Before Plantagenet – A House d’Anjou AAR

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 100
December 1099 - Melun, France

“How many?”

“1400, sir,” Eudes replied.

The young man stood, helmet in hand, on the other side of the large map which, as per usual, was strewn out across the table in the strategy hall. To his credit, he showed no fear - perhaps his experience in battle had steeled him to it all.

Foulques leaned forward, his arms supporting him on table, and shook his head.

“That number is hardly anything,” he said. He then snapped back upright. “And yet it is everything. With the king’s forces in Mallorca, we have little to counter them with.”

“What of our 400 in Evreux?” Eudes asked.

“What shall they do?” Foulques wondered. “Die a pointless death?”

“Perhaps give the king cover for an escape,” Eudes said.

Foulques shook his head. “They will remain there for now.”

His eyes returned to the map and drifted down to Bourges, where Herve sat, laying siege to Gilles’ keep. Nearly 6,000 men. Half of them could like drive off this army, though he would not risk splitting his army, especially in these circumstances.

But he had not formally made any move to join the war against Philipp of Champagne. In some ways, striking without warning was a dishonorable thing to do, especially for someone he considered a friend, even if they were on separate sides of a conflict.

And it was frustrating to think he had to. Philippe had botched these wars. Why should it fall on Foulques to save him from himself?

He was not the only one who thought this. Toulouse was growing frustrated at well - angered over the accusations over Alberic’s death and Jaspert’s rise in influence.

He admitted to Foulques he had met in secret with Prince Hugues and found him affable - perhaps not a poor alternative as king. That could have meant betrayal, but Toulouse did not appear willing to go that far, at least not yet.

Instead, the duke was currently again in the south, nominally looking over his troops and preparing to take action should the continued fighting in Poitou and Gascony spilled over into his duchy.

But in truth, Foulques knew Toulouse was all but content to abandon Philippe to his fate.

Then again, that fate might not even be decided on the battlefield.

The king had taken ill in the last month. He was rarely seen to hold court and no longer ate with the other councilors or the queen. Foulques had only seen him twice over that span, and not in the last two weeks.

What ailed him remained a mystery. He was quite pale when Foulques had seen him, but the entire situation was kept out of the eyes of nearly everyone at court. Jaspert, of course, knew as the king’s physician. And perhaps the queen knew, but even that Foulques found himself uncertain of.

But whatever it was, with no real forces to speak of here, the king faced two choices, retreat or likely fall prisoner to Champagne. And with the king and his sons in the hands of the rebellion, all would be lost.

“I need to consult with the king,” Foulques said. “We will make no moves until then.”

Eudes bowed before he left the room. Then Foulques made the walk to the king’s chamber.

As had become the norm in recent weeks, two guards were posted. One entered the room upon Foulques’ arrival. But as had been the case in recent weeks, he was denied entry, with the dwarf Jaspert emerging and the door closing behind.

“This information is for the king,” Foulques said.

“He is resting,” Jaspert said. “He requires as much of it as possible if he is to survive this ailment.”

“And what is his ailment?” Foulques demanded.

“You are no physician, so it matters little to you,” Jaspert said.

“For all I know, you poison the king,” Foulques said.

“My methods may be unconventional,” Jaspert said, “but they work. You should know that first hand - the pox did not kill you, nor take your sanity. You should be grateful.”

“So the king will lose his face to regain his health?” Foulques asked.

“Should that be the trade required, I am certain he would take it,” Jaspert said. “But, I suspect that won’t be necessary.”

“I do not wish to debate hypotheticals. Wake him,” Foulques said. “The matter is urgent.”

“You can tell me, and I will pass along the message to him,” Jaspert said.

“I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you,” Foulques said.

“Which I am certain, given my stature, would be quite far,” Jaspert replied. “What do you think I will do with this news? Not tell him?”

Foulques did not know. Perhaps he would twist it somehow? Though given the nature of it… what was Jaspert to do?

“Champagne marches with his men. Under 2,000, but there is no force on the mainland capable of handling it,” Foulques said. “They will lay siege to Melun with a near certainty.”

“That… is poor news,” Jaspert said.

“We must withdraw,” Foulques said. “We can move north to Rouen, or east toward Anjou, but we cannot remain here, unless we wish to be trapped like rats.”

“The king is not capable of being moved in his current condition,” Jaspert said. “It would be tantamount to driving a knife into his heart.”

“The army from Mallorca will not make it before the keep falls,” Foulques said. “There is no other choice.”

“What of your army?” Jaspert asked. “It is in Bourges, is it not?”

“They fight Gilles, not Champagne,” Foulques said.

“They are all the king’s enemies,” Jaspert replied. “What difference does such things make?”

“I would not expect you to understand,” Foulques said. “But know that there is a difference.”

“I know you hide behind it,” Jaspert said.

“This bickering is pointless,” Foulques said. “Inform the king of our situation. Or make no mistake, I will.”

“It will be done,” Jaspert said. “Though it will change nothing. He cannot move now.”

The dwarf disappeared behind the door as it shut once more. The guards took up their positions and Foulques might as well been in Anjou - he would have had the same access to the king.

Frustrated he walked off back toward his chambers. As he did, a new thought came to mind...

Anjou… or Bourges.

…..

“She won’t let me leave!”

The words that escaped from Ness’ lips took a moment to form meaning in Foulques mind. The girl was shaking, her face pale. She looked angry, but that she was white and not red suggested she was also very much afraid.

Foulques had proposed to Ness they abandon Melun, for now at least, and join the Angevin forces in Bourges. She had seemed pleased at the time - though she did not necessarily wish spend the next few months in an army camp, she had little desire to stay at the keep while it fell under siege.

But it appeared now there was problem.

“What do you mean she will not let you leave?” Foulques demanded.

“It is as I have said,” Ness said. “The queen says I am one of her ladies and do not have permission to depart for Bourges with you.”

“Did she give you a reason?”

“That I am one of her ladies is enough,” Ness said. “She also told me that I have no reason to go, since I am not a knight, soldier or your wife.”

Obstinate woman, Foulques seethed. “She does this to keep me here.”

“Of course she does!” Ness exclaimed. “She knows you will not leave me behind!”

Foulques did not nod in agreement. He did not wish to leave Ness behind, nor his son. But he also did not wish to remain here, especially as Jaspert ran the show from the shadows.

“You… you do not plan to leave me here, do you?” Ness asked. “Me and our son…”

Foulques again did not respond, leaving Ness to slowly back away with her mouth open, but covered by her hand. She ended up stumbling and falling back onto the bed.

“You… you mean to abandon me,” she muttered, her eyes glued upward.

“I cannot fall to Champagne,” Foulques said. “I will not place myself on his mercy.”

“But you would do so to me?!” Ness shouted.

She lunged at him and tried to hit him. The first few blows connected on his chest as he was caught off guard by her sudden action. But in a few moments, he regained himself and simply grabbed hold of her arms, before tossing her back to the bed.

“I have done all that you desire,” Ness snarled. “I have given you a son and would gladly give you more.”

But her voice began to waver and tears formed in her eyes. She continued, her speech being broken up by sobs. “I thought you cared for me… I thought… you would protect me and our son… I… I… knew you saw me like my mother. I just hoped… you… would… treat me as her too. You would never have left her behind.”

Foulques knew that was true as well. He would not have left Beatritz behind either. But Ness, as much as he lusted after her, was not his wife.

“What will happen, if the keep should fall?” Ness asked. “The queen mentioned they may force themselves upon us.”

Foulques had never been in a keep that had, but he had taken them. It was generally unpleasant - often looting, pillaging, rape and and slaughter. Even in cases where it had warned against by the leaders, it still happened, just not as openly.

Certainly some courtiers would avoid it based on rank and status. But their lives ultimately fell on the mercy of the victors - fates in the hands of others.

“That you are my lover is well-known. That will keep you safe.” Foulques assured her.

“That? That’s it?” Ness demanded. “I am… just one of the queen’s ladies. Not anyone of importance, even as your lover…”

Foulques’ brow rose. “You, who has claimed to be my wife for the better part of a year?”

Ness scowled. “But I am not your wife! You have said as much. As such I am not the Duchess of Anjou and do not enjoy the same protections.”

“What do you wish for me to do? Stay here and place my fate in the hands of the dwarf? A sick and perhaps dead king?”

Ness looked at him, her eyes bloodshot and the tears running down her cheeks. “Tell your men to come north and crush this army. Who cares if this is not your war? It affects everything around you!”

“I grow tired of saving this king for little reward,” Foulques said. “It is his realm to defend, not mine, unless he wishes to hand me the crown with it.”

“Then why not take the crown yourself?” Ness asked.

“Because I have little interest in playing nice with the lords of this realm,” Foulques said. “Being king requires more than wearing a crown. If you wish to hold any authority, it requires work. Work that has all but destroyed Philippe. Why any man would desire that, I do not know.”

“Then fine, take your men, crush Champagne, defeat Gilles and then go home,” Ness said.

“What happens after?” Foulques asked her. “What happens the next time Philippe needs saving? Am I to come to his aid again? And the time after that? And the time after that? You see where this leads?”

“So… you would end it here?” Ness asked.

“It is as Toulouse as done,” Foulques said. “Perhaps it is time for me to follow suit.”

“But you would have me be part of that end,” Ness said. “You would not have me abandon the queen?”

Foulques considered it. But doing so would burn his bridges with Philippe and cede any influence he had to Jaspert. He wished to do as Toulouse had, withdraw, but leave his options open in case things turned around.

“I… I will see what I can do,” Foulques said. “I think it is time I see the king.”

“The dwarf prevents you from seeing him, you said,” Ness replied.

“He will do no such thing,” Foulques said. “I am tired of this, and I will make it known.”

Foulques pulled Ness in for a kiss. She was not enthusiastic about it, but that hardly mattered now. She would be plenty pleased when Foulques had gotten her released from her duty so she could accompany him.

As usual, when Foulques arrived at the king’s quarters, he was denied entry. Jaspert was fetched to see him and emerged from the chamber, crossing under the spears the guards held to block entry.

“I will see the king now,” Foulques told him.

“What does this concern?” Jaspert demanded.

“It is for his ears alone,” Foulques said.

“His ears are resting,” Jaspert said.

“Then your ears can listen to this message,” Foulques said. “I do not serve at your whim dwarf. Should you deny me entry today, I will leave. I will join with my men in Bourges, finish out that siege, capture Gilles, and go. You will be left to your wits here. Which… may be many, but I doubt can stand in the way of Champagne’s steel.”

“You would leave your duchess behind?” Jaspert demanded.

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “You put the queen up to it. I should have known.”

“I did not,” Jaspert said. “But I am aware of what the queen has ordered.”

“Then be aware that Ness knows of my plans,” Foulques said. “So what will it be? Will you allow me to see the king, or am I to depart from this keep?”

“So, if you are admitted, will your forces join us here?” Jaspert asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “I make no promises except for what will happen if I am denied entry any longer.”

Jaspert glared up at Foulques. But he motioned for the guards to allow the duke to pass through.

The room was dark, with few candles lit. The king lay in the bed, eyes closed, his complexion pale and sickly. He had lost weight, with his bones more apparent in his face. It reminded Foulques a bit of Beatritz in her final days… an ill-omen if there ever was one.

“So… you wish to see me?”

Foulques was surprised to hear Philippe’s raspy voice. But the king’s bloodshot eyes opened and looked to the duke.

“For a moment, I thought you were resting,” Foulques said.

“I was,” Philippe said. “But your argument with Jaspert woke me. What do you need to speak to me about?”

“You are aware of the movement of Champagne’s forces to Melun?” Foulques asked.

“I am,” Philippe said. “They will lay siege to us, trapping us.”

“Some are considering whether to flee,” Foulques said. “Ness is one of those who do.”

Philippe’s brow rose. “Ness? Ness wishes to go?”

“She considers it” Foulques said. “But the queen refuses to allow her to depart, should she wish it.”

Philippe looked to him, a small grin coming to his face. “You mean, should you wish it.”

Foulques said nothing, and Philippe’s smile grew wider. He even sat up before continuing: “It is her right as a queen. Ness holds certain responsibilities as a lady of the queen. My wife is not a place for you to hide your mistress in plain sight.”

It was an impossible charge to respond against.

“You have grown to expect liberties of me,” Philippe said. “And I have granted them. But the queen is not me.”

“She is your wife,” Foulques said. “Should you wish something, she is powerless to refuse.”

Philippe began to cackle loudly, though his laughter was cut short as he soon hunched over, the gritting of his teeth and grimace on his face giving a hint of the pain he suffered.

After a minute, and a few deep breaths, Philippe looked back at Foulques.

“You think it is as simple as that? You, who have had three wives and at least two of them of strong will?” Philippe demanded. “I can order her yes, but there are consequences. Consequences which you seem content to leave me, alone, to face.”

“If the queen did this of need, I would not argue against it,” Foulques said. “But this is a play to force me into action against Champagne, and nothing more.”

“Yes, it is,” Philippe said. “But it is not need? Our children are held by Champagne. Her husband may lay dying. And now her home may once again fall to Champagne - knowing she was hauled off in chains the last time it occurred. She uses the only leverage she has. Would you do any differently?”

Foulques again struggled to come up with a response. Using leverage is something they all did, after all.

Philippe leaned back against the pillows. “If you desire it that much, I will release her.”

Foulques did not expect that. “Thank you, my king.”

“So, what will you do with your newfound freedom?” Philipp asked. “Will you take her and abandon us?”

“I have not decided,” Foulques said.

“But you demand her release?” Philippe asked. “Do you think me a fool?”

“She was fearful,” Foulques said. “I wanted to ease her concerns.”

“By telling that you would leave before the siege?” Philippe said. “And… if you do not, how will you calm her fears?”

“So you… expect me to remain here as the keep falls? And allow myself to fall into Champagne’s hands?” Foulques demanded.

“I don’t know what I expect,” Philippe said. “I hope you would simply send word to your nephew in Bourges to scare Champagne away.”

“I would have hoped you didn’t send the entirety of your army to Mallorca,” Foulques said. “Then you would not need my soldiers to drag you from the fire again. I gave you the means to fight Champagne with the forces you had on hand. Instead you sent them far away to win a war my men could have won on their own.”

Philippe sighed. “I hoped we could bring Gilles to his knees quickly and then focus efforts in Champagne.”

“And when Bourges falls, I will have delivered him to you,” Foulques said.

“You will deliver him to my brother,” Philippe said. “For Champagne will have won.”

Foulques did not respond.

“That is the situation, my friend,” Philippe said. “Whether you stay, whether you go, if you do not bring your men to Melun, then the war will be lost. Perhaps you do not care. Jaspert believes you do not. I think you have invested too much to see all that we have built fall. But your request here, does leave me with many doubts.”

Foulques shook his head. “You call me your friend, but you tell me of Jaspert’s plots. Just as you hauled me and Toulouse in to face you together to answer for Alberic’s death. You seek to manipulate me into doing what you wish. Is that what friends do?”

“You call Champagne and Toulouse your friends,” Philippe said. “And what would you say they do?”

Foulques again did not reply. He did not need to respond to a question they both knew the answer to.

“You call it manipulation,” Philippe said. “I call it the truth. Jaspert has said these things. He seeks to lessen your influence with me. Would you have preferred I said nothing? If I am captured here by Champagne, then the war will end in his favor. You did not need me to say that for you to know it. Where have I lied to you? Where have I told you an untruth?”

“You… you wish to guilt me into doing your bidding,” Foulques said.

Philippe was silent for a moment, before bursting out in laughter. “Guilt? You would mean the great Duke Foulques, who seized his duchy from his own brother, locked a child away for a decade and openly parades his lover around to the embarrassment of his wife feels guilt? If I am relying on guilt to draw you into action, then I truly am finished.”

“Then what?”

“I lay out the situation because I pray that after all we have been through, all that we have done together, that you love your king… no, that you love me enough to save me, my family and my kingdom,” Philippe said. “For really, what other reason is there? I can offer you nothing my brother can not. Even overlooking your… family’s actions… your strength compared to others will make it a treacherous situation if he does not.”

Philippe sighed. “I know you have tolerated me because there was no better option. I just hope that your toleration has grown into affection.”

“You speak… you speak as one would for a husband and wife,” Foulques said.

Philippe laughed. “So then I am the true replacement to your Beatritz? I suppose it makes perfect sense then.”

Foulques fell silent. It… did make sense. He had never loved Philippe. But he had tolerated him. And now, the thought of another in his place was bothersome.

And… he respected the man. He disagreed with him frequently. He thought at times he was not properly valued. But for a man who had once been called a welp by his uncle had done a great deal for himself and the realm - even if it looked potentially headed toward ruin.

“I will consider this,” Foulques told him.

“I suppose that is all I can ask,” Philippe said as he closed his eyes.

…….

That evening Foulques stood in his chambers, Ness by his side. With them was Henri, an old courtier from Anjou, dressed in mail.

The duke handed him a parchment with his seal. Instructions for his nephew to lift the siege of Bourges and move to intercept Philipp of Champagne’s forces around Melun.

“That is to go to Herve,” Foulques ordered. “It is to be read with haste by him, understood?”

Henri nodded. “As you wish my lord.”

“I will add it is for his eyes only,” Foulques said. “When I see him next, I will ask if the seal was broken when it arrived. If it is… there will be consequences.”

“Understood, my lord,” Henri said.

“Good,” Foulques said. “Take four men and go. Leave in the early morning.”

“Your will shall be done, my lord,” Henri said.

As the grey-haired man left the chambers and shut the door behind, Ness stood on her tip-toes to kiss Foulques.

“Thank you my love,” Ness told him. “I know you do not wish to do this. But I am grateful you do care for us enough to.”

She continued to tenderly move her lips on his body - she was learning. With that thought, and a devious smile, he escorted her to their bed.

…..

It was a week later. Foulques stood on the keep ramparts, overlooking the siege works being prepared.

Champagne’s forces had arrived a few days before and aimed to make quick progress. It would be pointless, the duke thought, as within the month Herve would arrive from the south and force a retreat.

He imagined there would not even be a battle - Champagne would not be foolish enough to risk the bulk of his force in a hopeless engagement.

“Duke Foulques.”

He did not need to turn to know the voice of the dwarf Jaspert. And he did not wish to dignify his presence by turning to face him.

“What do you want?”

“Something urgent has arisen. It requires your immediate attention,” Jaspert replied.

“What is that urgent matter?” Foulques demanded. “I have not time for your cryptic words.”

“It appears you will have plenty of time, in fact,” Jaspert said. “If it is your man.”

Foulques turned back to him. “My man?”

Jaspert did not reply, turning and beginning the descent down the tower. Foulques cursed under his breath, but followed him down.

“What are you speaking about?” Foulques continued to demand as they walked.

“A man claiming to be your knight has arrived at the keep, claiming he was intercepted on the way to Bourges,” Jaspert said. “If so, then whatever message you meant to sent to your forces did not reach them.”

Foulques felt his stomach drop. Normally such a message would have been verbalized. But in this case, he had it sent via parchment and seal, just to make certain there was no doubt who the order came from. If it had been discovered…

When they arrived in the strategy hall, Duke Hugues of Burgundy and a younger man, not Henri, was present. Foulques nearly let loose a sigh of relief.

“That is not Henri,” he told Jaspert.

“I was with Henri, my lord,” the man said.

“Your name?” Foulques asked.

“Robert,” the man said. “I was one of the men Henri took with him.”

“And where is Henri?”

“Dead, my lord,” Robert said.

Foulques’ eyes widened. “How?!”

“When we neared Orleans,” he said. “A small part of the Champagne vanguard was present. We tried to ride away, but were spotted…”

“And they caught you?” Foulques said.

“Yes,” he said. “We fought to escape, but Henri’s horse stumbled and he fell. He was killed then. And I was the one they captured… “

“The message,” Foulques said. “Where is it?”

“They have it,” Robert said. “Philipp of Champagne wished to tell you that your nephew will not receive your call for aid, and that if you surrender now, because of your old friendship, he will be lenient on you.”

Foulques shook his head. He was in disbelief.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Robert said.

“Tell me you sent another,” Burgundy said.

“Why would I have sent multiple men?” Foulques demanded. “It was a simple message.”

“That was of high importance,” Burgundy said.

“I have no reason to think my man would have run into their vanguard in Orleans,” Foulques said. “Unless his route was tipped off.”

The duke shot his eyes to the dwarf.

“You think I had something to do with it?” Jaspert asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “I do question your effectiveness as spymaster that you cannot root out traitors in our ranks.”

“Your arrogance is almost matched by your incredible ability to deflect from your own errors,” Jaspert said.

“Watch yourself,” Foulques warned. “Your position is not as secure as you think.”

“I am under no illusions as to my position,” Jaspert said. “Should this keep fall. I may be one of the few who can say that.”

The dwarf left the room, leaving the two dukes to stare at each other for a moment. No words were spoken.

Burgundy then scowled at Foulques once more and departed, leaving Foulques alone.

He gazed at the map and the pins representing Herve and the Angevin forces to their south.

Nearly 6,000 men. Half of them could like drive off this army.

Instead all of them sat in Bourges, blissfully unaware that as they neared total victory, their lord approached catastrophic defeat, unable to do anything but stare at the map, shaking his head.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 101
January 1100 - Near Melun, France

Deep breaths.

The morning sun had started to illuminate the area. Normally it would provide beauty. Today, it was a stark reminder that the meeting fast approached.

Breathe. You have dealt with worse.

Agnes felt her stomach churn and twist into knots. She had been so sure before. Now, perhaps she had made a fatal error. What if this was not what her father wanted? What if…

Bre--

She felt her stomach seize and convulse. Dropping to her knees, bile forced it’s way up her throat and out her mouth as she vomited onto the cold, hard ground. Another spasm followed, and what little was in her stomach found it’s way back out.

The adrenaline from the fit was coursing through her now, and she fought to regain control of her thoughts and emotions.

Deep breaths.

She was successful after a time. Agnes then eased herself onto her rear, before sliding away from the mess she’d made and resting with her back against a tree. Her eyes drifted toward the army camp a few hundred yards away and spotted no one looking her way. She thanked God no one had seen that.

The morning sun and crisp, winter air was supposed to be calming. It had not helped.

Hours from now she was to meet the Duke of Champagne for a parlay. She would do so representing her father and Anjou - all while claiming to carry out interests which she knew were not his.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She suspected he would approve of this decision to break the siege of Bourges and march to the relief of Melun - she had just not received any orders for him to do it.

When Melun had fallen under siege, Agnes awaited word from her father. When none came, she prepared to travel to Bourges to meet with Herve. Taking Chancellor Godfrey, his son Henri, Alearde and some of the household knights, they had arrived at the beginning of the month.

She thought Herve had been the one to receive instructions from her father. But her cousin was in the dark as she was, believing when she arrived that she had done so with Foulques’ orders.

It was odd - Agnes would have expected Foulques to request aid. But if not, she also would have expected a message to instruct them to do nothing. Yet there was nothing.

Fearing the worst, and with no way to get a message to her father, Agnes had decided to lift the siege of Bourges and march on Champagne’s forces surrounding Melun.

It was very much a unilateral call. She could have returned to Anjou and attempted to get council support, but she feared there was not time for such things. Godfrey was uneasy about that decision - but she sold him on the idea that if they convinced Herve to support, it would be enough.

She knew her cousin’s victories had raised his stature in her father’s eyes - to the point where she suspected he liked him far better than Geoffrey. Foulques would never disinherit his son for a nephew not of his blood, but there was no question Herve was a favorite of the duke. His word would carry much weight.

And Herve proved easy to convince - he appeared almost eager for the opportunity. She suspected he, much like her father, preferred battle to sieges.

As they marched north, she had been convinced this would work - that it was the right decision. All through last night, she had few doubts.

But now, the hour was drawing near. She would attempt to convince Philipp of Champagne to withdraw his army, ideally, without a fight. If she failed, she would attack one of her father’s good friends, and do so without any direct command.

And to make matters worse, she knew Champagne would not be moved easily. Far too much was at stake for that.

Godfrey had informed her of rumors that Champagne aimed to bring the Duke of Toulouse to the rebels side. Toulouse was lukewarm, however, uncertain if the rebels had enough of an army to actually win a prolonged war. After all, once Anjou had become involved against Gilles, the Duke of Berry found his fortunes drastically decline.

However, if Champagne could take Melun, even if he did not capture the king, it would be another sign he was a force to be reckoned with and perhaps enough to get Toulouse to switch sides.

With so much on the line, Agnes suspected he would never abandon the siege without a fight.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

She looked up and saw Alearde approaching, alongside Herve. The older woman hurried her pace as she spotted Agnes, though was careful to avoid the vomit on the ground. Herve stomped right on it.

Agnes grimaced. Her cousin was not graceful.

“My lady,” Herve said as he bowed.

“I was concerned I did not find you in your tent,” Alearde said. “I checked with Herve, but he did not know where you were. He insisted on coming to find you.”

Agnes blushed. “Thank you Herve. I am fine.”

“Are you certain?” Alearde asked, throwing a glance toward where Agnes had vomited earlier and then toward Herve’s boot. He did not even appear to notice where he had stepped.

“I am nervous,” Agnes said. “That is all.”

“There is nothing to fear, my lady,” Herve said. “The Duke of Champagne can match only a quarter of our forces. If he fights, he is a fool.”

“Pride can make a smart man a fool very quickly,” Agnes lamented.

“That is his problem,” Alearde said. “Not yours.”

Agnes nodded before being helped to her feet by her cousin. He gave her a small smile and her stomach twisted once more.

She could not escape the feeling that it could become her problem very quickly.

….

A few hours later she, Herve and a some of the Angevin household knights, along with Herve’s guard rode out toward a field near a tiny village south of Melun called Fontainebleau. There they would meet with Philipp of Champagne and their course would be set.

Agnes knew she was taking many risks. She not only was intent on going through with this meeting and a battle if it did not go her way, but she went without Godfrey. The chancellor had pleaded with her to allow her to accompany him, but she could not shake the feeling that if he were there, it would undermine her authority.

She was regent - she was acting as her father’s voice - and that was what Champagne needed to see.

Beside this was no negotiation. She was not going to discuss terms - she was there hand them out. If Champagne did not like them… then he would line up his 1500 men against her 5500 and see who came out on top.

Still her grip on the reins of her steed were so tight they turned her hands white - though that was not visible beneath her gloves. She could not even feel the cold January wind, even though she heard it whip around her.

She wished she had Alearde present. But her lady could not come to this. She was wary of providing any more arrows for Champagne to sling toward her - he likely had more than enough already - and bringing her father’s former lover to a meeting was just asking for trouble.

“We have the advantage my lady,” Herve told her as they rode. “Might often makes right.”

It seemed to be the way in which her father lived. It was no wonder Foulques thought so well of him.

But then so did she. Herve had the appearance and mannerisms of a brute at first glance - big, strapping and eager for battle while not being all that bright.

Yet she thought him a good man at heart - one who was noble toward his enemies, releasing the non-nobles who fought for Gilles whom they had captured. And he had taken much of the coin he had secured in his victories over Gilles to pay to send his wife Sybille swans to celebrate the birth of their daughter.

When Agnes saw that in September, she could not help but feel a pang of jealousy.

“I must be careful,” Agnes told him. “King Philippe brought the King of England to heel, and defeated Moslem rulers. Yet he remains confounded by Philipp of Champagne. He is a slippery man, hard to trap. And he has made much out of having others walk into traps he has set for them.”

Herve shook his head. “My lady, you need not do his work for him. He likely thought himself safe from us. He meets with you because he hopes to avoid battle. You meet with him out of courtesy.”

Agnes smiled. He is not bad at these morale-boosting chats.

“Thank you Herve,” she said. “And I’ve told you before, you need not call me, my lady. We are family. You can call me Agnes.”

“I think you deserve the respect, my lady,” Herve said. “You rule in your father’s name. And if he wills it, then it is so.”

“My father would allow me to offer you the chance to call me by my name,” Agnes said. “He thinks very well of you.”

Her cousin soon had a smile as wide as his face. “That flatters me more than you know. Your father has given me everything. I will do what I can to repay him, and you, and your brothers.”

“And we are grateful to have your help,” Agnes said. “You have proven yourself time and time again. I know your mother is proud. As is… your wife.”

“I never did ask… did she enjoy the swans?” Herve wondered.

Agnes turned her gaze straight ahead. “She was… the envy of every woman at court. I think she was pleased.”

Herve turned a light shade of red. “I am glad. I felt guilt I could not be nearby when she birthed our daughter. She has been alone for much of the year… it is not how husband and wife should be.”

Agnes closed her eyes as she felt her heart flutter… and that feeling of jealousy creep in again.

Why didn’t my father marry me to him? We could have worked together, as father and mother did - he lead the armies and me keep the duchy in order…

But she quickly shook the thoughts from her mind. Her father had not married them, Herve had a wife and a daughter, and while Agnes held Anjou in her father’s name for now, it would not remain that way forever. Eventually, it would return to Foulques. Or go to Geoffrey. Or her nephew. Or her younger brother. Or… her bastard brother.

She shot a quick glance to Herve to see if she had given any of her feelings away. He did not appear to notice anything odd - not surprising. Those little things usually went past him. From what she heard, the exception was in battle. There, he was a genius in the mold of his uncle.

But his time was not now, though it might come soon. Instead, as they approached the banners indicating the Duke of Champagne, she was reminded it was hers.

The rode into the clearing and found the duke on his horse along with multiple knights. As they approached the duke rode forward with a few of his men.

Set up were two chairs, with one larger than the other, with a table centered between them. Philipp dismounted beside one of the chairs, while the men who rode out with him did so a few yards behind. Servants were already present, with cups and a pitcher of wine.

A fine show, Agnes thought. Now let’s see what he means to do with it.

Mirroring his actions, Agnes dismounted by the chairs. Herve followed suit just behind, while a few of the knights also did so a few yards back of him.

Agnes approached Philipp and bowed. He took her hand and kissed it.

“My lady, it has been too long,” Philipp said. “And this must be the nephew I have heard much about. The one who makes a name for himself as one of the rising men of the realm.”

Herve nodded before bowing but said nothing.

“You look lovely,” Philipp said. “It has been years since I have seen you, but you have blossomed into a fine woman.”

“Well, it is hardly my fault you and my father seem destined to end up on opposite sides of every conflict in the realm,” Agnes replied.

“Hopefully that is something that will soon be past,” Philipp said. “I remain your father’s loyal friend and ally. Even now, I vouch for his character to our rightful king Hugues. That a man of loyalty like Duke Foulques is to be valued.”

“Kind of you to do so, Duke Philipp,” Agnes said. “I am certain my father will be grateful, should you emerge victorious.”

Philipp nodded and offered Agnes a seat. It was, predictably, in the smaller chair, but she took it anyway. Philipp sat down in the other chair, positioned at an angle to her, with the small table before them. A servant poured each a cup of wine.

“I must confess, my lady,” Philipp began, “I am surprised to see you here.”

“Why? That I carry out my father’s will is known to most,” Agnes said.

“Yes, which is the reason for my surprise,” Philipp said. “Your father has not sent any directive for you to be here. Yet here you are, with your father’s army. Why is that?”

“I think you can guess the answer to that, Duke Philipp,” Agnes said.

Philipp smirked and took a sip of his wine. “So, you took it upon yourself to save a man who does not need saving, at the cost of the progress your cousin there had made against the Duke of Berry. I hear he flees his keep and moves to take refuge with his lady wife in Gascony.”

And they said I just wished for revenge, Agnes thought.

“You can see the importance then,” Agnes replied.

“I understand your concern, my lady,” Philipp said. “But I believe you have made a mistake. Your father did not request you intervene.”

“How do you know that?” Agnes asked.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” Philipp said. “Do you think I would have remained here if you had orders to attack?”

“I have ears too, and they hear you need the victory,” Agnes said. “Desperation can make a man do dangerous things.”

“Desperate? I still hold the crown prince,” Philippe said. “I am comfortable with hour the war plays out. Meanwhile, you have gone above and beyond your authority. I do not believe your father will be pleased.”

“But you think he would be pleased being hauled off to a dungeon cell in Troyes?” Agnes asked.

“Do not be ridiculous my dear,” Philipp replied. “Your father is in no danger from me.”

“You would simply release the marshal of the realm? The one who orchestrated many of the king’s great victories?” Agnes asked.

“Why would I need to hold him?” Philipp asked. “I would have the king. The war would be over.”

“And if the king escapes?” Agnes asked.

“He is ill,” Philipp said. “According to rumors. He will not escape.”

“But if he does?” Agnes asked.

“He will not escape without your father,” Philipp said.

“You have the reputation as a slippery one, Duke Philipp,” Agnes said. “I see it is well earned. But your evasive response tells me much.”

“And what do you have to tell me?” Philipp asked. “What is your reason for meeting with me?”

Agnes took her cup of wine and sipped it slowly. Her stomach was in knots once more and she needed to center herself. She steeled herself as the liquid hit her lips, and slowly let it seep into her mouth, drawing it out as long as possible.

“You are my father’s friend,” she replied. “I do not wish to have our armies come to blows. That is why my father offers you a chance to withdraw your forces to Normandy and continue to war against the king from there.”

“Your father offers me no such chance,” Philipp said. “Do not hide behind him. We both know this is your decision. And yours alone.”

Her stomach clenched. But she would not let herself seize up this time.

“Yes, it is my decision, though I did not make it alone,” Agnes said as she looked to Herve. “My father has given me leave to take actions that I see fit in Anjou and… beyond, should he not be able to give them. Since my father cannot direct the army of Anjou, it falls on me to do it.”

“He has directed them to stay out of my conflict with the king,” Philipp said. “You violate that agreement.”

“The agreement ended when my father was caught in between you and the king,” Agnes said. “So long as you restrict your activity to Normandy and the king’s lands there, you are free to do as you please. Now that my father’s life is at risk, that is no longer the case.”

Philipp raised a brow. “You… you mean to tell me… what I can do?”

“Forgive me, Duke Philipp,” Agnes said. “You are of course free to do as you please. I forget my place. You are one of the most powerful men in the realm. I am but my father’s daughter.”

Philipp smiled and nodded. He reached out and patted Agnes’ hand. “It happens to the best of us my dear.”

Agnes cleared her throat. “As I said, I am my father’s daughter, which means you have the choice to go where you wish, but I will direct the forces of Anjou to aid my father. That means defeating anyone who lays siege to the keep while he is present.”

Philipp pulled his hand away. “You threaten me?”

“I state what will happen,” Agnes said. “I do not wish for a conflict. But I will not allow my father to fall into your hands, as kind and gentle as you say they are. Again, you are free to do as you please. But remain here and we will attack. What is the harm in returning to Normandy?”

“I have the chance to win this war,” Philipp said. “Capturing the king now will mean victory. His forces are away. Nothing stands to defend it. I understand why you do not grasp it - women are not ones for war after all - but this chance is too good to pass up. You would have me throw away a chance at victory?”

Agnes sipped her wine. “Excuse my… womanly mind which does not grasp these concepts. But if there is an army four times the size of yours issuing a warning that remaining will mean they shall attack… then it would seem to me that it is not such a good opportunity after all.”

“Stubborn girl,” Philipp said. “Your father has always complained of that. A decade ago he lamented your refusal to listen to him over your cousin. And look how that turned out. It is no surprise me that you ended up with your bastard.”

“You are out of line!” Herve shouted as he came up beside Agnes. “The Lady Agnes greets you with courtesy and decency and you insult her?”

Philipp looked toward Herve before taking another drink. “I see this cousin is more loyal than your last.”

“You disgusting snake,” Herve said.

Agnes grasped his hand. “It is alright Herve.”

“No, it is not,” Herve said. “He would not dare say such things to your father. As his voice, he is to treat you with the same respect.”

“The voice she speaks with is her own,” Philipp said. “Not her father’s. That you don’t see it makes me be think you are either dull, weak-willed or under her spell. Perhaps all three.”

“I will show you weak-willed,” Herve said as he began to reach for his sword.

“Herve!” Agnes shouted. “No! This is not the time and place for such actions.”

She looked around. There were guards who drawn swords, though not yet stepped forward. Herve’s own knights also pulled their blades.

She had to act quick.

“Please,” she said as she gently stroked her cousin’s arm. “I know you stand for our honor, but you will not aid us by taking his bait.”

Herve glared at Philipp for a moment before removing his hand from his sword. He took a deep breath.

“My apologies, Lady Agnes,” he said.

“It is all right,” she told him.

“A loyal hound,” Philipp said. “Back to your place.”

Agnes glared at him. “I do not know it is wise to insult a man who stands to command an army four times the size of yours, but as you say, my womanly mind cannot grasp the concepts of war.”

“I would not speak so glibly,” Philipp said. “I am the man who has all but broken the King of the Franks.”

“But who has never bested my father in battle,” Agnes said.

“And your father will not be present,” Philipp said.

“No, but I have bested him far more often than you have,” Agnes said. “Which I think says much, don’t you?”

Philipp’s brow rose. “You sound as if you will lead the army yourself.”

“My cousin shall manage it just fine,” Agnes said.

“I think you should have brought your father’s chancellor,” Philipp said. “I think he would have a better grasp of what is about to take place here.”

“I grasp it quite well. Anjou will not be cowed,” Agnes said. “And neither will I. Or my cousin. That I know my father would not stand for.”

Philipp shook his head before standing. “You make a grievous error. When your father sees what you have done… attacking his truest friend in the realm and forever ruining the relationship between Anjou and Champagne, you will be shipped off to a convent.”

Agnes stood up. “Then I shall go and pray for the soul of a man who has twice betrayed his king before God and uses his children as pawns.”

Philipp smirked. “I think I shall be alright. I do His work. After all, God abandoned this wicked king long ago.”

A steed was brought forward and the duke mounted it. Without looking back he and his guard rode off, leaving servants to clean up the furniture left behind.

Agnes and Herve mounted their steeds and began their ride back.

“Thank you my la-- Agnes,” Herve said. “You saved us from a difficult situation.”

“You defended my honor,” Agnes replied. “I owe you my thanks.”

“He would never have said such a thing to your father,” Herve said.

“Not if he wanted to avoid getting hit,” Agnes replied. “But… I can’t help but wonder... could my father have not wished for us take this action?”

“It was as you said in Bourges,” Herve began, “Why would your father wish for himself to fall into Champagne’s hands? He may have wished to avoid conflict, but surely given the situation, he would find it unavoidable.”

Agnes wished to believe that. But perhaps she had seen an opportunity to do something bold, and eager to prove herself once more, had jumped at it too quickly.

“We must not lose,” she said.

“That will not happen,” Herve said. “Our men have spent the last year training against Gilles’ pathetic forces. They are ready and eager to crush the Duke of Champagne. My only fear is that it shall be over too quickly.”

A smile came to her lips. She appreciated her cousin’s rather confident nature on the matter. It did help calm her nerves.

“With you leading my father’s men, I believe it very well might be,” she told him.

“And after his display today, I will feel no guilt in dispatching him quickly,” Herve said. “And if there is any justice, we shall capture him, so he can look up at your lovely face and see the woman he mocked tower over him.”

Agnes closed her eyes and saw Philipp in chains, forced to his knees before her. She had the fantasy many times before about Gilles.

Their decision to abandon Bourges may have cost her the latter, but she would certainly settle for the former.
…..

“So this is what a battlefield is like,” Alearde said as she sat on horseback the next day.

Agnes took her eyes away from the action before her to glance back at her old mentor. “I thought you had seen one before… you know, when…”

“With your father?” Alearde asked. “I visited camps a few times. But never did I see a battle take place.”

“And what do you think?” Agnes asked. “Now, watching it?”

“Interesting from up here,” Alearde replied. “I imagine much less so down there.”

Agnes couldn’t argue. She had been watching the battle unfold she found it intriguing to see as infantry battled, the lines would gradually shift positions, drifting in one direction. Chancellor Godfrey, who was alongside her with his son, Henri, and a few household knights, had informed her this was because of the natural desire of men have the protection of the shield wall, and make sure they were not exposed.

She also was curious to see how cavalry worked. She always imagined they charged in one grand assault when in truth, they moved more in waves - one group charged, then another and another, which caused lines to buckle and then break.

It was good then, that her position on the field appeared more show than action. From this hill overlooking the action, she sat on horseback, along with Alearde. Agnes had taken it so far as to dress in mail - rather uncomfortable as it was. She even had a helmet - though Alearde was currently holding it for her.

Both the hauberk and leather armor underneath were made for men. To better shape her body for them, Agnes had Alearde tape her breasts down. It left her chest feeling constricted and between her linen, leather and metal it was incredibly hot. Where the leather touched her skin, she chafed.

How does father enjoy this, she wondered as she felt the sweat drip down her face - an impressive feat for a cold January day and why her helmet was off.

She envied Alearde at the moment, who limited the changes to her typical attire to wearing boots for riding and a shorter skirt for her dress. She wrapped herself in a cloak to keep warm, with her head covered.

The battle itself looked to be progressing well enough. With such a large advantage in numbers, the Angevin forces appeared to be winning, though Champagne’s forces were positioned in a way along the Seine to minimize the ability to be flanked.

“It will just be a matter of time,” Godfrey noted. “Eventually their men will tire and break.”

“Good,” Agnes said, her nerves calming somewhat now.

After her little lapse in confidence following the meeting with Champagne, she again was fairly certain her father would approve of this, though she could not completely silence the little doubts she had. However, if they were to ever lose this fight, then she knew she would suffer the consequences, having pushed for it. Her position may have looked strong, but a woman repeatedly calling for war and battle, only served to heighten the threats around her.

As her eyes drifted across the battlefield, she took notice of the Angevin left. Commanded by the old mayor of Saumur, Renaud, had easily dispatched the paltry forces from Champagne’s right, and appeared to be joining Herve’s assault on the center. However, their assault appeared to be slowing and as she continued to watch, actually turn into a retreat.

“What is happening there?” Agnes asked Godfrey. “It appears they are retreating.”

“They are,” Godfrey said. “I fear something may have happened to Renaud…”

Agnes turned to one of the knights and ordered him to find out what was happening.

“Even if we lose our left, Herve will easily win in the center,” Godfrey reassured her.

But that did not help the churning in her stomach. Renaud should have easily been able to assist too. Something had gone wrong. What if it went wrong with Herve too?

When the knight neared, Agnes rode over to him. “What news do you bring?”

“Renaud has been wounded, my lady,” the knight said. “They do not believe it is terribly serious, but he is having difficulty riding.”

“Can he lead the attack?” Agnes demanded.

“He is trying, my lady,” the knight said. “But…”

She could leave nothing to chance. Kicking her horse forward she rode on down toward the left.

What are you doing?

It was foolish. She did not even have a weapon.

If this battle fails, father will remove me. He might send me to a convent. I cannot lose. I will not allow us to lose.

She neared where Renaud was stationed with his knights. The infantry was up ahead, on a slow march away from the battle, while the grey-haired man was leaning on his horse, grimacing in pain. There was no blood, but he held his chest.

“What is the problem, Mayor Renaud?” Agnes demanded.

Renaud looked at her with wide eyes. Then he grunted out: “Stuck by a blow to the chest my lady.”

“I see no blood,” she said.

“The bones in his chest may be broken,” Godfrey said. “A very painful wound. It will heal in time though, provided the damage is not too severe.”

“Can you ride?” Agnes demanded.

“I will try, my lady,” Renaud said.

“I do not have time for try,” Agnes said. “The battle rages. I need a weapon. A sword.”

The knights looked at her with a mixture of surprise and contempt. None offered their weapon.

“Here my lady,” Henri said as he handed over his weapon, handle first, to her.

Agnes took the blade and rotated her wrist as if to inspect it. Henri was 18 summers and still growing into his frame, so the weapon was thankfully fairly light.

“My lady, your father will not wish to see you hurt,” Godfrey said. “I would advise against it.”

“My father does not wish to see a battle lost,” Agnes said. “Our forces have not suffered defeat in decades. It will not happen under my watch.”

Alearde rode next to her. Agnes figured that she was there to warn her. Instead, she handed her a helmet.

“You will want this my lady,” Alearde said with a smirk.

Agnes smiled and fastened it to her head. Then, after taking a deep breath, she raised her new weapon.

“Men! My father does not know defeat,” she shouted. “Neither does my cousin at your head. I come to you because I fear this flank may taste it. And that is not what we do in Anjou. Defeat is not who we are! We will not be turned aside. Not today! Not any day!”

Godfrey and gave a cheer, and the knights around did so as well. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, Agnes pointed her sword back toward the battlefield.

“Onward to reclaim your victory!”
….

Agnes had expected to be more disgusted by the site of battle.

To be fair, she had not quite been in the thick of it. Without a lance, she could not participate in any charges. And thus, her impromptu grab of command on the left was more of a decision to be closer to the action to inspire the men, rather than actually take part in the fighting.

But it had worked, as the Angevin left again moved forward against the Champagne center. Even with their adversaries attempting to narrow their flank, they could only hold out for so long before they broke.

In the rush of exhilaration at hearing the news that the enemy was in flight, Agnes had joined the pursuit. She did not kill anyone herself, but she witnessed as Angevin knights rode down fleeing infantry men, attempting to capture and in some cases, kill. The fleeing enemy was stabbed, crushed and trampled.

It was ugly and unsightly, but she did not find it disturbing. Perhaps it was because she was just relieved to have won - and thrilled to have contributed to the victory.

Father will be proud, I’m sure of it.

That thought was soon followed by another.

I wonder what Duke Philipp is saying now? Especially if he gets wind of my part in this fight…

She returned to the main camp and tossed her helmet aside, shaking her hair free of the bonds so her auburn locks could flow freely. Her cousin Herve rode beside her, grabbed her arm and lifted it in the air, to the cheer of the men gathered.

She and Herve dismounted and headed toward the latter’s tent, followed by Alearde, Godfrey and Henri. Cups of red wine were served out to all.

“Do you like it?” Godfrey asked. “I specifically arranged for this ready for our victory.”

“What is so special about this wine?” Herve asked.

“It is from the Champagne region,” Godfrey said. “While it is not the best of wines, I think it suits the situation nicely.”

“It is as if we drink the blood of our foes!” Herve exclaimed as he hoisted the cup in the air.

Godfrey’s brow rose before he turned his head toward Agnes and rolled his eyes. Agnes covered her mouth to hide a chuckle - her cousin’s inability to grasp subtlety amused her at times like this.

“A fine choice,” Agnes said to Godfrey. “Did you send a messenger to Melun to inform them of our success here?”

“Yes,” Godfrey said. “They will likely receive word tonight. We may hear their sighs of relief from here.”

Agnes chuckled and then motioned with her head for Alearde to join her in the corner, away from the others. Once she had, Agnes whispered: “I wish I could see the look on my father’s face when he learns of it.”

“No longer worried that he did not call for this?” Alearde asked.

“Our victory is nearly total,” Agnes said. “It could have only been moreso had we captured Duke Philippe. I doubt my father will find much fault with it.”

“You make a good point,” Alearde said. “Even if he is concerned, he will look past it with such thorough victory today. Though some may point to you leading such a victory as a slight.”

“On Champagne perhaps,” Agnes said. “He, not father, was bested by a woman. And Herve was in command. He performed… masterfully.”

Alearde rolled her eyes. “Leash your tongue girl. His father in law is in the tent.”

“What… what do you mean?” Agnes asked.

“I know that look in your eyes,” Alearde said. “Like a hungry dog staring at a fresh piece of meat. You had it when you saw Cedric for the first time.”

Agnes blushed. She did find herself thinking about her cousin the night before. Given what happened with Gilles, it was a guilty pleasure to even fantasize such things, but she could not help it.

“He is a fine leader of men,” Agnes said. “There is no shame in admiration.”

“Admire all you like if that is as far as it goes,” Alearde said.

“I thought you merely aimed to guide me,” Agnes said.

“And I will guide you far away from that one,” Alearde said.

“Why? Herve is… a fine example of a man. A knight on the battlefield but kind at heart,” Agnes said. “Nothing like Gilles.”

“He may well be a good man, but he is also a married one,” Alearde said. “To the chancellor’s daughter, and now with a daughter of his own. You do not need to make enemies of one of your steadfast allies in Anjou. It is something your father might do because he cannot keep his urges in check. You must show more restraint than he.”

Agnes frowned. She still felt the rush of her victory. She knew men often celebrated such glory in the bed of a woman - why could she not spend her night in the arms of a good man? When her father and brother had no problems laying with married women…

Is that who you wish to take your morals from? Those who irk you in behavior?

It is what her mother would say. She could almost hear Beatritz saying it to her.

“I will,” Agnes said. “I will restrain myself. Thank you Alearde.”

Alearde nodded and gave her a pat on the back before the two rejoined the others.

...

“You took a large chance. Why?”

Foulques’ words stirred up old fears rather quickly.

Agnes stood with her father in his chambers in Melun. She had arrived with Herve and their entourage earlier in the day. Foulques had nearly immediately pulled her aside for this private chat.

The old duke did not betray much to her. He did not smile, he did not frown, but even with his mask Agnes could see he was serious.

“We have won a great battle, father,” Agnes said. “Though we did not capture Philipp of Champagne…”

“I did not ask you about the battle,” Foulques said. “I asked you why you lifted the siege of Bourges and attacked Philipp of Champagne without orders.”

Her eyes widened. Had Champagne been truthful with her after all? Her father could not really have…

No, her father had to be just testing her. He did that from time to time - as a means to keep her sharp. That is what this had to be.

I hope.

“I did it to make certain you did not fall into Champagne’s hands,” Agnes said. “We heard no word, good or bad. I believed you could not get word to us. So I acted, as you have entrusted me to do as regent. If I have acted out of turn, then I sincerely apologize, and I will not protest any punishment. I just feared for your safety, father.”

Foulques said nothing for a moment, staring her down. But Agnes puffed out her chest and held her head high. If this was a test, she needed to show her best. If it wasn’t, how she reacted was unlikely to matter.

“I tried to send word to Herve to move against Champagne,” Foulques finally said. “But the man who carried the message was killed en route. Henri...”
“That snake!” Agnes shouted.

“It was a risk,” Foulques said. “Henri knew that…”

“No!” Agnes said. “I mean, I am sorry for poor Henri. He was a loyal man. But Champagne tried to tell me you had an agreement not to intervene.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “I should not be surprised, but I am.”

“He is not your friend, father,” Agnes said.

“He is, as much as any other duke of this realm is,” Foulques said. “But he knows that was his best chance. He did not wish to lose it.”

Agnes could not believe she was thinking it, but her father was too forgiving.

“The king plans to honor Herve for his victory,” Foulques said. “He will see you in private - I suspect he does not wish to openly honor a woman in this matter. A woman saving the King of the Franks? I think he believes such a thing will weaken him.”

“Can he grow much weaker?” Agnes asked.

“Keep that tongue leashed when you meet with him,” Foulques said. “I have enough problems shielding your brother from him.”

Agnes sighed. “Yes, I suppose the king is not pleased about this rebellion in Poitou.”

Foulques’ brow rose. “Rebellion in Poitou?”

And suddenly Agnes remembered her father was cut off from much of the news of the world for the past month.

“Geraud of Thouars has declared a revolt against the Duchess Patricia,” Agnes said. “He… seeks to install Geoffrey as the Duke of Poitou.”

“Does Geoffrey declare for the duchy?” Foulques asked.

“Not yet,” Agnes said. “He… likely does as he did with Aquitaine, and hopes he will win the revolt without actually expending any resources to win it.”

In some ways, Agnes could not help but admire her brother for that. As she knew, it took guile to get men to do things for you, especially when they were not necessarily bound to by oaths.

Yet as she watched Foulques sit down and sink his face into his palm, she suspected her father felt differently.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 102
August 1100 - Bordeaux, France

First citizen.

Geoffrey sipped on his wine and looked at the text before him. A book detailing the history of the Roman Empire, with this section specifically Augustus, the first true Emperor of the Romans.

It was something he had borrowed from the monks who were present in the keep. It was unlikely they would refuse a request of a duke anyway, but having spent much time around men of the cloth growing up, he knew how to speak to them. Flatter them with compliments on their knowledge, penmanship, speak highly of the importance of their work.

Of course, it was easier when one believes what they are saying, and Geoffrey did - he was very interested in the subject matter and found the handwriting, done by a monk named Jehan, easy to read. Sure enough, he had spent much of the past few days examining the text, even staying up well into the night at times.

The first Roman Emperor fascinated him. Whereas he’d heard his father praise the likes of Julius Caesar as a military leader, Augustus, Caesar's grandnephew, did not have the same reputation. Certainly he had won his share of victories - Philippi, Actium - but he was not the master of strategy the elder Caesar was.

Instead, Geoffrey found his ability to bend a Roman state that had been in near constant flux for the prior half-century, with civil war and struggles for power - and bring it to a state of unity behind him. It was something that, for all his military prowess, Julius Caesar could not do - as evidenced by his ultimate fate of being murdered by the Senate.

But for a man who made himself Emperor, Geoffrey was amazed at how well Augustus sold himself as anything but. A juggling of titles, placating the senate with honors and powers he in reality could overrule… even refusing to call himself anything but Princeps - the first citizen - rather than a king or emperor.

A far cry from those pretenders in Germany, Geoffrey thought with a chuckle.

He knew the “Emperor” of the Germans was not the true heir of the Romans. In fact, Geoffrey considered himself more “Roman” than they - his mother was Occitan after all, a descendent of the Galleo-Romans from before the days of Clovis.

On his fanciful days, he imagined himself somehow uniting the West under his rule - he was uncertain how he’d do it, but he dreamed it nonetheless. A mother descended from the Romans, a father from the likes of Charlemagne - was he not the best man to rule?

Of course there were the Romans in Greece, heirs with a much stronger claim to legacy of the Empire, though even they were not what they once were. In time, Geoffrey hoped he could read all about how the people of Augustus became those of the Basileus. But for now, he was content to read about a man who inspired him - one who could win a war, but more importantly, win the peace.

A knock on the door. He did not answer for a moment, wondering if perhaps he would be better off remaining silent and continuing his studies. He was in the middle of the settlement of 23 BC, when Augustus shored up his power, and Geoffrey did not wish to stop.

But the idea that it could be important gnawed at him, so he reluctantly placed the book down and peeked outside into the hallway. A pale, smiling, female face look back at him.

“Are you alone?”

Geoffrey lowered his head, but opened the door. The slight framed blonde pixie slid into the room with a flourish, twirling herself to a stop by his table. She glanced down and picked up the book. Lily was naturally curious - but he knew it held nothing for her as she could not read herself.

“What is this?” she said as she examined the pages in front of her.

“A book on Rome,” Geoffrey said as he closed the door behind him.

“The Greeks in the East? Or the city?” she replied.

“The empire the Greeks continue,” Geoffrey said.

“What is interesting about that?” Lily asked.

“We can learn much from what came before,” Geoffrey said. “I am not the military mind my father was, so I study of a great man who also was not as great as his… father… so to speak... but accomplished much more.”

Lily’s sly grin returned as she put the book down. “My sweet, sweet duke, you will never achieve what you wish until you leave such worries behind.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. The maid was a lovely young thing from the castle town in Bordeaux. He remembered hearing her by chance one day, and being struck by how much the way she talked reminded him of Alearde - something that perhaps should not have surprised since this was where Alearde was born. Curious, he had sought to see what she looked like and found her quite fetching.

It was no thing to win her affections and bed her. And since doing so, she had become a valuable ally.

She was his own Alearde in a way - a wise young woman, skulking in the shadows of the keep, hearing all - or short of that, convincing others to spill their secrets to her. It was incredible what a pretty face could accomplish when pointed in the right direction.

He would have loved to place her among a noblewoman’s ladies. But the court in Bordeaux was devoid of high-born women. Young Count Alias, the chancellor, was betrothed, as was his brother, to girls not yet of age. Bishop Leonard was sworn to celibacy. And the mayors and barons had no wives.

Instead, Lily would have to remain as a maidservant, content to aid Geoffrey from obscurity.

“You don’t twirl in here unless you have news,” Geoffrey said. “And interesting news at that.”

Lily tapped her pointed nose and then motioned for Geoffrey to sit in his chair. When he did so, the diminutive maid wrapped her arms around him. Reflexively he kissed her hand and moved his way up her arm.

“Which shall it be first? Scandal, or intrigue?” she asked.

“Which will I be happier to hear?” Geoffrey asked.

Lily smirked. “I think we shall go with scandal then. The Count of Narbonne’s new wife's belly swells with child.”

Geoffrey stomach seized. “Elisabeth?”

Lily’s smirk did not leave her face as she nodded.

“Does he suspect?”

“She’s already confessed,” Lily said. “He is… rather upset. At her, rather than you, for not disclosing that you two shared a bed in the spring.”

Geoffrey took a gulp of his wine and swallowed hard. The daughter of a knight in Menorca, Elisabeth was a pretty thing, who had caught the eye of the Count of Narbonne in June. He desired her so much he demanded her hand in marriage, which he was given.

What he did not realize in his haste is that the young woman had already been deflowered by Geoffrey. In May he had met her, seduced her and bedded her. It was before the marriage, and there was no betrothal, so technically, Geoffrey could not be blamed, at least by the Count.

Still, it might prove embarrassing.

“Did she confess to having been with a man, or did she specifically say me?” he asked.

“Oh, she was rather specific,” Lily said. “I think she suspects since she was wooed by the Duke of Aquitaine, son of the great Duke Foulques, then the Count of Narbonne will be less likely to punish her.”

“Can he get an annulment?” Geoffrey wondered.

“He consumated the marriage,” Lily said. “The church has refused him.”

In that, Geoffrey felt some sympathy to the man. Though perhaps he should not have been in such a rush to make the woman his bride on sight.

“Will you legitimize this bastard?” Lily asked him.

“I am uncertain,” Geoffrey admitted.

This had happened once before - with Gerberga, a woman of House de Narbonne - it seemed his luck was poor with that house. Their affair had come to light and the child she carried was clearly not her husband’s. But Geoffrey had refused to acknowledge the child, Foulquet, as his - claiming she had been both with him and her husband and he could not tell with any certainty the child was his.

Most of his other potential bastards had been accepted by their fathers. The Count of Eu never suspected his poor, now late, wife of carrying a child that may not have been his. Nor did he realize his wife now, Madalena, also had spent time in Geoffrey’s bed, though no child had been conceived there yet.

He was not quite as prolific as his cousin in that regard. But then he rarely went for unmarried women prior to Elisabeth. When he had taken the daughter of the Duke of Burgundy, Douce, she was already wed. So too was his lover Melisendra, sister of Ida of La Marche.

It posed a high-risk, he risked making powerful enemies if discovered. But he also had cover if he was not - whereas Gilles’ unmarried lovers usually revealed their trysts with him when their bellies swelled.

“What of your news of intrigue?” Geoffrey asked.

“I may have a lead on who killed poor Alias,” Lily said.

Geoffrey’s ears perked up. The Count of Perigord, the man who had installed Geoffrey as the Duke of Aquitaine, had been killed late last year. His death was a murder - he had been found with a knife in his chest and his throat slit. But there had been no person connected with it and few leads to go on.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I have on good word your chancellor, the younger Alias, enjoys the company of men over women,” Lily revealed. “It is why he was happy with a betrothal. And why he is one of the few men in court who I’ve never heard a peep of trying to bed the women here.”

“I thought he was just a courteous man,” Geoffrey said.

“Perhaps he is,” Lily said. “Or perhaps he is a sodomite. Or both.”

“But what does this have to do with his father’s murder?” Geoffrey asked.

“His father may have gotten wind of it,” Lily said. “I heard he began to meet with Bishop Leonard, perhaps to discuss forcing Alias into church life.”

“Disinheriting him,” Geoffrey said.

Lily nodded. “I suspect Alias would not have liked that. And he did get wind of it.”

“So you think he killed his father?” Geoffrey said.

“Aye. The irony is his brother is a sodomite as well,” Lily said. “Perhaps it was a problem with how they were raised.”

“I will not speak ill of the man,” Geoffrey said. “I would not be here without him.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lily said. “I do wonder if perhaps both brothers were involved, with the fear being he would name his third son heir. But I suppose that is neither hear nor there - Alias is dead and I do believe at least his oldest is responsible.”

Geoffrey moved free of her grasp and paced the room. He owed the late count everything, and had sworn to repay his death. But he had taken the young Alias under his wing upon arriving in Bordeaux and the young man was a loyal friend - something he found himself without after Aubry’s betrayal.

Geoffrey took another sip of his wife. He had heard about his former friend’s expulsion from Anjou, and the threat made upon his life by Duke Foulques. Taking it to heart, Aubry had fled the realm and gone to Italy, where he resided in Piombino.

A waste, Geoffrey thought, as he always thought whenever Aubry came to mind. He could have been my right hand.

“I would not do anything to him, my lord,” Lily said.

“Hmm?” Geoffrey snapped from his train of thought.

“With Lord Alias,” Lily said. “We have this information. It will shame him. But why must we use it? He is a loyal chancellor. And should he ever not be… we can let this slip.”

Geoffrey nodded. There was no point in making an enemy of a friend unnecessarily. And besides, if Lily’s information was correct, at least he would not have to worry about Alias trying to bed his wife or lovers.

A knock on the door. Lily took the cue to slip out of view, into an armoire specifically designed to hide her.

As it turned out, it was Alias. “My lord, the king’s representative will be here momentarily.”

“Give me a moment. I will go with you to meet the Duke.”

Geoffrey closed the door behind him and opened the armoire. Lily slipped out, frown on her face.

“This means no time together?” she asked.

“I am afraid not,” Geoffrey said. “You understand.”

Lily rolled her eyes but gave him a deep kiss. “Perhaps tonight.”

Geoffrey smirked before leaving her behind as per usual - Lily would slip out after he was gone. Once out of the room, he and Alias headed toward the entrance to the main hall to welcome their guest.

The visit was not a surprise - he knew the rebellion in Poitou was certain to draw the interest of the king. He was only surprised it had taken over half a year to receive the diplomat - but then perhaps the king had been busy given the siege of Melun, and his own rumored poor health.

Or perhaps he realizes who keeps him propped up.

Geoffrey did not wish to thank his father for much, but he could not deny that Foulques’ actions against both Duke Gilles and Duke Philipp of Champagne raised the stature of the House of Anjou in the eyes of the king. And while he may not get along with his father, as his heir, Geoffrey enjoyed some of that grace.

So he would put on his charm once and chat up the Duke of Burgundy. Chancellor was a role Geoffrey felt he deserved, but at least the use of Burgundy made Geoffrey’s life easier. His father used to frequently complain how he was not impressed by the man and Geoffrey had seen nothing incorrect in that assessment. Burgundy simply was not gifted when it came to politics and negotiation - Geoffrey usually could talk circles around him.

Never mind that I’ve bedded his daughter, and his sister-by-law, Geoffrey thought as he chuckled.

“Something amusing, my lord?” Alias asked.

“A joke I heard earlier,” Geoffrey replied. “I would fail to do it justice if I tried to retell it, sadly.”

Alias chuckled himself. “I’m certain it was quite humorous.”

“What have you heard,” Geoffrey asked. “In regards to what the king wants?”

“He is concerned over your involvement in Geraud’s rebellion,” Alias said. “Our pleas of innocence appear to have fallen onto deaf ears.”

“That we could win a war against my cousin Patricia with our own forces was not convincing enough?” Geoffrey asked.

Alias shrugged. “You came to power using similar methods. They pre-judge you off that.”

Geoffrey sighed. “At least they will not do anything about it. The king will not challenge House Anjou.”

“Not if he wishes to keep his throne,” Alias added.

The two arrived at the entrance to the keep. Geoffrey’s council had already assembled. A group of lowborn men in Mayor Milo of Baye, the marshal, Baron Blasi of Castillon, the master of spies, Antoine, the Court Chaplain, and Bishop Leonard of Agen, the steward. They each greeted their lord as they waited.

The entourage approached the keep. Geoffrey scanned the group and curiously, did not see Burgundy present. Neither did he see his wife, the wizened Adelaide. There was a woman, one much younger, with her hair done up quite fancy and a cloak covering a pretty linen dress.

Geoffrey’s eyes widened. Her face sent a chill down his spine. And when his eyes moved to her left, he felt his stomach seize once more as she and the king’s representative approached.

No, no, no…

Geoffrey said nothing as the lord walked over to him, with a wide grin on his scarred, masked face.

“Hello, son,” Foulques said. “You look as if you have seen the archangel appear before you.”

Geoffrey opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked to his father, then Ness, who smirked.

“The king… you are not the chancellor,” Geoffrey finally blurted out.

“Did you hear that, my dear?” Foulques asked as he turned to Ness. “I am not the chancellor. Were you aware of that?’

“I had heard,” Ness said. “You were too busy leading the king’s armies to hold such a role.”

“That must be where the confusion comes in,” Foulques said. “Well, I am still not the king’s chancellor. But I am here as his representative to meet with you, son. And is that any way to greet the king’s man?”

Geoffrey, still in shock, nonetheless felt the twisting within in his stomach blend with a bit of anger as his father joked at his expense.

“My… apologies, father,” Geoffrey said. “Excuse me, Duke Foulques. Welcome to my home, the fine keep at Bordeaux. These are the good men who make up my council - Count Alias of Perigord, my chancellor, Bishop Leonard, my steward, Milo of Baye, my marshal, Baron Blasi of Castillon and my Court Chaplain Antoine.”

They all bowed as a sign of respect to the duke. Foulques looked over at Milo and grabbed his arm.

“Mayor Milo! It has been too long,” Foulques said. He pulled Milo close and turned to Geoffrey. “You may not remember this, boy, but Milo commanded your uncle’s armies in the war against Brittany.”

Which you complained vigorously about at the time, Geoffrey remembered.

“I have told him of those times, Duke Foulques,” Milo said. “It was an honor to fight alongside you, as it has been to serve under Lord Geoffrey, a man who recognizes and rewards good men when he sees them.”

Geoffrey smiled. His council was a loyal group. If his father wished to lower his stature in their eyes, he would have to do better.

“And this is the Lady Ness,” Geoffrey said as he approached his father’s lover. “It has been far too long since we last saw one another. You have matured into a beautiful woman.”

He kissed her hand, leaving her to blush. “You are too kind, Lord Geoffrey.”

“You do look a great deal like your mother,” Geoffrey told her. “I remember being awed by her beauty as well. And her charm. I hear much the same of you. I hope you find my home to be most welcoming during your stay.”

Ness turned even redder and could not even bring herself to look to Foulques. Geoffrey did, however, sly grin on his face. The mask covered his father’s, but he could see a bit of a reddish hue.

“Shall we?” Geoffrey asked as he motioned for them to follow him into the keep itself. They did so and Geoffrey continued. “I have been preparing a feast for your arrival. We shall enjoy it this evening, of course. In the meantime, Bishop Leonard can provide you a tour of our home.”

“This is not my first time in Bordeaux,” Foulques reminded him.

“But it is your first time in Bordeaux since I have ruled,” Geoffrey noted. “It is a different place now. It would honor me so, if you saw. Not only here, but we can take a tour of the countryside as well. I am certain the lady Ness would enjoy that.”

“I… would,” Ness said.

Foulques glared at her, leading the young woman to lower her head. Geoffrey restrained another smirk.

“Bishop Leonard and Antoine then,” Geoffrey said. “Show them how we live!”

“With pleasure, my lord,” Leonard said. “This way Duke Foulques, Lady Ness.”

Foulques scowled but went along with the bishop, leaving Geoffrey with the rest of his council.

“Marshal Milo,” Geoffrey began, “have our knights start up training exercises tomorrow. I suspect that is something my father will enjoy watching.”

“Of course, my lord,” Milo said.

“Blasi, this does not change our plans,” Geoffrey said. “Keep an eye on him as if he were Burgundy.”

“As you command,” Blasi said.

Geoffrey then left them behind, instructing Alias to follow.

“I know not why he’s here,” Geoffrey admitted to him as they walked. “Does the king send him to threaten me, or does he come of his own accord?”

“Either way, he appeared to enjoy himself,” Alias said. “Arrogant man. He thinks himself better than us. Even parades the mother of his bastard in front of you. It is disrespect, especially to his son, and peer.”

“My father does not, and will not ever, consider me a peer and equal,” Geoffrey said. “But we can use that to our advantage. Even Ness… he may bring her to disrespect me, but we hear the talk from Melun. We know that she is his weakness.”

“What shall we do?” Alias asked.

“For now, we watch,” Geoffrey said. “I will not be provoked into a rash action. My father, ultimately, is my ally, united for a common goal. We must be careful not to upset that. If Geraud’s rebellion fails, I do plan on moving against my cousin. I will want my father’s help.”

“And you think he will provide it?” Alias asked. “I think he is more trouble than he’s worth.”

A comment which sent a chill down Geoffrey’s spine - given what Lily had told him earlier.

“I disagree with his methods,” Geoffrey said. “But he is useful. A voice close to the king. Someone who commands fear in the realm. Differences aside, we would be wise not to toss such things aside.”

“His strength comes from his levy,” Alias said. “If you had Anjou and Aquitaine… yours would rival, if not surpass his.”

“It is more than his levy,” Geoffrey said. “He is the man who defeated a Saxon army against all odds at Rouen - I still remember the looks of adoration he received from the other lords... and the king himself. He is the man who commanded the king’s armies to success against Boudewijn. The man who has gone from a count to one who brought the Breton petty king to his knees. My father may not be liked. But he is respected… and on the battlefield, feared.”

“Do yo--” Alias cut himself off. Geoffrey eyed him.

“Speak. What were you going to ask?”

Alias sighed. “Do you fear him, my lord?”

Geoffrey was silent for a moment as he thought of the best way to phrase it. “No. I have challenged him all my life. But I will not poke him needlessly. As I have said, my father is a valuable player in this game, and he has reason to support our cause. Why toss that aside?”

“The sooner we can stand on our own the better,” Alias noted.

“Fair, but we could stand far better if we had Poitou as well. And Alberic denied me much of what should be Aquitaine before,” Geoffrey said. “I intend to take it back.”

Alias nodded. “We shall, my lord. I am just concerned. The other lords are wary of us. The king is as well.”

“Aye,” Geoffrey said. “And you think my father aides them?”

“Your dislike for one another is well known,” Alias said. “He praises your sister. And he legitimized that bastard. I think we would be fools to trust him.”

“That is why we watch, and we listen,” Geoffrey said. “And we look to others. Others who may be swayed to our side.”

“Ness,” Alias said.

Geoffrey smiled. “They might think they can trap me. But whether it’s my father, my cousins or the king himself, we will not let that happen.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 103
August 1100 - Bordeaux, France

“Do you like the wine?”

Ness raised a brow before taking a drink from her cup. Swirling it around in her mouth a few times, before swallowing, she gave Geoffrey, sitting across the small table from her, a nod.

“Light,” she said. “I do rather like it.”

“It is produced here,” Geoffrey said. “I find it more enjoyable than what you will find in other areas of the realm.”

Ness flashed him a sly grin. “You may be a bit biased on the subject.”

Geoffrey shrugged, meeting her grin with an impish look of his own. “Does not mean I’m wrong though.”

Ness chuckled and raised her cup to him.

They were alone together in his chambers, having a drink together after days of trying to get her separated from his father. Foulques appeared determined to not let such a meeting occur, but it was only a matter of patience for Geoffrey. As the host, he controlled much of the itinerary with Foulques only able to give so much pushback.

“So how did you manage to get me away from your father?” she asked. “He seemed rather wary having you be alone with me. I can’t imagine why.”

“I had my marshal show him the exercises of our knights,” Geoffrey said. “Then instructed them to put on an exhibition - after all, it is not often one gets to show his abilities in front of the hero of Rouen.”

“How very clever of you,” Ness told him.

“I thought so,” Geoffrey replied.

“So what do you want with me?” she wondered. “I admit to be surprised you wished to see me at all, given all that has happened over the last year.”

“You mean you birthing my bastard brother,” Geoffrey said. “Who you named after my uncle and no doubt hope helps you gain Poitou, Gascony and perhaps even Aquitaine?”

Ness went wide-eyed for a moment before shifting in her chair. “You did not mean this for a friendly chat then?”

“Oh I do,” Geoffrey said. “Ness, my dear, what you want is obvious. Equally obvious is that you may not always get everything you want.”

“We shall see about that,” Ness replied.

“Will we?” Geoffrey asked. “Let us say father does help you gain Poitou? Have you considered what life will be after my father leaves us? Your son will never inherit Anjou.”

“What… do you play at?” Ness asked.

“Truth,” Geoffrey said. “I will command Aquitaine and Anjou. I will be able to take Poitou if I desire it… and I do.”

“A threat then,” Ness said.

“Again, truth,” Geoffrey said. “I do not wish to hide anything from you. In fact, I wish to be friends. And friends cannot keep secrets from one another.”

Ness shook her head. “You do not sound friendly.”

“Because you have not heard me out,” Geoffrey said. He stood up and began to walk, his cup of wine in hand, swirling it in the cup. “Do you know why my father and I do not get along?”

“He complains of your sneaky behavior,” Ness said. “But I suspect you have a different reason.”

Geoffrey smirked. “I thought his murder of your father was a disgrace. And I told him so.”

Ness was again wide-eyed for a moment, before shaking her head. “You lie.”

“I do not,” Geoffrey said. “I swear upon my life - I told my father what I thought of your father’s murder. It was too late of course - I did not learn of the plot until after his death. But I made my point heard.”

“But…”

“But?”

“But Marguerite has always thought you were involved somehow,” Ness said. “You and your sister.”

“My sister yes,” Geoffrey said. “Dragged into that mess by my father - another act which I cannot forgive. She deserved better than to be led astray.”

“She made her own decision,” Ness said.

“Her father desired something and she felt indebted to him,” Geoffrey said. “What else was she to do?”

“Say no,” Ness said.

“If your father appeared before you now, and requested something of you, would you say no?” Geoffrey asked.

Ness scowled. Yet she did not say deny it.

“But as for me,” Geoffrey continued, “no, I was not involved. I knew nothing of it. Probably because my father could not trust me to remain silent.”

“Why does my sister believe otherwise?” Ness wondered.

“I do not know. I have told her many times, including right after my argument with my father,” Geoffrey said. “We were in Melun at the time. She merely glared at me, then told me to get away. That I was just trying to manipulate her. After all this time, I think it matters little to her. I am my father’s son, his sins are mine as well, in her eyes.”

Ness frowned. “That is… unfair of her, I admit.”

“Kind of you to say,” Geoffrey said.

“I would be grateful if I were her,” Ness said. “She is more than a duchess in name.”

“Does that make a difference?” Geoffrey asked. “Your life is better than hers.”

“Despite it all, she remains your lawful wife,” Ness said. “And should something happen to you, she has your son to look after her - a son who will be Duke of Anjou and Aquitaine. I…”

“So, you do think of the future,” Geoffrey said.

“I am… aware of certain truths,” Ness admitted.

“One being my father will not live forever,” Geoffrey said. “And we do not know how long he has left.”

“Do you threaten him?” Ness demanded.

“Of course not,” Geoffrey said. “My father may resort to murder to achieve his ends, but I am not him. The simple truth is my father is an old man. I should hope I will outlive him. As I would hope you do as well.”

“Your point?”

“Your future after him,” Geoffrey said. “If you make war with my sister, and myself, what will you gain? Think on this - my sister has many allies in Anjou, far more than you. I am here, not even in Anjou, and remain on good terms with most in the duchy.

“Beyond me, there is my son, my half-brother, through the Duchess Haldora. There are barriers upon barriers for you to clear to secure yourself through the pressing of a claim. And you have know idea how much time you have to do so.”

“You seek to intimidate me,” Ness said.

Geoffrey went over to Ness and dropped to a knee beside her, taking her hand. “My lady, I do no such thing. I seek to help you - to guarantee neither you nor your son will come to any harm when I inherit Anjou.”

“Why should I believe you?” Ness asked.

“Because I do find the ladies of your house beautiful,” Geoffrey said. “Your mother was. Your sister is… though it can be hard to see at times. And you are no exception. Stunning in beauty, shrewd in mind. I would greatly enjoy getting to know you more.”

Ness blushed. “You would… have me as your lover?”

“Blunt in your assessments,” Geoffrey said. “No wonder my father treats you as his wife.”

Geoffrey got up and began to pace the room once more. “No, despite our disagreements, I would not seek to make his lovers mine - not while he lives.”

“You do not wish to risk angering him,” Ness said.

A small smile came to Geoffrey’s lips. “I see no need to place you in a difficult position. I am a patient man, Ness.”

“So you wait until your father is gone,” Ness said. “But my sister, your lady wife remains.”

Geoffrey’s face scrunched up and he could not stop from glaring at her. “My lady wife felt it appropriate to betray me and destroy my friendship with a man I considered a brother. I think it would be appropriate if she watched as I took her sister as my lover.”

He frowned. Thoughts of Marguerite and the betrayal always stirred his passions. Measured in his discussions, he exposed himself too far here. It was weakness - one that could be used against him.

But if she sought to, she didn’t show it. Instead, Ness stood up from her chair, and looked at him, gently touching his face.

He was not being false with her - Geoffrey did desire Ness. He was tempted to take her, throw her on his bed ravish her now. Her touch, soft and welcoming - he knew she desired it.

How could she not want to be loved by a man who is in his prime, rather than one who is old enough to be her grandfather?

Geoffrey leaned in and paused. He saw her eyes were closed, lips pouted.

She is ready.

He kissed her on the cheek and pulled away.

Ness brought her hand to that cheek and rubbed it, while looking at him with some shock.

“A taste,” Geoffrey said. “For now.”

“I would… desire more of sampling,” Ness replied as she began to undo her dress. But Geoffrey brought his hand to hers, stopping her.

“No,” he said. “Patience. Our time will come, my lady.”

“What of your father?” Ness asked. “What am I to do with him?”

“Continue as you have,” Geoffrey said. “I am not Duke of Anjou yet.”

Ness closed her eyes and softly bit her lip. She grabbed his hand holding hers with her other hand and squeezed hard.

“As you wish,” Ness said. “My lord.”

….

The success with Ness left Geoffrey feeling full of confidence for his meeting with his father.

But he found it hard to maintain the next day when they found themselves alone together in Geoffrey’s chambers. For all the belief in himself Geoffrey thought he had, Foulques seemed to surpass it tenfold.

In some ways, it bordered on smugness. Geoffrey could feel his father basking in the situation - here to lay down a reprimand for the king, being placed in an official position of authority over him by nominal head of the realm.

Even if by rights he was due respect by nature of being Geoffrey’s father, every little bit of extra he could laud over the younger duke was clearly appreciated. And that Geoffrey had to treat him with more respect and deference than say, Hugues of Burgundy, just added to joy.

You probably just fear I will surpass you, Geoffrey thought.

“How have you enjoyed your stay thus far?” he asked his father.

“You have kept me busy enough,” Foulques said as he took a drink from his cup. “Did you have a nice chat with Ness?”

“She is lovelier than I remembered,” Geoffrey replied. “In both appearance and speech. I believe you erred in which sister you had me marry.”

“No, I think I chose well enough,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey narrowed his gaze. You would only think of yourself.

“And you would be wise to remember whom she lays with,” Foulques said.

“I have not forgotten,” Geoffrey said. “Though, perhaps you have forgotten the woman who sits in Anjou. The one whose title of ‘duchess’ is not ironic.”

“You would also be wise to remember who you speak to,” Foulques said. “And you are one to talk. While I performed my duties as a husband with my wife recently, I think you have long forgotten the other woman who sits in Anjou, who also holds the the title ‘duchess.’ The one you have not seen in five years.”

“I have not seen her, but I cannot forget her, try as I might,” Geoffrey said. “How is my son?”

“I have him stick close to Marshal Nominoe,” Foulques said. “I hope he will pick up the ways of a warrior from an early age.”

He cannot resist twisting the knife.

“I do not know the Marshal Nominoe,” Geoffrey said. “What happened to Leon?”

“He died of natural causes,” Foulques said. “A few years ago.”

Geoffrey had suspected that. And yet hearing it struck him harder than he expected.

“He was a good man,” Geoffrey said.

“A limited man,” Foulques said. “He was not the pedigree of Amaury or Herve’s father. Nor Herve. But he served me well enough.”

Limited man. Ungrateful, as usual.

“So, father,” Geoffrey began, trying to shift the focus elsewhere. “Why have you come here? It is on the king’s business but what is the nature of that business?”

“The king grows concerned with your actions,” Foulques said. “That you scheme for Poitou. That you murder Alberic. Ambition is one thing. But yours is so naked, one wonders if you actually feel shame.”

Who fed you that line, I wonder.

“My ambition is mother’s,” Geoffrey replied. “You know she desired I should have Aquitaine and Poitou. And she would certainly favor me over her nieces.”

“Do not hide behind your mother,” Foulques said. “She deserves better.”

“I give her better by fulfilling her dream,” Geoffrey said. “But despite that, I did not murder Alberic. I had plans to take the duchy from him eventually, with him very much alive. The man was hated by all. Why do they assume it is me? And why do you believe them?”

“Because you conspired with Alias of Perigord to take the duchy from him,” Foulques said. “And you no doubt conspire again with the Count of Thouars, with an opportunity that exists because Alberic is dead.”

“Patricia became duchess,” Geoffrey said. “As did Peronelle. They gained more than I did. And yet I am suspected. You don’t see what this is father? Are you too comfortable in your place to see?”

“Mind your words, boy,” Foulques said.

“Mind this,” Geoffrey said. “They look at us and are envious. They see what we have accomplished and what we continue to accomplish and wish it for their houses. And fear what we may yet gain.”

“What I have gained,” Foulques said.

“You have gained much, father,” Geoffrey said. “But I gained Aquitaine through my own methods, which are different from yours.”

“That you keep it is the result of my levy,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey sighed. He knew this was an argument he could not win. As he told Alias - his father would never acknowledge what he had gained on his own. His ego would not let him.

“And now I wish to expand my holdings, to stand on my own,” Geoffrey said. “And be a better ally to you, father.”

Foulques smirked. “You think I am foolish enough to think you do this for me?”

“No, I think you realize that I wish to prove my worth to you,” Geoffrey said. “As a son and ally. And in doing so, I make us both stronger. I just need you to understand my methods differ than yours.”

“Your method is to hide behind others,” Foulques said. “Whether it is the Count of Perigord, the Count of Thouars, or my levies, you let others act as your shield, and they take your arrows for you, after which, you emerge to claim the glory.”

“Did you not tell me I must do anything necessary to achieve my goals?” Geoffrey asked. “And, despite what they say, have not needed to resort to murder to achieve my ends.”

“Because you let others do the work for you,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey grunted in frustration. Nothing I say… nothing I do…

“What would you have me do?” Geoffrey demanded. “Declare for Poitou openly? Will you then, come to my aid, as my ally?”

“I have my own war to fight,” Foulques said. “Against your cousin.”

“So you would have me fight on my own?” Geoffrey demanded. “Even though our levy and Patricia’s are near equal?”

“You could prove yourself,” Foulques said. “To me, and the realm.”

“The realm will never be satisfied,” Geoffrey said. “And in truth, neither will you.”

“That is not going to win my support,” Foulques said smirk on his lips.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “Are you here for me to convince you that I am worthy of support? Or are you here to taunt me? To test me? To do the king’s bidding? Are you his lap dog now, as they say?”

Foulques stood from the chair and gritted his teeth. “You dare say that?”

“I repeat what is being whispered in halls from Toulouse to Flanders,” Geoffrey said, rising with him. “Do you wish me to lie to you? To pretend they say otherwise, and leave you thinking an untruth? And that you come here to reprimand your own son will not help those rumors.”

“I came of my own volition,” Foulques said. “Philippe would have sent Hugues of Burgundy. But I wished to meet with you. He permitted me to come here.”

“Why?!” Geoffrey asked. “Why did you wish to meet with me?”

“Because you have avoided me since becoming Duke of Aquitaine,” Foulques said. “All the while plotting and scheming in the shadows. And when those close to him speak ill of you in the king’s presence, or when he does so himself, it falls to me to defend you.”

“Do you defend me because you think it your obligation?” Geoffrey asked. “Or do you do so because you think their talk of me reflects poorly on you?”

Foulques did not respond, only sipping his wine. Geoffrey, did the same, though he did so more to hide his own smirk.

“Does it matter to you?” Foulques finally answered. “It benefits you all the same.”

“And so we return to where we started,” Geoffrey said. “I think this nicely reflects where we stand. We do what we do to help each other because we seek to help ourselves. And that… is not wrong. After all, are any of your other lordly allies any different?”

“They are not my own flesh and blood,” Foulques replied.

“Correct, so their gains mean little to you, where as my gains can reflect your desires,” Geoffrey said. “Take, for example, my actions in Poitou. Should Geraud be victorious, I will be Duke of Poitou, and with it shall come Saintonge, which you have long desired to reclaim - is it not?”

Foulques eyed him, and took a drink from his cup. “What of it?”

“There is nothing more to it,” Geoffrey said. “It is an illustration how, by supporting my actions, you achieve what you have longed desired. Is it how you desired? Perhaps not. But once more, was it not you who said achieve your goals by any means necessary?”

“If you seek to use my own words against me,” Foulques began, “know that it will not work.”

“Then, let me ask you, father,” Geoffrey said. “If I become Duke of Poitou, and not a man from Anjou or Aquitaine has to die in the process, what do you lose?”

“I have to deal with the other lords,” Foulques said. “Their attempts to drag you down.”

“And if I march in a win it by force?” Geoffrey said. “What will they say then?”

“They will… complain,” Foulques said.

“Yes, and all that will result is that I am weaker,” Geoffrey said. “Meaning they will be emboldened, and you will be forced to defend me, for whatever reason, with greater strength. Who do you try to please?”

Foulques sat back down and swirled the wine in his cup. “You have made your point.”

Geoffrey followed suit. “If you promise me men, then we can do this as you like - by defeating my cousin head on, with our forces taking Poitou by force. But if you are occupied, and I think you right to limit my cousin Gilles, then let me handle this my way.”

Foulques brought his hand to his beard, and stroked it, all while not taking his eyes off Geoffrey. This bickering was tiresome to the younger Duke, though he expected it. The question was whether his father would accept this and let him be, or attempt to impose some order upon him.

“I will tell the king I find no evidence you had a hand in Alberic’s death,” Foulques said. “And that since you do not directly attack Patricia - and that she faces her own rebellious vassals - there is little that can be done.”

“He will accept that?” Geoffrey asked.

“He will have to,” Foulques said. “If he wishes to send someone else, he can. But I do not think he will - we know it will make no difference.”

Geoffrey smiled and gave his father a nod. “Thank you father.”

He did not believe it, but he knew he must say it.

And while he suspected his father knew that, Foulques raised his cup to him all the same.
….

Two days later, Geoffrey watched with his council as Foulques, Ness and their entourage departed Bordeaux, on their way back to Melun.

Alias began to speak but Geoffrey held out his hand, silencing the teenager. When Foulques was out of sight, Geoffrey turned around and motioned for Alias to follow.

“Inform Geraud in Saintonge we will not have any interference from the outside,” Geoffrey said. “My father has said he will keep the king at bay - telling him there is nothing to be done.”

“And you believe him?” Alias asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “My father is not going to lie about something like that. It does not benefit him at all.”

“What if he wishes to push his bastard onto the duchy of Poitou?” Alias asked.

“I do not think he truly desires that,” Geoffrey said. “My father is a military man - dividing his forces needlessly is not something he would do.”

“His ‘duchess’ may get him to see differently,” Alias said.

“Ness is dealt with,” Geoffrey said. “I think she realizes now how... foolhardy that path would be.”

“It sounds as if you have taken care of these matters,” Alias said. “What do you need of me?”

“First, head to Saintonge and give Geraud the information personally,” Geoffrey said. “Then, travel to Anjou. I wish for you to give a new sword I had made to my son.”

“Is that all?” Alias asked.

“While there, get into the good graces of both Chancellor Godfrey and my sister,” Geoffrey instructed. “They both have sway over my father. A cask of wine for each. And one for Mayor Guilhem, the steward. I wish the old man to know I have not forgotten him.”

“I see,” Alias said.

“Keep in mind, I intend to rule Anjou one day,” Geoffrey said. “I have not been there in five years. The people need to remember me as their favored son, not some foreigner who has forgotten his roots.”

“A good point my lord,” Alias said.

“Then, once that is taken care of, Melun,” Geoffrey said. “Head there, and keep an eye on what is being said about us. Meet with the king, but especially, watch my father. He is vain - appeal to his ego, support him when prudent. It will endear us to him.”

“How shall I do that?” Alias asked.

“I’ll leave that to you judgement,” Geoffrey said. He grasped him by the shoulders. “You are my chancellor for a reason, my friend. I trust in your abilities. Do what you think is best.”

Alias smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I will.”

Geoffrey left him behind and wandered into his strategy hall. Overlooking the map, his hand drifted toward Poitiers and Saintonge.

Once he had them, he would not only have seized full control of his mother’s birthright, he would control both banks of the Loire all the way south to banks of the Garonne. A good quarter of the realm would be his. Out from his father’s shadow… there was no telling what he could accomplish.

Brittany? Gascony? The kingdom of the Franks itself?

A small grin came to his lips. There would be time to decide that in the future.

For now, he had a book to continue reading. The legacy of Augustus called. And he felt compelled to answer.

....

Note: For those less familiar with the seduction focus, "Attracted" means a character has been positively charmed (though not necessarily completely seduced) while "Repelled" means that character's advances were rejected outright. So this was not just something I came up with - Geoffrey in game, under AI control has started the seduction process on Ness, but did not complete the seduction, at least at this point.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 104
October 1100 - Melun, France

The hall in Melun was louder than normal.

The crowd that gathered reminded Foulques of the day the remnants of Boudewijn’s rebellion slinked back to Philippe with their tails between their legs. People then had come to no doubt see the spectacle of men humbling themselves before the king in forced reconciliation.

This would be something different.

To doors to the hall opened and the sound of metal clanging and boots hitting the stone floor echoed through the hall. With it, the noise made by chains rustling as well.

A group of armored men had entered, moving briskly. They hid in their midst a man in chains, revealed for brief moments as the group of men moved in order but not unison.

They stopped short of the dias, where Philippe sat on his throne, Queen Sybille on the smaller chair beside him. On the second step, flanking the royals was the council. Foulques, took the position closest to the king - one normally reserved for the chancellor.

But the reason for that change was apparent soon enough. The Duke of Anjou formed a toothy grin as he watched his nephew Herve step forward and drop to a knee before them.

“My king,” Herve said, his head down. “My uncle and I present to you a gift.”

Philippe nodded and motioned for Herve to stand. Upon doing so, Herve signalled the men to bring forward their captive.

“We bring to you treacherous swine,” Herve said.

Duke Gilles of Berry was pushed forward, his arms and legs in irons. his face dirtied, mud and other particles trapped in his goatee. He was forced to his knees, and then shoved to the ground, his face hitting the hard stone. A knight then pulled Gilles up by the collar, revealing a bloodied lip for the duke.

Philippe rose and proceeded to stand over Gilles. The fallen duke looking up at him, the king did not say anything, instead staring at him for a time before returning to his throne.

“Where is his wife? Where is the Duchess Peronelle?” Philippe demanded.

Emerging from the crowd, behind a small guard, was the Duchess of Gascony. She was made to look her best, her raven-colored hair done up neatly, while she wore a dark, linen dress.When she reached the front of the dais, but with a few feet between herself and a her husband, she stopped to bow, somewhat awkwardly. Her dark dress had hidden, somewhat, the rounded belly beneath - the duchess grew heavy with child, though her time was still some months off.

“What do you wish of me, my king?” Peronelle asked.

“Your husband stands before me as a traitor,” Philippe said. “What say you? Does he deserve mercy?”

Peronelle glared at him. “I would pray for mercy from my children. I defer to your judgement as to his punishment, for I am your loyal vassal, my king.”

That she did not care much for what happened to Gilles, Foulques believed. Peronelle had said as much to the king when she had met with him and his council days before. She despised her husband - for his embarrassing affairs, his scores of bastards and the horrid pox which afflicted her now.

She claimed they had not seen each other for months - even when he fled to Gascony, he had not been allowed to remain with her. The child that grew in her belly, she claimed, was not even his - but one from the lover she had taken, Raymond de Normandie.

Jaspert had confirmed at least part of her story was true, and since she had not raised Gascony in rebellion, Philippe accepted her plea of innocence and pledge of loyalty.

It was risky to place her in front of this crowd - it was rumored the illness left her prone to bouts of madness - but Philippe decided the show was worth it.

“Your lady wife does not seem concerned with your fate. Tell me, what have you to say for yourself?” Philippe finally asked Gilles.

Gilles looked up toward the king. He hid his emotions well, but Foulques had been in battle countless times. He knew how to spot fear by looking at a man’s eyes. And Gilles was fearful of what awaited him.

“I… I have wronged you, my king,” Gilles said. “I have violated my oaths as your vassal. I have betrayed your trust and harmed you and your family. I ask for mercy - not for myself, but for my wife and my children.”

“A man who betrays his king deserves death, does he not?” Philippe asked. “But I wonder - are you even worth the effort? Perhaps a better fate would be to leave you in my dungeon, so you can be alone to think on the foolish act you have committed.”

Gilles lowered his head. “I am in no position to refuse whatever you deem worthy of my fate, my king.”

“Then it shall be the dungeon for now,” Philippe said. “Until such time I deem you are to be released, by my mercy, or mercifully put out of your suffering by my order. Take him.”

Foulques smirked. This had been a long time coming. And his victory was nearly complete.

He hoped to secure Bourges from Philippe. It would be a simple thing to strip a disloyal duke of the county, leaving Gilles as nothing more than a duke-consort to his wife. And that territory would suit Foulques nicely - with Tours it would complete the Duchy of Berry and remove a small but persistent threat to his lands.

However, there would be time to discuss that with Philippe later. First, there was the matter of another small and seemingly inconsequential threat - at least on his own.

There were no chains for Simon de Burgogne. He had not flown his flag in rebellion against his liege - since he was not a lord, he did not have flags to fly or troops to call his own. He simply approached in a regular linen shirt, and hose - a landless nobleman and nothing more.

Beside him was a man a bit more ornate. He was dressed in fine linen robes, covered by a reddish cloak. On his head rested a miter and on his fingers, he wore jeweled rings.

Robert de Burgogne was much older than Foulques remembered - not surprising given he had not seen his younger half-brother in decades. His reddish hair was now fully gray, as was his long moustache. His loose robes hid his body shape, but he remained upright and not hunched despite his advancing age.

Quite a family reunion, Foulques noted to himself.

“Simon de Burgogne,” Philippe said. “My cousin. Uncle to my chancellor, Duke Hugues. Brother to my marshal, Duke Foulques. And now also brother to the Bishop of Autun. I suppose it is no wonder Gilles tempted you with promises of titles and glory. You have been surrounded by it your whole life, but never able to grasp it yourself.”

Simon lowered his head. “My nephew spoke to me of his desires to see me on the throne. I did not follow him though, my lord. I instead went to Autun, where I stayed with my brother, Robert, the bishop.”

“Yes, you cowered behind those walls,” Philippe said. “Hoping that Gilles would win. And should he not, you could slink out and plead ignorance and feign horror at what has transpired. Is that right?”

Simon’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Robert stepped forward. “Your words have merit, my king. But you must forgive my brother. He was but a tool for which Gilles could use. No different than a lance or sword - he was but an object by which the foul Duke of Berry used for his own ends. And had he won, all, including my brother, would have suffered for it.”

“And, cousin, he remained with you for the duration of the rebellion?” Philippe asked.

“He arrived over a year ago,” Robert said. “I believe around when our noble brother by your side announced his intentions to intervene on your behalf. He has been with us ever since.”

“And you did not turn him over,” Philippe said.

“He requested sanctuary,” Robert said. “I cannot violate my oaths, my king. They are to God.”

“But you brought him before me now,” Philippe replied.

“He requested it, my king,” Robert said. “He wished to face you and apologize.”

“Apologize?” Philippe asked.

“Apologize for my cowardice, my king,” Simon said. He lowered his head. “I should have denounced this rebellion in my name. It had no basis. I am not the rightful king of the Franks. You are. And all should know that.”

“It is good that you can see reason,” Philippe said. “Even if it is forced upon you. But what should be your fate?”

“My king,” Robert began, “I will beg mercy for my brother. He never raised a man against you, nor took up arms against your knights. He was foolish and weak, but he was not your true enemy. That man is in your dungeons. Let this man see mercy - he is, after all, your blood.”

Philippe stroked his beard. He then turned the Duke of Burgundy.

“Tell me chancellor, what would you do with your troublesome uncle?” Philippe asked.

“He took up arms against you,” Hugues said. “Punishment is deserved. I would lock him away”

“Interesting to hear you say such a thing,” Philippe said.

Burgundy frowned, but was forced to let the barb go unanswered.

Meanwhile Philippe turned to Foulques.

“Your brother stands before us,” Philippe noted. “I know you are a man who values strength and decisiveness. I wonder then what you think of the situation where he professes the opposite. Tell me, Duke Foulques, what fate does the weak Simon, pretender to the kingdom of the Franks, the Duchy of Burgundy and your beloved Anjou, merit?”

Foulques looked at the brother he never thought much of, beside the one he once held in high regard. Different paths they had all taken, only for them to cross one more, here.

Foulques sighed. Simon was such a disappointment. Mother would be embarrassed.

But she would not want me condemning him to suffering.

“He is nothing, my king,” Foulques said. “And should be treated as such. He is not worthy of your ire. He is not worthy of your headsman. And in truth, he is not worthy of a place in your dungeon. Granting him any of those things will give more infamy than he deserves.”

Philippe smirked. “So be it. Simon de Burgogne, you are to leave Melun now. You may return to Autun, or Dijon if you desire. It matters little to me - though you are barred from returning to this keep. Do you understand?”

“Yes…. yes, my king,” Simon said as he dropped to his knees. “Thank you.”

“Do not make me regret my generosity cousin,” Philippe told him. “Or it will be the last thing you ever do.”

“Understood, my king. Thank you. Thank you,” Simon said.

He looked to be on the verge of tears as Robert helped him up and escorted him away. And with that, the king adjourned his court for the day.

As Foulques moved to follow, a man called for his attention. He looked back to see a robed man waving at him.

“Duke Foulques,” the man said. “I am an emissary for Bishop Robert.”

“What does he want?”

“To sup with you this evening,” the man said. “Here, in the keep.”

“I thought he was staying in the town,” Foulques said. “With our brother.”

“No, your brother will remain in the town, under guard,” the man said. “But the bishop will return to stay in the keep as the king’s honored guest.”

Clergy life has its benefits, Foulques thought.

“Very well,” Foulques replied. “I will meet with him.”

……..

That when evening Foulques poured the bishop a cup of wine, Robert accepted it with a smile.

The feelings of mistrust had not faded completely. But time may heal most wounds - they were simply men in far different positions than they were when they last met.

Back then they were ambitious individuals, both seeing themselves as men on the rise. A small smile formed on Foulques’ lips as he thought about how he had fulfilled that promise - from the simple Count of Tours - no different than tens of men in the realm - to the a man who could reasonably stand beside a king.

As for Robert… Foulques had heard a few things about his brother. Never able to gain a foothold in throwing off the shackles of Hugues, he had settled in as his nephew’s greatest military leader. But he had not taken much part in the first civil war, thanks in large part due to Hugues dismissing him from his post.

His loss, Foulques thought. He may not have trusted Robert, but he could hardly doubt his skill on the battlefield.

That had changed now with Robert restored as a commander. Perhaps it should not be surprising - as a bishop, Hugues would find shunning his uncle more dangerous now that doing so carried with it an indirect shun of the church.

But at the outset, it appeared Robert fancied discussing another commander of interest to them both.

“Our nephew Herve cuts an impressive figure,” the bishop said. “A brave, sturdy man. I had heard much of him over the past few years, but to my eternal shame, had not met the boy.”

“Should I have invited him?” Foulques asked.

“It is fine,” Robert said. “I spent some time with him before joining you tonight. I told him he would do well in service to the church - we can always use men like him to keep the order.”

Foulques eyed his brother. “Trying to poach the boy from me?”

“I was giving him his options,” Robert said. “You should know he refused. He speaks too well of you to be swayed. Thinks of you like a father.”

“And he is like a son to me,” Foulques said.

“He lacks a father,” Robert said. “You are not lacking in sons, not these days.”

“I have a schemer in Aquitaine,” Foulques said. “And two boys who are far from manhood.”

Robert smirked. “That is not all, is it? They say he may be a knight in the mold of his uncle.”

Foulques sipped his drink. “Flattery will get you nowhere, brother.”

“Flattery?” Robert asked. “In Burgundy, you are not the uncle they refer to!”

Foulques shook his head, but could not resist a smile.

“How is our brother?” Foulques asked. “Recovered from his humiliation earlier?”

“Simon is in the town,” Robert said. “I left a few of my best men with him. He is fearful the king will undertake vengeance on him.”

“The king will not,” Foulques said. “It is as I said, Simon is not worth his time.”

“That is where I disagree,” Robert said. “Simon is a very useful idiot. Powerful men always find use for those.”

“No one will be foolish enough to challenge the king using him again,” Foulques said.

“Who says the king is the only one with vassal problems?” Robert asked. “You may have your duchy under an iron fist, but others do not.”

“You refer to your nephew?” Foulques asked.

“He struggles with the Lady Almodis,” Robert said. “And there are rumblings others may be better suited.”

“Simon…” Foulques said. “But not you?”

“Brother please,” Robert began, “I am a man of God now. I am above such desires.”

Foulques chuckled and poured them each some more wine.

“Yes, a bishop,” Foulques said. “How did that happen?”

Robert shrugged. “Perhaps it is the fate of one of the brothers of the Dukes of Burgundy to hold the role. Henri did not rule, but he was heir. And now Eudes, Hugues’ younger brother, is positioned as my heir.”

It drew a shake of the head from Foulques. “I cannot imagine a church life. Leaving your ambition behind. And… other secular pleasures…”

A chuckle escaped Robert’s lips. “I assure you men of the cloth do not leave their ambition behind. And many fail to leave those earthly delights either.”

“So you think I could do well as a church man?” Foulques asked.

“I did not say they were good priests and bishops, brother,” Robert said as he sipped his drink.

“Fair,” Foulques replied, tipping his cup to him. “But how have you gotten on?”

“I admit, it has given me something to do,” Robert said. “It is not quite overseeing a duchy, but it requires a great deal of time and energy. I still command armies. And there is some prestige in this life - there are counts and dukes in every realm. But to serve God… it means a great deal to be a member of the church.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “I assure you, there are bishops in every realm as well.”

“And we command a great deal of respect,” Robert said. “It is dangerous to lay a finger on a man of the cloth. It is the one thing even you have avoided.”

A charge that he could not deny - running afoul of the church was a dangerous thing indeed. It provided Foulques the opening he needed to remove his worthless brother from Anjou. Perhaps he would have managed it anyway, but that foolishness by the elder Geoffrey certainly made thing easier.

“Then you enjoy this?” Foulques wondered.

“I would say yes,” Robert said. “I have purpose - found myself lacking in such when it became clear I would never ascend in Burgundy and my poor wife Godchilde passed.”

“And how is your son?” Foulques asked.

Robert shrugged. “Well enough, considering I have nothing to give him. I suspect he would prefer to be the one to inherit my bishopric when my time comes. His marriage to his cousin, the future Duchess of Burgundy, is far from the happiest.”

Foulques sipped his wine but said nothing. He had heard distressing rumours about the young woman - some detailing bouts of madness, and others passionate affairs with men of the realm. One particularly juicy one involved the father of her daughter - some suspected it was in fact Foulques’ son Geoffrey.

But then Richard was not free some whispers as well. Some believed him a sodomite, which drove his wife into the arms of others. There were even rumors he knew of the affairs and allowed it, so that she would allow him the company of men.

“He will be duke… of sorts… one day,” Foulques said.

“Of sorts,” Robert said. “A consort is not a duke. But his children will rule Burgundy. It is more than I could give him.”

“So there is some regret,” Foulques said.

“For him, yes,” Robert said. “For myself, no. I think I follow in our uncle’s footsteps.”

“Geoffrey the Hammer?” Foulques said. Robert nodded.

“A warrior who spent his twilight years as a monk,” Robert said. “I can think of worse ways to finish one’s life than in service to God.”

“If you say so,” Foulques replied.

“I do not expect you to agree,” Robert said. “And that is all right. Turn the other cheek.”

Foulques arched his brow. “Is that the proper use of that phrase?”

A smirk came to Robert’s lips. “I say it is, so it is.”

“I think I see why you enjoy it so much,” Foulques said.

They each drank their cups down and this time Robert poured them another cup. Relaxing as the wine’s effects took hold, one question continued to linger in Foulques’ mind as he stared at his wizened brother. He looked so different… and yet Foulques could not forget that one time…

“You appear bothered by something, brother,” Robert said. “Something I can help you with?”

Foulques was unsure if he wished to ask the question. After all, it was not as if he would get a truthful answer. Yet it had plagued him for two decades…

“Your brother,” Foulques said. “Henri.”

“Yes?” Robert asked. “What of him?”

“Did you have him killed?” Foulques asked.

Robert’s eyes widened. He did not respond at first, instead easing back in his chair and drinking his wine, slowly. His shock seemed to fade as he did.

“A rude question to ask any man, especially one of God,” Robert replied.

“You were not a man of God then,” Foulques answered. “And, if you did, it matters not now.”

“Then why do you ask?” Robert replied, “if it matters not?”

“Because it has troubled me for years,” Foulques said.

“Why? He was not your brother,” Robert replied.

“Because I wondered why my brother is capable of,” Foulques said.

“You wonder if I am your equal?” Robert asked. “For one of us at this table is a known murderer.”

Foulques tapped his fingers on the table. “I see you will not be forthcoming.”

“What do you wish to hear?” Robert asked.

Foulques took a moment before answering. “I do not know. I just wish to know the truth. I remember mother’s face… she was so distraught. Even though it was not her son. I know she suspected you.”

“She did,” Robert said. “She loved us. But she knew we were all ambitious. She thought for certain you and Geoffrey would kill one another. You appear to have proved her wrong on that front.”

“It is not for lack of trying from our brother,” Foulques said.

“A waste,” Robert said. “All he would do now is unify Anjou and Aquitaine. And with it Poitou.”

“You suggest I would be better off dead?” Foulques asked.

“I would not prefer it,” Robert said. “Because of your son’s potential. Truthfully, I doubt any in the realm wish it as a result.”

“They worry too much about my son,” Foulques replied. “He is no great leader.”

“With the number of men at his command, he need not be,” Robert replied.

Foulques frowned and took another drink of his wine. “Discounting the importance of a leader is foolish.”

Robert chuckled. “I see it brother. And I understand. You do not wish to be surpassed.”

“I will not be,” Foulques said.

“And I did not murder my brother,” Robert replied.

Foulques brow rose. “You... admit it then?”

“Do you admit the potential your son has?” Robert asked. “You do not believe me when I say I see greatness in his future. So why should you believe anything I say?”

Foulques did not reply, deciding to endure Robert’s snickering in the candlelight in silence.
…..

“How was your dinner with the bishop?” Philippe asked him the next day, as they stood in the king’s chambers.

“It was good to see him healthy and hearty,” Foulques said. “I thought well of him as a youngster. But now, I think I do not need to see him for another twenty years.”

Philippe laughed. “I hope it was cordial. Brothers can be a troublesome lot.”

Foulques shrugged. “One is a coward, who I did not see. The other is a bishop, who is a member of the church.”

“Neither is a sure thing to block them from causing trouble,” Philippe noted.

While true for Philippe, Foulques doubted that was a concern any longer for him. Neither Robert nor Simon had the power base to cause trouble in Anjou, and they did not have the ability to gain a foothold anywhere other than in Burgundy.

“So, you wished to see me,” Philippe said. “I hear you wish to discuss the fate of your nephew. Have you a recommendation?”

“I do,” Foulques said. “I do not think it wise to execute him, despite the temptation.”

“His family received the Duchy of Berry through my good graces,” Philippe said. “Having raised the House of Bourges, it is only fitting I destroy them, having betrayed me.”

“If it were that simple, I would agree,” Foulques said. “But you will not destroy them. His sons will inherit Bourges. And if not that, then Gascony from their mother, the Duchess Peronelle. You will create more enemies for yourself in the future.”

Philippe stroked his beard. “But you have a suggestion? That is different. And likely one benefiting you. Tell me, is it to strip Gascony from Peronelle and give it to Geoffrey? Or his wife?”

Foulques shook his head. “Of course not, my king. The lady has professed loyalty. We must take her at her word, at least at this time.”

“Then what is it?” Philippe wondered. “Bourges? You want Bourges, don’t you?”

Foulques did not respond, leaving the king to smile.

“So, you wish for Bourges,” Philippe said. “And land you have no claim on.”

“My claim is the blood my men gave to secure it,” Foulques said. “I would hope you would provide me with a reward for my loyalty - both in that war and through the years.”

Philippe nodded as he pushed himself from the table. Slowly, he paced around his chamber occasionally sighing. Finally he turned back to Foulques.

“No man has stood by me as you have,” Philippe said. “When you could have abandoned me, you refused temptation. You have asked for reward, but remained by my side, even as I refused.”

Philippe shook his head. “You deserve this, that I can not argue. And I want you to have it.”

Foulques could scarcely believe his ears. “So… it will be done.”

Philippe held out his hand. “It is more complicated than that. I wish to give it to you. But the realm’s lords will object forcefully.”

“They can hardly stop us,” Foulques said. “And they have tried.”

“Us,” Philippe said. “Us, no. My son… I fear… yes.”

“Your son?” Foulques asked. “Your son may have some difficulties, yes, but he will not rule soon. You have recovered from your illness. You are younger than me. Your time does not grow short, yet.”

Philippe closed his eyes and sat back down across from Foulques. He drank his entire cup of wine and poured himself another before saying another word.

“I am not well,” Philippe admitted. “My illness has receded some, but it does not disappear. Even now, some pains in my belly remain. I know it will end me. I just hope I will defeat Champagne first - so that my son is allowed to inherit the throne that is rightfully his.”

“You… you cannot know that,” Foulques said. “Pains are not uncommon for us as we grow old.”

“Do you suffer from them?” Philippe asked.

“I… no, I have not,” Foulques said. “Besides my face at times. But I am but one man. Others have…”

“My friend, your words bring comfort in that you care enough to speak them,” Philippe said. “But they will not change truth. I know I am dying. Slowly, but surely. I hope it will be years from now. But it may be sooner. And I must prepare for the future. The realm must be stronger than it was when I inherited it. Indeed, it must be stronger than it is now.”

Foulques shook his head. “If this is to extract a promise to protect your son…”

“It is not,” Philippe said. “Though if you wish to, it would be welcomed. Even with that protection, I do not feel it is safe to avoid angering all of your noble compatriots. I shall leave instructions that it should be given to you in time… but now is not the time.”

“Who gives you this diagnosis?” Foulques demanded. “That dwarf?”

“That dwarf cured your Great Pox,” Philippe said.

“After claiming it was every illness known to man,” Foulques said. “It was my nun who discovered the true nature of the Pox.”

“Then what do you propose?” Philippe asked.

“Come with me to Anjou,” Foulques said. “You can see the nun yourself. She will learn the truth.”

“Your nun still lives?” Philippe asked.

“She does,” Foulques said. “And if that does not prove how knowledgeable she is, I do not know what else would.”

“You make an interesting point,” Philippe replied. “What have I to lose by seeing her, I suppose? I shall arrange a visit for myself and the queen next month.”

“And I will send word to Anjou to prepare for your coming,” Foulques said. “I think it will do both of us well.”

This uncertainty was unsettling. But Foulques knew could also prove the king healthy, there was little doubt in his mind Bourges would be his. And he would weaken Jaspert’s influence further in the process.

All he needed now was for the nun to prove the king’s savior.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 105
November 1100- Anjou, France

Her pale face was flush in anger. Her ruby red lips trembled with rage. Her eyes refused to release him… not that he wished to be released.

So much anger. So much passion.

To Foulques, Haldora never looked so beautiful.

“I do not know why you bring her here!” she shouted. “Have I not suffered enough shame?”

Foulques eyed the duchess as he sat in his chamber in Anjou, sipping wine. Her anger had been held when he had returned with the king, but she had not hesitated to voice her discontent now, in private.

But was not mad. He could barely resist showing his pleasure, with a sly grin.

“Ness is but one of the queen’s ladies,” Foulques replied. “As the queen is here with the king, so is she.”

“She was also here with you in August and September,” Haldora said. “And unless she was well-hidden, the queen was not in Anjou.”

“I received dispensation then,” Foulques said. “She was useful in negotiations with my son.”

“Seeking unnerve him by showing off your whore?” Haldora spat. “You are a disgrace. No wonder he thinks ill of you.”

“And he is wise enough not to voice things in that way, seeing as he remains reliant on me,” Foulques said. “A lesson others could learn.”

Haldora turned an even deeper shade of red.

“I do not fear you,” she said. “You may embarrass me by bedding that whore in my home, but you shall not intimidate me to stay silent.”

Foulques could not resist a smirk. If she showed this passion in our love-making, I would have no need of Ness.

“You have made your point,” Foulques said as he stood up. He approached her and touched her hair, causing her to pull away. “I will not lay with her while in Anjou. It shall be you, my lovely wife, who shall receive all my attention.”

Haldora shook her head. “You shall not touch me.”

Foulques grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “You are my wife. And if I say you will lay with me, then you will.”

Haldora shifted his hand down to her midsection, which had a surprising firmness to it.

“A child grows in my belly,” she said. “Much to my disappointment. Your visit in August was enough, despite my prayers to God to not allow it.”

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

“As I have said, I do not fear you,” Haldora replied. “What greater punishment could I receive that what I already have, cast aside like I am nothing, replaced by that de Poitou whore and knowing the child I carry will fall behind her bastard in succession.”

“I could throw you in the dungeon,” Foulques noted. “The way you speak, I wonder if you would hurt the child you carry.”

Haldora gritted her teeth and tried to pull away but Foulques held her close. “I would never harm my children. They are innocent - and I shall make certain that they are not you.”

“We will see about that,” Foulques replied. “I’ve found children are quite likely to do the opposite of what their parents desire.”

Haldora said nothing, though slowly she tried to again slip from Foulques’ grasp. But he just pulled her tighter.

Though she did not usually excite him, he could not deny she had grown into quite the woman. It was impressive how she’d gained a command of the language over her decade in Anjou. It was almost cute the way she spoke it, through her thick accent.

He felt his manhood press against her backside - a much larger one than when she had arrived in Anjou. But two children, a rich life as a duchess, and a relatively slothful existence would do that. She was certainly not Beatritz, who had grown quite fat as she grew old, but Haldora was no waif.

“Why must you hold me?” she demanded.

“Because I have never desired you as much as I do now,” Foulques said. “After 10 years, it would be foolish to let this moment go to waste.”

“But… I am with child,” Haldora pleaded.

“I have bedded women who were much larger than you are now,” Foulques said. “I think I shall manage.”

“But it is a sin!” Haldora exclaimed.

“I have sinned before,” Foulques said. “And will sin again. This, comparatively, is minor.”

Haldora narrowed her gaze. “You are a monster.”

Foulques said nothing, with the only reply the sound of Haldora’s dress hitting the ground.
….

“How is he?”

Chancellor Godfrey’s face did not appear to be one of certainty. His lip quivered and he rubbed his hands together, seemingly out of nervousness.

“He appears in decent spirits my lord,” Godfrey said. “I know not when he saw the nun. Nor do I know what she said. But there have been no reports of the king in ill-temper. He was in fact quite courteous to some as he went to the yard.”

“A good sign then,” Foulques noted as the two walked the halls. “I doubt he would be pleased if Adalmode had given him poor news.”

“One would think not, my lord,” Godfrey said.

Foulques had instructed Adalmode to see the king and examine him as soon as possible. As was her usual fashion, the nun was unfazed by the serious tone she was greeted with and told Foulques she would see Philippe when she had the opportunity - a severe flu was making its way around the town and keep and was busy treating those stricken.

But it was the King of the Franks - there was only so long he could be kept waiting. So, having arrived yesterday afternoon, Foulques doubted Philippe had not been seen at this point. That Adalmode had not given him news that left him distraught, sullen, and seeking the comfort of wine was a positive.

“What of the queen?” Foulques asked.

“Lady Agnes tends to her,” Godfrey said. “Today they ride, along the Maine as it is quite warm for this time of year.”

“Good,” Foulques replied. “The queen’s affection for my daughter is another thing in our favor. I hardly doubt she would raise an objection to the king looking favorably on our family… Did the duchess attend as I requested?”

Haldora’s passion drawn Foulques in, but her love-making the night before was as limp as usual. Still, that he even wanted her was an improvement, so he felt a reward was warranted.

“Yes, she attended,” Godfrey said. “And… Ness was left behind among the king’s ladies. She was not pleased.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “To be expected. The only question is whether she blames myself, my daughter, or the duchess.”

“I suspect it may well be all three depending on mood,” Godfrey said. “She was also displeased to be denied the opportunity to see her older sister.”

“I do not need her mind being poisoned,” Foulques said. He sighed. “Send a man to Saumur and order a bracelet made for Ness. I will present it to her when it is ready.”

“As you wish my lord,” Godfrey said.

“Now, if you have need of me, I am headed to the yard to meet with the king,” Foulques said. “Only interrupt if it is of the utmost importance.”

“Of course,” Godfrey said.

Foulques left the chancellor behind and continued his way to the yard. Along the way he noticed Alearde walking about the hallway, and caught himself again admiring her seeming ever-lasting beauty, even as she passed 45 summers.

But then another thought occurred to him - why was Alearde not with Agnes?

The two were near inseparable. Agnes would have no problem taking her on a ride which also had ladies from queen and duchess present.

He thought of asking, but she was gone quickly, nearly ghosting away.

Foulques frowned but continued on to the king, who stood by himself in the yard, bow in hand with an arrow pulled back as he took aim at a target.

His shot was good, as he hit the inner ring of the circular straw target.

“Come to admire my aim, Duke Foulques?” Philippe asked without turning.

“I did not know you could see me, my king,” Foulques said as he approached.

“I spotted you out of the corner of my eye,” Philippe replied. “But I try to focus myself to ignore such distractions when aiming. I shall not catch many stags if I can not.”

“Stag? An old man’s type of hunt,” Foulques said.

“And what are we but old men?” Philippe asked. “When is the last time you hunted boar?”

In truth, it had been some time. He had slowed in that since joining the king in Melun as his marshal - and he could not remember the last time he took an active role in one.

“How is your aim, old friend?” Philippe asked.

He offered Foulques his bow and an arrow. The Duke took them and lined up his shot. His first arrow hit the outer ring of the target.

Philippe offered a second arrow. Foulques took it without hesitation and aimed once more. His shot hit the outer part of the target, but missed the two rings.

“It appears there is something in the ways of war that I can best you in,” Philippe said. “A proud moment for me.”

Foulques frowned. “A poor day for me. I am out of practice.”

“Of course,” Philippe replied with a sly smile. “I think I shall organize a hunt in the summer. Plenty of time for you to improve in that time.”

Foulques did not smile. “Did Adalmode see you?”

“Beg your pardon?” Philippe asked.

“The nun, Adalmode,” Foulques replied.

“Oh, my apologies,” Philippe said. “When you say that name I think of my daughter, the Princess, off with that Prince of the Danes.”

“How is she?”

“She given birth to a son,” Philippe said. “Other than that, I am uncertain. I have heard rumors she spends much company around the ladies of court. But little else.”

“I had not heard of your grandson,” Foulques said as he handed the bow back to the king. “My congratulations.”

“Not much has been heard because he is far away from succession,” Philippe said. “I doubt I shall ever see him. And oddly it does not trouble me.”

“I am surprised to hear that,” Foulques said.

“I have never known him,” Philippe said as he took aim. “And I am not close with my eldest daughter as you are with yours. Her mother was saddened when Adalmode left. I felt little. I’ve wondered at times if that makes me a poor father… but it is the least of my sins to my children.”

Philippe fired an arrow nearly dead-center, narrowly missing the bullseye.

“You speak wistfully,” Foulques said. “Have you seen Adalm-- the nun?”

“I have not,” Philippe replied.

“What? I told her see you,” Foulques said. “It was not a mere suggestion.”

“She was dealing with a sick child,” Philippe said as he took aim at the target. “I could not bring myself to pull her away. I am dying, but not that quickly.”

“You are the king,” Foulques said. “She should not keep you waiting, especially as I told her to examine you.”

“It is alright,” Philippe replied. “As I have said it is a child’s life. Such things are precious.”

“Reflecting again?” Foulques asked.

“No…” Philippe replied. “It is not common knowledge but… my youngest daughter has passed while being held by Champagne. He claimed it was not intentional but…”

Foulques shook his head. That was poor news. And it was a reminder of what a precarious situation the royals found themselves in.

“Are you alright? Foulques asked.

“I am dying, the daughter I never got the chance to meet is dead, and my sons and younger daughters are in the clutches of my enemy,” Philippe said. He sighed. “I have been better.”

They fell silent. Foulques was never the best at small talk, and a situation like this was even harder. How could one console the king?

“You should know, by the way,” Philippe began, “we have company.”

Foulques looked around. While people moved about in the yard, there was no one close by.

“I do not see anyone,” Foulques said.

“Because your grandson hides well,” Philippe said. “But your king has seen you boy. You may come out.”

Foulques looked around. And then from behind a barrel, the young boy with brown hair slipped out.

Now six summers, Foulques had heard his grandson had shown great interest in knights and combat, often wanting to play fight with weapons. Such talk pleased the elder duke, providing hope the will to be a great knight had merely skipped a generation with Geoffrey.

“I am sorry for snooping grandfather, my king,” the younger Foulques whimpered, his head down.

“It is hardly snooping if I knew you present the whole time,” Philippe replied as he patted the boy on the shoulder.

“But you said nothing?” the older Foulques asked.

“Nothing wrong with a child taking an interest in archery,” Philippe said. “And what would my host, the great hero of Rouen, say if I were to discourage his grandson from knightly activities?”

The younger Foulques’ eyes lit up - though the duke was uncertain it was over the king having no problem with his snooping or if it was because he spoke of Rouen, which the boy had spoken of emulating with pride in his play.

“I have heard good things of you lad,” Philippe said to him. “When this rebellion is over and the prince returns, I shall see to it you two meet. Just as your father has served me well, my son will have need of good and loyal knights and lords when it is his time to take my place.”

The younger Foulques kept his head down, leaving the duke to nudge him.

“The king compliments you,” he said. “Speak up boy.”

“T--thank you my king,” the younger Foulques replied.

“Why don’t you go get your sword?” Philippe said. “I would like to see your form.”

The boy nodded with a smile and hurried off.

“You truly wish to see him?” Foulques asked.

Philippe shrugged before readying his next shot. “He is a boy. It does not matter his form now. But… my son will need loyal knights if he is to be more successful than me. And the boy who shall one day rule over Anjou, Aquitaine and possibly quite Poitou and Gascony is one worth securing the friendship of.”

“A man who has that much may well wish for more,” Foulques noted.

“A king who did not love you as I did, would not like talk such as that,” Philippe said as he took aim. “But only a fool would not see the situation before him. A man who holds that much could well seek a bit more. But I wonder… perhaps the hand of a princess would satiate that ambition?”

Foulques smiled as Philippe’s shot struck the target dead-center.

….

That evening, Foulques sat alone, sipping on some wine. He was disappointed the king still had not seen Adalmode, but at least it was clear his interest remained attempting to placate his family as much as possible. It was strangely reassuring to know his grandson was already a person of great importance in the realm.

Geoffrey will have to deal with a son who is more important than he. We shall see how he handles it.

A knock on the door drew his gaze. A cloaked Agnes crept in and closed the door behind her, before lowering her cloak.

“Father,” Agnes said as she bowed before him.

“How was your day with the queen?” Foulques asked.

“Lovely,” Agnes replied. “She enjoyed the sites along the river. And she spoke well of our treatment of her and the king.”

“Excellent,” Foulques said. “You do your job well.”

“Did you expect anything else?” Agnes asked.

Foulques smirked. “No. Or I would not have had you host. How was the Duchess?”

Agnes’ smile faded quickly. “I come to speak you about her, father. Distressing news.”

Foulques pulled himself upright. “Has something happened to the child she carries?”

“No,” Agnes said.

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “Does this concern the child?”

If the child is not mine…

“No, father,” Agnes said. “She… I have information from Alearde.”

“Alearde? She normally brings me things such as this herself,” Foulques said.

“She is unable to at the moment,” Agnes said. “And given its urgency, we thought it best if I spoke to you about it, in private of course.”

Foulques took a drink of his wine. “Then what is it?”

“As you know, uncle Geoffrey continues to spend his days trying to bring your death,” Agnes said. “He has men looking for those sympathetic to his call.”

“I am aware,” Foulques said. “My spymaster looks for plotters. Few are foolish enough to dare.”

Foulques paused before adding: “She has not.”

“She listens to those,” Agnes said. “The one she spoke with, Alearde learned of through some of the maids. I can give you his name, where to find him…”

“Haldora…” Foulques said. “She took part in the plot?”

“There was no… plot,” Agnes said. “Not yet. It was to find those who would plot. She was willing to listen.”

Foulques slammed the table, causing the wine to spill from his cup. “She is a traitor! I will send her to the headsman.”

“She is with child,” Agnes said. “Your child. You will kill your wife in that state?”

“She will not be with child forever,” Foulques said. “I will lock her away, and when the child is born, I shall give it to a wet nurse, then have her killed.”

“Father, please,” Agnes pleased. “There is no need for this.”

“No need?” Foulques asked. “No NEED?!”

He slammed the table once more. “She plots to take my life and you think there is no need?! Let someone threaten your life, or that of your child and see if you feel there is no need!”

Agnes nodded. “I understand father… but... she is distraught. And angry. She feels slighted, embarrassed… worthless to you.”

“I will make her feel worse,” Foulques said.

“It will reflect poorly upon you,” Agnes said.

“Enough!” Foulques shouted. “I cannot believe you side with a woman who wishes me dead.”

“I do not side with her,” Agnes said. “If I sided with her, I would have mentioned nothing of this to you. I ask you for mercy for her, because I know what it is like to feel scorned and tossed aside.”

“And yet you did not plot your cousin’s death,” Foulques said.

“I never had the chance to,” Agnes replied.

Foulques eyed her. She did not understand. She cannot understand. She is a woman… they lack the steel to do what is necessary.

He needed to know more. And for that, he needed to go to the source.

“Where is Alearde?” Foulques demanded.

“She is busy,” Agnes replied. “I will inform her you wish to see her and when she has time.”

“I am the DUKE OF ANJOU!” Foulques exclaimed. “I will see her now!”

Agnes did not flinch. But she did close her eyes and sigh before muttering something.

“What did you say?!”

“Adalmode’s chambers,” Agnes said. “You should not go.”

“Why?” Foulques demanded. “Is she ill?”

“No,” Agnes said. “But---”

“But nothing,” Foulques said as he stormed past her and out into the hall.

He was seething. His thoughts even wondered if he should go to Haldora’s chambers and choke the life out of her himself. Few would begrudge him for that over such a betrayal… though they would not be aware of it until afterward. And given that word had already spread about the child she carried…

He did not even knock when reached the nun’s chambers. Instead, he just shoved open the door, slamming it against the wall with enough force to chip some of the wood.

There was no Adalmode however - just Alearde, kneeling beside. Her head shot up, her eyes widened at the shock of Foulques’ sudden arrival no doubt.

But as he approached, he noticed something - her eyes were bloodshot. Her cheeks were moist - tears had been running down them.

And then he saw the boy.

It was Alearde’s son, Roubaud. The boy was nine summers - a bastard courtesy of Duke Gilles. Despite that he was well mannered, handsome and well-spoken. The ladies found him a perfect gentlemen and the men of the court never said a bad word of him.

But he was motionless now, the color gone from his face. His eyes were glazed over - Foulques could see now the life was gone from them.

“My lord…” Alearde whimpered. She cleared her throat, but did not rise from her kneeling position. Stronger now, she asked: “Do you look for Adalmode?”

“No,” Foulques said. “I look for you. Agnes… I demanded Agnes tell me where you were.”

“Oh…” Alearde said. “You have need of me?”

The sight of his first love, her face flush, her eyes bloodshot, her hair out of place… made his anger from before dissipate. He went to her side.

“What… what happened?” Foulques asked.

“An illness,” Alearde said. “He had fever… a cough. It was high… and… then last night he collapsed. Adalmode has been watching over him… but a little while ago… he… he…”

Alearde buried her face into the bed as she began to tremble and sob. Foulques gently rubbed her back.

“I am sorry,” was all he could think to say.

“I know he was just the bastard son of your wretched nephew to you,” Alearde whimpered. “But he was my child. My sweet, sweet boy.”

In truth, Foulques had long left behind any real animosity toward Alearde’s two bastards by Gilles. He rarely saw them as he was in Melun, his own relationship with Alearde had improved and he had secured his revenge on Gilles. And he found little time to think of them at all, let alone hate them.

“He was your son,” Foulques said. “That is all that matters.”

“It is kind of you to say that,” Alearde said.

“I mean it,” Foulques said. “He was well-liked by everyone here, from what I understand. It speaks well of him.”

Alearde tried to smile but instead she just began to sob once more. Foulques pulled her close and soon felt the wetness of her tears soaking his shirt.

“You deserve better than this tragedy,” he said as he stroked her hair.

She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Tragedy by its nature is undeserved. I am not special.”

“You are to me,” Foulques said.

Alearde sniffled before squeezing Foulques tightly. But her head soon returned to his chest and the tears flowed once more.

Nothing he said seemed to matter… it was a rare situation that he saw her so distraught. A few times came to mind… with Lithuaise… when he married Aines… but this was perhaps worse than them all.

Yet he felt compelled to keep trying.

“He shall have full rites,” Foulques said. “He… he may have been a bastard. But he was the grandson to my sister. She would expect me to treat him with honor and dignity.”

“That is kind of you,” Alearde said.

“What more can I do for you?” Foulques asked. “Name it and you shall have it.”

Alearde looked at him. She shook her head slowly.

“You cannot bring my son back,” Alearde replied. “I do not mean to seem ungrateful. But… that is all I want. I wish I did not have to tell his sisters that he has been lost to us. I do not want to hear people wish me their condolences. I just want to hear him speak… to laugh… I want to see him grow up to serve you, or Lord Geoffrey… I want to see him with a wife of his own. I want to meet his children… I want… what I want, you cannot give me. No one can.”

Those words cut deeper than any he had heard in some time. The realization that there was nothing he could do to mend the situation…

It never felt that way. Even in this rebellion, Foulques felt all he would have to do to end it, if he so chose, would be to raise his levy and attack Champagne. Resistance would fall away as it did with Gilles.

Geoffrey? He persisted because in the end Foulques allowed him to. If the Duke of Anjou wished, he could dissolve their alliance and Geoffrey would flounder and likely fail.

But he could not bring life to the dead. She wished for something he could not provide. Something he could never provide.

And it left him feeling hollow.

“Do you wish for me to leave you alone?” Foulques asked.

Alearde pulled her head away from his chest once more. Her bloodshot eyes watered, and tears streamed down them.

“No,” she said as she squeezed him. “I do not wish for that either.”

“Then I shall remain as long as you need me,” Foulques replied.

And he did, staying with her for the rest of the night, as she fell asleep, crying, in his arms.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 106
November 1100 - Anjou, France

Foulques sat in silence, one hand covering the other, balled into a tight fist, over his lips.

He would feel the fist clench tighter, then the other hand follow suit. He would bring them closer to his mouth to keep himself quiet.

It was all he could do to maintain his composure.

Haldora stood before him in his chambers. She had come alone, as per his instructions - Helie left outside the door.

As usual, she seemed aggrieved to even be here. Her bow was quick and short, her lips formed a frown and her gaze intimidating.

At a different time, Foulques might have remarked on how, when she wished it, her fierce northern blood bubbled to the surface. But today he was doing all he could to keep from choking the life out of her himself.

It may have been wiser to have someone here - Godfrey, Guilhem, Agnes - but he could not allow that. He suspected she would be defiant, if not outright disrespectful.

The others could not see that.

Foulques had calmed a bit from his anger the evening before. Alearde’s loss and her emotion over it had left him hesitant to just simply kill Haldora for her decision to listen to plans to murder him.

He would at least give her a chance to recant.

“A distressing piece of news has come to my attention, wife,” Foulques said.

If she was worried at that ominous beginning, she did not show it - her reaction was unchanged.

“What news is that?” she asked.

“That you met with a man who is in league with my exiled brother,” Foulques said. “The exiled brother who wishes to take my life.”

Haldora’s eyes did widen for a moment. But she did not respond.

“What have you to say for yourself?” he demanded.

“I do not deny I have met with this man,” Haldora said.

“So you admit to conspiring against my life,” Foulques said as he stood from his chair.

“There were no actual plans discussed,” Haldora replied. “He spoke of a way to have revenge for all the humiliation you have done to me. I said I would listen. He had nothing more to tell me - that when it was time, I would hear from him.”

“But you knew of this plot and told me nothing,” Foulques said.

“You know of this plot already,” Haldora said. “I would not have told you anything new. I do not know who this man is. I could not tell who he is, where is is from, or where he hides.”

“You would have aided him in my death!” Foulques exclaimed as he pounded the table.

“I had not decided on that yet,” Haldora said.

“You lie to me?” Foulques demanded.

“I do not,” Haldora said. “If I thought the plan foolish, I would not have bothered.”

Foulques glared at her. His breathing was heavy, almost a wheeze as he tried to maintain his composure. He did not know if she merely defended herself, or if she sought a rise from him, like Marguerite would.

“You do yourself no favors,” Foulques said. “Your words will only harshen your sentence.”

Haldora narrowed her gaze. “You have already shamed me. You flaunt your lover as if she were your wife. You recognize her children as if they were those birthed by your lawful wife. I hold no say in Anjou, beside what your daughter gifts me as a token show of respect - something that I have learned was not the case with your previous wives. So what is left?”

“What is left is your life,” Foulques replied. “It will be forfeit.”

“Death might be a relief,” Haldora said.

“You say that, but I do not think you realize what it entails,” Foulques said. “I will not simply execute you. After our child is born, you will be put on trial. Your reputation will be destroyed. By the end of it, your own children will be ashamed to look at you.”

Haldora, wide-eyed, shook her head. “You couldn’t. They would not…”

“I have seen first hand the betrayal a child feels when they learn one parent tries to kill another,” Foulques said. “If you doubt me, perhaps I should have you speak to my daughter-by-law. She despises her mother as much as she does me. And her mother never wished anything but the best for her.”

Haldora fell silent for a moment. But then she did something Foulques did not expect.

She began to weep.

“Why do you do this to me?” she shouted as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Why do you seek to make every part of my life miserable? It is not enough that you have embarrassed me? You would destroy my relationship with my children too? Why? Why?”

“You plot against my life,” Foulques said.

“I listened to someone who offered to free me from the misery I have suffered for 10 years!” Haldora exclaimed. Her accent was thicker now - perhaps driven by her emotion. “10 years! 10 years I have been loyal wife, given you a son and a daughter and suffered in silence as you took multiple lovers! And you have never given me anything. Not love, not respect, not appreciation! WHY?!!”

“Because you… you…”

Because she was not a good lover… was such a poor and vapid response that Foulques could not bring himself to say it. He had not always appreciated Beatritz, nor treated her as he should, but he had elevated her in time. He had done the opposite with Haldora diminishing her entirely.

“Because what?” Haldora demanded. “Tell me!”

Foulques lowered his head. “I have not enjoyed you as I did my previous wives. You seemed to find our time together a chore. It is insulting.”

Haldora was silent for a moment, before shaking her head. “I was a girl of 18, thrown from my homeland into a foreign land where I knew not a word of how you speak. I was raised to think limited desire of the flesh was a virtue. Did you not once consider what I might have to say? To think? Or was I just to bend to your every whim and need, even as you said nothing of those desires, and instead just bedded whore after whore.”

“You were to do as… a wife should,” Foulques said.

“And what did I do that a wife should not?” Haldora demanded.

To that Foulques had no answer.

“I see,” Haldora said. “Your silence speaks louder than anything you have ever said to me. I suppose I should be grateful you are not beyond shame.”

“That does not justify your plots to end my life,” Foulques said. “Especially, for a woman of ‘virtue.’”

“No, it does not,” Haldora said. “So far you have driven me where I would consider condemning my own soul to damnation to escape the hell you have put me in.”

Foulques sighed and sat back down. “The church teaches forgiveness. And so should I also forgive. Provided you do not venture down this path again.”

“You do not leave me with much choice,” Haldora said. “I will forget I heard of your brother’s schemes.”

She bowed before him, dropping to one knee. Symbolic, perhaps, but after her actions earlier, Foulques could not be anything but convinced she was sincere.

“Then we shall consider this matter forgotten,” Foulques said. “Do not forget the kindness I have shown you.”

The drew a glare from Haldora as she looked up at him. Her hands trembled and her pale face reddened once more as she stood up.

He expected another snide remark. What he got was a request.

“Will you stop with her?” Haldora asked. “Will you treat me as your wife, and not simply a vessel to birth your children?”

Foulques enjoyed finally seeing her passion. But stop with Ness? He knew that it was unlikely - he enjoyed her far too much for that.

“I will… I may lessen how she is displayed,” Foulques said.

“Lessen… but you will not stop?” Haldora asked.

“It is not for you to question,” Foulques said. “Know your place.”

Haldora sniffled. “I know my place. I know it all too well.”

The Duchess of Anjou turned and stormed from the chamber. She slammed the door with such ferocity, the furniture in the room shook.

Foulques shook his head. He enjoyed that passion. But he strongly suspected this would not be the last time he would be forced to deal with it.
….

That evening, Foulques’ presence was requested in the king’s chambers.

The duke found it somewhat suspicious - after all they had all eaten together not long before. But that had been a meal with the queen, the duchess, Agnes, and the councilors of Anjou - perhaps it was something he wished to discuss in private.

And that, Foulques assumed, could only be what the nun Adalmode had found.

He was fairly certain she had seen him now - as cold as it was, Roubaud’s death meant that the pressing matter for Adalmode was no more. He would never dare say such a thing to Alearde of course - quite the opposite - he was having Bishop Hildebert prepare a funeral worthy of a minor lord.

All this for my worthless nephew’s bastard… she had better appreciate this.

Though Foulques did not know what would qualify appreciation from Alearde any more. He did not expect her to lay with him, no matter how he desired it. She meant too much to him to demand such of her. And beyond that… what could she offer him?

But that would be a matter for another day. For now he had to concern himself with matters of the king.

If the nun had given him good news, Bourges might be his. If not… this entire trip home may have been a waste.

Though if Adalmode had given Philippe bad news, he did not show it. He sat alone in his guest chambers, cup of wine in hand, reading by the candlelight. The door opening did catch his attention though, and he greeted Foulques with a smile.

“Ah, you come,” Philippe said. “I was uncertain if you would tend to other affairs this evening.”

“What other affairs are more important than a request of the king?” Foulques asked.

“You have a wife and two lovers in this keep,” Philippe replied with a sly grin. “Far lesser temptations have kept my lords from fulfilling my requests of them.”

Foulques smirked and took a seat across from the king. “What do you read?”

“Your son suggests to me that I look to the past to see what comes in the future,” Philippe said. “But I think rather than chasing ghosts of Romans, I look to my ancestors - Charles the Hammer… Charlamagne… One a mayor of the palace. One a king.”

Listening to Geoffrey is a fool's errand, Foulques thought. But he had to be more diplomatic to Philippe.

“And what do you learn?” Foulques asked.

Philippe sighed. “Not enough I am afraid. Perhaps these men are more suited for you, my marshal. Though I should be careful - you may start fancying kingship.”

“I have watched you for going on three decades,” Foulques said. “Perhaps if I were young, and foolish. But I am old, and do not wish to bother myself with the problems you face.”

“I believe you, but I do not think it is you my son will have to be concerned with,” Philippe said.

Foulques raised his brow. “My son?”

“You said it, not I,” Philippe said with a slight smirk. He offered Foulques a cup of wine.

“I would expect you to be in a fouler mood over such a thought,” Foulques replied.

“I hope the marriage of his son to my daughter, once she is freed, would satiate him,” Philippe said. “But in truth, it is a problem I should hope to have. It would mean I am alive, and Champagne is defeated.”

“You shall be,” Foulques said as he raised his cup to him. “And he shall be.”

“I do not know about the former,” Philippe said. “But I have hope for the latter.”

“Have you seen the nun?” Foulques asked.

“Yes,” Philippe said. “It is part of the reason I think I can defeat him.”

Foulques smiled. “You received good news then?”

“I received news,” Philippe said. “News that this ailment was not a mystery to your lady physician. When I described the symptoms, and she examined me, she told me she had actually seen it before.”

“She is truly a blessing,” Foulques said. “Then she has given you treatment?”

“She will,” Philippe said. He looked toward his wine. “She tells me she once administered it to your wife, the Lady Beatritz, under similar circumstances. And it gave her three years, was it?”

“Three years?” Foulques asked.

The words were slow in hitting home. But he felt them impact like a punch to his gut.

Like Beatritz?

“A cancer?” Foulques asked.

Philippe nodded. “There is… nothing that she can do to cure it. Just give me things to keep me functioning, as she did your poor wife.”

Foulques shook his head. “No… perhaps Jaspert can…”

Philippe’s brow rose. “You wish for Jaspert to treat me? You must truly not wish for me to pass.”

“He did manage to cure me of the Great Pox,” Foulques said. “A supposedly incurable illness.”

“And cost you your face,” Philippe said. “And nearly killed you. A risk that might be worth taking under certain circumstances. But not these. I cannot die now. I need time. If your nun gives me as much time as she did your late duchess… then I will crush Champagne and free my son. Once he is free and properly installed as King of the Franks, I will be able to leave the realm, content I have done my duty.”

Foulques closed his eyes. He remembered Beatritz surviving, but not thriving. She slowly wasted away over that time… and suffered greatly in the end.

Yet she still managed to handle the affairs of the duchy as well as anyone had - perhaps even Foulques himself…

But another thought struck him. In the past he had seen the king despondent over poor news, drinking himself into a stupor, and wallowing in self-pity.

Yet here, Philippe almost seemed serene. He was relaxed - at peace?

“You take this news… much better than I would have expected,” Foulques said.

“In some ways, it is freeing,” Philippe replied. “To know one’s fate… and to meet it head on. I have my task, my goal, and I shall devote what strength I have left to succeed in it. We must defeat Champagne. It is my final task. Once I have completed it, I shall be able to rest - I shall meet Saint Peter with a smile on my face.”

A thought that was oddly comforting to Foulques - enough that it elicited a smile from him.

“Shall we move the forces to Troyes?” Foulques asked.

“I hope to draw him into battle,” Philippe said. “But I doubt he will engage. He was not only weakened by your nephew’s triumph over his forces, but he lost more men in a skirmish with Gilles’ levy over the summer.”

“Then what?”

“We shall move to retake the keeps he has secured in Normandy,” Philippe said. “Once that is taken care of, he likely will lack the strength to siege any others, and we can move on Troyes.”

“As you command, my liege,” Foulques said.

“And one more thing, Duke Foulques,” Philippe said. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“This trip… it has been enjoyable,” Philippe said. “For myself, and the queen. Such moments have been few and far between this last ten years. I am grateful for them when they come, and who brings them to me.”

“It was nothing,” Foulques said.

“It has never been nothing,” Philippe said. “It is always something - whether out of kindness or selfish desire. But I am not in position to complain about it, so long as the result is good.”

Philippe raised his cup.

“To our victory!” he said. “And with it, my son’s long, and prosperous reign.”

The poor boy would probably be better off if he never were king, Foulques thought. Champagne will not be the last of this trouble.

But that was not the concern of Foulques. He, Geoffrey, and eventually the younger Foulques could decide on their own whether the Prince Alphonse was worth backing.

Until then, Foulques saw no harm in raising his cup along with the king’s once more.
…..

A week later, Foulques sat in his familiar chair in his chambers, alone after a busy day.

The king and queen had departed a few days before - both with smiles on their faces. A good trip for certain, though Foulques was no closer to securing Bourges. Still, the potential union of his grandson to a princess was nothing to be scoffed at. And the king swore to Foulques that the treatment the nun had given him already had him feeling better than he had in sometime.

With the royals gone, today’s business was the burial for Roubaud. Bishop Hildebert had conducted the ceremony himself in the chapel in the keep. He had then been laid to rest in the church cemetary in the town, wrapped in a shroud and buried with his practice sword - no small means, but Foulques had paid for it all himself.

Alearde had been a mess of tears, wailing as the boy was committed to the earth. It was to be expected, and she was comforted by Agnes, Bella, Beatrice, Etiennette and Aureade. Agnes and Bella had helped her walk during the proceedings - it had been that difficult for her.

But when they returned to the keep, she had managed a “thank you” to Foulques - and a smile. It was not quite what she used to manage in her times of happiness, but it was beautiful to him nonetheless, as she let it form through her tears, and squeezed him tightly.

So small, so simple, yet he could not have asked for a better feeling in return.

Thus he sat in his chambers, sipping his wine, and slight grin on his face. He felt good - so good something he had been thinking about since talking to the king began to seem more appealing.

The talk of Geoffrey’s suggestion to Philippe, and the king’s decision to read about the great men of the Franks, had begun to make Foulques wonder whether he should consider do something of equal measure for himself.

He had commissioned a priest to write his family annals in the past, but plenty of other noblemen in the realm had priests do that. He didn’t just want his family annals - he wanted a true history.

A book by which others, in Anjou and beyond, could read on his exploits - how he went from a simple count to the most powerful man in the realm, his triumph over the English king at Rouen, his defeat of both the Kings of Navarre and Brittany, of his friendship with the king… he wished it to be a work equal to his legacy.

He wondered if perhaps it was too vain, but Alearde’s tearful thankful reminded him he was both benevolent as well as a successful duke. It was essential things such as that were known as well - a great man in war, a great man in politics, and yes, a great man to his subjects.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a knock on the door. Chancellor Godfrey entered, and Foulques greeted him with excitement, even rising from his chair to grab him by the shoulders and escort him into the room.

“It is good you have come my friend,” Foulques said.

“I seem to have caught you at a good time, my lord,” Godfrey replied.

“You have,” Foulques said. “I have been thinking on a matter and I have decided I wish for it to happen. I want an annals of my rule in Anjou to be cataloged. We shall have the family history that priest put together for us years ago as a base. I want for you to find the best men from the local monastery for this task.”

“Of… course, my lord,” Godfrey said. He paused before saying: “Men? You wish for more than one?”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “I wish to see it completed in my lifetime. I plan to write some of it myself, but I will need at least two others to assist me.”

“An ambitious project,” Godfrey said.

“Then it is suitable for a man such as myself,” Foulques said.

Godfrey smirked. “Very true, my lord.”

Foulques offered him a cup of wine and returned to his chair. “So what did you come to see me about?”

“It concerns Poitou, my lord,” Godfrey said. “Another rebellion.”

Foulques smile faded. He sighed. “In Geoffrey’s name?”

“No, my lord,” Godfrey said. “Uc of Lusignan strikes his banner for another.”

Foulques chuckled. “So Geoffrey will have to fend off another claimant. Someone who is as much a schemer as he.”

Godfrey shook his head. “I… I do not think she has schemed with Count Uc, my lord. That would be near impossible.”

“She?” Foulques asked. “Who… who is this rebellion in the name of?”

Godfrey lowered his head. “Your daughter-by-law, my lord - the Duchess Marguerite.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet Chapter 107
March 1101 - Anjou, France

As the towers of keep in Angers came into view, Geoffrey felt his stomach clench.

He knew those stone structures should not cause nervousness. He was not visiting some foreign land. While it was technically the residence of a fellow duke, it was still, in many ways, his own home.

This was where he had grown up. Where he had learned about the ways of the world. And where he planned to rule someday, perhaps soon.

“It must feel good to return, my lord,” Alias told him as they neared the gates. “When you left here, you were uncertain of what would come next. You return a man beloved by the people of Aquitaine. A triumph, if I might say so.”

He wished to say it was. But Geoffrey knew his success in Aquitaine meant nothing here. Thinking back to last year, it had barely meant anything there.

He considered his negotiation with Foulques back then a stalemate - and since it allowed him to continue as he saw fit, a victory. But now as he returned to Anjou, he knew he was in a more precarious situation.

Gerard of Thouars’ revolt proceeded against Duchess Patricia. But so too did Uc of Lusignan’s. By relying on Gerard, Geoffrey risked having Uc defeat Patricia and having to usurp the duchy from his own wife Marguerite.

And to make matters worse, it appeared Marguerite the figurehead was a popular person. In Gascony, another rebellion in her name had sprung up.

The thought of her succeeding in either revolt made him retch. And it forced him to consider taking direct action to crush Patricia and Uc before that came to pass.

But Geoffrey did not wish to declare openly until he knew where he stood - whether it was alone with his own forces, or whether he could count on the largest ducal levy in the realm at his side.

However, this would not be as it was months before. This time, he was asking for assistance. This time he would be holding the negotiations in Anjou. And this time he was coming to his father, not visa versa.

Foulques always favored direct action. But Geoffrey suspected he enjoyed tormenting his son even more.

As they entered the gates, he could examine the keep more closely. It looked as it had when he left it, an oddly comforting relief.

He doubted it would have been that different. Perhaps a renovation here and an addition there in the half decade he was gone. But the keep had not been involved in any sieges, or any conflict. It would have been mostly as he left it - and it appeared exactly as he remembered.

What may have changed was its inhabitants. Geoffrey saw that with both his sister and Alearde as he walked up the stairs. Agnes had a few lines on her face, especially around her small eyes, but there was something about her - a regalness of sorts.

Alearde too was changed - she remained beautiful - though her age had begun to show. Her hair was graying, lines were becoming more plentiful on her face. She even appeared to be bending slightly at the back.

Who he did not see was his father. The entirety of the council was gathered, yet the Duke of Anjou was nowhere to be found.

Instead it was Agnes who greeted him with a bow at the head of the group.

“Lord Geoffrey,” she said with a sly smile. “It is good to see you again.”

The two embraced, with Geoffrey giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Likewise. You look as lovely as you did the day I left.”

“A few years older,” she replied. “And perhaps a little wider.”

“I hardly notice a change,” he said. “Except that you apparently rule Anjou now? Has something happened to father?”

Agnes chuckled and shook her head. “Father has been delayed in Melun. He is on his way though, and will arrive in the next few days. I apologize for that.”

You apologize for it, he thought. But he doesn’t.

Geoffrey said nothing, instead meeting his sister’s remark with a smile. Then he greeted the councilors, complimenting all of them and saying how it was good to see them again. Only Guilhem did he hold in high regard, and he did show that by bringing the old man into a tight embrace.

The other person Geoffrey looked forward to seeing was his son.

It was but a month before that he learned the Countess of Narbonne had given birth to a healthy baby boy, whom she had named Guy. In the end, Geoffrey had acknowledged the boy as his child - there was little harm in doing so, since he had bedded the Countess before she had even been betrothed to her husband.

But the thought of another son, and another who lived outside of his reach, left him wistful. He longed to see the young Foulques, especially as he’d heard positive things about the boy - who he’d learned had even made a positive impression on the king.

His plan was to have the younger Foulques return with him back to Aquitaine when this was done. He would take a more active role in grooming the boy, and remove him from the clutches of his mother. He also feared his father would take a greater interest in him now - given that he grew older and had developed a taste for combat at a young age.

But what Geoffrey did not expect was that when he saw his son, would be Marguerite was present.

Her face was stoic - betraying no emotion. In front of her, were the younger Foulques and Beatritz. Both seemed apprehensive. Foulques had his head down, while Beatritz gripped her mother’s hand tightly.

Geoffrey tried his best not to look at the girl - he strongly suspected she was not actually his. But he did smile upon seeing his son. The boy actually seemed to have his nose.

“My son,” he said as he crouched before him. “You look well. The stories of your fine growth reach me even in Aquitaine. I could not be more proud.”

The boy’s nervousness did not seem to ease, but he did glance up and smile, for a moment. “Thank you father.”

“Impressing the king as well,” Geoffrey said. “Already on your way to becoming one of the great lords of the realm.”

The younger Foulques blushed, which left Geoffrey pleased. He did not know how his son would react, having not seen him in years. But this had gone well.

Geoffrey stood up and his eyes returned to his wife - the woman who had betrayed him in a petty war with his father. The woman who had embarrassed him. The woman who had helped destroy his relationship with his closest friend.

“Hello husband,” she said. Her voice was calm, sweet even? He was uncertain - he could not remember Marguerite ever being sweet.

He also found himself paralyzed - he did not know what to do. They were all watching - the courtiers gathered, Agnes, Alearde… his children. His father was not, but it would get back to him - no doubt he placed her there to see how he would react. And it would get back to others as well. Those rebelling in her name?

His eyes shifted left and right. He could feel their gaze upon them. Marguerite was looking at him as well. For the first time a hint of something beneath the surface - she lightly bit her lip.

Geoffrey leaned forward and kissed her forehead. They locked eyes for a few moments. There seemed to be much less anger in hers than before…

He pulled away and returned to his party. And like that it was over - Agnes motioned for him to follow her.

“Father wishes for you to have some time to tour the keep before we sup tonight,” Agnes said. “Bishop Hildebert will see to that.”

“I am… aware of how the keep looks sister,” Geoffrey said. “I have spent most of my life here.”

“Things may have changed,” Agnes replied without looking back. “We have not stayed here gathering dust while you have been off in the south.”

Now she did turn back and flashed him a grin. She must have thought of that line herself - she rather enjoys it.

The rest of it was no doubt their father. He was repaying everything Geoffrey had done to him months before in Bordeaux.

Which means I probably will not see him for some time, even when he does return.

“A full itinerary then?” Geoffrey replied. “Feasts? Hunts? A display of the knights?”

“I know we will taking a ride along the Maine,” Agnes said. “Myself, Chancellor Godfrey, and the duchess… Marguerite, not the Lady Haldora.”

His stomach sank. His father clearly had a plan - Geoffrey was here to speak on actual direct involvement in Poitou, and yet Foulques was compelled to place the woman whose name these dangerous rebellions were fought for by his side. The woman who had done him so much insult…

“Be thankful brother,” Agnes whispered. “I did not need to tell you which duchess was to join us.”

“Why did you?” Geoffrey asked.

“Because you are still my brother,” Agnes said. “And such petty things do not do our family justice.”

Geoffrey smiled. Perhaps Agnes’ elevated position would bring benefits after all.

….

The reality of how much that warning would help, however, was far less than Geoffrey imagined.

A warm morning greeted them, with the waters of the river calm. Rabbits, squirrels scurried about and Geoffrey even thought he spied a fox cross their path.

A beautiful scene should have left him serene, but he would always turn his head and see his wife - behind him or beside him.

He tried his best to not think about it. But she was there precisely so that he would. Foulques seemed intent on testing his patience - treating this as if it were a hostile negotiation.

Some ally.

But he noticed conversation with others was difficult. Godfrey seemed intent on chatting with Alias, not he - again probably on Foulques’ instructions. Agnes talked with Alearde and despite Geoffrey’s desire to wedge himself into that conversation, he was unable to.

He did not feel comfortable speaking with the Angevin knights and he’d already exhausted his small talk with his own knights. There was Margot Karling, but had little desire to speak with the sister of his former friend.

Another insult. Geoffrey closed his eyes.

My father seeks to weaken me. But I shall not let him. I shall meet his game head on.

“So, what is your part in this?” he asked Marguerite.

“My part in what, husband?” she asked.

“Your presence here,” Geoffrey said. “You have been locked away in your chambers and now you are released when I arrive, while rebellions in your name take place in Poitou and Gascony. Does that not seem odd?”

“Are you insinuating that your father… and I… planned this?” Marguerite asked. “And what is this? The rebellions? My being released for a time?”

Geoffrey glanced away. It did sound foolish. There was no way those two could work together.

“You realize he uses you,” Geoffrey said. “He seeks to unnerve me.”

“Then it seems he does a fine job,” Marguerite replied.

Geoffrey narrowed his gaze at her. He urged his horse forward.

“But you must not let him,” Marguerite added.

That got Geoffrey to slow his steed back down. Marguerite lowered her head.

“He has said nothing to me,” she told Geoffrey. “I was told by your sister that I was to spend time with you during your visit. Perhaps, if I did well enough, I would go with you to Aquitaine. Seeing my lot here, I saw no reason to fight against it. I would prefer to be gone from here.”

“With me?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” Marguerite said. “I wish for us to be reunited and away from here. Our children fall under your father’s influence… especially our son. It is… troubling.”

I hear good things about how he grows, Geoffrey thought to himself. But he understood her concern.

“You expect me to forgive,” Geoffrey said.

“I do not expect anything,” Marguerite replied. “But we will never move forward if we remain separate.”

“And what of the rebellions in your name?” Geoffrey asked.

“What of them?” Marguerite replied. “I have no part in them… though I would think you would not mind the success of the one in Gascony.”

In truth, he did not trust Marguerite enough to give her any power. His son, perhaps, when he came of age, would be a better choice in Gascony…

“I had not given much thought to Gascony,” he claimed. “Only Poitou.”

“I would give deference to you, husband,” Marguerite said. “And would say as much, if I came with you.”

Geoffrey eyed her. An act of desperation, hoping to finally be free of her prison in Anjou? An honest statement? Or another act of betrayal in the making?

“We will see,” he said. “I still have much to discuss with my father.”

“Be guarded with him,” Marguerite warned. “He seeks only to enrich himself.”

“I am aware of my father,” Geoffrey told her. “I have been aware of him since before we were wed. I told you such then.”

Marguerite lowered her eyes. “Of course husband. I did not mean any offense.”

Geoffrey felt a pang of guilt for chastising her. His feelings of betrayal colored every action, every word, with her. It made it difficult for him to maintain a conversation. So he decided not to bother any longer.

Alearde had stopped talking with Agnes. So he made a line for his sister.

“Did you wife provide good conversation?” Agnes asked as he came up beside her.

“As pleasant as I could have hoped,” Geoffrey said. “She claims father did not discuss anything with her.”

“She speaks the truth,” Agnes said. “Father despises her.”

“And what of you?” he asked.

“I merely dislike her,” Agnes replied. “I wish your marriage to her were annulled, but that appears impossible, sadly. So it may be best if you at least… try to tolerate her.”

“Father wishes for me to take her back to Aquitaine?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” Agnes replied. “And I think you should as well. Your penchant for lovers reminds me of Gilles, especially when I heard of your recently born bastard.”

Geoffrey blushed. He knew his sister would not approve of such things, given her own situation.

“Gilles had a wife who was loyal and true,” Geoffrey replied. “At least in the beginning. I never did.”

“I care little for Marguerite,” Agnes said. “But the poor Countess of Narbonne now suffers because of your actions. The Lady of Eu paid for birthing your bastard with her life… they suffer, more than your wife.”

Geoffrey sighed. It was not the first time he had been criticized for his womanizing. But somehow, coming from Agnes, it felt like more of an indictment on his character. He had difficulty keeping eye contact with her.

“What does father have planned?” Geoffrey asked, changing the subject. “Do you think he will refuse to aid me?”

“I do not know,” Agnes admitted. “He wishes for you to stand on your own. But he also likes to test us. He may just be seeing how you react to adversity.”

“We are not pets trained to perform tricks upon request,” Geoffrey grumbled. “You have proved your worth as a regent. I have made myself Duke of Aquitaine. What more is there to prove?”

Agnes shrugged. “Father has achieved much. More than you and I. He did not stop, satisfied. And the realm did not stop testing him. It still does not. I think he wishes us prepared.”

You are too loyal, he thought. And that type of undying loyalty was...

“I have argued for you, though,” Agnes added. “I think he listens.”

Admirable.

A smile came to his lips. “You do me a great service, sister. I thank you.”

“It is nothing,” she replied. “You are my brother and what is good for you will be good for Anjou. You are our future. Father does not look beyond himself, but I do.”

“And you do Anjou a great service,” Geoffrey told her. “You have grown into a fine lady.”

“Flattery?” Agnes asked.

“Truth,” he told her. “You carry yourself with such beauty and grace. But you have a wit and mind for more - together, you are impressive. The great lords of this realm miss out - one of them would be in much better stead had you been his wife.”

Agnes blushed. “Geoffrey, if we were not brother and sister, I would swear you aimed to get me into your bed this evening.”

His stomach clenched. “No… of course not.”

“I would not worry,” Agnes told him. “Father may not approve of your methods, but he knows his interest is best served with your success. Just remember he will want it on his terms.”

Geoffrey nodded. It was simple enough. But it was still good to hear advice from someone both he and his father trusted.

“Thank you sister,” Geoffrey replied. “I will keep what you say in mind.”
….

Brother Charles had aged a great deal over the past few years.

Geoffrey remembered him as the monk who would let him look over his shoulder as he transcribed books in the dimly lit lower levels of the keep. Back then, of course, Geoffrey was a boy and Charles had brown hair and a short beard.

These days, Geoffrey was a man and Charles’ hair had gone fully gray, while his beard had grown long and a bit ragged. He remained thin - that temperate lifestyle had its perks - but what pleased Geoffrey the most was his warm smile had not deserted him.

“Lord Geoffrey!” he said as the two embraced. “I am happy to see you again in good health.”

“And I you, Brother Charles,” Geoffrey told him.

“I did not know if you would visit us here,” Charles said. “I know you return to Anjou for business.”

“Business yes,” Geoffrey said. “But courtesy is a part of business. And how could I ignore one of the men who helped me develop an appreciation for books?”

“We merely nurtured what was already there, son,” Charles said.

“I am grateful nonetheless,” Geoffrey said. “How are things these days?”

“Busy,” Charles said. “Your father has two of us with him at all times working on an annals of your family but also aiding him in his writing of a history of his rule in Anjou.”

“A… history of his rule?” Geoffrey asked. “He is having you write it?”

“He actually wishes to write much of it himself,” Charles said. “An ambitious project to be certain.”

That was an understatement. Laymen did not write books. Few lay people wrote at all - even if they could read. That was domain of monks and the clergy.

It was an odd feeling - Geoffrey could not help but be impressed.

“I did not know my father had that in him,” he told Charles.

“You will find I am far more complex a man than you have told yourself.”

The voice sent a shiver down Geoffrey’s spine. He spun and saw his father standing on the winding staircase, still in his mail and leathers, looking upon him and Brother Charles.

“Duke Foulques!” Charles said. “You return from Melun safely!”

“I did not expect trouble,” Foulques said. “And there was none.”

“How is the king?” Charles asked.

“He goes to Evreux to see how the siege goes there,” Foulques said. “And he gave me leave to return to meet with my son, here. A most gracious liege he is.”

Geoffrey eyed his father. He could not tell if Foulques believed those words or merely showed an act for the monk - not knowing whose loose lips may overhear.

“I see I am not the only one to arrive in Anjou safely,” Foulques said. He came up close to Geoffrey, his boots giving him enough of a height advantage to look down upon him, slightly. “Hello son. Of all the places you could be in the keep, I find you with the monks. Some things never change.”

“I was paying Brother Charles a visit,” Geoffrey replied. “It is as one should, given how much he helped me while I was young.”

“Too much perhaps,” Foulques said. “Your head was in these books far more than a helmet. But that fault is not with Brother Charles. It is with me. A situation I have rectified with your son.”

“My lord,” Charles said. “Lord Geoffrey has grown into a fine man and for that I take little credit. You are the father to the Duke of Aquitaine. And a well-loved one, at that. I have heard all the men who visit the south speak well of him.”

That was not surprising. Geoffrey always was kind to travelling monks, as a remembrance to the what he had experienced in Anjou.

However, Foulques did not appear moved.

“If you do not mind, Brother Charles, I would like a few moments with my son,” he said. “Anyone else present can leave as well. This will not take long.”

Charles bowed his head. “Of course my lord. Amis, Piers.”

Two younger men shuffled past. Geoffrey did not recognize them - nor notice them earlier. Monks often worked in silence, so it was not much of a surprise.

When they were gone, Foulques let silence fill the air. Geoffrey sighed. All tricks. Like Marguerite.

“So, you wish to talk Poitou now,” Geoffrey said. “When I do not even expect you.”

“No,” Foulques said. “Poitou and what is to be done will be another day. This is on another matter.”

“Another matter?” Geoffrey asked.

“Your wife,” Foulques said.

“Ah, the one you have so plainly ordered to be shoved in my path at every turn,” Geoffrey said. “I would not be surprised if I found her in my bed when I retire for the evening.”

“You are one of the few men who would complain over a woman being in his bed,” Foulques said with a sly smirk.

“And you would be so glib on the woman who has insulted his own flesh and blood,” Geoffrey said.

“I would have killed her,” Foulques said. “You refused to allow that and then left it to me to deal with her. Well, I grow tired of dealing with her, and you, over this matter.”

“So what is it you wish?” Geoffrey asked.

“She is your wife,” Foulques said. “You shall take her from here.”

“I cannot take her from here,” Geoffrey replied. “Right now there are two rebellions in her name, one in Poitou, which I hope to claim. If she remains here, with you, a neutral party, there is no problem. If I take her, I appear weak to allow the symbolic leader of a rebellion opposing my rule in my midst.”

“So you think only of yourself, and what benefits you,” Foulques said.

“Then you should be proud, father,” Geoffrey said. “I am truly your son.”

“I would be proud,” Foulques began, “If you did not simply act on it when it suits you. You come to Anjou for the first time since you ascended in Aquitaine… and only because you wish my help.”

It was a charge Geoffrey knew he could not answer.

“Well, if the burden of my family troubles you so,” Geoffrey said. “I would take my son back with me.”

Foulques laughed. “Of course you would seek to take him - the one who I approve of.”

“I am glad he lives up to a standard I could not,” Geoffrey replied.

Foulques smirked. “You understand better than you let on.”

Geoffrey narrowed his gaze. Again his father was unmoved.

“You will take your wife and daughter along with the boy,” Foulques said. “Or you will take none.”

“What?” Geoffrey asked. “He is my son…”

“Whom you have left under my care for the past six years,” Foulques said. “I have grown attached to the boy. I think he has the makings of a fine knight and think I can educate him in the ways better than I did you.”

“He is my son,” Geoffrey said. “You have no right…”

“I gained the right when you left him here,” Foulques said. “Now, if he had neither his mother nor father in Anjou, I would consider it best if he went to Aquitaine. But seeing as his mother remains…”

“You…”

“No, you,” Foulques said. “As I said, I grow tired of you using me as you please. I have allowed you far greater liberties than you deserve because you are my son. But I have had enough.”

“After what you have saddled me with…”

“You mean the levy which keeps you in power?” Foulques asked. “The large duchy you will one day inherit? The friendship with the king which may extend through generations? Yes, I have given you nothing but problems, son.”

Geoffrey looked down. “Marguerite…”

“If she is the worst thing you must deal with in your life, consider yourself blessed,” Foulques said.

The elder duke turned and began the walk up the winding stairs.

“Wait!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “We have talked nothing of Poitou!”

“I said that would come later,” Foulques said. “And I meant it.”

He said nothing else as he walked up the stairs, the sound of metal echoing as he did. A door closed in the distance a minute later, and Geoffrey stood alone… and frustrated.

….

Geoffrey had retreated to his chambers for the evening. He did half expect Marguerite to be there, but thankfully, it was empty upon his arrival. The comfort of wine was all he had - specifically his own from Aquitaine. At the moment, he wished for nothing from Anjou. Not food, nor drink nor support.

He had half a mind to order his party to pack their things and depart now - he would raise his levy and crush both Patricia and Uc himself.

As he closed his eyes, he knew it would have to at least wait until tomorrow. The effects of the wine were starting to take hold. The warmth slowly spread out like tendrils, a calming enrapture as drunkenness took hold.

The opening of his chamber door shook him from his stupor and he recoiled, ready to strike - at least verbally.

He would have snapped at nearly everyone. But through the candlelight, he saw it was Agnes, the one face he was happy to see. The feeling of comfort returned.

“Sister! Sweet, beautiful sister!” he exclaimed. “You come to join me!”

Agnes blushed and came up beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I came to see how you fare. I heard you and father did not have a pleasant conversation.”

“Did he come to you to brag about it?” Geoffrey asked.

“I heard he spoke with you over Marguerite,” Agnes said. “I know the subject matter is sensitive with you - and father is not the most sensitive man.”

“He wishes his way and he will have it no matter who he harms in the process,” Geoffrey lamented. “I was a fool to come here expecting any different.”

“What does he wish?” Agnes asked. “He told me he discussed your wife. But nothing further.”

“He says I cannot take my own son back with me to Aquitaine!” Geoffrey exclaimed. He slammed his cup of wine down and stood up. “Unless I take my whore of a wife and that bastard girl she claims is my daughter back with me as well.”

Agnes frowned and shook her head. “It is a difficult request, I realize…”

“But you agree with him,” Geoffrey said. “I know you do. You take his side on these matters.”

“It is not taking sides,” Agnes replied. “I simply hope for you to move forward. As you two remain separate, that will be difficult. I dislike her… and I hate what she has done to you. But I understand it is difficult for both you and father.”

“It is an annoyance for father,” Geoffrey said. “It is much more than that for me. I cannot trust her.”

“I understand--”

“No, you do not,” Geoffrey said. “Do you remember the power father gave mother when she lived? He entrusted her with overseeing Anjou in his absence. Look at what he gives you. Deserved, as I have said.”

“Yes…”

“Now ask yourself, how can I give that same level of trust to Marguerite?” Geoffrey demanded. “She who has betrayed me multiple times. She who has placed her vendetta with father above all else? She who continues to lie to me over the truth of the daughter she named after our mother! Am I to trust she will not lay with another while I am gone? More importantly, am I to trust she does not plot against me? She, who has claims to everything I hope to make my own?”

Agnes did not respond.

“That is why it is not so simple,” Geoffrey said. “That is why it is beyond difficult. I do not have a wife I can trust. Possibly ever.”

Agnes rubbed his back gently. He smiled. Her touch felt so warm, so comforting.

“I need someone like you by my side,” he said. “A woman I can trust to support me, but also to be able to handle affairs when I am occupied. It enables so much more…”

“I understand,” Agnes said. “I’m sorry.”

“But he doesn’t see it,” Geoffrey said. “How could he? He treats us like we are still children. Only he knows what is best for us. Even as I make myself Duke of Aquitaine and possibly Poitou. And you, as you oversee his duchy while he sits on the king’s lap and lays with Ness.”

“Father’s ego is strong,” Agnes said. “He cannot help himself. But he respects us. Or he would not have allowed us to do as we have.”

“Do not lie to yourself,” Geoffrey said. “He accepts us because he must. But that does not mean he treats us as he should. He looks down upon me. He has still refused to find you a husband.”

“I did not say that he is perfect,” Agnes said. “Just that we must understand and respect him, just as we want him to do for us.”

“I have respect for no one in this family but mother and you,” Geoffrey said. “Especially you. You have dealt with so much, but you continue to persevere and thrive. It is remarkable… and admirable.”

She smiled and took hold of his hand. “Thank you Geoffrey.”

“I mean that as no simple compliment,” he said. “You have always been a positive influence on me. Though I have not always heeded your counsel, it has always been wise, and thoughtful, with my best interests at heart. There are so few I can say that about.”

Agnes rubbed his back. “We are family. What else could I do?”

He could feel his heart pounding. “Look around at how family acts toward one another. Gilles. The king and his brother. Or father and our uncles… you did not need to treat me as you have.”

“I am not them,” Agnes said.

“No, you are not,” he said.

A silence filled the room. He closed his eyes.

“I love you, Agnes.”

He glanced over to see her smile. “I love you too.”

“I do not think you understand,” he said.

“What is there to understand?”

Geoffrey pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. He feared it would feel wrong, or evil. But it didn’t. The warmth of her lips pressed against his, feeling her body so close…

But he was quickly shoved off.

“What has gotten into you?!” Agnes demanded as she took a few steps away from him. “We are brother and sister!”

“I know that!” Geoffrey said. “And I no longer care. I know there is no woman who I could care for more than you - and no woman who would ever care for me as much as you. I want you by my side - now and when father is gone - not only as my sister, but as my lover and wife.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Agnes asked. “It is unnatural! Evil! Wrong!”

“No, ‘wrong’ is how we have been treated by those around us,” Geoffrey said. “By my wife. By father. By our cousin Gilles. They all use us for their own ends. But we will not do that to each other. We can love and care for one another, as we have, but…”

“But nothing,” Agnes said. “Geoffrey, please, do not do this.”

“I would never force you into anything,” Geoffrey said. “But you remain without a husband.”

“And you have a wife,” Agnes said. “One who will remain your wife.”

“Father shows how easy it is to treat a lover as a wife,” Geoffrey replied. “And I would do it for you. I would make you my duchess. I would treat any children we had as legitimate. I would love you for the rest of my days, I swear it.”

Agnes closed her eyes as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Geoffrey approached and gently touched them, before kissing her neck.

Moments later he felt the sting of her palm connect against his own cheek.

“No!” she said. “This is too far. I do love you, Geoffrey. But as a sister. Not as a lover or wife. I will never be that to you.”

Holding his cheek, he looked toward her, shaking his head. “Tell me you do not desire to be Duchess of Anjou? Tell me you do not desire to be married to a man who would treat you as the fine woman that you are?”

“I desire both,” Agnes replied.

“And I will give it to you,” Geoffrey said. “I will give you anything, if you would be mine.”

“Then you will give me nothing,” Agnes said. “For I shall never be yours. There are some boundaries which are not meant to be crossed, brother. This is one.”

“But Agnes I---”

“No, that is the end of it,” Agnes said. “I will not tell anyone what you wish, but you must swear to me never to speak of it again. If you truly heed my counsel, and love me like you claim to, brother, you will accept what I say.”

“But-”

“End this now, or I will go to father,” Agnes said. “I do not want to. But I will.”

“I would make you happy,” Geoffrey said.

“Geoffrey.”

“Fine. I will say nothing more of it,” Geoffrey said. “You can continue to serve father, and be mistreated by him, or the man he eventually marries you to, if he marries you at all. But do not say I did not warn you.”

Agnes lowered her head but did not say anything. Moments later, she was gone.

Geoffrey slammed the wall in anger. If father were not here… perhaps then…

No, she just needs time. The seed had been planted. She resisted, but he knew he saw hunger in her eyes. She wished it. She just could not admit it to herself.

He closed his eyes and pictured her with him, already savoring the kiss he had stolen. The most perfect kiss he’d ever experienced. And he wanted more.

Unfortunately, his passions were stirred. And personal relief felt like too big a defeat to suffer on a night full of them.

He drank his cup of wine and tossed it aside. He could not lay with Agnes tonight. But he would lay with someone - someone he knew would not refuse him. Not given her circumstances.

He stormed down the hall. A few stumbles were had, but he caught himself each time.

You don’t want to do this.

He ignored his conscience. He needed relief. He needed to show he was in charge. He was the Duke of Aquitaine. He did not take orders. Not from his father. Not from anyone.

He did not knock. Instead, he shoved open the door. Part of him expected to find a man there already. But there was none - just a woman in her night shirt.

“Husband!” Marguerite exclaimed.

“Are you surprised to see me?” Geoffrey demanded as he slammed the door behind. “Am I not your husband?”

“You have been unwilling to see me in years,” Marguerite said. “And you still do not appear pleased with me. So yes.”

“That I am willing to see you at all after what you have done is more than you deserve,” Geoffrey replied.

“So you have come to mock me?” Marguerite asked.

“No, I have come to bed you,” Geoffrey said.

“You jest,” Marguerite said.

“You think I wish to speak with you?” Geoffrey demanded. “There are but two reasons for me to see you. One is to strangle you, and the other is to bed you. Be grateful I am not my father. He likely would have taken the first choice.”

“I doubt that,” Marguerite said. “Your father is not as powerful as he likes to claim.”

“The first thing you have ever said that I agree with,” Geoffrey said.

Marguerite smirked and stood from her chair. She tossed off her shirt and motioned for him to come to her.

****
Note: That's end of part one of this. "Repelled" is what you get with failed attempts to start seduction. So yes, AI-controlled Geoffrey did really attempt to "woo" and seduce his sister (which is a first for any AI that I've noticed). I did not go George R.R. Martin on my own. But obviously, it was something that needed to be... featured. So hopefully this worked.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 108
March 1101 - Anjou, France

Geoffrey awoke to a pounding headache.

The room was, thankfully, dimly lit as he came to in an unfamiliar bed. A rub of his temples later, he looked down to see he was shirtless. And wearing nothing below either. And alone in the bed.

His memories were somewhat hazy. He remembered… his attempt to convince Agnes to join him. But he also remembered his failure there.

Then he recalled where he went to relieve his frustration - and finally spied Marguerite sitting at a small table not far from the bed.

She sipped from a cup, a linen sheet acting as a makeshift dress. Upon their eyes locking, she raised her brow.

“You awaken husband,” she said. “Did you have sweet dreams of my sister?”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, you called her name the second time we coupled last night,” Marguerite replied.

Geoffrey squinted as he tried to remember. Ness? He called her name?

His eyes widened. No, not that Agnes…

“My apologies,” he said. Geoffrey immediately regretted saying that. It was not as if Marguerite deserved it in his mind, after all she had done.

He looked to his wife, who appeared she had something to say. Though she refrained, he could not sate his curiosity.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“I would prefer not to say,” she replied.

“Out with it,” he ordered.

“You recently acknowledge a bastard,” Marguerite began. “And you fantasize about laying with yet another woman who is not your wife. One who is bedded by your father in fact. That is… something.”

“Something you should not speak of,” Geoffrey replied. “Given your sordid history.”

“I agree,” Marguerite replied. “Which is why I would have said nothing of it - had you not insisted otherwise.”

“For a woman who claims to wish her way back into my good graces to return with me to Aquitaine, you do yourself no favors,” Geoffrey said.

“I do not know that it will make a difference,” Marguerite said. “You will accept me in your bed if you find nothing else better. You can feign politeness for a few minutes when speaking to me before you grow frustrated. Is that enough?”

“I have no idea what you seek,” Geoffrey told her. “You wish to escape here because of my father.”

“A compelling reason, I would think,” Marguerite said. “One you would understand.”

“Is that all?” Geoffrey asked.

“Confinement? I see our children but a few times in a week, and our son less and less,” Marguerite said. “I am lonely - and subject to your father’s whims. You know he once nearly forced himself upon me.”

“Truly?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” Marguerite said. “He told me at least he would know the blood of any child sired.”

Geoffrey closed his eyes. The unpleasant image came to mind.

“How did you stop him?” Geoffrey asked.

“I reminded him I would not be silent on the matter,” she said. “And it would embarrass him, and you.”

Geoffrey looked down. “I hate him.”

“Something we share,” Marguerite said.

“But what I do not know is whether you share a similar hatred toward me,” Geoffrey noted.

Marguerite frowned before standing up and grabbing two cups - hers and another. She climbed back into bed, underneath the linens beside him and handed him a cup.

“Water?” he asked.

“It will help with your headache, husband,” she replied.

He sipped it, unable to completely shed his mistrust.

“No, I do not hate you,” she said. “I am frustrated by you, but I do not hate you.”

“Frustrated?” Geoffrey asked. “You, who have betrayed me?”

“I did not say I could not understand why you have done what you have done,” Marguerite said. “I just cannot help but feel this way.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Geoffrey replied.

“And yet we cannot escape each other,” she noted. “If you could have an annulment, you would have it. So what are we to do?”

To that Geoffrey had no answer. He did not want to be with her. But he did not know if he could ever be rid of her, either. When his father died - he would return to Anjou. She would be there. What then? Send her away? Doing so would risk angering the church - and make him an easy target. A target that others would aim for, given how powerful he would be.

Perhaps he had no other option but to, at least on the surface, reconcile. And if that was the case, why wait, when he could have his son returned to him in the process?

Still he could commit to nothing. Not now. Not while he had negotiations with his father to deal with.

“We will see,” Geoffrey said.

She wrapped her arms around him. “If it helps, was it not nice to enjoy the company of another without feeling guilt, for once?”

Geoffrey chuckled. I called for my sister…

“Yes,” he replied.
…..

Geoffrey did not know why he brought Alias to Anjou.

His chancellor would take part in no talks or negotiations. Neither did his father’s chancellor, Godfrey. It was always going to be Geoffrey and his father. Alone. Matching wits. Or trying to get the other to back down.

So they stood, across from other another in Foulques’ strategy room - one on each side of the table on which the map of the realm sat.

Geoffrey’s holdings in Aquitaine looked so small compared to his father’s. He held but one county and a barony - while Foulques held territory from Tours to Vannes.

It will all be mine one day, he told himself. A scant consolation at the moment though.

He pointed to Poitou and then met his father’s gaze. “You wished for direct intervention. Now I wish to take it.”

“I wished for direct intervention months ago,” Foulques said. “You insisted your way would allow victory without any Angevin blood spilled. And now you insist on spilling Angevin blood.”

“I did not anticipate a rebellion for my wife, who sits locked away in this keep,” Geoffrey said.

“The duchy is in chaos,” Foulques said. “All the counts seek to increase their stature. What better way than using someone who would be completely reliant upon them if installed?”

Geoffrey remembered that is what his father had warned him about in Aquitaine years before. “You take another shot at me?”

“No,” Foulques said. “It is clear you were not reliant on Alias. For one, he is dead. And two, we both know you always planned to be reliant on me.”

“I do not wish to be reliant on anyone,” Geoffrey insisted.

“And yet, here we are,” Foulques replied.

“Do you wish for me to beg for your assistance?” Geoffrey asked. “Is this about humbling myself before you?”

“It is about how difficult you make things,” Foulques said. “As I have said before.”

“You acting as a shield for me?” Geoffrey questioned.

Foulques nodded. “There is quite a bit of support for at least the rebellion for your wife in Poitou among the dukes of the realm. They would prefer Marguerite to be duchess over you duke.”

“We will be duke and duchess regardless,” Geoffrey noted.

Foulques smirked. “Your attempts to play with words are undermined by your own actions. If there is no difference, why are you here, begging for my aid?”

“Sometimes I question it myself,” Geoffrey replied. “You do not seem interested in helping me, even though it ultimately helps House d’Anjou.”

Foulques chuckled. “From where I stand, House d’Anjou is helped either way.”

“Marguerite becoming Duchess in Poitou and Gascony helps us?” Geoffrey asked. “I fail to see how a woman who despises us ascending aids us.”

“Because Marguerite shall be a figurehead,” Foulques said. “The real power is in your son. Your son who remains here. Or with you. The way I see it, young Foulques’ path toward becoming Duke of Poitou and, in time, Gascony is clear no matter the result.”

“But we do not know how she will try to subvert us in the meantime!” Geoffrey pleaded.

“I do not think she will act against her son,” Foulques replied. “If there is one thing she seems to care for, it is your children.”

“Child,” Geoffrey corrected. “The girl is not mine.”

“So you say,” Foulques said.

“So everyone knows!” Geoffrey exclaimed.

“Regardless,” Foulques continued, “The boy will be well-positioned no matter what. And this will lessen the pressure upon us from outside. They plot against us, you know. The Duke of Orleans schemes to gain claim on Vendome.”

“You jest,” Geoffrey said.

“I do not,” Foulques replied. “He gains support…”

“No, you jest in that it is an actual concern,” Geoffrey replied. “Orleans is the weakest duke in the realm aside from my cousin Gilles, and that is only because Gilles has lost his rebellion.”

Geoffrey shook his head.

“You search for any excuse,” he said. “Why?”

“I will not be used for your own ends,” Foulques said. “Do what you wish with your levy. But your hands will remain off mine. They may be yours one day. But they are not yet.”

Geoffrey lowered his head and looked toward the map. He could feel the anger building and with it something else - despair? Fear?

Did he dare risk himself directly by declaring against Patricia openly? All of his plans had involved someone else taking the majority of risk in his stead. This is the first time he would be called upon into action… to lead troops. To put himself into harm’s way…

“Is there nothing I say that can get you to see reason?” he asked.

“Reason?” Foulques asked. He scowled and met Geoffrey’s gaze. “Win your duchy yourself.”

And with that Foulques pushed himself off the table and left the strategy hall. Geoffrey watched him go and after the door closed, slapped hard at the map, dislodging some of the pins.

The smug satisfaction he received at ruining the perfection of the map was fleeting. It did not gain him his father’s levy. It did not change his situation with Marguerite. It did nothing.

Geoffrey could only sigh.
….

Be better than this.

His conscience was again acting up. He knew this was wrong. But he could not see any other way around it. Someone was to suffer. And it was better her than him.

The day following the meeting with his father had been frustrating. He had tried to see Agnes, but she refused him. He was a little surprised - both that she was so adamant in her decision and how much it stung him. He did not want to go away from Anjou without seeing her again - even if he gained nothing but a memory to take with him.

It was somewhat concerning too that he may have damaged his goodwill with her - he might have lost someone to advocate for him to his father. But then again, it was unlikely he could count on anyone to change his father’s mind.

The other thing he had done was something he did not wish to do, but felt it required - he visited his wife’s bastard, whom she had the audacity to same Aubry. He did it to see how the boy looked so that he might get a better idea of whether Beatritz was in fact, his own daughter. And he got the answer he needed.

The girl was with her mother when he arrived at Marguerite’s chambers. Another look at her… a nose like her bastard brother. Brow, lips… there was no doubt.

And it infuriated him.

“You wish to speak with me, husband?” Marguerite asked.

Geoffrey looked squarely at Beatritz. “Go. Your mother and I have to speak on something.”

His face must have been showing anger, because the girl retreated first to her mother, and gripped her hand tightly. Marguerite eased her by rubbing her back before kneeling to get closer to eye level.

“Go find Margot,” Marguerite instructed. “You can have her bring you back here in a bit.”

Beatritz nodded and slowly walked to the door. She peeked a look at Geoffrey and quickened her pace.

“You send her to Aubry’s sister,” Geoffrey noted. “Curious.”

Marguerite shook her head. “She is one of the few in this keep who do not treat me like a leper. I am grateful for anyone who is kind to me.”

He did not believe her.

“I have come to a decision,” Geoffrey said. “On whether you will come with me back to Aquitaine.”

“And what have you decided?” she asked.

“You may come,” Geoffrey said. “On two conditions. The first - you must denounce the rebellion in your name in Poitou, and say you recognize my claim as the rightful one.”

Marguerite nodded. “It shall be done. What is the second demand?”

“Your daughter stays behind,” Geoffrey said.

Her eyes widened. “You would abandon our daughter here, without her parents?”

“She is not our daughter!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “She is Aubry’s bastard, just as your first child is.”

“You know not what you speak of,” Marguerite insisted.

“I know all too well,” Geoffrey replied. “I looked at the boy yesterday. And I can the resemblance clear as day. She looks far more like him than to the young Foulques, my son.”

“You believe this lie so you will see what you wish,” Marguerite told him. “Beatritz is your daughter.”

“Do not call her by that name in my presence!” Geoffrey shouted. “It is bad enough you became pregnant with a child that is not mine, but then you have the audacity to name her after my mother!”

Marguerite narrowed her gaze. “What do you want?”

“I told you what I want,” Geoffrey said. “Her to remain here. If she does, you can leave this keep and take your proper role as my wife, Duchess of Aquitaine, and in time, Poitou. Perhaps even Gascony, if you prove trustworthy.”

Marguerite shook her head while glaring at him. “You are a monster. No different than your father!”

“If I were a monster like him you would not be speaking,” Geoffrey said. “You would be on the ground, a bloodied mess for lying to me over and over again. The entire court knows the child is not mine. You are the only one to insist differently.”

Marguerite’s lips trembled as her face reddened. Tears began to well in her eyes.

“She may not be yours,” she managed to get out. “I did lay with Aubry around when she formed in my belly. But I laid with you as well.”

“After your blood had stopped,” Geoffrey said.

She lowered her eyes. “That does not mean you are not---”

“LIAR!” Geoffrey exclaimed.

“You will not believe anything else…” she muttered.

“Even now you cling to it,” Geoffrey said.

“I don’t want her to pay for my mistake!” Marguerite shouted, the tears flowing down her cheeks. “You think your father will treat her well here? Her brother and I are all she has! If we leave her…”

“Tell her aunts to take care of her,” Geoffrey said. “They treat you better than you deserve anyway.”

“You do not wish for me to come with you,” Marguerite said. “That much is clear. You just make a request I cannot follow to make yourself feel better. And to hurt me.”

“As you did to me,” Geoffrey said. “Repeatedly.”

“So now, you would place our son in the middle of this battle between us,” Marguerite said. “Leave him to the care of the father you despise to get back at me.”

“I know my father thinks highly of my son,” Geoffrey said. “And if he remains in Anjou, his aunt will look after him as well. I am about to go to war - he will end up solely in your care during that time. Perhaps…”

Geoffrey looked away. “It is best if he remains here.”

Marguerite shook her head. Her eyes were bloodshot now from the tears, which still streamed. “Go then. Know that you have hurt me, if that is what is what you wanted above all else. But when your son thinks as little of you as your father does, I hope you find it was all worth it.”

It was a blow… that Geoffrey did not expect to land as hard as it did. It sent a chill down his spine… he wished to be angry… but he also suspected she might be right.

One of them is going to get what they want. Either I back down and let the bastard come, or I risk my son being raised to think I am a weak, scheming fool.

And as Geoffrey left the room, he made his decision.

It would be his father who won.
……

“How are we looking Alias?” he asked his chancellor a few hours later.

“The preparations are nearly complete, my lord,” Alias replied. “We should be ready to depart shortly.”

Geoffrey nodded. The sooner they were out of Anjou the better.

This trip had been all but complete disaster. His father refused to back him in Poitou. His son would remain here. He and his wife hated each other more than ever before. And he had potentially ruined his relationship with the one person he cared about.

The only way it could have been worse was if Foulques had decided to back one of the Poitou sisters claim over his… which he indirectly was doing with Marguerite anyway.

Yes, a total disaster.

Footsteps approaching caused him to turn. He saw it was Alearde.

Her smile did still warm his heart, though he knew that was a dream that would never be realized. Her touch was such that even now it would still give him goosebumps.

“Lord Geoffrey,” she said. “The Lady Agnes would like to speak with you before you depart. In private.”

Geoffrey’s brow rose. In private? Could she…

He quickly put it from his mind as Alearde led him to Agnes’ chambers. Such thoughts would lead to disappointment.

Alearde announced him when he arrived and Agnes thanked her. The door closed behind him.

His sister was dressed in simple clothing with a cloak around her shoulders, covering her chest completely. Today, she had chosen to wear a coif as well, which covered her hair completely with nothing but a few bangs slipping out. She did not greet him with a hug, choosing to remain across the room from him.

“I am pleased you would see me,” Geoffrey said. “I was concerned the other night had ruined things between us.”

Agnes sighed. “You remain my brother, Geoffrey. I would not shun you, not for stating your desire, as wrong as it is. If you tried to force yourself upon me… then…”

“I would never,” Geoffrey swore. “It would cheapen the moment for it to not be mutual.”

Agnes closed her eyes and seemed to shudder. “Put it out of your mind. Forever.”

“Why did you wish to see me?” Geoffrey wondered. “If not for that…”

“Because I wished you to know that I still care for you, and will continue to fight on your behalf,” she said. “That I will speak to father and urge him to assist you should you go to war in Poitou…”

She paused for a moment before taking a few steps toward him. “Do you go to war in Poitou?”

“I plan to, yes,” Geoffrey said.

Agnes frowned and rushed forward. He caught hold of her and she squeezed him enough to force the air from his lungs.

When she released her grip, it was only to touch a hand to his cheek. She had tears in her eyes.

“My sweet little brother,” she said. “Please, please take care.”

“Do you worry as much over father?” Geoffrey asked as he pulled her close.

“Father lives for war,” Agnes said. “You do not. I think you capable, but I worry nonetheless.”

“I will be fine sister,” he said.

Her scent was intoxicating. Flowers? She must have just come from a bath.

Part of him did wonder if perhaps the alcohol had influenced his desires with her. But he had none now, and his urges to throw her onto her bed were as strong, if not stronger, than before.

He realized his body was signaling it quite clearly. But if Agnes noticed, she did not let on.

“You must take care,” she said. “You will be Duke of Anjou. I do not wish to be regent for my nephew. He is a good boy, but… he will need your guidance too.”

“I would not trust anyone to lead at his side more than you,” Geoffrey told her. “But worry not. I do not go to war to seek glory. I do it to claim what is rightfully mine. What is rightfully ours, through mother. And I intend to rule it, once I have won it.”

“I will hold you to that,” Agnes said.

They gave each other one more gaze. Unable to resist, Geoffrey leaned in. Agnes leaned… out of the way, and Geoffrey’s lips met her palm. He embraced it regardless.

“No,” she whispered. “Do not make this goodbye any more… difficult... than it needs to be.”

“Difficult?” Geoffrey asked. “So you do---”

“No,” Agnes said. “I do not. But I do not wish for you to leave here on poor terms with me. For I do not know when I will see you again.”

Geoffrey sighed. “As you wish, dear sister.”

He bowed before her. She did the same toward him.

He turned to leave though he heard her voice once more as he opened the door.

“I mean it! You keep yourself safe!” she shouted.

A small smile came to his lips. It still feels good that she cares so much.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 109
June 1101 - Anjou, France

As Agnes stared at her reflection in the mirror, she did not know how to feel.

When she was a little girl, she dreamed of her wedding. She usually imagined it was to a handsome, youthful duke, or a count, even though her mother had long warned her that may never happen.

“You must realize that your husband may be an older man,” Beatritz had said. “But you must please him all the same.”

When she was a girl, Agnes would smile and nod. When she was a teen, she’d have a retort.

“That did not happen with you,” she’d say.

“I thought I was to end up on a convent,” Beatritz replied. “I was blessed. Your father still presented tests of his own, even if fulfilling certain wifely duties… has always been most enjoyable.”

Agnes remembered how red her mother turned upon saying it. She’d usually blush as well - it was strange to hear her mother talk of coupling with Foulques.

“But every husband will present tests for you,” Beatritz would say. “Whether a high-born lord, or a common man. How you handle such tests will decide whether you are a happy wife, or not.”

“And what are you, mother?”

“I am Duchess of Anjou, and mother to two beautiful children,” Beatritz replied. “I can not have asked for much more.”

She said that in her good moments, of course. When Alearde and Foulques’ bastard daughter Bella was born, Beatritz struck a different tune. But Agnes figured, for the most part, her mother had been happy with her lot in life.

So what awaits me?

To that she had no answer as her ladies attended to her, fixing her dress. Etiennette worked on her hair. Alearde prepared her makeup. She had to look her best for her wedding day.

As her mother had warned, it was not exactly as she had dreamed. It was no duke she was marrying, nor even a count. Instead, it was a mere courtier, Henri, son of her father’s chancellor Godfrey.

He was handsome enough and over a decade her junior though, so she would not be stuck as some others her age had having to please an old, withered husk of a man.

She had heard Henri was actually rather chaste - Alearde had not heard a peep of him even approaching the ladies or the servants. That had made Agnes question if he had other tastes, but they had heard nothing on that either.

It just seemed he was one who followed the strict teachings of the church.

He may struggle to fit in with my family, she thought as a grin formed on her lips.

That looseness would be on display today on her face, as Alearde applied a reddish blush to her cheeks.

“What will Bishop Hildebert say when he sees me with all of this red on my cheeks?” she wondered aloud.

“He will bow his head, think something foul of you and say nothing,” Alearde said. “He already does not have the highest opinion of you.”

“Is he not the one who will be performing the ceremony?” Etiennette wondered.

“He is,” Agnes replied. “He may not like me, but he is a loyal hound. My father instructed it - so it will be done.”

“Makeup seems like a silly thing to worry over,” her aunt Aureade noted. “Should one not look their best?”

“It’s something about vanity being sinful,” Haldora added. “But then, I do not see the bishop walking around in tattered robes. They take great care to look as if they are lords themselves.”

Agnes smirked. She had a full complement of women around her today - almost every noblewoman courtier in Anjou wished to be with her as she prepared for her wedding. She was, after all, the most powerful woman in the duchy.

Not all were admitted, but Agnes did allow a fairly robust group. In addition to Alearde and Etiennette, Agnes’ own daughter Beatrice was present, as was her half-sister Ermengarde, Etiennette’s bastard daughter by Gilles. There was also Aureade, Etiennette’s sister Margot, Alearde’s daughters Bella and Hildegarde, Agnes’ soon-to-be mother by law Helie and Duchess Haldora. The duchess was the only one who did not move about - she remained in her chair, shifting positions to find comfort. Her belly was great with child and she expected to give birth any day now.

“I do wonder what people did before the church,” Agnes continued. “It must have been awful for the people of Rome to be cast down into hell for all of these small sins they had no idea they were committing.”

“I would suspect their worship of heathen gods proved a larger issue,” Helie replied. She looked back to Haldora. “No offense, dear.”

Haldora rolled her eyes. “My family have been Christian for a few generations now, you realize. You Franks believe every story you hear of my people? Did you also expect me to arrive with an axe in one hand, shield in the other?”

Agnes noticed quite a few of the ladies trading glances. Haldora also seemed to take notice and shook her head.

“Terrible,” she replied.

The good news was that Agnes doubted Haldora was too offended. She took things like that in stride - after all, she had far bigger grievances these days.

Agnes would never admit it to her father, but she did rather enjoy her stepmother. They had grown a bit closer since Agnes had vouched on her behalf in Melun - they often dined together now when Foulques was away.

And it was with her in mind that Agnes’ half-sister, and Etiennette’s daughter, Antoinette, was not allowed in the room. Etiennette was displeased, but understood.

There was a knock at the door. As Agnes was being prepared, she motioned for someone to answer it. That someone was Helie, who opened the door to peek her head out. She pulled it back to relay that the visitor was a messenger from Aquitaine. Agnes allowed him in.

He no doubt was sent by Geoffrey, who declined to attend. Her brother claimed he was on campaign in Saintonge - likely a few days away - and had sent word that he could not leave his army.

Believable, if from her father. For her brother, who did not like combat, she had her doubts.

His confession in Anjou loomed large. She wondered what his response was when he learned of the news she would be wed, especially so soon after his visit. But she did suspect his lack of attendance was his response - so what news would this man bring her?

The messenger bowed before her. She nodded in acknowledgement and he rose once more.

“My lady, I come to you from Aquitaine,” the man said. “At the behest of your brother, the duke.”

“What does Geoffrey wish of me?”

“Nothing except to accept his deepest regrets that he is unable to join you on this joyous day,” the man said. “He is with his men in Poitou. But he sends you a gift. You should be able to see it from your window.”

Curious Agnes, she broke free of Alearde and Etiennette and moved her way over to the lone, small opening in the chamber. The other ladies did so as well.

The window was not large, so the view was somewhat limited. But there in the yard were multiple casks of wine. That was hardly a surprise, but what Agnes did not expect to see was a peacock, strutting beside the cart.

“Oh my goodness!” she said as her hand covered her mouth. “Where did he find that?”

“He bought it from a trader who works in Greece, my lady,” the man replied.

“So beautiful,” Alearde said.

“Such a lovely gift,” Etiennette added.

Haldora managed to push her way through. “It looks… delicious.”

The ladies turned to look at her. The Northwoman scrunched her face before arching her back as if to accentuate her pregnant stomach. “I am hungry these days. Every bird looks like food.”

Agnes smirked and turned back to the man. “Thank my brother for this. Alearde, give him some coin.”

The man held his hand up. “My lady, there is more. Your brother has requested I recite a message he has sent for you.”

Agnes felt her stomach clench. “Is… it a private message?”

“No my lady,” the man said. “Lord Geoffrey, sends his regards. He prays for the success of this union and your happiness. And though he regrets that he cannot be beside you on your wedding day, he has no doubt that you are the most beautiful and elegant bride the realm has seen in sometime. As always, you are beloved both here and abroad, my lady.”

It was such a thinly-veiled love note, Agnes could barely restrain herself from chasing the messenger from the room. As it was, her hands shook, her eyes were wide and she could feel herself tremble.

That fool will ruin us.

But as she looked at her ladies, none looked suspicious. Quite the opposite - they all seemed to be swooning.

“Such a charming boy,” Aureade noted.

“Something he must have gotten from his mother,” Haldora added.

Alearde gave the man his coin and Agnes kept her head long enough to thank him again as he departed. The door was closed behind.

“Geoffrey, Geoffrey,” Agnes said as shook her head.

“Honeyed words for you, sister,” Bella said.

“Imagine what he must say to those he beds,” Helie added.

“I would not mind finding out,” Margot said.

Quite a few of the women blushed at that. A couple had sly grins, including Etiennette, who had not been dismissed as Foulques lover, but saw much less of him these days, and, much to Agnes’ surprise, Haldora. In fact, the duchess closed her eyes and a few moments later, her grin became a full-on smile.

Agnes rolled her eyes and then took a peek back at Alearde, who was also grinning. That was enough.

“Ladies,” Agnes interrupted. “That is my brother you discuss. Who is married to a woman in this keep.”

“My apologies, my lady,” Margot said. “I did not mean to insult you, Lord Geoffrey or the Lady Marguerite.”

“It is fine Margot,” Agnes said. “But we must not forget our place as ladies, even in private. We never know who might be listening.”

A true statement, though in this case, it was unlikely she and Alearde did not control that. Little information from the women in the keep, noble or otherwise, escaped their ears. It was merely unnerving to hear such things spoken about her brother.

She held her piece though, at least until she was finished being made up. Then she asked for a moment alone with Alearde, and after the ladies departed the room, she frowned at her old mentor.

“I saw your grin too,” Agnes said.

“Grin?” Alearde asked.

“Over Geoffrey,” Agnes replied. “When Margot said she would not mind laying with him.”

Alearde smirked. “Oh, that.”

“Oh that?” Agnes demanded. “Such glib remarks over my brother. If it were to be acted upon…”

“It won’t because it is idle thought,” Alearde said. “Your brother is handsome, charming and powerful. His discord with his wife is well known. It is no surprise many of the women here have thoughts of him.”

“Margot has already laid with a married man, my cousin in Berry, and has a bastard to show for it,” Agnes replied. “So that she might act on those thoughts is not unheard up. And if nothing else, they are sinful thoughts.”

Alearde glared at her. “How is your makeup, my lady? I know your daughter thought you very pretty.”

Agnes’ frown became a scowl.

Alearde continued. “If they worry about having such thoughts, they can confess them to a priest. But they are thoughts. Nothing more. Do you truly believe Haldora would dare lay with your brother now? Your father would likely kill her for that. Nor do I think Geoffrey would dare risk his alliance with your father in such a manner.”

Agnes raised her brow. Alearde replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I doubt he carries the same feelings for Haldora or Etiennette that he does you,” Alearde said.

Agnes noticed Alearde lips were pursed. She wanted to say something else, but restrained herself.

“Speak your mind,” she said.

“It is not something that should be said,” Alearde said.

“I expect you to say everything to me,” Agnes said. “I have never wanted you to hold anything back.”

Alearde sighed. “Did hearing them speak of your brother so, make you jealous?”

Agnes’ eyes widened. “NO! Of course not! It just reminded me of… his already poor behavior with women. And It bothers me others would desire to be used in such fashion.”

“You are surprised the duchess desires a man who might shower her with affection, who is younger than your father, may become as powerful, and has a face?” Alearde asked.

“When you put it like that…” Agnes replied.

“Here is how I shall put it to you,” Alearde continued, “put your brother far from your mind. This is your day, not his. And Anjou is more yours than his, for now. We will deal with Geoffrey when he is duke - and we will know how to deal with him then.”

Agnes was not as certain.

Alearde patted her back and escorted her to the mirror. She stood behind her, but placed her head over Agnes’ shoulder to get a good view.

Agnes looked at herself. Her hair was done up in tight buns with a covering on the top of her head. The makeup had made her cheeks rosy, a contrast to her pale complexion. Red was her theme - she also wore a long dress of that color, though the shawl covering her chest was off-white.

It almost did not seem to be her, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. That just made her stomach churn even more.

But Alearde smiled.

“So pretty,” she said.
……

The ceremony was all a blur.

One moment, her father walked her down toward where Henri stood. The next minute Bishop Hildebert was delivering some words. The mass took so long that her feet ached, but it seemed to have passed by quickly enough where she did not remember feeling bored. But then she also remembered nothing of what was said, only the nervous look on her new husband’s mustached face.

Is he afraid of marriage? Afraid of me? Afraid of what’s to come? Does he not find me pretty enough?

She tried her best to shake it off. This was a political marriage as much as anything else - a way to shore up her position. Chancellor Godfrey would be steadfast ally now, perhaps as strong as Mayor Guilhem was to her.

In truth, she was surprised her father had approved of the union. Alearde had suggested it to her, and she had in turn suggested it to Godfrey, with the idea of dropping the suggestion to Foulques in casual conversation, perhaps jokingly at first. But Foulques seemed fine with the idea - and here she was.

Perhaps because I grow old, father is settling.

That doubt could not be dismissed, no matter how hard she tried. But she knew this union meant she would remain in Anjou. It meant she would keep her power. And that was the important thing.

And it was not as if Henri was a lowborn man. He was the grandson of the late Count of Boulogne and nephew to the current one on his father’s side. One his mother’s he was the nephew to Hugues of Burgundy. That also made him the great-grandson to the late Duke Robert of Burgundy, and thus great-great grandson to a king.

Still, she could not completely shake her doubts.

“I do not know if this is a wise decision,” she said when she discussed it with Alearde at the time.

“You need a husband,” Alearde said. “Your importance to your father and your brother puts you in peril when you travel outside of Anjou. Many would scheme to abduct you and force you to marry a man of their choice.”

Alearde then lowered her head. “And… it would be good to have an outlet for your desires that will not be looked upon with scorn should a child be born.”

“You seem to have managed just fine,” Agnes noted.

“I am no one,” Alearde said. “It matters who I lay with, not that I do. You, it is the opposite.”

Agnes remembered sighing out of resignation - she knew it was true. As much as she’d prefer to stick to her strapping son of a blacksmith, she knew the problems that could arise.

But she did remember having a question for Alearde. “Did you… ever wish to be married?”

Alearde took a moment before responding. “Once… after your mother died. I wished to be your father’s wife. He obviously chose differently.”

Agnes lowered her head. “I am sorry. You would have been a fine mother to us.”

“I already am,” Alearde said with a small grin. “But I am not bitter over it. It proved for the best. Your father would not look at me as he does now if I was his wife. He wishes he could have me. If I were to return to him… he would treat me worse than he does now.”

“But you would have been duchess…” Agnes blurted out. She grimaced at saying it.

“I think that sometimes,” Alearde said. “Then I look at Haldora and see what that is worth.”

You would not have been Haldora, Agnes thought, though she was wise enough to keep that quiet.

But it was clear now that marriage would not be in Alearde’s future. And despite that also appearing the case for Agnes over the years, it was now very much her present.

The feast was as much a haze as the ceremony. The hall did feature two prominent dignitaries - Hugues of Burgundy had come. That was not the most unexpected - his political situation in Burgundy was perilous with the Countess Almodis putting pressure on him with her rebellion. He likely hoped to find as much favor and friendship as he could, even coming to the wedding of his nephew to the daughter of a man he did not have the most harmonious relationship with.

The other was a bit of a surprise as she had no connection with either family. But Queen Sybille herself was in attendance.

She had come with a guard of knights and her ladies - which meant Ness was present as well - but the king was not with her. The queen had told Agnes she had to join her on this day - after all she had done for the realm. It was a humbling moment - a flush, warm feeling that made Agnes weak at the knees that was also one of the clearer moments of the day.

To have the favor of a queen!

Aside from the queen, she remembered a mess of faces, nothing of what each individual said. She noticed her nephew seated by her father - odd given his age, but she noticed her father beginning to show plenty of favor to the younger Foulques. There were even rumors he might take him back to Melun.

Geoffrey will not be pleased.

But that was his own fault. He shirked his duty to his family. This is the result.

Alearde’s advice again came to mind. She closed her eyes and tried to put him far away.

Easier said than done, she realized.

“He is handsome,” Sybille whispered to her.

It snapped Agnes back from her thoughts. The queen had a sly grin on her lips as she eyed Henri. But her eyes were more… hungry - as if she wished to devour him herself.

“Yes…” Agnes replied. “You think him handsome?”

“Very,” Sybille said. “I think you will enjoy him very much. But one word of advice, my dear - savor it. He will not be young forever.”

As the queen took a drink from her goblet, it was clear it was a not so thinly veiled shot on her husband.

“The king is ill,” Agnes said.

“Yes, a reminder that youth and health are fleeting,” Sybille replied. “Like I said, enjoy him while you can.”

Agnes pursed her lips and then turned to her new husband, seated beside her. At some point he should lead her to their bed to consummate their union. But Henri barely had spoken to her at all - he seemed almost frightened to do it.

He should be eager, Agnes thought. Perhaps he does think little of me.

It would not be the end of the world if he did - she still technically had Cedric after all, even if she had told him her visits would be far less frequent now that she was wed - but her ego was bruised nonetheless.

Her new father-in-law seemed to take notice. The chancellor whispered something to Henri and the boy’s eyes widened. But he nodded before standing up and offering Agnes his hand. She took it and he led her away from the feast in the main hall and toward their chambers for the evening.

The room had been prepared by servants, with candles already lit and the bed made. The one remaining woman bowed before them and then departed, closing the door and leaving them alone.

Henri stood before her, but motionless. Like a statue.

Does he not know what to do, she wondered.

She removed her hair piece and then dropped her dress to reveal her body to him, and his eyes again widened. But he did not do much else. Agnes sighed.

“So, you do not like what you see?” she asked.

“No, I mean yes, I do,” Henri stammered. “You are quite beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

She could not tell if he tried to save himself with empty flattery.

“Here I am then, your wife,” she replied. “You can act on your desires.”

Henri nodded. He approached slowly and again paused as he came up close to her. His brow furrowed, he appeared in deep thought. Finally he leaned in for a kiss.

Limp, weak… unconfident.

“That is not the most convincing kiss,” she told him.

“I’m sorry,” Henri replied. “I… do not truly know what is proper and right to do in this situation.”

“I am your wife,” Agnes said. “What you desire is ultimately right.”

She regretted saying that - she did not need to cede that much power so quickly when it was unnecessary. And yet, it seemed to do little to change the expression on Henri’s face.

“What… what would you like?” he asked.

And suddenly it dawned on her - he was not saying he did not know what to do because he had too many ideas, he was admitting he had none.

“You have never been with a woman before?” Agnes asked him.

Henri shook his head vociferously. “Never. It would be sinful to couple with someone before marriage.”

Agnes’ brow rose. “So you must think awful things of me.”

Henri gulped. “No, of… course not. You…”

Agnes smirked and brought her hand to his cheek. “You do, and that is fine. You would not be the first. And you shall not be the last.”

“I do not think awful things of you,” Henri said. “I question… but that is the extent. I know you as a fine lady. Your service to Anjou has shown that…”

He trailed off for a moment, trying to gather his words. Then he continued. “I want to please you. I know it is necessary for a woman to enjoy laying with a man for a child to be born of the union.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. She had heard that, but doubted its truth. After all, Haldora certainly did not care for her father, but was about to birth another child all the same.

And it did little to calm her doubts that he did not think well of her. He likely just wanted a son.

Perhaps he was of two minds. He had his qualms, but he also had to know he was not likely to do much better than the daughter of Duke of Anjou, sister to the Duke of Aquitaine.

But she was confident enough her experience could lessen his other concerns…

Just a light touch was enough to cause him to tremble. Pressing herself against him revealed his excitement. A few more gentle kisses later and she was pulling him toward the bed.

“Lay back husband,” she said.

The words were strange, but comforting all the same. She did not expect Henri to be a good lover, not at this point. But Alearde was right about one thing - it would be nice to finally be with a man and not have to worry about the consequences - whether she enjoyed herself or not.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 110
July 1101 - Near Melun, France

Foulques could already hear the sounds of men emanating from the small lodging as he approached on horseback.

The noise caused him to quicken his steed’s pace, despite the darkness setting in, while his knights, including Herve, followed suit. They made their way to the small stone structure, almost a mini keep of sorts, in a small clearing in the wooded area. Attendants were present to take their mounts from them as they dismounted, leading the horses toward a small stable nearby.

One of the guardsmen by the door opened it to reveal a hall, well-lit by torches, with a long table and benches to each side. Those benches were filled at present by the men of the king’s council and their knights. At the head of the table, in a throne-like chair, sat King Philippe.

Upon the guardsman announcing Foulques’ arrival, the king stood up. The others did so a moment later.

“Duke Foulques!” Philippe exclaimed, with a goblet of wine in hand. “You finally come! Join us, my friend!”

Foulques nodded and walked toward the head of the table. But he quickly realized there was not much space. The king frowned and looked to Hugues of Burgundy who was seated at the end of the bench to his left, closest to Philippe on that side.

“Provide some room to your fellow Duke,” Philippe ordered. “It is a common courtesy.”

Burgundy eyes widened for a moment, but he then scowled at both the king and Foulques before making a half-hearted attempt to push himself up the bench, creating a little space between he and Guillaume, the Duke of Orleans.

Not seeing much room, Foulques moved to the end of the bench and sat, pushing Burgundy further down. The younger man tried to shove back.

The room had fallen silent. Foulques turned to look at Burgundy, the loudest noise the sound of his breathing through the heavy mask he wore. The younger duke’s scowl remained, but there was no determination in his eyes. Just fear.

And so he squished himself further against Orleans, who in turn slid further down the bench himself.

A pleasing sight, Foulques mused. He thought even less of Orleans than he did Burgundy, given that Orleans had the audacity to ask for his support on the council - all while scheming to fabricate a claim on Vendome.

A worthless man, not even deserving of what little space he receives, Foulques thought as a small smile came to his lips. Meanwhile, the king raised his goblet.

“A toast to my council!” he exclaimed. “The finest men of the realm - and those who will help guide her toward the glory of our ancestors!”

That drew a cheer from the hall. And then it descended into a cacophony of voices once more as the men returned to their private conversations.

The king leaned in toward Foulques. “I am glad you were able to make it. I did not know how long that outbreak would delay you.”

Foulques waited a moment as a servant arrived with a goblet and filled it wine. After he was gone, Foulques replied: “We are fortunate, for now. It seems to have stopped in Maine.”

“I would be wary,” Philippe said. “It was just in Evreux for a time, but now it is in Maine and Mortain. It is virulent and deadly. I will not blame you if you take refuge inside your keep.”

The Duke of Anjou sipped his wine. Philippe was right - it was smallpox and not to be taken lightly. Perhaps he should have already locked the gates as Chancellor Godfrey had suggested.

But he hesitated. He did not wish to withdraw yet - not with the king likely preparing for an offensive against Champagne.

Then there was the loss of influence. During his time away from Melun meeting with Geoffrey, Gilles had been released - Bourges still his. Philippe had explained this to Foulques as something that needed to be done - Gilles had sworn fealty and the realm needed as many men as possible.

Still it rang hollow to Foulques and likely was caused by others looking to limit his influence. If he locked himself away in Anjou… how much more say would he lose?

And… in the back of his mind, he remembered the last time the gates were shut - Aines fell ill and died, not of measles as had been the outbreak, but that dreaded cancer. It was superstitious, but part of Foulques worried if he shut the gates again, perhaps another tragedy would befall the family.

“Do you plan to move on Troyes?” Foulques asked, changing the topic toward one he would more likely enjoy.

“Yes,” Philippe said. “The men needed a small respite after reclaiming our lost keeps in Normandy. But they will be ready to move when we return. And then we shall unleash a fitting revenge on Champagne.”

A smile came to Foulques lips. It was good to hear the king speak with such confidence again. Perhaps Adalmode truly had helped him.

Foulques looked across the table to the Duke of Toulouse. “Have I missed the good hunting?”

Toulouse shook his head. “We have been here but a day and we found doe, but no stags.”

“Disappointing,” Philippe added. “But I planned us to be here for a few days yet. And the day was not a total loss - those doe provided the fine meal we have before us. Speaking of which…”

Philippe motioned for a servant to come and then ordered him to bring Foulques some food.

“So, it appears I have not arrived too late,” Foulques said.

“You nearly did,” Toulouse said. “The king had a narrow brush with death today.”

Foulques eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“A stray arrow nearly struck him,” Toulouse said.

“You exaggerate,” Philippe said.

“I saw it with my own eyes, my liege,” Toulouse said. “It nearly struck you in the chest, but it narrowly missed. Too close for comfort.”

“Such is the danger of hunting,” Philippe said. “But we endure.”

Toulouse did not seem enthused by that response but said nothing. Philippe then leaned in to Foulques once more.

“Forgive me,” Philippe said.

“For what?” Foulques wondered.

“I did not congratulate you on your new son,” the king replied. “And did I hear true that you have named him Philippe?”

Foulques nodded. Haldora had birthed a boy just days after Agnes’ wedding. The plan was to name him after the king, which felt like an easy way to continue to keep favor for the family.

“Magnificent,” Philippe said. “I am truly honored. You shall have first chance to kill a beast tomorrow - should it not be the proper stag of course.”

“Of course,” Foulques replied.

Philippe took a drink from his cup and smiled. A servant brought Fouqlues a steak of meat which the duke tore into. The journey had been long and he was hungry.

“You know, speaking your sons,” Philippe continued. “I invited your eldest on this trip. He declined obviously.”

Foulques cocked a brow. “He is not a member of the council.”

“I have noticed,” Philippe said. “But he remains an important man in the realm. He is the Duke of Aquitaine and, soon enough, Poitou. I cannot ignore him.”

“He is not Duke of Poitou yet,” Foulques noted.

“But he will be,” Philippe said.

“You think he will win the duchy?”

Philippe smirked. “I do not think you will let him lose it.”

Foulques rolled his eyes, though such an action was hidden from Philippe due to his mask. “I have already told my son he will win this on his own.”

“Yes, you told him that,” Philippe said. “But if he stumbles, you expect me to believe you will not pick him up?”

“I have told him as much,” Foulques insisted.

Philippe chuckled and sipped from his cup. “This from a man who found himself embarrassed before the realm as his daughter birthed the bastard daughter of her cousin. Yet your beloved Agnes is now your regent.”

“You think I should have punished her more severely?” Foulques demanded. “Is that what you insinuate?”

“Of course not,” Philippe said. “I am very fond of your daughter.”
Philippe paused for a moment but then quickly turned his gaze back to Foulques. “Not in the way of a lover. But as a daughter of sorts. She has done far more for me than my own eldest has, who has brought me nothing more than a worthless alliance through her marriage. I begin to wonder if Danes are as mythical as unicorns - for I have not seen one on our shores yet.”

That managed to draw a small grin from Foulques. Philippe continued.

“My wife, who values my daughter much more than me, also thinks of Agnes as if she were one of her own,” he added. “So no, I am not at all disappointed you were lenient with her. But, I merely point out that you have tolerated far more than your son has done. So you will not abandon him.”

“You do not understand,” Foulques said. “He schemes. He uses me. He thinks himself my better.”

“I think I can understand too well,” Philippe said. “All boys think themselves superior to their fathers. Did you not do so with your father?”

“My father did not give me Tours,” Foulques said. “And can you say he was as great as me?”

Philippe laughed. “That was a poor example. But I can speak from experience. I did not know my father well, as he died when I was a boy. But I still thought myself his better. A weak man, who was a king in name only. I would change that. I would make myself a true king, and bring my vassals to heel. I could… because I was better.”

Philippe lowered his head.

“And now I sit, dying, while my son has spent much of his life in the hands of one of those vassals,” Philippe said. “It shows you what too much pride can bring.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “Which is why it is good to see my son humbled by me.”

“Not at the expense of everything else,” Philippe said. “I look upon you with envy. Your son grew by yours side. I still remember him with you in Melun. I thought, one day, it would be me. But it never was, and never will be. Even now, if we win this war, Alphonse is nearly a man grown.”

“I am sorry for that,” Foulques said. “You would have been a fine influence on him - though you still can be when he is freed once more.”

“I will not have the time, I am afraid,” Philippe said.

“Do you feel ill?”

“No, your nun is truly blessed,” the king replied. “I feel better than I have in some time! But I am not a fool. My time draws short. I cannot pretend otherwise, or I shall fail to make the best of it.”

The king finished his wine and then stood up. Foulques and the rest of the men in the hall did the same. Philippe then motioned for them to sit.

“I am to retire for the evening my good men,” the king said. “I wish to have all my energies tomorrow when we continue our hunt! But you all may remain in this hall as long as you like! Enjoy yourselves! You have earned it!”

Another cheer went up. As the king moved to leave he stopped by Foulques and whispered into his ear: “I do have a gift for you. You will find it in your lodging.”

And with that the king walked off, leaving Foulques curious - curious enough that he excused himself a little while later. He found it was a personal chamber - the lodge was not big so there were few present. However, he found himself unimpressed by the size - it was nothing more than a tiny room with a bed and barely enough space for a small chest.

But, on that bed, he saw someone sitting. She bounded up off the bed and approached.

It was Ness.

He had not been with her as much lately. She never accompanied him on his trips back to Anjou, of which he had made a few over the past six months. The few times she did, the pair of the times the Queen had come, Foulques did not lay with her out of deference to Haldora and Agnes, who he knew also disapproved.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle, but it was enough to make out her body, which had grown more woman-like after the birth of their son with wider hips, and larger bust - and a slightly fuller version the face which reminded him so much of her mother.

“This… is a surprise,” Foulques told her.

“The king wished for his nobles with vassals who had… lovers… to be able to enjoy them on this trip,” Ness replied. “I came with Isabel de Montfort, who lays with Hugues of Burgundy.”

Foulques eyes widened. He was not aware of that - it was surprising, given that Isabel was Foulques’ sister-by-law - his half-brother Simon’s wife.

“I have missed you… husband,” Ness purred as she pressed herself against him. “The king picked a good time for this trip. I have had a longing for you for days now.”

He had warned her against using “husband” around him after Haldora’s plot against him, but he let it slide here. He wanted her as much as she claimed to desire him.

And as Ness dropped her dress, his chambers suddenly went from cramped to cozy.

….

The barking of the dogs signalled the end of the chase. Hopefully, with more success than the last.

It was the second time this day that they had found a deer. The first time had been a stag, but not the most impressive one as it had been rather young with its antlers not fully grown. Philippe passed on it, and offered it instead to Foulques.

However, his aim with a bow was never the best, and his shot poor, just wounding the animal in the hindquarters. Toulouse had been the one to deliver the shot which brought it down and ended the animal’s life himself.

It had been an unfortunately humbling experience for Foulques, who was unable to blame anything for his miss, as the normal excuse of sunlight was not possible on a cloudy day. As a result, he had to endure the jokes from Philippe.

“I think I shall keep you close to me,” he remarked to Foulques in private. “Not only will my aim look better, but I shall be safe from your errant attempts. After yesterday, I should take no chances.”

It drew an eye roll from Foulques, but he thought better of insulting his king’s lack of martial. He had, after all, brought him Ness for his enjoyment. That was worth something.

And he had permitted Herve to come along with the members of the council, who were all present on horseback except Jaspert, who remained at the lodge. It was a reward for Foulques’ nephew - the king showed gratitude for leading the victory over Champagne over a year ago.

While it was deserved, that did not mean it should be expected. Plenty of rulers proved rather ungrateful toward their vassals.

Herve rode in front of Foulques as they neared the sound of the dogs. As much as the best redemption would be a good kill which he delivered himself, Foulques soon realized that would be unlikely. This time, the dogs had cornered a large stag - strong-looking beast with a magnificent set of antlers. This was clearly the beast the king searched for.

And sure enough Philippe rode forward. He raised his arm, and balled his first, signalling the kill was his. He dismounted his horse and carefully aimed his shot.

But his shot missed wildly, the arrow flying off in the distance well past the stag. Given how proficient Philippe looked in Anjou, Foulques was surprised.

At least until he looked over to the king and saw an arrow sticking out of his abdomen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man holding a bow, across the field. Unlike the others, his was up, as if he had just fired.

“Grab that man!” Foulques shouted.

“Who?” Herve asked.

The man had started to sprint. It gave enough of a hint for Herve to spur his horse forward. Orleans and Burgundy followed.

Meanwhile Foulques and Toulouse approached Philippe and dismounted. He was leaning up against a tree, grimacing. There was some redness staining his tunic around where the arrow had penetrated, which was in the lower abdomen.

It likely missed his lungs and heart, Foulques realized. He is lucky - had it been a few inches higher, he may well have been done for.

“Yesterday was no mistake,” Toulouse said. “We were fools to remain.”

Philippe gritting his teeth through the pain looked up at Toulouse. “Now is not the time for that. Aid me back to the lodge. Jaspert can examine the wound.”

Toulouse looked to Foulques and nodded. Then the younger duke called for a litter to quickly be prepared, before he and Foulques steadied the king.

Foulques felt a droplet of water on his head. Then another. He looked up.

A light rain had strarted to fall as ravens began to gather.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 111
July 1101 - Near Melun, France

Foulques was awakened to the sound of commotion.

He had dozed off for a mid-day nap at the king’s hunting lodge in his cramped chambers. As his eyes opened and he slowly came to, he hoped the last day was a dream.

The king was not wounded by an arrow while hunting. The king was not possibly dying. They were just preparing for another attempt to kill that damn stag. The nobles of the council were gathering. And a hunt may well have been in the works.

But it was for no stag.

“Uncle,” Herve said as he banged on the door to his chambers. “You must come quick.”

A small groan escaped Foulques’ lips. He wished he could return to a blissful sleep. Nothing good would come from answering Herve’s call.

But he sat up and did so.

“What is it?” Foulques demanded.

“Uncle,” Herve said. “The Duke of Toulouse has arrested the Duke of Burgundy!”

Foulques shook his head in disbelief. “Arrested Hugues? How? Why?”

“He believes that Burgundy has aided in the attempt on the king’s life!” Herve exclaimed.

The duke struggled to make sense of it. Burgundy? “Does he have evidence?”

“I do not know,” Herve said. “But Burgundy’s knights are at odds with Toulouse’s. They demand the release of their lord. Orleans stands neutral. What do you wish us to do, should a fight break out?”

Foulques could barely believe his ears. Perhaps I am still asleep. Perhaps this is all some demented dream - no, nightmare. A nightmare from which I cannot escape.

“Where are they?” Foulques demanded.

“Down below, in the cellar,” Herve said. “They are using it as a small prison.”

“I will go,” Foulques said.

“What of our orders, uncle?” Herve asked. “Do we stand with Toulouse?”

Foulques wanted to say yes - he trusted Toulouse far more than he did Burgundy. But he also did not know enough about this fight to do so.

“Stay out of it,” Foulques said.

The duke moved from his chambers and down the stairway to the main hall. There the commotion was loudest, with knights from all the lords close to coming to blows. Only the men of Orleans seemed to keep the peace, acting as a buffer between the groups of men.

“DUKE FOULQUES!” one of the knights shouted as Foulques entered the hall. “Toulouse is mad! He holds our lord unjustly! Free him!”

“You cannot trust Foulques,” another shouted. “He is a murderer! And we know he plots with Toulouse. They always have!”

Then through the chaos a shining light - Ness. She did not come alone, as behind her, holding on for dear life, was Foulques’ sister-by-law Isabel.

“My lord, what is going on?!” Ness demanded. “We heard the Duke of Burgundy has been arrested by the Duke of Toulouse!”

“Arrested?!” Isabel exclaimed. “He is held unjustly! Without any order from the king!”

There was no way she could know that, Foulques reasoned. She did not see the king.

But that did not mean she was wrong.

“I am seeing what is going on here,” Foulques told them.

“Please!” Isabel begged. “You must see Hugues free. He has not done anything to warrant this treatment! Toulouse has gone mad!”

You do not know that either, Foulques thought. Then Herve came up beside him.

“Take Ness to our knights,” Foulques instructed.

“What of Isabel?” Ness asked.

“Is she your friend?” Foulques wondered.

“No… but… I do not think she should suffer for what others have done,” Ness replied.

“She can go too,” Foulques said. “It means little to me.”

Herve nodded and moved to escort the two women from the lodge. Meanwhile, Foulques slipped through the crowd and down to the cellar.

There he found Toulouse and a pair of knights, alongside Orleans a pair of his own men. Slumped against the wall, with a bloodied nose, was Burgundy. Upon seeing him, Orleans hurried up to Foulques.

“It is good you have come when you did,” Orleans said. “I fear Toulouse will kill him.”

“Kill him?” Foulques asked.

It all sounded strange. Toulouse did not seem to care all that much about the king anymore - he had even considered abandoning him. Yet he was going to beat Burgundy to death over the possibility of involvement on the attempt on the king’s life?

“Guilhem!” Foulques shouted as he came up beside him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“He’s mad!” Burgundy shouted. “He is spouting nonsense!”

Toulouse kicked Burgundy in the ribs, causing the duke to keel over in pain. “Shut your mouth, snake!”

“Enough!” Foulques exclaimed as he came between them. “This man is our peer. And one of the king’s council. You must answer for this!”

“My answer is that is a murdering snake,” Toulouse said. “And this has been a long time coming.”

“I do not know what you speak of,” Burgundy pleaded through gasps. “I am not my mother.”

“Your mother?” Foulques asked. “Can someone tell me what is going on here?”

Toulouse glared at Burgundy and spit over Foulques’ shoulder at him. Then he took a few paces away before turning back to the elder duke.

“The would-be assassin confessed,” Toulouse said. “He was sent to kill the king under orders from Sibila de Barcelona - our ‘good’ duke’s mother!”

The name sent a chill down Foulques’ spine.

Years before he had met with the woman - she was the wife of the late Duke of Champagne - Philipp’s elder brother. But that was her second husband - her first was Henri of Burgundy, who was the son of Duke Robert, first cousin to Philippe and father to Hugues.

And grandmother to Foulques’ new son-by-law, Henri, as well.

Back then, she had asked Foulques to join a plot against the king’s life. He had declined to take part… but had not said anything to the king either.

“My mother is in Troyes!” Burgundy pleaded. “Under the protection of Philipp of Champagne! As she has been since his brother died!”

“Your mother plots against the king,” Toulouse said. “Your wife is the mother to Philipp of Champagne, who holds the king’s children. And you lay with Isabel de Montfort, wife of a man who thought himself our rightful king. And to say nothing of your own support for Boudewijn! Yet you expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

“I cannot be blamed for others!” Burgundy said. “My wife has had no part in any of this. What my mother does, I cannot control!”

Toulouse tried to get at him again, but Foulques and Orleans both blocked his way. They threw a look to the pair of knights with Toulouse, but the knights knew their place and did nothing.

“Let me at him,” Toulouse said. “He has used the same excuses for years! I am tired of them!”

“For years?” Foulques asked. “The king was struck but yesterday.”

“My father!” Toulouse sneered. “Murdered on the orders of the Count of Charolais! But no count would undertake such an order without approval from his liege lord - our ‘good’ duke over there!”

And suddenly it made sense.

It had been so long - two decades since the murder of Toulouse’s father, that Foulques had all but forgotten the rumors implicating Burgundy to the plot. As he said, the late Count of Charolais had drawn the blame, but that Burgundy had put him up to it was a popular belief at the time.

And apparently, it was a theory that had long resonated with the current Duke of Toulouse.

“You see!” Toulouse shouted. “It is always someone else who is the one who ordered it. Someone who should not be capable, but is. Someone who is always one close to Burgundy!”

Burgundy just shook his head meekly. “I swear, I had nothing to do with either…”

“You cannot trust a word he says!” Toulouse shouted. “He is a snake. He speaks with a forked tongue, lies come forth while the truth remains separate. It is time for deliverance.”

“GUILHEM!” Foulques bellowed.

It was enough to give the younger duke pause. Foulques realized Toulouse may have never heard him raise his voice that loudly.

“We cannot do this,” Orleans said. “Think about it logically. If he is guilty, as you say, then he is favored by Champagne and Prince Hugues - they will not look upon you kindly if you kill him. If he is innocent, then you murder an innocent man.”

“I care not for Champagne or Hugues,” Toulouse said. “The king still lives.”

“But he may not for much longer,” Orleans said. “And… if he does - will he like you taking justice into your own hands over the matter?”

Toulouse glared at Orleans. “I have waited two decades for this chance.”

“If he is as guilty as you say,” Orleans began, “then God will punish him.”

Toulouse was beet red. His whole body trembled as he held his ground. Foulques prepared himself - this could easily devolve into a fight. A fight he wanted no part of - those knights stayed out of an argument, but an actual physical conflict was a different matter.

And there was no way Foulques would risk his life over Burgundy.

But Toulouse turned away and quickly stormed out of the cellar. The knights followed.

“Thank you, thank you,” Burgundy said as he crawled forward. “He would have killed me.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. “Don’t you forget it.”

Orleans motioned for Foulques to walk with him away from Hugues.

“I will stand guard here,” Orleans said. “In case Toulouse gets any ideas.”

“Burgundy may be as guilty as Toulouse suspects,” Foulques said. “What then?”

“It is as I said,” Orleans replied, “his fate lay in the hands of those who come next.”

“Is the king in that dire straits?” Foulques asked.

“There has been no update on his condition,” Orleans said. “It seems to me they would tell us if he improved, to alleviate fears. Instead, silence. Take that for what you will.”

Foulques could not argue with that. The business here attended to, he ascended the stairs once more. He gave a brief look for Toulouse, who was nowhere to be found. One of the knights told him he was outside, by the stables, so Foulques went out to track him down.

Toulouse stood by a horse, examining the beast. The stablehands had given him a wide berth, remaining on the opposite end of wooden structure.

Foulques immediately was hit by the pungent odor as he entered - a good reason why he rarely made it a habit to spend any length of time in a stable. He must be that distraught...

“You do not believe him, do you?” Toulouse asked as he saw Foulques. “That he is innocent of this.”

“I do not know,” Foulques said. “I have never trusted him. But that alone does not prove guilt.”

Toulouse sighed and looked back at his horse, giving it a gentle stroke. “I have played nice around him for years. But I can no longer.”

“Do you have any proof he is to blame over your father’s death?” Foulques asked.

“The circumstances are all there,” Toulouse said. “The Count of Charolais did not have the means…”

“Your father and the count did not get along,” Foulques said. “I saw with my own eyes…”

“Pretense!” Toulouse shouted as he pointed at Foulques. “He needed someone to have reason and take the fall. But it was to destroy us in Toulouse. I still remember the nights on the run… sleeping in stables like these because of assassins that sought my life.”

That Toulouse had spent much of his formative years on the run was something that was often a point discussed at the time - but now that he had grown to know the man, Foulques had all but forgotten it. However, it was clear the younger duke had not.

“He deserves death,” Toulouse said. “And it should be my hand. My hand or the hands of the princes. But they are not here. I am.”

“Orleans will not let you,” Foulques said.

“He cannot stop us, if we choose to fight, our knights outnumber his - and they are better to a man,” Toulouse said. “Will you aid me, my friend?”

“Guilhem… I cannot act independently,” Foulques said. “If the king wishes it, then it will be so. But he has not.”

“The king is going to die,” Toulouse replied. “There is about to be no law. No order.”

“Even if the king dies… and Champagne and Hugues seize control….” Foulques began.

“There will be nothing,” Toulouse said. “Philippe for all his failures, was very much a force. Hugues… it will weaken the realm. It will be every man for himself. Even more than it is now. They could not stop us if we ended Burgundy’s life here. Orleans too.”

Foulques shook his head. “Your vengeance will have to wait. But know that it will come in time.”

Toulouse sighed. “I would not expect you to speak of God, Foulques.”

“I do not,” Foulques said. “I see Burgundy as a weak man of whom the carrion birds already circle. And the one who shall likely drive the sword through him is none other than the granddaughter of the Count of Charolais. Ironic, no?”

Toulouse looked down toward the ground. He was about to respond when a man ran into the stables.

The sight of him and his hurry made Foulques feel a chill. Was this the news they were dreading?

“Duke Foulques!” the man exclaimed. “The king wishes to see you!”

And like that, a sense of relief came over him. If Philippe wished to see him, he was doing well enough to receive visitors.

“You see Toulouse,” Foulques began, “the king improves. This plot has not ended him yet.”

Toulouse looked him square. “Tell him of what we know.”

Foulques nodded and then he was off, back to the lodge. The commotion had died down somewhat as the king’s knights had now gotten involved, separating both parties and forcing the majority outside.

Another good sign, Foulques thought. If the king can give orders…

He saw the dwarf Jaspert outside the king’s quarters on the second story of the lodge. The ugly little man looked up at Foulques as he approached.

“How does he fare?” Foulques asked.

“Poorly,” Jaspert said. “The wound is serious. I have done what I can. But I fear I have merely delayed the inevitable by hours at most.”

“It was not in the most serious of places,” Foulques said.

“Not the most serious is still quite serious,” Jaspert replied. “It did much damage. He bleeds from within. We will see if I have done enough.”

“What more can be done?” Foulques asked.

“Pray, if you are one for that type of thing,” Jaspert said. “He awaits.”

Foulques felt it odd the dwarf was practically pushing him into the chamber given their prior relationship. But if this was some sort of trap, Foulques did not know what it could be. So he entered.

The chamber was smaller than he would have expected. Larger than his own tiny room, but perhaps just three times the size. He would have thought it to be bigger.

It was not very well lit, despite it being during the day. The small window provided a bit of illumination in the form of sunlight, but few candles were lit. A warm breeze seeped into the room.

And yet the king was under many blankets. His complexion was pale, his face sweaty as he slept. He had attendants by the bed, but they vacated the room as Foulques approached. When he did, the king, whose eye had been closed, suddenly opened.

“Foulques,” Philippe said, his voice hoarse. “You finally come.”

“Has it been long since you summoned me?” Foulques asked. “I was just told.”

“I do not know how long I have left,” Philippe said. “And I have a request for you. I was fearful I would not get to tell you of it.”

Foulques nodded. He supposed talk of Hugues and Sibila could wait… though he had never told the king of the plot before. Was… he at fault for this?

“My king, there is a matter quickly,” Foulques said. “The would-be assassin confessed to being in the employ of Sibila de Barcelona.”

“Jaspert has informed me,” Philippe said. “She is in the court of Champagne. There is nothing I can do.”

“Toulouse believes she worked alongside your cousin the Duke of Burgundy,” Foulques said.

“Has he evidence?” Philippe asked.

“No,” Foulques said. “He notes it was similar to how his father died.”

“That someone paid an assassin to strike?” Philippe replied. “Yes, that is usually how they work.”

“You think Burgundy innocent then?” Foulques asked.

“I do not know,” Philippe replied. “And I do not care. The assassin has done the work. I will be dead soon enough. And I wish to make my request of you.”

“You may well pull through this,” Foulques said. “You have been near death’s door before. You overcame consumption. You survived a serious wound that cost you your eye.”

“It is done, my friend,” Philippe said. “Which is why I do not wish to discuss any of this any longer. Please, hear my requests.”

Foulques wished to continue. But he did not. “What do you wish of me, my king?”

“My son,” Philippe said. “When I am dead, the war will end and my brother will be king. My sons will all be a threat to him, but especially my oldest, Alphonse. I need you to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Foulques asked. “I… may never even see him!”

“You will,” Philippe said. “They will need to parade him and his brothers out to have them make a show of submission in front of the most powerful men of the realm. Otherwise my brother invites pretenders. When they are in Melun, get them, and move them to Normandy. There they will be safe.”

“How am I to do that?” Foulques asked.

“There are escape routes in the keep in Melun,” Philippe said. “And those who know of them. Speak to Jaspert. He will assist you.”

Foulques shook his head. “I do not know if it is possible…”

“Do this, please,” Philippe begged. “I have failed my son in every way. I thought my father had failed me in giving me a weak crown and yet I will give Alphonse nothing at all. I beg you to help me at least allow him to keep his life.”

Foulques was uncertain he could do as Philippe pleased. But he nodded.

“I will do what I can,” Foulques said.

“Thank you my friend,” Philippe said. “Protect him the best you can. Marry your daughter to him. Seal the union between our families that I could not make happen while I lived.”

“Agnes is already married, my king,” Foulques said.

“You have other daughters,” Philippe said. “Your child by Alearde. What is her name?”

“Bella?” Foulques asked. “She is a bastard.”

“She is a comely girl,” Philippe said. “I saw her when I visited Anjou. And the right age for Alphonse. They could be wed within the year. Your bastard daughter the wife of the Duke of Normandy. And my son with the protection of the House of Anjou… I think it works well for both parties.”

“It does,” Foulques said as he thought on it. Alearde will be overjoyed - he would no doubt see her smile upon telling her of such a union.

“Now, enough of that,” Philippe said. “There is the other matter. Geoffrey.”

Foulques grunted. “You wish me to curtail his actions.”

Philippe’s one good eye widened. “No, my friend. I do not want that at all. I wish for you to aid him.”

“Aid him?” Foulques asked. “In Poitou?”

“In Poitou, or wherever he needs it,” Philippe said. “He is your son. Your relationship with him is poisoned. But it can be mended. And I believe it should be.”

“You do not understand,” Foulques said.

“I do not understand your obstinance,” Philippe said. “But I think it is because you have been so blessed you do not know what it means to lose. I have lost everything, but what stings the most is what I have cost my son… and what he shall think of me. I think of what I thought of my father… I know it will be much worse with him. Why would you wish that upon yourself?”

“If my son cannot see the forest for the trees, then what can I do?” Foulques asked.

“Your son and you may never see eye to eye,” Philippe said. “But the boy respects you. All he wishes is some respect of his own. Give that to him, and you will see much change.”

“I think you indulge in wishful thinking,” Foulques said.

“Perhaps,” Philippe said. “What else am I to do now but hope and pray for the best?”

“Why do you wish this of me?” Foulques demanded. “I have not meddled in your personal affairs, though you have given me much reason to over the years.”

Philippe closed his eye for a moment. Then he looked straight at Foulques. “Because you are my friend. Perhaps my only friend. And I wish you to be happy, without regrets, as I have.”

“You have had other friends, I’m sure,” Foulques said.

“No,” Philippe said. “They have all abandoned me.”

“Toulouse did not,” Foulques noted.

“He thought of it… until your daughter and nephew gave him reason to stay,” Philippe said. “No, you have been the lone man to remain by my side, through thick and thin, though you could have easily left me during thin. And I have given you cause, denying your dreams of more land. Playing the political game with you. But you remained. And that is why I trust these things to you.”

“Aiding your son,” Foulques said. “Aiding Geoffrey. You seek to make your brother’s reign as difficult as possible.”

Philippe lips formed a sly grin. “I wish for my son to be safe. I wish for you to mend your relationship with your son. If that harms my brother’s reign… he should have known what he inherits with the crown.”

Foulques chuckled at that.

“I must trouble you for another request,” Philippe said. “If it is not a bother.”

“What is that?” Foulques asked.

“My wife is on her way from Melun,” Philippe said. “Can you remain with me, until she arrives?”

“Do you have no one else you must meet?” Foulques asked.

“They are not my friends,” Philippe said.

Foulques looked down, shifting his eyes away from the king. A sad pitiable man at the end. But sincere… perhaps the most sincere he had ever heard him.

“I will remain,” Foulques said.

“Good,” Philippe said. “Because I have a question. What do you think awaits me?”

Foulques shrugged. “I do not know, my king.”

Philippe stared at him. “I have yet another request, if you can humor the fancies of a dying man.”

“What is this request?”

“That you call me by my name,” Philippe said.

“You are… still my king,” Foulques said.

“I am not,” Philippe said. “I am man dying, spending my final moments with one of the few people I could trust, even if for much of my life, I was blind to it.”

Foulques frowned but nodded. He again considered the question he had been posed. A sadness came over him as he did so.

“Philippe, I cannot say what awaits you,” Foulques replied. “I just know that whatever you face will be little compared to what I will.”

“Surely not,” Philippe said. “They call me the Son of Satan! They will likely celebrate my death as a day when tyrants fell.”

“You did not murder a man because you coveted his wife,” Foulques said. “Leaving her to curse you for damning her soul as she lay dying, a disfigured, bloated mess. You did not take land from children - leaving one to see nothing but a dungeon cell until he died a tortured soul before reaching his 20th summer. You did not consider forcing yourself on your son’s wife so that if she birthed a child it would be of your blood. And you were the victim of an ambitious brother, not the one who stole his brother’s inheritance.”

“Regrets,” Philippe said. “I did not expect to hear such things of you.”

“I do not know that I regret them,” Foulques said. “But… if what the church says is true, I shall see punishment for them in the hereafter.”

“If?”

“They say wicked men suffer for their sins in life,” Foulques said. “But I do not consider myself to have suffered much.”

“Besides your face, or lack thereof,” Philippe said.

“A face, an eye,” Foulques said. “Who is to say either is divine punishment?”

Philippe chuckled. “A fine reply.”

The king took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I do find it comforting to know I shall not be without you long, to once again take up my charge wherever we go in the hereafter. I will be surrounded by the usual serpents once more - my uncle Robert, Duke Guilhem, William of Normandy! And you know I would not count on my father for such things… nor myself. No, only the man who won me my finest moment, at Rouen, is fit for that task.”

“It would be an honor, Philippe,” Foulques replied with a slight smile.

“I would call you my brother,” Philippe said. “But neither of us have had the best of luck with brothers.”

Foulques looked down again. He could feel the bit of guilt. Was it, in some way his fault that this plot may have succeeded? Sibila had once come to him. If he had said something then….

After all this kindness and affection Philippe had shown him… did he not have a right to know the truth?

Perhaps I am more his brother than he realizes...

“Philippe… there---”

The door suddenly flew open. Standing there was the queen, her dress muddied at the bottom, her hair disheveled. As she rushed forward, Foulques could also see her eyes bloodshot and tears streaming down her cheeks.

“My husband!” she cried. “They tell me you have been wounded! Tell me it is not serious! Tell me you will not die! Our children need you! Without…”

“Our… children,” Philippe said. “I think our children will be safe. Won’t they be, Duke Foulques?”

Foulques looked at the queen, who was starting to sob. He could say nothing but: “I will see to their safety, Philippe.”

The king smiled. “Thank you Duke Foulques. You have done your duty. Your friend thanks you.”

Foulques dropped to a knee. “It has been my honor.”

Philippe extended his hand. Foulques rose to meet it.

“Until we meet again.”

….

The knocking on the door was heavy and constant.

At first Foulques thought it just part of another dream. But Ness picking her head up and moaning: “What do they wish for at this hour?” made him reconsider.

Because he knew it would be only one thing.

He pushed away Ness’ arms and moved from the bed, not even throwing on a night shirt. When he looked out the door, he saw no one, though he heard what sounded like wailing not far off.

“No matter how many times we do this dance, you never look down first,” Jaspert said.

Foulques frowned, but said nothing. He was too on edge to.

“The king is dead.” Jaspert said. “He passed a few moments ago.”

Though he expected it, it still struck him like a punch to the gut.

“What are we to do?” Foulques asked.

“Prepare ourselves for a new era,” Jaspert said.

The dwarf then slowly walked off down the hall. Foulques turned looked toward the king’s chamber, where the sounds he heard were no doubt the queen’s.

The duke returned to the dark chamber and closed the door behind. When he sat down on the bed, he practically sat on Ness, having forgotten she was there. The young woman nimbly avoided him and then pulled herself up beside him.

“The king is dead,” he said.

“Oh my…” Ness replied. “What can we do?”

He looked to her. “You can go to your lady. The queen… she sounds as if she needs you.”

Ness’ mouth hung open. She seemed surprised by that response. But moments later she closed it and nodded, quickly throwing on a dress and then shuffling out the chamber and into the hallway.

The door slammed behind her.

Foulques sat on the bed. Part of him did wonder if this was a dream. The king dead? It cannot be.

As he sat in the darkness, the muffled wails of the queen coming through the door, the realization that it was left him unable to do anything but cover the remains of his face with his hands.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 112
August 1101 - Reims, France

He was right. It is a spectacle.

Foulques sat in the cathedral in Reims, for the first time. As he reflected on the parting words of King Philippe, he could not ignore there was a greater air of anticipation… and greater fear of the unknown… than he had felt in any hall before.

It was to be expected for a coronation.

That was no minor event - one had not happened in over 40 years. Foulques was the only duke in the realm who was even alive when Philippe had been crowned as a seven-year-old in 1059, and he was not present then either.

The occasion was great enough that every duke of the realm was present. That included the warring cousins - Geoffrey and Patricia - though they sat on opposite sides of the cathedral. The lady was adorned regally, with blue dress, a jeweled necklace, and rings on her fingers. Her head covered aside from her face, her coif had a metal band running across her forehead, with a jewel in the center. It was something she could get away with no queen present.

Geoffrey was hardly much better, in Foulques’ estimation, as, in the row behind, his son sported leather armor, with an arming sword with a red gem embedded in the center of the crossguard.

Pretending to be a knight, Foulques thought. Pathetic.

Beyond them, Foulques spied the Duchess Peronelle next to her sister. Her husband, Duke Gilles was on their side of the hall, but a few rows behind them - suggesting he had not managed to worm his way into the good graces of his much more powerful wife.

But Peronelle did not seem to be particularly popular herself. While many chatted with her sister, most appeared to wish to avoid even eye contact with the Duchess of Gascony. And for her part, she did not look as if she wished to be here. But she had little choice - every duke and duchess was present.

That included even the child Duke of Flanders, Arnulf. The boy was easily lost in the crowd among the pews, not the least of which was because he was no more than six years of age, but also because his vassal lords flanked him, in a protective ring.

Sitting next to Foulques was Toulouse with his arms crossed. His gaze would drift to the other side of the cathedral, where Hugues of Burgundy sat in the front row of pews. The scowl on his face told Foulques that Toulouse had not gotten over the events of the hunting lodge.

“A disgrace,” Toulouse said. “All of this. Traitors elevated. Murderers.”

“I thought you would have a brighter view of this,” Foulques said. “Is our new king not your friend?”

“King Hugues is a good, pious man,” Toulouse said. “But he has fallen under the influence of fiends.”

“He approved the murder of his brother,” Foulques said. “I do not know how ‘good’ or ‘pious’ I would call a man who does that.”

“He did not approve of it,” Toulouse said. “He has confided in me that he did not know of the plot and found the entire affair disgraceful.”

“And yet Sibila de Barcelona is not being punished,” Foulques said. “He will let the woman who murdered his brother escape justice.”

“Protected by Champagne,” Toulouse said. “He has made his bed with the likes of him and Burgundy. Their deceitful methods gained Hugues the throne. And he can do little to resist them now.”

“And you do not have issue with that?” Foulques asked.

Toulouse sighed. “If I were presented with a chance to be king… or if you were… what would you compromise to get it? I do not know the answer.”

“If it is worth that much compromise, it is not worth having,” Foulques said. “A lesson I have tried to impart in my son, for what it’s worth.”

“Given what he has done, and is rumored to,” Toulouse replied, “it may not have taken.”

Foulques frowned. But his glare was not for Toulouse, but for Geoffrey.

Yet in his mind, the words of Philippe were spoken again - to make peace with his son. Foulques shook his head at the memory, convinced once more that the late king simply did not understand his son.

“What will you do about Burgundy?” Foulques asked.

“I have no reason to war against him,” Toulouse admitted. “Rumor is not enough, not as his former pet sits as the power behind the throne.”

“Can they stop you?” Foulques asked.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Toulouse said. “But after the king’s death I returned home and prayed on the matter. And my prayers told me that I must not make war with my fellow dukes and Christians. Instead, I will turn my attention south.”

“South?”

“Yes,” Toulouse replied. “To the Emirate of Barcelona. I begin preparations for holy war on the heathens.”

“So, you have not been named to the king’s council?” Foulques asked.

“I have been told I will remain his advisor,” Toulouse said. “And I have advised him I am going south. As I have said, it is a better use of my energies to fight heathens, then fellow Christians.”

Foulques did not reply - not because he agreed with Toulouse but because of something else the duke had said - the assurance that he would remain advisor. Foulques had heard nothing about his own seat on the council.

He cannot possibly not keep me as marshal, Foulques thought. I hold the largest levy in the realm! I have guided the king’s armies to victories. He has Normandy thanks to me...

But those were Philippe’s victories. Not Hugues’. And while they had known each other while serving on the late king’s council, if Toulouse’s words meant anything, what Hugues thought may not matter.

And Foulques did not know where he stood with Philipp of Champagne, who was on their side of the cathedral, seated in the front, next to his wife and children along with the new king’s teenaged son, Henri, and two daughters, Alix and Anne, from his first marriage to Euphrosine de Bachaumont.

The two had yet to speak since the end of the war. The younger duke always seemed friendly and open to reconciliation, but that was before he had managed to win the war for the king - before he tasted true power.

And he held the power at the moment. The new king had gained a crown and a keep in Melun, but nothing else. Normandy refused to bow to him as their lord, acknowledging him as the king but Alphonse as the duke.

With his holdings now isolated to only the Ile de France, Hugues simply could not hope to keep this crown without bowing to the wishes of others.

A king in name…

Foulques thoughts were interrupted as the procession began. The new king walked out in long, heavy robes, which had on them stitched the fleur de lis of the Capetian house. He was flanked by men of the clergy, who spoke in low voices, humming in Latin. At their head was Cardinal Humphrey of Maine, the realm’s lone representative among the college of cardinals.

On the dais, stood the Prince-Bishop Etienne of Reims, a cousin of Philipp of Champagne. Upon reaching him, the clergy flanking the king walked to the side and Hugues ascended the dais, dropping to his knees before the prince-bishop. Those seated in the pews went to their knees as well.

The Prince-Bishop spoke in Latin and then took a vial filled with oil, and anointed the new king with it.

“Pathetic.”

Foulques recognized the voice as Geoffrey’s. He glanced back. Sure enough his son was looking toward him.

“What is pathetic?”

“He uses the Holy Ampulla,” Geoffrey said. “And then anoints Hugues. It is meant to invoke our great ancestor Clovis, but it just shows how desperate the new ‘king’ is to show legitimacy.”

Foulques chuckled. He did not know that. It appeared his son’s time with the monks proved useful for amusing, if not trivial, facts after all.

Though if such things annoyed Geoffrey, Foulques could only imagine the thoughts of the princes. The 15-year-old king-for-a-day Alphonse and his younger siblings were seated in the pew before Foulques, Toulouse and their wives. The princes and princess were flanked on one side by their mother, the former queen, and Mayor Odo on the other.

He was so close to them, he could touch them. Yet he could not do his service to the king now - he did not have his knights by his side, and they would be marshalled away quickly once this was done - at least until Hugues tooks oaths of vassalage.

Foulques grunted. So close, yet so far.

At least Mayor Odo was with them. The king’s loyal commander, Foulques had developed an appreciation for his talents. A man of Normandy, he would not let anything happen to the prince without a fight.

Of course, he was also a man of sixty years and possibly easily overpowered.

Foulques’ attention turned back to the ceremony where, after being anointed, Hugues, his hands locked in prayer, had the crown placed upon his head as had Pepin, Charlemagne and others. Then he received a signet ring, which was placed on one of his fingers, a sword which was taken with one hand and a sceptre, which was taken with the other. Then Hugues turned, ring, sword, sceptre but most importantly crown all now equipped, and was presented as the King of the Franks.

And he was met with cheers.

….

The royals' appearance two days later in Melun was an early one. Alphonse, his siblings and their mother were the first to bend a knee as Hugues sat in what once was his brother’s throne, raised on the dais. There was no chair beside him, as the king had yet to take a new wife following his ascendancy to the throne.

The heavy robes gone, Foulques could see the man more clearly now. Reddish hair, long beard and a face more like his mother’s, Anna of Kiev, than of his brother’s, who Foulques guessed was reflective of King Henri.

Hugues, unlike his brother, was rotound, with a fairly large belly apparent through his robes - despite spending much of his life as a bishop, it appeared he did not live a temperate life.

There was also talk of disease - the Great Pox - possibly gotten from his late wife, who had died of the illness. But that was rumor. Foulques did not learn much of the man when he was Philippe’s court chaplain, and did not think enough of him to learn about him in the interim, since he did not expect they would be defeated in the war.

Philippe’s children were all present before the king, surrounded in the hall by dukes, counts, courtiers and just general onlookers who had managed to worm their way into the proceedings. They were joined by their mother, who kept her eyes on Hugues, even as she bowed her head.

But it was Alphonse who was forced to do more, swearing oaths to the king directly as he was invested as the Duke of Normandy. That included an embrace with his uncle, during which the prince could barely contain his disgust.

If this is the worst moment of your life, boy, Foulques thought, you should be grateful.

Then Foulques was caught by surprise - the king looked to Alphonse and began to speak.

“My nephew,” Hugues said. “I am truly sorry - sorry that this conflict has happened between our family. Sorry at my brother’s death. I brings me no joy to sit on what was his throne, and speak of him with him no longer with us.

“But I am a man of God as well as a man of the lay folk. And after evidence was brought to me that my father feared a demon, impersonating him, laid with my mother to create my brother, I could scarcely believe it. But as time passed, I could see no other explanations for his actions and the reputation he gained and I realized my father’s fears were realized, and my brother was not the rightful king of the realm.

“My poor brother could not resist that side of him - taking a heathen girl and making her Queen of the Franks, with only God intervening to prevent any offspring from that evil union. He dismissed the good will and fine counsel of his nobles, and instead listened to charlatans, heretics and evil men - like the late Duke of Aquitaine - a man despised everywhere he went but considered fit enough to be part of my brother’s council!

“I am different. I do not forget my nobility - men like you. And I will not betray my oaths to God - it is only with regret that I have left the clergy to lead the realm now. I will be all my brother was not - I will be the king we Franks deserve!”

It was a speech good enough to draw plenty of cheer in the hall, though not everyone did. Specifically, the princes and princess just glared at their uncle. But they were not alone in their disdain.

“Is he… serious?” Geoffrey asked his father. “He expects us to believe that hogwash?”

“Some already do,” Geoffrey’s chancellor, Alias of Perigord, interjected. “There is a reason they called him the ‘Son of Satan.’”

“King Henri was impersonated by a demon, who seeded the late Queen Anna with Philipp?” Geoffrey scoffed. “Anyone who believes that deserves this fool.”

“And to think,” Foulques replied, “once you said superstitious people like that were worth listening to.”

Geoffrey blushed. “Different circumstances, father. I do not begrudge the people fearing the cause of plague. I do begrudge those who think a demon sired our late king, even if I was not fond of the man. He was a tyrant - not the spawn of Satan.”

“He needs an excuse,” Foulques reminded Geoffrey. “To explain why he is a legitimate king, while Philippe and his sons are not. That Philippe was not actually his father’s son is not new.”

“I know his intent. But say that his mother secretly laid with a knight, or stablehand,” Geoffrey said. “This is idiocy.”

Alias shrugged. “He keeps his mother’s integrity by saying she was deceived by an evil force, rather than a lady who spreads her legs as the sun sets. Both lies, but one is kinder to her reputation.”

“Listen to your chancellor,” Foulques instructed. “He sees this more clearly than you.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes and shook his head.

While they were discussing the matter, the princes had cleared the way and actually had been removed from the hall entirely. Foulques frowned - he hoped he would get another chance near them. His plan to free them from here still was no closer to fruition.

Meanwhile, the procession of nobles to make their oaths to the new king had begun. Duchess Patricia was the first, with her asking the king to look into the matters in Poitou, speaking to his sense of justice. She closed by saying he should not let wicked and deceitful men take control of the realm, as his brother had.

That prompted Geoffrey forward, as he followed her to do his oaths, though he and Patricia traded a set of nasty glares as they moved past each other. The Duke of Aquitaine congratulated the king on winning his title, and voiced his understanding of the difficulties of his position - but added that fine leadership will win him supporters quickly, as it had for Geoffrey in Aquitaine.

Crafty schemer, Foulques thought of his son.

Then Duke Arnulf came forward, but his oaths were mere recitals with little feedback. Not much could be expected of a boy of six, besides repeated complimentary lines no doubt fed to him by his handlers.

The Duchess Peronelle marched forth after the boy, and after taking her oaths, thanked the king for mentioning her wicked brother. She also added she prayed that the realm would see a virtuous man at its head for Philippe had allowed many of the “un-deserving” to serve close to him.

It was an insult Foulques assumed was directed at her husband, Gilles, who followed her, but he could not be entirely certain it was not meant for him.

Gilles’ oaths were marked with him announcing his belief that it was good the wicked king had been deposed. That, however, prompted Hugues to appear to grow angry, and warn him that he knew of his reputation. And so Gilles descended from the dais, scowling.

Orleans came next, with the duke congratulating the king on his ascension, declaring his belief that his church background would aid him in the trying times that all kings must face. He professed his loyalty, despite his position on Philippe’s council, which Hugues accepted with a smile.

Burgundy came forward after, with the awkward situation of the king appearing to be taken aback that when the duke raised his hands, signifying his offer of homage, he only had one hand to offer. Burgundy, his head down, did not seem to notice. They exchanged pleasantries with the duke hoping for some measure of peace and stability now, and Hugues responding that he would strive to it to the best of his ability.

Next came Foulques, who marched forward with his customary heavy walk, though he did not have his sword at his side. His mask today was a full metal covering that spanned his entire face, save his eyes and mouth, latched at the back of his head.

Upon reaching the dais, Foulques dropped to his knees and held out his hands. Hugues approached and clasped them.

“Allow me to submit to you, my king, as I did your brother before you,” Foulques said. “I promise on my life that I shall be faithful to you my king, never cause you harm and will honor my homage to you against all others, without deceit.”

And with that Hugues pulled him up. “Duke Foulques, I accept your offer of homage. And I shall return in kind, as I recognize you as the rightful holder of the duchy of Anjou, which includes Tours, Anjou, Vendome, Nantes and Vannes. You shall remain under the protection of the realm, so long as you contribute some of your levy to her defense.”

“I shall, my king,” Foulques replied and the two embraced.

“I hope you shall find me worthy of the same loyalty you showed my brother, Duke Foulques,” Hugues told him. “He always spoke well of you after our council meetings.”

Foulques felt a small twinge of sadness at hearing those words. “I considered him… a worthy king.”

“You know I do not hate him,” Hugues said. “I pity him in a way. I know he believed he acted in the best interests of the realm. But he was misguided. And the realm was hurt instead.”

Foulques simply looked at Hugues without responding. The king sighed before leaning in close and lowering his voice.

“There would have been endless war with vassals,” Hugues said. “The German Emperors have suffered through similar struggles, but when they recover…”

“You need not convince me, my king,” Foulques said.

“I am not foolish enough to think a man as loyal as you would be turned so easily,” Hugues said. “So I think it is necessary. But… we will have more discussions at a later time. In the meantime, I am grateful for your homage, Duke Foulques. And I wish you the best of successes in your endeavors.”

And with that, the conversation was done. Foulques wandered back into the crowd. Geoffrey raised his brow, as if to concur with the lack of favorable impression made by Hugues, but the elder duke waved off his son.

Next to pay homage was the Duke of Toulouse. Since the pair were friends, it was not surprising the king smiled as the duke approached. Nor was it a shock that the embrace the two shared was tighter than the ones the king had with the other vassals. Toulouse’s congratulations was heartfelt, but he also whispered some things that appeared to make the king wide eyed. He glanced toward Champagne afterward, but did not reply loud enough for anyone to hear.

After Toulouse returned to the crowd, the last major lord to pay homage, the Duke of Champagne stepped forward. Hugues also smiled upon his arrival - not surprising given Champagne had won him his crown. There was a slight change to the vows as the duke had technically already pledged himself to Hugues at the start of the rebellion, so it was renewal of vows, rather than a fresh oath. But Hugues accepted it all the same.

A few other vassals remained - these were the counts, barons and mayors who swore direct homage to him. This was actually few in number with the Countess Almodis, still warring against Burgundy, the most prominent. A few other rebel lords also swore their oaths to the king - Uc of Lusignan, rebelling for Marguerite against Patricia, Thomas of Limousin, also rebelling for Marguerite but against Peronelle, and Waelram of Yperen who fought against the child duke Arnulf. Another was Count Leonard of Maine, the holding Foulques still desired, along with the child count of Menorca and Count Manasses of Mallorca, from the territories Philippe had won in his first war.

“I thank all the vassals of the realm once more for their service,” Hugues said. “And I promise do right by you as your liege lord. However, for a small group of you, your king must ask for more. I have need of your thoughts - I have need of your counsel - literally. And, so I will announce now, the initial members of my council.

“First, my steward shall remain the Duke of Orleans, who has aided the realm’s coffers after my brother left them bare,” Hugues said.

Orleans stepped forward. He bowed before the king. “I will continue in this duty as you wish my lord.”

Hugues nodded and motioned for Orleans to take a place on the dais.

“Beyond that, the Duke of Toulouse is a man who I always have heeded the council of, so I think him a fine option to continue in the role of advisor to the king.”

Toulouse walked out and bowed. “I would be honored to do so, my friend.”

Then he took his place on the dais on the opposite side to Orleans.

“I do, however, think some changes are needed,” Hugues said. “The role of spymaster must be held by a trusted man of the realm. And by brother did not always choose the most… reputable… of persons for the role. As such, I promote the Count of Maine.”

Leonard, the bearded count walked forward. Foulques glared at him - a vassal that rightly should be his…

“It is an honor to serve you among such distinguished men my liege,” Leonard said. “I shall work day and night to keep you safe.”

The count ascended to join the others, moving to stand by Orleans, though the duke appeared to inch away from him as he approached.

Hugues announced his Court Chaplain, a man Foulques did not know named Godefrey, no relation to his chancellor. And then the king got to the position Foulques wished to hear about.

“The position of marshal is an important one in the realm,” Hugues said “As recent years have shown, a true leader of armies can shore up even the poorest of kings. And I can think of no better man than the one who is the reason I am here - Philipp, Duke of Champagne!”

At first, Foulques thought he had heard wrong. But Philipp moved forward toward the dais, wide smile on his face, after trading a glance with the elder duke.

“It is a tremendous honor, my king,” Champagne said. “I do not know that I am worthy of such a role.”

“You commanded the armies against my brother, and I am here,” Hugues said. “Does that not prove your worth?”

“He won it by murder!” Foulques said to Geoffrey. “Every time I have faced Champagne, I have bested him with ease. He is so pathetic a leader, he was bested by your sister! I would sooner put her in command of the king’s armies!”

Geoffrey let loose a small laugh, though seemed to shrink in his leather armor as his father talked. Foulques eyed him.

“You disagree?”

“I do not,” Geoffrey replied. “You are the most accomplished commander in the realm for certain father.”

“You do not look convinced,” Foulques said.

“I am… but it is just…”

“While the marshal wins the war, a chancellor wins the peace,” Hugues said with Champagne standing closest to him. “A man who can win hearts and loyalty through words, and properly convey the message of the crown. And from what I have heard there may not be a better man in the realm at inspiring love in from his vassals. Will Geoffrey, Duke of Aquitaine, step forward?”

And then it all became clear why his son had seemed so apprehensive.

Geoffrey lowered his head for a moment, then quickly moved toward the dais, before bowing before the king.

“I am humbled and honored to serve in that role my lord,” Geoffrey said. “Long have I desired a chance to serve the realm as… my father long has. I will see to your success my liege, so that they can understand the love that so many already have of you.”

Foulques had enough. Before Geoffrey could ascend to join the other council members on the dais, his father had left the main hall, storming off toward his chambers.

….

Foulques sipped on wine a few hours later. He was not clothed as he stood and drank, the reason for that was obvious in the bed as Ness sipped on some wine of her own.

“I hope I soothed you, husband,” Ness cooed. “You were quite tense.”

He flashed her a gaze. “Mind your words, woman. Especially since you will have to be careful with them in Anjou, now that we will be returning there.”

Ness frowned. “I do not need to see why I need to hide. I have borne you a son. God willing, I will again some time soon. You care for me more than your wi---”

“I told you to mind your words,” Foulques said. “You will do as you are told. Or you will find your home in Melun is not the only thing you lose.”

Ness grew wide-eyed for a moment before her familiar scowl formed on her face. She gathered her clothes quickly, tossed them on and made her way to the chamber door.

“Ah… you must be… the Lady Ness,” Foulques heard Champagne say in the hall.

“Duke Philipp of Champagne,” Ness replied. “Congratulations on your recent… promotion to marshal. You certainly deserve it.”

Childish bitch, Foulques thought.

He scrambled to toss on at least a nightshirt. By the time he got it over his head and on, the jowly face of Champagne was looking at him.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Champagne asked.

“I see your ill-gotten promotion has done nothing to improve your humor,” Foulques said as he took another sip of wine.

“I am glad you are not bitter over it, old friend,” Champagne said as he helped himself to some wine.

“What do you want?” Foulques demanded. “Here to gloat over your appointment?”

“Trust me when I say it brings me no joy to see you not on the king’s council,” Champagne said. “It is your proper place given your stature and contributions to the realm. But… we must show there is some cost to have been on the wrong side of the war.”

Foulques shook his head and walked toward the small window in his chambers. “Orleans and Toulouse, you may remember, were members of the king’s council during that same war. Yet they are on the council and I am not.”

“Orleans,” Champagne began, “is an annoyance, I agree. We must discuss him later.”

“And Toulouse?”

“The king’s friend,” Champagne explained. “I wished for him to remain off the council as well, but the king insisted. I do not control Hugues’ every action and he will not do well in this role if he has no one he can trust. So Toulouse remains on the council.”

“And yet, you say I am your friend,” Foulques replied.

“You are,” Champagne said. “But someone must think of the politics of it all.”

“Is that not for the chancellor?” Foulques asked. “You have military matters to attend to.”

“I attend to all matters,” Champagne said. “As I did during the war.”

“And what did the chancellor say?” Foulques asked.

“He did not voice any objections,” Champagne replied.

Foulques eyed Champagne through his mask. That surprised him, only because he assumed Geoffrey would be eager to have extra support on the council. Then again, perhaps Poitou had made him doubt how much his father would back him.

“It is not forever,” Champagne said. “Once loyalties have been earned, I am certain a spot for you on the council will return.”

“Loyalty?” Foulques demanded. “And how am I to do that? Murder the princes?”

Champagne cocked a brow. “Quite the suggestion. But no, that would displease our king, believe it or not.”

“So he says,” Foulques said.

“So he means,” Champagne said. “He found his brother’s death utterly distasteful. He was a man of God - and wishes no harm on his nephews or nieces.”

“I know some men of God, and I assure you, they would harm many, including their nephews and nieces,” Foulques replied. “And for much less than the crown.”

“Our king is not them,” Champagne said. “He is a good man. You will see that in time.”

Foulques said nothing, instead choosing to finish off his cup of wine and pour another. Once he had it in hand, he looked at Champagne. “Is that all?”

“No,” Champagne said. “As I said, Orleans is a man I find to be a distasteful snake.”

“You would know,” Foulques replied.

Champagne smirked. “As I said, I do not trust the man.”

“So why is he on the council?” Foulques asked.

“He made a favorable impression on the king,” Champagne replied. “And he is small enough a duke where I did not find him worth the fight.”

“And yet…”

“Consider yourself important enough to not simply pass through,” Champagne said. “But I do not want Orleans to pass through forever. I want him removed.”

“You mean to kill him,” Foulques said.

“Why does your mind always turn to murder?” Champagne asked. “No, I simply want to gain claim to the Duchy of Orleans. Then I can take it, and he will be reduced to nothing. And your assistance would be valuable, my friend.”

“I should help you, why?” Foulques asked. “You do not seem intent on helping me.”

“I shall help you,” Champagne said. “In time. Once your loyalty has been proven to all. And this would go a long way toward showing it.”

Foulques chuckled. He doubted that. Champagne would likely string him along, hoping he was desperate to regain his place.

But Foulques would not dance. If they did not want his assistance, then his support would be what was required and little more. In the end, he felt it likely they would return to him.

However, Orleans was a nuisance.

“You shall have my assistance on this matter,” Foulques told him.

“Wonderful,” Champagne said. “I knew you could be counted on.”

The younger duke offered his hand. Foulques hesitated, but eventually took it.

“I would say enjoy this time, my friend,” Champagne told him. “For the first time in over a decade, you have not to worry about the burden of shouldering the realm for a wicked and foolish king. Rest up, for she will almost certainly call upon you again.”

Foulques took a drink from his cup. “I shall.”

With that Champagne left the chambers, leaving Foulques alone. He drummed his fingers on the table thinking of what best to do next. Out of power in Melun, but likely not forever.

But only if I dance to their tune.

Foulques frowned before taking a long drink from his cup, finishing off he contents and then slamming the cup down.

Or force them to change theirs.

Foulques moved to the door. There he poked his head out and called for an attendant.

“Tell my son I wish to meet with him, now,” Foulques instructed.

…..

By the time Geoffrey arrived in his chambers, Foulques had changed into more presentable attire, wearing a long robe that was belted. Meanwhile his son was back in his leather armor, ludicrous, in Foulques mind, given the situation.

“You wished to see me father?” Geoffrey asked.

“I did,” Foulques said. “I am curious why you did not feel compelled to warn me over the events today.”

“I did not know,” Geoffrey said.

“You did not know you were set to become the king’s chancellor?” Foulques asked. “I do not believe that.”

“I knew of that, yes,” Geoffrey said. “But I assumed you would remain the marshal. I could think of no one better and, given the king’s weakness, no one more needed.”

Foulques looked his son over. Geoffrey had a bit of a silver tongue, but did seem to be telling the truth. And Foulques had his suspicions over the nature of these appointments.

The late king Philippe’s wish remained in mind. And if he could see the danger a stronger union between father and son would bring for those in power, Champagne at the least could see it as well. So why not aim to drive a further wedge between the two?

“Champagne says you said nothing in my defense,” Foulques said.

“The matter was decided after the king announced them earlier,” Geoffrey said. “There was nothing to say. I would have preferred you on the council. It would have strengthened both of our voices.”

Foulques believed that - if for no other reason than Geoffrey always seemed to prefer having Foulques stand behind him.

“They must mean to create discord between us,” Geoffrey said. “To make us true enemies. We cannot let them get away with it.”

That drew a shake of the head from Foulques. “I had no idea. Incredible what your brilliant mind deduces. And I suppose you wish for me to show my disdain by aiding you in taking Poitou, thus giving us near total control from the Loire to the Garone?”

Geoffrey stood silent and wide-eyed. He gulped.

“You are not as clever as you think,” Foulques told him. “The sooner you realize it the better man you’ll be.”

“I speak the truth,” Geoffrey replied. “Even if you do not wish to hear it.”

“I have already heard it,” Foulques said. “Well before you walked in here. Well before you opened your mouth. Which is why I will raise my levy and dispatch them to the south.”

“You… you mean you shall join me in Poitou?” Geoffrey asked.

“My forces shall,” Foulques said. “But I expect nothing less than total victory boy. Crush your cousin quickly, and with it the rebels that fight in your wife’s name. If you wish this to be a show of our strength, then I insist that it a forceful one.”

Geoffrey remained wide-eyed. He managed a nod. “Of course, father… it shall be done.”

The younger man turned to leave, getting as far as the door. Foulques let loose a sigh and called for him to return.

“I have need of something from you as well,” Foulques told him.

“Of me?” Geoffrey replied. “That is unlike you.”

“A man I trust recently told me to look to the value in your skills,” Foulques said. “You are a schemer, more than a knight. But perhaps it is time to put that to use.”

Geoffrey cocked a brow. “What do you play at father?”

“I may not be on the council, but you are,” Foulques said. “I expect my interests to be reflected in your actions.”

“You wish for me to be your puppet,” Geoffrey said.

“I wish for the influence upon you that is reflective of the strength of my levies, which you happily use,” Foulques said. “If you think that makes you a puppet, then you can refuse my levy.”

Geoffrey fell silent.

“I would like a response,” Foulques said.

“I will do what I can,” Geoffrey said. “If I am too obvious, or you too forceful, it will imperil our situation.”

“And now you finally begin to understand what I have dealt with all these years,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey frowned. But again did not reply.

“I am glad we have reached an agreement, son,” Foulques said. “I wish you the best of luck in your new position.”

Geoffrey continued his silence as he turned and left the chamber. As the door closed, Foulques poured himself another cup of wine. Sipping on the sweet contents, he smiled.

Then there was a knock at the door. Had Geoffrey something else to say? Foulques walked over and peeked out. There his guards stood, blocking a man.

“He wishes to see you, my lord,” one of the guards said.

“Who is he?” Foulques asked.

“He does not say,” the guards said. “Nor who he represents.”

Foulques eyes the man. Suspicious. An assassin? No, an assassin would not be so obvious. More than likely, a man who did not wish his presence to be known - but was that his desire or the one who sent him?

“What do you want?” Foulques demanded.

The man bowed. “Duke Foulques, I bring an urgent message. But it is for your ears only.”

Foulques looked him over. Then he motioned for his guards to frisk the man. After they found no weapon, Foulques allowed him to enter his chamber, though he was ordered to stay by the closed door.

“What is it?” Foulques asked.

“It involves the princes,” the man said. “They are to be killed.”

“What? How do you know this?” Foulques demanded.

“The one who I serve has learned of this,” the man said. “They will die in two days time.”

“How?”

“My master did not say,” the man said. “But they wish for you to meet with them, at the inn in the north of town. There my master will explain the plot, and how you may save the royals.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze.

“Who is your master?” Foulques asked.

The man smiled. “I cannot say their name, Duke Foulques. Just know that it is… one you have frequently overlooked.”

“Frequently overlooked?”

The man nodded. “The inn in the north of town. Just after supper is served. My master will be expecting you.”

“And if I do not show?” Foulques asked.

“Then the princes shall die,” the man replied.

He said nothing else, slipping out the door. One guard grabbed him and the other checked in on Foulques. The duke debated holding him and extracting more information, but decided against it. He didn’t think the man knew anything but the identity of his master, and even that may have been a stretch - it was quite possible this message had been passed a few times.

The man was let go and Foulques closed the door to his chambers once more to think it over.

The princes’ lives in danger. Despite protests the king was not interested, it did not shock him. That they would be killed so quickly… was perhaps a little surprising. But if the king truly was against it, then it made sense to deal with them before he could stop the killings - Hugues was a man with a crown and little else at the moment.

Given his promise to Philippe… Foulques did not know he could simply disregard this warning.

His mind drifted to the identity of the person with this information. The man did not even reveal the sex of the mystery person. They obviously wanted to remain as in the shadows as possible.

“One I have frequently overlooked,” Foulques said aloud.

That could be many - Foulques knew he had overlooked many in the realm. Heck, it could even have been Geoffrey, though his son being that secretive with him seemed unusual.

A smirk came to Foulques face. His curiosity piqued, he considered the matter settled.

He would go.
....

Note: Most of the screenshots were taken on my save right after Philippe died - July 15, 1101. Had I been smarter, I'd have made another save the day Hugues became king, for better and fewer immersion breaking screen shots. But c'est la vie. I suppose consider this a brief snapshot of the day Alphonse was king.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 113
August 1101 - Melun, France

The late afternoon sun had begun to sink in the sky and yet Foulques was out and about in the town around the keep in Melun. As usual, he had Herve and a few knights by his side. The castle town was livier than usual, what with all the guests from around the realm from entourages of the various nobles who had visited in recent days.

It would be settling down to its usual levels of hustle and bustle soon, as those visitors returned to their respective lands. But Foulques knew, for the first time in years, he would not see it, as he too left with those lords, returning to Anjou with the knowledge it might be a long time until he returned.

If ever.

He pushed such morbid thoughts from his mind as he reached his destination today - the local inn. Foulques had received a cryptic message from someone “he’d often overlooked” to meet him there regarding a threat to the princes’ life - something that would take place tomorrow.

Upon arriving, it was fairly crowded, as expected. That would make his task harder, yet it only crystallized in Foulques’ mind who he was here to see. He looked in the corners, and found the ugly, somewhat misshapen form in one of them, sitting over a bowl of stew. Foulques motioned for Herve to stand by the door, and then approached.

“Often overlooked,” Foulques said. “Clever.”

Jaspert picked up his head from his bowl revealing his graying goatee and wrinkling face. “I thought you would enjoy that.”

“I have not been the only one to not look upon you, as of late,” Foulques said. “No one has seen you in Melun in weeks.”

“It is not safe for one such as myself,” Jaspert said. “I am a dwarf.”

“And a heretic,” Foulques added.

“And the king was a bishop, whom they are already calling “the Holy,” Jaspert said. “I am certain I would have been tortuously executed by this point, probably for summoning demons for the king.”

Foulques chuckled. “Did you hear of our new king’s speech?”

“I still have people within,” Jaspert said. “And that is why I meet with you today.”

“My time in Melun is at an end,” Foulques said. “I can do very little for the princes here.”

“I am aware,” Jaspert said. “And your exile from the council is precisely why I think you the man for this job. And… given that our poor king thought you the proper choice before his death.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “What will befall Prince Alphonse?”

Jaspert slurped some broth. “He will die tomorrow.”

The duke kept his gaze fixed on Jaspert. “How do you know?”

“As I said, I still have ears,” Jaspert said.

“My ears tell me the king does not wish him killed,” Foulques said.

“Your ears may not be wrong," Jaspert admitted. "But the new king's wishes do not outweigh those of Champagne, who fears reprisals in time should Alphonse gain power and stature in the realm."

“What will happen?” Foulques asked.

“He, his siblings and his mother will travel to Rouen tomorrow,” Jaspert explained. “They will be ambushed by highwaymen and killed.”

“He will travel with a guard,” Foulques said. “Mayor Odo will not take weak knights. You would need an army of highwaymen to assure the success.”

“Or a commander who was complicit in the plan,” Jaspert replied.

“Mayor Odo would not betray the prince,” Foulques said.

“Why not? He has already betrayed his father,” Jaspert said.

“What madness do you speak of?” Foulques asked.

“There were many conspirators beyond Sibila de Barcelona,” Jaspert said. “I cannot find them all, but I have found Odo was involved. It is how the assassins were allowed to repeatedly get so close to the king. He was loose with his knights protecting the king… and thus assassins were allowed onto the hunting grounds.”

Foulques shook his head. “We have heard nothing of this. And then you appear, after a suspicious disappearance and point the finger at the king’s loyal commander? Why should I trust you?”

“You do not have to trust me at all,” Jaspert said. “You can return to Anjou, and when the prince dies, you can move on with your life. I do what I can for the boy, but I am not the man with the knights on hand.”

Foulques was silent. Jaspert slurped up the last contents of his stew.

“If you do not wish to hear more, then I shall depart,” Jaspert said. “As I have said, this place is unsafe.”

“No,” Foulques said. “Where will this happen?”

“Nearby the northern-most crossing of the Seine, along the king’s road,” Jaspert began, “highwaymen will gather. They will alert the Mayor Odo with a signal. He, and the knights he trusts, will halt the party, and travel into to look for the source. In truth, they will find the highwaymen, alert them to the prince, and then have them swoop down, slaughtering the prince and the remaining knights - the knights whose loyalties he does not believe he has. Then Odo will send word back to Melun that the family was killed in a botched robbery.”

“Hugues will have his head for it,” Foulques said. “If he learns the truth.”

“If he learns the truth,” Jaspert said. “Why he may not. But even if he suspects… what shall he do? Normandy may well be his - only Philippe’s daughter in the Danish court could mount a claim. He will be blamed - and more reliant on Champagne than before to preserve himself against those charges.”

It drew a shake of the head from Foulques. It was so devious and yet so brilliant - only the dwarf or Champagne could have dreamed up such an intricate and ingenious plot. But there was no reason for Jaspert to tell Foulques of this if it were his plan.

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

“Ride on ahead,” Jaspert said. “You and a small army of knights can easily get ahead of a group travelling with the princes, the princess and the former queen. Ambush the highwaymen, and then meet with Odo yourself. I would leave him alive and have him accompany you to Rouen, revealing his plot to the prince. If you kill him, it may seem suspicious either of you or the prince.”

“It seems you have this all planned out,” Foulques noted.

“I wish to leave nothing to chance,” Jaspert said. “The king gave me much, and I wish to repay him. Your skills leading knights is second to none, but there is more to this than that. I pray you understand that.”

“Pray to your false God,” Foulques said.

“The same God,” Jaspert corrected. “We merely believe different interpretations of His word.”

Foulques stroked his beard slowly. He did not wish to believe the dwarf - he felt a closer kinship to Mayor Odo than he did this misshapen monster. But he could not help but be convinced - some version of this was to occur. He gambled the prince’s life if he doubted Jaspert was not being forthright with him.

“Will you be accompanying me?” Foulques asked. “Since you are so particular about the details.”

“Details, yes,” Jaspert said. “But leading knights is your domain. Mine is in the shadows. It’s where I prefer to remain… so I can also remain effective.”

“Convenient,” Foulques said.

“No less true,” Jaspert said.

He jumped off the bench and began to walk off. He did stop for a moment and turn back to the duke.

“I have told you what I know,” Jaspert said. “The prince and his family… and the king’s last hopes and dreams… are in your hands.”

The dwarf then disappeared in the crowd of people, moving to slip through them without drawing notice, with the empty bowl the only hint he had ever been there.

Foulques sat alone. Even if Jaspert was right, there was a risk. He could lose knights to battle. He could fail and be blamed for the plot by an Odo hoping to deflect from his own involvement. And there were still other ways he could suffer beyond what he could currently imagine.

And yet, he remembered his words. And the face of the dying king. A man haunted by failure. If Foulques did nothing that failure would be complete.

“Do you have need of anything?” a female voice asked.

Foulques turned to see a somewhat attractive serving wench before him. He ran his thumb back and forth over the underside his fingers as he continued to think.

“No, I believe I have what I need,” he replied.

And with that, Foulques stood up, motioned to Herve and his knights and left the busy inn behind.
…

The next day Foulques sat atop his horse in silence. He was surrounded by trees, with Herve and a group of 10 knights at the ready by his side. In the distance, he could spy the bridge they had crossed and the king's road.

The sunlight filtered through the forest canopy. Birds sang their sweet songs. The weather was warm, but not overly hot. It would be soothing if he were not waiting with baited breath to see if Jaspert’s warning would prove accurate.

Finding highwaymen in the area would not be easy. They did their best to remain hidden in hopes of springing an ambush. And while Jaspert had given a general area of where the attack was supposed to take place, that still covered a fairly large area to search quickly and safely.

They were in a bit of a race against time now. One of Foulques scouts informed him that Odo, Alphonse and the others had left Paris and were on their way north. It would not be long before they arrived.

Then a rider approached with great haste. He likely brought news they had found their targets, or the prince’s entourage approached.

“We believe we have found them, my lord,” a knight told him. “Twenty or so. Most on foot. They gather near a more heavily wooded part of the road.”

“Are we certain it is them?” Foulques asked.

“They are in the area my lord,” the scout said. “And we observed they bypassed a small group of travelers. It would seem they wait for a specific target.”

“How are they armed?” Herve asked.

“Archers, swordsmen, a couple with axes, two on horseback,” the knight replied.

“The archers could be a problem but the rest should fall before us,” Herve said. “We can surround them, then charge. They will be dead before they know what hit them.”

“We do not want them all dead,” Foulques said. “We need to know how they planned to signal Odo. Feign a charge. With us on horseback they should flee. Right to us if we are spread out to the north, east and west. Signal your charge by the horn, then each will close, with a horn blown by each group on contact. We will herd them like sheep.”

“As you wish uncle,” Herve said.

All together, Foulques had around 50 mounted knights which were spread out slightly for secrecy but still close enough to be quickly summoned. And though they came together briefly as the group moved toward where their targets had been spotted, they split into groups again as they neared their target, with Herve taking 20 men with him for the initial charge.

Foulques and his group slowed and then came to a stop a bit further north of where the highwaymen were supposed to be. Then they waited.

The horn sounded. And they began to trot south toward it. Another horn a minute later, slightly to the southeast. Foulques increased the pace of his group to a quick trot. The third horn which sounded a little more toward the southwest, and Foulques was now confident their targets were being successfully herded. He raised his fist in the air and then signaled forward. It was the sign to gallop.

They heard the sound of hoofbeats nearing, along with the shouts of their enemy - giving away their own position as they fleed the knights. It made finding the chase easy.

Foulques could barely resist a smile when he saw the highwaymen, eyes wide as dinner plates, as they realized they were closed in on all sides. Some immediately threw down their weapons to beg for mercy. Others clenched them tighter, unsure if they would have to use them in a desperate fight to escape.

“Who among you leads?” Herve demanded. “If you have any pride, you will step forward.”

No one did. So Foulques rode forward.

“Every ten seconds you do not answer, we will kill one of you,” Foulques said.

No one said anything, which didn’t surprise Foulques. He was scanning the group, looking to see which ones were unlikely to be in charge. A dirty archer with torn clothing seemed to be a safe bet, which is why when no one replied in the allotted time, Foulques ordered him killed.

“No!” the man pleaded. He quickly went for his bow, but a knight had driven a sword through his neck before he could even reach for an arrow. The man collapsed, meekly holding his neck as his life ebbed away on the forest floor.

“It’s him!” one of the highwaymen shouted. “Eudes!”

Not surprisingly, it was one of the two men on horseback. The somewhat youthful-looking, clean-shaven man, who dressed himself in leather armor but no mail, and carried an arming sword, scowled upon making eye contact with Foulques.

“What do you want?” Eudes demanded. “You obviously are not here to sweep us off the road. We would be dead otherwise.”

“Smart man,” Foulques said. “What is your purpose here?”

Eudes scanned the knights for a moment before responding. “We are highwaymen. The roads to Paris are travelled well enough. We were looking for some easy coin.”

Foulques rode up to him and raised his sword to Eudes’ neck. Flanked on all sides by knights, there was little the man could do.

“That is a lie,” Foulques sneered. “You were paid by a Norman mayor to ambush and kill the prince of the Franks and his family.”

Eudes grew wide-eyed. “No, we don’t know anything of that…”

“Then why did you bypass a set of travelers earlier in the day?” Foulques demanded as he pushed the point of the blade so close to Eudes’ skin it caused him to grimace.

“What… what do you want from us?” Eudes asked.

“You are to signal the Norman as you would have if we were not here,” Foulques said. “And if you do not, you will die.”

Eudes nodded slowly. Then his eyes widened.

“Your mask,” Eudes said. “You’re… Duke Foulques of Anjou.”

Foulques did not respond, looking over the remainder of the highwaymen. There were 19 left including Eudes. Too many - he did not wish to risk a betrayal.

“Split them apart,” Foulques ordered. “Those who dropped their weapons and those who did not.”

Six of the remaining highwaymen had thrown down their weapons, including the other man on horseback. The other 12 were rounded up quickly by the knights. Then Foulques gave a silent signal, a slash by his finger at his neck, and the knights drove their blades through the 12.

That prompted shouts from the remaining highwaymen, though weaponless and surrounded, they could do nothing.

“Keep silent, do not betray us, and you may live,” Foulques warned. “Violate that, and you will die.”

The highwaymen fell silent.
…..

Foulques was a little ways back when he heard the signal - what sounded like some sort of dying bird.

In order to ensnare Odo, he had kept a minimum number of knights with Eudes. The others were stationed in all directions, less than a quarter mile away. They could then pounce quickly, especially since Odo may well try to escape or attack with his own men once he got the whiff of something amiss.

The signal was a pair of knights on a small hill who were overlooking the proceedings. As soon as they saw Odo approach, they would blow the horn. Then the trap would be closed.

As much as he wished to see the face of Odo when he learned he was outmaneuvered, Foulques could not take the chance of alerting him too quickly. Given his mask, it would only take one glance for the trick to be revealed.

A few minutes later, the horn was sounded and Foulques rode forward quickly. There was still a bit of nervousness - after all, Odo could easily flee.

But as he approached he saw they had not. And with the Angevin nights coming in from all sides, there could be no escape, even as Odo and the six knights with him all drew their swords.

“What is the meaning of this!” Odo exclaimed. “These are not your highwaymen!”

“No, they are my knights, Mayor Odo,” Foulques said as he rode up.

Odo’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. The duke smirked - it appeared he got his wish after all.

“Duke Foulques! What is the meaning of this?!” Odo demanded.

“The meaning is that we have caught you in the middle of your attempt to murder our poor late king’s family, as you did him,” Foulques replied.

Odo shook his head. “Nonsense! I protect the prince! I would never…”

“Do not waste your breath,” Foulques told him. “Your highwaymen have already confessed to the plot. Surrender your weapons, and you may live.”

Odo looked at Foulques, then Eudes, his remaining teeth grinding together, no doubt in anger. But there were tens of Angevin knights around him. What choice did he have?

“Give them your weapons,” Odo instructed.

“A fine choice,” Foulques said. “Now, to the prince.”

Foulques took half of the knights present with Eudes, Odo and his men forward toward the road. They did not go far before running into the small convoy, with Prince Alphonse and his mother Sybille at its head. All of Alphonse’s younger siblings were present behind on horseback.

The prince and former queen were naturally quite wide eyed when they saw Foulques appear at the head of a fairly sizable group of men.

“Duke Foulques!” Sybille exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you here?”

“He has come to harm you my prince!” Odo shouted. “You must escape!”

Herve slammed Odo across the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. It caused the wizened mayor to fall forward, but he did manage to stay on his horse.

Alphonse blanched, but Sybille held up her hand. “Duke Foulques?”

“A pathetic lie,” Foulques said. “Meant to cover up Odo’s complicity on the true attempt on your life. That odd sound you heard before was a signal to highwaymen to come forward in an ambush to kill you all. This man is their leader and confessed to it.”

Foulques slapped the butt of Eudes’ horse with the flat part of his sword, causing the beast to move forward. Eudes shrunk in his saddle as he was met with the glares from the prince’s group.

“Is what Duke Foulques says true?” Alphonse demanded.

“Mostly,” Eudes said. “We were to kill you and your siblings. We were told we could do as we pleased with your mother, who was said to be good to look at…”

Sybille grunted before glaring at Odo.

“You monster,” she sneered.

“Foulques lies,” Odo insisted. “He has concocted an elaborate scheme. I am certain if you go with him, he will murder you on the way to Rouen, in hopes of regaining his lost place on the council.”

Foulques cackled. “You think I need to dance to the whims of King Hugues or Philipp of Champagne to regain my place? I have no need to harm the prince to gain influence. My levies provide more than enough.”

Alphonse did not seem overly convinced by that boasting, however as he still was rather pale. Foulques sighed and looked to Sybille.

“My lady, I am certain your late husband spoke of his fear that I would turn against him,” he said. “Yet did I plot against him? Was I not by his side throughout, including at the end?”

Sybille nodded and looked to her son. “What the duke says about remaining by your father is true. And what’s more, Alphonse, your father entrusted Duke Foulques with your safety on his deathbed. He could have betrayed you… but he has not betrayed our family so far.”

“And if he wished to,” Herve added, “he could kill you now without any issue. Our numbers greatly outnumber yours.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. It was truth, but perhaps not exactly the most reassuring thing. A reminder Herve was a good commander, but not exactly a diplomat.

“If you wish it, we can show you the body of the highwaymen,” Foulques said.

“It is a trap my lord,” Odo said.

“Silence!” Alphonse shouted at him. “Lead on Duke Foulques.”

Foulques did and took them to where they had butchered the 12 highwaymen. His knights also led forward the remaining six.

Upon seeing them, Alphonse turned a dark shade of red.

“Traitor!” he shouted at Odo. “You murdered my father!”

“My lord…” Odo began.

“Silence!” Alphonse shouted. “Let me kill him Duke Foulques!”

“No,” Foulques said. “If we kill him, we do not know how it shall be used. It may be used as evidence against you plotting a rebellion or being wicked like your father - it would be nothing for Champagne to make up a lie about how you plotted treason and killed Odo for voicing opposition.”

Alphonse gritted his teeth. “Damn you Odo!”

He looked to the remaining highwaymen. “What of them?”

“They are nothing,” Foulques said. “What you do with them is up to you.”

Alphonse glared at them. He frowned. “Bah, they are worthless. They followed orders. Nothing more.”

“Wise boy,” Foulques said. “Your father would be proud at your level head.”

Then he looked to his knights and made the same slashing motion as before. His knights killed the six highwaymen where they stood, leaving only Eudes alive.

“But you promised they would live!” Eudes exclaimed.

“I have altered our deal,” Foulques said. “Pray I do not alter it further.”

“Why did you kill them?” Alphonse asked.

“They were troublemakers,” Foulques said. “Who would prey on travelers if left alive and already likely have murdered in the past. I did the realm a service. And I was merciful - they died quickly.”

“And what of him?” Alphonse asked of Eudes.

“He has been useful,” Foulques said. “So I will grant him life for now. Provided he does not disappoint me.”

Eudes was white as a ghost. He said nothing as he again seemed to try to hide in his saddle.

“Duke Foulques, it appears I owe you much,” Alphonse said. “But I must ask you a great favor. Will you accompany me and my family to Rouen?”

“It is what your father asked of me, if possible,” Foulques said. “And now that it is, we shall.”

“Thank you,” Alphonse said. “It is good that something my father has done has worked out.”

Foulques lowered his head. His memories of Philippe lamenting what his son would think of him came to mind.

All of the Angevin knights then joined the convoy, and they were off. As they marched along the road, Sybille rode up alongside Foulques.

“I owe you a debt I cannot repay,” she said. “It appears my husband’s faith in you was well-placed.”

“It is nothing my lady,” Foulques said. “The boy has had a rough life, as have his siblings. It would bring me no joy to see him harmed.”

“But it is something, because he would not be alive without it,” Sybille said. “But… what are we to do? We believed Odo was loyal. There could be others in Rouen who seek to harm us. Who can we trust?”

Foulques sighed. He regretted saying this, but he had at least a partial answer.

“I did not learn of this plot on my own,” Foulques said. “I was informed by Jaspert.”

“The dwarf?!” Sybille said.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “He learned of this and filled me in on the details. If not for him, I would not have known, and you would have met your end.”

Sybille was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Foulques and said: “I appear to have misjudged him. Of all those at court… I am surprised.”

“As am I,” Foulques said.

“But where is he?” Sybille asked. “I do not see him with you.”

“He told me he prefers the shadows,” Foulques said. “He has been hiding since Philippe died, for fear our new king would have him killed. But… I suspect he did not do this simply as a courtesy. He likely will contact you, looking for a new home.”

“And we shall welcome him,” Sybille said. “As we shall you, henceforth.”

Given Sybille’s gratefulness, Foulques could practically see Bella as duchess in his mind. A surprising turn of events for the girl, given he never expected her to be anything except perhaps the wife of a baron or count, if not shipped off to a convent.

But that would be a thought for another day. He had managed to avert the prince’s untimely death. And with that, Philippe’s legacy was more secure than he could have anticipated. Yes, Alphonse lacked a crown, but he actually held more men at his direct command than his father did when he inherited. He would not be nothing - he would just be a different type of influencer in the court than he would have expected.

And who knew? In the future, perhaps he still might be king.

Foulques smirked. I have saved you one last time Philippe. You had better be grateful.

His smirk became a frown.

Wherever you are.

.....
Note: Obviously that screenshot was taken from when Alphonse was king for that brief, brief period, but, yes, Odo was the second conspirator, which shocked me. Originally I had actually planned to not have Jaspert around anymore as I did not see him in future saves in Melun. But then as I was looking through the court at Rouen... everyone's favorite dwarf was there, serving Prince Alphonse. So, this was the scenario I concocted to tie it all together. Hope it worked.

And to those of you who guessed Jaspert as the mystery person Foulques was to meet - bravo! I applaud your sleuthing skills!

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 114
February 1102 - Anjou, France

He did not understand how she had so much energy.

Foulques fell onto his back, breathing heavy, sweat glistening from his forehead. The chill of the room was probably unhealthy, but it felt good to cool off.

A glance over toward Ness revealed a sly grin on her moon-shaped face.

“Did you enjoy yourself, husband?” she asked.

He said nothing and her grin blossomed into a full on smile. Her confidence was higher than it may have ever been - she freely called him her husband now, even in Anjou, though she was at least smart enough to do it in private.

Her hand came to rest on the reason for that - her very swollen belly. A child likely conceived on the ill-fated hunt Philippe arranged, or perhaps in the days that followed.

The king’s final gift has proved even more lasting than expected.

Had he not named his last son with Haldora after the late king, he would have strongly considered doing so for this one. If it was a girl, he did consider “Philippa” as a possibility.

But it would be another son, if Ness was to be believed. Her reasons… well as he saw her feel around her swell, he knew he was to hear them again now.

“He kicks me,” she said, her smile now running ear to ear.

“Your nonsense with that,” Foulques said. “You do not know what you carry.”

“It is another boy,” Ness insisted. “He already knows he must defend his home… his keep. I am his keep, for now, and you are an invader. It is why he kicks hardest after we couple.”

Stupidity, but stupidity he would not mind turning out to be true. He was not sure why, but he did prefer she birth another son. His legacy likely secure between Geoffrey, the two Foulques - Geoffrey’s son and his own, Guilhem and Philippe. And yet, it would add to the certainty.

It also was pleasant to see Ness in such a joyous mood - she still beamed as she awkwardly maneuvered her swollen body to get some water - a stark contrast to what occurred around her. He might have joined her, but he was feeling the cold more strongly now, and decided to pull the linens over himself instead.

The court of Anjou had gone into near-total seclusion due to the smallpox epidemic that had now reached the county.

It had not gotten terribly serious yet - cases were being reported but it was not widespread - yet he could not take chances. Admittance to the keep was curtailed and no one was permitted to leave except on business of the utmost importance. Even Herve had been pulled off command of the Angevin levy in Poitou - which was now being commanded by the old mayor of Saumur, Renaud. A veteran of all of Foulques’ wars, he thought the old man able to handle crushing the paltry resistance Duchess Patricia was likely to offer.

The seclusion had begun not long after the coronation of Hugues, and by now, especially as they moved into the cold, dark winter months, the mood had dimmed in the keep.

“Are you not cold?” he asked as Ness stood at the table, drinking a cup of water, without so much as a robe to keep her warm.

“I run hot these days,” she said. “And do you not admire what you see?”

Ness’ brattiness had been curbed in her words, but her body language and expressions still exuded it - and made things difficult when Haldora saw her.

Foulques had done his best to avoid that - but with the keep locked down, it was hard to stop, even as Ness practically lived in Foulques’ chambers these days and did not leave them frequently. When she did, it was to visit her youngest sister Macarose. And only Macarose - Foulques learned through Alearde and Agnes that Ness and Marguerite were not talking.

Speaking of his daughter, he eagerly awaited news that she was with child, figuring the seclusion would at least help that along. But Agnes had said nothing of the matter to him.

Given that Agnes already had a daughter, there was no question of her ability to have children. It was early yet… but Foulques could not shake the fear that perhaps he had erred in allowing Henri to marry her.

Chancellor Godfrey was not present to see such doubts. He was in Normandy, dealing with the Prince, now Duke, Alphonse and discussions regarding the potential union with Bella.

It had been met with some initial skepticism, as she was only a bastard. But the value of having both Anjou and Aquitaine as potential allies proved too much of a tantalizing prospect for a prince whose grip on his place in the realm was tenuous. So it looked more and more that such a deal would be done soon.

He still had not told Bella of it - but he had Agnes and Alearde, the latter of whom practically lept into his arm. Foulques did warn her nothing was final yet, but Alearde’s smile seemed permanently re-attached to her face now - at least when she saw him.

And that proved to be even better than Ness’ joy, though the latter provided him with other types of pleasure.

Ness returned to the bed and moaned: “I am cold now. Hold me.”

Foulques pressed himself against her before wrapping his arms around her. She pulled his hand to her belly. Sure enough, it was not long before he could feel the squirming under his fingertips.

A knock on the door. Sufficiently cooled from before, Foulques did not wish to leave the warmth of his lover. But it was the steward Guilhem, and Foulques could not hear what he would try to say behind a closed door and across the chamber.

He pulled over a long shirt and made a dash - the cold floor quickening his pace - to make it to the door.

“My lord,” Guilhem said, “Your son has arrived.”

It was expected. Despite the lockdown on the keep, certain exceptions were permitted and Geoffrey, representing royal business qualified. He travelled to Anjou by boat to avoid the smallpox-afflicted areas the best he could. With parts of Tours still unaffected, it was possible.

“I will be down soon,” Foulques said. “Have his sister entertain him.”

Guilhem nodded and the door was closed. Foulques made another quick dash across the room only to be met by Ness’ pouting face.

“Do not leave me,” she purred. “I am still cold… at least on the outside.”

“It is Geoffrey,” Foulques told her.

“I heard who it was,” she said.

Apparently, her hearing is better than mine, he thought.

“Do you plan on having him stay in the same chamber as my sister?” Ness asked.

It drew a laugh out of Foulques. “He is the king’s chancellor, so I must be a little more guarded in how I deal with him.”

“He is still your son,” Ness said. “And he can be made to wait. He probably wishes to see his son. And after that, I am sure his sister will be happy to keep him occupied - she likely will be happy to see a different face for once. Besides - he comes to you. Did he not make you wait?”

An act already repaid, Foulques thought. But the invitation of his lover proved too hard to resist as he crawled back into bed with her. Once more she adjusted his hands, to make certain one rested on her belly and other on her breast. Meanwhile she rubbed her backside into him.

“How do you manage such energy?” Foulques asked her.

“You cause it, my love,” she said. “I see you, and feel our son move within me… and my desires overwhelm me. Do you not approve? Would you rather I suppress those urges?”

Her pouting lips formed a frown, and he knew at once it was not a serious question. Of course, he also suspected she played up such desires, but he could hardly complain.

It was what he had dreamed of. And so he began to kiss her neck… only to have her push him flat on his back and then heft herself on top to begin…

And his mind drifted, once more, to her mother.
….

Foulques found Geoffrey with his sister Agnes in the strategy hall.

The two appeared in a deep conversation but Foulques did not catch any of it, as when he closed the door, it got their attention, with Agnes pulling her cloak and shawl close tight around her.

“Do I interrupt important negotiations?” Foulques asked as he walked over, coming up beside his daughter. “Geoffrey has not tried to sell you on whatever the king hopes to push upon Anjou, has he?”

“No father,” Agnes replied. Her eyes fixated on her brother. “Geoffrey knows he cannot simply have his way with me, no matter how much he desires it.”

Geoffrey smirked at his sister. “You should have more faith in your daughter, father. She is not so easily cowed.”

“I do have faith in her,” Foulques said. “She is my regent. It is you I am not always certain of.”

“And here I thought we had come to a new understanding,” Geoffrey said. “Especially as Poitou goes well. I received word your man Renaud has taken Chatellerault by storm.”

“And what do your men do?” Foulques asked.

“We retake Saintonge,” Geoffrey said. “I thought it important - mother always said how you desired for it to once again fly our banner.”

“If you have no further need of me, father,” Agnes said. “I will leave you two.”

Foulques motioned that she could leave, though she and Geoffrey shared an embrace and kiss before she did. The elder duke did notice she gave her brother an odd, perhaps dirty, look before she left the hall.

“What was that?” Foulques asked.

“What was what?” Geoffrey asked.

“Your sister seemed… annoyed almost,” Foulques said as he poured himself some wine. “What did you say to her?”

Geoffrey grew wide-eyed for a moment. Picked up the cup on the table and swirled the contents before looked back at his father. “I think she did not like what I had to say of her husband.”

“And what did you have to say on her husband?” Foulques asked.

“I… accidentally spoke that I did not find him the most impressive,” Geoffrey replied.

“You let slip, is more like it,” Foulques said. “I do not think a word escapes your mouth without being carefully thought out.”

“I do not know whether that is a compliment,” Geoffrey admitted.

“Neither do I,” Foulques said. “So you dislike Henri. Why? I find little to dislike about him.”

“There is little to him,” Geoffrey said. “Which is an insult to my sister. She is a beautiful, wise woman who has saved the realm on one occasion. She should be the wife of an important man, not some insignificant welp.”

“Do you see any important men who desired her as their wife?” Foulques asked.

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “I see one every day.”

Foulques did not expect to hear that. “What… what do you mean?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “The King of the Franks himself. He asked me directly if I believed he could have her hand just days after I became Chancellor. I regretted to inform him she had already been wed, to… well, her current husband.”

Now it was Foulques’ turn to grow wide-eyed. Agnes could have been a queen, had he waited another couple of months? After all these years… it seemed like a cruel joke.

“The king is married…” Foulques replied.

“He was not,” Geoffrey said. “He looked for a wife. He eventually settled on a daughter of a knight who served him when he was Bishop. Young thing. Just 16, though quite pretty.”

“But he asked for Agnes?” Foulques asked. “Specifically her?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “He fears becoming too reliant on Champagne so he wished to avoid marrying one of his daughters. Instead, he looked to my sister.”

“I do not believe this,” Foulques replied.

“As I said, my sister is a desirable woman on her own,” Geoffrey said. “And she comes with your friendship as well. When I learned of her marriage, I thought for certain that she was with child, and this was meant to save face. But she is not… and…”

“Enough,” Foulques told him. “I will not have you lecture me about how to handle my children’s marriages.”

“No, you are the expert,” Geoffrey said. “I know first hand.”

Foulques glared at him. “Perhaps I should pass back to the king how his chancellor antagonizes his most powerful vassal. I wonder what he shall say.”

Geoffrey sighed. “My apologies, father. I was out of line.”

“Humility,” Foulques said. “A change for you.”

“As you say, I represent the king,” Geoffrey said. “I do him a disservice if my conduct is poor.”

Foulques smirked. “And what representing of the king are you here to do?”

“Actually, as it turns out, to discuss marriages and what not,” Geoffrey replied. “There is talk you are close to sealing something with Duke Alphonse. Bella?”

Foulques eyed Geoffrey before nodding. “You hear right.”

“Is it done?” Geoffrey asked.

“Nearly,” Foulques said. “I have Godfrey there now. When he returns, we shall likely finalize things.”

“Nearly… but not completely,” Geoffrey said. “Which is good, because the king would strongly urge you to reconsider.”

“Urge me to reconsider?” Foulques replied. “He is unhappy that I would marry my daughter to his rival?”

“Duke Alphonse of Valois is not a rival of the king, for his father was not the rightful king of the realm,” Geoffrey said.

“Valois?” Foulques asked. “What is this Valois?”

“Yes, Alphonse has declared that is what he is to be called, rather than of Normandy,” Geoffrey said.

The boy gets hung up on names when there is much bigger things to focus on, Foulques thought.

“But yes,” Geoffrey said. “The king believes there is opportunity for our house alongside his.”

“Of course he does,” Foulques said. “He wishes to placate me.”

“And he wishes to free himself,” Geoffrey said. “Champagne has his hooks in him, and he looks for alternatives. I suspect the death of Philippe and the attempted murder of the royals have shaken him.”

“Shaken so much that Odo still lives,” Foulques said.

“The king has removed himself from that,” Geoffrey said. “It is a conflict between Alphonse and Champagne.”

Foulques chuckled. “The king certainly finds convenient times to excuse himself.”

“I agree,” Geoffrey replied, sly grin on his lips. “I merely pass on what is.”

“And I shall pass this on,” Foulques said. “If he wishes me to not go through with the marriage between Alphonse and Bella, he should provide me a better offer.”

“Why do you think I am here, father?” Geoffrey asked. “Bella could be duchess, now, yes. Or she could be queen later.”

“Queen?” Foulques asked. “Does Hugues already grow tired of his wife?”

Geoffrey laughed. “He is not you father. No, he seeks a bride for his son, Prince Henri.”

The older duke was still adjusting his thoughts to the idea that someone else was now second in line. He had seen Henri at the coronation, and briefly during his father’s accepting of oaths. The boy, around 20 summers, actually reminded him quite a bit of his uncle Philippe.

Foulques had heard a few positive things about him, but not much beyond it.

“Prince Henri,” Foulques said. “What do you know of him?”

“Little,” Geoffrey admitted. “His father speaks with pride of him, but I have met him for but a few moments in Melun during the swearing of oaths and the first council meeting after. He then returned to Bayeux, much to his father’s disappointment.”

Foulques, for a moment, felt a bit of sympathy toward the king over a son who did not heed his father’s counsel. But he returned to the matter at hand.

“So the king wishes to marry Bella to Prince Henri?” Foulques asked.

“That he does,” Geoffrey said. “Champagne, as he did with the king’s own marriage, presents his daughter. But… as with that, the king wishes a peace offering - a union between our houses.”

“And you believe him?” Foulques asked.

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “And I also believes he wishes us to potentially put Champagne in his place. But… I do not think you would mind that these days.”

“I have no more wish to be a pawn of a king than I do Champagne,” Foulques said.

“Neither do I,” Geoffrey noted. “But this marriage does not do that. It positions us well, but does not commit us. And… think how happy Alearde will be when she learns of it.”

“What do you know of that?” Foulques demanded.

“Did I say something wrong father?” Geoffrey asked.

“How do you know she was happy over the possible marriage of Bella to Alphonse?!” he demanded.

“Agnes told me,” Geoffrey replied.

That would make sense, Foulques realized. The two did just speak, and Agnes would know.

“Your daughter… my sister… Queen of the Franks,” Geoffrey said. “A nice bit of influence, both now and in the future, don’t you think?”

Foulques eyed him. The future - Geoffrey likely was sold the moment he thought of what he would gain upon becoming Duke of Anjou.

But… it was tempting. And Alearde would be thrilled. There was no telling what she might do…

“What of Alphonse?” Foulques wondered aloud. “I am to toss aside a potentially powerful friend in the boy? Normandy comes with many troops. It was enough to conquer the Saxons for a time.”

“Valois, father,” Geoffrey said. “And I do not think it would be wise to completely align with the king. But even if we give Bella to Henri, you have other daughters. Other bastard daughters, in fact…”

“Antoinette?” Foulques replied. “She’s a girl of six summers.”

“And Alphonse is a boy of 16,” Geoffrey said. “He will have to wait, but he will have our friendship in the meantime. Which is what he needs more than anything - a wife to give him children does nothing if he has nothing to give them, or he dies first.”

“He will not like it,” Foulques said.

“But he will accept it,” Geoffrey said. “You are the most powerful single man in the realm, father. Everyone knows it. Alphonse is not so sure in himself that he can allow you to ally with the king without response. He will take what you give him, if it means a chance to keep up. And… it means we are not committed on either side.”

“What of Henri marrying Antoinette?” Foulques wondered.

“I asked,” Geoffrey admitted. “The king is insistent on Bella.”

“And you did not argue against him?” Foulques demanded.

“Why?” Geoffrey asked. “I think this is beneficial to us. And we do not wish to lose out further to Champagne. Furthermore, I am the king’s chancellor father. I cannot completely put aside his desires for those of our family. I would not last long if I did.”

Foulques stood in silence, contemplating. Geoffrey made good points. And whether he wished to admit it or not, his son did seem to be quite capable at negotiations such as these. Of course, he could not shake the feeling Geoffrey negotiated for himself, rather than the both of them.

He preferred a marriage of Bella to Alphonse because he had come so far in talks, and he felt almost obligated by his final conversation with Philippe. On the other hand… the opportunity was great.

I saved your son Philippe, Foulques thought. And I will not abandon him, just not give him everything.

“Tell the king I agree to the union,” Foulques said. “When does he wish for the wedding?”

“Excellent, father,” Geoffrey replied. “June. He will be very pleased to hear of your acceptance. And if you want… I can try to smooth over matters with Alphonse when I next head to Rouen.”

“No,” Foulques said. “Remain out of that.”

“As you wish,” Geoffrey replied. He raised his cup. “It has been a pleasure father, for a change. To the future of Anjou… and the realm!”

Foulques chuckled and raised his cup as well. “Yes, to the future.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 115
June 1102 - Melun, France

Foulques had nearly forgotten what royal feasts were like.

It had been years since he’d gotten to experience a true one. A decade of war essentially ended their occurrences under Philippe - and with much of the conflict over the 10 years being internal rebellions, they would not have been much of a gathering anyway.

And as he tore into a leg of lamb and savored the juicy meat, he remembered how much he missed them.

It wasn’t perfect as he felt a loose tooth wiggle as he chewed. He had lost a couple in the years before, but it had not impacted his eating habits yet. He was somewhat lucky in that regard, given his age. Though a small part of him did wonder if his luck would run out as the years passed.

There was no use worrying about that now though. The lamb was tasty. The wine a perfect compliment. And of course, the sweetest part of all - his daughter was now the wife of the crown prince.

She sat next to him, her lips quivering as she took it all in. Bella had never been at something quite like this - it was certainly not like Agnes’ wedding.

Her older sister’s celebration had an appearance by the then-queen Sybille, but had mostly been made up with her father’s barons and knights. This feast had the Duke of Orleans, Duke of Champagne and, of course, her brother the Duke of Aquitaine present. Yes, they were members of the council and in Melun anyway, but it still qualified it as a prominent event.

It did not have everyone - the child duke Arnulf of Flanders was not present, though his regent, Robert of Artois was. The Duchesses Patricia and Peronelle were nowhere to be found - not a surprise given they stood at odds with House d’Anjou. Burgundy was busy fighting the Countess Almodis and Toulouse was in Catalonia fighting Moslems. And Alphonse remained in Rouen.

But even if they did not attend in person, it was important enough an event that everyone sent a representative. And, in addition, the local counts and barons were present. A few counts from across the realm were present in the hall. The most notable for Foulques was Count Gerard of Thouars - despite technically being a vassal of Patricia - a sign that some thought Geoffrey was likely to win that war.

The Angevin contingent, however, was somewhat small, thanks in large part due to the smallpox epidemic. While there was no shortage of those who wished to escape the keep for a time, he was limited in the number he could take - they had to move quickly, wanting to get past the afflicted areas as soon as possible.

Godfrey came because he was chancellor, and Alearde came because she was Bella’s mother. Agnes’ daughter Beatrice also came, nominally as Alearde’s lady along with Margot Karling and Macarose - Foulques wished to make her appear as noble as possible given she was the mother of the woman marrying the crown prince.

But Agnes herself remained - with the epidemic, Foulques would not have him and his regent away from Angers.

So too did Herve. While he normally led the knights on trips like this when Foulques was in Melun, with the duke going and returning, his presence was not required.

Haldora was one who did not wish to come. Not only was she angry at Foulques for his bastard with Ness, she was not Bella’s mother, and their son Philippe was very ill. Adalmode treated the boy’s pneumonia the best she could, but the duchess did not wish leave her child’s side. And Foulques saw no reason to force her.

He would have used the excuse to take Ness, but there were problems with that. She nursed their son, Ancel, and Geoffrey had passed along a warning - King Hugues “the Holy” did not look favorably over flaunting a mistress as openly as Foulques had with Philippe.

There was an irony in that and marrying his son to a bastard, but Foulques decided not to press the matter, much to Ness’ disappointment. Though there was little she could say, given that he again gave the boy full inheritance rights.

There was one other person who came from Anjou, though he was not sitting with the others. Instead, the younger Foulques was seated by his father, Geoffrey, who had requested he attend back when this marriage was negotiated.

Foulques’ eyes drifted to them now. Geoffrey seemed to be pointing out the various men of the realm to his son. His demeanor appeared to be almost jovial, eliciting smiles and laughter from the eight-year-old. It was something that seemed odd to Foulques. His job was not to be friendly with the boy, but to teach him how to be a noble of the realm.

Foulques glanced back over to his daughter. She was looking at her leg of lamb, the meat barely touched.

“Do you not like it?” he asked her.

“Like it?” Bella asked.

“The lamb,” Foulques said. “You have barely touched it.”

“Oh,” Bella replied. “Mother said I should not make a pig of myself in front of the king.”

Foulques rolled his eyes, grabbed the lamb leg and put it in her hand. “Eat girl. You’ll need your energies tonight.”

A nervous smile came to her face. She ripped off a piece of meat with her teeth, chewed it quickly like a ravenous wolf and then licked her lips for good measure - not the most lady-like of actions.

Perhaps that is what Alearde was concerned over, he thought.

It was good that she devoured it quickly though, as the young Queen Aude pulled her away for a conversation.

The two were close to the same age - the queen was just about a year her elder. Beyond that, Foulques knew little of her beside that she was not from a prominent family and that Geoffrey got the sense she did not particularly enjoy being with her husband.

Her husband now shifted seats, rising from the other side of his son and taking Bella’s old seat in between Henri and Foulques. The duke gave the king a nod of acknowledgement as he sat down.

“I think this a success,” the king said. “A lovely ceremony. An eager husband. A beautiful bride.”

“Eager husband?” Foulques asked.

Hugues smirked. “Yes. I can tell my son is enraptured.”

Foulques glanced over at the prince. His eyes remained on Bella, even as she spoke to the queen.

“He cannot take his eyes off of her,” Hugues noted. “Even as there is no shortage of lovely ladies present. It speaks well to their union.”

“It will make this evening easier,” Foulques replied.

“That it will,” Hugues said, sly grin on his lips.

The king took a drink from his goblet and then looked around. “Where is the duchess?”

“In Anjou,” Foulques said. “Nursing our child.”

“Is the boy not nearly a year?” the king asked.

Foulques grimaced. He had grown so used to Ness being referred to as the duchess that he instinctively gave what she was doing, not Haldora.

“Excuse me,” Foulques said. “The duchess is… attending to the nursing of our son. The boy is deathly ill. Pneumonia.”

“Tragic news,” Hugues said. “We will all pray for his recovery.”

Thankfully he has one whose prayers actually are answered looking over him, Foulques thought as he reflected on Adalmode looking after the boy. Despite Roubaud’s death a few years before, he had total faith in the woman - one of the few he could say that about.

“Forgive me,” Hugues added. “What is the boy's name?”

“Philippe,” Foulques told him.

The king grew wide-eyed, but only for a moment. He looked out at the hall and continued without turning his gaze back to the duke.

“It appears you and my brother grew close in his final years,” Hugues noted. “I never got this sense of devotion from you when I served on the council alongside you.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “A more recent development. I grew to know the king as he had few others left he could trust. It was borne out of need. But it grew strong regardless.”

“I see,” the king replied. “I hope that in time we can have such a bond of friendship, hopefully under better circumstances.”

“Does such friendship include a seat on the council?” Foulques wondered.

“In time,” Hugues answered. “Already I grow tired of some of them. They think they can rule in my name if they make the right plays. But they will be mistaken.”

Champagne.

“It is a pity that my most loyal of vassals is missing today,” Hugues continued. “The Duke of Toulouse should be here. We both count him among our friends.”

“He is off to a fine start in Catalonia, is he not?” Foulques asked. “And I thought you would be pleased, as a former man of the church, that he attacks heathens.”

Hugues sighed and shook his head. “If it were that simple, I would have approved. But not only is he needed here, but I think this war dangerous.”

Foulques was surprised to hear that. “He fought the German emperor well. Surely he can handle this foe.”

Hugues shook his head. “I have ventured to Iberia before. Whereas the Germans were divided, the Moslem heathen will do the opposite. They will unify against him, something we should all do against them.”

“So you do not like his chances of victory?” Foulques asked.

“No,” Hugues said. “Though I trust in him as a commander, I fear he does not know the resistance he will face.”

It was an interesting thought. While he would not desire Toulouse’s failure, Foulques knew such a thing stood the potential to benefit him. A weaker Toulouse could see Geoffrey move into an ascendant position among the lords south of the Loire.

The matter of Toulouse was let to fall, as Foulques did not provide an answer. However, after a few moments in silence, the king again spoke - on a subject Foulques suspected might come up.

“You know, I was most pleased that you agreed to this union,” Hugues said. “I know that you planned to marry your daughter to my nephew at first.”

“You offered something more appealing,” Foulques replied. “The potential for Bella to become queen. How could I deny my daughter that?”

“I thought as much,” Hugues said. “But… you have also promised your younger daughter to my nephew?”

Foulques took a long drink of his wine. “Yes. I have no wish for any animosity toward the boy. I had promised him one of my daughters. And so, I will give one of them to him, even if it is not the one he desired.”

“Is that necessary?” Hugues asked. “The boy is hardly a threat to you. What gain does that union bring?”

“You seem to have a problem with it, my king,” Foulques said.

“I merely seek to learn where the dukes of my realm stand,” Hugues said. “I thought this union between your daughter and my son placed you firmly alongside me. But now I wonder if you seek to play both sides.”

Foulques met the king’s gaze with his own. “I was unaware that this marriage came with conditions. Had I known, i would not have gone through with this, queen or not.”

Hugues looked back toward the feast. “No conditions. But it reveals much.”

“It reveals that I seek the best unions for my daughters, and my sons as well,” Foulques replied. “The chance to be Duchess of Normandy is a fine honor.”

“She could have been Duchess of Flanders,” Hugues said. “The boy, Arnulf, is her age.”

“I have another daughter, my king,” Foulques noted.

Hugues frowned at that response. “I see.”

The king took another drink of his wine before standing. “It is good to join alongside you, Duke Foulques. I hope I can continue to count on you to remain at my side through good times... and bad.”

“Your brother did,” Foulques said. “And I never let him down. Even in death.”

Hugues did not respond, perhaps uncertain what to make of that. He walked off, to converse with Champagne… a move Foulques could not help but think was intentional.

But it was no matter - Foulques got up himself and walked over to Geoffrey. The site of the elder duke drew a smile from the younger Foulques, though Geoffrey appeared perplexed as his father told him to step aside with him for a moment.

“Robert of Artois is here,” Foulques said. “Regent to Arnulf of Flanders.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “Is that important?”

“I want you to engage him in talks for a marriage,” Foulques said. “For Duke Arnulf and your half-sister, Ermengarde.”

“I am not your chancellor, father,” Geoffrey said. “Who is here, may I remind you. I am the king’s. And I cannot be seen using my position to advance your goals.”

“Is she not your sister?” Foulques asked. “Would you not benefit from the marriage? It seems as though you would be negotiating for yourself.”

“But she is not in my court,” Geoffrey noted.

“I grant approval,” Foulques said. “I will have Godfrey by your side as a sign if you wish it, but I would think you wish for talks to begin on your own...”

Geoffrey sighed. “I will see what he has to say. But I make no promises beyond that.”

Foulques shook his head. “Your skill is with your words. Use them to benefit us.”

Foulques did not let Geoffrey respond, walking away. As he did, he glanced back toward the dais where he had sat. He noticed Prince Henri get up and walk toward Bella. He greeted her, and then escorted her out of the hall.

….

That evening, Foulques returned to his temporary chambers alone.

He would have preferred having someone to spend the evening with, especially after a nice evening of wine, good food, and an abundance of lovely ladies, but that was not possible. He briefly considered summoning Margot, but decided against it - she was Etiennette’s sister after all and didn’t need that entanglement as well.

His dream, of course, was that Alearde, so happy over the marriage, came to his chambers and threw herself at him once more. He did not think it was likely - she had known of the marriage for months and had not returned to his bed - but he still held out hope.

He still hoped as he answered a knock at his door, and those hopes were raised even further when it turned out to be Alearde.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Of course,” Foulques said as he opened the door fully. “Who else would be here?”

“I don’t know,” Alearde said. “The Duke of Anjou in a keep with many beautiful ladies. The options are plentiful.”

“I have my… preferences,” Foulques said. “Most here do not meet them.”

Alearde smirked. “I am glad, since I wished to speak with you tonight now that everything is complete.”

“What about?”

“I wished to thank you,” Alearde said. “As I sat at the feast, I just could not help but think… Our daughter may become queen. My daughter. My daughter. The daughter of a girl whose mother was a midwife I…”

She squeezed him tightly, and Foulques replied in kind. He missed holding her in moments of happiness.

“It was nothing,” Foulques said. “She is my daughter as well. And I wish the best for her.”

“Not all would do such a thing,” Alearde said. “There are bastards throughout the realm whose fathers do not even acknowledge them, let alone try to make them royalty. Especially when the mother is… a woman like myself. It is not nothing. It is to be commended.”

Foulques could not resist a smile. “It is my pleasure. I would do much for her. And you.”

Alearde blushed, like she used to when she was a girl and young woman. That look took him back - back to the days when she was easily flattered by his charms and shows of affections.

“I know that,” Alearde said. “It is why I am grateful to you. And why I believed a thank you was necessary.”

Alearde walked to the bed and plopped herself down on the edge. There was no hint of seduction from her though, nor flirtatious behavior. Instead, she just continued to beam her wide smile.

“She becomes a woman as we speak,” Alearde said. “My little girl.”

“I’m sure she does fine,” Foulques said.

“I am not concerned,” Alearde said. “Even if she does not, she will learn. And her husband… I think Prince Henri will give her room to grow. He was taken with her. I have not seen that type of infatuation often. Just three times else I can remember.”

“What times were those?” Foulques wondered.

“The first time was… when you looked at me,” Alearde said. “The second…”

The smile melted away from her face. “The second was when you looked at Aines.”

Foulques frowned as he saw the hint of sadness in Alearde’s face. It was momentary - she had learned to hide her emotions well. But he knew it was there.

And once more he felt regret.

“What was the third time?” Foulques asked, hoping to get her mind from it.

“Oh…” Alearde said. “That was G-- no… that wasn’t it.”

“That wasn’t what?” Foulques asked. “Who did you mean to speak of?”

“No one,” Alearde said. “As I reflect back… that was very different than you.”

She seemed to be speaking in riddles. He guessed she was embarrassed to say something. Perhaps a boy from her past, before she came to Anjou?

Either way, he was not going to press the matter. There was no need to upset her.

“I am certain she was glad to be away from me, no matter how it is going with Henri,” Alearde admitted. “I was warning her to show temperance. It would not make a favorable first impression to appear like a greedy, gluttonous lady - especially from one who will be queen.”

“Is she gluttonous?” Foulques asked.

“Quite,” Alearde replied. “Loves to eat all she can. Sneak snacks at night. I’ve caught her before. She is blessed - she is young and has not grown fat yet. But if she keeps it up…”

Foulques chuckled. “She will be queen - and far from the first fat one.”

“Yes… queen,” Alearde said. “Queen… born of a duke and a lowborn fool…”

“What… what did you say?”

Alearde expression changed once more as her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “I am foolish. Why did I chastise her? This is a greatest day of her life, and I stand and reprimand her? That is…”

Foulques took hold of her shoulders and began to rub them. “You are her mother. You wish what is best for her. What you teach her now will only serve her later.”

“You say that,” Alearde said. “But do you know what is like to believe your parent thinks ill of you?”

Foulques stopped. “No… my father died when I was a boy. I don’t truly remember him.”

“I do,” Alearde said. “I do all too well. My mother. She thought me a fool.”

“How so?” Foulques asked.

“She just did not think me very intelligent,” Alearde said. “I used to hear her speak of me to others. ‘That dumb girl. I hope I can find her a decent husband or else I do not know what shall be done with her.’ She begged Duchess Beatritz to take pity on me and make her one of her ladies. Otherwise, I would have ended up pregnant by a stablehand, and a beggar… at least that was what she thought.”

Foulques felt himself grow flush. The nerve of her mother to think of her so. Alearde was possibly the smartest woman he’d ever met!

“She was the fool,” Foulques replied. “She did not see your value. Your potential.”

Alearde shrugged. “I know. She was not the first. She was not the last.”

She pushed herself from the bed and began to pace the chamber. She paused at the table and leaned on it. “I asked Geoffrey when he came to Aquitaine to see if he could learn what happened to her and my father.”

“Did he?” Foulques asked.

Alearde nodded. “They had died… some years back. My father in battle, they say. My mother of natural causes, some years ago. Geoffrey could not tell me if she asked of me as she neared the end. I’d like to think she was curious.”

“Perhaps she knew,” Foulques said. “After all, Bella’s birth was… something of a scandal.”

“Even if she knew of that,” Alearde said. “Is that really better? That she knew I had found my way into the bed of a duke and ended up carrying his bastard child? It was the same expectation, just with a duke instead of a stablehand.”

Alearde sighed and sat the table, poured herself a drink and sipped it. And Foulques grew angrier at this long-dead woman who he’d never met who had worried his beloved Alearde so.

“Who cares what she thought?!” Foulques demanded. “She was clearly wrong.”

“I did,” Alearde said. “She was my mother. I had to care. Even though I was not sure I would ever see her again, I still worked to prove her wrong. Every day in Anjou, proving my value, proving my worth. Praise from the Lady Beatritz was like gold to me. Your affection, your compliments… I adored them. The two of you, you made me feel not worthless. I would have done anything for you… of course it was hard when you were opposed to one another.”

Foulques chuckled. “You earned that praise and affection.”

“But it was fleeting,” Alearde said. “When I was alone, I’d think you were just being kind. Well the duchess was. I thought you just desired my body.”

Foulques looked to the floor. He did desire her body. But he also loved her laugh, her smile and her wit… though he was not entirely certain he was as enamored with the latter until after their affair ended.

“Of course, when Bella grew in my belly, the duchess grew much less fond of me,” Alearde said. “And I began to think myself worthless once more. The one who valued me for something other than my body had little use for me anymore. Because I had failed her. But… Agnes. She would comfort me when I cried, like a sweet little sister. She did not always see eye to eye with her mother - I think her much more like you than her mother - and she said she would not have been able to get by without me to aid her.”

Foulques said nothing. This was all news to him.

“And then… when her cousin seduced her, and she found herself maligned, shunned and felt foolish, I knew how she felt,” Agnes said. “So I comforted her, helped smooth things over with you for her and… I finally felt a lasting worth. I had helped her. If I had not… who knows what may have happened? No matter what, I would always have that. I had done something, something positive.

“After that, everything changed,” Alearde continued. “I even believed I could be your wife and duchess, though, we saw how that turned out. But though that hurt, it did not break me like it would have before. I had my younger sister, and she had me. And so we’ve always had each other since.”

Foulques smiled as a sense of pride filled him. He had quite the daughter in Agnes.

“And yet,” Alearde said. “On the day my daughter marries the crown prince of France, I am sitting here, still thinking of my mother, still wishing she were here as if I could somehow show her I was worth something. I birthed a future queen. I matter. I matter!!”

Alearde suddenly threw her cup across the chamber, with the remnants splashing against the wall and dripping toward the ground. Initially shocked, Foulques got up and looked for a way to comfort her. It was not something he knew how to do well, so he just rubbed her back.

“I thought I left it behind,” Alearde said. “I thought I left her behind. But I cannot. No matter how hard I try. I can never leave behind that the woman who birthed me, and raised me, thought me a worthless fool, only worthy of charity and little else. Even though I know differently. Her voice remains.”

“Ignore it,” Foulques told her.

“If it were that simple, I would have,” Alearde said. “But you can never forget your parent. Even if you hate them, and think them wrong. There will always be that doubt… that they are right. That you are wrong.”

“Why… why do you tell me this?” Foulques asked. “Geoffrey?”

“No, I did not mean for it to come out like this,” Alearde said. “I just reflected and… perhaps the wine… it made me speak more than I should. I meant no ill will toward how you handle Geoffrey.”

And he believed her. But more importantly, he wished for her to be well. To leave it behind. He dropped to a knee and took her hand.

“Your mother was wrong,” Foulques said. “She would have been wrong had Bella married a stablehand, or not married at all. And she would have been wrong even had you never helped my daughter. Or served my wife well. Or… laid with me. You are one of the most impressive women I have ever met, Alearde. You were always worthy of affection, and of love. She was the fool for not seeing it.”

Alearde smiled, as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. The smile he loved to see.

“I know,” Alearde said. “Most days I know. Today… today is just a difficult day. It shouldn't be, but it is.”

She let go his hand and stood up, making her way toward the door. Then she stopped and looked back to him. “Your daughter will be queen one day.”

“And I could not have done it without you,” Foulques replied.

Alearde looked down, but the smile on her face went ear to ear. Then she slipped out, as quietly as she used to do when she was his lover, with the door making the slightest of sounds as it closed.
…

A little while later, Geoffrey entered Foulques’ chamber, his brow raised as a look of confusion was plastered on his face.

“What is this about father?” he asked.

“Shut the door,” Foulques instructed from his seat at the table.

Geoffrey did so and then approached. Foulques offered him a seat across from him. Cautiously, the Duke of Aquitaine took it.

“I barely spoke of the marriage with Robert of Artois,” Geoffrey said as he sat down. “If you think I was capable of negotiating such a delicate matter so quickly, I do not know what you expect.”

“No,” Foulques said. He poured Geoffrey a cup of wine and passed it to him. Still confused, Geoffrey took it nonetheless.

Alearde’s words weighed heavily on Foulques. He did not know for certain if that was a mistake on her part or crafty intent. In some ways, it did not matter.

Geoffrey was in many ways a disappointment to him. He was not a great warrior. He did not appear to be capable of inspiring men to victory. His battles seemed to be in halls and chambers, with words and wine as his weapons. It was a world Foulques barely understood and never would master.

Was that such a bad thing?

As Geoffrey sipped his wine, his expression of confusion did not dissipate. He expected something no doubt - an offer, a snarky remark, a put down, an insult… something.

Foulques could disarm him with a compliment. But he also could not bring himself to say one, not without it feeling forced and false. Geoffrey was a master of words. It would be as foolish as if he charged his father with a sword - a move easily deflected and dealt with.

So Foulques just sat there, sipping his wine. When he finished his cup, he poured another.

“Father, what is this about?” Geoffrey demanded.

“It is about nothing,” Foulques replied. “I… I just wished to have a drink with my son, the Duke of Aquitaine, and Chancellor to the king.”

“Just a drink?” Geoffrey asked.

“Just a drink,” Foulques said. “Or two. We shall see where the evening takes us.”

Geoffrey brow lowered though his confusion seemed to remain. After a few moments, he shrugged.

“As you wish father,” he replied.

The two sipped on their drink in silence. Foulques searched for something to say, though he found himself struggling to find the words.

Finally he said: “Your mother. She used to speak to me on how she wished for you to have Aquitaine and Poitou.”

“I know,” Geoffrey said. “I mean, I know she wished for it.”

“Yes,” Foulques said. “What I mean to say is… I think she would be proud of what you have accomplished.”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened for a moment. The look of confusion returned quickly, as he appeared to struggle at how to respond.

“I… always thought she would be,” Geoffrey replied. “But… thank you.”

Foulques grunted and took another drink. He’d hoped that would make a more lasting impression on him. But he was uncertain if it did.

They returned to silence. After another minute or so, Geoffrey again looked toward him.

“The wedding,” Geoffrey said. “I think it has come off well.”

“The king complains about Antoinette and Alphonse,” Foulques noted.

Geoffrey frowned. “Yes, he has said as much to me. Accused me of double dealing. He spoke to you about it?”

“He did,” Foulques said. “Do you know what I think?”

Geoffrey frowned. "That I have not done enough protect your interests?"

“No," Foulques said. “I think his concerns mean little. We are not his servants. If he wishes our loyalty, he can work to keep it.”

Geoffrey raised a brow. But a few moments later, a nervous smile broke through. He raised his cup toward his father.

With a smile, Foulques responded in kind.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 116
February 1103 - Anjou, France

Foulques stood silently, watching the battle with great anticipation... and a twinge of nervousness.

It had been a surprisingly close encounter in this initial showdown between the two. He had expected it to be a quick, simple affair with little question over the outcome. But this clash had now lasted for what seemed like an hour with the resolution only now starting to take shape.

And as a knight moved into position, the battle drew to a close.

“Check mate,” Foulques’ grandson said.

A smile came to the elder duke’s face. He was concerned for a bit there - given he valued the martial mind of his grandson, he expected him to fare well in chess. And he had - against other children.

But it turned out Foulques own son was a match for him.

Not Geoffrey. It was his second son and first with Haldora, also named Foulques. The boy was rarely called that though - and when he was it usually had “the fair” as an epithet, as a result of his very pale complexion. Other times though, he was simply called Foulqueson - a bit of humor played at way some other cultures, including the Northmen, always named their boys their father’s name with “son” at the end.

Foulqueson was a year younger than his nephew and the two often spent time together. Unfortunately for Foulqueson, he had three bits of misfortune. The first was that he was third in line to the duchy of Anjou. The second was that while Geoffrey and Foulques the younger would gain Anjou, Aquitaine and likely Poitou in time, Foulqueson would be limited to his father’s holdings in Anjou, at best.

And the third was simply the truth his mother Haldora was not viewed in the best of lights. While it wasn’t as if Foulques the younger’s mother, Marguerite, was viewed any better, Foulques could more easily ignore her than he could his own wife.

Despite that, Foulqueson had received the same martial education as his nephew so perhaps it shouldn’t have been the most surprising to see him display a similar acumen.

“A good show boy,” Foulques told his grandson.

The boy smiled. “Thank you grandfather.”

Foulques could see his son looked toward him, likely hoping for some compliment as well. The duke could not bring himself to praise defeat… so he said nothing.

Perhaps he should not have been surprised when Foulqueson’s eyes grew sullen.

The duke looked to the entrance to his chamber. There Herve stood. He had been there a little while, waiting for the end of this match to take the boys out for their sparring session. It was a role he had inherited with Renaud away on campaign and Herve with little else to do with the keep in seclusion.

He had reported back to Foulques the boys got along well enough, despite their situation being one to promote rivalry between the two. They weren’t chummy, but showed a mutual respect.

The boys were out of their chairs and over to Herve quickly. Foulqueson looked back to his father.

“Will you be watching us today, father?” he asked.

Foulques thought about it. He had checked in on them periodically during the seclusion in Anjou but Herve had told him that the boys’ form tended to be sloppy and overaggressive when he did. After the chess game, the odds that happened again would be high.

But he had a valid excuse this time - it was time for a meeting of his council. So he told the boys he would watch if ended early and then sent them off, disappointed. Then he walked off to the strategy hall, knowing he was already late, and was hardly surprised to see the council, along with Agnes, was already gathered around the large table in the center of the hall when he arrived.

“I was attending to a lesson with the boys,” Foulques said. “I assume we are ready to begin?”

“We are my lord,” Godfrey said.

“First business,” Foulques said. “This damn disease. Has it begun to abate?”

“In Normandy, yes,” Godfrey said. “It has been… difficult there but like a brilliant fire, it has burned brightly and has begun to die out.”

“Normandy,” Foulques said. “But what of here?”

Godfrey lowered his head. “No my lord. Here it still rages.”

Foulques sighed. Things had grown worse during the fall, with many in Anjou falling ill with smallpox. Whole villages found themselves afflicted. It caused Foulques to order the total lockdown of the keep, with no one coming in or out.

Messages were rarely sent, and most were sent through replies to messages received. Those messages were received with person delivering them telling them to a person on the other side of a gate or tunnel door.

It was frustrating to essentially cut one’s self off from the outside world. But Foulques did not wish to risk his health or those within the keep - especially his grandson. He saw the boy as the future, and would not put him in danger unnecessarily.

“Based on what has transpired in Normandy, we believe it will last about another half year,” Godfrey said. “Perhaps in the summer it will finally break.”

Leaning forward on the large table, Foulques shook his head. He could see his disappointment was shared as nearly everyone on the council looked downtrodden.

“What other news?” Foulques asked. “How is my daughter?”

“She and Prince Henri are well,” Godfrey said. “The epidemic has abated there.”

Foulques nodded. He had received word a few months back that Bella was pregnant - a surprise given she had just been wed, but the fact that she and Henri had likely conceived a child so soon was considered a good sign.

However, since the epidemic was present in Normandy, Foulques harbored some concern. That she was safe and the disease had faded was a relief.

“Did that come from Geoffrey?” Foulques asked.

“It did, my lord,” Godfrey said.

“Has he any other news for us?” Foulques wondered.

“He believes the Duchess Patricia is near defeat,” Godfrey replied. “She goes to the king, looking for him to intervene, but he does not think it likely. Once that fails, she will admit she is bested.”

We will see, Foulques thought. Patricia had been routed at every turn, with the duchess herself fleeing Poitou entirely after her keep had fallen to Angevin forces and her secondary one in Saintonge surrendered to Geoffrey’s levy.

Despite that, and the fact she was outnumbered by thousands, she had yet to admit her defeat. It almost seemed as if only her capture would allow that, and Foulques knew Geoffrey could not seize from Melun.

“What of the rebels?” Foulques asked.

“They will likely need to be dealt with as well,” Marshal Nominoe replied. “But our forces also greatly outnumber theirs. And we have bested them when we have fought.”

It seems as if this war is a leisurely stroll, Foulques thought. He did so with a twinge of regret - he would have enjoyed being out there. Even if the challenge was not there, the fact he could be at the head of an army again, leading men in battle - it was something he missed.

And something a small part of him wondered if he’d ever get to do again.

“Is there anything else?” Foulques asked. When no one responded he adjourned the meeting.

But while the council members dispersed, steward Guilhem remained behind - a tell-tale sign he wished to tell Foulques something others were not supposed to hear. The duke’s stomach churned - post council meetings was something usually left to the spymaster Julien, or Agnes - if Guilhem spoke of it, the matter was likely serious.

“What is it?” Foulques asked.

“I have… bad news of our situation,” Guilhem said. “Our food stores begin to run low.”

Another clench of his stomach. “I thought we had enough to get through the summer.”

Guilhem motioned for Foulques to follow him. The duke did.

“Some of the meats were improperly prepared,” Guilhem said. “They have spoiled and would be unsafe to eat.”

Foulques cursed. The seclusion during the measles outbreak a decade ago did not have this problem.

“How much food do we have?” Foulques asked.

“I would estimate… another two months,” Guilhem said. “At the longest. A month at the shortest.”

Foulques stroked his beard as he tried to dismiss the sense of dread that threatened to overtake him. No food would mean death. But so too could opening the gates.

Perhaps, within two months it would begin to abate and they could take the chance.

But what if it didn’t?

“The food needs to last us beyond the two months,” Foulques said. “We will cut the meals in the keep down from two to one. And limit the portions with each meal.”

Guilhem nodded. “That will extend our supply for a time. We may make it to the summer months then.”

Foulques did not like the sound of “may.” Then something caught is eye… a disgusting rat. It was a fairly sizeable one too, which was probably why it felt comfortable enough to move about the keep during the day.

Then a thought came to the duke. It was something he was not proud of. But as a warrior, he knew survival was tantamount.

“The rats we kill,” Foulques began. “Prepare them as if they were meat from any other animal.”

He expected Guilhem to blanche at that or show some sign of shock. Instead all Foulques received was a solemn nod.

“I will have it done,” Guilhem said. “And I would assume we shall keep that bit quiet?”

Foulques nodded. Survival over pride in practicality - but he was prideful enough where he did not want to openly admit it. And morale in the keep was already falling - this would likely push it down further. Order might well become more difficult to maintain.

“Any other news to report?” Foulques asked.

“No, my lord,” Guilhem said.

And with that, Foulques dismissed his steward. He could not even be angry with him - Guilhem had served him too long, too honestly and too well to blame him for this.

But as Foulques wandered out toward the courtyard, his nervousness would not abate. What if their food did run out? What if they were forced to open the gates, and take their chances amidst this raging epidemic?

Uncertainty had become a more commonplace in Foulques’ life since the death of Philippe. But Foulques rarely ever felt he had lost control - he lost his seat on the council but retained influence through Geoffrey. He did not have sway with the king in person, but his levy outsized Hugues even more than it had Philippe.

But now? Now he was faced with something he could not control. They would eventually run out of food. And if the disease remained… the choices would be few.

He looked toward the boys sparring. Foulqueson caught sight of him, and sure enough, made an aggressive slash downward at Foulques the younger. It was an attack easily sidestepped by Foulques the younger, and then countered with a blow from his shield which sent Foulqueson to the ground.

Normally, Foulques would have praised his grandson for his composure. But now, he was more angry at his son.

“Poor,” Foulques told his son. “You went for a foolish attack. Had this been a real fight, you would have been dead. Or his prisoner.”

Foulqueson appeared to be shocked by his father’s response. He was rendered speechless.

“Well? What have you got to say for yourself?” Foulques demanded.

“I… I will do better next time, father,” Foulques said.

“Show me,” Foulques ordered. “Again.”

His son picked himself up and readjusted his helmet and leather armor. Then he moved at Foulques the Younger again.

He will be ready, Foulques thought as he watched his son struggle against his grandson. He may never be needed, but he will be ready.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 117
March 1103 - Poitiers, France

Geoffrey stood in an open green field, under the cloudy sky, the wind blowing the bangs of his brown hair upward. It was a cold wind, the type common in early March, enough so that he pulled his cloak tighter around his body.

He glanced at his entourage. Many did the same, including Count Alias of Perigord and Prince-Bishop Leonard. Renaud, commander of Anjou’s forces, added vocal complaint for good measure.

“I think if he keeps us waiting much longer, that you forget your squabbles with your cousin and join forces against him,” Renaud said. “Or tie him up and leave him in this field. Surely the realm would thank you.”

The Duke of Aquitaine smirked at the thought, but that disappeared quickly as another gust of wind blew through, chilling him to the bone.

He would not leave Philipp of Champagne in these fields when all was said and done, but if he made him wait much longer, Geoffrey might well think twice about the generous terms he was to propose to his cousin Patricia.

Everything about this grew more irritating the more he thought about it. That they stood here, in a field rather than his camp, was the doing of the king - or possibly Champagne under the nominal authority of Hugues - he wasn’t entirely sure.

But Champagne had insisted this take place on neutral ground. “A compromise to provide harmony”, he said.

He also had influenced the terms Geoffrey could offer. Another compromise - Geoffrey received the title of Duke of Poitou. Patricia, in turn, remained Countess of Poitiers and Saintonge though she was forced to pay homage to Geoffrey as her new liege lord.

Geoffrey would have preferred taking everything from Patricia and at the very least Saintonge. Yet that was not to be - the king and Champagne were rather insistent that Geoffrey not seize the counties as his own. Thus he was forced to make a choice - leave a wounded but still reasonably intact Patricia as a disloyal vassal…. or disobey the king’s will and make an enemy of him.

Given the strength of Anjou behind him, Geoffrey decided his best play was to have an enemy of a countess, rather than a king.

Disappointing as that was, he consoled himself with the truth that while he was not the nominal Count of Saintonge, he had at least returned it to the influence of his family, thus satisfying the dreams of both his mother and father in one swoop.

Or he would, as soon as this was agreed upon.

Patricia stood about fifty feet away with her entourage, which included her husband, Bertrand de Toulouse, younger brother of the Duke of Toulouse, and Count Gerard of Thouars - the man who had once fought against her in Geoffrey’s name.

He had heard Thouars was eager to swear allegiance to him and would have already had he been allowed to. But until Geoffrey was officially recognized as Duke of Poitou, or Patricia herself acknowledged it, that could not happen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Geoffrey caught sight of some men on horseback. Sure enough, it was Philipp of Champagne. Finally.

He took his sweet time, even now that he had arrived on the field, moving his horse at a gingerly pace, his entourage of knights following in kind. And when he stopped in the middle of the field, between Patricia and Geoffrey, he did not dismount, even after the warring cousins approached him.

“He thinks himself king,” Alias whispered to Geoffrey. “He wishes to show he is above you both - that he is not your peer.”

An obvious observation, but one Geoffrey appreciated his chancellor making - it was better he passed along information in case his lord did not know it, rather than assume that he did.

Patricia bowed before Champagne. Geoffrey did not.

“Duchess Patricia,” Champagne said. “Duke Geoffrey. It is good you both have joined me today so that we may put these hostilities which divide and weaken the realm behind us.”

He offered his hand to both. Geoffrey made certain to shake it as he would any normal handshake - Weaken the realm? I will not bow before you, you hypocrite.

“I thank you and the king for agreeing to this… mediation of the conflict,” Patricia said. “Though I am disappointed you have not found fault in this illegal act.”

“It is hardly illegal,” Geoffrey said. “When your brother died, I became the strongest male claimant. It, by right, should have gone to me.”

“If you wish to claim that,” Patricia replied, “then my nephew Adhemar, or my grandnephews all have stronger cases than you.”

“Your grandnephews,” Geoffrey said. “Like my son?”

Patricia narrowed her gaze. “Better him than you.”

“My lady, the king is sympathetic to your arguments, as you well know,” Champagne said. “But the matter has been considered settled by your conflict. If you wish to continue fighting…”

Geoffrey glared at Champagne. Some compromise - he encourages her to continue resistance even now!

He was growing wary of this arrangement. Not just this peace, but his relationship with Champagne.

Philipp had offered an olive branch of sorts, hoping to secure Geoffrey’s support on council matters. He did so… warily. He saw the value in it - he would like another friend on the council and even if Toulouse were present, he was a potential rival to his ambitions in the south of the realm.

Champagne was a natural fit for those ends… but the man was a snake. It made it hard to completely trust him. And this only added fuel to the fire...

“No, it is pointless,” Patricia lamented. “I will not put the people of Poitou through anymore hardship.”

Geoffrey resisted a smile. It was theater, but he could appreciate that. Especially given it was irrelevant - it would garner her little support that she did not already have. And beyond her barons, she had none - Thouars wished for Geoffrey and Uc of Lusignan had struck his banner for Marguerite.

“A most gracious lady, they could not have prayed for,” Champagne said. He looked to Geoffrey. “Will you propose your terms, Duke Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey looked to Alias, who stepped forward. The bald Count of Perigord cleared his throat before speaking loudly: “Duke Geoffrey of Aquitaine, and rightful Lord of Poitou through the late Duchess Beatritz of Aquitaine, Poitou and Anjou, proposes these generous terms to his cousin, the Lady Patricia. She shall submit to him as her liege lord, and perform oaths of fealty for the counties of Poitiers and Saintonge. She shall renounce herself as the liege lord to Gerard of Thouars and Uc of Lusignan. She shall swear loyalty to Duke Geoffrey upon her life and the life of any children she may one day have. In exchange, Duke Geoffrey promises to cease hostilities against her, return the keeps he has occupied in Poitiers and Saintonge, and protect her fully as her rightful liege lord.”

“Do you accept the terms, Lady Patricia?” Champagne asked.

Patricia scowled. Her face was a reddish hue, growing darker from the ruby blush the cold had caused in her cheeks. Her husband took her hand, but she threw his arm away as she stepped forward, toward Geoffrey. Before him, she dropped to a knee and raised her hands, while Prince-Bishop Leonard stepped beside the cousins.

“I accept these terms,” she said keeping her head lowered. “And I accept you, Duke Geoffrey, as my rightful lord. I promise in good faith that I shall remain your loyal woman, to never cause you harm, provide you men when required, and honor my oaths to you against all others without deceit. So I do swear, on my life and the lives of my children yet unborn.”

Geoffrey took her hands and pulled her up. “I accept, my lady. And you shall have my protection, as your lord. I shall do right by my oaths, as I have for all my vassals.”

The Prince-Bishop made the signal of a cross. The two embraced. And it was done.

Patricia glared at Geoffrey, but said nothing. She walked back to her group and motioned for them to depart. Her household knights and councilors followed her as she mounted her steed and rode off, but Thouars remained, now free to accept Geoffrey as his lord. He did so with a smile on his face.

“It is a fine day for Poitou,” Thouars told him after he did so. “Alias has spoken to me of how loved you are in Aquitaine. We long for that here after the ill rule we have suffered under the children of Guilhem.”

Geoffrey patted Thouars on the back. While he did not know if Patricia was that poor a ruler, he appreciated the sentiment.

“I will endeavor to do right by all,” Geoffrey said. “And I have not forgotten your efforts - the first to strike a banner in my name.”

“It is with great shame that I failed you in that effort,” Thouas said. “I could not defeat both Patricia and Uc.”

“I find no fault in your efforts, friend,” Geoffrey said. “Tonight we shall celebrate many - your bravery will be chief among them.”

Thouars beamed. “Most gracious lord you are, my lord. Thank you.”

Geoffrey’s own smile was muted however as he caught sight of Champagne, who remained on the field, watching this unfold. He sat on his horse, his thin lips forming a smirk on his fat, jowled face.

Tired of being towered over, Geoffrey returned to his horse before riding over to meet his peer. He motioned for Leonard to accompany Thouars back to the camp. Meanwhile, he and Alias remained back with a small group of Geoffrey’s knights, along with Renaud and some Angevin men.

Just in case.

“Congratulations, Duke Geoffrey of Aquitaine and Poitou,” Champagne said.

“Thank you,” Geoffrey replied. “Though for some reason, I do not feel you are happy about this result.”

“Do not mistake my show from earlier as anything more than placating the will of our king,” Champagne said. “He did not like how this played out. And he frowned upon you dictating the terms of the peace deal - he felt as though your position as chancellor gives tacit approval to such things. It was why I was forced to take a leading role.”

“And you had nothing to do with suggesting you handle such matters?” Geoffrey asked.

“I had some influence over his choice,” Champagne said. “But I remain a friend of your family. I argued quite forcefully that you should be allowed at least the title you had rightfully won.”

“You mean to tell me the king wished to deny me Poitou?” Geoffrey demanded.

“The king is fearful of one family growing too powerful,” Champagne said. “Your father controls the largest levy in the realm. Now you hold Aquitaine and Poitou. And your father has a friendship with Alphonse… would you not be concerned if you were king?”

It was a charge Geoffrey could not rebut. So he deflected. “I remain the king’s man, through and through. If I were not, I would have seized Poitou on my terms, as I wished, his will be damned.”

“I certainly understand,” Champagne said. “I am ambitious lord myself. It is all a balancing act.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “So you mean to tell me you do not work against me?”

Champagne smirked. “I was once a chancellor to a king too, Duke Geoffrey. I know when a show is required. Your cousin needed to believe she came away from this with some support so she could leave here with her head held high - righteously believing she was wronged by you.”

“So you incite her to rebel against me in the future?” Geoffrey demanded.

“You took her title,” Champagne replied. “She needs no incentive.”

Geoffrey frowned. Right as that was, he still did not like it. “I wonder of you, Duke Philipp. You say you are a friend of my family. But… you admit to speaking with forked tongue - though you also swear you do not do so with me. How am I to trust you?”

“Countess Patricia is no threat to me,” Champagne said. “I am fully aware what betraying Anjou and Aquitaine may bring down upon me.”

Flattery, Geoffrey realized. But also with a bit of truth. While he did not wish to go down this road, Geoffrey knew his levy was near equal to Champagne. Add in Anjou and Champagne would blown away.

“Your words are enough for me, for now,” Geoffrey replied as he took Champagne’s hand. “Your show today was impressive, I must admit.”

“Good man,” Champagne said. “We will have much to discuss when we return to the capital. Until then, enjoy your celebrations. And safe travels back.”

Champagne turned his horse and rode off with his men, leaving Geoffrey with Alias, Renaud and the two groups of knights.

“He will betray you,” Alias said.

A common complaint from his chancellor. But not necessarily wrong.

“He well might,” Geoffrey said. “But it is a risk that is worth taking. Champagne is a snake, and speaks with forked tongue. But not everything he says is lie - he likes to twist the truth to his advantage. I suspect he is honest when he said the king did not wish us to succeed here in Poitou. And that alone means we should not toss aside potential aid when it comes.”

“He controls the king,” Alias said.

“He seeks to control the king,” Geoffrey replied. “We know he fears he will lose control as a result of the marriage of my sister. If her child is a boy…”

Geoffrey smiled at the thought. But then he spied Renaud and rode over to him, as another thought came to mind.

“My cousin is vanquished,” Geoffrey said. “But what of the rebels? Will my father’s levy remain for that? I thank you, regardless.”

Renaud shrugged. “I have received no word of recalling us. And that is fine by me - here in the south we have avoided that epidemic.”

Renaud probably spoke truthfully when he said he was glad to be away from it. But Geoffrey was not certain if the men in the Angevin levy felt the same way. Still he would not question it - not while he stood to benefit.

“I am glad to hear it,” Geoffrey said as he shook Renaud’s hand. “You too shall be a guest of honor tonight in our celebrations. Not only as my father’s representative, but for your services to us down here. I have heard tales of your bravery and leadership, Mayor Renaud. Such things are not forgotten.”

Renaud smiled from ear to ear. “You are a most gracious lord, Duke Geoffrey.”

“I am a thankful one,” Geoffrey said. “For today I have fulfilled my mother’s dream. When I was a babe at her breast she would whisper to me of how Aquitaine and Poitou would be mine. Today… they are. I have done right by her memory, and will continue to do so for all that have aided me.”

It kept the smile on Renaud’s face and drew a cheer from his knights - men who would be his to command one day.

That worked well, he thought and Geoffrey knew he’d have to work that into a larger speech when addressed all his vassals, new and old.

And as they rode back to camp, he continued to think about what he'd accomplished and what would one day be his. As they came together in his mind, even greater thoughts crept in, thoughts that would be hard to silence...

I was nothing.

Then I was Duke of Aquitaine.

Now I am Duke of Poitou.

Later, I shall be Duke of Anjou.

Perhaps… I shall be more beyond that as well...

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 118
May 1103 - Melun, France

“An alliance?”

Geoffrey spoke the words, even though he’d heard them. It was to buy time in the talks with the old, bald, fat count before him.

“Yes, an alliance,” Robert of Artois said. “A fairly simple thing to agree to, considering the Duke would be wed to your sister.”

It was no simple thing, Geoffrey thought.

The discussions with Artois, regent for Duke Arnulf, progressed well enough. But this demand for a formal alliance would prove troublesome, and Geoffrey knew it.

His father wished for friendship. He did not wish to be committed to aiding the child duke. Foulques only had one remaining alliance - with him. His father wished to pick his wars - not be dragged into them as he had done to the old dukes, Robert of Burgundy and Guilhem of Aquitaine.

“I would consider it,” Geoffrey replied.

“With all due respect, Duke Geoffrey,” Artois replied, “It is not you we seek the alliance with at this time.”

Geoffrey resisted a frown. A reminder he might be the heir to the so called "Iron Duke of the Franks", but he would always be the lesser of them while his father lived. But...

“My father will not live forever,” Geoffrey said.

Artois sipped his wine. “But he lives now. Tell me, what is the problem? Do you not have an alliance with Duke Alphonse?”

“No,” Geoffrey said. “We do not. We are friendly. But not formal alliance has been drawn up, yet.”

Artois’ brow rose. “The boy must have been desperate.”

“Our friendship is valuable, even if our levy is not guaranteed in all circumstances,” Geoffrey said.

“Not guaranteed. Then what good is it?” Artois asked.

“No levy is guaranteed,” Geoffrey said. “Even in an alliance. We are just honest about it.”

Artois eyed Geoffrey before replying: “Your decency knows no bounds.”

Dripping with sarcasm, but Geoffrey could not blame him. He hated doing this negotiation. It was as if he was trying to do this with a hand tied behind his back - regardless of what his father claimed, he was not negotiating for himself. He did this for Foulques - if he came to terms the Duke of Anjou did not like, there was every chance he would refuse to honor the arrangement.

“Think on the matter,” Geoffrey said. “There is no rush after all. Duke Arnulf is but eight summers. And my sister is even younger.”

“Yes,” Artois said as he stood up. “It has been a pleasure Duke Geoffrey.”

“Likewise,” Geoffrey replied.

Artois moved to the door to the chamber before stopping and glancing back. “You have a son, do you not, Duke Geoffrey?”

“I do,” Geoffrey replied. “What of it?”

“I have granddaughters,” Artois replied. “Perhaps we might find a match there.”

“Would such a match help… further things along with my sister?” Geoffrey asked.

“I would could certainly be able to better vouch for the word of your house, if ours were joined,” Artois said.

Geoffrey smirked. “An interesting thought. Another thing to consider.”

It was bribery - Artois trying to use Arnulf to prop up his own family. But it also wasn’t surprising and humoring the old count might be in his benefit.

“I shall send word to my daughter Helvis,” Artois said. “Perhaps you could meet with her on your next visit to Burgundy?”

“I would be honored to,” Geoffrey replied.

Artois bowed before him and moved to leave. He nearly bumped into Alias of Perigord as he did, with the younger, slender count just narrowly sidestepping the collision.

“Watch yourself,” Artois sneered.

“My apologies, Count Robert,” Alias replied with a bow.

Artois glared at him, but said nothing else. Geoffrey smirked as he poured out another cup for his chancellor - he was effective at disarming opposition like that.

“Deftly done,” Geoffrey said as he gave him the wine.

“I did not wish for him to blame you for leaving your chambers on a poor note,” Alias replied as he took the cup. “Did it go well?”

“It went,” Geoffrey replied. “We are at an impasse - because he does not wish to negotiate with me, but my father.”

“Has he no view to the future?” Alias asked.

“Artois may not live to see that future,” Geoffrey said. “He is old. He looks to get his. He wishes for me to meet with his daughter, Helvis, to discuss a marriage of her daughter to my son.”

“Not her husband?”

“Artois wishes to know we will aid him,” Geoffrey said. “I will meet with Robert of Burgundy, but… I suspect it will be Helvis I shall need to convince.”

“Without promising your son to her, I imagine,” Alias noted.

Geoffrey tapped his nose to which Alias raised his cup to him.

“I bring better news than that,” Alias said after taking a drink. “News from Bayeux. Your sister Bella has birthed a boy.”

The news slowly processed in Geoffrey’s mind. His sister had a son… a prince… a future king, who was also his nephew? A king who would be my nephew…

He knew it had benefits and had long considered them. But now that it could actually happen...

A smile formed on his face as he poured himself some more wine, then another cup for Alias.

“This is excellent news indeed,” Geoffrey said. “A toast to my sister! And to the new prince!”

“Hear, hear!” Alias said as he raised his cup.

“Send Bella a gift,” Geoffrey said. “The usual - a couple of casks of wine. Buy a mare for her, and for her husband, a stallion. Also have a sword made for the new prince. I think that should cover it.”

“It will be done my lord,” Alias said.

Their celebrations were cut short, however, by a knock on the door. Alias moved to answer it to reveal a messenger from the king. He wished to see Geoffrey immediately.

“What do you think this is about?” Alias wondered.

“Perhaps he is to send me somewhere,” Geoffrey said. “I have been waiting here for something to do for over a month now.”

“I still think that odd,” Alias said. “I would be wary.”

Geoffrey nodded. Alias had told him that he heard the king grew dissatisfied with him. Talk differed as to why - some said Geoffrey sought to rule through the king, others claimed he sought to enrich himself and others still whispered that Foulques used Geoffrey, and perhaps the king, as a puppetmaster.

Laughable, Geoffrey thought, my father a puppetmaster? He hasn’t the mind for such things.

Nor did he have the access these days. The smallpox epidemic left him with little ways to communicate to the outside. He was neutered in Anjou at the moment, and aside from the talks with Artois over marriage, Geoffrey felt more free than he had in some time.

Still, he would be cautious in his words with the king here, as Hugues sat in his strategy hall, Philipp of Champagne by his side. Both men looked stoic, their faces refusing to betray emotion.

“You summoned me, my king,” Geoffrey said as he dropped to a knee.

“I have, Duke Geoffrey,” the king replied. “Duke Philipp?”

“Duke Geoffrey,” Champagne began, “you have been a good, faithful servant of the realm for nearly two years now. Your king thanks you for such service.”

“It has been my pleasure,” Geoffrey said.

“However, there have been unfortunate rumors,” Champagne said. “While we do not doubt your loyalty to the crown, the questions of your interests have… grown louder."

“My interests remain with the crown,” Geoffrey replied. He did not like being dressed down and he would defend himself against such accusations. “The king’s reputation grows across the realm. While his virtuous life and sound treatment of his vassals is a large reason, the words I speak on his behalf also matter.”

“Your abilities are not the concern,” Champagne continued. “In fact, this situation is unfortunate as your way with words have been an asset to the king thus far. And…”

“Enough,” the king said as he raised his hand. “Since my marshal seems to lack the strength to say what needs to be said, I shall. Duke Geoffrey, I am relieving you of your duties as chancellor.”

The blood rushed from his face - it felt as though it had left his body entirely. He felt cold, numb, almost removed from it all.

Relieved of duties?

He did not know how long he remained motionless. But when Geoffrey did move, it was slow and just a shake of the head, that continued as he managed to get out: “Relieved of duties?”

“You are to return to Aquitaine and… Poitou, which you so desired,” the king said. “You shall represent the crown no longer.”

“You fire me?” Geoffrey asked. “Why?”

“I question who you represent,” the king said. “I do not know if it is your father, or yourself. But I am convinced that whoever it is, I come well after they.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Geoffrey insisted. “I have done my best to improve the reputation of the crown throughout the realm. Not an easy task, given that many were sore over your brother’s death and believe you involved.”

“You accuse me?” the king demanded as he rose from the throne.

Geoffrey wished to say yes. But he knew better.

“No, I know you did not,” Geoffrey said. “But you speak of rumors, treating them as fact, when they are not. Many despise my family, and wish to see myself and my father brought low.”

“So it is only rumor you negotiate with Robert of Artois over a marriage?” the king demanded.

“My family are not thralls,” Geoffrey said. “We exist in the realm and must take part in it - that includes marriage.”

“Yet I do not see you attempting to marry off my daughters,” the king replied.

Geoffrey was not certain how to respond. He had not found a particularly good union for either daughter. But his attention had been diverted elsewhere.

“I was unaware that was a priority,” Geoffrey said.

“And that is why you are relieved of your duties,” the king said. “Such things should have been apparent.”

Geoffrey frowned. Inside he was seething. He searches for an excuse, any excuse to be rid of me. And it is likely Champagne who whispers into his ear.

“If that is your will,” Geoffrey said as he bowed once more. “I will be away from Melun with great haste.”

“It would be for the best,” the king said. “If I have need of you, in a different role, I send for your services.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes before quickly departing the hall.

…

He would have been gone from Melun that day if he could, but he knew preparations for the journey back to Bordeaux would take at least a day.

So angry was he that he thought of riding to an inn and spending the night there, and allowing the remainder of his entourage to catch up with him in a day or two.

Alias counseled against it. “You must hold your head high” he insisted. “They wish to bring you low. You must show them that you serve at your will, not theirs.”

Sound advice. Alias was not the best talker, but he understood how the game worked.

“What shall you do upon your return to Bordeaux?” Alias asked.

“We still fight. I will be able to see first hand how Gerard of Thouars functions as my marshal,” Geoffrey replied. “Once we finish with Uc… we will see.”

A knock at the door. Alias checked on it and the guest was a surprising one to Geoffrey - Philipp of Champagne.

“I shall rid you of him,” Alias said.

Given the rumors surrounding Alias, Geoffrey briefly wondered if his chancellor meant something more than simply his presence here. But Geoffrey shook his head and motioned for him to enter. Champagne did so and greeted the two men with a nod of the head. But he lingered on Alias.

“If you do not mind, Alias of Perigord,” Champagne said, “I have a matter I must speak to the duke about, in private.”

A request that was likely to draw Alias’ ire internally. But externally, he remained composed, bowing before Champagne and wishing him well.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Champagne said after the door closed.

“What do you want?” Geoffrey demanded.

“To apologize,” Champagne said. “That I could not prevent this.”

“I am certain you are just broken up that I am not to remain on the council,” Geoffrey told him.

“I suspected you would believe me responsible,” Champagne said. “However, I swear I not only had nothing to do with it, but I fought for you to remain.”

“And I should believe you, why?” Geoffrey demanded.

“Because of who the king has chosen as your replacement,” Champagne replied. “Alphonse.”

Geoffrey spit out his drink. “Alphonse? The prince? The Duke of Valois?”

“The one and the same,” Champagne said. “Madness, I thought, to bring him to Melun. You give him legitimacy. But… the king was insistent. He is aware of the rumors you mentioned. And to me… he confides to me he seeks to dispel them by raising his nephew.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “He confides in you that?”

“Yes,” Champagne said. “But I think that just part of it. I believe he grows weary of our power on the council. So he sought to remove our alliance, and replace you with someone who would never ally with me. Alphonse…”

Geoffrey did not need to hear any more. Alphonse would never ally with the man who brought ruin to his father, and had imprisoned him for much of his life. That lent credence to what Champagne said…

“So you lose influence,” Geoffrey said. “But at least you keep your seat on the council.”

“Aye, but it is not all bad for you,” Champagne said. “You can consolidate your victory in Poitou. And you and your father can work together - you can achieve much.”

Geoffrey eyed him. He was trying to seem helpful but all he did was point out the obvious. He feared both of those things, and was working to make certain he was not the target of their ire.

“You do not need to fear,” Geoffrey said. “I have no aims to repay you for this - I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with it.”

“You are as wise as you are gracious,” Champagne said.

Geoffrey resisted an eye roll. Instead, he responded in kind. “As the king said, I may be needed in the future. And when that time comes, I shall be ready to offer my services once more.”

What Champagne would tell the king, Geoffrey did not know. But he would not make it easy for him to make him the villain - at least not before he was ready to assume the role.

“Safe travels in your return to Aquitaine, my friend,” Champagne said. “And if you see him before I do, give my regards to your father. I hope to see him again soon.”

“I shall,” Geoffrey said.

And with that Champagne left the chamber. Geoffrey watched him every step of the way. He was angry… angry at the king, angry at Champagne, even, to a degree, Alphonse.

But this battle was lost. Time was on his side. Eventually, he would have his father’s massive levy under his control. And then… they would all come to him.

Until then, he had other things he could call upon...

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 119
June 1103 - Anjou, France


Agnes lay in her chamber, her eyes closed.

A low rumble snapped her eyes open and her gaze fixated on the ceiling.

Again.

Look at the ceiling. Examine every little detail. See how it has changed since the last time you stared at it… Moments ago.

Ignore the pains in your belly. Ignore how you wish to eat something… anything.

But her stomach continued to rumbled. She heard the sounds from within her belly over her own thoughts. And she wished again that she could succeed in her original reason for laying in her chamber bed despite it being the middle of the day - to fall asleep and temporarily escape this miserable prison.

Some days it worked better than others. Today was not a good one as she had been in her chambers for over an hour, trying and failing to find relief in dreams or at least a different experience in her nightmares.

Agnes pulled herself upright. It was no use. Her body would not oblige her.

And so it was these miserable days in the keep. Barely enough food in the evening to drive the pangs away and fall asleep. Awaken to the same rumblings in her stomach and be filled with the desire for anything to sate it. Even rats had begun to look appealing enough where she suggested her father cook them. He was receptive, much to her relief, though she noticed little change in the portions.

It had been going on for months now, and it had taken a toll on them all. While Agnes had never been a heavy woman, she had grown incredibly thin as of late. When she would change and see herself in the mirror, her ribs had become easy to spot. Her hair thinned and started to gray, her face grew gaunt.

And it was more than just her physical appearance. Her energy waned, as did almost everyone else's in the keep. Her desires dwindled and she could not bring herself to actually be with Henri - it would just leave them hungrier for actual food than before. Not that he was bothered - her husband just did not seem very interested in coupling.

That irked her early on - he had duties as her husband - but by now she was far too miserable to care. Besides, she feared actually conceiving a child at this point. It was terrible enough now. Imagine if she were pregnant as well?

Her only relief came in her dreams, when sometimes she would find herself next to her handsome, strong son of a blacksmith lover, Cedric. When her eyes closed, he be there to ravish her, as he used to. In the days before she was wed. In the days before she feared starvation.

She looked to her pitcher, where some wine was left. It was ironic - the wine had not gone bad like the food, so it remained plentiful. But she could not drink much of it. Without food, it left her drunk too easily. So it sat there unused, for the most part, except at supper.

Torment, she thought. Perhaps it would be better outside the gates.

A thought that came to mind often, but one she quickly dismissed. To be afflicted with that disease, to have the pox cover your body, to have it scar you, if you were lucky, to have it kill you if you were not… no, this suffering would prove worth it.

Provided… we actually survive.

She sighed, as a knock came at her chamber door. She prayed it would be someone to tell her it was over - the gates were being opened and they could move around the world once more… eat food, see different faces, enjoy the finer pleasures…

But she knew that was unlikely. She sat on council meetings. She knew the state of things. And the state… was poor.

It was, in fact, Alearde. Her mentor had not been immune from this misery either - the lack of food and loss of weight appeared to hasten her aging. The lines in her face grew more numerous every day. Her dress hung looser on her frame and her complexion was paler than it had been.

“Something important?” Agnes asked.

“I… bring a message for you,” Alearde said. “It was passed to one of my people.”

“What is it?”

“Cedric is very ill,” Alearde said.

“How ill?” Agnes asked.

“He… he wished to pass along to you that he was grateful for the time you two spent together,” Alearde said. “He has missed you… but that he understands why you could not be with him. And that he will always love you.”

Agnes gulped. “He sounds… he sounds as if he is dying.”

Alearde did not reply and Agnes felt her stomach clench.

Despite her better judgments, she had seen Cedric since she was married… but rarely. They took similar precautions as before - she did not wish the uncertainty of parentage for any child she would carry. But she could not resist the temptation either - at least until the keep was locked down from even the town.

Henri had not been the best of lovers. Even with her guidance, he was timid, and meek. He simply did not excite her - not like barrel-chested lover did.

And now… Cedric lay dying? Telling her of his love without being able to receive any in return?

“I must go to him,” Agnes said.

“You cannot,” Alearde said.

“You can sneak me out of here,” Agnes said.

“I will not,” Alearde said. “I will not risk your life over this matter.”

“I care for him!” Agnes said.

“His fate will not change regardless,” Alearde replied. “Yours, however might. You would bring death to yourself to be sentimental?”

Agnes frowned. “He has excited me unlike any other. I have known him for years now… is it wrong to care for him?”

“No,” Alearde said. “But you cannot throw your life away to say goodbye.”

“I may not catch the illness,” Agnes said.

“But you risk it,” Alearde said. “I cannot, in good conscience, help you and expose you, then let you return. It would put everyone in this keep in jeopardy. Not just you, but your father, your brothers, your sisters, your daughter, my daughter… No, I will not.”

“Then I will go myself,” Agnes said as she stormed past her.

“I will tell your father,” Alearde said.

Agnes grew wide-eyed and turned back to Alearde. “You would not.”

“I will not let you put this over the health of everyone else in the keep,” Alearde said. “I do not wish to do this, but I will.”

Agnes scowled. She trusted Alearde with everything… had she known she would not help her, she would have never have told her.

“I cannot believe you would betray me like this,” she grumbled.

“I have betrayed nothing,” Alearde said. “I seek what is best for you and everyone here. If you wish to leave, speak to your father. Perhaps he will permit it. But… he will no doubt wonder what Cedric is to you.”

It was an argument and warning meant to end matters. Alearde never would have expected Agnes to be willing to admit her affair to her father.

But Agnes was angry, hungry, frustrated and guilty.

She marched from her chambers, seeking her father. He was not present in his own chamber. Instead, he was found in the strategy hall, looking over a map of the realm, alone.

It had changed in recent months. Poitou was now under Geoffrey’s control. A positive development for her family, though one that could not be fully celebrated until they actually had food stores once more and would be tempered by her brother's dismissal from the council.

He probably reached for something he should not, she thought when she heard that news.

Foulques glanced up as he heard the door close. His eyes returned to the map when he saw it was Agnes.

She looked at him and her sadness grew stronger still. Her father had not been immune to the effects of this mess either. His robes hung loosely off him, his gray hair thinned and he had lost another couple of teeth. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Agnes saw Foulques as old - a reminder that his time may be nearing an end.

But she steeled herself. It was a reminder that all their time was fleeting. Like Cedric.

“Do you come to tell me the epidemic has begun to abate?” Foulques asked without looking up.

“No,” Agnes replied. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her. She held her head up, and stood straight, her arms at her side, her whole body at attention.

“Then what is it?”

“I wish to leave the keep,” Agnes told him.

That was enough to bring Foulques’ gaze back to her. But it was momentary, his eyes soon returned the map. “No one leaves or enters the keep. It is simple enough, I thought.”

“I am aware,” Agnes said. “And I am requesting that I be allowed to depart.”

“You would not be permitted to return until the epidemic passes,” Foulques said. “If you survived.”

“I am aware,” Agnes said. “I still wish to go.”

“You wish for death?” Foulques asked. “You desire food that badly, I see.”

“No…” Agnes said. “I have… a friend. Who is ill. I wish to see them before… if… they pass.”

That was enough to draw Foulques eyes to her again. He pushed himself up from the table.

“Who is he?” Foulques asked.

“As I said, a friend,” Agnes said.

Foulques shook his head and looked down once more. “I thought it was just your brother who believed himself far more clever than he is. Now I see you both have that nature. Perhaps your mother had a greater influence on you than I thought.”

“You insult mother?” Agnes demanded.

Foulques' eyes returned to her. But it was no passing glance. He pinned her with his gaze.

“No, I insult my daughter who thinks herself so clever she can attempt to justify her leaving the safety of the keep, with no promise of return, over a mere friend,” Foulques said. “Who is he and how long has it been going on?”

Agnes lowered her head. This was foolish. But she was in now. There was no way to back out of it.

Her head came up again. “He is the son a blacksmith. It has gone on for years now. Since before I was married.”

“And does it continue since?”

“Rarely.” she answered.

“Rarely, but it does.”

Agnes bit her lip before replying: “Yes.”

Foulques moved from the table and approached her. His body had grown thin, but his walk remained heavy, his boots echoing in the empty strategy hall. He stopped in front of her, and peered down, through his mask - close enough Agnes could feel his breath on her face.

“You learned nothing,” Foulques said. “Sixteen years, and you learn nothing.”

“This was not Gilles,” Agnes said. “Cedric cares for me. He loves me. He---”

“He is not your husband,” Foulques said. “You seek to embarrass me again?”

“No,” Agnes insisted. “It was never about you.”

“No, it was only about you,” Foulques said. “Selfish. Inconsiderate. Stupid. Qualities I should not have in one ruling in my name.”

And there it was. The thing she should have feared by coming in here. The thing, in some ways, she feared worse than death. To lose everything she had worked so hard to build…

She was tempted to throw it back in his face. Etiennette. Ness. He was one to lecture her on matters of selfish behavior? He had sired two bastards which had pushed her further down succession in Anjou! Potentially made life more difficult for her brother when he came to power here…

Geoffrey would have said that. But she was not Geoffrey. She was not a man. She did not have Aquitaine and Poitou.

Instead, she restated the obvious: “You would strip me of my powers?”

“I should,” Foulques said. “But I will leave such matters up to you.”

“Up… to me?” Agnes asked.

“You lust after this man,” Foulques said. “But I think you lust after power more. I permit you to leave the keep. You will not be allowed to return until after the epidemic ends, if you survive. And your title will not remain, regardless of your fate."

Agnes looked square at the eye holes in his mask. “You would strip me… of it permanently?”

“If you leave,” Foulques said. “If you remain, I will consider your service to Anjou in the past and deem this matter forgotten.”

“I… I will think on this,” Agnes replied.

“There is no thought,” Foulques told her. “You will decide now.”

“I… I cannot decide that quickly,” Agnes said.

“You will decide,” Foulques said. “Or you shall remain here and lose your title. Decide.”

Agnes shut her eyes tightly. She saw Cedric. The sweet young man who had quenched her thirst so often… perhaps the only man who cared for her that she could care for back.

Say it.

She had to go. She had to be by his side.

Say it.

If she didn’t, she knew she would regret it forever.

Say it.

“I will remain here, father,” Agnes replied. “I should not have put myself over the needs of Anjou. I apologize to you, first and foremost, for this behavior. It shall not happen again.”

It took every fiber of her being to say the words without her voice cracking. She held herself so upright and so tightly, her body began to tremble. All the while her father circled her, his warmth of his heavy breathing and smell of his sour breath around her.

“The matter is dropped,” Foulques said. “I do not wish to hear of it again. From you, or anyone else.”

“Understood, father,” Agnes replied.

She turned to leave. Her father called back to her.

“If I hear of anything else between you and someone other than your husband ever again, I will not be so forgiving,” Foulques warned.

With that he returned to the map. And she was free.

Free to return to her chambers.

Which Agnes did. She closed the door and once more threw herself upon the bed and began her stare at the ceiling.

Her stomach churned, in hunger, but also in anxiety, anxiety over the thought of Cedric dying, thinking she did not care.

Look at the ceiling. Examine every little detail. See how it has changed since the last time you stared at it.

Ignore the pains in your belly. Ignore that you have left him to die alone. Ignore that you chose your power over his happiness.

She could not ignore the pain before. And she could not ignore it now.

Agnes turned to her side, curled into a ball and sobbed.