which is why you would be wise to negotiate a peace with the king,” Foulques said.

“There is no peace which shall give me safety,” Philipp replied. “What the king gives now, he can revoke later, when my leverage is gone.”

“So… you would kill the king’s family as revenge?” Foulques asked.

“Kill? No,” Philipp said. “I hold his children as hostages. You saw them at the feast. They are in fine health.”

“They appear so, in front of me,” Foulques said.

“My friend, think on this,” Philipp said. “They are my leverage. As such, they are no use to me dead. I want them alive and well.”

“But this still does not make sense,” Foulques said. “You may hold them. But you will hold them forever? As long as he is the king, he can come for you.”

“Exactly!” Philipp said. “Which is why it would be best for him not to be king anymore.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “Again with this? You do not see how fortunate you were last time?”

“I disagree,” Philipp said. “The king was fortunate. His treasury cannot last forever.”

“Neither can yours, as I well remember,” Foulques said.

“I have enough for now,” Philipp said. “And I begin to think there may be no better time to strike.”

Foulques shook his head before pinning the duke with his gaze. “Who? Who do you back this time? Do not tell me it is my half-brother, Simon, as Gilles does.”

“Your nephew already has his talons in him,” Philipp said. “And I do not wish to deal with him. The boy has always irked me.”

“Then who, Hugues of Burgundy?”

“No. Though you have the name right,” Philipp said. “Prince Hugues, the king’s brother.”

Foulques scratched his head. “Why? He is nothing.”

“Precisely,” Philipp said. “He is but the Bishop of Bayeux. If he is placed on the throne, he will be reliant on his vassals to remain in power. A weak figurehead, unable to stand in our way.”

“Our way?”

“Duke Foulques, do not pretend you do not dream of more,” Philipp said. “Poitou is but one of your ambitions. Perhaps more of Brittany. And, at long last, Maine. Should the king be deposed, Normandy would be open to you.”

“You have long tried to tempt me with Maine,” Foulques said. “But I have also long resisted it.”

“And I ask you, why?” Philipp asked. “What has the king done for you? He throws you platitudes.”

“He has looked the other way with Aquitaine,” Foulques said. “And likely would with Poitou.”

“Prince Hugues would have no choice but to look the other way,” Philipp said. “And unlike Boudewijn, you would not have to serve a Flemish king - merely our current one’s brother.”

“It would still be an act of betrayal,” Foulques said. “I cannot do that to the man.”

Philipp sighed. “I am not surprised to hear you say that, given all that’s happened. Of course, I remain disappointed. But not surprised.”

Foulques glared at Philipp. “You expect me to keep this quiet then? Not to send word to the king?”

“Oh, I expect you to send word,” Philipp said. “It will change nothing. He is months away from returning, especially as he makes modest gains in Valencia.”

“I could gather what armies he has remaining here,” Foulques said.

“I hold his family still,” Philipp said. “Do that and you risk their lives and… the king’s ire. I know you well enough to know you will not take that chance.”

Foulques’ stare was met by his counterpart. Neither flinched. But Foulques knew Philipp was right. His instinct told him to attack. Doing so would potentially ruin his family.

“You want me to tell the king,” Foulques said. “That is why you invited me here.”

“I did wish to recruit you,” Philipp said. “But if you are unwilling, then, yes, this is acceptable.”

“You want him to return,” Foulques said. “Because you think he will win his war.”

Philipp just took another sip of his wine before swirling it in his cup once more.

“I am not telling you to tell him,” Philipp said. “That is up to you.”

Foulques said nothing as Philipp finished off his wine.

“It has been good to see you old friend,” Philipp said. “The offer still stands of course. We would greatly enjoy having you at our side. It would make the upcoming war a great deal easier.”

…..

Foulques did not sleep at all that night. He kept his sword close, expecting an assassin to come. Most of the night he lamented how foolish he was to come here and how Godfrey was right after all.

But morning came and all was quiet. There had been no suspicious activity or any hint of movement against him or anyone in the Angevin party. It seemed Philipp was true to his word - he did not mind Foulques leaving to tell the king anything.

As they began the journey back to Anjou, Foulques explained the situation to Godfrey. The chancellor pondered it as the towers of Troyes faded from view.

“So you are uncertain if he told you to tell the king,” Godfrey said. “Or if he seeks to make you doubt yourself to cover for his error.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “I see now why the king hates him so. He is… slippery. Hard to read.”

“Aye,” Godfrey said. “My suspicion… is that he tells you because he does wishes the king to know. Because he suspects you will do what’s best for you. And informing the king is what is best for you. It takes the responsibility out of your hands and thrusts it onto his.”

Foulques nodded. “Then he wishes the king to return.”

“Perhaps he fears the prestige the king will receive if he returns successful,” Godfrey said. “Or he merely wishes to make him, and you, doubt yourselves. I am uncertain of his reasons.”

“So then perhaps I should keep this from the king?”

“No,” Godfrey said. “It is not worth the risk. Should he rebel, the king will blame you for providing no warning. It plays into Champagne’s hands, but that is the king’s problem to deal with, not yours.”

Foulques lowered his head. Godfrey was right. But much more frustratingly, Philipp was right. While Foulques was not entirely sure his true intentions, it was clear the Duke of Champagne was playing him to get what he wished.

And that Foulques knew it, and could do nothing about it, left it a bitter thing to swallow.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 93
September 1097 - Melun, France

“The duke is right,” Queen Sybille said. “You do look quite a bit like your mother.”

Her chin lifted by the queen, Agnes de Limoges scowled momentarily, though it was quickly replaced by a smile. However, that itself faded quickly. It appeared the girl had no idea how to properly respond.

“I hear that a great deal these days,” she finally blurted out.

“Do not look so confounded by it,” the queen told her. “It is a compliment. Your mother was a lovely woman. The king thought well of her. As did I.”

If that was meant to make the teenager relax, it did not. If anything, she appeared to tense further.

“Th… thank you, my queen,” she replied.

Queen Sybille eyed the girl for a moment before passing a look toward Foulques. She then walked back to her stool in her chambers and sat down.

“You will be a fine addition to my ladies, I think,” the queen said. “I must thank you, Duke Foulques, for suggesting her.”

“It is my pleasure, your highness,” Foulques said as he bowed.

“Agnes de Limoges,” the queen said. She looked as if she had something else to say but stopped upon looking at her new lady. “Have you something to say? Out with it.”

“I… I would prefer to be called Ness,” the teen replied.

Foulques noticed the girl eyed him as she made the request. It was not surprising - she shared a name with his daughter. “Ness” was how she was known in the keep - though he’d heard her sister Marguerite is who pushed for her to insist on it - to differentiate her from the one who had aided in the murder of their father.

“Ness?” the queen asked. “It matters not to me. If that is what you wish, Ness, then that is what it shall be.”

“Thank you my lady,” Ness replied.

“My lady Adele will show you to your duties,” the queen replied. “Duke Foulques, if you will remain for a moment longer.”

Foulques nodded and watched as Ness was led off by the other woman. She kept her eyes locked on him until she left the room. Much like her elder sister Marguerite, her resemblance to Aines, especially when she focused her gaze upon something, was unmistakable.

“She inherits her mother’s fire,” Foulques said quietly.

“What was that?” the queen asked.

“I… I said Ness inherits her mother’s fire,” he repeated loudly.

“Let us hope she does not inherit it all,” Sybille said. “I have little need of plotters among my ladies.”

Foulques felt a small bit of anger well up in him. He was unsure if that was just a dig at Aines or if it was directed at all of them. Regardless, he had no choice but to let it pass.

“What did you wish of me, my queen?” Foulques asked.

“I wish for you to gather the council,” Sybille said. “I have received news my husband returns from Valencia.”

Foulques had heard those rumors as well. “The war is at an end?”

“So it appears,” the queen said. “He has decided it is no longer worth the time of the realm to pursue this action any further. If the church wishes the Moslems driven from Iberia, it can do so itself.”

Foulques resisted a chuckle. That may have been the best deflection he had ever seen the king make.

Philippe had finally suffered defeat in Valencia. He had lost nearly two thirds of his men in the process. Help from the Danes had not come. So, rather than continue to suffer losses, he retreated.

A year too late, Foulques thought. But better than remaining.

“With the unrest in the realm, the council must have a plan ready for when he returns,” Sybille said. “You and Toulouse must take the lead. And make certain you keep eyes on Hugues of Burgundy. I still do not trust him.”

“A sentiment I share,” Foulques said. “Your will shall be done, my lady.”

“Thank you Duke Foulques,” the queen said. “Let us hope the Duke of Champagne is not as bold as he claims. My children’s lives may depend on it.”

A chill ran down his spine, but Foulques nodded and bowed before leaving the room. He did not wish to say anything, but he had begun to doubt the lady would ever see her children again.

He had sent word to the king over Philipp of Champagne’s invitation to support Prince Hugues. Naturally, he wished for Champagne to be watched. Meanwhile, Prince Hugues had not returned from Bayeux, though he nominally remained Court Chaplain.

The king had not returned immediately, however, attempting to fight on through the summer. Rumors of his defeats had emboldened Champagne as he was known to be rallying his knights and marshalling his levy.

But it also gave hope to other potential troublemakers. Not only did Philipp chirp of rebellion, but so too did Gilles, backed by Raoul of Vexin. It was a potentially dangerous situation as the Count of Vexin’s wife was the relatively powerful Countess of La Marche.

Spymaster Natroi even reported Gilles convincing the Count of Mallorca, a man he cuckolded, into joining his faction in support of Foulques’ half-brother Simon. If they all joined…

“How did it go?”

Foulques was snapped from his thoughts. He turned in the hallway to see Toulouse approaching.

“How did what go?”

“The girl’s audition,” Toulouse said. “Did the queen accept her?”

“She did,” Foulques said.

Toulouse patted the older duke on the back. “That is good. She is a comely young girl.”

Foulques raised a brow. “You desire her?”

“I do,” Toulouse said. “But I shall not make any move toward her. I am not so blind as to not know you desire her as well. She is from your court, so I shall not compete with you for her.”

“You… you know not what you speak of,” Foulques said.

Toulouse smirked. “I am a man, and as a man I can assure you, you know quite well what I speak of. She reminds you of her mother, and your lust for her mother is known by all in the realm. You killed for her, after all.”

Foulques grumbled. He would not have put it in those terms.

“There is nothing to be ashamed about,” Toulouse said. “ Your wife and lover remain in Anjou and we all have our needs. The girl is of age. She is unmarried.”

“She also thinks little of my family, as her sister does,” Foulques said.

“The appeal of being the lover to one of the realm’s most powerful lords can be strong,” Toulouse said. “But if you are true in your lack of interest, then I shall endeavor to make her mine. Neither my wife nor my lover are here frequently, and I could use a girl like her in my bed.”

“You will do no such thing,” Foulques said.

Toulouse smiled. “Then I shall leave her to you then.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “The queen has a task for us. The king has made peace in Valencia. He returns and we must prepare plans for what is to be done about the realm.”

“Peace,” Toulouse said. “Have his losses been worth it? Has he won the lands there?”

“No, it appears not,” Foulques said.

“Then he will return weaker,” Toulouse replied. “Champagne may be even bolder than he is now. I thought he may have been bluffing before, but now, I am uncertain.”

“He means to rebel,” Foulques said. “He just waits for the right opportunity. Perhaps to convince my nephew to side with him.”

“I thought you said he hated Duke Gilles,” Toulouse said.

“I believe he does,” Foulques said. “But I think he also wishes the king removed. He can survive Gilles, if my nephew is willing to follow him. He may not survive the king, long-term.”

Toulouse stroked his chin. “I do not like this. If it were up to me, I would have marched out a crushed him. But they are not my children.”

“Agreed,” Foulques said.

“I will set up the council meeting for tomorrow,” Toulouse said.

“And I will inform the queen,” Foulques said. “She may wish to attend.”

“Normally, I would object,” Toulouse said. “But… better her than Alberic.”

The Duke of Gascony and Poitou was not in the capital, as he fought his war against the Duke of Orleans over Angouleme - one which he now had managed to gain the advantage in, though his rebels fighting to install his sister Patricia as Duchess of Gascony remained a problem.

“What of Alberic?” Foulques asked. “He will be annoyed if we hold the meeting without him.”

“That is the cost of choosing to leave Melun to fight the mess of his own creation,” Toulouse said.

Foulques nodded. Alberic would certainly whine and complain. But he doubted the king would do much to reprimand them. And in a pinch the two could claim they distrusted him due to his ties as Gilles’ brother in law - after all Alberic had practically begged the king to reconsider the Duke of Berry’s removal as chancellor.

In truth, Alberic was predictable. If he wished, he could have resigned from the council and joined Gilles’ faction. But he could never give up such a status symbol. And, in fairness to him, a rebellion against the king was hardly a good thing for him to be caught up in, his own conflicts.

One who would be present, however, was Hugues of Burgundy. Despite not being fit for chancellor role in either Foulques or Toulouse’s eyes, he was clearly trying to make the best of it. It was not easy though - his disgust for the king was apparent, especially when Philippe was not present.

But now the one-handed lord approached the two dukes in the hallway - his face pale. He looked older than his 40 years would indicate, hair graying, skin with a leathery, wrinkling appearance. The civil war had aged him - and it appear he brought more worrying news with him.

“You look as though you have something ill to report,” Foulques said.

“Because I do,” Burgundy said. “My stepson has struck his banner in rebellion. A small group of his knights battled men loyal to the king. Our men were driven off.”

“Now?” Toulouse asked. “Odd… he waits until the king makes his return? Would it not have been better to attack while he was away?”

“Perhaps he tried to negotiate with Gilles until it was too late,” Foulques said. “And now that the king returns, and will begin to recover his levy, he makes his move.”

“I hear rumblings of Gilles making moves as well,” Burgundy replied. “They may be in league with one another.”

“And what do you know of all of this?” Toulouse asked.

Burgundy eyed him. Through gritted teeth he replied: “I know nothing. My stepson has long since ignored my wishes and suggestions. He acted alone through much of the war. He keeps my mother at his court, and tells me she refuses to return.”

“Sybille de Barcelona?” Foulques asked. “You think he holds her prisoner, as the king’s family?”

“No,” Hugues said. “I think he fills her head with nonsense. She despises the king and thinks me a fool for laying down my sword and coming to serve him. She would rather stay with the brother of her late husband, who does not.”

Foulques was not surprised to hear that. He still remembered meeting the woman years before, as she attempted to convince him to help murder the king. It appeared her hatred had yet to abate. And given that she was well into her 60’s, it did not appear it ever would.

“If what you say on my nephew is true, we must accelerate our preparations,” Foulques said. “We must still have a council meeting tomorrow. But I will begin sending out the calls.”

“You will be needed Duke Hugues,” Toulouse said. “I suspect our lords will not flock to the banner, given their own weariness to conflict and the king’s setbacks in Valencia. You must work hard to convince them.”

“I will, but are you two not the lords who matter most?” Burgundy asked.

“Artois in Flanders,” Foulques said. “The regent for the child-duke. I assume you know him well from your time together in the war. Coax him the best you can.”

“I know how to do my job, Duke Foulques,” Burgundy said.

“And yet it is me who spent much of the peace attempting to convince them,” Foulques said.

“Then we should have nothing to fear,” Burgundy said as he moved in close to his older counterpart. “I’m certain you were very convincing.”

“Gentlemen,” Toulouse interrupted as he stepped between them. “We already have a realm that is once again divided. Let us not split it further here.”

“I will do my job,” Burgundy said. “See to it that you do yours, Duke Foulques.”

He turned and walked off leaving Toulouse to shake his head.

“If that is how he handles conversations with the other lords,” Toulouse said.

“He is a waste,” Foulques said. “And the king’s decision to restore him the council has proved foolish. We now face war regardless.”

“The king’s decision-making grows poorer,” Toulouse said. “I fear the loss of his children has had an effect on him. Still, I do not find either Champagne or your nephew bearable. One is a deceitful snake and the other a lecher. But when we do beat these fools back and send them to the headsman, we must make certain we increase our influence on things. Otherwise, the realm will devolve into constant war.”

Foulques sighed. He did not wish to take a larger share of things - it involved doing things he had little interest in doing besides running the army.

But if Toulouse was going to make such a play, it was foolish not to be involved. If he did not, events would pass him by. And he could not afford that - not if he and his descendents wanted to ensure their control over their holdings for the foreseeable future.

“We will see,” Foulques said. “We have a war to fight before.”

“And so we shall,” Toulouse said as he put his hand on Foulques’ shoulder. “And so we shall.”

……

But for all of Toulouse’s confidence, there was a pall over the council as they met the next day.

News had come in the early morning - Gilles had raised his flag rebellion as well, alongside Count Raoul of Vexin, who also controlled Amiens, and the Count of Mallorca - a man the king had once raised to the role after giving away the possession he had once won in war.

It was the queen who looked the most unhappy. The lady’s face was one of concern - her brow furrowed, her eyes frequently glancing up toward heaven and down to her feet. She had been appraised of the situation as they had - and she now likely feared for both her family and her husband’s throne.

“How many men can you raise, Duke Foulques?” Toulouse asked.

“From what is not directly under the king’s command,” Foulques began, “About 2400 men.”

“How many can they put in the field?” the queen asked.

“Around 5000,” Foulques said. “Though what the Count of Mallorca provides is unknown.”

“So we are at a disadvantage until the king returns?” the queen asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “And… he has suffered losses in Valencia. I fear our numbers are more of a match for theirs, instead of a great advantage.”

“Thankfully we have you, Duke Foulques,” Toulouse said. “Who has won us many a great victories in the past - including against armies larger than our own.”

The smallest of smiles came to Foulques face, but it was difficult to overcome the sinking feeling things would be different this time.

“What of our finances?” the queen asked.

“Our steward is not here,” Toulouse noted. “He is occupied in Gascony and Poitou.”

The queen shook her head. “He should be here. He shirks his duty.”

“It is hard to find fault with your logic, your highness,” Toulouse said.

“I have spoken with him on it in the past,” Burgundy said. “He… did not seem to think they were strong.”

“How strong?” Toulouse asked.

“I am uncertain,” Burgundy said. “Just that he was uncertain the king could afford to fight another long war easily.”

That was troubling, to say the least. In theory, it was the responsibility of the vassals to outfit their soldiers, but the king needed to draw at least partially on his own levy to make up the numbers. If he could not pay them…

The door to the chamber suddenly open and the spymaster Natroi entered swiftly. He looked over at the queen, then the council and said: “I bring some good news.”

“Our reports that Gilles has rebelled are wrong?” Toulouse asked.

“No,” Natroi said. “He has rebelled, but… he does not strike his flag for the king’s brother as Philipp of Champagne does. Instead, he calls for Simon of Burgundy to be king.”

“The duke’s uncle?” Toulouse asked.

“You may also say Duke Foulques’ half-brother,” Burgundy noted.

“I have not seen him in years,” Foulques said. “Nor my half-brother Robert. He resides at your court, does he not?”

“If he is wise, he would have already fled to Gilles,” Burgundy said. “The king will ask for him. And I would have to provide him. But we shall see.”

“What of the Lady of La Marche - the wife of the Count of Vexin?” Toulouse asked.

“She does not join Gilles,” Natroi said. “She remains focused on her rebellion against Duke Alberic.”

“Then our situation is improved,” Toulouse said. “She would have added to their numbers and is a formidable leader. And Gilles is not with Champagne. So we deal with two rebellions - who wish for different things. Things which cannot be reconciled. They will not help each other. They may even fight each other.”

“A good thing,” Foulques said.

“The only good thing,” Burgundy said. “The road ahead remains daunting.”

“But there is only one road,” the queen said. “We must travel it no matter how difficult.”

“Agreed, my lady,” Toulouse said.

Foulques restrained a sigh. He struggled to think of this anything but a failure of the king. He had made a gamble, and it appeared to have failed.

Now the sides were aligned once more. Perhaps a bit more complicated than last time, but aligned all the same.

More of his declining time dedicated to fighting between his friend and his king, rather than looking to his own affairs.

More of his men thrown into the fire. His nephew forced again to lead knights in a conflict that offered little gain.

And more effort holding together a realm that, no matter his actions, seemed destined to be torn asunder.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Interlude
Westminster, England

The boy shivered before him.

He had just been through a rainstorm, moving as quickly as his mount could carry him. Now inside the keep in Winchester, the lad dripped water from his clothing onto the stone floors.

He probably wished to dry himself by a fire before he caught a chill, especially having already delivered his news. And yet, he remained fixed to the spot, so much so a puddle had begun to form below him.

The stare of Prince Richard of House Normandie was that powerful.

It was something he had inherited from his father, William, Conqueror of England. These days, it was perhaps his only inheritance.

“Are you certain?” Richard asked. “My brother will have your head if this proves to be false rumor.”

“There is no doubt, sir,” the boy replied. “He has met with no one in months. The physician is by his side at all times. They have aimed to hide it, but the Duke is bedridden. The decisions he makes are not his.”

The bald, bearded nobleman eyed the boy. He sensed no deception, though he knew Robert would likely see some, even if there were none. It is his nature these days.

“Then this is good news,” Richard replied. “You may go.”

As he turned, he heard the boy mew behind him. Richard peeked back. “Yes?”

“My lord… if I may warm myself by the fire.”

“So to continue to drip water on my brother’s floors?” Richard demanded. “Do you offer money for lodging? You are but a messenger - not a member of this court.”

“But… I… bring good news, you said,” the boy replied.

“I spoke out of turn,” Richard said. “You bring good rumor. Time will tell if it is, in fact, good news. If you wish to warm yourself then, you may.”

The boy said nothing as Richard began to walk away. However the prince, without looking back, continued: “I will see if my brother wishes to allow you to remain. Use the fire until then.”

“Thank, thank you my prince,” the boy said.

Richard nearly ran back and slapped him upon hearing the title but managed to restrain himself.

Prince, prince of what, he thought. In a sea of Saxons, the sons of the Conqueror are princes of nothing.

It was a brutal truth, one that Richard had long struggled to come to grips with and it angered him every time he was confronted by it.

But this news… it could change all of that. Even though it promised little for him, or anyone else in the clan. Robert excepted.

And that was enough for Richard.

Their fortunes had been poor. No one but Robert had land in their names, though their cousins in the province of Dax, in Gascony, stood to inherit.

It did not used to be this way. Richard had once been wed to the daughter of the illustrious but fallen house of Wessex. But the Lady Margaret had passed nearly 20 years ago of an infected wound. He had not thought then that they would be models for his family - but former kings of a line withering on the vain seemed apt. All that remained was her brother Eadgar, made a Bishop, and the line of Saxon kings would end with him.

Richard knew he had not the mettle to change the fortunes of House Normandie. Neither did his adventurous brother William, who thought a name was enough to make him the true heir to their father’s legacy - dreaming of raising a host to reclaim what was his.

All William had received was death without glory - exiled to Capua and devoured by the lord there. An inglorious end to one of the three sons of the Conqueror - but one that appeared to be fitting of the family’s status these days.

Even Robert had not been immune. His first marriage to a daughter of King Harold had ended tragically with her death due to a cancer. They had managed two daughters from the short union, and one, Richenda, had passed due to the same illness which took her mother.

His second marriage had been to Cynethryth, daughter of Duke Eadwin of Mercia. This union had produced a son, but also ended tragically, as the woman would die due to the Great Pox.

Twenty-five years ago, they had been kings. Little more than a decade ago, powerful dukes. Now? They sat in a solitary keep in Winchester, England, with Saxon vultures eying their scraps for their own. The younger William may have been literally eaten, but his fate seemed not at all that different from what awaited their family.

No, he could not alter that. But Robert - bold Robert - he could. And perhaps he already had.

He found his brother in the main hall, enjoying himself as he frequently did with ale in one hand, leg of lamb in the other, and his third wife, the Breton Countess Guenguistl, on his lap. The results of such desires were apparent - the countess’ belly was large with child, and her husband’s nearly as great with excess.

It was a spread that could feed four men. But it would mostly go to the earl. Richard would eat what was left, as would Guenguistl, if she were not hauled off to Robert’s chambers for a proper bedding.

Despite the good news, Richard approached with caution. His brother appeared in good spirits as he drank from his mug and leered at the countess. Perhaps this was a good day - if it was not, it would hardly matter the news.

“I bring news, brother,” Richard told him.

Robert grunted as he ripped into a piece of lamb, pieces of meat falling from his mouth and onto the countess. She frowned and moved awkwardly, but that just prompted the earl to put his ale down and pull her closer once more.

Richard knew the lady did not like such things. She was a chaste woman - and did not like being fondled in her condition. And yet, Richard knew Robert did more than that with her. In his madness, sometimes he did not even wait for privacy - something Richard had seen first hand.

A husband’s right, he told himself, even if it is a sin.

Of course, that might be part of the reason many had begun to call him ‘the Monster.”

Once Robert had wrangled the countess back into place, a hand across her chest, and the other on her belly, he looked toward his brother and belched: “What news?”

“Duke Eadwin of Mercia may not be long for this world,” Richard replied.

Robert’s eyes widened and Richard could see the information take hold in his mind as a sly smile came over his lips. It was enough for him to send Guenguistl off him, with a slap of her behind. The lady appeared relieved and began to waddle from the hall.

“I did not say you could go, wife,” Robert told her. “Remain.”

The countess nodded and took a seat at the table. Richard instinctively smiled at her - he did find her thick, brawny body pretty after all. She did not even bother to fake a smile in reply.

“He has been ill for some time,” Robert said. “What makes you think he is going to die?”

“They say he is incapable,” Richard said. “A regent now rules over Mercia.”

Richard smiled as the meaning of the words truly took hold in his mind. Truly a miracle.

Eadwin had but one daughter - the late Cynethryth. After she had developed the Great Pox, and there had been fears she could not bring forth a healthy child - many welps born of mothers afflicted with the illness suffered from deformities. Or worse.

Yet not only had she done so - she had managed a boy. It proved to be one of her last acts, as the illness claimed less than a year later.

The boy was treated as well as could be by the household. From the moment of his birth he stood as the heir to Eadwin - the largest landholder in England. He was the child that could bring House Normandie back from the brink - to elevate them to their rightful place as powerful dukes and perhaps… even as kings.

But optimism was guarded. It had to be. All it took was another child by Eadwin to ruin all of it.

Yet fate appeared to smile upon them. Eadwin had become ill with the dreaded disease himself, while his wife seemed incapable of producing anymore children. And now, this seemed to put them on the brink of reclamation.

The glory, prestige that had eluded them was so close… Richard could almost reach out and grab it.

But it was not his to grab - that much he knew. And yet, he noticed the smile on Robert’s face had faded.

“You are concerned, brother?” Richard asked.

“Eadwin is incapable. And they send no word to us?” Robert demanded. “You do not think that odd?”

“I…” Richard trailed off. He realized it was odd. After all, why would they not send word - preparations for his nephew’s regency would need to be made.

“They seek to take my son’s inheritance, you fool!” Robert shouted, throwing his ale at his brother.

Richard flinched and was struck by the mug, with some of the contents splashing onto his tunic and then pooling at his feet. He could not be angry - the earl had a point.

“But how?” Richard asked. “They have few whom they could support.”

“Probably Morcar’s welp,” Robert said. “We can’t allow that.”

“And how do we prevent that?” Richard wondered.

“Morcar was the king before Ælfmær,” Robert said. “The boy may have dreams of succeeding his father. With York and Mercia, there would be little to stop him.”

“And we were the kings before Morcar…” Richard noted.

“I know that, fool!” Robert shouted. “But he has a choice of supporting my son, who is but a boy, unlikely to cause trouble now, or the Duke of York, who will cause trouble from the moment he gets hold of Mercia. And he may well find support for his claim here. But even if he does not, he holds half of England. All it takes is one opportunistic lord, here or abroad, to aid him.”

“The Franks fight amongst themselves,” Richard said.

“It takes just one to realize the opportunity,” Robert replied. “The Frankish king Philippe oversteps his bounds. His lords will chafe under him. Eventually, at least one will look to England, as father did, and see opportunity.”

Richard nodded. He knew his brother despised the King of the Franks, who had deprived him of Normandy. Philippe - a welp led to glory by another - Robert would say.

If only Robert had taken the field at Rouen - he could have bested this Duke Foulques in the tradition of their father beating back the over-ambitious Angevins. But no, King Ælfmær and the Saxons were too proud. They thought little of the Normans - and all had suffered as a result.

Which made Robert’s appeal to the king seem even stranger to him.

“You think we take this to the king?” Richard asked.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” Robert demanded. “Yes, that is exactly what I said. Support Ælfmær in exchange for support for my son’s inheritance of Mercia. And in that, he has Mercia’s support. What more can he ask?”

“Do you think he will back us?”

“I do not think, I know,” Robert said. “I have already had discussions with him. The advantages to having a weak man on the throne, surrounded by those snakes of Houses Hwicce and Godwin - he may not like us, but we offer an alternative. And he has already learned from past mistakes it is foolish to turn away our assistance. We make war better than his Saxon cousins.”

Richard nodded. Once again, he found himself impressed by Robert’s foresight. His brother may be prone to bouts of madness, but when he was lucid, he remained a force to be reckoned with.

The Earl of Middlesex rose to his feet. He took the pitcher of ale and drank straight from it before setting down with a thud that shook the food and plates on the table. He wiped the liquid and food from his goatee.

“I will discuss this with Bishop Arnald,” Robert said. “And send him with a message for the king. Once we have that, I will send him north. Eadwin’s handlers must know who they deal with.”

“Of course, my lord,” Richard said as he bowed. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“You?” Robert scoffed. “What would you do?”

Chuckling, Robert left the room, with Richard remaining, dumbfounded.

“I could do a better job than Arnald,” he said under his breath.

The bishop was worthless as a diplomat. While he enjoyed talking, he was no good at it, lacking manners and appearing false to all he spoke to. Richard did not understand why his brother trusted him to handle delicate matters like negotiations with a king… but Robert had earned his deference. After all, he had managed the marriage with Cynethryth, which now brought them to the precipe.

And… he had wrangled the appealing woman that sat before Richard now.

Robert tended to suspect every man of eyeing the countess these days, though Richard could find no fault in that. Despite not being of the highest of stock - a distant descendent of a Breton petty king - she was a woman worthy of desire.

The lady Guenguistl was not a tall woman. But short did not mean small. Thick in body, and rumors were she was a woman of physical prowess, trained in combat in secret by her father.

Richard envied his brother in that respect. His own wife Lucy was charming in her own way, but a bit of a waif. Despite Guenguistl’s meekness in Robert’s presence, he had seen flashes of her passion - of her refusal to be cowed. There had been many nights where he had thought of her while alone - and quite a few others were he imagined being with her instead of his wife.

She is disgusted by him. Perhaps she would be interested…

Her condition was of little concern to Richard. Beggars cannot be choosers.

He sat down by her side as the countess grabbed a leg of lamb and bit a large chunk out of it. She closed her eyes and smiled as she swallowed. Watching her, Richard felt a stirring in his loins.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“You have no idea how torturous it was,” Guenguistl replied. “The scent of all this food, my child craving it and I must sit obediently and wait for him to finish, so he may fondle me while he eats. Because he cannot have enough of anything - food or woman.”

“It is unsurprising he would desire you that much,” Richard said. “You are quite the woman.”

He moved to touch her short, brown hair. But her hand caught his.

“You would do wise to remember your place,” she warned. “And who is married to who.”

Richard smirked and withdrew his hand. “I just thought you may wish for a man who greater appreciates your needs.”

“He is not to be found here,” the countess replied. “But I have grown used to it. Robert is not a holy man. Yet he is my husband. I must endure his never-satisfied desires as his wife.”

“Never satisfied? He merely just hungers for more,” Richard said.“That ambition is why our family will return to prominence.”

“Why his son will return to prominence, and perhaps he,” she said. She pointed the leg of lamb at Richard. “But his other daughter? This child I carry or any others I bring forth… or your children? They will be left behind.”

“You would be wise not to doubt him,” Richard said. “We can do much as the family of the Duke of Mercia. That child you carry may find herself a good husband if it is a girl. A boy may be granted land, if he serves his brother well. Or maybe marry a countess for an alliance.”

“You have more hope than I,” Guenguistl replied.

“You do not believe in my brother?”

“I believe there are many obstacles yet,” she said. “And I am not so desperate or glory that I do not tie up all my hopes in a child.”

Richard eyed her and pushed himself from his chair. Her gaze did not leave him.

“You should mind your place girl,” Richard warned. “And remember what family you now belong to. Sons to the king of England. Descendants of Rollo, who brought the Frankish king to heel. You may be my brother’s wife, but others have held that title before. Some Breton wrench is hardly irreplaceable.”

The countess pushed herself up. She came but to his chin, but her arms were twice the thickness of his. If she was fearful, she did not show it.

“My place before my husband, yes, but you?” she asked. “Do you think I fear you, Richard? You are a hanger-on who begs for scraps at your brother’s table. His dogs have more self-respect that you.”

Richard grabbed her and pushed her down to the table. She was fiery - angry. He liked that.

“Perhaps I shall show you some respect. Even in your condition, you would still make for a good lay.”

Suddenly, Richard felt an elbow to his ribs. Then a mug slammed into his temple, leaving him dazed. His vision blurred, he stumbled to the floor.

When he looked up, he saw the countess standing above him, mug in hand.

“I told you, I do not fear you,” she said. “I may be woman, but I am twice the warrior as you. Even now, as I carry your brother’s child.”

“You… won’t get away with this,” Richard muttered.

“Get away with defending myself?” Guenguistl asked. “Perhaps I should ask your brother what he thinks of your advances? Or just tell him I have beaten you, in my state. No, I think silence would suit us both best.”

Richard was quiet, on his knees, holding his ribs with one arm and his head with the other. Meanwhile the countess returned to her seat and began to eat once more. She did look at Richard once, however, to toss him a piece of meat.

He did not miss the implication.

Richard struggled back to his feet and hurled it back at her. She brushed it off as if it were nothing.

Humbled, Richard staggered his way out of the hall. Along the way, he saw the messenger from before, by the fire.

“OUT!” he bellowed at the boy. “GET OUT!”

“My prince!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he shouted. “GET OUT! THAT IS AN ORDER!”

The boy, who no longer dripped, ran from him. In the distance, Richard could hear the heavy door to the keep open, and the sound of rain momentarily become clearer, then muffled once more as the door shut.

As Richard stumbled to toward the fire, he wished for payback for that humiliation at the hands of Guenguistl, but knew it was unlikely to come.

Robert already suspected him of trying to bed the countess - a truth in his paranoia - though she was never interested. If she said anything, there was no telling what the count would do.

And if he dared mention that she had struck him - Robert would likely laugh Richard out of the keep. Bested by a woman? One who was practically bursting with child? No, that was an embarrassment best kept private.

But he had to put such a thing out of his mind. Embarrassment there aside, this was a joyous day. His brother Robert had it all figured out. His nephew Robert would soon be Duke of Mercia. Forget those fools in Dax - the English House of Normandie was again on the rise.

And the Saxons that circled them now would again be reminded of the fear taught to them by the Conqueror.

Note: So that's the interlude. I put that together quickly over the last day both because you all seemed to be interested in them, and as a challenge to myself to see how well I could write characters I didn't really "know" and craft an interesting sidebar to explain how House Normandie got on the road back toward prominence. Hope you all enjoyed it. We should be back to our regularly scheduled Angevins Thursday!

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 94
December 1097 - Paris, France

Foulques could not being a part of a more dignified procession.

Behind him rode the King Philippe of France. That was nothing new - he’d ridden by the king’s side on campaign before. But not far behind Philippe was Queen Sybille and her ladies. That was different - he had never travelled with the queen before.

This trip was not planned either. But it was necessitated by the advancement of Philipp of Champagne.

He had made his play at moving on Melun - likely hoping to repeat his success there from the first rebellion. His move had come not long after the king had returned to his capital, but before the remaining army could properly gather for the conflict.

While he could have ordered them to remain, Philippe was not eager to repeat the mistakes of the first war. So he ordered them all to move to Rouen, to take up temporary residence there.

And so the small group marched north with some pace, aiming to make certain they could move faster than Champagne’s forces. With less than 500 men in total, compared near 2400 hundred Champagne had, it seemed likely.

But there were to be no chances taken. The courtier Helie, given command of Philippe’s vanguard, moved out ahead with some 100 men.

The main group had just crossed the Seine just to west of Saint-Denis. As tempting as it would have been to stop in the commune - the weather was cold and windy - Foulques urged them forward. They could afford no moment to allow Champagne to close his pursuit.

He looked back at the main party. The queen drew his interest the most to see how she handled the poor conditions. She was bundled in a cloak with a hood over her head, which she would drop whenever the wind picked up.

Her ladies were dressed similarly, including Ness. The teen rode close in behind her queen, parallel to Adele. The exasperated scowl that used to to form on her mother’s face, usually when discussing her own late husband Adhemar, was on Ness’ face at the moment, prompting to duke to smirk.

A stiff breeze cut to Foulques core, and he pulled his own cloak close, only to hear it whip behind him. He could only hope these conditions made it even less likely Champagne was in full pursuit.

As the wind died down, Duke Hugues of Burgundy rode up beside Foulques. He made for an awkward ride in this weather, trying to hold the reins for his mount while also keeping warm when the wind was at his strongest, all with one hand.

“I should have volunteered to prepare my levy personally, like Toulouse,” Burgundy said. “Then I could have avoided this torture.”

Foulques grunted. His friend had managed to get out of this by doing just that - and he wasn’t entirely sure Toulouse would hurry back. His levy would come, but the duke might just take his time in the south, at least until the spring.

“Look at it as a means for you to regain the trust of the king,” Foulques said.

“My cousin will never fully trust me,” Burgundy said. “Though I suppose that is a blessing. It keeps me here, rather than in the vanguard or the rear. It is best to be here, with the main party, than there.”

There was truth in that. Better food, better lodgings. Better sights - as Foulques was able to see the queen’s ladies, and Ness especially.

He had not pressed her for anything yet, though he did converse with her. She was cold to him, as expected. But perhaps in time…

Foulques’ thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats moving quickly. He looked up to see a rider fast approaching from the north. It was Helie.

Noticing his commander return, Philippe spurred his horse forward and joined Foulques and Burgundy near the front of their part of the procession.

“My king, my good dukes, I bring… ill news,” Helie said.

“Is there an obstruction on the road?” Burgundy asked.

“No, sir,” Helie said. “My scouts indicate men from Champagne are up ahead. They cross the bridge to the north and head this way.”

“Impossible!” Philippe exclaimed. “They move behind us to take Melun.”

“They likely sent knights forward quickly to surprise us,” Foulques said. “And perhaps some infantrymen. If they were ordered to move quickly, they may have been able to travel faster than us, with the queen’s retinue.”

“That is most likely it sir,” Helie said. “It is not the full might of Champagne. Just a portion of their forces.”

“Can we fight them?” Foulques asked.

“While it is not the full force,” Helie said, “It still outnumbers our Vanguard.”

“And it will take time to gather our forces in full,” Foulques said. “I do not like this.”

“Is that the only road through?” Burgundy asked.

“There are other roads,” Philippe said. “But all are detours. If Champagne moves that quickly…”

“It is unlikely we will be safe,” Foulques said. “We cannot proceed to Rouen.”

“Then Saint-Denis?” Burgundy asked.

“Not fortified enough,” Foulques said. “We need to fall back to a place where we can hold out until help arrives.”

That help was in the form of Mayor Odo - who gathered a substantial portion of the king’s army to the north - forces from Normandy, Flanders and Anjou. Foulques guessed Herve was with him - but that was scant consolation, knowing it was unlikely they could reach them in time.

“My holding in Paris,” Philippe said. “On the Ile de la Cite. It once kept out the northmen. It should be able to hold off Champagne until the reinforcements can reach us.”

“Why not Melun?” Burgundy asked.

“We will not make it back in time,” Foulques said. “We are less than a day from Paris. It is unlikely Champagne has been able to move his full army that quickly, but he may be near Melun by this point.”

“Then you agree we should move to the Ile de la Cite?” Philippe asked. Foulques nodded. “Then it is decided.”

“The vanguard does not have the ability to fight them alone, sire,” Helie said.

Foulques looked back toward the southern bridge - which was about a mile back in the distance.

“We can delay them at the bridge,” Foulques said. “Their numbers are such that we cannot stop them unless we commit our full numbers, but by the time they cross, they will not catch us before we reach Paris.”

“And if the rest of Champagne's forces have moved quickly and are between us and Paris?” Burgundy asked.

“Then we are doomed, regardless of the action we take,” Foulques said. “Our only chance is to fall back toward Paris, while men delay the troops from the north.”

“Agreed,” Philippe said. “Helie, send few men toward Mayor Odo to inform him of our location. Then have your men fall back toward the bridge to hold that position.”

“As you wish, my king,” Helie said. He spurred his horse forward and galloped off northward.

“We cannot afford any mistakes,” Burgundy said. “If you fall into Champagne’s hand, the war is lost.”

“Then none shall be made,” Philippe said. “Let us begin the retreat back.”

“My lord,” Burgundy said. “What if these men do not hold them long enough? I know not the skill of your man here. I do not doubt his heart, but with so much at stake…”

“What do you suggest?” Philippe asked. “We have few others here capable. Just yourself, and Duke Foulques. Do you volunteer?”

“As you proved my lord, I am far from a leader of great class,” Burgundy said. “However, Duke Foulques…”

Foulques eyed his fellow duke. So that was to be his game… he wished him out of the way and would get it by having Foulques battle here, in an unwinnable encounter. Perhaps he would be killed. Perhaps he would be captured. But either way, Burgundy would remove one of the realm’s most powerful figures.

Yet, Foulques did not know how to respond. Yes, he could reply that this was merely a delaying action - one that would likely cost these men dearly. But refusing to stay by their side when ordered would make him craven. Or disloyal. Or both.

He looked to Philippe, who appeared to be waiting for him to speak. He decided to gamble.

“If that is your request, my king,” Foulques said. “I shall take command of the vanguard and defend the bridge long enough for you to return to Paris. Of that you have my word - I will not fail you.”

Philippe smiled. “A bold declaration, Duke Foulques, and yet one I have no doubt you would make true. But such actions would be a waste of your talents. I will not throw your life away.”

Burgundy raised his brow. “My lord, do you say these men throw their lives away?”

“They sacrifice themselves for the larger cause,” Philippe said. “That is their purpose. Duke Foulques’ purpose remains greater than that.”

The king turned his mount back toward the bridge. He threw a glance back toward the dukes.

“Of course, I might ask you, cousin, what is your larger cause?” the king asked.

“As I have said, my king, I have not proven a great leader,” Burgundy replied.

“I never said anything about leading,” Philippe said. “After all, most of these men who will fight at the bridge will not lead either.”

Burgundy swallowed hard and fell silent - the message was received. Foulques proceeded to stare him down until Burgundy kicked his mount forward. Then Foulques took a look back toward the north, where the vanguard approached to set up their position.

For a brief moment he did wonder if perhaps he would be best served here. In his younger days, Foulques may have welcomed the fight. After all - had he not delivered against great odds a decade before in Rouen?

But that was another time and another place. And so Foulques spurred his horse forward and followed his king back toward Paris.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 95
February 1098 - Paris, France

Foulques looked out from one of the towers on the Ile de la Cite, staring out eastward. He could see the distant fires on the horizon.

The army of Champagne.

He should be grateful. The fires previously had burned around Paris. Now they were mainly focused to the east.

Rumors said Mayor Odo had swung his army north around toward Meaux, a holding to the east of Paris which had been in the hands of the family of Blois for over a generation. Foulques guessed Odo planned to push on Champagne’s forces from there, and deny them an easy place to retreat to.

Judging by the movement of Champagne’s army, it appeared Odo was successful in drawing the majority of the force away. A skeleton force remained however, preventing any escape from the city.

But what lay beyond the horizon was a mystery. Foulques could hardly muster a great deal of care about this war, but a battle that their fates may hinge on… it felt wrong not being there.

After a sigh he moved past the watchmen on the tower and walked down the staircase. There was only so much he could take, even if staring out at the world around him was one of the few distractions available these days.

For all of his sieging in his life, Foulques was not used to being on the receiving end of one. He had thought orchestrating one was dull. This was even worse, but with the added spectre of being starved out as well hanging over their heads.

The duke felt confident it would not come to that - they had been trapped inside the walls for a few months but he doubted this would last much longer. He knew that despite the speed at which the king’s forces gathered, or lack thereof, they outnumbered Champagne. And he held little respect for Philipp’s capabilities as a commander in the field. Odo would win this engagement, when it happened, and that would be the end of their imprisonment.

However, it appeared others lacked his confidence.

The queen moved past him in the hall. Her face carried a permanent frown these days. When he dined with the her, the king and the Duke of Burgundy, she was usually short with them all, but especially her husband.

And she was not the only woman who seemed to be angry at a man in her presence.

Ness had not said a word to him in nearly a month. Of that, he should not have been surprised - not after that conversation.

He had approached her in the hallway one evening, hoping to flirt with her. It had not gone far - she apparently had been listening to her sister when it came to stories of her parents relationship and Foulques’ part in it.

“You desired my mother,” Ness had told him. “So you convinced her to go along with a plot to murder my father.”

Foulques could not resist laughing. The response, however, drew a familiar scowl from the girl.

“You think it funny?” she demanded.

“Do you think that? Or is that what your sister has told you?” Foulques asked.

“I think it clear,” Ness replied.

“Then it is not clear, at all,” Foulques said. “It was she who approached me. She despised him. And with good reason. He was cruel to her - beat her. He was a thoroughly unlikable man. Have you ever heard anyone in Anjou speak well of his memory?”

Ness looked down, the scowl gone and replaced by a simple frown. “Because if they did… you would be angry and punish them.”

Foulques chuckled. “My dear, you may not wish to hear this, but I shall tell you it anyway. I do not care what anyone says about your father. He has long since stopped being a concern of mine. They could praise him if they chose. That they do not… speaks for itself.”

Ness weakly shook her head. “Perhaps they… did not know him. His death was nearly 10 years ago.”

“Ask the king if you think me a liar. Or the queen,” Foulques said. “Both met the man - your mother was well-known to them. Talk to those who served your grandfather in Aquitaine. Speak to anyone, they will tell you the same.”

Ness had run off from him, swearing she would. But nothing since.

He wondered if she did ask. There was little doubt in his mind she would hear nothing favorable. But if she were like Marguerite, it would hardly matter.

He did not know what he hoped to gain from this.

No, that was untrue.

He knew what he wanted - Ness as a lover. He did not know how he could achieve this goal, given the real fact he had murdered her father and married her mother. Either one could leave her cold to him… but both?

“My lord.”

Foulques was snapped from thought. A young man stood before him - a teen he had seen around the halls. The duke did not remember his name.

“What is it?”

“The Duke of Burgundy wishes to see you, my lord,” he said. “He says he has news.”

Foulques raised his brow. News? What news could filter in here?

Some had come early on, before a proper siege could be set up. One piece of gossip said the Duke of Toulouse was in fact delayed because he was mourning the loss of his lover. The lady Margot, who was also his brother’s wife, had died in childbirth. The child’s paternity was unknown, with the younger brother of the duke insisting he had bedded her it was his.

Toulouse did not confirm or deny it, but Foulques knew his friend had not stopped seeing Margot - so it was possible.

Regardless, Toulouse was not here, though rumors did persist he has travelled north and linked up with Odo’s forces.

His presence would have made this stay far more entertaining, Foulques thought.

As it was, he was left with a king who kept to himself much more lately while the only other prominent noble present was Burgundy.

And the younger duke was fairly miserable himself these days.

He also was alone - his wife Duchess Adelaide was in Dijon. Mother to Philipp of Champagne and aunt to Raoul of Vexin - who made up much of the strength of Gilles' revolt - left her in a precarious position.

Like Foulques, Burgundy lacked acquaintances here. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the man had any to begin with these days.

Burgundy was in the strategy room by himself. A cup of wine in hand, he looked down at the map before him.

“I hear rumors of news?” Foulques asked him.

“I would think you glad,” Burgundy replied. “This is unbearable.”

“I survive,” Foulques said. “You do not?”

Burgundy looked at him. “My lands are eaten away by that overzealous countess who thinks herself a man.”

“Ah the Lady Almodis,” Foulques said. “A charming woman when I met her during the last war.”

“I hear saving one’s life can be charming,” Burgundy replied.

Foulques eyed his counterpart. “Now she rebels once more. And there is little you can do to stop her.”

Burgundy sighed. “My wife does all she can. While I miss her, I cannot help but wonder if perhaps it is better that we are apart for that reason.”

The younger duke cursed under his breath.

“Locked on an island, unable to properly deal with the revolt that slowly sweeps across my duchy,” Burgundy said. “A revolt I think the king takes pleasure in.”

Perhaps, Foulques thought. After all, the king had hinted as much when returning the Countess Almodis as a vassal to Burgundy. Though it was likely more meant as a check on the duke, more than anything else. A rebellion now, as had happened, was not in Philippe’s best interest.

“I doubt he wishes your attention diverted,” Foulques said. “He is probably… disappointed… in your inability to keep your vassals in check.”

“Yet he makes Alberic his regent?” Burgundy scoffed. “And you would be wise to keep your gloating to yourself on these matters. It is not becoming of a man of your status.”

Foulques raised his brow. “As opposed to attempting to see me killed in battle?”

“That is to be expected,” Burgundy replied. “And I did not wish you dead. Captured would have suited nicely.”

Foulques stared him down. But Burgundy was unmoved.

“Do not ask surprised. You have been in this game longer than me,” he replied. “If you are a not a man worth taking down, then you are not worth much of anything. Every duke in the realm wishes your influence curbed. That includes your friend Toulouse.”

Foulques grunted, but did not reply. He disliked Burgundy and never had a good feeling toward him - even when he first inherited his land from his grandfather. But what he said here was truth. It just a painful thing to admit - a reminder he had few friends outside of Anjou.

“What is this news?” Foulques demanded, preferring to think of something else.

“Odo moves against Champagne,” Burgundy said. “The battle may already be under way.”

“Champagne still has some of his forces here,” Foulques said.

“They are disorganized,” Burgundy said. “That is why Odo strikes. He is confident.”

“You don’t look it,” Foulques said.

“Because I look past this and see what?” Burgundy asked. “The realm decays around us. We slow the inevitable. Nothing more.”

Foulques shook his head. “The king is aware of this news?”

“The king did not wish to see me,” Burgundy said. “I summoned you because you he will see. That is how it always his. You remain his favorite pet.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. Burgundy did not change. But the Duke of Anjou did not need to remain with him any longer. After hearing the king was in his chambers, Foulques left his counterpart and made his way there.

When Foulques arrived, the guards blocked him off. The duke made his reason for coming known and after a few moments where one of the guards ducked into the room, Foulques was allowed entry.

A servant was exiting with a pitcher of wine, likely empty, on a tray. Yet beside the king, who sat in solitude in the flickering candlelight, was a fresh one.

His head was down. His beard long and mis-shappen. The gray had begun to overtake the reddish-brown. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced now, even as he was at rest.

He looked over to take his latest cup of wine, likely poured by the servant before departing. But his eyes must have caught Foulques, because he looked up at the marshal.

“What?” was all he mustered.

“Messengers bring word that Mayor Odo has engaged the forces of Champagne near Meaux,” Foulques replied.

“Has he fallen too?” Philippe asked.

“We have no word yet,” Foulques said. “I imagine we shall hear something in the late hours.”

The king drank down his cup in one gulp. He poured himself another, with some of the contents missing the cup, and splashing onto his hand. As he brought the cup up toward his mouth Philippe sucked on his hand, as if not to let even a drop go wasted.

“You realize, it is already decided,” Philippe said. “And we just wait for word. Our fates decided. We simply are unaware of it.”

A chilling thought, Foulques realized. He found himself reminded of the rare uncomfortable feeling of having fate outside of his hands.

He did not like one bit.

“They shall emerge victorious,” Foulques said. “The forces of Champagne have guile but they do not stand well in battle - in that they reflect their leader well.”

Philippe laughed. “And yet he slowly eats away at all I have built. All I have worked for. Three decades. And it lay in ruin.”

“The war is not yet lost,” Foulques said. “We have faced difficulties before. We triumphed all the same.”

Philippe shook his head, his pale face appearing nearly ghoulish in the candlelight. “Rouen is a distant memory. One of a more pleasant time. One that is long gone.”

“We have the mettle to repeat such feats,” Foulques said.

“Do we?” Philippe asked. “Do we really? It was not much over a decade ago. And yet, look at us! I sit here without an eye, hair turning white, my respect across the realm dwindling. My wife once saw me as a conquering hero. Now she scoffs at nothing more than a prideful fool.”

“My king…”

“And you, friend,” Philippe continued. “Where is your fat but feisty lady?”

“I… what do you ask?” Foulques asked.

“The Duchess Beatritz!” Philippe said. “She was a good woman. I did not speak with her often, but when I did, I enjoyed her wit. Her death has left a void.”

“With you?”

“Yes, but only through you,” Philippe said. “She made you whole. And you have never been the same since she passed.”

Another chill. Foulques did not believe that to be true. Beatritz was a great loss. He did miss her - no woman ever provided him with as much insight into the world around him. But he had managed. And…

“I had Aines,” Foulques said.

“And she is gone too!” Philippe said. “Much too soon!”

He laughed, a maniacal cackle that sent another shiver down Foulques’ spine. “You were right all those years ago. I should have made Aines my wife. She had a good head on her shoulders. Better than my lowborn queen. She would be respectful at least…”

Foulques lowered his head. He doubted that. If Aines were here, her words could cut deeper than Queen Sybille’s ever could.

“But things work out for a reason,” Philippe said. “I did not marry Aines. That fool Adhemar did. And then you killed him to take her yourself. Then you lost her and now seek to replace her with her daughter.”

Foulques did not provide a response.

“If she refuses you, will you force yourself upon her?” Philippe asked. “You need not lie to me. I will not punish you if you do.”

“No, I could not,” Foulques said. “She reminds me too much of her mother. They all do.”

Philippe smiled again. “I see it now.”

“That they look similar?”

“No, I see now that Rouen is not alone,” Philippe said. “You… you wish for what you have lost. But you shall not have it again. You may lay with that girl. Perhaps you will even repeat your actions as you did then - dispose of your duchess to make Ness your wife. Perhaps she shall bear your children. But… it will never be the same.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “You think me pathetic?”

“I think you a man who wishes to replicate his past glory,” Philippe said. “But is it as pathetic as a king who sits powerless as his family wastes away in a dungeon? A king who must choose between their lives and his crown and their inheritance? A king who fancied himself a true heir to Charlemagne only to learn the only heir who he was truly worthy of was his own father, who left him with nearly nothing? No, Duke Foulques - that is a pathetic man. A sad, pathetic man.”

“You... “ Foulques began reflectively. But he did not know what to say next.

“I wish for you to succeed in your attempts to reclaim your old glories,” Philippe said. “For in turn, they will become, in a small way, my own. You can cannot fill your void, but I need you to be the best you can be. Take the girl if it makes you feel like you have found your Aines again. Or Beatritz.”

Drunk, uninhibited, depressed. All three had combined to make Philippe an unpleasant figure tonight.

“If you have no other business for me, my king,” Foulques began, “I shall leave you to your… business.”

Philippe said nothing and Foulques turned to leave after a bow. But after a few steps, he heard the king’s voice speak words that once more sent his stomach into knots.

“The treasury is empty, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said.

The duke turned back. “You mean our resources run low?”

“No, I mean I have no money to may my men,” the king replied. “The years of warfare have left us destitute.”

Foulques’ mouth hung open, his gaze never leaving the king as he slowly shook his head. “How could this have happened? Did you not see coming when you restarted the war in Valencia?”

“I… we needed victory,” Philippe said. “And now we will bring ruin.”

“You will bring ruin!” Foulques shouted and pointed at the king. “No wonder the queen thinks ill of you!”

Philippe looked at Foulques. He did not appear angry at his duke’s outburst. Instead, after that brief gaze, he hung his head.

“My kingdom teetering, my children in danger… I am as you say, as she says, and as I say,” Philippe said. “Pathetic.”

Foulques wished to be angry with him. But… the duke felt nothing but contempt for him. A man he respected fallen so far… so broken. That he dragged all around him down as well seemed almost secondary to it all.

It wasn’t of course. For Foulques, for the other dukes of the realm, this could bring further turmoil and greater upheaval. It was good for no one but the rebels.

The duke looked at the king, whose eyes were bloodshot. Was it from the liquor or tears? Did it matter?

The situation was unchanged regardless. Their straights were dire. And Foulques had little desire to look at the king any longer.

He said nothing, just turning and leaving the room without bowing before his departure.

…..

As the evening arrived, Foulques also sat alone. He could not even enjoy his wine, the image of his destitute, drunken, sad sack of a king still playing in his mind.

He sat, almost numb, knowing there was little he could do. He had no desire to be anywhere near his lecherous nephew .Champagne would likely accept him, but he could not bring himself to actually finally betray the king, especially for someone he could not fully trust. And perhaps... he could not stand to admit he had made a mistake this time.

He strangely found himself sympathetic to the Duke of Burgundy. Though Foulques did not think of it as hell - more of purgatory he felt trapped within… perhaps a sense that they were caught in between two fates. Eventually they would find their way to one but… it did not seem it would come of their choices. Which frustrated him.

He briefly considered raising his levies, but his anger at Philippe’s stupidity in Valencia prevented him. Why should he waste more Angevin lives to save the king from this mess?

A sip of the wine. Still bitter.

There was a knock on the door. Despite the despair that lurked, Foulques still felt a rise within him. Could this be news of Odo’s fate? A victory and they may well persevere. A loss? And the king may as well give himself over to Champagne. Perhaps that would be the merciful thing to do anyway.

But it was no messenger. A fully cloaked Ness slipped into the room upon him opening the door. Once it was closed once more, she lowered her hood.

“Does the queen require something of me?” Foulques asked. “To scrape her husband off the floor of his chambers, perhaps?”

Ness raised her brow for a moment. “I… do not understand my lord.”

“Yes you do,” Foulques said. “I’m certain she speaks of it.”

Ness lowered her head. “The queen… the queen is unhappy. But she is careful what she says around us.”

Foulques was surprised to hear that. It appeared Ness was telling the truth. The queen more open with the dukes than her own ladies? Why?

He shook it off. Ness would not know. But if she did not come on the queen’s business, why was she here?

“I wished to… tell you I spoke to the queen… and king about my father,” Ness told him. “And… they were kind. But I could see the truth in their faces. It is the same look I have seen when his name is mentioned in Anjou. They thought ill of him.”

Foulques resisted a smile. He knew it was painful for the girl to admit. In fact, he was surprised that she did.

“I did not expect to hear from you again on this,” Foulques said.

“I… I knew you knew how they felt,” Ness replied. “I thought it best to admit what I had learned.”

“You are mature beyond your years,” Foulques said. “I know many men who stand as dukes of this realm who would not admit such a thing.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Ness said.

“I do that a great deal lately,” Foulques admitted. “Perhaps… I should stop.”

“That is for you to decide, my lord,” Ness said. “It is your choice.”

Foulques approached and touched her hair, then slide his hand under her chin, to tilt her head upward, toward him. “If you are deserving of praise, and I think you should receive it.”

She did not flinch. But she did eye him with the same stare her mother used to give him - a hint of curiosity yet knowing full well what he desired.

And like her mother, she asked the question anyway.

“What do you wish of me, my lord?” Ness asked. “You have a wife already. And a lover.”

“And yet, I want more,” Foulques told her.

“Because I think me her,” Ness replied.

“You are similar,” Foulques said. “But I do not know if you are the same. I knew little of her when she was your age. She was already more experienced - hardened by circumstance. Driven by a desire for more.”

“You… think me soft?” Ness asked.

“It is the nature of things,” Foulques said. “You are inexperienced. There is no shame in it.”

Ness scowled. “You speak as if I were a little girl. I am a woman grown. I am no… weakling. I too have backbone, as she did! And desires as well!”

“And what are those desires?” Foulques asked. “She wished to be duchess - to wield power and command respect. She could not be queen, but she wanted to be at the epicenter of the realm. And for a time, a brief happy time, she was.”

Ness was wide-eyed. She bit her lip.

Foulques leaned in close and whispered: “I cannot promise you that I can do for you as I did her. But I can make give you all the trappings of it.”

“A duchess?”

“You will feel like one.”
…..

The sound of banging on the door awoke Foulques several hours later.

The room was better lit than normal - the duke had wanted to see his lovely young conquest and both had fallen asleep quickly after. Ness remained, wrapped up in linens but naked underneath, while he held her.

The knocking did not disturb her, but that Foulques left her to see what this was about did. A slight moan escaped her lips before she pulled the sheets closer to her body in order to keep what heat was left.

Just seeing her made a smile form on his lips. She was not her mother, not yet anyway. She was inexperienced and naive - Aines was experienced and worldly. But Ness had plenty of fire - there was potential there.

Feeling the cold now, he threw on a long shirt quickly and opened the door. Burgundy, also in a night shirt, was on the other side.

“A rider has just arrived to tell us Odo defeated Champagne,” he said. “The rebel forces retreat. Our time in this hell is at an end, it would appear.”

Foulques smirked. Champagne remained the master schemer, but ever the poor commander. “Has the king been informed?”

“He has been informed, yes,” Burgundy said. “I doubt he hears me - as he is in a pathetic state. The queen has men to watch over him to ensure he does not choke on his own vomit.”

“We should all be so lucky to have a wife such as that,” Foulques said.

Burgundy raised a brow and tilted his head toward Foulques’ chambers. “Some of us do.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze and Burgundy smirked, knowing he had landed a shot. The older duke closed the door in his face, with enough noise to finally stir Ness from her slumber.

“What was that?” she wondered.

“The king’s forces are triumphant,” Foulques said. “Champagne’s forces retreat.”

“We will be able to return to Melun?” Ness asked.

Foulques nodded. He knew the truth was more complicated of course - the king’s poor financial status made long-term success cloudy. But she did not need to know that.

All she needed to know was that he was now awake. And just seeing her in the candlelight made only stirred him further.

Their fates remained uncertain. But he would enjoy what he had now.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 96
December 1098 - Anjou, France

The morning sun filtered in through a window. It warm - warmer than waited outside. But not as comfortable as what remained for her in bed.

The heat from her lover, arms wrapped around her, had done the trick during the cold night, long after the fires within the room had burnt out.

But this too, like that flames, had to come to an end. At least for now.

Agnes d’Anjou slipped from Cedric’s normally strong grip, lax now because he blissfully dreamed. Of her, she wondered?

She smirked. Who else would he dream of?

However, outside his embrace brought an immediate reminder of the world cold realities - literally in this case as Agnes nearly yelped as her bare feet hit the floor. Frigid.

She scrambled to grab her dress and get it on quickly. A simple thing, specifically so she would not attract extra eyes upon her, would not be enough on it’s own, but once she got her cloak on and started moving, she would be all right.

“In a rush?”

Agnes slid her dress over her head and pulled it down before looking toward the young, strapping man in the bed.

“It is cold,” Agnes said.

“I know. That is why I woke when you no longer kept me warm,” he replied.

“Then you would be wise to find your clothes,” she said.

“I would rather other ways to stay warm,” he told her, his lips forming a sly smile.

Agnes rolled her eyes. But she could not resist a smile in reply.

Cedric was eager - hardly a shock. He had the energies of a stallion and perhaps the strength of one. He was, after all, the barrell-chested son of a blacksmith. And he was still relatively young - only nearing his 20th summer.

Hard in body, but boyish in face - a perfect lover, she thought.

Feeling the cold, yet a certain heat from elsewhere, she smiled at him and tossed off her dress once more, before rejoining him in bed. The feeling of warmth from his breath on his neck was followed by his lips on her skin, working their way down...

The door suddenly flung open. Agnes jumped and scrambled to cover herself with her sheet. Cedric nearly fell out of the bed entirely.

Alearde, stone-faced as she stood by the the now-closed door behind her, looked to her: “My lady. You have a busy day ahead. We must go.”

Agnes relaxed. It was always unlikely to be anyone else. After all, they were in this room because of Alearde - she had set this up so that Agnes could see her lover discreetly - away from the prying eyes of those in the keep.

In fact, this whole relationship would not exist without her.

Still unmarried, Agnes had attempted to simply deny her own needs since her disastrous affair with her cousin Gilles. She could not, and would not, dare risk another illicit affair and the potential for another bastard.

But that had grown increasingly difficult. Alearde told her it was not uncommon for women her age to have an increase in their desires, and that if necessary, she could instruct her on how to have a relationship while minimizing the risks involved.

At first, Agnes had resisted. But a chance meeting when she toured the castle town in Angers had introduced her to Cedric, and she found herself unable to think of anything else but him for days. When she confided in Alearde, the older woman had told her the young son of the blacksmith would make for a perfect lover - one who would be grateful for the attention and unlikely to grow too bold in his demands.

That was over a year ago. And it had been as Alearde had predicted - Cedric was quite devoted, and quite fun. And the concoctions she had given Agnes to lower the chances of a child being conceived, combined with Agnes rarely ever allowing Cedric to finish his business inside of her, had done the trick.

It was a good thing too - the stress of handling the affairs of the duchy left her needing of relief, and distraction.

Alearde’s stern gaze, reflective of an older sister, reminded Agnes the time for that was now past and it was time to return to the real world of the keep. An important council meeting was to take place in the afternoon, and Agnes needed to look and be at her best.

Cedric knew not to argue with Alearde either. He frowned, but did not protest further.

Agnes gave him a deep kiss, then pulled away once more and was handed her dress by Alearde. Within minutes she had herself fully dressed, cloaked, for secrecy and warmth, and bid her frowning lover goodbye with a blown kiss.

The villagers were out already, which wasn’t surprising. There was less light to do tasks, and everything had to be condensed. The two women kept their profile low, which was easier to do on a cold day since it was not out of the ordinary for people to be covered to stay warm and to move quickly in their tasks.

As was usually the case on this trip back to the keep, Alearde explained the business of the day.

“The servants are preparing your bath already,” Alearde said. “It should be ready for when you arrive.”

Just the thought of the warm water against her skin made Agnes feel momentary relief, until the realities of the air around her made her pace quicken further.

The bath would be the start though. She had to look and feel her best for this meeting today. Her proposition was bold, and some would say inappropriate for her to suggest. But she knew it was necessary for her family’s security.

“Is everything being prepared for today?” Agnes asked.

“Most should be ready,” Alearde said. “Etiennette needs a strong hand to guide her, but once pushed in the right direction, does her job well enough.”

“Good,” Agnes replied. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“There is one more thing,” Alearde said. “You will have a guest joining you for your bath.”

……

She was stunning.

It amazed Agnes that Haldora could be so pretty given her situation. The weariness of Anjou had drained her energies, but the only sign of blemish on her body was the marks left behind by the two children she had carried.

And if anything, the cold enhanced her pale features, bringing a rosiness to her cheeks and providing contrast to her short, blonde hair and blue eyes.

For the life of her, Agnes did not understand how her father did not find the duchess desirable, but it was clear he did not, given he usually bedded Etiennette over her. And he did not take her with him to Melun this time either.

Of course, that her stepmother was younger than she was also may have played a factor in the insecurity Agnes felt around her.

Thankfully, there really was not anyone present to see it. Since the two wooden tubs had been filled already, each woman had been accompanied by just one other - Alearde for Agnes and Helie, Chancellor Godfrey’s wife, for Haldora.

Haldora stepped into the tub and sank her body beneath the steaming waters of the tub with some hesitation as she adjusted to the temperature, but eventually submerged herself completely, before bobbing her head out and eventually propping herself against the wood.

She faced Agnes, who had already been in the water for a few minutes when the duchess arrived.

“Where I am from, they have springs that are this warm,” Haldora said. “You do not need to heat the water like here. It is just… there.”

“Even in the winter?” Agnes asked.

“It is very nice in the winter,” Haldora said with a small smile. “There can be snow on the ground the water is hot like this.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Agnes cooed. “I would like to see it, one day.”

“You say that until you learn you will because you have been given to a northman as a wife,” Haldora said.

Agnes raised a brow. She was uncertain of Haldora said it in jest, a vague threat or if it was a roundabout way of complaining about her own situation, being torn from her life and sent here. The duchess only gave a slight smile to follow up.

“I was surprised you wished to speak with me, my lady,” Agnes said. “And that it was of import.”

“Why are you surprised?” Haldora asked. “And you need not pretend to as if you do not rule over me here, even as your father sits in Melun. It is no secret he has let you oversee this place over his lawful wife.”

Agnes was somewhat surprised by the frankness by with the lady spoke. Perhaps it was her Norse blood - the Vikings from the tales were rather direct with their demands. Or perhaps she just lacked command of the language to be eloquent.

“You still command respect, my lady,” Agnes replied.

Haldora rolled her eyes. “You need not call me lady. Your father respects me by acknowledging that he sired a bastard with your lady. And then does so further by parading around Melun with his teenage whore, whose belly is great with child. And he does this despite me doing all that a wife should, and giving him a healthy son as our first child together. Respect.”

She dipped her head into the water and appeared to shout something. Agnes could not make out the sound, but a torrent of bubbles floated to the surface.

When Haldora’s head again emerged, Agnes looked to her. “Regardless of my father’s… actions, you are the duchess. And a princess to your people.”

“My father is dead, and my brothers likely look at me with suspicion that I eye their lands, though I do not,” Haldora said. “And I am duchess in name. But it is you who rules Anjou now, not me.”

Agnes replied with a slight nod. She did not know how to do anything beyond that. Haldora was right - she held little say over anything in the duchy.

And of course, that had been by design. Agnes and Geoffrey had worked hard to secure her place. Etiennette’s placement as Foulques’ lover had been more of that effort to gain influence - though her friend was more than happy to take part, as she believed herself to have poor marriage prospects prior.

That it had affected Haldora this much… was something Agnes had preferred not to think about.

Of course, she had no say over her father’s choice of lovers in Melun. She would have preferred he didn’t begin this rumoured affair with Ness. The girl hated her as much as her sister Marguerite did. The last thing Agnes needed was for her to gain influence.

Still, that she helped encourage her father to take Etiennette over Haldora had perhaps started this mess. And it left her feeling a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“What do you need of me then?” Agnes asked.

“I asked your father… the last time I saw him, if he still slept with your lady,” Haldora said. “He told me he did not. Do you know if he lies to me?”

He did. And Agnes knew it, since Etiennette had told her as much. But she dared not say anything here.

“I… I cannot say, my lady,” Agnes said.

“I told you DO NOT CALL ME MY LADY!” Haldora snapped. “It is as much a lie as what spews from your father’s mouth!”

Haldora suddenly grimaced and turned away from Agnes for a moment. When she turned back to Agnes, her face appeared remorseful.

“Forgive my outburst,” Haldora said. “You only mean… respect.”

“It is forgiven, my… my…” Agnes stammered. She had no idea what exactly to call her. “Princess? You are still that.”

“But I am not your princess,” Haldora said. “I am to my people, but not you, or yours.”

“Then I shall not call you ‘my princess’ but simply ‘princess,’” Agnes said. “It is true regardless of where you are.”

Haldora was silent for a moment, but eventually replied with a nod and slight smile.

“That will do fine,” she said.

“Good. Then princess, what do you need my help with?” Agnes asked.

“I need someone to speak to your father on my behalf,” Haldora said. “Someone who will… help him understand that I am doing all that I can as a wife. And that he hurts me by choosing to continue his affairs like this.”

“Why… why do you come to me with this?” Agnes asked.

“Because, I do not think a man will understand,” Haldora said. “But you… I know you suffered once as well. Not by him, but by… your cousin, is it?”

Agnes nodded. “Yes… but what do you think I can do?”

“I do not know if your father respects any woman he beds,” Haldora admitted. “Me, his two whore lovers. Or any other woman for that matter. But… you, you are the one exception.”

“I… I do not know if that is true,” Agnes said.

“It is true,” Haldora said. “You sit where you are now because it is true.”

“You flatter me, my… excuse me, princess,” Agnes said.

“I do not know if you play dumb to appear humble,” Haldora said. “Or if you do it because you do not truly believe you have much sway with him. It does not matter. I ask this of you because… because I would hope you understand my plight. And there are few others here who would, and may care.”

Agnes’s gaze fell away from her stepmother.

Part of her wished to admit the truth - that she had aided in limiting Haldora’s influence. Another part wished to climb out of her tub and hop into Haldora’s to console her. And another just felt helpless - her father might respect her, but on matters like this she doubted he would listen.

“I will do what I can,” Agnes replied.

“Thank you for that,” Haldora said.

The Princess of Norway leaned back against the wood of her tub once, more closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“This, these smells, the scent of flowers in the water, this is the one thing that we do not have in our springs,” she said as a smile came to her face.

Agnes did not reply. She just closed her eyes, embraced the warmth of the water around her and tried to relax herself once more.

….

A few hours later, Agnes stood in the strategy hall, knowing there would no soothing her nerves now.

Her dress, like her, had been washed in scented water. Her hair had been tied up neatly - as she remembered her mother doing for important council meetings she would attend by herself.

In fact much of how she told herself how to look and behave came from those memories. Beatritz was not the most aggressive woman - nor was she one to forget her place. But she knew how to oversee, and she knew how to manage.

Agnes knew how to talk. She hoped that with her mother’s appearance and her own words, it would be enough.

She looked to Marshal Nominoe, the Breton who had been selected to replace Leon, after the old marshal had finally succumbed to age.

“Marshal,” Agnes began, “What news do you bring on the conflict?”

The chancellor pointed to the map on the large table they all stood around. He pointed Anjou.

“The good news, my lady, is the fighting all takes place away from the lands of Anjou,” he said. “The rebel armies focus their efforts on Normandy, Gilles in Rouen and Champagne in Evreux. Meanwhile, the rebellion against Alberic continues, but to the east, near Bourbon.”

“Then we have been spared once more it appears,” Bishop Hildebert said. “Thank God.”

“What are the strengths of the armies?” Agnes asked.

“Champagne’s forces remain below 2000,” the marshal said. “But Gilles looks to be around 4000 as they terrorize the king’s territories in Normandy.”

Agnes looked toward the map. She scanned around the room before saying. “Duke Gilles gains an upper hand. Does the king bring his forces back from Mallorca?”

Nominoe shook his head. “If he does, it will be news to me.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. Her father had complained of this strategy when he visited Anjou in the summer. The king wished to strike at Mallorca, which provided a third of Gilles’ forces, while it was unguarded. Foulques had wished for them to remain close at hand, raiding Berry, even if they lacked the strength to fully face Gilles’ forces in battle.

In the end, Foulques had not won out. But at least, he reasoned, he was not being sent to Mallorca with them - that fell to Mayor Odo.

While it was strange to hear her father be relieved at not being asked to lead an army, she understood not wishing to be sent to a small island in the Mediterranean. Though she also heard it was because her father had found other means to distract himself - his new lover.

But her father’s distraction and the king’s foolishness did not change the reality - Gilles appeared to be on the verge of seizing the northern part of the realm for himself. Doing so would go a long way toward tilting the balance of the conflict in his favor.

An unacceptable outcome.

“We cannot allow my cousin to win his war,” Agnes told the council.

“My lady,” the marshal began, “is that not the king’s problem more than ours?”

“It is both of our problems,” Agnes said. “Champagne has been a friend of my father. I do not worry much if he wins.

“But Duke Gilles has long been an adversary of this family. He desires Tours, and believes my father has wronged him. Should he win, he would place on the throne my uncle, who believes he has claim to Anjou over my father through my grandmother.”

The marshal and the bishop did not appear convinced.

“Do you find fault with what I say?” Agnes asked.

“My lady… while I understand your concern,” the bishop began, “the duke has made no aggressive stance toward us. He speaks merely of wishing change to the realm over tyranny. And… he does have a point.”

“I see,” Agnes said. “Is that all?”

“You are hardly an unbiased party either,” the bishop added. “Given your past indiscretions.”

“My past indiscretions give me unique light into how my cousin plays,” Agnes said. “He speaks of love and peace, only to turn on you when he has gotten what he needs. You may ask any number of women in this realm - or their lordly fathers or husbands - of that fact.”

“This is different,” the bishop said.

“No, I assure you, it is not,” Agnes said. “The man seeks to turn over the realm with another man who holds claims to my father’s lands. And you insist that is benign? I wonder, what would my father say to that?”

“And I wonder what would your father say to you declaring war in his name?” the bishop replied. “And the lives that may be lost so you may have revenge for your indiscretions.”

“I declare no such war,” Agnes said. “But I will take this to him, and argue it before him in Melun. I wish to do so with the council behind me.”

“You ask a great deal,” the bishop said.

“I ask that you see the situation, and understand the danger it poses to Anjou,” Agnes replied. “And understand that I risk lives now of knights sworn to fight for my father’s honor, rather than sacrifice the lives of the people of Anjou when the war to seize the duchy from my father comes here.”

“You fear-monger,” the bishop said.

“Do you wish to stake the lives of the people of Anjou to that, father?” Agnes demanded.

The bishop was silent. Agnes turned to Mayor Guilhem, her father’s longest-serving advisor.

“Mayor Guilhem, will you support my call to raise our levies to fight against Duke Gilles rebellion?”

The old steward gave a look around the room before lowering his head. “I have always defended your father. From our time in Tours when he was but a count, to now. I will not abandon his family now. You have my support, my lady.”

Agnes restrained her smile, responding with a nod. She looked to the chancellor. “Chancellor Godfrey, what say you?”

“You are a woman,” Godfrey said. Then he too lowered his head. “And you do have personal stake in such matter. A bias.”

He paused, then picked his head up.

“But your bias may not be misplaced. I have heard firsthand of Gilles’ actions across the realm. He is not to be trusted. And if Simon were to become king, while I do not think he would be capable of pursuing his claim against us, Gilles will do so for him. And there will be enough dukes in the realm who see the gains the House of Anjou have made and wish to see it weakened. Therefore, I agree with your call, my lady. Take it to your father with my support as well.”

Agnes could not resist the smile this time. She was surprised at how good the chancellor’s speech sounded.

She turned to the spymaster, Julian of Guerande. “What say you?”

“I do not trust Duke Gilles,” he said. “It is not your place to make this decision, however.”

“Then I will tell my father that,” Agnes said. “My first priority is Anjou. My reputation is nothing compared to that.”

“How will I know this will be made clear to him?” Julien demanded.

“The chancellor will accompany me,” Agnes said. “You too, if you wish.”

“My duties keep me here,” Julien said. “But if my concerns are heard, then I have no objections.”

Annoying, but acceptable, she reasoned. “What of you, marshal?”

“I too, have issues with how this was raised,” the marshal said. “But I will go along with it, as Mayor Julien has, if those concerns are made clear to the duke.”

“And what of you, father?” Agnes asked the bishop.

“I do not approve,” the bishop said. “I think you overstep your bounds and do this for your own base desires.”

Agnes pursed her lips. She wished to chastise Hildebert. But she knew she could not. She had to be humble and accept this. In the end, he would likely be the man her father listened to the least. She had Guilhem and Godfrey on her side - that would be enough.

“You are entitled to your opinion,” Agnes said. “The chancellor will make it clear to my father you feel this way.”

“I…” the bishop began.

“Yes?”

He shook his head and fell silent. Agnes then looked to the rest of the council.

“Then it is agreed,” she said. “The council supports action against Duke Gilles, though there are objections based on… that it was I who brought it forward.”

There was no response.

“If that is all the business for the day,” Agnes said. “Then this meeting is adjourned.”

The council members vacated the room with Agnes being the last to depart. However when she returned to her chambers, Godfrey and Guilhem were present. That was no surprise - there were already four cups laid out for wine with the men holding two of them.

“Well done, my lady,” Guilhem said as he handed Agnes hers.

Agnes smiled and sighed. “My stomach is just now beginning to settle. It was a close run there. I did not know if the Marshal Nominoe and our spymaster would go along with it. Your speech helped, chancellor.”

“Some do not see the idea what it is,” Godfrey said. “Rather, they see who it comes from. It was necessary to allay those concerns. We all played our parts well.”

“Then there is nothing more to do than take this to my father,” Agnes said. “Have you started the preparations, Guilhem?”

“I have, my lady,” Guilhem said. “Herve prepares the knights for the journey. And I have others preparing horses and materials for you and your ladies.”

“Excellent,” Agnes said. “I thank you for your assistance in this matter, sir. In all of these matters.”

“It is my pleasure, my dear,” Guilhem said. “You do your father proud.”

Agnes blushed. Guilhem was like an old uncle at this point. He had not been directly involved in her life like Alearde had been, but she had known him for as long as she could remember. The man, never married, always did his part for her father, and when asked, her brother and now her. Quietly, and often behind the scenes, but none of them could have made it this far without him.

“And thank you as well chancellor,” Agnes said. “I’m certain your presence with me will only help further our cause.”

Godfrey nodded. “Your father will listen to you regardless my lady. But if it helps things move along, it is my pleasure.”

“Thank you gentlemen,” Agnes said. “We will speak again before setting out.”

The pair bowed before her and exited the chamber. In their place Alearde slipped in, along with Beatrice.

Agnes’ daughter was now past 11 summers. She was fast becoming a young woman herself. A girl who many said looked just like her mother, Agnes was beginning to see it now.

However, she saw less of Beatrice than she used to. The girl needed to learn how to become a proper lady and Alearde was better at showing such tasks. Beatritz would have been disappointed to know her daughter wasn’t as capable as passing those habits on, but at least after years of practice, Agnes had gotten better at it. Or, at least, she had grown competent enough to fake it.

In addition to being taught by Alearde, Beatrice had also begun to work among Duchess Haldora’s ladies. Haldora seemed to approve of it, though Agnes suspected it was because, as Foulques granddaughter, Beatrice would never be the target of his affections.

“Did I hear that right, mother?” she asked. “Are you going on a journey?”

Agnes raised her brow, then looked toward Alearde. “The door was closed.”

Alearde placed her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “When you listen into a conversation, you must be much better at directing where you want the ensuing talk to go. Even with your mother.”

Beatrice blushed. “I’m sorry Alearde.”

“No, you must apologize to your mother for snooping,” Alearde replied.

“Sorry mother,” Beatrice said.

Alearde chuckled and gave her daughter a hug.

“May I come, mother?” Beatrice asked. “I would like to meet the king and queen.”

Agnes shook her head. “Perhaps if it were summer. But it is too dangerous now in winter.”

“But… you go,” Beatrice said.

“Yes, because your grandfather has entrusted me with a duty,” Agnes said. “One I must fulfill. And you have duties now too - did you even ask the duchess if you could leave?”

Beatrice lowered her head. “No, mother.”

“Not this time, my dear,” Agnes said. “Perhaps if I must go again.”

Beatrice sighed. “Is Bella going?”

Bella - Agnes’ bastard sister by Alearde. The girl was just a little older than Beatrice and the two seemed to hate one another, despite technically being aunt and niece and the best efforts of Agnes and Alearde. And, with Bella being integrated into Agnes’ ladies, she would be going as well. Predictably, Beatrice did not like that.

“It’s not fair!” she moaned.

“She is a member of my ladies,” Agnes said. “If the duchess goes to Melun, then I imagine you will go.”

“The duchess is never going to go to Melun,” Beatrice said.

Agnes glanced at Alearde. Both women knew she was likely correct in that assessment.

“It is the way of things,” Alearde said. “Now, it is rude to question your mother. Apologize.”

Beatrice frowned and said sheepishly: “Sorry mother.”

“Go find Etiennette and she that she is readying herself for this journey,” Alearde ordered.

Beatrice nodded and shuffled out of the room, her shoulders slumped. Agnes shook her head as she poured Alearde some wine in the empty cup remaining.

“She has quite the defiant streak in her,” Agnes said.

“No more so than you,” Alearde said as she took the cup. “Or do I need you to remind you of this morning?”

“You mean finding me in the room you arranged?” Agnes asked.

Alearde smirked. “Because I know better than to fight a defiant lady. I guide you where I can.”

Agnes chuckled. “And I am quite thankful for that. Without you, I do not think any of this would have been possible.”

“As I said, I guide,” Alearde said. “Your talents make this possible. Both you and your brother - you both are quite good with people. All you require is confidence, and focus.”

“Which is to say, all we needed was our older sister to aid us,” Agnes said.

“My lady, your lordly brother would object most fiercely if you were to call me your sister in his presence,” Alearde said.

She began to chuckle, and Agnes joined her with a full-on laugh. The two clanged their cups together and drank.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 97
December 1098 - Melun, France

They call her the “Duchess of Melun.”

Agnes could not tell if it was a compliment or insult. If it was an insult, she wondered at whom it was directed. Perhaps it was all things to all people.

It annoyed her all the same. Just because seeing her, in this state, was torturous.

The “duchess” as it were, was Ness. The teen stood by Foulques, her short stature only allowing her to come up to his shoulder. Her small frame made her belly, large with child, appear even bigger.

It did not escape Agnes’ notice that her father’s arm was wrapped around the girl’s waist, his hand no doubt on her rear. It was a lewd display, one only slightly permissible had they been married. But of course, they were not.

But Agnes could say nothing as she slowly moved up the stairs of the keep with her entourage. She was greeted first by Duke Alberic of Aquitaine, her cousin and still steward to the king, with a kiss that was aimed for her lips but though quick evasion became one to the cheek. He still managed a rather forceful grab of her rear.

Boor.

She quickly moved past him and to her father, who was eyeing Alberic. But broke his glare to give his daughter a kiss on the head as she bowed before him. Ness lowered her head slightly but could not remove the grin from her face as she did so.

The girl was beaming.

Agnes was not sure if morbid curiosity was why she looked back toward Etiennette, who had to suffer through watching this… embarrassment. Her lady held it together, barely, though Agnes knew her well enough to understand she was on the verge of tears. They would come when she was out of view.

Alearde merely rolled her eyes.

Agnes did not know of the ‘duchess’ nickname when they had met upon her arrival. But it did not take long for her to learn of it - Ness was a frequent topic of gossip in the keep.

And how could she not be? A girl of 17 summers who apparently was so openly paraded around as the lover of the Duke of Anjou, that she was practically treated as if she were his wife. She had all the trappings of a duchess - Foulques had given her the necklace she wore around her neck. So too were her broaches gifts from the duke.

It was infuriating. Agnes eyed the daughters of Aines with distrust - Marguerite had shown the lengths they would go to bring down the House of Anjou. And now her father not only took one as his lover, but treated her as if she were his wife?

“You must put it aside,” Alearde warned her later as she prepared Agnes’ hair for her meeting with her father. “You are here for one reason. It is not to argue with him about his choice of lovers.”

“How can that not anger you?” Agnes demanded. “After everything he’s done… and to you…”

“Because I am not surprised,” Alearde said. “There is a reason I have made the decisions I have. It is a mess for his wife and his lovers to sort out. We are not among them and should leave them to their business.”

“The duchess implored me to speak on her behalf,” Agnes said. “And I can see why.”

“The duchess should sort her own difficulties,” Alearde said. “And not entangle her stepdaughter in such affairs.”

“She is desperate,” Agnes said. “I know how she feels… what it feels like to be cast aside.”

“As do I,” Alearde said. “She will manage as we did. You must not be dragged down in this with her.”

“But they call the girl a duchess!” Agnes exclaimed. “If I were Haldora I would want to choke the life out of her myself.”

“They mock her,” Alearde said. “And you are not Haldora. She wields no power. This girl likely holds little as well. You come here to make certain your voice is the one that matters. If you lose sight of it, then it will not.”

“But…”

“But nothing,” Alearde said. “Your father will grow angry at a woman questioning him, even you. And you were once Ness. He will not forget that. If you sling arrows they will be returned at you, and you will not have the shield of your sex or your title as your father does.”

Agnes closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. As angry as she was, Alearde was right. She had to keep the focus on convincing her father to raise the levies to attack Gilles.

“Thank you,” Agnes said as she took her lady’s hand. “I do not know what I would do without you.”

“I have said before, you would survive,” Alearde said as she put the finishing touches on Agnes’ neatly pulled up hair. “But not as well as you do now.

….

The Duke of Anjou sipped on his wine in his chair. His face was difficult to read, as it always was with that mask, but his eyes moved, and they suggested he was closely examining her.

Agnes had nothing to fear - Alearde always knew how to make certain she looked pretty and proper. And yet, she still felt her stomach churning under the inspection.

“Wine then?” he finally asked her.

“Thank you,” Agnes said as she took the cup he handed her. He motioned for her to sit, and she did.

“Chancellor Godfrey tells me you annoy the council with requests of war,” Foulques said.

More churning within - so forceful Agnes was almost certain her father could hear it.

“I… I make the case for it yes,” Agnes said. “I wished for their support, so that my case would be stronger when I asked you to heed my counsel.”

Foulques leaned forward. “And what is that case, my dear? Some of the councilors think you motivated by a desire to strike back at the man who misled you.”

“Misled many, including you, father,” Agnes said. “My cousin is a deceitful lecher. Everyone knows this and yet so many simply think that when he speaks his falsehoods, they are the exceptions - that he is somehow being truthful with them.”

“You wish for vengeance on him,” Foulques said as he pulled away before standing up. Pacing about the room, he swirled the wine in his cup. “That is why you wish for this.”

She had hoped Godfrey would soften her father up. But it did not appear he had done this. Heck, he may well have poisoned him against her. A betrayal, not likely to be forgotten.

But she could not back down now. Too much was at stake.

“I wish for the best for our family,” Agnes said. “Duke Gilles, who desires Tours and hates all of us, being the power behind the throne of Uncle Simon, who has a claim on our lands in Anjou, I feel is a danger.”

“What can Gilles and Simon do?” Foulques asked. “My levy is the strongest in the realm.”

“But is your levy as strong as the entirety of the rest of the realm?” Agnes asked. “Gilles will work to turn them against us. And it will not require much - you are a great man who draws the envy of others. There is nothing more appealing than seeing a great man fall.”

Foulques smirked. “Chancellor Godfrey tell you that?”

Agnes paused. “Mother did. Toward the end as you rose to the king’s side, she spoke of how you would handle things when she were gone. She hoped for the best, but she worried.”

Foulques smirk disappeared. He walked back to the chair opposite his daughter and sat down once more.

“A wise woman, your mother,” Foulques said. He looked down. “You look quite a bit like her.”

Agnes smiled. “I hope to be as positive for Anjou as she was.”

“You already are,” Foulques said. He stood up once more. “Godfrey spoke well of you. He believes you do wish to see Gilles paid back, but you see enough of the picture to know that alone is not enough. I thought you capable of handling these matters, and now you have proven it to me.”

Her eyes widened and the smile grew from ear to ear.

“You mean, you will call up the levies?” she asked.

“I give you authority to do so,” Foulques said.

“Will you command them?” Agnes asked.

“I think the king would probably accept if I said I would command them, he is so desperate for assistance,” Foulques said. “But, as tempting as that is, I think it would be unwise to leave the king’s side at this time. I suspect others would rush to try to influence him. And... I wish to see what your cousin Herve can do. He has led armies well under the command of others. Let me see if he can do so on his own.”

Agnes was so excited she bounded out of the chair and squeezed her father tightly. He chuckled but before saying: “It is not common for a regent to hug their ruler in such a fashion.”

Agnes blushed and sheepishly returned to her chair.

“I am sorry father,” she replied.

“I point it out for your benefit,” Foulques said. “You must act as a regent first, not a daughter. If you do the latter, the council will never respect you.”

Agnes nodded. “I will father. Thank you for your counsel.”

Foulques swirled the cup of wine some more. “It will be nice to put that little welp in his place.”

Agnes raised her cup. “You have no idea, father. No idea.”

….

Agnes was tipsy as she left her father’s chambers.

The world moved a little faster than normal, her balance slightly off. She had nearly stumbled upon standing, but had caught herself against the chair. Her father had offered to escort her back to her guest chambers, but she said she was fine to walk by herself. It was just a short trip.

She moved about, at first using the wall for leverage. But she was soon able to balance herself out, as the movement seemed to make her a little more lucid.

As she neared her chambers, however, she caught sight of her cousin Alberic, who also noticed her and approached.

She had sat across from him during supper. While pleased not to be in view of Ness - she was on the other side of Foulques who stat between them - it was still a bit unnerving to have Alberic leer at her throughout, especially given his actions when she arrived.

Manners, he lacks. But then that was hardly a surprise.

“Cousin,” she said as approached. It was meant as a courtesy as she picked up her pace.

Alberic must have seen it as an invitation, as he moved in front of her.

“It has been too long, my lady,” Alberic said as he ran his hand down her arm. “You look lovely on this fine evening.”

Steeling herself, Agnes replied: “Thank you cousin. I… just am leaving my father’s chambers and returning to my own.”

“There is no rush,” Alberic said. “The night is young.”

She wished to be away from here. But perhaps she could direct the conversation elsewhere - distract him from his lustful thoughts long enough to make an escape.

“I hear you have found success in your war on Orleans,” she said. “That Angouleme is now yours.”

“Yes, though it was frustrating war,” Alberic said. “I would have liked to have defeated the old man, but I suppose taking it off his son is just as valuable.”

Alberic referenced the new Duke of Orleans, who had inherited after his father died a few years before.

Petty, but not unexpected, she thought.

As his hand continued to move up and down Agnes’ arm, she felt her stomach churn. He did not appear deterred.

“I have heard you will be wed soon?” she asked, hoping perhaps this would make him take the hint.

“Not soon,” Alberic said. “To a girl - the current heir to the County of Foix. She needs to come of age first, which will be a few years.”

“If she comes with Foix, then she shall be worth the wait,” Agnes said.

“I do not know,” Alberic said. “After all, I think I prefer a woman to a girl.”

He grabbed her rear. She tried to pull away but realized that would just put her closer to him.

“Cousin… you have made vows to her, have you not?” Agnes asked.

“Easily broken,” Alberic said. “She is my vassal after all. And I have heard from Gilles your qualities. I don’t wish a girl who knows little of pleasure. I wish for a woman of your beauty and experience.”

She did not enjoy his hand now moving to her face and to her hair. But then she felt a sudden grab of her breast.

Instinctively, she slapped Alberic across the face.

Alberic recoiled and Agnes used that moment to slip free and put some distance between herself and he.

“Keep your filthy hands off me,” Agnes said.

“These hands are as high-born as any that shall ever touch you again,” Alberic sneered as he held his cheek. “You will soon be a maid - one who has birthed a bastard and killed a man. You think others will take you as their lover, let alone their wife?”

“If that is to be my fate, so be it,” Agnes said. “I have not come here to lay with you, Alberic, or to be your wife. I had business with my father. And unless you wish for him to hear of this, I would advise you to let the matter drop.”

“You do not know what you pass on,” Alberic said.

“Having been with Gilles, I know exactly what I pass on,” Agnes replied.

“So you’ll open your legs for him and not for me,” Alberic sneered.

“Who I lay with is not your concern, cousin,” Agnes said. “And I warn you again, I will speak to my father of this if you do not stand aside. Is that what you wish? I would imagine he looks for any excuse to push my brother's claim to Poitou. Or, perhaps he might wish to reward his new lover. But I would not wish to give him a reason, if I were you. Orleans is one thing. My father is another.”

Alberic glared at her. But he said nothing further and moved toward the side of the hallway. Agnes walked past, though she did pause a moment to glance back at him.

“My cousin Gilles is a disgusting lecher,” she said. “You would be wise not to look to him for inspiration. I have heard you have enough problems without adding to your issues with his.”

“He does well enough,” Alberic said.

“For now,” Agnes said as she walked off. “For now.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 98
January 1099 - Melun, France

Agnes never would have expected to find herself in the queen’s chamber.

She actually had not expected to find herself still in Melun at all. She had remained through the start of the New Year, after which she intended to depart, but a heavy snowstorm had rendered roads impassable. That left her and her entourage stranded in Melun, for now.

When she had first arrived, she had spoken little with Queen Sybille. The woman appeared have grown a bit more open toward her over the past few weeks. Perhaps not coincidentally, that warmth appeared not long after Foulques had informed the king of his plan to intervene against Duke Gilles.

This invitation had come the evening prior and left Agnes feeling a bit hesitant. She feared she would be forced to share a room with the queen’s ladies, which still included Ness.

It proved to be an unfounded concern - the only person who was in the room was a servant who, after bringing them their wine, exited.

“Wine from Bordeaux,” the queen said. “A gift from your brother, the duke, actually! Presented to us when he visited earlier this year.”

“Geoffrey visited?” Agnes asked. “I must ask my father how that went.”

“He would not know,” the queen said as she took a sip of her drink. “He visited when your father was not present. I believe it was when your father visited you in Anjou over the summer.”

Agnes shook her head, but could not stop from smirking. At times Geoffrey could be so childish. That had not changed.

“How do you get along with him?” the queen asked. “He seems affable enough. A charmer, even.”

The queen's giggle made Agnes rolled her eyes. She had heard those rumors too. Geoffrey’s old lover, the Countess of Eu, had died a few years ago from pneumonia. No matter - he had supposedly picked up another - the sister of the Countess of La Marche.

He had better not have dared flirt with the queen!

It bothered her. While Geoffrey had been wronged by Marguerite and he, like she, had needs, it struck her too much like her cousin and her father that Geoffrey seemed to be taking lovers so quickly.

“I see,” the queen said.

“Oh no!” Agnes said. “I have some… concerns about what my brother does in private. But we are friendly to one another. We help each other when possible.”

“Ah, understandable you’d be sensitive to such things,” the queen said. “But it is good you and he are on good terms. Our realm struggles with conflicts between siblings these days. The king’s brother… allowing himself to be used for Champagne’s ends. Your father now fights against Duke Gilles, who uses your paternal uncle for his ends. Unfortunate.”

“Yes,” Agnes said. “It is troubling.”

“But that is why it is good to have a woman’s touch to change things,” the queen said.

Agnes raised her brow. “I… I do not understand what you mean your highness.”

The queen eyed Agnes, but her lips formed a sly smile. “Oh? You know nothing of why your father has decided to take up arms against Duke Gilles officially, after months of showing little concern?”

“My father sees the potential problems that may be caused if my cousin was successful,” Agnes said.

“I hear he needed some convincing,” the queen said as she sipped her wine. “You have no need to be so modest my dear. We are quite grateful for your initiative.”

Agnes blushed. “Thank you, your highness.”

“It is a sad time we live in,” the queen said. “I sit here, losing faith I shall ever see my children again. But, you provide me hope.”

“I… but we only attack Duke Gilles,” Agnes said. “Champagne we will avoid.”

“We have already bested his forces in battle,” the queen said. “But Gilles runs rampant. We cannot handle him on our own. In the process, we would lose both wars. If Anjou handles your troublesome cousin, we can do our part against Champagne… at least I pray we can.”

The queen sighed. “Vices. These vices destroy these once great men.”

“I beg your pardon your highness?” Agnes asked.

“My husband,” the queen said. “His drunkenness is no secret now. The realm knows of it. I remember the man I married - young, dashing, full of confidence. Over-confident perhaps. But now? There is none of that. He is not the man he was, when the realm needs him the most.”

“It is a shame, my queen,” Agnes said.

“Yes, as it is about your father,” the queen added.

“My… father?”

“His lust for ‘The Duchess’ consumes him,” the queen said. “I have known the man for years. He was not always the most tolerable individual, but if there was one thing he could be counted on, it was a good fight - to find a way to defend the realm. Now? His only interest is Ness. It is… disheartening.”

Agnes nodded. “I… did not realize it had gotten that bad.”

The queen poured herself some more wine. “My dear, I know you lie because I also know you are not blind. It is an embarrassment that he presents her so.”

“But you keep her among your ladies?” Agnes asked.

“I would have dismissed her if not for the king’s request,” the queen said. “He wishes to keep his duke happy so he might win him victories. I should arrange for her to be handed over to Champagne. Then, I trust your father would win us the war.”

Agnes brought her hand to her mouth. She did not wish to appear so amused by the comment.

“You have handled her presence well,” the queen said. “I know you two do not see eye to eye.”

“My father’s choices with his personal life are his own,” Agnes replied.

“Yes, but she taunts you,” the queen said. “I watch her. The glee she gets from it. It is pathetic - I doubt the babe in her belly could be so childish.”

“She is… a child herself,” Agnes said.

“No, she is old enough to know better,” the queen said. “But I applaud you for your composure. You must continue to though - she will continue to test you for as long as you are here.”

“You offer me advice,” Agnes said. “Why?”

“Because, you may have saved my children,” the queen said. “And I am grateful for that. And I know what it is like to be… disappointed by those you have come to rely on.”

The queen took another drink before pinning Agnes with her gaze. “Remember that when she tests you, she does so because she wishes to anger you. Stay calm, ignore her taunts, and you shall not only give her nothing by which she can take to your father, but you will also annoy her greatly.”

Agnes nodded. “Thank you, my queen.”

“Thank you, Lady Agnes,” the queen replied. “The realm remains most grateful for your help.”

…..

As the days passed, it appeared the test would not come. Agnes avoided Ness for her remaining time in Melun for the most part. She was unavoidable when it came to supper, since she was always with Foulques. But since Foulques was present, along with Herve, Godfrey and others, Ness had to show restraint.

But one evening as Agnes sat alone and listened to the wind whip outside, the door to her guest chambers opened, and Ness made her way inside.

Agnes eyed her - her gaze inevitably falling toward her belly, which now hung low. She remembered from her own experience that it likely meant the child would be born soon - advice from Alearde. A chill ran down her spine - seeing Ness in this state brought back unpleasant memories for Agnes - a reminder of where she was over a decade ago.

She could almost feel the same sensations - the feeling of dread and worry the overwhelmed her, especially when her daughter moved. Every moment drawing closer to the moment her reputation would be ruined forever.

It had not quite worked out that way, of course. She loved her daughter. And her father had not done as he could have - sending the child away, or worse, and doing the same to her. Still, she could not help those feelings.

But if Ness had similar feelings, she did not show them. She continued to beam as she slowly shuffled over toward Agnes. There was no bow this time as she stopped short of the chair where Agnes was seated. Agnes’ eyes shifted up to meet hers. The light of the fireplace illuminated clearly the smile on Ness’ face, and its cackle provided sound in the room.

“How fare you, Agnes?” Ness asked.

Agnes could feel the anger building with her - the adrenaline rushing to all parts of her body. She wanted to smack the girl across the face.

“I await yet another storm,” Agnes said. “Why have you come?”

“I came to see how you are,” Ness said as she pulled over a chair. She squeezed herself into it. Her hand moved over her belly. “Oooh, that’s cramped. I don’t think he likes that.”

“He?” Agnes replied, instinctively. She regretted it immediately.

“My son,” Ness said. “Well, your father’s son.”

“I see,” Agnes said. Keep it short. Give her nothing.

“I am concerned,” Ness said. “I have a sense that you do not approve of your father and my relationship.”

“I am my father’s daughter,” Agnes replied. “It is not for me to say what company he keeps.”

“Not to say,” Ness said. “But how you feel is a different matter.”

“My feelings are no concern of yours,” Agnes said. “That has been made perfectly clear.”

Ness smirked. “I know it bothers you that your father showers with me affection.”

If being paraded around as a replacement for a woman long-dead is affection, Agnes thought.

“As I have said, my father’s choices are his own,” Agnes said.

“He loves me, you know,” Ness said. “I see how he treats me. Better than that cold Northwoman. Or your pig of a lady.”

“I have noticed,” Agnes said. “It is almost as if the Lady Aines has risen from the grave. You must be proud to fill your mother’s role so. And be filled, where she was once was.”

Ness’ eyes widened for a moment before her gaze narrowed. “You should not speak of my mother so.”

“Your mother, like mine, was my father’s lawful wife,” Agnes said. “I have nothing but respect for her. She always treated me like a sister.”

“I see what you do there,” Ness said. “But I assure you, I am your father’s wife in all but that. I eat with him, not with the queen’s ladies, even when we sup with the king and queen. He spends every night in my chamber, even now. And… he even calls me his wife in private.”

“He may do all that, but that does not change how you are viewed in the eyes of the law, or God,” Agnes said.

“Yes, you would know about such matters,” Ness said. She paused for a moment as a grimace came over her face. “But unlike Duke Gilles, your father loves me such that he speaks of giving our son full inheritance rights.”

It was as if someone had struck Agnes in the stomach. She could barely breathe - her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide, but focused on nothing.

Impossible. She must toy with me. He could not…

“He may say… a great deal,” Agnes said. “But we shall see when… your child is born.”

“Yes, we shall,” Ness said. “And you will be most disappointed.”

Agnes could just grind her teeth. Insufferable hypocrite.

“Excuse me?” Ness asked.

Agnes felt a chill run down her spine. She had blurted that out - which left her with the options of denying it, apologizing for it or going with it.

Seeing the smug, satisfied smirk on Ness’ face left her feeling there was only one choice to be made.

“You are an insufferable, childish hypocrite,” Agnes told her. “Why do you harass me so? I have avoided you with good reason. And yet you seek me out, to taunt me. Why?”

Ness shook her head. “You need to ask?”

“Your father?” Agnes demanded.

“What else would it be?” Ness replied. “You helped in the murder of my father. I was young, but I did not forget. None of us have. Though I imagine you will claim you had nothing to do with it, just as you claim Duke Gilles seduced you.”

“Where to begin?” Agnes wondered aloud. “My cousin did seduce me with lies of love and companionship, but I ignored others when I laid with him. It was, my choice.”

“At least you admit that,” Ness said.

“And I admit that I aided in your father’s murder,” Agnes added. “I was but one of many who helped kill the man, so despised that finding conspirators was as simple as looking up. Conspirators, which included your mother, I might add.”

Ness grimaced again, though the forcefulness of how her face tensed suggested it to be out of discomfort rather than this revelation.

“You… think it is unknown to me that my mother helped?” Ness asked. “Or that she was at least complicit? Any fool could see it.”

“And I suppose any fool could see who was the one who actually put the plot into motion?” Agnes asked.

Ness eyed her. “I… I know of your father’s involvement… yes.”

“And yet, I am the one you target,” Agnes said. “You seek to punish me when your mother and the man you proudly claim calls you his wife conspired to murder your father… a far greater betrayal than any I could muster.”

“They, they had reason,” Ness said. “My mother loved your father. And… my father was poor to her. And your father may never have held a greater affection for anyone else but my mother. He could not resist her call for help.”

“Is that what he told you, or what you told yourself?” Agnes asked. “No matter, it still does not explain why you lay the blame of his murder at my feet.”

“They had reason,” Ness said. “You had none. You helped… for what?”

“Because my father showed me love and mercy,” Agnes said. “And I wished to see him happy after my mother’s passing. If my father had not wished it, I would have done nothing. Why do you think I took part?”

Ness frowned. “You… you still did not have reason.”

“My father’s happiness was enough,” Agnes said. “But… it does not matter. You think that rationale is good enough? Do you think your sister agrees with it, as you brag about carrying my father’s child? I wonder what she would say if she were here.”

“She… she…” Ness stammered. “She has dealt with her own problems. I don’t expect her to fully understand.”

“You’re right,” Agnes said. “I’m certain your mother would though. How could she not love her unmarried daughter laying with her husband, and carrying the child she could not?”

“Don’t you speak about my mother!” Ness shouted.

“Fine, then what would your father think about you birthing the child of the man who killed him, at his wife’s insistence, so they might be together!”

Ness pushed herself from the chair and moved toward Agnes. She tried to slap her, but Agnes avoided her hand and took a step back. Then she smiled.

“How rude of me Duchess,” Agnes said. “You wished to hit me. Go on, do so. Then you can explain to my father why you struck his daughter.”

Ness met her stare with a glare of her own. “He would understand.”

“Yes, he would understand why his lover, and he has had many of those in the past, struck his daughter, whom he has given control of Anjou to in his absence,” Agnes said. “If you believe that, then what do you wait for? Slap me! Punch me! I am here. I will not defend myself.”

Agnes spread her arms wide to make herself the bigger target, while never keeping her eyes off Ness. The teen eyed her, now gritting her teeth. Her hand trembled a she rose it, but it remained there, not moving forward.

It only came down to grasp at her belly as Ness groaned. But that groan became a shriek as Ness fell to her knees.

Agnes sighed. She could see it before. The girl was in labor.

“Your child comes,” Agnes said.

“No,” Ness said. “You know nothing. My waters have not broken yet. I have had this pain off and on for a day now. The midwife says it is normal.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “It is not necessary for your waters to break. Mine did not until my daughter was well on her way. I thought as you do, but my lady Alearde’s mother was a midwife.”

“Be quiet,” Ness said as she hauled herself back to her feet. She staggered forward, one hand feeling for objects to stabilize herself, while the other held the underside of her belly. But as she began to move toward the door, she ran out of things to hold onto - right as another pain coursed through her.

Ness cried out and crumpled to the floor. Agnes shook her head. She was beginning to doubt the girl could even make it to the door on her own. While the child was her first, she had said she had been having this pain for a while. It’s possible things were moving toward the final stages.

Leave her.

It was tempting to abandon Ness to her fate - to watch as she struggled through giving birth. It was no less than she deserved, in Agnes’ mind.

And yet, she could not. Memories of her situation with Gilles returned. She had been so scared, so terrified of the future. Perhaps childbirth would kill her. Even if it did not, a disgraced future awaited. All the while enduring the worst pain she had ever experienced - it was almost as if she was being torn apart.

When she was basically the same age as Ness.

Agnes knelt beside her and grabbed hold of Ness’ arm.

“I do not want your help,” Ness said as she yanked her arm away.

But another contraction wracked her body, and Ness again cried out, grasping her belly as she curled up, as much as could in pain.

“I do not like helping you either,” Agnes said. “But I cannot watch you suffer like this. I will help you get to the midwife.”

Ness did not protest now as Agnes hauled her to her feet. Slowly the two trudged from the chambers and down the hall.

“Why? Why do you help me?” Ness asked. “After all you’ve done? Why?”

“I told you,” Agnes said. “Just be grateful I cannot stand to watch you suffer as you do, or that I simply did not just walk from the room.”

Ness did not even say thank you. But Agnes was not entirely sure she was expecting one.

Well, not from her at least.
……

Ness did not birth her child that night.

Agnes had returned her to her chambers and fetched the midwife. The teen’s weak protests that her child was not coming quickly were dismissed by the midwife, though Agnes suspected it was just defiance that led Ness to claim otherwise.

But once the midwife was present and that Ness was in labor was confirmed, Agnes retired to her room. Well, after a brief stop with Alearde and Etiennette to mock the situation.

The next morning there was still no word. Ness’ labor appeared to be difficult, though it was her first, so it was unlikely to move too quickly.

In the mid-morning, Agnes sat with Alearde, Etiennette and Bella in her chambers. Alearde was knitting with her daughter, while Agnes and Etiennette played a game of checkers. To Agnes’ dumbfoundment, she often struggled against her friend, who appeared to be some sort of checkers savant.

This game would have to wait however as the door to Agnes’ guest chambers opened. The gray-haired, masked duke of Anjou walked in. Despite his age, his tall, well-built figure still remained imposing and even with those used to it, the mask only enhanced the feeling of dread that he could create upon entering a room.

The women all stood up, as did Bella, whom Foulques approached first.

“I have not had much time to see you girl,” he told her as he tilted her head up. “But you look to be growing well.”

“Thank you... father,” Bella replied.

Agnes knew Bella liked calling Foulques by that - she was advised against doing it too much in public while in Anjou. But here in Melun, alone with Agnes’ ladies, she could get away with lesser formalities.

“How is serving my lady daughter?” Foulques asked. “Is she a kind taskmaster?”

“Lady Agnes is very kind to me,” Bella said. “She is helping me learn what it means to be a proper lady.”

Agnes’ brow rose. That wasn’t entirely true.

As with Beatrice, Agnes found teaching such things to be difficult, and left most of that to Alearde. In the loosest sense, she provided an example and may have commented a few times on what is expected. But actually showing her how to do such things?

“Good on her,” Foulques said. “And good on you for learning. You never know when you may need such skills later in life.”

Bella smiled and bowed before Foulques. No doubt she expected that her father may find her a proper husband one day. Agnes resisted a sigh. Such things appeared to be beyond her reach.

“I wish to talk to my daughter… Lady Agnes, alone,” Foulques said.

The three got the message. But as each walked past, Foulques bid goodbye differently to each. To Bella, he gave a kiss on the forehead. Alearde just bowed before him, and he replied with a sly grin, which drew a slight head shake from his former lover.

Last was Etiennette, who Agnes saw had tears in her eyes. But Foulques pulled her close and kissed her deeply. A stunned look on the woman’s face gave way to a smile, though a few tears still rolled down her face.

The door was closed behind her, leaving the two alone.

As much as Agnes wished to ask about why her father had shown that level of affection to her lady, given what had transpired with Ness, she did not. She had to remember Alearde’s warnings about getting involved in her father’s affairs.

“What did you wish to speak to me about father?”

“It has come back to me that Ness began her labors in here,” Foulques said. “And that you aided her in reaching the midwife.”

“Did she tell you that?” Agnes asked.

Foulques chuckled. “No, the midwife did.”

Agnes nodded. Figured.

“I know you two are not close,” Foulques said. “That you would aid her in a time of need speaks well of you. That you can put your grievances aside if the situation warrants it. Sign of a good leader.”

Agnes smiled and gave a nod. “How does she fare?”

“She has birthed a boy,” Foulques said, slight grin on his face. “She has already declared her desire to name him Guilhem, after her grandfather.”

The smile disappeared off Agnes’ face. Ness’ boasts repeated in her mind, along with that smug expression on the teen’s face as she claimed the child would have full inheritance rights.

She knew she should not ask. But this was not just her father’s lovers. This was her future too.

“Father,” she began. She paused to steady her voice. “Father, Ness claimed you would give this child full inheritance rights. Was she speaking out of turn or was it something you did promise her?”

Foulques frowned. “She did speak out of turn.”

Agnes breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I will grant the boy, should he survive, full inheritance rights.”

And once more Agnes felt as though she had been punched in her gut.

Ness was correct. Foulques did favor her, and her brood, despite the fact she was just his lover.

“How… you favor a bastard over your legitimate children??” Agnes blurted out.

“I do not,” Foulques said. “Geoffrey is still my heir. Should something occur to him, your nephew, my grandson, will follow. And after him, my son with Haldora. This child is fourth. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more? Yesterday, I was fourth in line,” Agnes said. “And now you drop me behind that girl’s bastard? Nothing more?!”

Agnes slammed the table sending the checkerboard and the pieces flying in all directions. Foulques may well have been taken aback by it - he appeared to flinch as her fist made contact with the wood.

“Mind your words, my dear,” Foulques said. “Your brother may well see you fit to inherit after his children in Aquitaine.”

“Aquitaine is not Anjou!” Agnes shouted.

“Tell me something,” Foulques began, “If you were to come to power in Anjou, what would you do about your daughter. Your first born? Would you deny her inheritance, if you could?”

Agnes’ stomach dropped. Her head dropped. “That is… different.”

“How?”

“”I do not have other children. I did not have a lawful husband when I…” Agnes’ voice trailed off.

“You know you speak foolishness,” Foulques said.

“It is… not,” Agnes said. “Your actions affect others. The duchess begged me to speak with you. She feels slighted at your actions. She…”

“She is a fool to send you to vouch for her,” Foulques said. “She is my wife. If she has issue with my actions, she is to speak to me, not aim to turn my daughter against me.”

“It is an embarrassment,” Agnes said. “To see you parade with Ness like she is your wife. She even claims to me that you call her such! People call her the ‘Duchess of Melun!’ They...”

“Embarrassment?” Foulques asked. “Embarrassment? Is it more embarrassing than having to suffer through the looks and snickers from those in the realm having a unmarried daughter whose belly swells with her cousin’s bastard? One might say, I have grown used to taunts and insults over the years, having dealt with them for a decade.”

Agnes felt her stomach drop. It was hurtful. It was embarrassing.

It was also true.

I should have listened to Alearde.

“Now that is the end of this,” Foulques said. “I have let you say your piece. Any more talk may have impact on your standing in Anjou. Ask your brother about what may occur if you over-reach with me.”

Agnes closed her eyes and centered herself. She was angry, frustrated and in some ways, felt betrayed. But she could say no more.

“Of course, father,” Agnes said as she bowed. “Forgive me. I have strayed too far from my place.”

“You have not strayed at all,” Foulques said. “I allowed you to speak. As long as the matter is done, consider it all forgotten.”

Agnes could do little else but nod. It would dropped.

But it will not be forgotten.
…..

A few days later, Agnes rode just behind Herve, along with her ladies and his knights, as they began the trek back to Anjou. Preparations for the war would need to be made quickly, though she had quietly instructed Mayor Guilhem to begin them before she had departed for Melun.

Alearde rode up beside her.

“You never did tell me how that conversation with your father went,” Alearde said.

Agnes sighed. “I should have listened to you.”

Alearde patted her on the back. “Did he punish you?”

“No,” Agnes said. “Just made light of my hypocrisy.”

Alearde chuckled. “You are his daughter. It is hardly surprising. But worry not. You do not have to deal the girl, or her bastard for a while.”

“I will,” Agnes said. “My father made certain of that.”

“Your father has done nothing of the sort,” Alearde said. “He has made this Geoffrey’s problem for it will be Geoffrey who rules Anjou when this bastard comes of age. You? You shall do as you set out to do when we came here - stop your lecherous cousin.”

Agnes nodded. She tightened her grip on the reigns of her horse. Alearde was right - she could not do anything to pay back her father for his actions.

But Gilles will make for an acceptable substitute.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 99
September 1099 - Melun, France

Foulques sipped his wine. It tasted particularly sweet today. Perhaps it had aged just the right amount. Or his previous meal had prepared him properly for it.

Or perhaps, it was just the situation.

He had just met with a messenger from the Angevin army, which had been stationed near Bourges. Herve had routed the forces of Duke Gilles once more.

The cousins had met months before in Normandy, battling in Lillebonne. Or, more appropriately, Herve had met his cousin’s forces. But Gilles was nowhere to be found - he apparently did not command his armies in the field and was not even with his men. Instead, he sat in his keep in Bourges while Herve routed the Count of Mallorca.

Foulques could not resist a laugh when he had heard that, it was so pathetic in his eyes. Leading a rebellion against the king and you don’t even join your men?

Sensing an opportunity to twist the knife, Foulques had visited the men outside Deols, along with his daughter Agnes, as if to flaunt to his nephew on how a proper leader acts.

He had heard rumors that act, combined with the defeat in Lillebonne, had started to bring dissention among those in Gilles camp. Mallorca, who already had a dislike of Gilles due to the younger man’s affair with his wife, was vocally the most discontent, but they were all in too deep now to abandon the cause.

But Foulques wondered what might happen now that Herve had defeated Mallorca again, especially now that he reported back to Foulques that he planned to lay siege to Gilles’ keep in Bourges and the count’s own holdings were under siege from the king’s forces.

“You look pleased, husband.”

Foulques looked toward Ness, who lay naked in the bed. He was pleased - too pleased to bother to reprimand her for using that term again. He had warned her against it - Agnes’ complaints had not fallen completely on deaf ears. But why sully a good moment like this?

Instead he handed her a cup of wine. “My nephew is fast learning what truly being my enemy means.”

“Another victory?” Ness asked.

“Yes, and now Herve makes for the keep in Bourges itself. Perhaps Gilles will find himself in chains, sooner, rather than later,” Foulques said.

“Good,” Ness said as she took a drink. “He is a disgusting man. The pain he inflicts on my poor aunt. I hear she is miserable. I just hope the king will show pity on her and her family. It is not as if they are responsible for Gilles’ foolishness.”

Foulques could have said something - he did not care what happened to Peronelle. She had annoyed him greatly with her dismissal of Aines years before when the latter had broached the subject of Gilles over Agnes. But… he decided to bring the cup of wine to his lips instead.

“Perhaps I should go,” Foulques said. “Take command of the siege. Perhaps I could drag Gilles to Melun in chains myself.”

Ness arched her brow before pursing her lips. “But then you would leave me all alone, just as winter approaches. I like being kept warm at night.”

She removed the covers to expose herself. Foulques smirked as he looked over her body - thicker, more womanly than before she had birthed their son, who was now with a wet nurse. It was a body that reminded him more than ever of her mother.

A momentary ill feeling came over him at the thought. But he quickly pushed it from his mind, tossed off his shirt, and climbed back into bed.

But a knock at the door interrupted matters.

Ness pulled at him to stay but Foulques tossed back on his long shirt and walked to the door. When he opened it to peak out, he saw no one present. As he opened the door wider to look down the hall, he nearly tripped over the dwarf physician, Jaspert.

“The king wishes to see you,” Jaspert said. “The matter is urgent.”

“What does it concern?” Foulques asked.

“He will explain when you join him,” Jaspert said. “His strategy hall.”

Jaspert looked back into the room, where Ness was now covered underneath the sheets. He glanced back up at Foulques.

“When you make yourself proper,” Jaspert said. “Do not dally for your… woman.”

“I will come when I come,” Foulques said.

He closed the door in Jaspert’s face.

The dwarf had ascended in importance in recent months. He had plotted the king’s escape from financial crisis - he suggested the king borrow from assorted Jewish moneylenders. Then, as per the next part of the plan, the king expelled the Jews from his lands to avoid repaying the loans - that included Natroi. In one swoop, the dwarf had proven his worth to the king and opened up the role of spymaster, which he filled himself.

Foulques had not fully trusted Natroi, but Jaspert was hardly better. The dwarf who had cured Foulques of his Great Pox… at the expense of his face, the duke felt as if his “gifts” frequently came with prices.

“You don’t plan on listening to that thing, do you?” Ness demanded.

“If the king requires me, then I must go,” Foulques said. “It is urgent.”

Ness rolled her eyes. “You gift the king 6,000 men to fight his wars. He can wait. He will wait.”

Foulques eyed her. “You speak of defying a king.”

“I speak of the most powerful man in the realm refusing to drop what he is doing to answer the king’s beck and call,” Ness said. “What will he do? More importantly, what will he do if you were to take your men from Gilles’ keep and send them home.”

The serious look on her face - she looked so much like her mother. Foulques smirked and tossed off his shirt. He rejoined her in the bed, ready to ravish her once more.

….

A little while later Foulques made his way to the strategy hall. He found the king seated, with Jaspert by his side. Also present was the Duke of Toulouse, who scowled as he made eye contact with Foulques.

“Duke Foulques!” Philippe exclaimed. “I am glad you could finally take the time to pull yourself away from the Duchess to join us. Guilhem here has been waiting for quite some time for us to begin.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze at Jaspert before holding his hands out toward Toulouse.

“My apologies, my friend,” Foulques said.

“I just wonder what this is about,” Toulouse said. “I have stood here and nary a word as to the reason for this meeting, and why it requires both of us to be present at the same time.”

The king looked to Jaspert. “They both here now. Tell them.”

The dwarf looked up at the two men. “Alberic, Duke of Gascony of Poitou, is dead. Killed while hunting a few days ago.”

Foulques felt his stomach drop. He almost did not believe he heard the words correctly. A glance toward Toulouse revealed his peer to be wide-eyed and pale, suggesting there was no mistake.

“Did you say… Alberic is dead?” Foulques asked.

“How?” Toulouse asked.

“He fell from his horse,” Jaspert said. “Unfortunately, he did not fully detach from the beast when he fell… he hit the ground and then was dragged.”

Foulques grimaced at the thought. An unpleasant way to go.

“An accident?” Toulouse asked.

“It appeared that way at first,” Jaspert said. “But his saddle and stirrups were not properly fastened. Something with the cinches. Then the stable hand who had prepared it was found dead a day later.”

“Then a murder?” Foulques asked. Jaspert and the king nodded.

“He was not the most well-liked man,” Toulouse said.

“An understatement, that,” Foulques blurted out.

Philippe stroked his beard. “Both of you are correct. Yet he was a duke of this realm. And an agent of the crown. Am I to just look the other way at this?”

“Do you know who did this, my king?” Toulouse asked.

“We have looked at those which much to gain,” Jaspert said. “The Count of Bourbon and the Lady of La Marche had their war turn against them and did fight for the Lady Patricia, who now stands to ascend as the Duchess of Poitou.”

“Makes sense,” Foulques said. “Alberic would have given them to the headsman, if they were lucky.”

“It could also have been Duke Gilles and the Duchess Peronelle,” Jaspert noted. “The Duchess would inherit Gascony.”

“She could throw her new lands into the rebellion,” Toulouse said.

“Something we watch for,” Jaspert said.

“So it is between those two then?” Foulques asked.

“There are more,” Jaspert said. “The Lady Patricia becomes Duchess of Poitou. Your younger brother is her consort, Duke Guilhem. You have kept her at your keep, have you not?”

“I have refused to turn her over to Alberic, yes,” Toulouse said. He eyed the dwarf then the king. “Do you accuse me of having something to do with this?”

“We only state that you had something to gain,” Jaspert said.

“I gain little from my sister by law gaining the title,” Toulouse said. “If I did, I would have raised my levies and crushed Alberic. That I did not should show you my innocence in this matter.”

“I see,” Philippe said. “And what do you think of that Duke Foulques?”

Foulques looked to Toulouse. He knew the man wanted to pick up the pieces of Alberic’s failure as a ruler. And he “backed” Patricia’s claim on Gascony - and likely was pleased that it was her and not Geoffrey who stood to benefit.

But Foulques agreed with his reasoning - Toulouse was a man who raised his levies to attack the Emperor. If he truly wished Alberic gone, he would have simply crushed him.

“I think Toulouse speaks the truth,” Foulques said. “It would have been no bother to defeat Alberic, given his struggles against weaker foes, and his own rebellions.”

“That is true,” Philippe said. “Perhaps we should look to that other Lord who may well benefit from this.”

“Other lord?” Toulouse asked.

“The Duke of Aquitaine,” Jaspert said. “Your son, Duke Foulques.”

Foulques again felt his stomach drop. “What of Geoffrey?”

“There have been talk among the lords of Poitou that Geoffrey is preferred over Alberic, or even Patricia,” Jaspert said. “I would suspect those cries will grow louder now - he already has support of the Count of Thouars.”

“It would seem that with Alberic dead, the path is there for Geoffrey to seize both Aquitaine and Poitou,” Philippe said. “And… when you leave us, old friend, Anjou as well.”

“One must wonder then,” Jaspert said. “Could it have been Geoffrey? And could he have had help from someone close by?”

Foulques narrowed his gaze at Jaspert, but then turned it on the king. “If you have an accusation, my king, let me hear it. I will not defend myself against rumors.”

“My king,” Toulouse said. “I do not think Duke Foulques is involved in this in any way. If you remember, when Geoffrey hatched his scheme to take Aquitaine, he did not make his father aware. I do not think they get along well enough for such things.”

“My business with Geoffrey is not of your concern,” Foulques told Toulouse. He looked back toward the king. “Do you have any evidence of his involvement?”

“There’s talk…” Jaspert said. “They say that he and the rebellious counts of Alberic planned it together. That, since he beds the Countess of La Marche’s sister, she has acted as a go-between for them.”

“I have heard… of some communication between Geoffrey and the Lady of La Marche,” Toulouse said.

“Talk? There’s talk of almost everything if you listen hard enough,” Foulques said. “What is this truly about? Do you fear my son growing too powerful? Perhaps he should - the protection of these lands seem to fall heavily on our family these days.”

“You will mind your words, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “I put up with much from you, but you are not king.”

“You should be grateful I have never wished to be,” Foulques said.

“That is enough!” Philippe said as he stood from his chair.

“You accuse me, after all of these years, and my son,” Foulques replied. “And you say that is enough.”

“There is one man in this room who is known to have orchestrated a murder,” Jaspert added.

Foulques looked at them. Was this a trap? Did they mean to arrest him, to curb his influence? He glared at Jaspert. If it was… it was not the king who did this.

It had to be the dwarf, twisting his mind.

“If you wish to hold me as if I have committed this crime,” Foulques said, “then please, do it. Throw me in the dungeons. Make an example of what reward is received by those who not only stand by the king through rebellions, terrifying odds and calls of tyranny… but also raises his own levy, going beyond his obligations, in the king’s defense.”

Foulques waited for it - to hear the sound of boots coming from behind to take him away in chains. In that moment he imagined it - him being hauled off, the decision being made on what to do next. Perhaps Agnes would rebel in his name - maybe she and Geoffrey would do so together. Maybe they would barter for his freedom? No… Philippe if he went down this road could never release him. This would be it - he would end his days in a cell. Like Bouchard.

It is not how the hero of Rouen should die.

Jaspert looked at the king, who shook his head.

“My friend, we do not seek to go that far,” Philippe said. “The murder of Alberic has us all on edge. It is a tragic thing in an already troubling time.”

“So what is to be done?” Foulques demanded. “Will you call my son to face you for these accusations?”

“I have not decided yet,” Philippe said. “But rest assured, I do not believe you to have been a part of this.”

“But you think he is,” Foulques said.

“We will continue our investigations,” Jaspert said.

“Then continue them,” Foulques said. “But do not summon me so you can spout nonsense in hopes of stumbling on to something.”

“When you are summoned, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “You will come.”

Foulques did not respond for a moment, choosing instead to stare at the king. The sound of the Duke’s heavy breathing fill the room. He was livid. He wished to lash out and tell the king what a pathetic weakling he was, and how if he pulled his support, his realm would crumble beneath him.

“As you say, my king,” Foulques replied.

He did not bow, and stormed out of the strategy hall, seething.

They are all snakes.

The king deserved his contempt. The dwarf was a schemer, out to make certain no one but he had influence on Philippe. Toulouse looked for a means to undercut Geoffrey.

And Geoffrey… this mess could easily have been of his creation. It would not surprise him at all to learn that his son had orchestrated this, in hopes of destabilizing Poitou and Gascony further. And then leave Foulques to take the brunt of any pushback from it.

Insolent boy.

When he arrived back at his chambers, Ness sat in his chair, drinking some wine. Her eyes widened when she saw him, the door slamming behind him.

“What is wrong, husband?” she asked.

“Do not call me that!” he shouted at her. “You are not my wife. No matter how much you pretend!”

Ness’ mouth hung open. She pushed herself up and moved quickly to the door. But she stopped at it, and turned back. Slowly, she approached him.

“The meeting… it did not go well then?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Alberic is murdered.”

Her eyes widened once more. “My uncle Alberic? That... I… where?”

“While hunting,” Foulques said. “Throne from his horse. But they find it suspicious. They think Geoffrey responsible.”

Ness shook her head. “It would not surprise me.”

“I will not have you throw accusations as well,” Foulques warned her.

“I… I just stated it would not surprise me,” Ness said. “I do not know of his involvement, if it exists.”

Foulques grunted and poured himself some wine. “They are all snakes. Ungrateful. Untrustworthy. And the dwarf poisons the king’s mind.”

“How?” Ness asked.

“I know not what he whispers,” Foulques said. “But he drove off the Jew, Natroi. Perhaps he sees me next.”

“The Jew served at the king’s whim,” Ness said. “You, my love, do not.”

She pressed herself against him, practically forcing herself into his arms. He obliged, wrapping his arms around her torso, pulling her backside up against his front.

“You speak as if I rule,” he said to her. She looked up to him and smiled.

“Not in name. But if Philippe wishes to keep his crown, he must let you do as you please,” Ness said. “It is no secret. The queen thinks better of you than he at the moment for that reason.”

“Which is why he may wish to weaken me,” Foulques said.

“In time, perhaps. But can he afford to now?” Ness asked.

He could not. But then, he couldn’t afford to continue the war in Valencia either, and had anyway, until it simply became impossible to win...

“Alberic is dead,” Ness repeated. “Who inherits? He had no children.”

“His remaining sisters,” Foulques said. “Your aunts.”

“That… it should not be them,” Ness said. “It should me myself and Marguerite!”

“What?”

“My mother was grandfather’s eldest daughter, Alberic’s eldest sister” Ness said. “If she were alive, she would inherit at least one of those duchies. As her daughters, we should inherit both.”

Foulques stroked his beard. She had a point.

“You have a brother,” Foulques said. “What of him?”

“Him? Why he might be your son, for all we know,” Ness said. “Not legitimate…”

She did not believe that. But it was an convenient lie for her to bypass the young Adhemar.

“You seek for me to press your claim against Patricia and Peronelle,” Foulques said.

“I do not say to do anything,” Ness said. “But… then I would be your true Duchess, and our son would stand to inherit whatever you won for him. And…”

She brought his hands to her breasts.

“Who knows? We may need to have a duchy for more than one child, one day.”

….

Foulques did not leave his chamber much the next week

He had little desire to interact with anyone in the keep beside Ness, who remained with him throughout. The little pixie had endless energy - even he found himself worn out after time.

Her desires were obvious - she wanted him to press her claim. She also clearly wished to become pregnant once more - as if that would cement her status.

To her credit, Foulques had grown more and more enchanted by the idea. Perhaps it might be time to start exploring ways to make the girl his actual wife, and then work to install her in Gascony at least, if not Poitou as well.

Just the thought of it might just scare Geoffrey into learning to respect his place - he might be heir to Anjou, but he was not Duke yet.

There was a knock on the door. This time it was Hugues of Burgundy telling him the king wished to see him in private, in his chambers.

“Do you think it is a trap?” Ness asked.

“We shall see,” Foulques admitted. “He is bolder than we give him credit for if so.”

He noticed her confident appearance appeared more uncertain now. She looked quite pale. He kissed her deeply.

“You need not worry,” he told her. “I think you read it well… wife.”

A small smile came to Ness’ lips as she replied with a kiss of her own.

He left her and walked the hallways of the keep. When he arrived, Foulques found the king alone in his chambers. If it was a trap, it was well hidden.

“What did you wish of me?” Foulques demanded.

Philippe offered him a cup of wine. Foulques took it, but looked at the content of the cup. He did not trust the dwarf at all.

“The matter over Alberic,” Philippe said. “I believe we all handled it poorly, my friend.”

“You have always done this,” Foulques said. “Even when it was others who schemed, I am the one who you mistrust.”

“I simply look at you and wonder why you have stood by me,” Philippe said. “I can see no other reason than because you wish to remake the realm but hope that I can be your shield as you do so.”

“I care little for the realm itself,” Foulques said. “I just wish to ensure my family’s future.”

“Which is why it makes sense for you to have killed Alberic,” Philippe said. “You have killed for less.”

Foulques shook his head. “Again with this? Just accuse me, and be done with it. It will be best for both of us to end the charade.”

Philippe sighed. “I will not accuse you because I do not believe you guilty. Your son on the other hand… I think him involved. News has filtered out and already there is momentum gathering in Poitou for him. It may come to blows. If it does, the Duchess Patricia will face difficulties in retaining her inheritance in the face of such resistance.”

“If you think Geoffrey involved, you will summon him here?” Foulques asked.

“That would be the thing to do,” Philippe said. “It is what Jaspert wishes - no man is above the king’s authority. But… that will not be the thing I shall do.”

Foulques looked at Philippe. “Why?”

“You have always been a man who has been blunt with me, so I will honor you by doing the same,” Philippe said. “Because you raise your levy to fight for me. If the other dukes wish that influence, then they should have gone above and beyond, as you have.”

Foulques was speechless. The king… he had seen through the deception after all. And he had not forgotten or taken for granted what Foulques had given him.

“It… it is appreciated, my king,” Foulques replied.

“Yes,” Philippe said. “Now, I would appreciate if you saw how disrespectful you were to me in front of Toulouse.”

“You tried to play us against one another,” Foulques said. “Jaspert again? Or you?”

“Both,” Philippe said. “I wished to see how you both would react.”

“Then you did,” Foulques said.

“It does not excuse your behavior,” Philippe said. “We may have our disagreements, but I command a certain level of respect.”

Foulques could not resist a chuckle. He did and didn’t deserve it. But he replied with: “I am sorry for my outburst, my king. As you said, the situation had us all in foul moods.”

Philippe smiled. “You have grown better at fighting battles without swords and lances.”

“Or you have gotten worse,” Foulques said.

It drew a shake of the head from the king, but a raise of his cup as well.