Before Plantagenet – A House d’Anjou AAR

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 120
August 1103 - Melun, France

In some ways, it felt like a triumph.

Foulques, on horseback, leading a procession of Angevin knights through the gates in Melun, their banners flying in the warm, August breeze.

The warmth of the day should have made him uncomfortable. The duke was in full armor, leathers underneath his hauberk, helmet and iron mask on his face. But he could not keep the smile off his face as he moved into the keep itself - the courtiers having begun to gather to see him arrive.

Was it reverence? Was it fear? Did it matter?

He descended from his horse and gave the reins to a stablehand. Then he began his walk up the stairs. It took him a moment - he felt a greater fatigue than the last time he had ascended them. He tried not to think of his age but more of the fact the seclusion had drained them all.

His armor and mask hid his weight loss well. Even though seclusion had ended weeks before as the disease finally abated at the end of July, it would likely be a while before he and his courtiers fully recovered. Food had never tasted so good as it had when they celebrated the passing of the disease - though the mood of his hall proved more relief than joy. They would live - and after months of meager food, hunger pangs and maddening seclusion, it was a reward that almost did not seem worth it.

But as Foulques entered the main hall, he was reminded precisely why it was. His life was not over - he still had honors to receive.

He walked forward, armor rustling, boots hitting against the floor, his knights following a few paces behind. He reached the dais, where King Hugues sat with Queen Aude by his side. So too, grouped on the second stairs, was the king’s council - most of them anyway.

Alphonse was officially away on business, supposedly meeting with the Duke of Burgundy. Foulques heard the prince and Duke of… Valois… rarely ever set foot in Melun. He did not trust his uncle, and conducted most of his business with the king as chancellor through messengers.

Also missing was Philipp of Champagne. But there was good reason for that.

Foulques dropped to a knee before the king, who rose from his throne and descended the dais. Standing on the bottom step, he instructed Foulques to rise.

“You have summoned me, my king,” Foulques said.

“I have, Duke Foulques,” the king replied. “The realm has need of you once more.”

“What would you have me do, my king?” Foulques asked.

“There has been no finer man to grace the position of marshal than you, Duke Foulques,” the king said. “You have served the realm with honor, and brought it glory. And now that God has lifted the plague that befell Anjou, I would ask that you once more take up the mantle.”

Foulques knew this was coming. He had been informed of the offer to replace the now-fired Champagne in July, just as the disease had begun to abate. And he knew this performance was also coming - messengers had informed him while he was en route. It was why he presented himself as he did, as a soldier and knight of the highest order.

And yet, the smile would not leave his face.

“It would be my honor, and privilege,” Foulques replied.

“Then, Duke Foulques,” the king began, “take your place among my councilors, as Marshal of the Franks.”

And so Foulques did, ascending the dais and standing at the forefront, ahead of all others, closest to the king. The mask hid his joy and his pride.

Back where I belong.

…..

In truth, it was not exactly as it was before.

For one, there was no Ness. He debated trying to get his lover among Queen Aude’s ladies, but it was not to be. He did bring one lady for the queen, however - his granddaughter Beatrice.

Foulques was learning the king had less of an issue with bastards themselves, and more the actual presence of adultery. Perhaps it should not have been surprising, given the rumors his first wife, the Lady Euphrosine de Bachaumont was unfaithful to him. Thus Ness was a bridge too far - as was any other lover he would have brought.

But Beatrice was acceptable. She was a few years younger than the queen, well-mannered and suited to serve a lady well - she was trained by Alearde had done so for her mother, Agnes, and the Duchess Haldora.

And the king also enjoyed that Beatrice, now a woman grown, was married.

It was a strange sight for Foulques when he first saw Edouard. The boy, now a young man, who he knew was his son, but the world treated as his nephew, looked quite bit like him - perhaps even more than Geoffrey or Agnes did.

Foulques was uncertain how much Edouard knew of his true parentage. He knew the whispers existed, and they were likely heard. How much he believed them? It was a question Foulques was not willing to broach yet. Not before he got to know Edouard as a man.

And Foulques intended to do that, which is why Edouard accompanied his new wife to Melun. He did so as a member of the knights, though he heard the young man’s martial skills paled in comparison to Herve’s. A disappointment, for certain, but Foulques could not fault him - after all it was his brother that raised him.

But Edouard, nonetheless, seemed eager to please his new lord, and appeared taken with the sights of Melun.

“I had never seen a king before, my lord,” he said after Foulques had been confirmed as marshal.

“You will see one quite frequently now,” Foulques told him. “It is best to show respect, but do not appear overawed. He is a king. Not God.”

Edouard smirked and nodded. “Of course not, my lord.”

Foulques then could not resist his curiosity, even though he knew it was a subject he should stay far away from. “How is your father?”

Edouard’s face lost its smile. He did not frown but he appeared saddened. “He is a broken man, my lord. He sits and sulks. He grew irate when I told him I would leave there to join you here… claiming I had betrayed him.”

Foulques hid his smile by taking a long sip of his drink. It may have been cruel, but his brother had tried to kill him for decades.

“And that does not bother you?” Foulques asked.

“I am saddened to hear he feels that way,” Edouard said. “I understand… what happened between you two. But… but it is the past. We can fade away into nothing, surrounded by Germans, or we can again reach for glory with the Franks, among our cousins.”

Practical boy, Foulques thought. A good sign for his future.

“I am surprised you hold no animosity toward me,” Foulques said.

“It happened long before I was born,” Edouard said. “And… I have heard you treated my mother with dignity despite you being her captor. That you even made her your wife’s lady… after my father abandoned her.”

Foulques felt a strange, hollow feeling at that. Lithuaise… he rarely remembered her anymore. Treated her with dignity? He was not certain she would agree.

“Your mother… she was a noblewoman,” Foulques said. “An innocent of any wrongdoing. It would have been… wrong to treat her below her station.”

Edouard nodded. “And for that I thank you. Had my father shown the same respect for her, perhaps I would not be here.”

Foulques’ eyes widened. Boy, you have no idea how true that is.

One day he might tell him, but that was not the day to do it.

“It is because of that, that I look forward to serving you, my lord,” Edouard said.

“Uncle is fine,” Foulques said. “It is what your cousin Herve calls me.”

Edouard smiled. “As you wish... uncle.”

…..

A day later Foulques stood in the king’s strategy hall.

It was a hall where he had spent much of the past 15 years. It was mostly the same as it had been under Philippe… in fact he almost expected Philippe to enter when the door opened.

But it was King Hugues who came forth, smile on his face, announcing his eagerness to begin the meeting.

“You look pleased, my king,” Foulques said.

“I am,” the king said. “It is time to win a great victory in Iberia, as my brother once did to cement himself as king years ago.”

When Philippe took Mallorca, Foulques thought. The less said of his last Iberian adventure the better.

The king was not after Valencia though, as had felled Philippe in the end. He attacked over Murcia.

“I am surprised,” Foulques said. “Given it was just a year ago where you warned against challenging the united Moslems.”

“United, yes,” the king said. “But currently, against our friend the Duke of Toulouse. It gives us an opportunity to strike and drive the heathens further back into Iberia.”

Foulques could not resist. “So you use Toulouse as a decoy?”

The king frowned. “Never. I would think he would be grateful for it. The many Emirates of Iberia and Africa line up against him. They will be compelled to aid their fellow Emirate against us - and together we will crush them.”

“What if they do not aid their fellow Emirate?” Foulques asked.

“Then it does not change Toulouse’s situation at all,” the king said. “He can only be helped, not harmed.”

Foulques was not certain about that, but he found it pointless to rile up the king over a hypothetical. Whether it helped or hurt would be proven in time. And it mattered little to him either way.

“Who do you have commanding the armies?” Foulques wondered.

“My choice would be Toulouse, but he is busy at the moment,” the king said. “I also inquired of your son, given he has just won a war. But it appears he is non receptive toward my calls, even though I recently named him Master of the Horse.”

Hardly a surprise. Geoffrey being fired from the council did not sit well with him. He would not accept a paltry honorary title now, not when he had tasted power.

“We have need of a proper lord,” the king said. “So I have selected my cousin, Hugues of Burgundy.”

“Burgundy?” Foulques asked. “His only notable battlefield trait is that he has lost - battles and his hand.”

That level of bluntness worked well with Philippe. But it quickly drew a frown from the current king, whose complexion even began to redden.

“You question my choice?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Foulques replied. “I am your marshal. Do you not wish for my input?”

“Do you have suggestion, then?” the king asked.

“Myself,” Foulques said.

Hugues said nothing at first, simply leaning forward and then stroking his beard.

“You have not led men in battle in quite a few years, Duke Foulques,” the king finally said. “And you have just recovered from your ordeal. Given your age…”

“I know battle more than any man of this realm,” Foulques replied. “My age is no hindrance.”

The king was unmoved. “You may feel certain, but I do not think it a wise idea.”

“But you would put a man who continues his tradition of defeat even now against his rebels and think that is wise?” Foulques demanded.

“You will mind your place, Duke Foulques,” the king said. “I am the king, not you. Others have made that mistake including your predecessor. And he, like they, is no longer here.”

It was jarring only because Foulques was not used to it. Philippe and he had not had an argument like this in decades. They had fought, but it rarely involved such a blatant attempt to pull rank.

“If you wish servants who will agree with your every decision, then you should name them to your council,” Foulques said. “If you wish a true council, then you would be wise to heed it.”

The king turned redder. “Your counsel has been heeded. And it has been dismissed. Duke Hugues of Burgundy will command the army as it marches south. That is final.”

Foulques thought about levying a demand… but decided against it. If the king wished this course of action, he was free to take it. And when Burgundy performed as he always did, it would be the king who suffered the consequences, not Foulques.

In fact, I shall be stronger.

“Is that all, my king?” Foulques asked.

The king nodded slowly. And with that Foulques walked out of the hall, not glancing back at his liege, but certain he was turning all sorts of shades of purple in rage.

Foulques returned his chambers with Chancellor Godfrey already waiting. When Foulques did not say anything and simply poured himself a cup of wine, the chancellor’s brow rose.

“Did everything go well with the king?” he asked.

“He is a fool,” Foulques said. “Blinded by ego. But weak. He hides behind his crown.”

“So it did not go well then?” Godfrey asked. “Do you remain marshal?”

“Yes, but he would not send me to battle,” Foulques said. “He would rather send Burgundy, even as the Lady Almodis embarrasses him. She would be a better choice than him!”

Foulques did not laugh, instead sipping on his wine. He had found it funny. But saying it aloud aggravated him. He had led men before as marshal. Why not now?

“Did he give you a reason?” Godfrey asked.

“That he thinks I am too old,” Foulques said.

Godfrey stroked his goatee before replying: “I wonder…”

“You wonder what?”

“Perhaps he is fearful the campaign would be too stressful on you,” Godfrey said. “Your death at this time would be problematic.”

“I am his most powerful vassal,” Foulques said. “He should be wary of antagonizing me.”

“But he has already antagonized the one man who could become more dangerous than you,” Godfrey replied. “Should you fall in Iberia in the next few months, the man he just fired off the council will have the levy of Anjou… and the levy of Aquitaine and Poitou… at his disposal.”

Foulques grunted before taking another drink. He did not like to think of Geoffrey surpassing him. And the idea that Geoffrey was more threatening than him seemed almost laughable.

“A levy of his size is nothing if he can’t command it,” Foulques said.

“Only if there is a great commander in the realm to oppose him,” Godfrey said. “And… well… the king chooses Hugues of Burgundy to lead his armies now.”

A small smirk cracked Foulques’ exterior. It was funny if it wasn’t so depressing.

“If I may make a suggestion, my lord,” Godfrey said. Foulques motioned for him to continue. “We should look to Lord Geoffrey.”

“Look to him? Now he is our superior?” Foulques demanded.

“I do not mean in that way,” Godfrey said. “We must keep an eye out for him. I suspect the king wishes to weaken him for the time when you do… leave us. We must not allow that, my lord, so that your legacy is properly preserved.”

“You will ensure Geoffrey’s legacy, not mine,” Foulques replied.

“What is one’s legacy but what he leaves to his children?” Godfrey asked. “My lord, you are a great man who will leave his son much for which he can build off. It is something to be proud of. As a man who has little more than friendships to pass on to my son, I can say it is nothing to scoff at.”

Foulques grunted once more. It was hard to be angry with Godfrey when that sounded so sad and pathetic.

He put his hand on his chancellor’s shoulder and then gave him a drink. “Friendship is nothing to scoff at. It has taken me… some time to realize that.”

“Of course my lord,” Godfrey said. “I did not mean…”

“Drink,” Foulques said. “And then I will send you off.”

“Send me off?” Godfrey asked.

“As you said, we must look to my son,” Foulques said. “My son who already has enough suspicion from the king that he would endanger his holy war to make certain Anjou does not become his now.”

Foulques took a long drink and then put down the cup hard on the table. He looked Godfrey eye to eye.

“And so I entrust it to you, my chancellor, this mission - make certain my son’s rashness and scheming does not cost him his legacy... or mine.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 121
February 1104 - Melun, France

Foulques sat in bed, as he often did after his time Ness, starting at his lover as she helped herself to a cup of wine.

Normally it would be a time where he would bask in her beauty. Perhaps it would be a reflection of how much she had changed - from the girl he had seduced into the woman who had borne him two sons. Or perhaps he would think about how with each passing day she became more like her mother, in body and mind.

Today was not normal.

No, most days he would be tired and exhausted as he admired her. Today he was frustrated by his inability to do anything with her.

It was not through lack of trying. He had done everything he could think of. She had done all of her old tricks to entice him. But nothing. His body refused to respond to her.

“I am certain you are just tired from your journey,” Ness told him.

“I have made the journey many times,” Foulques told her. Not to mention he had arrived yesterday.

“Yes but…”

Her voice trailed off. He knew what she meant to say, even as she thought better of it.

“But I am growing older? Is that what you did not have the courage to finish?” he demanded.

Ness lowered her head. “It is nothing to be ashamed of, husband.”

“And what would you know of it?” he asked.

“I…”

But she could find no other words. He was not surprised, as much as he wished to be.

A merciful knock on the door. Foulques was robed already - it was too cold not to be - and moved to answer it. Guilhem the steward waited on the other side of the door.

“Your son has arrived,” he said.

“I will be with him shortly,” Foulques said. “In the strategy hall.”

He closed the door behind him. Ness glanced at him, but did not maintain eye contact. There was a time where she’d demand he remain with her over Geoffrey. Now?

Foulques said nothing, instead adding his leathers to his outfit and grabbing his sword before going down to meet his son.

Geoffrey was also in leather armor, as he stood in the strategy hall. He did not wait, as he was not alone - he was with his son, Foulques the younger.

“The king complimented me on my swordplay,” the younger Foulques said.

“Did he?” Geoffrey asked. “Impressive. That makes… two kings whom you’ve impressed? Already making a name for yourself in the realm. Soon, you may be have more renown than me!”

The boy lowered his head, but it did little to hide his smile at the compliment as his father patted him on the shoulder.

“Will you see mother?” the younger Foulques asked.

Foulques saw the pleasure disappear from Geoffrey’s face. It was momentary - he was quite good at keeping up appearances, but the elder duke knew his son. And he knew it was a subject he did not wish to discuss.

“I will,” Geoffrey said. “I do not know for how long though.”

Foulques was surprised to hear it. But then, Geoffrey seemed to aim to please his son whenever he had the opportunity.

Geoffrey had noticed his father, but the younger Foulques, back turned to the door, had not. That changed when Foulques closed the distance, the shuffling of his feet enough to get the boy to turn around.

“Grandfather,” the boy said. “I was just talking to father.”

“And does he have anything interesting to say?” Foulques asked.

“He says he has a brought with him a stallion from Bordeaux for me!” the boy said. “I should like to ride it soon!”

“Perhaps you would like to now?” Foulques asked. “Tell Renaud about it. He should let you ride.”

“Can I?” the boy asked. “Thank you grandfather! And thank you father, for it.”

The boy hurried from the strategy hall. Geoffrey cocked his brow toward his father before pouring himself some wine.

“I was going to show him the beast myself,” he said.

“We have important matters to discuss,” Foulques said. “You can ride with him before the sun sets.”

“Which it shall, shortly,” Geoffrey said.

“Then we had best speak quickly,” Foulques replied.

Geoffrey shrugged. “I am uncertain why you summoned me here. You know the war with Uc has ended. Renaud would not have returned if business was unfinished.”

That was true - Geoffrey had won the war against the rebels and now could claim complete control over Poitou, as well as Aquitaine. But no, that was not the true reason for him being called here.

“You are angry at the king,” Foulques said.

“I do not find much love for him at the moment,” Geoffrey admitted. “I am sure you understand why.”

“I do,” Foulques said. “But you do yourself no favors. You back that fool Burgundy for the crown over him?”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “I have said I would not be opposed to the Duke of Burgundy as king. That is hardly full-throated support. It is he who promotes himself. If you have issues with it, you should go to him, not me.”

“And what of the group that demands increased council power in the realm?” Foulques asked. “Are you not their leader?”

Geoffrey smirked. “I am, yes. Our ranks grow. Champagne joins me.”

“I have heard whispers he did so to return a favor to you,” Foulques said.

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “He got cold feet and then I reminded him he owed me for costing me my position.”

“So now you plot your revenge openly, and stupidly.”

“I would think you would agree with our position,” Geoffrey added. “Seeing how the king dismisses your sage advice on the war, and has it flounder as a result.”

“That king watches you intently and you give him reason to move against you by performing acts that could be considered treasonous,” Foulques said.

“The faction I lead believes the king’s council should have greater say in the affairs of the realm,” Geoffrey said. “It does not advocate the replacement or overthrow of the king. Asking for more say is hardly treason - any more than it is to disagree with him at all.”

“Your word games may make you feel smug, but it changes nothing should the king take issue with them,” Foulques said.

“Yes, Godfrey said as much to me,” Geoffrey said. “And here I did not expect you to take the king’s side father. The council seat means that much to you?”

Foulques sprang forward and shoved Geoffrey onto the large table in the center of the room, knocking over the wine pitcher. He held him down with his forearm across Geoffrey's neck. The surprise of the action actually rendered Geoffrey defenseless.

“Your arrogance will ruin us both,” Foulques warned. “You have the opportunity to one day wield power beyond any other in the realm and your impatience will see you thrown in the king’s dungeon and dispossessed of the lands you have worked so far to earn.”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “He would not dare… with your levy…”

“I tire of hearing you hide behind my levy,” Foulques said. “I thought you had moved beyond that, but perhaps I have overestimated your maturity.”

Geoffrey pulled away and then adjusted his clothing to put it back into place. “I am ambitious. It is important to take risks to achieve one’s goals. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“Foolishness called ‘risk’ is still foolishness,” Foulques warned.

“They would have said it was foolish to attack the King of the Bretons,” Geoffrey said. “But you did. I would think you proud of my efforts. But I begin to wonder if perhaps you are the only man allowed to show such ambition.”

“Your tongue cannot allow you to escape this,” Foulques said. “At some point---”

The closing of the door to the hall interrupted him mid-sentence. The two men looked over to see Agnes approaching them. Geoffrey lowered his head as she approached, her head covered by a coif, her hands over her abdomen as she walked. Foulques decided to hold his tongue - at least for the moment.

“Do I interrupt anything?” she asked. “I thought I heard you two arguing.”

Geoffrey glanced at his father, then back to her. “It is… nothing. Father and I disagree. I am certain you are used to it by now.”

“I am never used to it brother,” Agnes replied. “It bothers me greatly that you two quarrel like enemies. I had thought you both past it!”

“You know why I am angry with him,” Foulques told her. “And I have said my piece. If he listens to it or not… is up to him.”

Agnes looked to Geoffrey, a frown on her pale face. “Please brother - father looks out for your interest, even if he does not articulate it well. Forming factions against the king is foolish. In time, you will have more than enough power to make yourself heard. Patience is a virtue.”

Geoffrey looked away for a moment and grunted before turning back to his sister, smile on his face.

“You are as wise as you are beautiful sister,” he said. “I shall rethink my decision to lead this faction against the king.”

“I am glad to hear you say such a thing brother,” Agnes said before lowering her head. “I should like to have you meet the child growing in my belly.”

Geoffrey grew wide-eyed. But he was not alone - Foulques joined him. He knew nothing of this from his daughter - at first he thought he had heard her wrong. But given his son’s expression, and the nervous smile on Agnes’ face, combined with the reddish complexion she was fast developing, told him he heard her words true.

“Are you certain?” Geoffrey asked.

“The Lady Adalmode has confirmed it,” Agnes said. “I am with child. I have been quiet for a few weeks to you father, even though I had told Etiennette and Alearde. But with Geoffrey here… I could not be silent any longer.”

Foulques smiled and embraced his daughter. Geoffrey did the same with her, though his expression seemed to be much less joyous. Probably still bitter over who she married, Foulques realized.

“We will celebrate tonight,” Foulques said. “We were to have a fine meal anyway, but we shall make certain all have enough wine and enough to eat.”

“It is nice to know you were holding things in reserve for your son and his party,” Geoffrey replied.

“Quiet,” Foulques said. “I’ll not have you sully this moment.”

“Then you both should put this matter to rest,” Agnes said. “Father, Geoffrey said he will think on leaving the factions. I believe he will. And Geoffrey, father prepared a fine feast for you. He just wishes to make this moment feel special for me.”

Foulques looked at his son. The Duke of Aquitaine did not appear pleased. But again he turned to his sister and bowed.

“Once again your wisdom shines through,” he said. “Forgive my behavior sister. And to you, father.”

Foulques eyed his son who now bowed, ever so slightly. “You are forgiven, son.”

If Geoffrey expected more than that, he was not to receive it. But he clearly was restrained by his sister, and would say nothing else.

This had been unexpected, but Foulques made note for the future that he needed to keep her nearby whenever he and Geoffrey had to hash out some unpleasantness.

As the three walked to the main hall, chancellor Godfrey came upon them. His face seemed somewhat distressed as he looked the three over.

“What is the matter?” Foulques demanded. “Why do you look so sullen? Daughter, have you not told him?”

Agnes shook her head. But she smiled at him and then said: “I am with child chancellor. Your son is to become a father.”

Godfrey’s worried look faded for a moment, replaced with a wide grin of his own. “That is marvelous news, my dear! I must congratulate Henri this evening. I take it he was quite pleased.”

“He was surprised,” Agnes said. “But yes, very happy. It looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.”

“As it appears has been off yours, Godfrey,” Geoffrey noted. “What was the worry before?”

Again the chancellor appeared to grow apprehensive. But he spoke.

“I was debating whether to just tell your father in private, but given that… it is your family, I suppose you should know,” Godfrey said. “My lord, your brother Robert has sent a messenger. Your brother Simon is dead.”

Foulques did not respond. He did not care for his youngest half-brother. He was weak, ineffectual and a tool of others.

And yet, the idea that his younger brother was now dead… hit him harder than he expected. A punch in the gut - leaving him short of breath - so much so that it was Geoffrey who spoke.

“How?” Geoffrey wondered.

“He was murdered,” Godfrey said. “Found by the stables with his throat slit.”

Agnes’ eyes were wide and her hand covered her mouth. “Did they find who did it?” she wondered.

“No,” Godfrey said. “Robert says they search. But the ones who did it are probably long gone. I… I am sorry for your family, my lord, my lady, Duke Geoffrey.”

Foulques said nothing. Slowly, he tried to process it all.

My youngest brother… dead?

…..

Those words kept repeating in his mind throughout the feast.

Cheers went up for Agnes and Henri. Geoffrey delivered an eloquent speech that Foulques did not pay much attention to but made Agnes blush. Words were spoken to him, but he made them little mind.

His brother Simon kept returning to mind. His last image of him, sniveling, begging for his life at the hands of Philippe… who was also now dead over two years.

Who could have wanted him dead?

Foulques wondered if it was Robert, but then thought against it - he had nothing to gain as Simon’s older brother. The king, to remove a potential claimant? It seemed beyond Hugues to do that. Champagne had no reason… could it have been Burgundy?

Of course, he would likely never know who. It was just a fact now, as real as the sunrise every morning and sunset every night. Simon was dead. In an instant, his life was over.

Had he even seen it coming? Or did he just feel the pain at his neck, and then lie dumbfounded as his lifeblood drained away on the stable ground?

Foulques pondered that question after dinner, walking the halls. The thought made him edgy - he looked over his shoulders as he walked with a small torch through the dimly lit passageway.

A sound made him spin around.

No one was behind him, or to the side. He was alone.

But in the quiet he did hear something. It sounded muffled… not a person talking but… someone…

Curious, he tried to track the sound, which he could hear as he moved down the hall. He eventually traced it to a small room - one he’d often used before for secret meetings, either over spy-related matters or moments with his lovers over the years.

As it turned out, it was an old lover of his in the room - Etiennette. The Karling girl, now Karling woman, sat by herself as she had her face buried in her hands. She looked up though when Foulques entered, revealing her bloodshot eyes and tear soaked cheeks.

“My lord,” she said as she pulled herself upright, and then wiped her face on her sleeve.

“What is the matter?” he asked her.

“I do not wish to trouble you with my issues,” Etiennette replied.

“I asked you, did I not? What is the problem?” Foulques demanded.

“It is my eldest daughter,” Etiennette replied. “Ermengarde… she is dying.”

“Dying?” Foulques asked. His voice wavered for a moment. “How? Can Adalmode not aid her?”

“Adalmode says she has a type of wasting illness,” Etiennette said. “Her bones are brittle, she bruises easily… her cuts to do not heal quickly. And there is nothing she can do.”

Foulques did not know much about the girl, besides that she was the daughter Etiennette had borne Gilles, who the Duke of Berry refused to recognize. She was about the same age as his granddaughter, and her half-sister, Beatrice… and that was it.

But it was death. More death. Death that was unexpected - that should not be.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Foulques replied. “No one should lose their life that young.”

“It is not fair,” Etiennette moaned. “She has done nothing wrong. She is no different than Beatrice. But Beatrice is a lady to a queen. And… married. And my daughter… she will have none of those things. She…”

And Etiennette began to wail once more, sinking back to the stool she sat on, muffling her cries in her palms as she buried her face in them again.

It had been some time since Foulques had been with Etiennette - he used to keep her as a lover in Anjou when Ness was in Melun, but that had not been for some time. She was always, sweet, simple and willing - she required very little effort to please.

Now it appeared she needed help from him after all, especially since she was alone now. Her younger sister Margot had been shipped off, becoming the Duchess of Ostlandet. Offering comfort was something that did not come to him easily. But he closed the door, stood beside her and gently rubbed her back.

“I should not be troubling you with this my lord,” she said. “I spoil a happy night for your family. Agnes will have another child. You feast with your son once more. A joyous night.”

Foulques shook his head. “You spoil nothing. Fate already spoiled this evening long before I stumbled upon you, my dear.”

“What… what was the matter?” she asked.

He did not even hesitate. “My brother Simon is dead. Murdered.”

Etiennette’s eyes widened and she cupped her mouth with her hand. “My lord, I… I am sorry. I did not know he meant that much to you.”

“He did not,” Foulques said. “I thought him an embarrassment. Like my elder brother Geoffrey, but never fortunate to have something to squander. And yet… I cannot stop thinking about him.”

Etiennette shrugged. “He is your brother. Blood. That you think of him is how it should be.”

Foulques looked at her. “Do you think of your brother?”

She frowned and looked toward the ground. “Yes, at times. But I am grateful you showed him leniency. You and Duke Geoffrey. Other men… they would have not let him live.”

“He might be dead if not for you,” Foulques said as he touched her hair. “I cannot deny that your… presence in my life may have given him a chance he would not have had otherwise.”

Etiennette blushed. “I did not know that I had meant that much to you, my lord.”

He pulled her from her stool and toward into his grasp. She had never meant as much to him as Beatritz, Aines or even Ness. But she had been worth something to him. She was not exciting, but she was safe and simple.

And when he pulled her close, this time, unlike with Ness, his body responded.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 122
August 1104 - Angouleme, France

The sun had barely been up an hour and Geoffrey already was sweating.

The conditions were far from comfortable in the army camp. The air was stale and so thick between the humidity and the stench that accompanied sieges that it was barely breathable.

But the siege was necessary. Geoffrey had seen opportunity to the south - the Duchess Peronelle was in a weak place. She had few friends - she and her husband, Duke Gilles, were not on good terms. Her sister Patricia was no longer duchess. And she had rebels, led by Geoffrey’s old friend Countess Ide, the Lady of La Marche, who were actually trying to install Geoffrey’s brother-by-law, the child Adhemar, to the duchy of Gascony, never mind that he resided peacefully in Anjou.

Peronelle’s situation was so poor, the king even plotted to take her land. So how could Geoffrey not pounce when the opportunity presented itself.

And he had, declaring a war to reclaim Angouleme, claiming it was naturally part of Aquitaine. He had done so without assurances from his father of support, but Geoffrey felt confident enough now that he believed he could win without Foulques’ aid.

Of course, he also had drawn his father’s ire by doing this, as the county the king desired from Peronelle was also Angouleme, thus once again putting Geoffrey in a path toward confrontation against the king.

But Geoffrey was confident on this as well. The king targeted Peronelle because she was isolated and weak. He would not find that the case with Geoffrey, and would likely focus his efforts elsewhere.

However, first things first - Geoffrey had to actually win his war. And with Peronelle focused on reclaiming her lost keeps from the Lady of La Marche, Geoffrey moved to focus his efforts on taking Angouleme by siege.

It had not been too bad at first, but now the August heat refused to break. It had been unbearable for over a week now - so much so that Geoffrey avoided touring the siege works if at all possible. That way he did not have to don his hauberk.

He was naked now, in his cramped cot. But it did not matter - he sweat anyway as he felt the life being choked out of him.

Figuratively, of course.

So tight was the grip of Helvis de Bethune around his chest, and so close was she pressed against him that breathing proved difficult. He was limited to short gasps, while she peacefully snored away loudly behind him - hardly surprising - Helvis seemed incapable of doing anything quietly.

He rolled his eyes. The price of negotiations, he rationalized.

Had he his druthers, he would be nowhere near the woman. Helvis was quite short, and quite round - so much so that at times Alias joked she was as wide as she was tall. It was an exaggeration, but one that reminded Geoffrey of the annoying situation he found himself in.

If it was just that Helvis was fat and not too attractive to him, Geoffrey would not find her so troublesome. But she was easily one of the most haughty noblewomen he’d ever met. She acted as if she were a queen, nevermind that she was merely a lowly courtier, not even residing in the realm of the Franks these days.

And discretion seemed to be a word absent from her vocabulary. It grew so frustrating, Geoffrey had resorted to covering her mouth during their love-making sessions, which seemed to make her even more excitable and energetic. The first time he’d met her in Troyes, they had made love once before Geoffrey returned to his guest chambers. Last night, she’d demanded a second time and remaining through the night with him, despite the heat and how cramped the sleeping arrangements were.

All for a union I could probably do without, he thought.

Helvis’ job, ultimately, was to help him land his half-sister Ermengarde as the wife of Arnulf of Flanders. It was a task that had grown even more difficult by the fact it was fast becoming clear, Ermengarde was not a typical noblewoman. The girl was a dwarf and hardly a prime marriage candidate.

But her father was the Iron Duke of the realm. Her half-brother was the Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou. The appeal of such connections were hard to ignore.

And yet, the two sides continued to struggle to gain the upper hand in negotiations. Robert of Artois did not back off his demand for an alliance, unless Geoffrey’s son was promised in return. And Geoffrey stalled, hoping they could wear the other side down, using Helvis to essentially keep her father on the line.

Or… perhaps… it was more fair to say Helvis was using him.

She knew full well Geoffrey had no intention of marrying his son to her daughter. But she found Geoffrey far more desirable than her husband, Robert, nephew of the Duke of Burgundy. So in exchange for her efforts, she demanded a place in his bed.

And so Geoffrey gave it to her. And then did so again. And again, to the point where he was becoming ill at the thought of her visiting him.

Thankfully, that had decreased. The past year, he had seen her quite a bit. But her travels for her father and husband took her elsewhere from Geoffrey, a much needed relief. He prayed, one of the few times he had, that after this he would not see her until at least next spring.

Thirsty, he tried to extricate himself from her grasp. But she merely pulled him back against her - her body so hot and slick with sweat it made him grimace in discomfort.

“No, you will not escape me that easily,” she moaned.

“I did not realize you were awake,” Geoffrey replied. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I am thirsty,” she said with a smirk. “But not for wine.”

The woman is insatiable, he thought.

“A moment,” Geoffrey insisted. “My throat is parched. The heat is… difficult to deal with.”

Helvis frowned but released him from her vice-like grip. He had no idea how such a short woman could be so strong…

“Are you not tired from last night?” he asked as he poured himself some water, choosing that over the wine.

“A little,” she said. “But I leave at midday to begin the trip back to Artois. It will be some time before I see you again, my sweet little iron princeling.”

She had taken to calling him that - a way to show he was the heir to the Iron Duke.

He hated that name. It made him sound like a child.

“I have told you before what I think of that name,” he replied.

“I know,” Helvis said. “I think it is adorable how it makes you so annoyed. I rather enjoy it.”

Geoffrey could not resist shaking his head. Insufferable.

“The next time I see you, do you think you will be in Bordeaux?” she asked. “It is much more pleasant than here.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “What did you expect? It is a siege.”

“I did not think it would be so… smelly,” she replied. “Or so cramped… though… I found that part rather enjoyable.”

She licked her lips. He could see the hunger in her eyes. She was practically ready to devour him.

Alias believed she would, literally, when she grew tired of him.

“So what do you plan to tell your father this time?” Geoffrey asked, aiming to change the subject.

Helvis shrugged. “That you are amenable but Duke Foulques refuses still. However, I believe you make strides towards wearing him down.”

“Is that not what you told him before?” Geoffrey asked.

“No, I simply have kept up with your father being adamant against it,” Helvis said. “Sometimes I say that he is more favorable toward an alliance. Other times to the marriage. I add that he is quite old - perhaps he forgets the terms each time.”

A lie, Geoffrey was fairly sure, but clever enough. Or perhaps Artois was simply too dumb or desperate to see through it.

“When will your servants bring you your breakfast?” Helvis asked.

“Are you hungry?” Geoffrey wondered.

“Starved,” Helvis replied. “And after last night… I think we both deserve a large meal.”

She was a gluttonous pig, Geoffrey thought. But if it got him out of another love-making session…

Then again, perhaps if he told her he could not afford to bring her anymore to eat, she would depart early.

“Large meals while on campaign have to be limited my dear,” Geoffrey said. “Last night was a rarity, allowed by circumstance. I am afraid we must get by on more meager rations today.”

Helvis furrowed her brow. “You are a grand duke, my princeling. And I am your guest. You should treat me better than you would your own wife.”

Geoffrey barely resisted laughing at the thought. If Helvis had any idea about what she had just said…

“It is what it is,” Geoffrey said. “You must understand the situation. I have men out there who are limited in that they eat. If I gorge myself, then I make enemies of my own soldiers - unhealthy for any commander to do.”

“Then you remain on your barebones diet and I shall eat as I should,” Helvis said. “Without the angry gaze of ugly, bitter hunchbacks.”

“The man is the Count of Thouars and my marshal,” Geoffrey said. “Show him respect.”

“When he treats me with such,” Helvis said. “I am no peasant. I am the daughter of an important man, who is serving as his dignitary. I should be treated as such.”

“And so you were,” Geoffrey said. “In public with our large supper which you ate despite Thouars’ poor looks. And then in private, by me.”

Helvis narrowed her gaze at Geoffrey. But her pouting lips soon formed a smile.

“There is some hardness in you after all, my iron princeling,” she said. “Besides when we make love. And I think I enjoy this just as much.”

His eyes widened. Was there no driving this woman off?

The answer to that was clear as she bounced from the cot. She may have been trying to seduce him, but he just saw her body jiggle and the stretch marks on her belly and resisted. However, she did not wait any longer and practically mounted him - Geoffrey struggled to keep balance as she wrapped herself around him, forcing him to support her whole weight.

He really wished she was already gone. But more than that, he wished his body found her as disgusting as his mind did.

For every time she beckoned, no matter how much he disliked her, it answered the call.

….

“That poor beast.”

Geoffrey’s gaze at Helvis as she and the knights and few ladies accompanying her rode off toward the north was turned to Alias. The bald chancellor of Aquitaine had a wide grin on his face. But he remained silent, as if waiting for Geoffrey to follow up.

The duke sighed, but obliged: “What are you speaking of?”

“The Lady Helvis’ horse,” Alias replied. “I cannot imagine what it must be like to have to carry a boulder a great distance. But it must be something like what that creature must suffer every time she makes a journey.”

“Then let us pray she does not make the journey here, again, any time soon,” Geoffrey said.

“Yes,” Alias said. “Perhaps you will have gotten her pregnant this time. I am certain that will keep her far away for a year or so…”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened while his stomach clenched as the vision came to mind. Helvis, even fatter as her belly bulged with child, her demanding the satisfaction due to her as mother to his bastard.

He glared at Alias. “You shall not even joke about such things.”

The Count of Perigord smiled and that was enough for Geoffrey to turn and walk back toward his tent. Alias naturally followed.

“On a more serious note involving children,” Alias continued as they walked. “I received news from Anjou while you were with the Lady Helvis.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Geoffrey demanded.

“I did not wish to see the Lady in such a state,” Alias replied.

Geoffrey shook his head before ducking under the flap allowing him entry to the tent. He poured Alias some wine and refilled his own cup from earlier.

“So what is this news?” Geoffrey wondered. “I assume it is not terribly urgent since you have taken your sweet time to tell it to me.”

“It is important but not necessarily urgent,” Alias said. “Your Lady sister has delivered a baby boy, safely. Last word is both mother and child are doing well.”

Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. There was always a risk when a woman gave birth. His old lover, the Countess of Eu, had passed after birthing their bastard. And he knew his aunts, Hildegarde and Lithuaise, had both died in childbirth.

But that relief was soon overridden by his frustration that Agnes had borne a child to a man he felt was unworthy of her.

“Send her two casks of wine,” Geoffrey said. “And one for her husband.”

“Is that all?” Alias asked.

“Were you expecting more?” Geoffrey replied.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Alias said. “I just… I remembered you gave your younger sister Bella wine, a horse for herself and her husband, and a sword for your nephew. This seems to… pale in comparison.”

“Bella may well be a queen one day,” Geoffrey said. He paused to sip his wine. “My nephew may be a king. Agnes deserves more than Bella does. But she will not have it, because her husband is nothing but a freeloader in my father’s court. His father, I respect. But Henri leeches off him and my sister. And she will forever be limited in what she should have been, because of him.”

“Unfortunate,” Alias said. “I enjoy your sister’s company when I have had the chance to experience it.”

“It is what it is,” Geoffrey replied. “My father has chosen poorly with whom he has married… at least his eldest children to. Bella should hope she does not share our fate.”

Geoffrey took another drink of his wine. “Have you heard any further news as to the fate of the Duke of Toulouse?”

“None, besides that he remains imprisoned in Seville,” Alias replied.

Geoffrey smiled. That was fine enough.

He’d have felt for the Toulouse’s situation had it not been potentially good for him, and been so humorous in its occurance.

Toulouse had been ambushed by men of the Abbidad Emirate - his main force routed and the man himself captured.

A defeat like that would have stung regardless. But the Abbidad Emirate had remained out of his holy war for Barcelona. It had gotten involved in the king’s war for Mercia and saw Toulouse as a natural target.

It amused Geoffrey to no end that this incompetent king had managed to get his most loyal friend thrown in prison and potentially lose him his own holy war. All the while, Geoffrey stood to benefit - it would keep Toulouse as a weaker force in the south and potentially spur his own vassals to act against him.

All and all, Geoffrey was beginning to like this king, if only because he seemed so incapable of getting out his own way.

“Oh, one other bit of news,” Alias said. “From Anjou. I have heard from reliable sources that your father is at it again with his lovers.”

Geoffrey shook his head and collapsed onto a stool. “Ness is pregnant again?”

“No,” Alias said. “Etiennette is.”

“Etiennette?” Geoffrey asked. “Are you certain it’s my father’s then?”

“The word was slipped from the Duchess Haldora,” Alias said. “As you might imagine, she is most displeased.”

“I think I would like to see her displeasure in person,” Geoffrey said. “But that will not happen. Etiennette… I wonder if he grows tired of Ness.”

“Good news if so,” Alias said. “Any child she births is a troublemaker for you.”

“Let us not go down this road again,” Geoffrey warned. “I have little desire to murder my half-brothers. They are bastards, and will not have the support of Anjou, Aquitaine and Poitou. It may be something my father would do, but I am not he.”

“I understand,” Alias said. “But that is why this is good. One less concern, if he decides to make Etiennette his favorite again.”

A slight commotion outside ended the conversation as the chancellor went to see what it was about. As he left Geoffrey kept a watchful eye on Alias. Loyal to a fault, he worried the man might take matters into his own hands.

And Geoffrey was serious - he did not wish for the deaths of his bastard half-brothers. He did not see them as true threats. And he did like their mother. He was not certain he would make her his mistress when his father did pass, but he was considering it.

And she seemed receptive toward it - the two had done everything but actually begin an affair the last time Geoffrey was in Anjou. Foulques seemed distracted, enough so that Geoffrey was fairly confident he could have secretly bedded Ness, but he did not want to actually do that while his father was alive.

The tent flap rustled as Alias slid under it once more. With him was another man, who was covered in dust and dirt.

“Who is this?” Geoffrey asked.

“An emissary from the king,” Alias said. “And he brings an important message.”

Geoffrey narrowed his gaze. If this was a warning to desist in the siege of Angouleme, he was not entirely certain what he would do.

“Duke Geoffrey,” the man said. “King Hugues would like you to return to Melun at once.”

“For what purpose?” Geoffrey demanded.

“To properly return to you to his council, as his advisor,” the man said.

Geoffrey’s eyes widened as the words processed. Alias stepped forward and handed him the parchment with the king’s seal, indicating that he wished Geoffrey to become his advisor, replacing the imprisoned Toulouse.

But that was the rub… what happened when Toulouse returned?

“He wishes me to temporarily take the place of the Duke of Toulouse,” Geoffrey said. “And then when he is freed from captivity, I shall be once more cast aside.”

“The king wished for me to state this is not temporary,” the man said. “The king believes you have a valuable part to play in the realm. And he wishes you by his side.”

Geoffrey did not believe a word of that. Fired a year ago for rumour the king believed true - now suddenly he had a part to play?

But… it was too appealing an opportunity to pass up.

“Very well,” Geoffrey said. “I will report to the king’s summon quickly. We shall depart in the next day.”

“He will be grateful to hear that, Duke Geoffrey,” the man said. “I will bring word of your impending arrival in Melun.”

After the man left the tent, Geoffrey looked to Alias. “Tell Thouars the situation and that he will oversee the siege until we return.”

“So you do not think your stay in Melun will be long,” Alias asked.

“Toulouse was allowed to leave the realm to execute his war,” Geoffrey said. “After the ceremony, I will be present in the realm, but not in Melun.”

“What do you think your father will say?” Alias asked.

It had happened so quickly, Geoffrey had not had time to think about that part. For the first time in their lives, they would be members of the king’s council at the same time. Father and son. Finally equal.

Geoffrey smirked.

“I suspect he will not like it one bit,” Geoffrey said as he finished off his wine and his smirk became a full-on smile.

.....

Note: I didn't have an advisor screenshot but you can see his relationship with the king is now positive, because Geoffrey was put back on the council. Also, for those curious, that's where his levy stands.

Also of note, I laughed at Toulouse's sad imprisonment. When I wrote the line a few chapters back about how Foulques thought the holy war could backfire on Toulouse, it was more intended as a throwaway line as to what hypothetically could happen. (I knew Toulouse was imprisoned, but it hadn't yet dawned on me who held him.) When I looked back I saw it was not the emirate he was at war with, which explained how he had not automatically lost his own war upon capture. So the king really did get Toulouse thrown in a dungeon. That'd be next-level scheming... if he'd actually meant it.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 123
November 1104 - La Marche, France

A cold wind blew in the crisp November air - a wind made worse from riding in the open, on the road.

For once, Geoffrey was glad to be fully armored as he traveled. It provided some measure of heat, though he almost felt disconnected from himself - his cheeks were chilled but his body sweated.

He was not alone in that contrast. A glance back to Alias showed steam rising from the bald chancellor’s head. Almost on cue, he pulled a hood over his head as they came to a stop.

They had reached their destination - the outskirts of a small military camp. Guardsmen stood at the ready - they were likely uncertain of what Geoffrey’s group intended.

And parts of Geoffrey’s group were unsure what to expect from the camp.

“I will continue to advise against this,” Alias said. “They are technically our enemies.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “They are anything but. If we were fighting to take Gascony, I would agree. But now? We fight for the same ends - to defeat Peronelle. I think they will be pleased if we weaken her by seizing Angouleme.”

“They are losing, my lord,” Alias said. “Perhaps this is a trap. They will hand you over so that they may escape with their own lives. It is not the first time the Lady has drawn the ire of Peronelle - and your cousin is not the most forgiving sort.”

Geoffrey shook his head once more. He did not think Ide, the Countess of La Marche, would ever do that to him. They had known each other for years. She had fought in his name in the first rebellion against Alberic - the one that gained Geoffrey Aquitaine. They since had shared drinks, conversations - some flirtatious - though they never found their way into the same bed.

In fact, outside of Agnes there was no woman he thought higher of in the realm. Her strength, her determination in the face of those who would tell her to know her place was something to be admired.

So when word had reached him that she had been gravely wounded in battle, he resolved to see her. He was traveling back to his army in Angouleme from Melun anyway - this would not be a long diversion.

He glanced to Alias, who frowned as he looked forward.

“If you wish to remain, I will not look down upon you,” Geoffrey said. “Your fears are valid. If I did not know the Lady as I do, I would not come here.”

“I fear you are too trusting,” Alias said. “And that is why I shall accompany you.”

Geoffrey smirked and placed his hand on Alias’ back as he rode beside him. Loyal and devoted.

He knew the rumors of his chancellor’s preferences. And he believed them. If Alias’... desires made him more loyal, then Geoffrey would certainly not admonish him for it, even if they never would be reciprocated.

The guardsmen blocked the entrance as Geoffrey rode up. Alias came to the front of the small party to announce: “Lord Geoffrey, Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou, has arrived to see the Lady Ide of La Marche.”

One of the guardsman quickly moved into the camp, leaving Geoffrey’s group to wait. And wait. And wait.

“We should leave,” Alias repeated. “They draw up a trap.”

“If that is how it is to be, so be it,” Geoffrey replied. “I will not leave without seeing the lady.”

Alias sighed but motioned for the knights to form up around Geoffrey, just in case of a surprise attack. It may not do much, but it also could be the difference between life and death.

After a little while, the guardsman returned, whispered something to the guard captain, and then the men blocking the entrance moved aside. Geoffrey felt Alias’ glare upon him as he urged his horse forward, but did so all the same.

They reached a small clearing in the camp, coming upon a man with a cloak pulled tightly around his portly frame. When he looked up at Geoffrey, the duke knew who he was on sight - Frederic de Toulouse, husband of the Lady. And he did not appear pleased.

Perhaps he thinks I have bed his wife, Geoffrey realized. After all, the brother of the imprisoned Duke of Toulouse had poor luck with women. His first wife, Geoffrey’s cousin Filipa de Poitou, sister of Peronelle, Aines, Alberic and Patricia, had been murdered. His second wife, the lowborn woman Margot, died after birthing the bastard of Frederic’s brother, the duke. And now his third wife was gravely wounded - and visited by a man she had good relations with.

Is it any wonder he suspects me?

But he remained silent as another cloaked figure stepped forward - one who it took a few moments for Geoffrey to recognize.

She was Amelie, eldest child of Ide and her first husband, the late Raoul of Vexin. She was nearly 16 summers, and already on her way toward becoming a beautiful woman like her mother.

“Duke Geoffrey,” she said as she bowed before him. “We are honored by your presence.”

“Thank you my dear,” Geoffrey said. He descended from his horse and kissed her hand. “You blossom into a woman before my very eyes. Beauty, it appears, runs in your family.”

The girl blushed. “You are too kind, Duke Geoffrey.”

“Yes, too kind,” Frederic added.

“How fare you, Frederic?” Geoffrey asked. “Better than your brother, I imagine.”

To the untrained ear, it sounded like an insult. But Geoffrey knew Frederic despised his brother, having been cuckolded. And as a result, Frederic could not resist a smirk, try as he might.

“I am here to see the Lady. I hear she has been wounded,” Geoffrey said.

Amelie frowned. “She has been, Duke Geoffrey. It… appears grave. I fear…”

“You need not say it,” Geoffrey said. “I have known your mother for nearly 10 years. She is strong.”

Amelie wiped her cheeks. “You are kind to say such a thing, Duke Geoffrey.”

She led them forward with Frederic following close behind to the largest tent in the camp. They slid underneath the flap and saw the Lady Ide.

She lay on the cot, a lady behind her, attending to her ginger hair as it was undone. It was long, red and fiery, reflective of her personality. And the color provided a stark contrast to her face, which was pale as a ghost.

A chill ran down Geoffrey’s spine as he approached her. Perhaps he was too late.

“Duke Geoffrey,” she said softly. “Do I dream?”

His eyes widened and he went to her side, kneeling beside the cot. “My lady, I was traveling to Angouleme, and I heard of your situation, I diverted immediately to check in on you.”

“You have… chosen well,” she whispered. “For I will not be here much longer.”

“You will travel soon?” Geoffrey asked.

"In a matter of speaking," Ide replied weakly.

She slowly, with hand trembling, lifted the blankets which covered her. And Geoffrey saw the blood-soaked bandages that wrapped around her torso. And then he noticed her other hand was missing. He gulped.

“How did it happen?” Geoffrey asked.

“Battle,” she moaned. “Struck by an arrow. But I continued. And then I was hit by… a mace I think? And I fell, with my hand crushed. So crushed that they cut it off. They were surprised I lived at all. And live, I have, if you call laying here living, for four days. But I grow weaker. And my time on this earth will soon end.”

Geoffrey took her remaining hand. “I am sorry, my lady. So sorry.”

“It is… what it is,” Ide said. “All but my youngest will have the misfortune of losing mother and father… but my son has already been taken from me to Vexin after his father died. And my eldest Amelie…" She looked to her. "I pray you are ready to handle what I have left behind.”

“With you as a teacher, I cannot see why she would not,” Geoffrey said before glancing back at Amelie, who again was beginning to tear up.

“Always charming,” Ide said. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and instructed her staff to leave her. The woman doing her hair remained for a moment, but even she was ordered to leave her and Geoffrey alone.

“But my lady… we have not much time…” the girl said.

“You have all the time,” Ide said. “I do not. Now go.”

It was with the vigor he would have expected. And the girl was out of the tent in a flash. Geoffrey instructed his entourage to depart the tent as well.

“Even now, you still inspire,” Geoffrey said.

“As it should be,” Ide said. “Even as I have inspired my own ruin and that of my children.”

“You have given Peronelle much trouble,” Geoffrey said.

“And aid the ease by which you shall seize Angouleme from her?” Ide replied. “I should hope you are grateful.”

“I have always been to have known you,” Geoffrey replied.

“And I you,” Ide said. “I wish… I wish I could have served under you, Geoffrey. We could have done much together. You have done much to escape your father. But you are reliant on his steel. I could have aided you in that.”

An odd thought to hear a woman suggest that she could have been the “might” Geoffrey lacked. It was even odder to consider she may well have been right, given her history.

“I am grateful for what you have done,” Geoffrey replied. “Regardless of how it came about.”

“Always honeyed words from your tongue,” Ide said. “Sweet, sweet words.”

“And for you, always heartfelt,” he said.

Ide smiled broadly as she adjusted herself on the cot. A grimace replaced the smile as the pain no doubt returned. Then her gaze fell to him.

“Do you know my one regret?” she asked.

“No,” Geoffrey answered.

“My regret… is us,” Ide said.

“Us?”

“I cared for you… cared for you more than I have any other man,” Ide said. “As I lay here, my wish is that I had acted upon it. To know you as my sister had.”

Geoffrey frowned. While he had often been flirtatious with Ide, he never pressed things further because of his on-again, off-again relationship with her sister, Melisenda.

But he would have preferred Ide. She was a beautiful, powerful woman. Not only did he enjoy her fire, as she said before, she would have proved a potentially useful ally in the south… and beyond.

And that feeling of regret fell over him as well.

“Why did… you say nothing?” he asked her.

“Because… it was not proper. I was married to Raoul. And then to Frederic,” Ide said. “But I fancied myself like a man in most ways. I led armies, rebellions. Why should I have not taken lovers as well?”

Geoffrey chuckled. “When you put it like that…”

His amusement faded as Ide moaned, holding her midsection. Her face told the story of her suffering.

“Will you do me a favor, Geoffrey?”

“What would you have of me?” he asked.

“Imagine the woman you care for most in the world,” she said. “And then kiss me, as you would her.”

“I…”

“Please,” she said. “Indulge your dying friend’s fantasy, so that for just for a few moments, I can feel what it would have been.”

And so Geoffrey closed his eyes and did. Despite her weakness, Ide’s kiss was firm, confident - as he might have expected given her nature. But while he began thinking of Ide, his mind drifted, as she instructed, toward the woman he desired most.

When he pulled away, Ide lay with a sly grin on her face.

“Had I the strength, I would ask for more,” she said. “But… that woman… she is fortunate.”

“She has only felt that from me once,” Geoffrey said. “And she did not accept it.”

“She is foolish then,” Ide said.

“No, she is… beautiful, and brilliant, and deserving of more than she has received,” Geoffrey said.

“Aren’t we all?” Ide asked. “Aren’t we all?”

Geoffrey shook his head. A painful reminder of the futility of wishing to be above your lot in life… it was on you to seize it.

Even more depressing was how his father had told him the same thing years before.

“Do not live your life in regret,” Ide said. “You should make her yours, if at all possible.”

“I will not force myself upon her,” Geoffrey said.

“You are a master at seeing the needs of others and speaking to their heart,” Ide said. “If you wish, I believe you can win her heart.”

“It is more complex than you understand,” Geoffrey said. “Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Ide said.

She closed her eyes and fell still. Geoffrey felt his stomach stink as his own heart skipped a beat.

Then Ide’s opened again. “Thank you for this… visit, for that kiss, for everything.”

“It is you who I must thank my lady,” Geoffrey said. “If I have another daughter… I shall name her for you.”

“You flatter me,” Ide said. “Thank you.”

She held out her hand for him to kiss it, but he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers once more.

This time, he kept his mind on her the whole time.

.....

Note: The first shot of Ide was from 1103 (My February 1104 save point was corrupted, so I couldn't pull from there) so that is why she is pregnant in that screenshot. She had her daughter by the time she died of her wounds. Apologies for any confusion there.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 124
March 1105 - Anjou, France


“I get the sense your brother does not care for me,” Henri said.

Agnes’ eyes shifted from the ledger on the table before her to her husband. She had been going over the documents, reviewing what had been delivered by the mayors and barons, and what was still owed from last year. It was tedious, mind-numbing work that she hardly enjoyed.

But her father rarely ever took the time to do these checks after Steward Guilhem delivered them. Years ago it fell to Agnes’ mother Beatritz to look them over, which she actually seemed to enjoy. Agnes followed in that tradition, but it took all of her efforts to keep focus - it just was not her interest.

So it would not take much to distract her. And Henri provided it, though it was not exactly a subject Agnes would like discussing.

But it was appropriate, seeing as Geoffrey would be arriving later in the day.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“He seems quite dismissive of me,” Henri lamented. “When he visits rarely speaks to me and when he does the conversations are short. I think he may have spoken more to his wife than to me over the past year.”

Agnes chuckled, though the frown on Henri’s face told her he was not joking.

Of course, Agnes knew Geoffrey’s dislike was fact. Her father had told her as much, explaining it to be because Henri was a mere courtier. And while it made sense as a reason, Agnes had other suspicions.

“It does not matter,” Agnes said. “My brother does not rule in Anjou.”

“But he will,” Henri noted.

Agnes tried to resist frowning. She had thought about it… with mixed feelings. On one hand, she knew Geoffrey would probably keep her in a position of power - it was not as if his wife Marguerite was going to ascend, after all.

On the other hand, Geoffrey’s desires remained something Agnes suspected. Fear of their father’s wrath kept him in check, but what would happen when that was no longer present?

“Geoffrey has inspired loyalty thus far from his courtiers and vassals in Aquitaine and Poitou,” Agnes said. “He seems to treat them well enough. I do not think you have much to fear from him.”

“Only because of you, I imagine,” Henri told her as he placed his hand on hers.

Agnes replied with a smile. He tried to be sweet and doting to her - something she could not find fault with. And he was warm and tender with their son, little Louis.

He also stayed out of her way when it came to handling affairs as regent. A different sort of man would have tried to force his way in - but Henri deferred to her. He might give an opinion, but that was it - which was how she liked it.

Agnes grabbed hold of his hand and kept it as she slid around the table and to him, pressing her body against his. She gently kissed his neck… but did not get beyond that before a knock on the door.

“What is it?” she called out.

“My lady,” Guilhem replied from the other side. “Your brother has arrived.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. She thought he would come later in the day. They must have made good time Tours.

“I will be with him shortly,” Agnes replied.

“So you must go,” Henri said.

“I did not say that,” Agnes replied, sly grin on her face. “He can wait a little bit.”

“Is that wise?” Henri asked. “He is your brother and he is rather important these days.”

The grin faded from Agnes’ face. “My father makes him wait.”

“Yes but…” Henri began. He gulped before he trailed off.

Agnes just shook her head. “Fine, I shall go to him.”

That was exactly what she did not wish to hear from her husband. She was uncertain if it was because Henri did not enjoy laying with her, or if it was because he truly was fearful of her brother. Either way it left her frustrated and annoyed.

“I did not mean anything… by it,” Henri told her. “If you wish to make him wait…”

Agnes turned back to him. “No, I would not wish to offend my brother because I had the indecency to have relations with my husband.”

“Anges, I…”

She thought about slamming the door in his face, but sighed and decided against it. Instead, she walked back and took him by the hands.

“You must not fear what my brother will do,” Agnes told him. “Or even my father. We are husband and wife. That is all that matters.”

He nodded and she kissed him. But that would be the extent of it for now, as she was no longer in the mood to deal with him. Still somewhat annoyed, she left the room and made her way down toward the hall.

Since Godfrey was with her father in Melun, it fell on Agnes to be the one who greeted her brother. She had little doubt he would be pleased to see her, but she still felt uneasy about it. This was his first visit to the keep without her father present since he confessed his feelings for her - Geoffrey was stopping here as he went back down to his duchies south of the Loire. How would he behave?

Not willing to take any chances, she made certain she had fetched Alearde before greeting him.

Upon arriving in the hall, she saw Geoffrey’s party, which included his chancellor Alias, his marshal Gerard of Thouars and Prince-Bishop Leonard of Agen. But to her surprise, she saw Geoffrey himself was already being entertained - by Duchess Haldora.

Haldora was made up… rather nicely. In fact the nicest Agnes had seen her in some time. Her blonde hair was done up with hardly a strand out of place, her cheeks had an even redder hue to them than normal, suggesting she was wearing makeup.

And then Agnes was taken back a few months prior.

Haldora was naturally livid over Etiennette’s pregnancy. And the events surrounding the birth proved so troublesome Agnes nearly tore out her hair trying to deal with them all.

For starters, Etiennette’s daughter laid on her deathbed, while her heavily pregnant mother was by her side. Etiennette stayed even as she went through pains of her own, refusing to leave her daughter’s side, until finally, Agnes practically dragged her away to prepare for the birth.

Only the labor proved to be false and no child came. Meanwhile, Ermengarde died.

Not only then did she have to deal with a wailing Etiennette, who was also livid at Agnes for “making her miss her daughter’s final moments”, she had to talk an angry Haldora down as the duchess basically swore she would either choke the life out of Etiennette or Foulques - so hot was her anger over this whole situation.

It was tempting for Agnes to think about riding to Melun herself and doing it for Haldora, so frustrated she was with the mess of fires her father left her to deal with.

And that only grew even more tempting a few weeks later when Etiennette did give birth, to a boy. A boy her father would send word that he was giving full inheritance rights to - as he had with his bastards with Ness.

This infuriated Haldora even more, and her normal angry behavior of snide comments and relatively empty threats turned into violent destruction, as she ripped apart the bedsheets in Foulques’ chambers and broke two chairs by slamming them into walls in a fit of rage.

It was not quiet - Agnes and the guards had watched her do it. The guards had moved to intervene but Agnes stopped them - she understood her rage. And she shared part of it - as she had each time her father had legitimized a bastard, pushing her further down the inheritance.

Agnes had since had the chairs and sheets replaced - Guilhem had appropriated it out of their budget - but there were even more fireworks when Foulques returned. She had heard Haldora had given him a piece of her mind. What her father had done had not been said, but she knew it had left Haldora white hot with rage, though his presence prevented anything from coming of it then.

Emphasis on then, she realized, as she watched Haldora bat her eyes at Geoffrey, laugh at his jokes and look for every opportunity to touch him.

“My lordly brother!” Agnes shouted from across the hall. She quickened her pace while her fists were clenched so tightly they trembled. Another fire that needs to be put out, now, before it burns down the house entirely.

“Ah sister,” Geoffrey said as she came up to him. They embraced in a tight hug that lasted too long for her comforts, but offered an odd measure of comfort given the situation with Haldora.

“My lady,” Agnes said to Haldora. “I thank you for entertaining my brother.”

“It was my pleasure,” Haldora said, her eyes locked on Geoffrey. “I was complimenting him on his recent successes, and spoke of my anticipation for his eventual rule here in Anjou.”

Geoffrey bowed to her. “It is a day that I pray is far off. My father still has much to offer the realm, and the people of this duchy.”

“Modest and charming,” Haldora said as she reached for his hand. Agnes slid between them - though she instantly regretted that she faced the duchess as she did it, as Haldora’s hand ran up against her belly and Geoffrey’s against her rear.

Grimacing, she looked to her step-mother. “That is quite enough, I think. One might start to get all sorts of incorrect ideas if this continues.”

“I think the ideas they would get would be quite right,” Haldora said as she flashed a sly smile. Agnes realized that was not for her and had to resist chastising Haldora right there.

And that’s when she realized her brother’s hand had not moved from her backside.

She spun around and glared at him before saying: “I need a moment to speak with our stepmother. If you would please, brother, Alearde can show you to… the strategy hall. I will be along shortly.”

It was technically poor manners to leave a guest unattended, but Agnes was furious with them both. However, she was too disgusted at Geoffrey to deal with him, so she decided her best choice would be to lambast Haldora for her outrageous behavior.

Geoffrey did not protest as Alearde led him off, as he appeared to simply turn his charm toward her. Frankly, Agnes would be relieved at this point if he did focus on her - whatever came of that was bound to be far less damaging than if he bedded her or Haldora. And once they were alone in Haldora’s chambers, she did not hold back.

“Are you mad?” she demanded. “Are you openly trying to bed my brother? People have eyes and their lips work well. Any number of them might try to improve their standing by offering gossip to my father.”

“I do not care what your father hears,” Haldora said. “He beds who he wishes, when he wishes and cares not at all for my pride, reputation or anything else. So why should he care if I find pleasure with a man whose face I can actually touch?”

Agnes wanted to slap her but that would be overstepping her bounds. Haldora may have held no power in Anjou, and she was younger, but she was still her stepmother. Certain customs had to be respected.

“If my father learned you and Geoffrey shared a bed, he would imprison you for sure and possibly kill you,” Agnes said. “And he would probably try to disinherit Geoffrey. You would burn down our house.”

Haldora smirked. “It is what we northmen do well, or so I’ve heard.”

That drew the slap. And it caught Haldora off guard. She stared at Agnes wide-eyed for a moment as she held her cheek, but her complexion soon reddened.

“You have no right,” she said.

“I have treated you as a friend and you try to destroy my family?” Agnes demanded.

Haldora trembled, her face still a purplish-red hue. She glared at Agnes, meeting her gaze directly. “Do you know what your evil father did when I told him I wanted him to stop seeing his lovers?”

“Did he hit you?” Agnes asked.

“No. He just laughed. He laughed in my face,” Haldora sneered. “He told me he would do as he pleased - and he would treat every bastard he put in their bellies as if they were from his lawful wife. Every.One. Every boy, whether it came from me, or some whore in a brothel, the same.”

It was like a punch in Agnes’ gut. A reminder that as much as she was valued by her father now, he simply would never let her actually inherit Anjou when he died.

“I do not know if your brother is as repulsive as he is,” Haldora said. “But he is handsome, and I have heard he is a good lover. I have spent a decade in this place, miserable. If I should enjoy myself and your father is willing to destroy his gains for it, then I think it a worthwhile revenge, even at the cost of my life.”

“Is it worth the cost of your children?” Agnes demanded. “You will ruin my brother, possibly me, and certainly them. All you will see happen is Ness’ bastards come to rule in Anjou. Or Etiennette’s. Is that what you want?!”

Haldora continued to glare at Agnes, shaking her head. But she did not respond. Because Agnes suspected Haldora knew she was right.

“Stay away from Geoffrey,” Agnes warned. “Or so help me, I will throw you in the dungeons myself.”

Agnes stormed out of the room. Once more etiquette dictated she go see her brother, but was not in the mindset to do so. What was the best case scenario? That he did not wish to lay with Haldora and instead wished to fondle his own sister instead?

She flagged Guilhem, told him to keep her brother occupied until supper and did not care how. Then she returned to her chambers and threw herself into a chair, drawing the wide-eyed stare of her shocked husband, who remained after she had left.

“Is something wrong?” Henri asked.

Agnes glared at him. “Everything is wrong. This house is in danger of burning down and yet I seem to be the only one who cares to try to put it out.”

Henri stood wide-eyed and silent. He likely had little idea what she referred to.

Innocent, useless Henri.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Agnes said. She pushed herself back up and poured herself a cup of wine. “Pray perhaps.”

“Pray for what?” Henri asked.

Agnes downed her cup stared at her husband for a moment. She did not respond, instead pouring herself another cup, before returning to her chair and slumping in it as she drank.

…..

Agnes barely said two words to Geoffrey until the next day.

At supper she had mostly limited herself to talking toward Alias, whom she usually found charming enough. He was once again, and it gave her the satisfaction of mostly giving her brother the cold shoulder.

When she didn’t speak with Alias, she talked with Prince-Bishop Leonard, or even the hunchback Thouars. So determined was she to avoid actually talking to Geoffrey that she had even engaged Ness in conversation at one point when she was the closest person to her. It was awkward and unpleasant and yet still more satisfying than talking with her brother.

Geoffrey did seem to take it in stride, and appeared perfectly content to talk to others in Anjou. Haldora was kept far away from him, of course. Marguerite was even present, Agnes made sure of that, though Geoffrey kept his words with her to a minimum.

The next day, Agnes felt sufficiently cooled off. And in the end she knew she would have to meet with him eventually. Even if she somehow managed to avoid it, the truth was the day would come when their father died. She would be best served learning where she stood now.

So she met with him, but not in her chambers. Instead, she chose her father’s chambers and she made certain Alearde would listen in from the door, unbeknownst to Geoffrey. Should trouble arise, Alearde would call for the guards.

Agnes closed her eyes. She didn’t think it would come to that. But she could not take a chance.

Geoffrey appeared calm and civil enough when he arrived. He lowered his head when she stood to greet him, to which she did the same as a reply. When she sat down, he pushed her seat in at the small table, before taking his own. Meanwhile, servants poured them each a cup of wine before leaving the pair alone. The servants' departure would be the signal to Alearde to take her position.

The door closed. And Agnes took a deep breath.

“Are you alright sister?” Geoffrey asked. “I sense you are uneasy.”

“There has been… much going on here that is troublesome,” Agnes replied. “Between father, Etiennette, Haldora…”

“I can see that - at least with Haldora,” Geoffrey said. “Her… show from yesterday. Rather direct, isn’t she?”

“You better not have touched her,” Agnes said.

“Sister, please,” Geoffrey replied as he sipped his drink. “I am not a fool. Haldora may want revenge, but I will not be a party to it while father lives, no matter how deserving he is of it. I have experience with such things, if you remember.”

Her stomach unclenched a little. She had heard talk of Geoffrey’s conquests - including the rumors that he bedded that fat pig Helvis de Bethune. If he had done that, perhaps he was willing to bed anyone who offered.

But that he refused here, was a good sign. And that he equated it to how Marguerite and Aubry Karling had betrayed him suggested he was genuine.

“How is father?” she asked him.

Geoffrey smirked. “Irritated. As you might expect, given this king, and the state of the war.”

“I heard the Duke of Burgundy suffered a heavy defeat,” she said.

“He has,” Geoffrey said. “Father laughed quite hard when it happened. Of course, that smile disappeared when the king railed against him in the next council meeting, complaining about how father has not supported Burgundy enough because he wishes to be proven right.”

Agnes’ eyes widened. “He cannot be serious.”

“The king is a petty man,” Geoffrey said. “He is one who does not understand what it takes to rule. He saw his brother’s success and cannot comprehend why or how Philippe managed it. So he imitates it… poorly.”

“How does he treat you?” Agnes asked. “More favorably than when he fired you, I assume?”

“You assume correctly,” Geoffrey replied. “Now he seeks to complain to me about father at every turn. ‘Does not respect my will’, he says. ‘Insubordinate. Defiant.’”

“Madness,” Agnes said.

“No, he is right about that,” Geoffrey noted. “Father is all of those things. Of course, he can be, because the king would find acting against him difficult.”

As Geoffrey sipped his wine, the words fell out of Agnes’ mouth, though she did not wish to ask it, for fear of her brother’s answer.

“Should the king turn on father… would you stand by him?” she asked.

“Should he fire him?” Geoffrey asked. “I would counsel him against it.”

“I mean should he attack father,” Agnes said.

“It will not come to that,” Geoffrey said. “The king is petty and foolish. But he is not suicidal.”

“Often times, petty and foolish is the same thing,” Agnes said. “And you did not answer my question.”

“You are as quick with your mind as you are with your tongue,” Geoffrey said. “The former is as beautiful and the latter is elegant.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “You must not think much of that mind if you say things such as that.”

Geoffrey smirked. “If you must know, of course I would back father. If for no other reason than I want to have all of father’s lands when his time comes.”

That she believed. Her brother’s motives were always to increase his power. And he’d always done his best to avoid running afoul of their father for that reason.

“Your tone… it seems hostile,” Geoffrey noted. “Are you upset with me, sister?”

Agnes again felt her stomach clench. She could say nothing, and leave it as it was. But would good would that do her?

“I begin to wonder if you have dismissed my counsel from a few years ago,” Agnes said. “In that you still harbor your… foul desires for me.”

Geoffrey smiled and looked down before taking a drink from his cup. Then he looked at her. “I would not call it strictly desire. I would more call it a longing. A longing that grows stronger every time I have to depart from you.”

Agnes shook her head. “You may call it whatever you like - it is still foul.”

She got up from the table and paced about the room. “Geoffrey, why do you persist in this foolishness?”

“I cannot control my feelings,” he told her. “I dream of you when I am alone… and when I am with others. How can I not? When I look upon you, I see beauty. When I hear you speak, I hear knowledge and wit, delivered in the sweetest of voices. If God were to design a perfect woman, he would sculpt you - one who can handles the affair of state, lead men in war, but carry children and nurture them just as well.”

“I think you speak of your lost Lady of La Marche,” Agnes said.

“Funny you say that,” Geoffrey said. “But I do not. She was skilled, but not as skilled as you. I would have been… happy enough with her had fate chosen differently. And it is because I seek happiness that I seek you as well.”

“And yet I refuse,” Agnes said. “And I will continue to refuse. And then when father dies, and you rule here in Anjou? What then? Will you leave me no choice?”

He stood up and walked to her. She watched him, her body tense, ready to strike. He did try to take her hand, but she pulled it away. So instead he just looked her square in the eye.

“I would never force myself upon you sister,” he insisted. “There would be no enjoyment in that.”

“That your hand found extended rest on my body yesterday begs to differ,” Agnes replied.

“I let it linger, yes,” Geoffrey said. “I expected you to move to remove it quickly. When you did not, I thought, perhaps, you enjoyed it there.”

Agnes glared at Geoffrey, slowly shaking her head. “You do yourself no favors.”

“My lovely sister,” he said. “I love you. And when I say that, I mean I find you the most beautiful woman in the world. But that alone is not love - it is lust. I also care for you, and wish for your happiness.”

“If you wish for my happiness, then you would finally drop the matter,” Agnes said. “That you do not does not make me believe you speak true to me.”

“Your reluctance is understandable,” Geoffrey said. “But I know you are unhappy with your husband. He is worthless. He does not challenge you - not in mind or body. You cannot tell me you are pleased with him.”

“I am pleased with my lot in life,” Agnes replied.

“You are pleased with your power,” Geoffrey said, his voice suddenly much harsher. “But you are not pleased with him.”

“They are related,” Agnes noted.

“They need not be,” Geoffrey said. His voice softened. “As I have told you, I would make you my duchess. When I rule Anjou, you will be by my side. Everything you have under father, you shall have under me.”

“As long as I remain under you,” Agnes replied.

Geoffrey smirked. “Your wit perhaps strikes my heart the most.”

He returned to the table and took a sip of his wine before looking back to her. “I swear to you, upon my life, that I will never make your position conditional on becoming my lover. Your position now will be what it will be when I rule. I would be foolish to turn your talents aside. And… like I said, I do not wish for any coercion. I love you sister and I want you to love me as I do you. I would rather nothing than something lesser.”

Agnes’ stomach was tied in knots. On one hand, Geoffrey was laying in no uncertain terms he would never demand she lay with him. And given their past history, she did not see any real evidence he was lying about that.

But how could she trust that, if he were this madly in love with her as he professed, that he would behave rationally at all times around her? Or that his desires, rejected, would not affect his behavior toward her?

“I… I don’t know if I can believe you,” she replied.

Geoffrey frowned. “That wounds, sister. But… I understand. I too have been lied to in the past. All I can say is that seeing you unhappy as a result of my actions would make me physically ill.”

Agnes looked him over. He seemed sincere enough. And he was her brother - he had helped her before. Perhaps he was being earnest in his feelings for her.

“Then… you must let it die,” Agnes said. “For it will never happen.”

“I cannot let it die,” Geoffrey said. “It may be forever unrequited. But it will forever live, regardless.”

“Then say nothing of it to me,” Agnes said. “Please…”

Geoffrey looked down. “I will say… nothing of it for two years, at least. Perhaps longer. But while I promise you I shall never make you do anything you do not wish, I cannot promise you that I will not ask you again.”

Agnes frowned. But what more was she going to get out of him, unless she threatened to go to their father? And she did not want to do that. She did not hate her brother, she still cared for him in fact.

Just not in the way he wishes.

“The answer will be the same,” she said.

“I will understand then, as I do now,” Geoffrey replied. He stood up and bowed before her again. To his credit, he did not make a move toward kissing her hand, or hugging her as he did before.

It prompted her to ask a question she knew she shouldn’t.

“Geoffrey,” Agnes began, “are you angry at me for saying no?”

He smiled. “I am disappointed, as any man would be to be rejected by his love. But I am not angry. Because you are not unhappy. That… that would make me angry.”

Geoffrey finished off his drink. “I think I shall visit my wife.”

Agnes’ eyes widened. “Your wife?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “I am stuck with her, it appears. And I am not father - I shall not murder my problems away. Perhaps it is time I speak with her once more, to see where we stand.”

Agnes did not expect to hear that. It almost… made her feel proud in a way. Had her refusal actually caused Geoffrey to give up on this futile quest and make him reconsider his relationship with Marguerite? Even if she did not care for the lady, Agnes knew that would be healthier for all parties involved.

Then why do I feel so uneasy, she wondered.

….

It could not have gone that well with Marguerite, since Geoffrey left the next day without her. His goodbye with her at least featured a kiss, albeit on the forehead.

Agnes received a hug, a tight squeeze, but his hands were kept up her back. He blushed afterward, almost making him pitiable to her. But she tried to resist - he did not need to be encouraged with his improper impulses. Progress had been made - it should not be undone.

And then he was gone, off to the south. Agnes made her checks with Alearde and others to make sure he had not spent any time alone with Haldora - he had not. The only woman, aside from Alearde and Agnes, that he was alone with turned out to be Marguerite, as he said.

It was relief for Agnes as she relaxed alone in her chambers in the late afternoon. It could have gone poorly. Instead she kept the fires contained, once more proving to herself that she was more than capable of handling the business of the duchy with her father away.

And that night, Agnes laid with Henri. It was a typical experience for her, which left her mostly unfulfilled. Before, when she found herself that frustrated afterward, she would find her way to Cedric soon after. But he was gone, and she was left alone.

At least until she fell asleep. It was not uncommon that she’d dream of her dead lover, restored in his prime as he took her as he used to. On a rare occasion, it would be Gilles instead - a rather annoying reminder of how much she enjoyed her brief time with him before it all went terribly wrong.

But tonight she found herself in the arms of her brother, as he ravished her with kisses, worshipped her, and kissed her belly, swollen with a child she could only assume was his. And then he took her, making her scream in a pleasure she had not felt in years.

Agnes jerked awake. She looked to the side of her - no one was present as Henri had left her chambers after their love-making. What she had experienced was just a dream. A dream… a dream where she had been with Geoffrey and enjoyed it… to the point where she seemed content to have his child.

The thought was disturbing. So repulsive… and yet so appealing? The sweat dripped from her forehead, and her stomach clenched. She fell out of her bed, feeling the cold floor beneath her, hyperventilating as she did.

Is he right? Do I truly desire him?

The thought made her stomach squeeze tighter… and Agnes vomited.

Another fire… she realized as she gasped for air… one that if released would incinerate all that was House d’Anjou.
....

Note: Had to include that relationship screenshot to show that, yup, AI Geoffrey actually did it again. And while I thought that modifier meant rejection at an early stage, you can actually pick it up at the final stage of seduction. If you choose: "Confess your love" and it's rejected without "stay away forever" you get "repelled." So... uh yeah. There's no sugarcoating this - Geoffrey wants his sister. He takes breaks and goes after others, but he has returns for her.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 125
May 1105 - Melun, France

As Foulques stood on the second step of the raised dais in the keep in Melun, he was struck at how oddly familial his day had become.

To his right, stood his son, Duke Geoffrey of Aquitaine, advisor to King Hugues of the Franks. In the gallery was Foulques’ half-brother, Robert, Bishop of Autun.

And at the base of the dais, on one knee, was Simon of Burgundy.

Not Foulques’ dead half-brother, mind you. No, it was that half-brother’s son, who shared his father’s name.

But he did not share his father’s uselessness, it appeared, as he knelt before the king and was invested as the Duke of Burgundy.

It came as a shock to Foulques when he had heard the news at the end of March that Duke Hugues of Burgundy had lost his duchy. It probably came as a shock to the former duke as well, as he camped with the king’s army in Murcia, licking his wounds after his defeat to the heathens a few months before.

And though it was not shocking that a woman had brought him down in the end, it was a bit of a surprise as to which woman did it.

Countess Marie of Nevers stood at the front of the gallery, head held high, smile on her face. It had been her, not the Countess Almodis, who had finally toppled Burgundy from his wobbly perch. With the duchy’s forces weakened by the long conflict with the Lady Almodis, Marie saw her opportunity.

She had demanded Burgundy abdicate his seat, in place of his cousin. Of course, he was in Iberia and not present to hear the demand. However, faced with the fact that Marie’s forces would likely crush theirs, and that even if they didn’t, they would never be able to defeat both Almodis and her, the people in Dijon had capitulated to her demands.

The former duke had returned, of course, petitioning the king to restore him. That petition was refused - hardly a surprise given the weakness of both men and the failure in Iberia. So Hugues, ex-duke of Burgundy, fled to the court of his son-by-law, Philipp of Champagne and Simon rode into Melun to perform his oaths to the king.

“Arise Simon, Duke of Burgundy,” the king instructed.

The men shared an embrace and the council clapped. Foulques was uncertain his feelings of it - his nephew was unknown to him. This was, in fact, the first time he had ever seen him. While Foulques’ natural confidence prevented him from fearing the boy, he certainly eyed him with some suspicion.

He did his best to keep such thoughts hidden however, as he and Geoffrey greeted Simon and Bishop Robert after the ceremony.

“Congratulations, cousin,” Geoffrey said as he shook his hand. “Excuse me, Duke Simon.”

Simon smirked. “Thank you… Duke Geoffrey. I am still in disbelief over this whole matter. I never expected to one day find myself in my grandfather’s chair.”

“I know the feeling,” Geoffrey replied.

“And you would be wise not to let it get to your head,” Foulques warned. “You may find those who placed you in your seat are demanding of reward.”

Simon’s beady eyes widened. “Direct advice, Duke Foulques.”

“It is true all the same, nephew,” Foulques said. “You would be wise to heed it.”

Robert shook his head and placed his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Pay your uncle no mind, Duke Simon. He is the Iron Duke for a reason - cold, hard and perfectly capable of cutting deep.”

Simon stroked his clean shaven chin before nodding. “I will keep your words in mind, uncle, though I have much to do when I return to the duchy. The Lady Almodis still looms large.”

“The lovely Burgundian Rose?” Geoffrey asked.

“Apt, as she has sharp thorns,” Simon replied. “But her quarrel was with my cousin. I bare her no ill will. For too long Burgundy has been torn at from within. If we are to reclaim our proper place in the affairs of the realm - the place my grandfather had us - we must unify once more.”

“I have told him it is in our blood to unify divided lands,” Robert added. “From my brother, who has brought the lands from Vendome to Vannes under his rule, to my nephew, who has healed the fractured lands of Aquitaine and Poitou, to myself, who now guides our Lord’s flock.”

“That is one way to put it,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey smirked and then put his arm around Simon’s shoulder. “My fellow duke, it is time to celebrate! Our grandmother would smile upon us. She is the matriarch to the men who control near half of the realm! We will drink to her name, and then we shall toast to our success!”

With Geoffrey’s back turned to him as he and Simon walked off, Foulques shook his head. He did not like his son just… using Ermengarde’s name like that. He never knew her - she had died well before he was born. What would he know of what she would be proud of?

“That boy needs to learn his place,” Foulques grumbled to Robert, who had remained behind.

“Which?” Robert asked. “They are both, in their own way, upstarts.”

“I meant my son,” Foulques said. “He invokes mother’s name. He never knew her. And I did not discuss her frequently with him. He simply… uses what he can sweeten his words.”

“I hardly see the problem with it,” Robert said. “It is right to think on mother at this time, brother. The Duke of Anjou, Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou, Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Autun all share a common bond - a common blood. The blood of our mother. I think she smiles from heaven today.”

“I would think she would have had reason to smile before that,” Foulques said.

“You grow grumpy in your old age, brother,” Robert said. “Or does your nephew bother you so?”

“I cannot be bothered by what I do not know,” Foulques said. “Though my son seems friendly with him.”

“They have met a few previously when Geoffrey visited Burgundy as the king’s chancellor,” Robert said. “But I doubt he knows him as well as I do.”

“So what can you tell me of the boy?” Foulques asked.

“Well, he is hardly a boy,” Robert said. “28 summers. But he spent much time with me in Autun especially after our brother fled there. I think he is a fair, just man. Works hard at his tasks. I believe he will be an able ruler. Whether that is enough? We shall see.”

“He is not like our brother?” Foulques asked.

“There are always similarities between father and son,” Robert said. “But I do think our nephew more capable than our brother ever was.”

“You assume much with your comment,” Foulques said. “Not all fathers and sons are similar.”

“I did not say that,” Robert noted. “And if you think yourself an exception to what I did say… then I worry my older brother grows blind as well as grumpy.”

“You think Geoffrey and I are similar?” Foulques demanded.

“Your methods differ,” Robert said. “But your goal is the same.”

“I think you are the one who loses his sight,” Foulques said.

Robert smirked. “Well brother, Geoffrey has gone from a man with no land, to one who holds two duchies. If he does not take after you, then I have greatly underestimated his mother’s capabilities.”

Foulques did not have a quick response to that charge and Robert, still smirking, walked off in the direction of his nephews.

The Duke of Anjou frowned. He just doesn’t understand.

…..

Two days later, Foulques stood in the strategy hall with Geoffrey directly opposite him across the table. They were not alone however, as the king’s council had gathered for its latest meeting. Orleans was present, as was the old Bishop of St. Denis, the current spymaster, and the court Chaplain Godefrey. As usual, Prince Alphonse was not.

The king entered, slowly gazing over the group as he approached the table.

“My fine council,” the king began. “We have much to discuss.”

They were silent as they looked for him to take the lead. But the king was silent for a moment, his eyes closed as he seemed to be searching for the right words. They opened, and he took a deep breath.

“As you know, our war in Murcia fares poorly,” he said. “And the former Duke of Burgundy is no longer an option to lead our men… and I have decided that drastic action is necessary.”

Drastic action?

Foulques was uncertain of what that meant. Despite being marshal in name, the king and he rarely communicated on the war. Foulques was to help make certain there remained a levy of troops in reserve, but most of the actions in regards to the war he had been left out of.

But this could mean a change…

“We need new leadership,” the king said. “It is clear mistakes were made in the selection of my cousin before. With our war going poorly, the Duke of Toulouse in the hands of the heathens, and their ranks growing by the day, we can not afford any more mistakes.”

“Then we will be sending Duke Foulques?” Orleans asked. “And seeing what the old man has left?”

“If you wish to find out,” Foulques warned, “we do not need to go to Murcia to see.”

Orleans smirked. “I meant no ill toward you, Duke Foulques. Your leadership would be a great improvement over the former Duke of Burgundy.”

“I would agree,” Geoffrey added. “And my father has spoken to me of his great desire to return to the field. We will not find a more willing man than he to oversee this difficult task.”

“And if he were to place himself at great risk, I am certain you would not mind,” Orleans noted.

Geoffrey eyed him. “Battles come with risk yes. Something my father understands more than most.”

“I do not need you to speak for me,” Foulques told him.

“I stated the obvious,” Geoffrey said.

“My good lords,” the king interrupted, “this bickering is pointless. Duke Foulques, your son responded because the barb was aimed at him, not you. They think my advisor a schemer. I wonder where they could have heard such a thing?”

Foulques said nothing. Obviously, that was clearly meant for him - his complaints about Geoffrey were known by many. And the king hoped to use that against them both, no doubt.

“It is moot regardless,” the king said. “For Duke Foulques is not going to Murcia. I am, along with the good bishop of St. Denis.”

Foulques eyes widened. And he was not alone. Everyone but the king and the bishop seemed surprised.

“An angel spoke to me in a dream,” the king explained. “Our failure is because we fight a Holy War but do not send true men of God. The bishop is one such man. And myself, who was once a bishop, will act as God’s will… and so we will bring victory.”

Geoffrey furrowed his brow. Orleans merely raised his, while Godefrey simply lowered his head. But Foulques felt the adrenaline coursing through him. Left behind? Again? For men who cannot lead?

“You… you leading the men? Over me?” Foulques demanded.

The king looked at him square. “We are in difficult times in Iberia. I need men I can trust. Men I know who are fully committed to this cause. Not only are you far from a holy man, Duke Foulques, you have never given me the full backing… as a marshal should. And look at where we stand!”

“You blame me for your foolish decision to send your worthless cousin to lead?” Foulques sneered. “I told you his history of failure. And you sent him anyway. Your war goes poorly because you have acted poorly.”

“You will remember your place,” the king said. He then turned to Geoffrey. “Tell me, advisor, when a war fares as poorly as this, should I not question the capability of my marshal?”

Geoffrey pursed his lips tightly. “Should you not question the capability of the marshal… it is a complex question.”

“And yet I demand a simple answer,” the king replied.

Geoffrey sighed. “Given the distance of the war from Melun, it is hard to assign him all the blame. How much oversight could he have had? But… given how poorly it has gone, I would imagine he could do better.”

Foulques shook his head. A pathetically wishy-washy answer that tried to play both sides.

“There you have it,” the king said. “Your own son believes you could do better.”

“I didn’t not mean it like---” Geoffrey began.

“No, you said it clear,” the king said. “You just fear what your father will do to you if you agree with me. Your king. It can make one wonder where loyalties truly lay…”

Foulques chuckled, annoyed by Geoffrey’s weak response giving the king all he needed. “If my son believes I can do better, perhaps he should plan his own war the next time he decides to steal from his female cousins.”

And now Geoffrey’s glare fell on his father.

“My war in Angouleme does well enough, father,” Geoffrey said. “Without your assistance.”

“Good. You are 32 summers,” Foulques said. “It is about time you learned to walk on your own.”

The response drew muted chuckles from the other members of the council. Even the king covered his mouth to hide a wide grin.

“Tell me, Duke Geoffrey,” the king said, “what do you think I should do with a vassal who is so unruly toward myself and his peers?”

“What I would do?” Geoffrey asked. “I would ask myself if I truly believe the marshal is far past his prime. If he is, then I would have no fear of him causing trouble if he strikes his banner in rebellion. But… if not, I would advise caution.”

And there it was. Geoffrey had given the approval to Foulques being fired. The duke restrained himself - but he would let his son have it when they spoke in private next.

“And how do you judge him to be?” the king asked.

“I would not chance it,” Geoffrey said. “You go on campaign, after all.”

“I see,” the king said. “And you others?”

The rest of the council all agreed Foulques should remain as marshal. And the king dropped the matter, for now.

Foulques did not process another word the rest of the meeting. His eyes just shifted back and forth between Geoffrey and the king, while his blood boiled.
….

“You called for my firing!” Foulques spat in Geoffrey’s face.

The two were in Geoffrey’s chambers, the door closed. Foulques, in anger, had overturned a table and was in his son’s face, his mask inches from Geoffrey’s nose, as the younger man had his back against the wall.

But, even if shocked, Geoffrey was not cowed.

“You called me an incompetent child, who could not even walk without your support!” Geoffrey shouted back.

“I spoke the truth,” Foulques said. “You finally have success on your own, without someone else propping you up, and you wish it to be treated as if you are Clovis or Charlemagne!”

“I defended myself against calls that I could not handle wars myself,” Geoffrey said. “All because you rose to take the king’s bait when he tries to divide us!”

“I rose because you did not!” Foulques exclaimed. “Your answer to him was pathetic. An attempt to please both myself and him. And it did not please me - and it probably did not please him, even if he used it against me.”

“I did not want to embarrass the king in the meeting, which would have made him both of our enemies once more,” Geoffrey said. “It helps for him to believe I am somewhat on his side on the matter - if for no other reasons than loyalty! It is not good for us if he believes I am more loyal to you than to him.”

“And now I am uncertain of it as well,” Foulques warned.

“My loyalties lay with you, father,” Geoffrey said. “I know that it would only result in both of our falls if we turned against one another.”

“And yet, you were fine with my firing,” Foulques said. “At a more convenient time.”

“Did you not pay attention to that meeting at all?” Geoffrey demanded. “The king sought to drive us apart. And he did so by demanding I question you, and you played into his hands by questioning my competence! If I am to be the man who claim to wish me to be as your heir, then I cannot stand by and allow myself to be thought of as a weak-willed patsy!”

“And yet…” Foulques began.

“You cannot let your ego rest for one moment,” Geoffrey said. “The king can be played. You might even be going to Murcia now had you just pretended a little. But no, it’s constant disdain and insubordination when you do not get your way.”

“And look how the king suffers for it,” Foulques said. “Had he listened to me, he would be winning his war. I defeated an army 1,500 men larger than mine. I would have crushed a heathen army smaller than my own, unlike Burgundy!”

Geoffrey shook his head. “That was nearly 20 years ago father! 20 years!”

“And have I lost since?” Foulques demanded. “Have I?! Philippe saw this. His fool of a brother does not.”

“His ‘fool of a brother’ is king,” Geoffrey said. “And regardless of if he remains such, Philippe’s time is forever past. He is dead father. Buried, gone. And if you continue to pretend he sits on the throne or that he will one day do so again… then you will gain nothing.”

“My levy will gain me enough,” Foulques warned.

“Will it?” Geoffrey asked. “Will anyone join you besides myself? Do you think Toulouse will betray his friend? Can you trust Champagne? And what makes you think Alphonse will be like his father… at least in the way you hope?”

“So we are to be his thralls?” Foulques demanded. “He is a king far weaker than his brother and you would have us act as if he were an Emperor!”

“No!” Geoffrey replied. “I would have you act wisely. If you pick your battles, and show deference when required, so much more could be achieved. But you cannot humble yourself… you are as bad as he is!”

Geoffrey got himself free from up against the wall and moved to the center of the room. He leaned forward on the table there, dropping his head for a moment, before picking it up and staring at his father.

“I do not think the king will fire you,” Geoffrey said. “But even if he does, he does not listen to you. You hate it here. Would you be that angry?”

“It is the principle,” Foulques said. “I am deserving of certain respect, befitting what I possess.”

“Like Philippe gave you?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” Foulques replied.

Geoffrey closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I think there is little else to be said tonight from my end. Though I suppose if you desire to chastise me some more….”

Foulques glared at his son. Part of him did. But… his point had been made. Whether Geoffrey saw it or not was another matter, but one that would not be solved now.

So the old duke left the chambers and began to slow walk back to his own. As he did he thought back to Robert’s words a few days before about how fathers and sons were usually so similar and how he and Geoffrey were no exception.

But if he could have seen that, he would have known he was wrong, Foulques thought. We are different. I would not stand for what he does. He lowers his head and schemes while I do not accept insolence from those weaker than me. We are nothing alike.

The duke returned to his chambers and poured himself some wine. As he slowly sipped his drink, his brother’s words still haunted him. But not in that he was right with Geoffrey - but the fear he might be right with Foulques the Younger.

Edouard was present just a few minutes after he was summoned. And Foulques did not so much as deliver a greeting before instructing him.

“My grandson - take him out to the yard for some practice,” he ordered.

“It is… not a day he normally practices, uncle,” Edouard said.

“A day that I say he practices becomes a day he normally practices,” Foulques told him. “And I will personally oversee him today.”

“Of… course, uncle,” Edouard said. “But he may be with his father, Duke Geoffrey.”

“I am responsible for the boy,” Foulques said. “You cousin abdicated that to me years ago. He may protest, but I will personally intervene if he tries to stop you.”

Edouard lowered his head. “It will be done, uncle.”

The younger man left and Foulques returned to the table and picked up his drink. As he swirled the contents he thought: Geoffrey may not have turned out to be like me. So it is only fair I return the favor in kind.

A small smirk formed on his lips after he finished his drink. Then the duke slipped into his leathers and headed out to the yard where, much to his delight, his grandson eagerly awaited his arrival.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 126
October 1105 - Melun, France

Just the name of the young man before Foulques brought back uncomfortable memories.

Adhemar de Limoges. The barely visible face of an insignificant failure of a man whose only fortune in life was one he did not deserve - the hand of Aines de Poitou - formed in Foulques’ mind.

It had been that one piece of fortune - which Foulques desired - that perhaps had brought them all some measure of ruin. It had cost Adhemar his life, Aines her conscience, Geoffrey his wife and the young man before Foulques, his father.

The younger Adhemar, whom Geoffrey named “Adhemar Posthumous” - a joke Foulques did not find funny - had come of age in the past year.

As Foulques looked him over, he was taken back to Aines… and what could have been.

If we only managed to succeed in our plot to kill his father earlier, this boy might have been mine.

A small bit of frustration welled up in Foulques again as the memories of his short time with Aines resurfaced. When she was pregnant, he would look at her and eagerly imagine the day when it would be his child she swelled with.

Instead, it was not to be. And Foulques was left to settle for an imitation in Ness. Who was fine… but just not the genuine article.

And now he was confronted with the last child that his love had birthed, a man grown now, a reminder of how much time had passed since then.

He looked a bit like her - similar eyes and nose. His hair was dark and well-kept as well, like hers, though he kept it short.

While it would have made sense to dismiss the boy after his mother’s death, Foulques felt compelled not to. Aines would never have stood for it. She may have hated her husband, but she loved her children.

He was sent to Cholet during his teen years, where he served under the Baron de Cholet, Andre, son of Foulques’ old friend on his brother’s council. And there he had excelled enough to come to the attention of Chancellor Godfrey.

So impressed was Godfrey with the boy’s skill in speaking, his knowledge of language and his general disposition, that he had requested Adhemar join him as an assistant.

And Godfrey had much on his plate these days. Foulques had sent him to Bourges, with the intent of securing a claim on the county. While it was something that had fallen down the order of things with the turmoil of recent years, Foulques had not forgotten his desire to permanently remove his troublesome nephew Gilles from the equation.

And with Gilles’ eldest legitimate son set to inherit both Bourges and Gascony, plus the talk that both Gilles and Peronelle had to the Great Pox, the time was right to move forward with the plan.

But Adhemar did not bring good news from Bourges.

“Chancellor Godfrey finds things difficult in amassing support,” he told Foulques.

“How?” Foulques demanded. “Such a vile lecher cannot be that popular. Someone must be willing to support our right over the county.”

“Duke Gilles is unpopular with those whose wives he has bedded, so many in the realm view him with suspicion,” Adhemar replied. “But that is all. Most others, especially those in Bourges, see him as a charismatic lord and think well of him.”

Foulques shook his head. How such an untrustworthy lecher could inspire such support despite his failures in the realm is beyond me.

“No ruler is universally beloved,” Foulques said. “Find those who dislike him and use them.”

“I will pass on that instruction to Chancellor Godfrey, my lord,” Adhemar said. “Do you have any further need of me?”

Foulques shook his head Adhemar took his leave. However, Foulques was not alone long as Geoffrey soon knocked on the open door. Alongside of him was a short, heavy-set man, dressed in fine robes. His face stern and bearded with a thick mane of black hair, he seemed… familiar.

“Father,” Geoffrey said. “I hope this is not a bad time.”

“I have just concluded my business with Adhemar,” Foulques said. “What do you want?”

“There is someone I would like you to meet,” Geoffrey said. “Prince Thoræd of England, son of King Ælfmær. Prince, my father.”

“So this is the so-called Iron Duke of the Franks,” Thoræd said. “I have heard much about you over the years, sir. It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Foulques shook the hand of prince, whose grip was strong despite his short stature. “How is your father, Prince Thoræd?”

“He is ill, which is why he sends me,” Thoræd said. “But I am glad to have finally met you. I have heard much about you over the years.”

Foulques smirked. “Have you?”

“My father believes he could have won the war against your people,” Thoræd said. “At Rouen. Had it been any other man in the realm present with your late king, he thinks the day would have been his.”

“Does he despise me for it?” Foulques asked.

Thoræd smiled. “He is sore to this day. But no, I do not think he hates you. And I, for one, thank you. Normandy was trouble not worth having. I think our realm has grown more stable as a result.”

“Yes, the realm of the Saxons has not seen such stability such the days of Edward,” Geoffrey noted.

“It grew to the point some were envious of this realm for the peace it seemed to enjoy,” Thoræd said. “But that has changed, though perhaps now you too can find some measure of stability.”

Foulques grunted. “We will see.”

“We shall,” Thoræd said. “Duke Foulques, will you be joining us as we meet with the king?”

“I do not believe so,” Foulques said. “Unless it is something I was not made aware of.”

“My father will join us for supper, as will the rest of the council,” Geoffrey said. “But this meeting is small - just the king. Not even I will be present.”

“I see,” Thoræd said. “Well, Duke Foulques, we must talk later then.”

Geoffrey leaned in to his father: “If you are free, there is a matter I must discuss with you once I have shown our guest to the king.”

Foulques grunted but nodded. What scheme does he cook up now, the old duke wondered.

He would find out a little while later when Geoffrey returned, alone, and closed to the door behind him.

“Greeting foreign princes now?” Foulques asked. “A fine way to run afoul of a king concerned his is the only one who rules the realm.”

“Please father, do you take me for a fool?” Geoffrey asked. When Foulques said nothing, the younger duke’s smirk became a frown. “I obviously act under the king’s orders now. He wished for me to greet the prince.”

“So you are chancellor now?” Foulques asked.

“The actual chancellor never sets foot in Melun,” Geoffrey replied. “So it falls on me to handle such matters, especially since the Queen recovers from her child’s birth.”

A birth that had been difficult, from what Foulques had heard. But Queen Aude had survived, as had the child, a boy name Yves.

And the queen was not the only one recovering these days. The king had been wounded in Murcia after he and the bishop pf St. Denis had been attacked by a slightly larger Moslem force. It had not quite been as embarrassing a setback as the king’s cousin had suffered, but it seemed to spell doom for the Frankish ambitions in Murcia.

Men of God are no substitute for men of war, Foulques had said to himself when he heard the news. It was good he was alone at the time - he had no chance of hiding his pleasure over the king’s reverses.

The bishop remained with the army, while the king moved north to recover. The wound was to his arm, but Foulques suspected the real injury was to the king’s pride.

As such, he had held few council meetings since his return and did much of his business through intermediaries, even with those in the keep. Even Foulques had only talked to him once or twice since his return.

“So what is this matter you wish to speak to me on?” Foulques asked. “Does it have to do with your new friend, the prince?”

“Thoræd is not my friend, though perhaps in time he will be,” Geoffrey replied. “He could use some more of them for when he becomes king.”

“I thought the Saxons were content with his father,” Foulques said. “Is he unpopular?”

“The problem is not the Saxons,” Geoffrey said. “It is our old friends from Normandy - those who Thoræd said are gone, but are certainly not.”

“They lost Normandy,” Foulques said. “What have they left?”

“It appears fate has smiled upon the house once more,” Geoffrey replied. “Robert married the daughter, and only child, of Eadwin of Mercia, and the couple had a son. Eadwin has now died. And his brother’s line, Morcar of York, has also been extinguished prematurely. As it would happen, the younger Robert now controls almost all the north of the Saxon realm.”

Foulques’ eyes widened. “All of that land… in the hands of a boy.”

“A boy that will come of age soon,” Geoffrey said. “A boy who whose father is the son of the late King of England. I do not know that the Saxons will support a Norman… but he may be strong enough it does not matter.”

“No, it may not,” Foulques said. He stroked his beard then looked square at Geoffrey. “You are plotting something.”

Geoffrey smiled. “Thoræd has a daughter who is less than a year younger than my son.”

Foulques’ brow rose. The only talk he’d heard of his grandson being wed was from Robert of Artois, who still hoped to arrange a union with his own granddaughter. The count was determined, even coming to Anjou to speak directly to Foulques, having found talks with Geoffrey wanting.

But Foulques had little interest in it - so little that he barely spoke with Artois during his visit to Anjou and instead dispatched Agnes to deal with him. She did her job well enough as Foulques did not do much chatting over the matter and Artois did seemed content enough upon his departure.

Yet while Artois was a troublesome annoyance, the prince and potential future king of England would be a different matter entirely.

“He has agreed to a union?” Foulques asked.

“Not yet…” Geoffrey said. “He can’t, actually. While it is his daughter, his father, the king, controls such a union. And he has no interest at this time. As Thoræd said, he is still sore about Rouen.”

Foulques smirked at that. Then he motioned for Geoffrey to continue.

“But Ælfmær is old, and he is ill,” Geoffrey said. “Thoræd did not mention it, but he is afflicted with a cancer they say. He has been treated well, but his time will come soon enough. And then Thoræd will sit on the throne… and may be more amenable to a union. He may well see us as help he could use, given his likely Norman problem.”

Foulques took a sip of his wine before drumming his fingers on the table. “You speak as if chaos is coming to that island. And you wish to throw us into the chaos?”

“I would think you interested in smashing Normans,” Geoffrey said. “Is that not the one few pieces of vengeance you have not managed to secure? You have restored our influence in Brittany. Saintonge ultimately bows to Angevin rule once more. Only Maine and the children of William of Normandy remain…”

Foulques shook his head. “Finishing the Normans would be amusing. But I am not a fool. You only care of my interests when they suit yours.”

“And visa versa,” Geoffrey replied. “But I see potential. Given how things have gone the last few months, perhaps it may not hurt to have a friend outside the realm.”

“He will do us little good if he cannot handle the Normans in his realm,” Foulques said.

“And if he cannot, there may be opportunity,” Geoffrey said. “We saw what happened the last time the Normans were in power. The late King William was forced to essentially disinherit his own son.”

“What do you get at?” Foulques demanded.

“If England remains strong, father, they can aid us if necessary,” Geoffrey said. “And if they split once more, then perhaps we can look across to their island to exert influence.”

“I would think your focus to be in the south,” Foulques noted.

“I look for allies where I can find them,” Geoffrey said. “We have Alphonse’s friendship, and potentially Flanders in the realm… but beyond it? There is no worthy friend in Iberia. Brittany is hardly worth our time. And I wish to be nowhere near the German emperor.”

“Outside the realm,” Foulques said as he stroked his beard. “You foresee conflict with the king.”

Geoffrey leaned in close to his father. “I take no chances. This king is weak, but we are strong. And everyone can see it. We make for a good enemy for them to unify against.”

It made sense. Yet Foulques did not love the plan - he did not trust the Saxons as allies. Even unified, they had shown themselves to be unimpressive warriors for his tastes. Bested first by the Normans, then crushed by him at Rouen.

“We will see,” Foulques said.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Geoffrey got up to answer it, and found it to be Edouard, who appeared to be shaken as he entered. His face was pale, and his hands, held together, were trembling.

“Are you alright, cousin?” Geoffrey asked.

“I bring news…” he stammered.

“What is it?” Foulques demanded.

“It is my father,” Edouard said. “He is dead.”

Geoffrey and Foulques traded glances, while the older duke felt his stomach drop. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“It is no trick, uncle,” Edouard said. “He had taken ill about a month ago. His body failed him, and he died a few weeks ago, bedridden and unable to rise. I… I…”

Edouard appeared shaky on his feet and Geoffrey came to his aid, jumping from his chair and holding him upright before helping him to his old seat.

“Thank you cousin,” Edouard said. “It strikes me harder than I would expect. I did not get along well with my father. And we had words before I came home to Anjou. Our last words.”

“It can be… difficult to deal with fathers,” Geoffrey said as he snuck a glance at Foulques. “But you cannot live your life on their whims.”

“Is that right?” Foulques asked.

“Well, do you think Edouard should have listened to his father, and remained away from Anjou?” Geoffrey asked.

Foulques glared at him as Geoffrey’s thin lips formed a sly grin.

“You cannot worry about him now,” Foulques said. “As you said to me when we first came to Melun - he was bitter, and could not leave the past behind. You would have limited yourself by remaining.”

“I know,” Edouard said. “It is just… difficult to have your last memory of your father be one of him looking as if you have let him down.”

The irony of it all was that all he had done was let his uncle down. Foulques instead received a perverse pleasure out of Edouard’s decision to return to Anjou.

“I think your father is pleased with the man you have become,” he told Edouard.

“Thank you for saying such things uncle,” Edouard replied.

Geoffrey placed his hand on Edouard’s shoulder. “Cousin… let us move to my chambers. You can speak… to your memories of your father there.”

“He can remain here,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey gave Edouard a pat on the back before pulling Foulques away.

“He is obviously upset, and guilty,” Geoffrey told him. “It would be best if he can talk about his fond memories of my uncle. I doubt you would let him do that in your presence.”

“There is nothing fond to remember of him,” Foulques said. “Or did you ignore that as well when you were growing up.”

“What I feel toward my uncle is not important,” Geoffrey said. “It is what he feels toward his father that matters. I am removed enough where I can. I never met him. You... I understand why it is different for you.”

“I do not need your understanding,” Foulques said. “My brother is finally no more. It is a joyous day.”

“Fine,” Geoffrey said. “But let me handle Edouard. This is… what I do well.”

Foulques frowned but motioned for Geoffrey to go. However, he did pull his son back for a moment as something else came to mind.

“Make no mistake - had he succeeded in killing me, you would have been next,” Foulques said.

“Then I am grateful he did not,” Geoffrey said. “If you will excuse me.”

Geoffrey then escorted Edouard out of Foulques’ chambers and closed the door. Once alone, Foulques lips formed a smile as wide as his face. He poured himself a cup of wine, filled to the brim and swallowed it quickly.

He is finally gone.

The older Geoffrey’s plots had never gained much traction in Anjou - those who were present there when he was duke were long dead with the exception of Adalmode. But it was a shadow that hovered over Foulques head as he knew, unlikely as it was, that his brother might one day succeed.

But that was no more. Fate had seen to it that the former Duke of Anjou was dead before his younger brother. And with Edouard safely in line, the threat was ended.

Finally, my victory is complete, Foulques thought. It took nearly forty years but it is finally complete.

….

That night Foulques was awakened to a start. The room was dark, outside of small candle he could use to see in case he needed to get out of bed.

He thought he heard something.

He grabbed the candle by its holder and held it up. There he saw a figure, sitting at the table in the center of his chambers.

Slowly, Foulques got up and approached the person. As he closed, the figure picked its head up. And the duke nearly dropped his candle.

“The years have been unkind to you, brother.”

Foulques could not believe his eyes. Sitting before him was his older brother Geoffrey, as he last remembered him, four decades ago. Still young, still healthy… still alive?!

“Impossible,” Foulques said. “You have died! And even if you have not, you are withered, decayed husk of a man. Your own son said so!”

“You mean your son,” Geoffrey said. “The one I raised out of the goodness of my heart, and my reward for such was to see him turn his back on me, as you once did.”

“No, no,” Foulques said. “You are dead. This cannot be real.”

The duke felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned and was confronted by the pale. face of his dead sister in the flickering candlelight, a ghoulish smile on her thin, almost skeletal face.

“Do you not believe in spirits, little brother?” Hildegarde asked.

He spun his head around. There was his half-brother Simon, who did look every bit his age. And his neck was severed, the blood dripping from the wound here his throat had been slit.

Foulques looked back to his sister and saw her dress was red, and somehow he knew her belly was split open - the wound left behind from when she died birthing Gilles, perhaps?

“I died giving life to my son, little brother,” Hildegarde whispered. “And now you see fit to make that sacrifice in vain by destroying him?”

“He would do the same to my son…” Simon said. “If his lands bordered Anjou…”

“No… this is… impossible!” Foulques said.

“They say we are the Devil’s brood - descendents of his daughter,” Hildegarde said. “Not even death can keep the living from our grasp.”

“And you are in ours,” Simon said.

“And we will not let go,” Geoffrey said. “Not until you are forever with us.”

Foulques wished to scream. But he found himself speechless. He wanted to run, but though his legs moved, he did not. And he could not break free of his siblings’ hold, not even as his older brother stood up and produced a knife.

“Do you think it is time for him to join us?” Geoffrey asked.

“Wait!”

Foulques jerked awake and spun around in his bed. He could still feel their hands he swore, but he could no longer see them. Reaching for the candle holder he held it up… and saw nothing.

His chamber was empty. He slowly got out of bed and looked at the table in the center. There was no man there, no knife… nothing.

Foulques took a deep breath. A nightmare. Vivid… but a nightmare all the same.

The duke went back to his bed, his breathing still not returned to normal. Each time he closed his eyes, he was greeted by the haunting image of one of his siblings.

They were dead. And he lived, he told himself… over and over again until he mercifully fell asleep once more.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 127
January 1106 - Anjou, France

Surrounded by family. Under better circumstances.

Foulques had that thought as he sat in his main hall, at the head of the long table within. To his right, sat his daughter Agnes, and her husband Henri next to her.

To Foulques’ left, his grandson, Foulques the younger, and next to him, Foulqueson. Also present was Edouard and Beatrice, Herve, his wife Sybille and his mother Aureade. Helie, Godfrey’s wife was also in attendance as her two children were, though her husband remained in Bourges.

It had been the case since his return to Anjou in late December - most nights saw Foulques eat alongside his family - at least those old enough to take part and on good enough terms to do so. That excluded his younger children, and Haldora.

But it felt nice to do so, especially since he could not fully shake his nightmares of his siblings tormenting him. They did not come every night, but often enough that he would sometimes dread shutting his eyes.

This scene was a happier one. A good spread of meats, plenty of wine to go around and smiles about their lot in life - what did they have to complain about, after all?

Herve enjoyed his role as Foulques’ top commander. Beatrice was a lady of the Queen. Edouard had a place among Foulques’ knights. The boys were growing into fine men, both showing potential as warriors.

Meanwhile, Agnes enjoyed the responsibilities Foulques handed her. And she had received further blessings as her belly swelled with another child - one that would likely arrive in the next few weeks.

And they were not alone. Aside from a few malcontents, Anjou was a good place to be at the moment. They had recovered from the disease outbreak from a few years back, and they were at peace with no part in either the Holy War or Geoffrey’s claim on Angouleme. With no civil war in the realm, it was a feeling of stability that had no been felt in Anjou in over a decade.

The mood of the keep made it a preferable place to be to Melun, which was part of the reason Foulques was in no rush to return.

The king’s residence was a miserable place these days, as he sulked about, angry over his defeat in Murcia, which was now official. Forced to pay the heathens in gold and to everyone in his reputation, the king had choice words for Foulques the last time they had spoken, which made the duke all the more eager to return to his home for a bit.

He had heard stories the king’s mood had brightened with the return of the Duke of Toulouse, who had been released from the dungeons of the Abbadid Emirate. But that was hardly worth dealing with the rest of the mess - once the king had worked through this bout of petulance, Foulques would return.

In the meantime, he would enjoy being the lord of his duchy, in a happy place where the people respected and revered him, rather than chastised him for their own shortcomings.

“My lord.”

Foulques broke from his reverie to look to his side. There Guilhem stood, between him and Agnes. When had he arrived?

“What is it?” Foulques asked.

“We have visitors to the keep,” Guilhem said. “They would like to remain for the night.”

“Are they of any importance?” Foulques wondered.

“Yes, my lord,” Guilhem said. “Our visitors are the men of your son. Count Alias of Perigord and Count Gerard of Thouars, along with Prince-Bishop Leonard of Agen.”

“That is much of his council,” Agnes noted. “My brother is not with them?”

“He remains in Melun, my lady,” Guilhem replied. “Shall they be allowed to stay here the night?”

Foulques nodded. Even if he had little love for the southern lords, he could not turn them aside given they were all members of his son’s council.

He also ordered Guilhem to tell the staff to prepare more plates and food as the three prominent men would be joining them.

And a little while later, the three did arrive in the main hall. Alias was in the lead, the prince-bishop next behind and the goateed hunchback Thouars bringing up the rear.

The hall rose to greet them, but only Foulques and Agnes actually approached.

“Duke Foulques,” Alias said as he bowed. “Lady Agnes.”

“Count Alias of Perigord,” Foulques said. “Prince-Bishop Leonard. Count Gerard of Thouars. This is a surprise.”

“Forgive our sudden intrusion,” Alias said. “Our normal route south is proving more treacherous with reports of Duchess Peronelle’s forces along the road. Instead, we felt it best to come through Anjou, and then move south through Thouars and Saintonge. I hope it is not a nuisance for you.”

“None at all,” Foulques said. “Come, drink, be merry.”

“Is my brother alright, Count Alias?” Agnes asked.

“Your brother is well,” Alias said. “And he would be pleased to hear you ask of him. He hopes you are in good health and spirits, given your current condition.”

Agnes smiled and held her belly. “It is nothing. I have done this before.”

“You say it is nothing and yet I find it to be a most wondrous thing,” Alias said. “It is a privileged thing to be able to give life. Not even all women can do it, after all.”

Foulques rolled his eyes. I do not know whether he gets it from Geoffrey or Geoffrey gets it from him.

He would have been concerned over Alias’ continued conversation with Agnes, but he had heard the rumors about the count. Geoffrey had not confirmed them to him, but he did not exactly deny them either.

At least there is one man in the realm beside my son that I do not have to worry about bedding my daughter, he thought.

The supper was uneventful. Foulques asked the state of things in Melun, and Alias suggested it was as poor as the duke feared. He insisted Geoffrey worked to put out fires with the king, though he was finding it increasingly difficult. None of which gave Foulques any more confidence in either the king or his son, nor enhanced his desire to return.

But it was after supper that Alias requested a meeting with the duke in private. He spoke of an important message he had to relay from Geoffrey, but one that had to be given away from the ears of others, even Agnes. His interest piqued, Foulques agreed to the meeting, which took place in his chambers.

Upon arriving Alias appeared almost apprehensive. The cool, confident look he often sported was nowhere to be found as he struggled to maintain eye contact with Foulques and fidigited with his hands.

“You look nervous, Count Alias,” Foulques said as he offered him a drink. “Surely this message is not that bad? Or else my son would deliver it himself.”

“It may be good or bad, depending on how you look upon the matter, Duke Foulques,” Alias said as he took the cup of wine.

Not the best of signs, Foulques realized. But there was no use in waiting any longer.

“What is it that you want?” Foulques asked. “Or, should I ask, what does my son want that he sends you to tell me?”

Alias sighed and took a drink from his cup before continuing. “Duke Geoffrey has warned that the king has decided, foolishly, to replace you as marshal.”

A chill ran through the old duke’s body as the words formed meaning. He had been fired… from the council… and the chill was replaced with a red hot anger.

The duke slammed his fist on the wooden table, spilling both his cup of wine and the pitcher. Alias jumped back, perhaps of shock or maybe to escape the liquid from soaking his robe.

“Fired! And neither man has the decency to tell me himself?!” Foulques shouted. “Instead my son sends you, his lackey, to tell me instead?!”

Alias pursed his lips before lowering his head. “This was this type of reaction that my lord hoped to avoid in front of the king.”

“But he is too fearful to face it himself, so he sends you!” Foulques exclaimed.

“My lord does not think the situation in Melun is a good one,” Alias said. “So he remains to make certain the influence of your family does not wane. The king’s ear has a new voice - one who may command much say in things.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze. “Who?”

“The Duke of Toulouse,” Alias replied. “The new marshal of the realm.”

Foulques’ mask hid his shock well. But perhaps he should not have been surprised.

Given the king’s affection for the duke, he likely would put him back on the council at the first opportunity. Foulques had wondered if it would be him or Geoffrey who would be removed, though he had talked himself into Orleans, since he was one of the weakest lords in the realm.

But it appeared that did not matter to this king.

“So Toulouse does this?” Foulques demanded.

“No, Duke Foulques,” Alias said. “Toulouse wishes to continue his war in Iberia that the king interrupted with his own. But he does not feel right to turn down his friend.”

“A disgrace,” Foulques said. “Them, all of them, for their cowardice!”

“The king was prepared to tell you in person,” Alias said. “But Duke Geoffrey counseled him against it. He warned you have a temper, and the king may not wish to be in the way of it. It was enough to convince the king to handle it my lord’s way.”

“He could scare the king from firing me in person, but not scare him enough to keep me on the council?” Foulques asked. “I have a difficult time believing that, especially given my son’s willingness to see me fired months ago.”

“I understand your mistrust of the situation, Duke Foulques,” Alias said. “But your son is most dismayed by this action. He fought hard in private for you - even telling me how the king had insulted him for doing so. But the king’s mind is made up - he needs to blame someone for his defeat in Murcia and he wishes to see his friend restored to the council. Thus he kills two birds with one stone.”

The explanation was as good as any, Foulques realized. But did he believe it? Perhaps this was Geoffrey being ever-the-opportunist, and removing his father from influence in Melun. After all, he disliked the appearance that he was beholden to Foulques - what better way to prove otherwise by seeing him removed from the council?

On the other hand, Foulques remained convinced that his son could not resist looking to him for assistance - he rarely wished to bloody his hands himself if others would do it for him. And this would make it harder for him to use Foulques in that manner.

“When will you see my son again?” Foulques asked.

“While the count of Thouars and Prince-Bishop Leonard will be continuing south, I will be returning to Melun,” Alias said. “I accompanied them here to relay the message from Duke Geoffrey to you. So I will see him again in a few days.”

Foulques shook his head. Geoffrey could have easily done this himself, he reasoned. But was too cowardly to do so.

“Tell my son that I warned him of this possibility,” Foulques instructed. “And that in the future, he would be wise to heed my words. In the meantime, he can know I am disappointed by his inability to prevent this from happening.”

Alias replied with a slight nod. “Do you wish anything else, Duke Foulques?”

“He will hear from me in the future,” Foulques said. “The king may be able to keep me from his ear, but my son, if he wishes his inheritance, can not.”

That prompted a smirk from Alias. “I shall let him know, Duke Foulques.”

He bowed before the old duke, who did not respond in kind. Alias looked up. “I thank you once more for your hospitality. The meal was excellent. Better than anything I have had in Melun in some time.”

The count left and Foulques again punched the table. He had little faith in the king, and perhaps even less in his son at the moment.

He needed relief - something to take his mind off this. And so he had Etiennette summoned to his chambers.

The woman had become his preferred lover once more - he found her calm, passive demeanor easier to deal with these days than Ness. He already dealt with a king he disliked and a son who annoyed him - he did not also want a petulant, hypocritical lover who was angry that he had sired a bastard with another woman.

And Etiennette did not need to ask what she was called for. When she arrived, she closed the door, said nothing and dropped her dress to the floor.

…..

The next day the southern lords departed as expected, with Alias taking a small group of the knights and heading back to the capital. Agnes sent them off, while Foulques watched from the ramparts of the keep.

His anger had only dissipated somewhat from the night before, but enough to think clearly.

He was not certain Geoffrey’s game, but he knew it involved scheming. And if Geoffrey could do it, so could he.

However, Foulques knew full well that scheming and speaking honeyed words was not what he was known for. He would need others for that. It was a job for his chancellor. But with Godfrey tied up in Bourges, it fell on Agnes to handle such matters.

It would have to be limited for a time - after all, she would soon birth her child and then need to recover from that. But she was charming and the lords who visited the keep usually enjoyed her company - even Alias, one who had little interest in bedding her.

And so he summoned her to his chambers a little while later to lay out his plans, after explaining what Alias had told him the night before.

“This king…” Agnes said. “I did not think the realm would ever long for Philippe, but I begin to wonder.”

“This defeat will not make things easy on him,” Foulques said. “He may blame me, and others may be happy to agree to weaken us. But they also can see the weak man that he is.”

“Shall I begin to reach out to the other lords of the realm, then?” she asked. “Prince Alphonse perhaps?”

“Alphonse sits on the council,” Foulques noted. “Most of the major lords do, with the exception of Philipp of Champagne… and I suspect he may be less than thrilled to see you, my dear.”

Agnes smiled broadly. “I am certain he took his defeat to me in stride.”

Foulques chuckled. “But no. Though this king does not deserve my support, I have other interests at the moment. Dealing with your cousin in Bourges is of far greater concern to me. Right now, I would be surprised if this king did anything against me.”

“And with the way he moves through councilors, father, you may return to Melun soon enough,” Agnes noted.

Foulques had not considered that, though there may have been truth in his daughter’s words. While Champagne had not returned to his cherished role, Toulouse had. And before him Geoffrey, despite the king’s strong words against his son at the time.

“You are wise, my dear,” Foulques said. “But while we will deal with the other lords, I wish to look beyond them for a moment.”

Agnes’ brow rose. “Then what do you need of me?”

“I wish for you to see to a gift be sent to Prince Thoræd of England,” Foulques said.

“The prince of England?” Agnes asked. “I… I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“He stands to inherit the throne when his ill father finally passes,” Foulques said. “Your brother wishes to make friends with him so that your nephew might marry the English princess, Thoræd’s daughter. I do not know that I like the plan, but I see the point now in having someone to look to outside the realm.”

Agnes’ lips formed a slight frown. “So if you do not think the king will do something now, you do think he may in the future?”

“I do not know what he… or others... will do” Foulques said. “But there is little harm in investigating what this future king may provide us. As I have said, arrange a gift for him. We will see how it is received.”

Agnes nodded. “It will be done father. I shall discuss the matter with Guilhem.”

“Good,” Foulques said. “And when it is done, I expect you to lessen your burden. I will not be returning to Melun, and you should be off your feet at this point.”

“I told you, I am fine,” Agnes said. “This is my third child. I know what to expect.”

“And I am your father, and rule here in Anjou,” Foulques said. “Rest, or I shall force you to rest until your child is born.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “As you wish, father.”

“And one more thing,” Foulques said. “Your husband angles for something to do. He asked for me to send him to his father, but his father does not see a great deal of use for him. So I will assign him to you.”

“Me?” Agnes asked. “But if Chancellor Godfrey does not think him useful…”

“I did not say you had to give him anything important to do, just make ‘use’ of him,” Foulques said. “You have a way of keeping influence over men - Alias, your brother… Robert of Artois. They revere you as if you bedded them and yet you did not. That is a gift.”

Agnes turned very red and lowered her head.

“You need not be ashamed of your charm, my dear,” Foulques said.

“I know father,” Agnes said. “I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you,” Foulques said. “That is all.”

….

Once Agnes was back in her own chambers she breathed a long sigh of relief. Her heart had still not slowed after his comment.

Ashamed of my charm, she thought. Oh… father.

She realized he must still look upon her as his little girl, even with all he knew she did. He did not suspect anything…

Yes, Alias was due to charm. But…

On cue, her child moved in her belly. A child that was not her husband’s. A child that should not be, a child that was conceived thanks to foolish temptation… temptations she regretted giving into.

Agnes took a deep breath.

He suspects nothing. Henri suspects nothing. So I have nothing to fear. Do as father asks, give Henri what he wants and they will continue to see what they wish.

She held stroked her belly, trying to calm the child within. Her little secret shame.

A few minutes later, it did calm down. Agnes smiled and got to work.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 128
March 1106 - Limousin, France

Geoffrey sat on his horse as the cool morning breeze rolled in. He closed his eyes and inhaled the brisk air deeply. Anything to calm his nerves.

Dressed in full mail, sword at his side, he was but missing his helmet and shield to complete his knightly ensemble. Donning his full regalia was not something that happened often, but today might be a rare case - for today he might see battle.

The Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou hoped it would not come to that. Even though he held a numerical advantage, battles were tricky. They could be random. Anything could go wrong and since was winning his war, he did not wish to do anything foolish to lose it.

“She comes!”

The voice of one of his knights snapped Geoffrey from his thoughts and made him look ahead. In the distance a small group of mounted men, carrying the banner of the Duchess of Gascony and Bourges, rode forward toward the designated meeting place. At their center, a hooded figure.

Geoffrey looked back at Alias, who was with him. So too was Thouars, and Bishop Leonard. The duke raised his hand and signaled them all forward - riding down with Geoffrey’s knights and Mayor Milo, who held actual command of the Aquitaine forces.

The two groups slowed to a stop a few yards from each other. Moving to the front of the Gascon knights was the hooded figure, who picked her head up reveal the pale face of Duchess Peronelle.

“Hello, Duchess,” Geoffrey said. “Cousin. I am glad you have agreed to this parlay.”

“Usurper,” Peronelle replied. “I have little desire to entertain you who have been a blight upon my family. But I will listen.”

“You will address the duke by his proper title,” Thouars said.

“Usurper is his proper title,” Peronelle said. “He has stolen his lands from my brother and my sister… the latter with your help traitor.”

“Both your late brother and your sister have recognized me as the proper lord of both Aquitaine and Poitou,” Geoffrey said. “As was my right by my mother… your aunt.”

“Spare me your family history,” Peronelle said. “I already know all of it. My father was to send your mother to a convent, instead he made a deal with a demon. A demon who laid with her and put in that barren old maid’s belly you and your foul, murderous sister.”

Geoffrey narrowed his gaze at his cousin, resisting the urge to ride forward and strike her.

“My lady,” one of the knights interrupted.

“Quiet Jaspert!” Peronelle shouted. “I will not be silenced when I speak the truth of their foul blood. The same blood that runs through the veins of the Duke of Berry. It produces wicked, sinful creatures that feast on the good and holy. Your lot devours Anjou, Aquitaine, Poitou, Berry and Burgundy. But I shall not let it defile Angouleme as well.”

Geoffrey maintained his scowl. He was to offer her a peace for Angouleme. But… that speech did not bode well and after it… did he even wish to?

No… it is better to win bloodlessly, if possible.

“We can end this conflict here today,” Geoffrey said. “Agree that Angouleme falls under the domain of Aquitaine and you and your knights may return home, unharmed. You may not value you life, but the men beside you likely value theirs.”

Peronelle tilted her head up at Geoffrey. “Angouleme does fall under the domain of Aquitaine. But Aquitaine is rightfully my domain - as my father’s eldest living child.”

“The lords of Aquitaine and Poitou see it differently,” Geoffrey replied. “They have welcomed my rule with open arms. As opposed to your lords in Gascony. They fought for my brother-by-law, Adhemar. Now they fight for my wife. It seems the house of Poitou is not popular in these lands.”

Peronelle’s brow furrowed as she fixated on Geoffrey. Her face reddened.

“Your precious Lady of La Marche had as insolent a tongue as yours,” Peronelle sneered. “And she paid the price for it. I shall send you to her today, if you are lucky. And if you are not, I may parade you around in disgrace like I did her worthless daughter.”

The taunts bothered him more than he expected - Ide’s death was not something he thought about often, but when he did, it came with a tinge of regret. And it got worse with the knowledge her daughter ended up imprisoned and humiliated as a result of her mother’s actions, even if she had been recently released.

“My lady perhaps we should…” the knight from before spoke.

“We shall fight, and you shall die, usurper!” Peronelle said.

She turned her horse around and rode back toward their camp. Geoffrey cursed under his breath and turned back toward his.

“So much for the parlay,” Alias said.

“I look forward to this now,” Geoffrey said. “Though perhaps she is bluster. That knight with her seemed amenable to our terms.”

Alias shook his head. “He is the knight Pert. A brave man though not stupid. He is the duchess’ lover, as rumor has it, raised to his rank via favor gained in her bedchambers. So I would not expect him to abandon her now.”

“Undeserving of his place?” Geoffrey wondered.

“I would not say that,” Alias said. “But… many deserving men never see rank without the proper connections. It is the way of things.”

“And the way of things here appear to point toward a battle,” Geoffrey said. He looked to Thouars, Milo and Leonard. “Prepare the men. We will move to win a great victory today and return Angouleme to its rightful overlord.”

….

On his horse, stationed on a hill overlooking the battlefield, Geoffrey shook his head.

His forces were over twice the size of Peronelle’s yet the Gascon army stubbornly held. Positioned in a defensive formation along the Vienne River, they continued to keep their lines.

The lack of cavalry was proving somewhat of an issue. Geoffrey wished to outflank their position, but had just under 100 knights at his disposal. Of course that was more than Peronelle, who may have only had the ones that accompanied her to the parlay.

Still the enemy had positioned spears more heavily on its exposed flank, and until those spearmen were either routed or totally occupied, Geoffrey did not wish to give the signal to attempt the maneuver.

“They cannot last too much longer,” Alias noted.

Geoffrey did not believe the chancellor had any idea of what he spoke of. There was a reason Alias was not a commander after all. That honor went to Milo, Thouars and Leonard - the bishop proving a better handler of men than the marshal.

Then a man on horseback rode forth to their position. He looked almost panicked.

“My lord… we struggle on our right,” the man said.

“The spearmen,” Geoffrey said. “We need them broken to win this battle. What is the delay?”

“Bishop Leonard thought we had them beaten,” the man said. “But then the enemy committed cavalry to the attack.”

Geoffrey’s brow rose. Peronelle lacked heavy cavalry, unless they had been tricked. It was possible she had dispatched their light units into the fray. More built for pursuit and scouting, they nonetheless would cause problems if the infantry did not see them coming.

“Our knights will make short work of them,” Geoffrey said.

“There is… something else my lord,” the man said. “The Duchess Peronelle is present. She calls for you to face her… and says you are a coward for not doing so.”

“She baits you,” Alias said. “Ignore her. It is the desperate act of a desperate woman.”

Geoffrey nodded. Alias was right. Peronelle knew she was beaten, and was trying to claim victory any way should could. Her best chance now was for him to expose himself and be struck down.

Geoffrey closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You are afraid of a pox-ridden woman?”

His eyes widened. He could practically hear his father’s voice, though Foulques was nowhere on the battlefield. His father’s voice chastising him, egging him on, demanding he dirty his hands…

Ignore it, Geoffrey thought. You are not a warrior like him. Your strengths lay elsewhere.

“I will lead the counterattack,” Geoffrey said. “Prepare my lance.”

“My lord,” Alias said. “There is no sense in this. You need not endanger yourself for the rantings of a mad woman!”

“Alias,” Geoffrey replied. “Sometimes we must make a show of it. If the lady takes part in battle, then what kind of knight would I be if I did not?”

“A living one,” Alias retorted.

“I am not afraid of death,” Geoffrey said. “I want their left broken. And so, while our men act as anvil, I will swing the hammer myself to deliver the decisive blow against Peronelle.”

He could see the apprehension in Alias’ face. But the chancellor just nodded.

Geoffrey led his knights toward the Aquitaine right. From his elevated position, he could pick out Peronelle - though she looked no different from the other knights in her armor, she carried the Gascony coat of arms painted on her shield and sewn into her surcoat.

She was with a group of mostly light cavalry, harassing Geoffrey’s infantry. It was effective, and the infantry was losing cohesion and was in danger of breaking entirely.

Geoffrey took another deep breath and raised his arm. Then his group of knights, Alias among them, began their slow trot toward Peronelle the Gascon light cavalry.

If the light cavalry was hit with by Geoffrey’s knights, they would not last long. So Geoffrey feared they would pull out before the blow was delivered. And sure enough, his fear seemed to be realized as someone alerted Peronelle to the oncoming counter attack.

But instead of retreating, Peronelle mustered the light cavalry into a reformed unit. Then she ordered them forward toward Geoffrey’s oncoming knights.

Madness, Geoffrey thought. They’ll be slaughtered.

But he remembered as he gave the signal to charge that he was dealing with a madwoman.

The lines struck each other, and though Geoffrey’s line had fewer numbers, that they were more heavily armored and armed with lances meant their charge was devastating with much of Peronelle’s group melting under the initial contact.

But Peronelle was undeterred. Unscathed in that charge she moved her steed forward in the chaos of the melee, and Geoffrey saw her make for him directly. Pulling not a sword but a mace, she rode forward toward him.

Her swing was blocked by Geoffrey’s shield, which took a heavy blow from the mace, sending splinters of wood flying. Unrelenting, she pulled it out and swung again, Another block, though Geoffrey’s arm was already stinging from the power of the blows.

Geoffrey had his sword in hand, but was struggling to go on the offensive as Peronelle kept up her vicious assault.

A glancing blow found Geoffrey’s shoulder but thankfully for the duke, it did not make full contact. The next swing from Peronelle was so wild that it missed Geoffrey completely. Not in position to strike with his sword, he instead slammed Peronelle in the head with his shield.

The blow struck hard against her helmet and knocked her back. She remained on her saddle but was stunned and dazed.

Geoffrey hesitated. With a quick and daring strike, he could deliver a stab to a weak point in her armor and bring her down. But if it was too aggressive an attack, it could leave him as vulnerable as it did Peronelle.

“My lady!!!”

The shout drew Geoffrey’s attention in time to see a knight charging his direction. Geoffrey readjusted himself to deal with the assault and got his damaged shield up in time to catch the man’s sword.

Geoffrey caught sight of his opponent - it was Pert, the knight from earlier whom Alias believed was having an affair with Peronelle.

“Get the Duchess to safety!” Pert shouted to nearby Gascon men. “I will give you time!”

He rushed forward attacking Geoffrey as relentlessly as Peronelle had, but with a bit more skill, making it a lot harder for Geoffrey to deal with the assault. His shield was splinterting, and his forearm was nearly numb from all the blows it had absorbed.

Then Pert slowed and turned his horse back. Perplexed, Geoffrey glanced behind him to see Alias and a couple of other knights had come up in support.

“That scoundrel interrupted a fair battle between Duchess Peronelle and Duke Geoffrey!” Alias shouted.

Pert was flanked by another group of light cavalrymen. He glared at Geoffrey but then let them move in front of him.

The second wave came into the fracas and the Gascon light cavalry buckled and broke. With Geoffrey’s knights now in the ascendency, his infantry regrouped and renewed the assault. The day was nearly won.

….

A little while later, Geoffrey returned to his camp to cheers. A victory, which came as more of a relief than feeling like a triumph. Peronelle defeated, though not destroyed, but the momentum of the war would not be changed. Angouleme would be his. It was only a matter of time.

Geoffrey dismounted and made his way to his tent, followed by Alias, Thouars, Milo and Leonard. He tossed aside his helmet and shield and ordered servants to get them all drinks. The councilors and the mayor toasted him, and praised him for his bravery.

And yet it felt hollow. Bravery… by barely defeating a woman? And then being saved by my knights against Pert?

Later, the others departed, leaving Geoffrey and Alias alone. The duke slowly moved and stretched his left arm and shoulder. It was so sore… the repeated blows he absorbed with his battered shield would leave their mark. He imagined his arm would be all sorts of colors in the coming days.

“You seem down,” Alias said as he sipped his drink. “This is a great victory. We drove them off the field and lost few of our men. You should be smiling.”

Geoffrey sighed and shook his head.

“A victory, yes,” Geoffrey said. “But a great victory? I defeated my mad cousin, my mad female cousin, and I led the larger army. I do not think it is a tale the bards will be singing about for centuries to come.”

“Will they care?” Alias asked. “When Angouleme is yours, who will say anything?”

“My father, for one,” Geoffrey said. “The other councilors of the king will snicker and make their snide remarks. It is why I went into battle in the first place… I must project a certain image if I am to rule my father’s lands and my own. We cannot brag much about this victory - it will invite mockery.”

Alias frowned but nodded. “I see your point.”

They were silent for a moment as Geoffrey helped himself to some more wine. Then, as Alias refilled his own cup, the brow of the bald count of Perigord suddenly rose. A sly grin formed on his lips.

“But what if we provide the bards the story to tell?” he pondered aloud.

“What do you mean?” Geoffrey asked.

“You have won here,” Alias said. “That is the important part. The details… the details, well who is to say what exactly happened? I witnessed a knight, so enraptured by a woman who is not his wife, violate the honor of combat to challenge you.”

“A challenge I did not win,” Geoffrey said. “She escaped, and so did he, even if we won.”

“You must snap out of this mindset, my friend,” Alias said. “You sound like your father, and you are not he. You are far wiser.”

Geoffrey eyed him. “So what do you say?”

“Let us see,” Alias continued. “The mad Duchess Peronelle was about the battle, screaming to face her cousin. You did not wish to - it is against your honor to strike a woman. But you saw no choice. So you met her in combat, and… despite not wounding her with your sword, your brought her to heel. Then, fearing for her life, her enraptured lover sprung forth, violating the oaths of combat to battle you.”

“You sound as if he is the hero!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “They will sing songs of him, not me!”

“A fair point,” Alias said. “But… what if, despite his efforts, he is brought to heel as well.”

Alias paced about the tent. Then he looked at Geoffrey. “It was a vicious battle - back and forth. The knight Pert fought valiantly, and but was unable to penetrate the defences of the Duke of Aquitaine…Geoffrey the unyielding... even as the duke’s shield was turned to kindling. Then finally, the opportunity presents itself - the cunning Duke of Aquitaine delivers a swift counter with the remnants of his shield to stun Pert. The knight drops his sword… he is defenseless. And he knows he will go to God knowing he defended his duchess.

“Then, as you raise your sword to deliver the killing blow, you stop - you deem that you cannot harm a man so honorable as he who has abided his oaths to his lady and to God. So you let him live, praising his devotion to his lady, and hoping that one day, he may serve you with similar devotion. He is allowed to retreat, as are his forces. You are the victor over a worthy foe, but a kind, forgiving, humble victor - one who gives mercy to those deserving of it. And Peronelle, your primary enemy, remains a stark raving lunatic, unworthy of the love she receives.”

Geoffrey shook his head slowly, his eyes wide. Then a smile formed on his face from ear to ear.

“Alias! I love you!” he exclaimed as he embraced the chancellor tightly. “That is brilliant!”

Alias, red in the face lowered his head. “It was nothing my lord.”

“It is everything,” Geoffrey said. “It has everything. Virgil himself would blush! Tell that story - spread it far and wide. The honorable knight Pert… just as you told it to me.”

“It will be done,” Alias said, smile now on his face as well.

“Wait… give yourself something to do in it,” Geoffrey said. “Something worthy... I have it! Give Peronelle a scoundrel of a knight. Someone… like her husband, but not Duke Gilles. Someone to clash with Pert before the battle. And then in battle, you bested that dastardly knight despite his foul trickery.”

“I shall have you dispatch him, after saving me from one of his tricks,” Alias said. “And it will show you show no quarter to scoundrels, but hail those good, holy men.”

“YES!” Geoffrey said as he pointed at Alias. “You sir, are brilliant. Do that, spread it far and wide. Make it glorious enough and they’ll speak of this as they do my father’s victory at Rouen.”

“It will be done,” Alias said. He looked to Geoffrey’s shield. “May I borrow that? It will serve the purposes of our story nicely. The damaged shield of the Duke of Aquitaine.”

Geoffrey gave him license to take it. Alias did so, then bowed and departed the tent, leaving Geoffrey to sip on his wine alone, the smile still on his face.

The euphoria of the plan slowly faded however and Geoffrey collapsed onto his cot, embracing the soreness that radiated throughout his body.

In truth, though it was not a great victory, at least not until Alias had spread the story, it got the job done. And it was one he earned… without his father’s help.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes and was taken back to the hill overlooking the battle. A red-haired temptress stood, gazing out at the scene below, with dead men and horses strewn across the battlefield. Her dress whipped in the wind.

“She still lives.”

“I could not get to her,” Geoffrey said. “I suppose I lack your steel.”

“I would not say that… after all, you live…”

The woman turned, revealing the pretty face of Ide, the late Lady of La Marche.

“While I am as much a ghost on this field as the men who lay strewn upon it.”

“She will be defeated,” Geoffrey said. “She shall not recover from this.”

“Not against you, no,” Ide said. “It is some measure of revenge. So for that, I thank you.”

He looked out at the field. In the distance he saw the keep in Anjou. He knew he had to travel there. If not now, then soon.

“I must go,” he said. “To Anjou. Will you come with me, Ide?”

He turned and saw she was gone. As he spun around searching for her, he did finally spot her, in the distance, walking south.

“I have never been a woman of the north,” she said in the distance, but her voice coming through as if she were right by his side. “I head south. It is where I belong.”

Ide threw a glance back to him, her face now his sister Agnes’ though his mind still thought of her as his lost Lady of La Marche. Her lips formed a sly, but inviting, grin.

“Where do you belong, Duke Geoffrey of Aquitaine and Poitou?”

She was going to Bordeaux. He did not know how he knew her destination, but he did.

Looking back at Anjou… he also knew he had to go there. His father was expecting him.

Geoffrey’s drifted eyes drifted to the tall grass he stood in before giving another look at Anjou.

He turned and sprinted off toward Ide, not fully noticing her red hair had turned black, and that her figure had become far thicker than he remembered her being.

....

Notes: Geoffrey the unyielding - a trait he picked up around this time. So I figured that's one way for him to get it - taking a beating with your shield until your men come to help. Hey, he didn't yield!

There is also some semi-subtle nods present in this chapter. Alias' story has one about his own relationship with Geoffrey and, of course, the last sentence of Geoffrey's dream. Hope you enjoyed them and the chapter overall!

Milo, by the way, is the same Milo who was commanding forces under old Duke Guilhem. I didn't really have a good place for the screenshot, but here's the proof:

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 129
June 1106 - Anjou, France

Foulques did not wish to open his eyes.

The throbbing ache beneath his eyelids refused to abate. Opening them just made it worse, so he resolved to keep them closed. Maybe he would fall asleep and awaken pain-free.

But the headache was unbearable enough he doubted he would be that lucky.

It was the result of a night of merriment. The Duke of Toulouse and some of his council were in Anjou to discuss a potential marriage between Foulquesson and Toulouse’s only daughter Agnes.

It had been the first time in years Foulques had seen Toulouse, and the younger duke seemed eager to celebrate the reunion. The wine had flowed and the pair had stayed up well into the night discussing the state of many things, including the realm.

And it did not surprise Foulques that Toulouse was frustrated over the state of things. After all, he ended up in a dungeon in Seville because of the king’s stupidity. But Toulouse was torn - he still saw the king as a good man, trying to do right. Taking up any arms against him seemed a betrayal.

Not that Foulques was suggesting it. He was smart enough to avoid open talk of rebellion with one of the king’s only friends. He complained bitterly about how the king had bungled the war, and how if he had been allowed to run things, they’d all be in a stronger position in Iberia. But that was the extent of it.

After, the elder duke had stumbled off to his chambers and blissfully slept the night away, having a dream about his first wife Beatritz of all people, though he did not remember much of it now.

And then he awoke with this headache - this miserable pounding that pulsed and radiated pain which each beat of his heart.

“Water will do you well.”

The voice was enough to get Foulques to override the pain for a moment and look to where it came from. To his surprise, Alearde stood above him, beside the bed, with cup in hand. He did not know when she had arrived, but then, given her stealthy nature, she could have easily slipped in at any point.

Foulques reached up and she gave him the cup, which he choked down quickly. Alearde took the cup back, refilled it, and gave it to him again.

“It will take some time,” Alearde said. “But eventually, your headache should go away.”

“You were concerned?” Foulques asked.

“I am concerned,” Alearde said. “Though it is over your ability to handle a matter I need dealt with.”

A strong pulse of pain cause Foulques to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, Alearde stood with a wildflower and small parchment.

Foulques managed to get his eyes open long enough to read it. It appeared to be a love note, and one written to meet its sender in a secluded spot by the river.

His eyes widened and the pain was overridden by anger.

“Someone seeks to seduce you?” Foulques demanded.

“Me?” Alearde asked. She blushed and stroked her long, graying hair. “You are kind to think someone wishes to be with an old woman, but no. It is my daughter, Hilde!”

Foulques blinked a few times as his rage dissipated and the pain returned. Alearde’s 17-year-old daughter by Duke Gilles - technically Foulques’ own grandniece. She was a pretty little thing, but a girl that he spent little time around. She was mostly with his daughter, having replaced her half-sister Bella among Agnes’ ladies.

“She is pretty, and now a woman grown,” Foulques said. “It is hardly a surprise.”

Alearde shook her head. “She is unwed. Such things will damage her reputation.”

The hypocrisy of the situation was so blatant even Foulques could not miss it. But though he wished to make light of it, he would not. Not to Alearde.

“You must understand there will be those who seek to bed her,” Foulques said. “It is up to her to refuse it.”

“She has,” Alearde said. “He tore her dress in the process. She only escaped because I sent someone to watch her. She is not as clever as she thinks.”

“Watch her?” Foulques asked. “So she went to the stream?”

“She was intrigued,” Alearde said. “Curious young girl that she is. But the count thought it an open invitation to take her… which it was not.”

“Count? What count?” Foulques asked.

“The Count of Narbonne,” Alearde said.

Foulques sighed. Narbonne stayed as a guest in Anjou, along with his lord Toulouse. As the steward for the duke, he carried some importance.

And it was not lost to Foulques that Narbonne may not hold this family in high regard, seeing as his wife had borne Geoffrey a bastard, one Geoffrey acknowledged.

“What do you wish me to do about this?” Foulques asked. “She went to the stream. Your man… or woman… intervened. Tell her to keep away from him, and that will be that.”

“He tries to force himself upon my daughter and that is all you say?” Alearde demanded. “What if it were Bella, or Agnes?”

Foulques grimaced. He did not need to hear this complaining with his headache. He allowed Alearde more leeway than most, but she was testing his patience.

“He has not,” Foulques said. “If he does, then it will be more than one case, and I shall look at it as more than just a misunderstanding.”

He expected Alearde to grow angry. But she remained calm, instead, taking a seat by the table.

“It is not the first time,” Alearde said. “He tried to bed your granddaughter… Beatrice.”

The duke felt the rage begin to bubble up within him once more. Agnes’ bastard daughter by Gilles, Beatrice had been serving as one of the queen’s ladies but was back in Anjou after Foulques’ dismissal as marshal. He was not especially close with her, but that she was his beloved daughter’s child and Edouard’s wife made this difficult to swallow.

“What?!” Foulques exclaimed. “When? Why was I not told?”

“It happened in Melun,” Alearde said. “Over a year ago. Beatrice refused it, but again was fortunate that another lady happened to be nearby. She told her mother upon her return, but Agnes did not think much would be done about it, so she let it be. But now… now that this has happened twice, and Narbonne is here, in your keep, perhaps that can be changed.”

Foulques wished to chain him up in the Anjou dungeons, perhaps hanging him upside down in the process. But he also knew that he could not simply do that, as he was not a courtier, nor vassal.

“What do you wish me to do?” Foulques demanded. “Even with this, it does not fall upon me to punish him. I cannot just seize him - it will undermine the authority of Toulouse.”

“But Toulouse is your friend, is he not?” Alearde asked. “Surely that must count for something.”

It counted for something, but how much was another matter.

“Promise me you will bring it up to Toulouse,” Alearde said. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

Hearing those words sent a rush of adrenaline through the old duke. He still could not resist helping his old lover, in hopes that perhaps they might rekindle that relationship.

“I make no promises to what it will accomplish,” Foulques warned.

“And I make no demands of that,” Alearde said. “Just that you defend their honor.”

Foulques reluctantly nodded. But when Alearde smiled in response, still that pretty grin even as the lines on her face as she made it became more numerous, his agreement became more forceful.

Narbonne would learn his place.

…..

In the afternoon, Foulques sat in the main hall, alongside Toulouse, Narbonne and Toulouse’s chancellor, the Count of Foix. Foulques lacked his own chancellor at the moment, though he was joined by Agnes and young Adhemar, working in place of Godfrey. Also present was Guilhem, the steward and Bishop Hildebert.

Normally Agnes was one to lighten the mood among the lords, but Narbonne had been rather flirtatious to her, and that had turned her cold. Foulques certainly understood why, and almost felt compelled to dismiss her for her own sake.

She and Foulques traded glances every time Narbonne addressed her, with her gaze almost demanding Foulques press the matter now. Finally, Agnes stood up.

“Father, I am not feeling my best at the moment,” Agnes said. “I hope you understand that I need to take my leave.”

Foulques nodded and Agnes bid Toulouse and Foix goodbye, though she said nothing to Narbonne as she left.

“I hope all is well with her,” Toulouse said. “She is a charming woman. You have done well with her, my friend.”

“I have heard much from the other counts and dukes of the realm,” Narbonne said. “They all vouch for her… friendliness as well.”

Toulouse rolled his eyes and Foulques set his upon the count. No love lost for any of those of House d’Anjou, and it showed.

And now it was time to return the favor.

“My friend,” Foulques began, “Something has come to my attention that I feel I must discuss with you. Involving the Count of Narbonne.”

Toulouse brow rose while Narbonne spit out his wine, choking on the contents - enough to draw a smirk from Foulques.

“What of this matter?” Toulouse asked.

“It has come to my attention that he attempted to force himself upon one of my courtiers,” Foulques said. “He was only unsuccessful because someone fortunately stumbled upon them.”

Toulouse swirled his wine in his goblet before taking a drink. Then he looked to Narbonne. “A serious charge. What say you?”

“I say there was nothing of the sort,” Narbonne said. “She came to the stream willingly. And she was receptive - she only claimed otherwise when we were discovered. Now she lies to save face.”

“It appears to be a case of he said, she said,” Toulouse said.

“I have spoken with the one who found them,” Foulques said. “They vouch for the girl’s story.”

“Of course she does,” Narbonne said. “They are likely friends. You know how women like her work.”

“Like the half-sister to the future Queen of the Franks?” Foulques asked. “How do they work?”

“She is the bastard daughter of a lowborn woman and Duke Gilles,” Narbonne argued. “One of scores, mind you. I would say it is in her nature to be deceitful, much like her father.”

“He makes a fair point there, old friend,” Toulouse said. “The apple may not fall from the tree. Just as our future queen takes after you, so too may this girl take after her father. However, as a guest in your keep, my man has offended you. So an apology, my good count, is in order.”

“It is not just her,” Foulques said. “It has come to my attention that your count here attempted to bed my granddaughter, who is married, and was one of the queen’s ladies, during his visit to Melun.”

Narbonne’s eyes widened and he averted his gaze, instead dropping his head and looking table where they all sat. Toulouse just slowly shook his head.

“Beatrice?” Toulouse asked. “It appears you have an affinity for the daughters of Duke Gilles. And know how to make an enemy out of the wrong people. Not only do you anger our host, if the king learned you tried to seduce a married woman in his keep, you would draw his ire.”

Toulouse rubbed his temples using his thumb and index finger and then looked to Narbonne, again shaking his head.

“I would beg for forgiveness,” Toulouse instructed. “You do not wish to make an enemy here today, if you have not already.”

Narbonne took and deep breath and bowed before Foulques.

“Duke Foulques, you have my sincerest apologies,” he said. “My lusts got the better of me. I shall endeavor to make certain it does not happen again. I shall consult with my court chaplain on how best to atone.”

“You have my apologies as well,” Toulouse said. “It pains me to learn one of my men has caused such trouble in your home. You have my word that I shall deal with this further.”

“I am glad to hear such words from you, old friend,” Foulques said.

“Good,” Toulouse said. “My steward, you are dismissed. In fact, all of you. I wish to speak to Duke Foulques alone.”

Narbonne bowed before the two men and then made his exit from the hall. Foulques watched him every step of the way. Then Foulques also motioned for the others present to depart, leaving the two dukes alone.

“What punishment will you inflict on him?” Foulques wondered.

“I am uncertain,” Toulouse admitted.

“Fire him?”

“I cannot do that Foulques,” Toulouse replied. “I have a rebellious countess. I still fight against the heathens. I can ill afford another enemy. I will reprimand him, and I will likely dress him down further in private. But I cannot fire him.”

“I am disappointed to hear that,” Foulques said.

“You ask much of me,” Toulouse said. “And keep in mind, Narbonne likely feels aggrieved by your house, what with his own wife birthing your son’s bastard.”

“Did she not lay with Geoffrey before she was wed?” Foulques asked.

“Yes, but the perceived hypocrisy remains,” Toulouse said. “I do not take his side - he is a fool for doing what he did. But I also cannot go out of my way to punish or embarrass him for it.”

Foulques grunted. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, especially since he wished to return to Alearde and Agnes with a pound of flesh. But also knew well enough that it simply was not worth it. He would look to make it up to them, Alearde especially, in the future.

“Is that enough?” Toulouse asked. “There were other, more important matters I wished to discuss. Involving my daughter and your son.”

Foulques nodded. “So then, Foulquesson?”

“Intriguing as that is,” Toulouse said, “There is concern with that among my southern lords.”

“Concern?” Foulques asked. “What concern?”

“He is not far from the seat of Anjou,” Toulouse said. “Already they look at what your son Geoffrey does, with the potential for Aquitaine, Poitou and Anjou under his rule, with suspicion. They would not wish for a similar situation with Toulouse.”

“If Foulquesson were to inherit, it would mean something has happened to Geoffrey,” Foulques noted.

“Still, even if they were not caught under with Aquitaine and Poitou, the fear remains they would find themselves under the heel of Anjou,” Toulouse noted. “That one day you or someone else may get ideas of making my daughter duchess as a puppet for your son.”

Foulques was not amused. He expected Toulouse to be amenable to a union.

“So you come all this way to reject my offer?” Foulques demanded. “A messenger would have done.”

“Our years of friendship would have required more,” Toulouse said. “But… while I reject Foulquesson, perhaps there is another who would prove suitable.”

“Philippe?”

“No, similar problems exist with him,” Toulouse said. “But your eldest bastard son with Ness. Guilhem, is it?”

“Him?” Foulques asked. “Why is he acceptable and not Philippe, who is younger?”

“Guilhem is a bastard, legitimized or not,” Toulouse said. “Which will make it harder to consolidate two duchies. And… he is descended from southern lords on his mother’s side, as opposed to a Frankish boy with a Northwoman as a mother.”

“But if they don’t wish for him to rule, why does it matter?” Foulques wondered.

“Because they are likely fearful of the chance he does,” Toulouse admitted. “I have two sons, but my daughter’s chances at inheriting are not insignificant. Just as the chances of Foulquesson getting Anjou are not insignificant. It is what it is.”

“You seem concerned about your vassals these days,” Foulques said. “Surely you do not fear this countess of Carcassonne that much.”

“You know the king’s folly cost me many good men and knights,” Toulouse said. “And now I fight both the heathens at my borders and the countess trying to remove me from my seat. I can ill afford anything else and that includes squabbles with my vassals over my daughter’s promised.”

Foulques debated fighting him on it. But… it would be good for his bastard son. He doubted he would ever rule in Anjou… but perhaps there might be an opportunity here.

That was not to say he would pray for the early demise of Toulouse’s two sons. But the possibility did exist…

In the meantime, it was another bond Foulques might be able to use if necessary. Toulouse was a friend of the king, but there was little question Foulques could offer him much more, if those rebels did become too difficult.

“I think that is a suitable arrangement,” Foulques said.

Toulouse smiled and shook Foulques hand. Then he raised his goblet.

“To the prosperity of our families,” he said. “The two houses who shape the future of the realm, now will do so joined as one!”

….

With the sun down, it was dimly lit in the keep.

Narbonne crept along the halls, as quietly of possible. The smell of wine surrounded him after a night of drinking at the feast. He had no doubt taken to it to dull the sting of the embarrassment he had suffered at the hands of Foulques - yet another insult from House d’Anjou.

“One day, their day shall come,” Narbonne said aloud. “This arrogant, deceitful house shall fall upon itself… one day. And I shall celebrate when it does.”

“You will be dead long before that happens.”

Narbonne turned back to see Foulques behind him. Before the count could react, the duke had grabbed him by his robe and thrown him up against the wall. It did not have the power behind it that Foulques once did, but Narbonne would not know that. And he was too drunk to do much about it anyway.

Foulques had stalked him, like a wolf circling a wounded deer, waiting for his chance to strike. If Toulouse could not punish him, then Foulques would find a way.

“Unhand me!” Narbonne demanded.

“You give orders of me in my keep?!” Foulques asked. “I would think you smarter than that. But then, you are the fool who married a woman, sight unseen, not knowing my son’s bastard grew in her belly.”

Narbonne took a wild, uncoordinated swing at Foulques, only to have it miss badly. That just got him slammed back up against the wall, pinned this time, harder than before.

“I know you tried to force yourself upon my grandniece, and my granddaughter,” Foulques said. “You may try to pretend otherwise, because you can with others. But not with me.”

Foulques brought a small knife to the throat of Narbonne, who grew still. The duke could see the fear in his bloodshot eyes.

“You… you cannot kill me,” Narbonne said. “My lord will not have it.”

“Your lord is too tied up in his own conflicts to fight me,” Foulques said. “And you are presumptuous. It is not my intent to kill you.”

He lowered the knife, and felt the body of Narbonne relax just slightly, only to have the count tense up again when he felt the blade pressing against his groin.

“What are you…”

“Your lust seems to get the better of you frequently,” Foulques said. “I should help you with that. After all, prayer can only do so much to one unwilling to change.”

“No… no, please…” Narbonne whimpered. Tears were beginning to well in his eyes.

“Did you attempt to force yourself upon the girls?” Foulques demanded.

“I… I did,” Narbonne said. “I am sorry. It will never happen again, I swear.”

“Good,” Foulques said. “For if I get word that you have touched any of my courtiers, members of my family, whether by their will or not, I shall personally make you a eunuch.”

Foulques then tossed Narbonne on the ground. The count, still whimpering slowly got to his feet. Then after a look at the duke, he scrambled off, stumbling and falling a few times as he made his escape.

“Satisfied?” Foulques asked.

Alearde, hooded, stepped from the shadows. She nodded, with the smile Foulques loved to see on her face once more.

“You cannot tell me it was not satisfying for you as well,” she replied.

Foulques said nothing. It was, but that was not why he had done it.

Then he felt her arms wrap around him in a tight embrace, followed by a kiss to his forehead.

“I thank you,” she said. “You did not have to do this, but you did.”

She did not understand that he did. Because after all this time he still pined for a dream that as implausible as it now appeared, would not die.

Foulques merely grunted in response.

Alearde lowered her head for a moment, then took his hand.

“It will never be as you wish it,” she told him. “But that does not mean I do not care for you, or am not grateful for all you have done for me.”

He turned to her, staring at her in the dimly lit hall. She was so different now - her hair was mostly gray, her face had many lines in it. She was heavier now than she had been then… for all intents and purposes, nothing compared to her former glory.

And yet, as he gently stroked her bangs, he found her as beautiful as he always had.

“My feelings for you have only grown stronger,” he admitted.

“I know,” Alearde said. “And in a way, mine have as well. But it is different now… than before. Sometimes things change, for the better. Look at your other women. Even Ness. Like a flower, eventually your relationships with them wither. You and I are different. Which is why we can never travel that road again. I do not wish to be like them.”

It was painful to hear. Part of Foulques believed if he just took her, made love to her, her passions would be awakened, and she would remember what they once had.

The duke leaned in… and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I you,” Foulques replied.

Then Alearde bowed before him and quietly slipped into the darkness.

Foulques stood alone, shaking his head. It was not what he desired.

And yet, he smiled anyway.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 130
September 1106 - Melun, France

Restrain yourself.

Geoffrey had to tell himself these words over and over again as he sat in his chambers in the capital. Across from him was the portly old count of Artois, Robert, sipping on his cup of wine. He seemed smug, secure… confident.

With good reason, Geoffrey thought. He acts as he pleases as if he is a great man of the realm, when he is nothing.

All it would take was Geoffrey to have one conversation with the king. In moments, Artois would be brought low. He would be nothing… if he kept his life. He’d certainly lose his position in Flanders - those in the duchy who despised him would see him removed as regent.

It would feel good - Geoffrey could imagine the look on his face when Artois was confronted by the king - but it also would not get him what he had worked so hard to gain over these past few years - his dwarf half-sister as the duchess of Flanders.

And so Geoffrey sat, listening to the words leaving Artois’ lips, watching his fat neck jiggle as he spoke, and repeated his internal call of personal restraint over and over again.

“You seem quiet today, Duke Geoffrey,” Artois noted. “Normally you are full of conversation. I would think you pleased to discuss your successes against your cousin. Limousin is quite the tale, from what I have heard.”

Geoffrey did not even think he was worth the effort. “I am proud of our victory. But I am not one to brag about such things.”

“A good thing,” Artois said. “If I hear of Rouen once more in my life it will be too much.”

It was something that would normally get a chuckle from Geoffrey. This time, such a reaction was easy to resist.

“Best to let such things remain in the past,” Artois said. “And look to the future.”

What future for you, you old snake, Geoffrey thought.

“There is but one future I care about when I speak with you Count Robert,” Geoffrey said. “And that is my younger sister’s. What news do you have for me on that front?”

Artois’ lips formed a sly grin. “The young duke grows more amenable to a union. The prospect of both you and your father as friends is tempting.”

“I am glad it has only taken him a few years to see it,” Geoffrey said.

“Children can be slow to learn,” Artois said.

“Especially if their teachers are poor,” Geoffrey said.

The grin faded from Artois face. He again drank from his cup before looking back at Geoffrey. “Though the boy becomes more amenable, he still hesitates without a firm commitment of friendship and alliance. So we remain as we were before.”

“My son?” Geoffrey asked. “To marry your granddaughter, Helvis daughter?”

“That remains the best way to prove your friendship to Flanders,” Artois said.

“Have you spoken to your daughter?” Geoffrey asked.

“Helvis speaks of your attempts to convince your father,” Artois said. “And while she vouches for them, I do not know if she is merely enraptured by your charm. After all, I would think that you would be able to convince your own father after all this time.”

“My father is stubborn,” Geoffrey said. “You must come to realize that perhaps there is not a union to be had there. If you wish to cost your duke the chance to be a friend of Anjou and Aquitaine… nearly the entire western half of the realm, that is your choice.”

“Is this not your son, Duke Geoffrey? One would think if you wish for this union, it would happen,” Artois noted.

“It is a little more complicated than that,” Geoffrey said.

Artois now frowned. He placed his wine down and stood up from the table.

“I grow tired of these talks,” Artois said. “Perhaps it is time for us to move on from them, as you and your father do not appear serious.”

“I also grow tired of these talks,” Geoffrey replied. “Though I am quite serious about the desire to see my sister and the young Duke Arnulf joined. However, I do admit my interest in a union between my son and your granddaughter is something I value far less.”

“My stance is unchanged,” Artois said. “If your son is not wed to my granddaughter, then there is nothing to discuss.”

Geoffrey sipped his wine. “Helvis thought quite differently when I saw her last. She was quite concerned over what I had to discuss. I admit it ruined the glow she normally has after I bed her.”

Artois’ face suddenly reddened. “What… did you say?”

“The matter I told her?” Geoffrey asked. “Or that your daughter is my lover?”

Artois lunged forward but Geoffrey quickly maneuvered out of the way, making his way from his stool and a few feet away, all while not spilling his cup of wine.

“You lecherous dog,” Artois said. “She is a married woman!”

“And who are you to talk of married women?!” Geoffrey demanded. “You bed them throughout the realm. But when it is your daughter… suddenly I am the dog?”

“You think you can taunt me with this?” Artois sneered. “Well, you will not guess who I have had in my bed!”

“The Queen of the Franks,” Geoffrey said.

Artois’ eyes widened. His mouth hung open and his hand was up, finger pointed toward Geoffrey as if he wished to level an accusation or insult… only to find himself caught off guard.

“I know not what you speak of Duke Geoffrey. Is this some sort of desperate play to convince me to back this union?”

“Make no mistake, I would never be so desperate for anything to make such a scandalous charge - unless it were true,” Geoffrey said.

“Your words are deceitful, you snake!” Artois shouted. “I shall let your father know who destroyed these talks as well. I imagine, given your fraught relationship, it will only give him greater cause to look beyond you in succession!”

Artois began to leave the chambers, but Geoffrey simply swirled his wine in the cup, keeping his guest in the corner of his eye.

“You meet her in the larder, after supper,” Geoffrey shouted to him. “She tells you that this is foolish - that she is just the daughter of a knight and should the king find out… but you insist, saying she knows how much she enjoys being with a man who is not stricken with the pox - a man who makes her scream her mother’s name in the throes of passion.”

Artois stopped in his tracks at the door. Slowly he turned back to Geoffrey, who did not look at him while he swirled his wine and approached.

“She is unable to resist,” Geoffrey said. “She gives in, so desperate is she for someone who is not a pathetically limp man in mind and body, that she lets your fat, old, flabby body ravage hers. All the while a child that is not the king’s grows in her belly.”

“You… cannot know…” Artois mumbled.

“I do know,” Geoffrey said. “You did not just use the larder. There was the time in her chambers… oh and that time in my father’s chambers because he was in Anjou and let us not forget using the king’s own bed while he fought bravely in Murcia!”

Artois lunged at Geoffrey again, but the portly old count was not as swift or agile as he. His continued attempts to get him came to an embarrassing halt when he crashed into the small table, his large belly knocking it over and spilling the pitcher of wine on it to the floor.

“If I catch you, I’ll strangle the life from you myself!” Artois threatened from the ground.

Geoffrey walked over to the fallen count and exposed himself. “You have your chance. I won’t resist. But… do you think I am the only one who knows this?”

“Who… who have you told?” Artois demanded.

“I’ve told quite a few people - people who know not to speak of word of it to the king without my order,” Geoffrey said. “An order that will go out automatically in the case of my premature death. Really, did you think I would confront you with this information without having that worked out?”

Artois glared at him, his teeth grinding together as he did so.

“What do you want?” he sneered.

“Arnulf as a husband for my half-sister Ermengarde,” Geoffrey said. “As we have been discussing for years now. As I have said, I’m tired. I wish this matter resolved. If it will not be you, then I may have better hope with the next regent for Arnulf - as he will certainly need a new one after the king is done with you.”

Artois shook his head, a scowl on his face. “Your monstrous half-sister shall be the boy’s wife.”

“Monstrous?” Geoffrey asked. “There is no need for such… hyperbole. My sister is small, but hardly a monster. And you will need to learn to address your future duchess with more respect.”

“Mark my words, you insolent welp, you will learn your place, one day,” Artois swore.

“Count Robert,” Geoffrey began. “I am the Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou. Heir to the Iron Duke of the Franks. Advisor to the king… You are the count of a single county, who, if I catch wind of you moving against me, will see me or someone else relay the truth to the king. You should be grateful I do not send you to your rightful place… which, given your crime, would not be pleasant - but… Helvis pleads for you, so I will listen.”

Artois got to his feet and grunted before he angrily stormed from the chambers. But Geoffrey just smiled. The deed was done.

Servants were called in to clean the mess on the floor. As they did so, Alias slipped in. His focus fell to the servants and the spilled wine before he looked to Geoffrey.

“It went well then?” he asked.

“My sister will wed Arnulf of Flanders, so yes,” Geoffrey said as he raised his cup to his chancellor.

“I saw Artois as he stormed off,” Alias said. “And your wine pitcher is on the ground. Did you taunt him with it?”

Geoffrey smirked and took a sip of his wine. The servants finished their cleaning as he did, and then departed the room. When the door closed, he answered: “That. And I may have let it slip that I have been bedding his daughter.”

Alias glared at Geoffrey and shook his head, to which the duke replied: “You cannot tell me he does not deserve it.”

“And what happens when he speaks of it to others?” Alias demanded.

“He will not,” Geoffrey said. “He would destroy Helvis’ reputation in the process. And make himself look the fool for agreeing to a marriage with my family anyway.”

“I should have remained here with you,” Alias said. “You antagonize him over rumors.”

“That he laid with the queen is hardly rumor,” Geoffrey said.

“It is not the queen I speak of,” Alias replied.

“My father suspects nothing,” Geoffrey said. “Why should I?”

“‘Why’ is hardly a question when you already do,” Alias replied. “I understand your anger… but Agnes is grown and can make her own decisions. And… you do bed his pig of a daughter. Speaking of which… at least that is finished with.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Geoffrey said. “Given what he did with Agnes, perhaps I should return the favor by putting a bastard in her belly.”

“Focusing on personal squabbles, my lord, may not be the wisest of options,” Alias replied.

Geoffrey knew Alias was right. He had let his restraint fall when dealing with Artois. He shouldn’t have mentioned Helvis.

But he had it on good information that Artois had bedded Agnes, and was the father of her daughter, Helie, that she had born in the winter. His suspicions on Artois and the queen had led him toward seeking out information on the count and he had learned that in more private surroundings, Artois had bragged about bedding Agnes upon his trip to Anjou last year.

As much as it disgusted him to hear it, Geoffrey had little reason to doubt it - Artois had been to Anjou, and he’d heard from his own father that Agnes had practically hosted the count herself.

It mystified Geoffrey that his father did not suspect anything of it, but then Foulques seemed more forgiving to Agnes than he was with anyone else.

Geoffrey would not confront him on that - he did not wish anything negative to happen to Agnes after all. His frustration was over Henri leaving her unfulfilled and the circumstance of it all - if only he had been present in Anjou at that time. Surely she would have found comfort in his arms over a bald, fat, old man.

And he had looked forward to taking out his anger on Artois for this transgression. He knew it was hypocritical. And he knew it was foolish. But he could not resist.

Geoffrey sighed. “You are right, of course. But… I shall continue with Helvis. She is a useful tool. She cares little for her father, and will help us watch him.”

“I think she is not worth the trouble,” Alias said.

“Your concern is noted,” Geoffrey said. “We will see if you are proven correct.”

Alias frowned, but did not protest further. “Shall I send word to your father of your success regarding the marriage of your half sister to Arnulf of Flanders?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “He will be pleased. Perhaps enough to actually recognize my success here?”

He finished off his wine and tossed the cup aside. Then he chuckled. “Probably not.”

“Recognition is nice, but it does not compare to tangible results,” Alias said. “The bond with Duke Arnulf is more valuable than your father’s congratulations. Just as he may think little of your victory over Peronelle, but Angouleme will be a fine consolation.”

“That she continues her fight is frustrating,” Geoffrey said.

“You cannot expect a madwoman to see reason,” Alias said. “But Thouars and Leonard lay siege to her keep in Marsan. And she lacks the strength to move against us, preferring to strike at her rebellious vassals keeps instead. Things go well.”

“Well enough,” Geoffrey said.

A knock on the door prompted Alias to answer it. On the other side was a messenger sent to tell Geoffrey the king requested his presence. Geoffrey told Alias they would continue their discussion later, and then made the walk to the king’s strategy hall.

The king was by himself, looking over a map of the realm. He glanced up at Geoffrey and shook his head.

“You know, Duke Geoffrey, when I came to power, I hoped to put the squabbling and infighting behind us, to forge a strong kingdom of the Franks,” the king said. “And now, while there are no rebellions against my rule, it appears many of my vassals face them. Your cousin Peronelle, my nephew Alphonse, my friend Toulouse… it pains me to see such things.”

It benefits you all the same, Geoffrey thought. As long as they are looking inward, they cannot focus on you.

Still, he did get the sense the king was being genuine with his concern. Hugues was not an evil or malicious man - just out of his depth.

The king looked at Geoffrey once more. “They should look to you. I hear nary a peep from your vassals. Even your cousin Patricia does not rouse too hard against you.”

“She bides her time, I’m sure,” Geoffrey replied.

“Fair,” the king said with a sly grin.

“What do you need of me, my king,” Geoffrey asked.

“What do you think of Maine?” the king asked.

Hearing it always sent a chill down Geoffrey’s spine. It was the county his father had long desired to reconquer, but it was also where one of Geoffrey’s earliest personal conquests resided.

He was taken some 10 or so years back. It was a visit to Melun at the same time as Leonard de Bage, Count of Maine, and his wife, Countess Azelma, who he was furious with as the result of the countess birthing the bastard of Geoffrey’s cousin, Duke Gilles.

As it turned out, the countess must have liked the look of men with Angevin blood, as she and Geoffrey found their way into each other’s arms, and his bed.

It was a one time thing, but nine months later, a child, Joscelin, was born. It was a child the count believed to be his own - he actually considered him his heir. But there was no doubt of the child’s parentage - the countess had told Geoffrey of the truth when he visited Maine as the king’s chancellor.

Geoffrey always wondered if one day that secret would come to light - and thought it might each time he was asked about Maine out of the blue.

“I think it is a place i should visit again sometime,” Geoffrey said. “Do you have business for me there?”

“No,” the king said. “But your father believes it is rightfully his.”

“That is not news,” Geoffrey said. “He’s thought that since before I was born.”

“And now he demands it,” the king said. “He wishes me to hand over the county of Maine to him.”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “Does he?”

“You know nothing of it?” the king asked.

“If I did, I would have been properly preparing you for such a demand,” Geoffrey said. “As you know, I have not.”

That drew a laugh from the king. “Well met, Duke Geoffrey. In any case, your father petitions me that Count Leonard of Maine is rightfully his vassal. Even though the count has been a direct vassal of my family ever since my brother reclaimed Normandy. What do you say to that?”

Geoffrey had to be careful. Anything he said in support of his father could draw the ire of the king. But anything against his father would make its way back to Foulques for sure.

“Maine was a holding of my family from the days of my great uncle,” Geoffrey said. “It, by du jure right, is part of Anjou. But, you are the king. Ultimately how territories under the royal demesne are partitioned falls to your authority, and no one else.”

“You lay out a situation that is known to me,” the king said. “So would you give it to your father or not?”

It appeared the king would not accept a half-answer here. So Geoffrey took a deep breath and replied: “Maine is troublesome. He has not gotten over your firing him from the council so quickly. He will be an annoyance, and his levy is not worth the potential trouble he will bring. I would give my father what he wants to be rid of two problems - Maine and securing my father’s loyalty.”

The king brow rose and he stroked his beard. “Thank you Duke Geoffrey, that is all.”

Geoffrey bowed before the king and made his exit from the hall. The abrupt end to the conversation left him uneasy.

He spoke the truth to the king. Maine likely was not worth the trouble and giving Foulques his long desired county would permanently bind him to the crown, perhaps even tighter than Philippe had.

But Geoffrey was uncertain the king would hear it that way. He might well see it as the son of Foulques advocating for his father - or the future duke of Anjou scheming for another county.

Geoffrey sighed. The die was cast - he would now just have yet another worry about Maine to deal with.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 131
October 1106 - Melun, France

Foulques felt as if he were at the head of an army once more.

The duke led his procession of knights toward the gates of Melun - his group 100 strong. He did not need a group that large - 20 or so would have been more than enough. But the duke wished to display his prestige to all who would see in Melun. So he went with excess.

Flanked by Herve and Edouard, Foulques also had his grandson, Foulques the younger, riding behind. Their journey was the result of a summon by the king for Foulques to have his request heard. The request was to finally have the county of Maine returned to his family.

Foulques had begun to feel enboldened in the later part of the summer. Or perhaps it was restlessness. He had negotiated the marriage of his son to Toulouse’s daughter, and Geoffrey had secured Ermengarde’s marriage to Arnulf of Flanders, but that did not deliver the fulfillment he hoped.

Furthermore, he had seen Alearde’s daughter Hilde married off - word had reached Anjou that one of the German lords, a Count Markward, sought a wife and when his representative arrived, the man was quite taken with her. And so the teen who had been the target of a lecherous count to bed and forget, had become a countess herself instead.

It was bittersweet for Alearde, who now had birthed a countess and a possible future queen consort. But she also saw her daughters leave her - and she was uncertain she’d ever see them again.

But while all of these unions brought some happiness to Foulques, he wished for more. He wished for action. And so, he decided to take it, by demanding Maine from the king.

He knew not if the king would accept. Philippe never had, but then Foulques had always just asked rather than made a more forceful request. And the duke was not sure what he would do if it was refused. He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

The gates were raised and the procession entered the capital. It did as Foulques desired, drawing a big crowd to see the large collection of mounted men walk along the king’s road and through the castle town. The pace was slow - Foulques made certain they took their sweet time before reaching the inner gate.

Upon arriving, Foulques dismounted and glanced toward the entrance to the keep itself. He was curious who would greet him. He had not returned to the capital since his firing as marshal, and he wondered if the king would send Geoffrey, or another.

The answer proved to be Geoffrey and another - Foulques’ nephew, Simon of Burgundy, who was now acting as the king’s steward.

Simon had replaced Orleans near the start of the year, after Orleans had been poisoned. Who carried out the murder was unknown. Some suspected Philipp of Champagne, as his desire to take Orleans was well known and Orleans’ death left just a young son as regent.

Or perhaps it was someone else. Orleans was rumored to be rather lecherous, and may have made an enemy of a husband, ex-lover or maybe his own wife.

Regardless, Simon had stepped in his place in Melun. It was a more fitting person for the role anyway, considering he had more than a single county in his duchy.

“Duke Foulques,” Simon said. “Uncle, it is good to see you once more.”

“Likewise, nephew,” Foulques said. “Things go well in Burgundy?”

“For once, yes,” Simon said. “The Lady Almodis and I have come to an agreement. As I believed, her quarrel was with my cousin, not me.”

The Burgundian Rose, pruned? Foulques felt a slight disappointment at hearing that. It reminded him that he did hope to one day meet her again.

“Hello father,” Geoffrey said, interrupting Foulques’ thoughts.

“Hello son,” Foulques replied.

“Father!” Foulques the younger exclaimed.

Geoffrey’s cold exterior was warmed upon seeing the boy, who he hugged tightly. “I am glad you have journeyed with your grandfather. I have missed you.”

“There is much I wish to tell you,” the boy said.

“There will be time later,” Geoffrey said. “I must escort your grandfather to the king. I shall be waiting for you in the hall when I am finished.”

The boy nodded and rejoined the others, with Geoffrey and Simon greeting their cousins Herve and Edouard as well. Then the two dukes led Foulques into the keep and toward the king’s chambers.

However, Simon trailed a bit behind, leaving Foulques and Geoffrey with enough space to talk. Simon was obviously meant to escort them, but Geoffrey did not wish his cousin to hear this conversation.

“So, you come to tell me bad news,” Foulques said.

“I do not know how the king will rule,” Geoffrey said. “I have tried to influence him, but he will not tell his judgment to me. His words, he says, are for you alone.”

“So you have failed me again,” Foulques replied.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “You demand a county from the king, without giving me the slightest bit of hint you are to do so, and it is me who is to blame if the king does not grant your request?”

“You should be using your position to influence him for our benefit,” Foulques said. “As I did for you with Philippe.”

“I do what I can,” Geoffrey warned. “But this is a large request.”

“Did you tell the king why it was fine to reject it?” Foulques demanded.

“That you have to ask should tell you I did not,” Geoffrey said. “You would have heard otherwise.”

Foulques guessed that was correct. And in truth, he was not certain what he expected from Geoffrey. Yet, he felt Geoffrey should somehow deliver this for him. Maine was that important.

As the two neared the king’s chambers, they reunited with Simon and the three went to see the king. Then Geoffrey and Simon bowed and made their exit, leaving Foulques and the king alone.

“Wine?” the king asked.

“I shall pass,” Foulques said. “I am here for business only.”

“You seek a county from me,” the king said. “Yet you do not act grateful for me hearing the request, or granting you an audience. Indignant, even now.”

“You blamed me for the disaster in Murcia and scoff at my service of the realm, to your family,” Foulques replied. “My frustration stems from that.”

“I am your king… you would do well to remember that.”

“And my levy constitutes half of the realm’s forces,” Foulques said. “You would do well to remember that.”

The king shook his head. “Why do you make things so difficult? You claim it is respect, but I remember our days together on my brother’s council. Words, platitudes, but action? Philippe flattered you and little else. Is that all you wish, words? A kind pat on the back?”

“Your brother gave me the respect befitting of a man of my stature,” Foulques said. “As he did Guilhem of Aquitaine before me.”

“Even as Guilhem howled at the moon like a lunatic, and passed his own daughter off to a worthless courtier,” the king said. He paused as he took a sip of his drink. “My brother told me much during my time on the council.”

The king sighed and shook his head. “If all you want is talk, then I will fail you, because I am not one to speak honeyed words like Philippe. But if you wish for more, you can pledge your eternal loyalty to me, and I shall give you what my brother never did.”

Foulques hesitated. Was… was the king offering what Foulques thought he was offering?

“We have not always seen eye to eye,” the king said. “You clearly long for days of my brother’s rule. But… I hope that in delivering you Maine, something my brother never was able to do despite his empty promises, that I can finally count on you as my man.”

Foulques was uncertain what to say. He had hoped for this for decades. Maine was the one thing he desired that he was uncertain he would ever reclaim. First from the Normans, then when it came into possession of the crown… that it could be his with but a word?

“What do you say?” the king asked. “Can I count upon you, to defend my crown and family, in exchange for your lordship over the county of Maine? Count Leonard will become your vassal and it shall be returned to the domain of Anjou. As you have long desired.”

“I… I do not know what to say my lord,” Foulques said. He dropped to a knee. “Yes, my king. I will pledge myself to you and your family, for as long as there is life in my bones.”

“I have need of commanders,” the king said. “Will you return to the field then?”

Foulques chuckled. “You shall have me where you need me.”

“Then arise Duke Foulques,” the king said. “Count Leonard of Maine is now your vassal. You may summon him to your court so he may take his oaths to you. And when I have need of you, I will call.”

“Thank you my king,” Foulques said.

“Now then,” the king said. “Can I offer you some wine?”

Foulques grinned. “I would enjoy some, yes.”

…..

Now pleased with the king, Foulques did not feel in any rush to leave Melun.

He ate with the king, the two now appearing to be the closest of friends, laughing at each other’s jokes and refilling each other’s goblets at supper.

It no doubt left Geoffrey surprised as he sat wide-eyed throughout that supper the first night, sometimes trading glances with his son or his cousin Simon.

The next day, Foulques remained in a good mood, so much so that he gathered Geoffrey, Foulques the younger, Herve, Edouard and Simon together for a mid-day drinking session.

The elder duke was so pleased, he even gave Geoffrey a bit of praise, saying for once his words may have helped reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

Geoffrey did not seem amused to be damned with faint praise.

But the wine flowed enough that the duke of Aquitaine and Poitou did eventually relax, enjoying conversations with his cousin, and his son, who was experiencing this type of gathering for the first time. He was still young - just 12, but not so far off manhood that he should be excluded.

However, later in the day, the group was treated to a guest they did not expect - Adhemar, who rode from Anjou.

“Does Agnes require something?” Foulques asked.

“No my lord,” Adhemar said. “But I bring ill-news.”

The conversation around them stopped and a pall suddenly came over the hall. If Adhemar had ridden to Melun, rather than waiting for their return, it was serious.

“It is for Sir Herve,” Adhemar said. “Your lady wife, Sybille… she has passed.”

The room remained silent. Foulques’ stomach tensed. A mild relief - it was nothing with Agnes, Alearde or any of his other children. But then he remembered his nephew, who stood motionless.

“H… how?” Herve asked.

“She had fallen from a great height,” Adhemar told them. “The ramparts.”

“What was she doing up there?!” Geoffrey demanded.

“She liked to go up there,” Herve said. “She said she was at peace there…”

Foulques saw his nephew seemed to be in shock. Only his lips moved as he spoke - the rest of him remained statuesque. His eyes were wide, his breathing slow and shallow.

“Foul play then?” Foulques demanded.

Adhemar lowered his head. “There is… no sign of it. The guards did not see anyone but the Lady Sybille on the ramparts.”

“She threw herself off?” Herve asked.

“We cannot know for certain,” Adhemar said. “We may never know.”

Foulques shook his head. He did not know Sybille well. Daughter of his chancellor Godfrey, yes, but he rarely ever dealt with her.

What he did know, was that his beloved nephew doted on her. He thought the world of his wife, and daughter. And he had lost his father via similar circumstances two decades before - with Geoffrey de Semur hanging himself on campaign.

He does not deserve this, Foulques mused. A good, simple lad like him should not have to suffer so.

“It matters not the cause,” Foulques said. “We will give her a proper burial, as a member of this house deserves.”

“She was not of House d’Anjou, uncle,” Herve said.

“She was your wife,” Foulques said. “And I consider you a member of this house. Therefore she was as well. Adhemar, we will depart for Anjou shortly. But ride on ahead of us and give word.”

“It will be done,” Adhemar said. “My condolences, Sir Herve.”

Herve’s body trembled now, his eyes welling with tears. He did his best to hold them back, and was pulled into an embrace by his cousin Geoffrey.

For once, Foulques was glad for Geoffrey’s presence. He did handle such things better than Foulques did, and the elder duke believed his nephew deserved comfort at the moment.

Foulques let Geoffrey and Simon lead Herve off. Edouard followed as well. The only one who seemed confused as to what to do was Foulques the younger, who looked toward his grandfather, perplexed expression on his youthful face.

“Sir Herve… his wife,” the boy asked. “Did Adhemar not say she killed herself?”

“She did,” Foulques said.

“Then… why are we treating this like a normal death?” the boy asked. “She does not deserve it.”

Foulques narrowed his gaze at his grandson. “You heed the words of the church. But it says many things that you will need to take lightly when you rule. A member of your family - a loyal servant to Anjou - has suffered a great loss. The rites are for him, more than her. Whatever awaits her, in the hereafter, is not my concern. Nor is it yours.”

“But will the church not be angered you disregard its teachings?” the boy asked.

“Do not flaunt it,” Foulques said. “As far as anyone is concerned, the poor lady slipped. Who is any bishop to tell you differently?”

The boy nodded. Foulques patted him on the back.

“Things you will learn in time,” he said. “Now go find your father. You can learn further compassion, or how to fake it, by watching him.”

It was an order that must have surprised the boy, as his brow rose in response. But he said nothing, leaving Foulques alone.

It wasn’t a thing Foulques liked to do, but he wished to be alone, and could think of no better person for his grandson to be around at the moment.

The door closed and Foulques poured himself some wine before collapsing into the chair.

It was rare he felt sorrow these days, but he did for his nephew. Herve was almost everything he could have hoped for in a son - often he found himself wondering if God had switched the souls of Geoffrey and Herve, giving each to the wrong parent. Geoffrey, the schemer, felt more like Aureade’s child than Foulques, and Herve the simple warrior seemed to be more at home as Foulques’ boy.

The duke tried to shake it off. I should be celebrating. After all these years, I have Maine. All that I have set out to do, so many years ago, has now been completed.

All of his brother’s malpractices had been reversed. He had again secured Angevin dominance over Nantes and extended it to Vannes. Saintonge had been restored under Angevin dominion. Geoffrey secured it, yes, but Foulques’ levy had aided in the capture of Poitou.

The Normans had been driven from the continent. Sure, they remained in England, and small pockets in the realm, but their hold in the kingdom of the Franks was no more.

And now Maine, restored to Angevin dominion. Vassal-held yes, but with House d’Anjou as its rightful overlord.

Foulques sipped his wine. My work is complete.

And yet, death did not seem yet ready to come for him. It came for everyone else - his younger siblings. His older brother. Orleans. His nephew’s wife, in the prime of her life. Alearde’s lost son. Poor Philippe.

But never him. He watched them all die, while he persisted in living.

The duke felt tired. The wine did not even taste as sweet as it should.

Deprived of the happiness from his victory, Foulques grumbled to himself, before falling asleep in his chair.

....

Note: Can't say I expected Hugues to hand over Maine, but he did! And now technically Foulques has achieved what I set out for him as his goals in the first two chapters! Thus, I deem the Iron Duke a successful character.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 132
May 1107 - Anjou, France

The main hall in Angers, Anjou was the liveliest Foulques had seen in years.

He was tempted to say that a wedding would do that, but he knew that to be untrue. Poor Agnes had been wed to much less fanfare. His own union with Haldora seemed lacklustre in comparison. He did not recall anything this grand since perhaps his own marriage to Aines de Poitou, or possibly Geoffrey’s betrothal to Marguerite.

The bride and groom today who sat at the center of the long table on the dais were hardly prominent - Herve was now remarried, this time to Mascarose de Limoges, youngest of Aines de Poitou’s three daughters. It was somewhat fast for Herve - less than a year since Sybille’s death, but Foulques had decided not to wait too long before finding his nephew a new bride, especially since he had a fine option available in Anjou.

Herve did not protest. Not that it was surprising - Foulques could not really remember a time when his nephew voiced a strong objection to anything he did. He was a devoted lad, loyal to a fault.

And his wife was also nothing to scoff at. She was the granddaughter to Guilhem, the late duke of Aquitaine, Poitou and Gascony. She was the niece of the current duchess of Gascony and sister-by-law to the current duke of Aquitaine and Poitou. She carried status, more so than Herve’s first wife ever did.

And she seemed to be a fine girl beyond that. Aside from her looks - she was arguably the prettiest of her sisters - she was quick witted, well spoken, and supposedly virtuous.

One of those sisters, Ness, sat near Mascarose, with their brother Adhemar sandwiched between them. Foulques knew Ness would have preferred being by the duke’s side, but in Anjou he would not allow it. Such things were for Melun, in a different time - one that seemed to be long past.

Their other sister, Marguerite, was not by their side. She was however, present, seated by her husband Geoffrey on the Angevin side of the table. It was almost jarring to see them together - Foulques the younger sat to the right of his father and Beatritz to the left of her mother. It was the first time Foulques could remember they appeared as a family.

And Geoffrey seemed almost cordial with Marguerite, for a change. He spoke most to his son, but the lady appeared to even share a few chuckles with him.

Also present and up on the dais was Simon of Burgundy, unaccompanied, as he currently was estranged from his wife, the Duchess Escarlmonde. Technically he was Herve’s closest cousin by blood, as Herve’s mother Aureade and Simon’s father were full siblings.

Speaking of Aureade, she sat next to her son and Foulques on this occasion. It was a spot that was often filled by Agnes and never Haldora. But given the circumstances, he felt it right to have his sister, mother to the groom, by his side. So she was on one side, Foulques the Younger on the other, with Agnes down next to Geoffrey’s “daughter” Beatritz.

And in some ways, Foulques was surprised Aureade was even here to partake in the celebrations. Her body had grown weak. She could not walk on her own, and Foulques had escorted her with her holding onto his arm during the proceedings and feast. She would even latch on to him or Herve now, as they sat. It was most distressing to him - Aureade was his baby sister and quite a few years younger than him.

She should not be this weak and pitiful, he reasoned.

But she was, regardless of his musings. The good news was that her infirmity had not dampened her spirits, as she was hopeful this union would prove more fruitful than the last.

“Perhaps I will finally be blessed as you brother,” she told Foulques, “And have a grandson.”

“A granddaughter is nothing to scoff at,” Foulques noted. “I hear good things about her.”

“Yes…” Aureade said. “Eve is a wonderful child. But… I still have hope that, perhaps one day Herve may find a fief of his own - that you or Geoffrey will reward him for his service. A son, would strengthen the case for that, I think.”

Foulques simply sipped his wine. She might have been right about it, but he did not wish to admit it.

Movement caught Foulque’s eye and he peered down the bride’s side of the table to see Adhemar rise and step away for a moment. Mascarose’s side was less robust than the Angevin one, but did feature Foulques’ bastards with Ness and one other prominent guest - the Countess Patricia of Poitiers and Saintonge, seated with her husband and daughter, by her nieces and nephew.

The countess was a surprise guest as she had come at the behest of Geoffrey. He claimed to be attempting to mend fences with the cousin he defeated and stripped the duchy title from. It likely helped that this was the wedding of her niece but she may not have dared refuse him, given how much support he seemed to have in the duchies, while she had next to none.

Also present, though not on the dais, was Leonard de Bage, Count of Maine. That was not a surprise as Foulques’ new vassal was now a resident of the keep as the duke’s spymaster. His wife was conspicuously absent - something that happened frequently according to what Geoffrey had told him - though his son Joscelin did accompany him.

With two dukes, a former duchess and a count that was formerly spymaster to the king, plus Geoffrey’s usual entourage that included Alias of Perigord, this was an impressive collection of guests as one would find at any non-royal gathering in the realm.

It speaks to our status, Foulques noted. Yes, part of it was the circumstance of who was being wed, but if Foulques was a weak lord like the late Orleans, or his nephew Gilles, these guests would never have come.

Aureade turned to her son. “Are you ready to take your wife?”

“Mother, I have been married before,” Herve said. “I know a husband’s duty.”

“What do you wait for then?” Aureade demanded. “If you drink too much, you shall not perform as you should.”

Herve blushed and Foulques covered his own mouth to hide a chuckle. It appeared while her body grew weak her words were as strong as ever. And she too had that Angevin penchant for asserting authority.

“Your son will take his wife when he is good and ready sister,” Foulques said. “As he said, he has experience. You will get your grandson in time.”

Aureade rolled her eyes. “Time I may not have. We cannot all be the pillars of health you are at your age brother. If we even reach your age.”

Foulques patted his sister’s hand and she leaned her head onto his shoulder. It was hard to believe she had once plotted against his family...

Then a tap on Foulques’ other shoulder. A glance back revealed Adhemar behind him. The young man was fulfilling Godfrey’s duties in Anjou with the chancellor in Bourges, and while Godfrey was invited to attend, he decided against it. It wasn’t surprising to Foulques given this was a wedding for his daughter’s widower.

“We have a guest, my lord,” Adhemar whispered. “A Baron Pandolf of Benevento. He seeks an audience with you.”
“Who is Baron Pandolf?” Foulques asked.

“A Lombard lord… one of the few remaining in Italy,” Adhemar said. “More importantly, he is the chancellor for the pope.”

“Then let him in,” Foulques said. “I will entertain him briefly.

Adhemar nodded and instructed others to relay the message. Not long after, the doors to the main hall opened and a small group entered. They made their way between the benches in the hall toward the dais, the eyes of those present now upon them as the chatter grew muted.

One man among them stepped forward. He lowered to hood to reveal his appearance - a thin, bald, gray-haired individual, with a finely trimmed goatee. He did not appear to be tall, and looked even shorter to Foulques from his own raised position on the dais.

“Duke Foulques,” Adhemar said as he stood by the the duke. “May I present to you Baron Pandolf of Benevento, chancellor to our Holy Father in the eternal city of Rome.”

The baron lowered his head as did each member of his small entourage.

“I am honored for you to have allowed me an audience Duke Foulques,” Pandolf said. “Your reputation is known, even to our Holy Father.”

Foulques stroked his beard. “Baron Pandolf… you interrupt my nephew’s wedding feast. What is your business? Do you have need of lodging on your journey?”

“That I do,” Pandolf said. “I recently visited with the Lady of Gascony, the Duchess Peronelle. And now I make my way toward Melun, before moving north to England.”

“It is no bother then,” Foulques said. “You and your men may remain here the night. You may even partake in our food and drink this evening. Let our Father in Rome know that we in Anjou are always fine hosts to our guests.”

“Your hospitality is most welcome, Duke Foulques,” Pandolf said. “I thank you.”

Foulques waved for the baron to join the festivities. However, the old man raised his hand, as if he had something else to add.

“Duke Foulques, if I may,” Pandolf said. “Given that you and multiple other important lords of the realm are present, I was wondering if I may address you all.”

Foulques wished to tell him no. This was a celebration for his nephew and papal business could wait until tomorrow. But he also did not wish to run afoul with the pope over something trivial.

“Make it quick,” Foulques said. “You interrupt our celebrations.”

“Of course. Thank you Duke Foulques,” Pandolf said. His eyes shifted about the dais scanning all those who sat on it. “My great lords of the Kingdom of the Franks! Our holy father in Rome calls upon you to aid in the holiest of missions - the reclamation of the holy land!”

There was a murmur of voices in the hall. Aureade clenched Foulques arm. Meanwhile, Foulques scratched his beard and leaned forward. “What is this now?”

“As you know, Moslems have swept across the lands in the recent centuries,” Pandolf said. “Through Africa, up into Spain, and of course into the realm of the Franks until beaten back by your ancestors, not far from here.”

Foulques knew a pitch when he heard one. Though it was fairly certain almost every lord in the hall did have some blood from Charles the Hammer, who defeated the invading Moslems at Poitiers almost four centuries before, only the Hammer’s direct descendents, the Karlings, tried hard to claim it. That Pandolf appealed to it showed his intention of conning them all.

And it is probably no coincidence that he arrives here at the feast, Foulques realized.

“Our Holy Father in the Eternal City watches with great disgust,” Pandolf said. “As have his predecessors. But he has decided to take action and calls upon all those that are good and loyal to Christendom to take up arms to beat them back, starting with reclaiming the birthplace of the Son.”

“So a holy war?” Foulques asked.

“More than a Holy War, Duke Foulques,” Pandolf said. “It is a Crusade for our Lord. Holy Wars tend to be local affairs. We hope lords from Europe will all take part, from simple barons, to counts, dukes, kings and even those who style themselves emperor.”

“All fighting under one banner?” Foulques asked.

“Correct, Duke Foulques,” Pandolf said. “The banner of the Cross. And we do not simply mean to take a county - no we wish the holy land to once more return to Christian hands.”

“Leave our lands and go fight half a world away?” Simon spoke up. “While our enemies remain here, attempting to seize our keeps while we are gone.”

“Our Holy Father will not sanction the seizure of territory of any man who takes up the cross,” Pandolf said. “In fact, he hopes that this can forge greater unity within Christendom. Too often we have fought amongst ourselves, becoming weaker. Why, the two failures of the Frankish kings in Iberia speak to that.”

More murmurs from the gallery. That one probably would not sit well with King Hugues, Foulques reasoned. Though perhaps as a former bishop, he might find cause to join.

“Can our Holy Father count on you, Duke Foulques of Anjou?” Pandolf asked. “Your reputation for military prowess stands among the greastest of any man in Chistendom!

“How about you Duke Geoffrey of Aquitaine and Poitou? Would you look to match your father’s glory in the most honorable of causes?”

Foulques glanced at his son, who rubbed his chin before taking a long drink from his goblet. Geoffrey remained silent.

Meanwhile Pandolf continued: “And you Duke Simon of Burgundy, descendent of kings? Or you Lady Patricia, Countess of Saintonge and Poitiers, where your ancestor struck the hammerblow for Christendom?”

Foulques eyed Pandolf. He was annoyed before. Now he was angry. To interrupt this feast and then call upon he and his guests to go off to war in the middle of a celebration - it was improper. This was something to be done with the lords in private, or a most, in a smaller audience where they and they alone could be addressed.

This was no accident. None of it was. Pandolf sought to put them on the spot. He wished to take the authority from Foulques in his own home. And the duke would not stand for it.

He rose from his chair and looked Pandolf square. “Baron Pandolf, we have heard you calls. And we have listened. But I will not speak on this tonight, nor do I expect any of my guests to. Your call is just and we always have ears for the Holy Father. But tonight is for the celebration of a union and your answers will have to wait until tomorrow. You are… however, as I said, welcome to join us for the rest of the festivities.”

Pandolf frowned but lowered his head. “I understand Duke Foulques. Thank you for the invitation and your permission to speak. I shall remain here until tomorrow.”

“Good, then we shall leave this business until then!” Foulques said. “Let us resume are cheers for my nephew and his lovely bride!”

Now, the baron and his entourage took seats upon one of the benches, while Foulques stewed. He took a sip from his goblet and slammed it down hard on the table, enough to rattle everything on it.

“He speaks of a just cause, does he not, brother?” Aureade asked.

“He comes into my home and seeks to back me into a corner,” Foulques said. “If his cause is so just, then he would have no need.”

Aureade’s brow rose, but she fell silent. At her advanced age, his sister was wise enough to know when it was foolish to continue.

And so Foulques sat there, eyeing the baron continuously through the festivities, wondering how best to make his ultimate goal in Anjou end in failure.

…..

“This is a battle…” steward Guilhem said in the duke’s chambers that evening. “I would have expected you to rush off.”

“After his actions tonight?” Foulques demanded as he glared at his longest serving councilor.

“He is a foolish baron faced with an impossible task,” Guilhem said. “So he acts desperate.”

“And his actions have consequences,” Foulques said. “In any case, I have little desire to travel halfway across the world to seek battle, when I may well find enemies here. All I need is for Godfrey to finally secure my rights over Bourges. Or, perhaps, if the king finds some new enemy to target.”

“Do we wish to draw our Holy Father’s ire?” Guilhem asked. “Excommunication is makes one vunerable. As your late brother learned the hard way.”

“Please,” Foulques said. “He will have to excommunicate most of the lords of the land then! The many lords of Europe working together for a common end? I doubt that - we Franks can barely stay focused long enough to do much. I do not believe this call… will amount to anything.”

“You think others shall remain as skeptical as you?” Guilhem wondered.

“Let us be honest, who among them can afford to undertake this task?” Foulques asked. “Toulouse and Peronelle face rebels. Alphonse likely plots to reclaim his throne. Arnulf is a child. Geoffrey…”

Foulques began to cackle, until it became full on laughter. After a half minute or so, he regained his breath and then looked to Guilhem again. “Geoffrey will never go on such a thing. He asks me to hold his hand with his weak female cousins. He shall never take up a task that requires so much and likely offers little personal reward.”

Guilhem chuckled. “True, my lord. Which would leave you, and your nephews then.”

“Gilles is too weak to do anything,” Foulques noted. “And Simon… I am uncertain. But he likely does not wish to risk his position. I would not, knowing how the Lady Almodis enjoys the fight so, even if they have peace for now.”

“So it would appear you are the best positioned to aid,” Godfrey said.

“It would appear so, yes,” Foulques said. “But as I said, we shall see. I have no plans yet, but should more of our lords get involved, and perhaps the king, my mind may be moved.”

….

The next day in Foulques’ strategy hall, Pandolf stood at one end of the table. Foulques the other.

The baron’s frown was met with a smile from Foulques.

“So you will not answer the call?” Pandolf asked. He glanced around the table toward all of the prominent lords from the feast, who had gathered to discuss the crusade. And none had given Pandolf what he hoped to hear.

Foulques was the first to refuse. But none broke ranks and it was Geoffrey who replied.

“We are sympathetic to the Holy Father’s plight,” he said. “And I do not think any of us will say for certain that we shall refuse the call entirely. But… such an expedition takes time and resources to organize.”

“My son rightly points out that this is something beyond what we have ever organized before,” Foulques said. “We will need time… to see how we may go about this.”

“I will certainly look to provide support in other ways,” Patricia added. “Perhaps with a gift, or sponsoring some of my knights to take part.”

“A fine idea,” Simon noted. “Something I may look to do as well.”

“His Holiness was hoping for… something a bit more substantial,” Pandolf said.

“And that may come,” Alias said. “In the meantime, this is what we offer.”

Foulques held back a grin. It turned out this crusade had unified them after all, just not in the way Pandolf intended.

“I am surprised,” Pandolf said. “I did not expect the Saxons to have more stomach to the fight and defend the cross than the Franks.”

“Saxons?” Alias asked. “What do the Saxons have to do with this?”

“Representatives for the Saxon king have already voiced support,” Pandolf explained. “We fully expect King Ælfmær to take up the burden of the cross. I would have thought you Franks would be eager to do the same, given how our Holy Fathers in the past have shown favor to your lords and kings.”

“The Saxons may have stomach,” Simon said. “But do they actually have the skill? We’ve seen their fight on our shores. My uncle can attest to how… lacking it was.”

It drew smirks from the lords, even Patricia. But Pandolf shook his head.

“Then prove it,” Pandolf said. “Our Holy Father will reward those who venture forth. And you may find reward there in the form of valuables hoarded by the heathens.”

First he speaks of devotion, now he seeks to bribe us, Foulques noted. Pathetic.

“Baron Pandolf,” Foulques said. “I have heard enough.”

“My father simply means we have much to consider already,” Geoffrey quickly added. “We do wish you luck on your endeavor and you have our word that we will all look into this further, consulting with our men of the cloth in our lands. Here, in Anjou… it is difficult to make such a grand promise.”

“Understood,” Pandolf said. “I bid you well Duke Geoffrey. And the rest of you.”

Does not even thank me directly after staying as a guest, Foulques thought as he watched the baron depart. Ingrate.

“Do you think the king will back him?” Patricia asked, looking at Geoffrey and Simon. The pair glanced at each other and shrugged.

“The king was a bishop,” Geoffrey said.

“But the treasury is empty,” Simon noted. “I search for ways to change that, but I do not think there will be enough to maintain an army, especially one so far away. And the king’s demesne is small… it limits what he can do to raise money.”

“He could call upon us,” Maine grumbled. “And demand our levies as part of our oaths.”

“Then be grateful you are my vassal now,” Foulques noted. “Your obligation will be less.”

“I do not know if he will risk it,” Geoffrey said. “But we shall see.”

“It would be wise to make preparations just in case,” Alias noted.

“Agreed,” Patricia said. “I shall return to Poitiers to do just that. I… thank you for your hospitality Duke Foulques. It was a lovely feast.”

As she bowed before him, Foulques doubted she meant a word of it, but at least she had made the effort. Simon also turned to him.

“I feel likewise, uncle,” Simon said. “I hope to see you again in the capital soon, in the meantime, I shall take my leave. Geoffrey, will you be riding with me, or staying here a little longer?”

“I shall ride with you cousin,” Geoffrey said. “But I wish to speak to my father for a moment, if that is alright?”

Simon nodded and left along with Alias. Maine then bowed before both Foulques and Geoffrey, and departed the hall, leaving father and son alone.

“What is there to discuss?” Foulques asked.

“Turning down the pope,” Geoffrey said as he leaned on the table. “It is perhaps not the wisest decision.”

“We refused to give a promise to a baron,” Foulques scoffed. “Not a cardinal or bishop. Not even a priest. If he were wiser, he would have sent a man of the cloth. They are harder to refuse.”

“Pandolf is still the chancellor,” Geoffrey said.

“The pope will not antagonize us,” Foulques said. “He wishes our support and we did not rule out giving it to him. But unless other important men in the realm join, we have little to fear.”

“And if they do?” Geoffrey asked.

“Then you will have a decision to make,” Foulques said.

“And you will not?” Geoffrey asked.

“No, I will not,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey looked down and sighed. “Fair enough.”

He stood up from the table. “I should rejoin Simon. Thank you father for the feast and for your leadership here. Pandolf seeked to trap us. You saved us… unpleasantness.”

Foulques was rendered speechless. Geoffrey thanking him? This crusade truly had worked miracles.

“It… was what had to be done,” Foulques said. “I rule in Anjou. Not some Lombard baron.”

Geoffrey chuckled and then left the hall, leaving Foulques alone. The elder duke stroked his gray beard. He was interested to see how this all turned out. He did not have much faith in the Saxons, but perhaps they would surprise.

In the meantime, he looked down at his map. Though he had accomplished his life’s work, he still had unfinished business with his nephew. That took priority.

He shook his head and chuckled.

What glory is there to be found in the Holy Land anyway?

.....

Note: This was a difficult chapter to write. The church was obviously held in high regard, so turning it down and thinking the crusade was not worth his time is something I’m… meh on. But nothing I’ve read says the real Foulques IV joined the first Crusade (which happened a decade earlier than it fired here). Neither did Geoffrey IV Martel, the real life equivalent to this story’s Geoffrey. Foulques V obviously did take part in crusades and became a literal crusader king, but we’re not playing him yet (he would be the equivalent to Foulquesson or Foulques the Younger for the purposes of this story.)

And well, this crusade’s participants simply are not reflective of what happened in the actual First Crusade. As hinted at here, this is going to be a mostly English crusade with some participation elsewhere in Europe. King Hughes in real life died on Crusade and well, that’s not happening here.

So… that’s the First Crusade. It fired. It’s going to go on in the background. It will probably have effects. But it’s not going to have the same Frankish dominance as it did in real life. In fact, it will be the opposite.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 133
October 1107 - Anjou, France

“Women!”

Foulques gave the Duke of Toulouse a long look as the younger man paced about Foulques’ quarters. The marshal of the Franks was visiting Anjou at the behest of Foulques, who had an important matter he wished to discuss.

But now that they were alone, it appeared Toulouse had a separate grievance he wished to get off his chest.

“What about women?” Foulques asked.

“They are false, my friend,” Toulouse said as he retook his seat opposite Foulques. “I hear plenty of how they are the fairer sex - delicate flowers who are not to be involved in matters of war and politics. And yet, I cannot reach out my hand without brushing the breast of one, on the battlefield or at the negotiating table!”

Foulques chuckled. “The Countess of Carcassonne continues to hold fast against you?”

“She is a gnat who I cannot swat,” Toulouse complained. “Even now I hear of her illness, yet she fights! And I am not alone. While I despise the man, I cannot deny that the former Duke of Burgundy lost his seat due to a pair of women, the Lady Almodis and the Countess of Nevers. The madwoman Peronelle continues her reign of terror in Gascony - and for the longest time she was opposed by the late Lady of La Marche, whose daughter now rules in her mother’s lands.”

“Then you must especially dislike seeing my daughter,” Foulques noted.

Toulouse smirked. “The Lady Agnes is a lovely woman. I think these women could do well to learn from her example.”

Foulques took a sip from his drink. An impressive recovery, though if Agnes were not Foulques’ daughter, Toulouse likely would be railing against her as well.

“What has brought this the forefront?” Foulques wondered. “Does the countess make gains?”

“No, she just drains me,” Toulouse said. “As a result, I cannot gain a foothold in the war in Catalonia. And if I cannot do that, then I can have little hope of answering the call of the Crusade to the holy land.”

“Yes, I have heard little talk of you joining with this… crusade,” Foulques noted. “I wondered about your reluctance.”

Toulouse shook his head. “You know I have been a steadfast ally of our Holy Fathers in Rome. I would like to join. But… every resource I have is poured into two wars! I should see them both settled before I would even consider departing. I cannot count on this bitch in Carcassonne to listen to the Holy Father’s call to not make war on a crusader.”

“No, you cannot,” Foulques said. “And I for one do not understand why this crusade was not called on Iberia.”

“There may have been some… impetus from the Romans in the East,” Toulouse said. “I have even heard stories that the Crusaders swear a sort of oath of fealty to the Roman Emperor. Of course, I think it more show than substance, but…”

Foulques stroked his beard. “I thought the Holy Father and the Emperor of the Romans did not see eye to eye.”

Toulouse shrugged. “Perhaps our Holy Father wishes to bind the Romans to him once more. Or perhaps he fears what might happen if their Empire finally did fall. I do not know - this pope’s motivations remain a mystery to me. I only spoke with his chancellor.”

“The unimpressive Baron Pandolf,” Foulques said.

“Yes, he,” Toulouse said. “And you are kinder than me. Had I not been in Melun, I would have thrown the man from the keep, he was so insulting. The King was equally unimpressed - being told he had forgotten his way after leaving the clergy.”

Foulques shook his head and smirked. Once more he was in awe of Pandolf’s ability to unify everyone in the realm against this “noble” cause.

“He has had more success in England,” Toulouse said. “I am surprised King Ælfmær goes, given his age and his illness. But perhaps he hopes for a miracle. Or that it shall allow him passage into heaven.”

An interesting thought, Foulques realized. Perhaps that might have even applied to him. But Foulques had long come to grips with the reality that there was little avoiding what he would face in the hereafter.

“I apologize, my friend,” Toulouse said. “You invited me here to discuss a matter and I have gone off on a rant. What is it you wish speak of?”

“It is no bother,” Foulques said. “Your frustration is understandable.”

“And I appreciate your understanding,” Toulouse said. “So what is it?”

“Angouleme,” Foulques said.

“Ah, your son’s newly won territory,” Toulouse said. “Added it directly to his demesne. I congratulated him on the matter when he returned to Melun.”

Toulouse took another drink from his cup before adding. “And he did it without your aid. You must be pleased.”

Foulques grinned. “He walks. Perhaps soon he will be able to run.”

“I think many in the realm would prefer he doesn’t,” Toulouse said. “But what do you want to talk about with his new possession?”

“It comes to my attention the king still desires it,” Foulques said.

“The king wishes to add to his demesne any way possible,” Toulouse said. “So that seems likely, though he has said nothing of it to me.”

“And I understand his want to become stronger,” Foulques said. “And the king’s desire to seize Angouleme made sense when it was held by Peronelle. She is a pox-ridden harpy who everyone in the realm dislikes.”

“And now it is held by your son,” Toulouse said. “Whom is charming but everyone in the realm views with suspicion. That the king may wish to curb his influence some is hardly surprising.”

“But is it wise?” Foulques asked. “None of us can stand by while the king revokes a county from a powerful vassal. He might do it one of us next.”

Toulouse smirked. “Your motives are as clear as a summer day, old friend. Let us not pretend - speak your true intentions and be done with it.”

Foulques nodded and learned forward. “My son has won Angouleme. It is now part of my family’s demesne. I shall not have the king take it, nor do I wish for a break between my family and the realm.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Toulouse asked.

“You are the king’s closest friend,” Foulques said. “He may well listen to you if you refuse to back this plan any longer.”

Toulouse laughed. “Foulques, the king does not listen to me nearly enough for me to think that is likely.”

“He won’t have a choice,” Foulques said. “If I refuse to back him, and Geoffrey refuses, he has few others to turn to. Alphonse will never aid him. Champagne is less likely now. That leaves… you. Should you pull out, the plot will fall apart. And he will be unable to move forward.”

“You lay out a plausible situation,” Toulouse admitted. “But why should I help you?”

“After all we have been through,” Foulques said. “I would think this not a great request.”

“For you, perhaps,” Toulouse said. “But, as much as it pains me to say, you shall not remain with us forever. And when you depart this world, we shall be left to contend with your ambitious son. A son who may have designs on many things - my lands included.”

“I have not heard Geoffrey speak of your lands,” Foulques said. “Gascony perhaps, but not Toulouse.”

“I doubt he reveals everything to you,” Toulouse said. “And even if he does not plan now, if he does succeed in taking Gascony from a woman who is so despised she incurs constant rebellion, who is say he will not turn on me eventually?”

“Do we not have an agreement to marry his half-brother to your daughter?” Foulques asked.

“We do,” Toulouse said. “But… let us not delude ourselves into thinking that such agreements will stand in the way of an ambitious lord.”

Foulques frowned. Even if he understood his old friend’s points, being told “no” was something the elder duke remained unaccustomed to - and would not accept.

“I will request that you do so,” Foulques said. “Returning your favor to me for the support I gave you while we were both on Philippe’s council.”

Toulouse’s eyes widened for a moment as he stared at Foulques. Then the younger man stood up and paced around the chamber once more.

“You drive a difficult bargain,” Toulouse said.

“I had your word,” Foulques said. “I gave you influence. Now you shall provide me the same courtesy.”

“This is for your son, not for you,” Toulouse noted. “And you may put my house at risk.”

“I will tell Geoffrey of your friendship,” Foulques said. “And advise him to that such friendships are not to be lightly discarded.”

“And that will be enough?” Toulouse asked.

“You gave your word,” Foulques said. “Whether it is enough or not, is irrelevant. Do you plan to break your word to me?”

Toulouse stared at Foulques for a moment and then muttered something under his breath. When he returned to the table, he sighed.

“I shall leave the plot, as you request,” Toulouse said. “But we are even. I do not wish to hear of your support from the days of king’s years dead any further.”

“You shall not,” Foulques said as he raised his cup to him.

Toulouse grumbled again and sipped his drink.

The younger duke may have been displeased, but Foulques had what he wanted. In the end, what could Toulouse do? Given the choice between the king and Anjou, he would be a fool to go elsewhere.

Despite his claims the Countess of Carcassonne was a mere gnat, the woman was more dangerous than Toulouse let on. Meanwhile, the king’s help was limited - with Foulques and even Geoffrey, Toulouse might be able to ask for aid to keep himself propped up as his rebellion dragged on.

The old man smiled. And Geoffrey will have little to say once I tell him of my success here.
….

Toulouse’s mood did seem to improve during supper, as he and his small entourage drank and enjoyed the general revelry. Foulques even asked if his friend was interested in one of the maids or servant girls present, but the younger duke refused.

Meanwhile, Foulques took the opportunity to keep Etiennette close to his side. The pudgy Karling woman was often on his lap as he drank, irrespective of the fact that Haldora was present in the keep, though not eating with them.

And when the evening was done, Foulques brought her back to his chambers, eager to ravish her once more - or at least the best he could with his waning energies. Etiennette, as per usual, did as she was told, happily giggling like a young girl that belied the fact she was fast approaching 40 years.

But when they arrived at Foulques’ chambers, the duke discovered they were not empty.

Ness stood alone in the candlelight. Her gaze narrowed upon seeing Etiennette.

“What is she doing here?!” Ness demanded.

“What my lord asks of me,” Etiennette replied.

A fine answer, Foulques thought. Then he turned to her.

“Wait outside for a moment,” Foulques instructed.

He could see a hint of fear in Etiennette’s eyes at being told to leave, so he pulled her close and gave her rear a squeeze. “It will not be long.”

The Karling woman’s fear disappeared as her thin lips formed a smirk. She swayed her hips as she walked out the chambers and closed the door behind her.

“You would take that pig of a woman over me?” Ness demanded.

“You would be wise not to question my decisions,” Foulques warned.

Ness slowly approached him. “I think you have forgotten what you miss by not having me in your bed.”

She dropped her dress to reveal her naked body - a body that had changed so much over the last few years. It had thickened and become more womanly, while also bearing the marks of the two sons she had carried.

Beautiful still, Foulques thought.

She approached him slowly and began to press her lips on his neck and run her hands up and down his torso, trying to draw a response from him.

But none came.

Foulques simply had lost interest in her. He had not the energy to lay with her - her hunger was something he could not satisfy any longer.

“No,” Foulques said. “I think this… has run its course.”

“Run… run its course?” Ness asked.

Now the fear was in her eyes. This was a woman who dreamed of being a duchess - and gleefully accepted a derogatory nickname which called her such. Now… now it was likely she would never achieve the heights she desired.

“Your… efforts… have been much appreciated,” Foulques said. “You remain a lovely young woman. And I think you shall make a fine wife for someone. But it is time to end our affair.”

The shock and fear on Ness’ face suddenly turned to anger as her lips became a frown and her complexion reddened.

“That is it?!” Ness shouted. “I pleasure you for near 10 years, birth you two healthy sons, and you simply toss me aside, like I am nothing? In favor of that fat Karling?”

“I bedded her long before I bedded you,” Foulques said. “And she has also birthed me children. A daughter who is promised to the Duke of Valois, if I might remind you.”

“I know all about her and her bastards,” Ness said. “But you never claimed to love her as you did me. You said I reminded you of my mother, who you missed so dearly! Or was that just a lie so that I would willingly lay with your mutilated old body?”

“I spoke the truth,” Foulques said. “But times change.”

Ness glared at him before retrieving her dress and pulling it back overhead. “If you are to cast me aside, I would have appreciated you at least gave me to your nephew as his wife! Instead I am now just a cast-aside whore… who has borne you two sons. What is there for me now? Wait until you die and hope your son takes me into his bed?”

“Quiet,” Foulques told her. “You shall not speak of such things in my presence.”

“I am not your servant,” Ness said. “Duke Geoffrey already takes an interest in me, even if he has not acted upon it yet. Perhaps he will properly value what I can offer, more than a withered old husk.”

It irked him to hear her say that. But what did he expect? No one liked being cast aside. Especially since she had risen above his wife at one point. The fall would be difficult.

“If Geoffrey wishes you, after I am gone, then there is little I can do,” Foulques said. “But do not do such a thing while I live. I will not like it.”

“You do not get to decide such things anymore,” Ness sneered.

“I have treated your bastards like my legitimate born sons,” Foulques warned. “Do not make me rethink that. After all, I would not expect Geoffrey to protect the natural rivals to his power...”

Ness scowled at him - the angry look that reminded him so much of her mother Aines - before storming past him and slamming the door to his chamber enough to rattle the pitcher on the table.

Foulques sighed. Frustrating, but unavoidable. His passion for Ness had burned out - she was simply more of an annoyance than anything else.

He preferred the simplicity of Etiennette now - she came when he called, demanded little, and was just pleased to be his lover.

Which is what she did now, wide grin on her face as she re-entered the chambers. Cast aside for a time, now ascendant, she dropped her dress and went to work.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 134
February 1108 - Anjou, France

“I’m surprised you are not in Melun, my lord.”

Foulques looked at his steward and longest serving councilor Guilhem, sitting across from him in the duke’s chambers. Each man had a cup of wine in hand as they relaxed in early part of the day.

A small smile came to Foulques’ lips. “After the last wedding I attended, I think I tire of them.”

Guilhem replied with a nod. “I think Pandolf is back in Italy, my lord.”

Foulques chuckled before replying: “In all seriousness, I have allowed Geoffrey the honor of acting as my representative. I am certain he is overjoyed at the prospect of acting on behalf of Anjou before his time.”

Though Foulques complained, he thought it a just reward for Geoffrey. After all, it was he who had arranged this union.

Geoffrey had reported back to Anjou that the king again wished to marry off his daughters. It appeared there were no suitors in the realm, or beyond, who wished to take the union.

So Foulques had decided to put forward a candidate for the younger princess, Anne. But in what likely was a surprise to the king, it was not one of his sons. Instead, Foulques suggested young Adhemar de Limoges as a match.

“Will Adhemar be remaining in Melun with his new wife?” Guilhem wondered.

“No,” Foulques said. “They will return here when the ceremony is complete. Which is good… I have plans for the boy.”

“I admit, I would have expected you seize the opportunity to marry a princess for one of your sons, or your grandson,” Guilhem said.

Foulques replied at first with a sly smile. “The girl is obviously the daughter of a king. But… there are rumors of her… chastity or lack thereof. Concerns that even if wed, she may not be the most faithful of wives.”

“Ah,” Guilhem said. “I imagine her father hoped her status would make her worth the hassle.”

“And I do not believe she is,” Foulques said. “I have already seen one son suffer due to a wife who could not maintain her vows. I have little desire to subject his son or another of my own to a similar fate.”

“I see,” Guilhem said. “Still, Adhemar can have no complaints. It is unlikely he would ever find a woman of similar status on his own.”

Foulques nodded and the pair took long drinks from the cups. When the duke looked at his steward he noticed there were more lines on his old face than usual.

“My lord, I have long been curious of this,” Guilhem said. “So, I will ask this, but it is within your right not to answer me - and I will not blame you if you do not.”

“Ask.”

“Is Adhemar, in truth, your son?” Guilhem wondered.

Foulques shook his head. “I would not have hesitated to claim him as my own if he were. I cared for his mother deeply - and nothing would have pleased me more than to have a child with her. But no… he is not.”

“So you favor him… because of her?” Guilhem asked.

“I show him favor because he has shown me potential,” Foulques said. He looked toward his drink before adding: “I would hope, wherever she is, his mother does smile that I have aimed to provide for him.”

“An admirable loyalty, my lord,” Guilhem said. “I am sure his lady mother could not be happier.”

Foulques was not so sure. Some nights he would be taken back to Aines’ last days and how she suffered, believing that the two of them had brought this ruin upon her. And given the misery of at least of two of her daughters… and the fact he’d bedded one of them and tried to do the same to the other… would she approve?

“Father!”

A shout from outside the chamber. It repeated, louder this time, as it grew closer.

At first Foulques thought it Agnes. But this voice was higher-pitched… that of a girl, not an aging woman. No, it was Antoinette, his 12-year-old daughter by Etiennette.

She did not even knock on the door, throwing it open - her face panicked.

“Father!” Antoinette called to him. “You must come! Agnes says it is urgent!”

Such a thing could not be good news. Though his eldest daughter had less responsibility in the day-to-day management of Anjou with him present, she still oversaw quite a few things that he could not be bothered with. An urgent summons likely meant trouble.

Foulques and Guilhem hurried to Agnes’ chambers. There, they found a small crowd of women gathered near the center of the small room. Foulques pushed through them, to find Agnes kneeling by a chair holding a limp hand.

In it, slumped to her side, was Alearde.

He could not believe his eyes. It did not seem real. His love’s face was relaxed, her body pale and lifeless. He moved forward, took her hand, hoping to feel something. But instead, nothing - no heartbeat, no warmth… nothing.

Agnes looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Father… I…”

“What happened?!” he demanded. “What has befallen her?”

“We were talking last night,” Agnes said. “And it grew late. She… she fell asleep in the chair and she looked so peaceful, I did not wish to disturb her. When I awoke, she was still here and… that’s when I saw… I called for Adalmode immediately.”

“Where is the nun?!” Foulques shouted.

“I am here, Duke Foulques,” Adalmode said.

The wisened nun was behind him. Her wrinkled face showed not the slightest bit of fear, even as the room could sense the duke’s anger. The oldest person in Anjou, she still kept her vigor as she worked to keep them all living.

Yet today, it appeared, she had failed.

“How? Has she been poisoned?!” Foulques demanded.

Adalmode shook her head. “She has simply passed. It was her time.”

“She is too young!” Foulques exclaimed. “She is more than a decade my junior, and I still live. She is even younger than that compared to you, and you still live. Steward Guilhem… my brother Robert… all older than she! She cannot be dead naturally!”

“Everyone’s time is different,” Adalmode said. “It is God’s will.”

“She was not ill! She was fine! Agnes! Was she ill?”

“No father,” Agnes said, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“She was not a young woman,” Adalmode said. “Such things can befall even the young and seemingly healthy. That it happened to woman of her age… it should not shock, even if it saddens.”

Foulques shook his head. “No. No, this should not happen.”

Adalmode said nothing to that. Instead she spoke a prayer, made the signal of the cross and stepped aside.

“Leave us!” Foulques bellowed.

The room quickly emptied, with only Foulques, Agnes and Alearde’s body remaining.

“There must have been something in the wine,” Foulques said.

“I drank the same wine as she, father,” Agnes said. “It was not that.”

“It was something!” Foulques exclaimed. “She was not to die now. Not before me.”

Agnes stared at him, slowly shaking her head, before burying her head into Alearde’s lap, the sobs muffled as she did so.

He looked at his beloved once more… her lined face at rest. He knew she was gone - it was something other than sleep when he looked at her. Something… unsettling.

Slowly, Foulques backed away. He backed all the way to the door, before slipping out, taking one last look at his love before he did so.

She is gone.

….

It continued to seem unreal. It should not have happened, he kept repeating to himself over and over again, as he walked back to his chambers and then throughout the day.

His tasks were a blur. Guilhem asked if messengers should be sent to Bella and Hilde, notifying them, to which Foulques agreed. Bishop Hildebert was asked to prepare for a funeral rite - one becoming of the mother to a potential queen.

Agnes came to see him later in the day. Her eyes were bloodshot, the tears on her cheeks recently dried.

“Are you alright father?” she asked.

“It does not seem real,” he said aloud.

“I know,” Agnes admitted. “I am… it hurts more than I thought it would. I have prepared myself for loss… or so I thought. But it was so sudden. We were laughing last night! Reflecting on things and…”

Agnes sniffled and then wiped her tears again.

“It was not her time,” Foulques insisted.

“That is not for us to say, father,” Agnes replied. “The nun is right - it is God’s will.”

“That is said whenever someone dies,” Foulques said. “Whether it is an 80-year-old hermit, or an innocent child murdered by a scheming relative to gain power.”

“Is it not true?” Agnes asked.

“I do not console myself with platitudes,” Foulques said. “The woman I loved more than any is dead before her time. That is what matters.”

Agnes frowned before holding her face in her hands. When she looked up again, the tears were once more streaming down her face.

“She lived a good life father,” Agnes said. “A full life. She was the daughter of a midwife. She became the mother to a countess. She may well end up the mother of a queen. She was the mentor to the regent of the most powerful duchy in the realm. She helped shape the mind of the Duke of Poitou and Aquitaine. And she won the heart of the Iron Duke of the Franks. I do not think she would have any regrets.”

He was not certain about that. She said she was happy with how things ended up between them. But she had to have wondered, and perhaps even wished, to have been duchess. She had accomplished much, but there was even more she could have managed. And Foulques felt wistful, wondering what could have been.

“She should have been my wife,” Foulques lamented. “I was a fool. After your mother died, it should have been her, not Aines. I was wrong. It is a regret that I have never forgiven myself for. And I do not think I ever will.”

“She spoke to me that she had come to believe it was a good thing,” Agnes said.

“Of course she said that,” Foulques replied. “But did she truly believe it? In her heart?”

“I believe she did,” Agnes said. “We all grow father… and realize the things we wished for when we were younger are not quite… what we imagined them to be. Being duchess… it would come with things she would not have liked.”

And much she would have, Foulques thought.

“I thank you daughter,” Foulques said. “It is a difficult time for you as well and yet you come to try to raise my spirits.”

“She meant a great deal to us both, father,” Agnes said. “Our commiseration is no less than she deserves.”

Foulques nodded. Agnes then stood up and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He felt the wetness from the tears on her cheeks, pressed up against his neck.

And then she left him, alone.

The duke took his cup of wine and looked at the red contents. He did not know what he expected to find when he looked at it… there were no answers there.

Another life lost. Another person he cared for dead.

Beatritz. Aines. Philippe. Andre of Cholet. De Semur. Amaury. His sister Hildegarde. Simon. And now, Alearde. All, with the possible exception of Beatritz and Amaury, taken before their time.

Taken before him.

All the while he remained - weakening, but still strong enough. Yet others around him grew frail. He had seen Godfrey when he returned from Bourges for his daughter’s funeral - the chancellor beginning to feel his age. Foulques’ half-sister Aureade persisted in life, but what a miserable life it was as she struggled to get out of her bed each day.

Who will be next, Foulques wondered. Who is the next one whom I shall wake up one day to find they have left me as well?

Foulques took a drink from his cup. Then he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

When he turned, he again saw the pale, ghoulish face of his dead sister Hildegarde, a devilish smile on her lips. Then another hand, this time on his other shoulder. It belonged to his older brother, Geoffrey, sly grin on his face.

“It appears our brother grows lonely,” Hildegarde mused.

“He should,” Geoffrey replied. “So he can suffer some measure of what I felt all those years, exiled in a foreign court.”

“Of your choosing!” Foulques exclaimed. “You could returned, and faced your defeat. I would not have killed you. I may have even released you, in time.”

“So generous,” Hildegarde said. “Can you believe how large our brother’s heart is?”

“I would bet it aches today,” Geoffrey noted. “After all, his beloved whore has died.”

“So sad,” Hildegarde said. “I almost feel as though we should offer him a reprieve…”

Then Foulques’ eyes widened. His sister marched out in front of him, pulling Alearde behind her. His love’s face was fearful, her lips trembling.

“My love,” Alearde whimpered.

“Tis a shame you all would be parted,” Hildegarde said. “So much so that I offer her to you. All you must do, brother… is reach her.”

Foulques eyed his sister. There had to be a catch. His mind raced through the possibilities, as Alearde stood before him, her hand outstretched. So simple… she was easily within reach.

The duke moved to grab her. Or so he tried.

Instead he found himself locked in his chair, unable to move.

“What is it brother?” Hildegarde asked. “Do you not wish to keep her with you?”

Foulques struggled but still could not break free. He looked down to see what binded him - whether it was ropes or chains - but saw nothing. His body simply refused to do as he commanded.

“Her time grows short, brother,” Hildegarde said. “She will be leaving you soon. Perhaps you should at least wish her well as she forever joins us in the hereafter.”

Foulques wanted to speak. He wanted to scream. But nothing escaped his lips. His mouth was shut no matter his efforts - almost as he were a passenger in his own body.

“A pity,” Hildegarde said. “Simon, take her.”

“My love!” Alearde screamed as Foulques’ half-brother dragged her away, into the shadows. Her cries grew shrill for a moment, only to fade away into nothing.

Meanwhile the duke felt the emotion bubble within him. He was seething, he was devastated… he was fearful. And it all allowed him to break free for a moment and stand, though he could not move forward.

“BRING HER TO ME!” he demanded.

His elder siblings glanced at one another, then returned their gaze to him, smirks on their faces.

“She is gone,” Geoffrey said. “Forever lost.”

“And there is nothing you can do,” Hildegarde boasted.

“Why?!” Foulques shouted at her. “Him, I understand why he hates me. But you sister - I held nothing but affection for you!”

Hildegarde marched up to him then slid behind him, pressing her ghoulish face against him.

“Only because I had little you desired,” she whispered. “But I see how you treat your kin. Our brothers. My son. Even your own sons, if they do not do as you desire.”

“I have done this family proud!” Foulques insisted. “I have reclaimed all that our weak brother lost. I am the most powerful man in the realm. I am the Iron Duke of the Franks!!!”

“And you have a son who tolerates you, at best, because he wishes your inheritance,” Hildegarde said. “A daughter who is content to play nice because you let her pretend she rules in Anjou and turn a blind eye that she beds whomever she desires. A wife who despises you. And siblings who do the same. And the less said of mother, the better.”

Foulques’ eyes widened. “Mother?! Where is she? What have you done with her?”

Hildegarde laughed. “I have done nothing to her! I merely speak to her disappointment. She will tell you herself… one day. One day, when your time comes.”

“When my time…”

“In the meantime, brother,” Hildegarde continued, “enjoy your life, as your body slowly fails you as it did today and you watch helplessly as the world passes you by. Friends and those you care about will die, your influence will continue to wane, and the ‘Iron Duke’ shall rust. Your brothers and I agree… it is a fitting punishment.”

She kissed him on the cheek and the slowly walked away, playfully waving goodbye to him as she did so.

And Foulques was alone… completely alone.

The emotions from before waning, the duke sank back into the chair. He sat, silently, staring into the darkness, the fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach as to what might come next.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 135
August 1108 - Anjou, France

“My lord!”

The banging on the door had grown a little more fervent. It was the second time the steward of Anjou, Guilhem, had called out to Foulques. He was likely beginning to worry as to why there was no response.

Foulques stared at the door, his gaze focused on it shaking as the banging became heavier. He wished to answer it. In fact, he tried to, moments before.

However, when he stood, he felt the weakness in his legs, enough so that they threatened to give way, and he sank back down into the chair.

It was not the first time.

His heart racing, his blood pumping and his frustration growing over his body’s struggles, Foulques debated making a run for the door, just in defiance over what had afflicted him.

“What is it?” Foulques shouted back as he remained seated.

“May I enter, my lord?” Guilhem asked.

Foulques allowed it, and steward walked into the chambers. Guilhem bowed before him.

“Prince Alphonse has arrived from Rouen,” the steward said. “He is inside the gates and will be at the keep shortly.”

The visit was not unexpected - Alphonse had sent word some weeks before. And Foulques knew the unstated part of Guilhem’s message was that Foulques was to meet the prince directly. Something that, at the moment, the duke was uncertain he would be able to do.

“I will be along shortly,” Foulques said. “I have some final preparations to make. Send Agnes to greet him.”

“As you wish my lord,” Guilhem said.

The steward bowed and started his exit. But Foulques, still unmoving in the chair, called back for him.

“Send Antoinette to me as well,” Foulques instructed.

Guilhem nodded and exited, allowing Foulques a long sigh. Then he took a moment to summon all his energy, pulling from the nervousness and anxiety that filled him, to push himself from his chair once more.

This time, his legs held.

The weakness, which occurred not just in his legs but in other extremities as well, was happening more and more lately. At first, he thought it just fatigue, or lapses in concentration. But now he knew it was otherwise - his body was failing him.

Foulques aimed to keep this as quiet as possible. He did not wish to appear weak to anyone. It was even harder with his family - he made certain to keep up appearances with Herve, Edouard, Foulques the younger, and his sons.

With Agnes and Antoinette, he was more forthright. Agnes made certain to include her younger sister, as she was growing older and needed to be taught responsibility, in her eyes. Foulques noticed his eldest daughter seeming to take on a more matronly role with the younger women in the court - perhaps stepping into position that others were growing too old to fill. Helie remained, but Aureade was even weaker than her older brother, and Alearde was gone.

A knock on the door. It was Antoinette. Now 12 years of age, she had not blossomed into womanhood quite yet. But it was becoming clear she would resemble her mother much more than her father with her flat narrow nose and beady eyes. Her build was more like Foulques’ however, slimmer than Etiennette’s, though it was possible that would change as she got older. She did appear she would be taller than her mother though, as she was nearly her height despite her young age.

“Father,” Antoinette said. “Steward Guilhem said you called for me. Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Foulques said. Deciding not to inform her of his recent struggles, he instead added: “Your promised has arrived. I think it would be good for you to be with me when I greet him.”

Antoinette lowered her head, though Foulques spied her cheeks had reddened. “Of course father. It would be my pleasure.”

The two headed down to the entrance of the keep, where Agnes and Guilhem were already present, conversing with the son of Foulques’ fallen friend, the late King Philippe. Upon seeing Foulques, however, the prince broke his conversation with Agnes and made a line straight for the elder duke.

It had been years since he had seen Alphonse. The boy had filled out into a strapping man - very much an image of his father, though he lacked Philippe’s thick, bushy beard.

“Prince Alphonse,” Foulques said as he embraced him.

“Duke Foulques,” Alphonse said. “It is good to see you. I pray you have been well since we last spoke.”

“Well enough,” Foulques said. “How is your mother?”

“She fares well,” Alphonse said. “Always concerned for me and my siblings of course. She passes along her regards to you as well.”

With the prince was another familiar face - one that Foulques did not overlook this time.

“Hello Jaspert,” Foulques said.

“I am glad I do not go unnoticed by you any longer, Duke Foulques,” Jaspert said.

“My court physician insisted on accompanying me,” Alphonse explained. “And who was I to refuse such a request, given the success the last meeting between you two turned out to be.”

Foulques almost was taken back to the inn where the slovenly dwarf had warned him of the plot to kill Alphonse and his family at the hands of the treacherous Mayor Odo. It was a plot Foulques had foiled, earning the eternal gratitude of that branch of the Capets for not just him, but also Jaspert, whom he had credited with tipping him off.

There was also another familiar face, as Eudes, the highwayman who had led the men to kill Alphonse was also present.

“I see you are also forgiving,” Foulques noted as he stared Eudes down. The former highwayman averted his gaze under the duke’s withering glare.

“I did not kill Odo,” Alphonse said, “as a bone for the Normans who remain in the duchy. Why would I then kill his mercenary? Eudes here is surprisingly loyal - provided I give him proper comforts and… remind him of what will happen should he disappoint me.”

“I am thankful for my lord’s graciousness,” Eudes said. “And yours for sparing me, Duke Foulques.”

Alphonse smirked. “Good man.”

Foulques glanced back toward Agnes, where Antoinette had drifted. His elder daughter gently nudged the younger one forward. Red in the face from embarrassment, Antoinette did a slight bow before Alphonse.

“Prince Alphonse,” Agnes said. “May I present my sister, your promised, the Lady Antoinette.”

“I was wondering who this lovely lady was,” Alphonse said. He approached the shaking girl then kissed her trembling hand.

“I have heard much of your beauty and the stories do not do you justice,” Alphonse said. “I count the days until you can finally join me in Rouen my dear.”

Antoinette blushed. “I look forward to it as well, my lord.”

Foulques was impressed. He did not know the prince had such a charming nature.

Almost on cue, Jaspert drew his gaze as the dwarf motioned for Foulques to lean in close.

“He recites his mother’s words well,” Jaspert whispered.

Foulques grew wide-eyed for a moment, but then chuckled. The former queen apparently maintained influence on her son - and that may not be a bad thing.

“If you may excuse me, my dear,” Alphonse said. “I have business with your father. But we shall no doubt speak at supper.”

Antoinette, still blushing, nodded. Then Foulques and Alphonse walked off, alone, toward the duke’s strategy hall.

“You look well,” Alphonse said. “I was never certain I would see you again, but you appear to be as hale and hearty as the day you saved me.”

Looks can be deceiving, Foulques thought.

“I manage,” he replied. “And how are you?”

“I also manage,” Alphonse replied. “The Count of Eu has caused me much consternation, but he’s been dealt with. My levy grows strong… my lands fare well.”

“Your father would be proud to see how well you have managed,” Foulques noted.

Alphonse stopped for a moment as he appeared uncertain how to handle what the duke of Anjou had told him. Finally he frowned.

“I think he would feel relieved,” Alphonse said. “That his mistakes have not damned me as they did him. But then I suppose that I have you and Jaspert to thank for that, Duke Foulques.”

“He spent his last years feeling he failed you,” Foulques told him. “But it was through his ambition that you have Normandy and Valois. Remember that - your father made mistakes, but he was no failure.”

The forcefulness of the words may have caught Alphonse off-guard, as he stood silent for a moment, his brow raised. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“Of course, Duke Foulques,” Alphonse said. “My apologies. I did not wish to sound ungrateful for what my father left to me.”

“He was a patient man,” Foulques said. “I think he would understand your frustration.”

Alphonse nodded and the two continued on until they reached the strategy hall. Upon entering, Foulques closed the door and met the prince by the large table in the center.

“So to business then,” Alphonse said. “I come to deliver a command from my uncle.”

“You, delivering something from the king?” Foulques asked. He realized it was an odd question to ask the realm’s chancellor, but then the position was largely honorary considering Alphonse rarely ever followed his uncle’s orders anyway.

“Normally I would be remiss to waste my time to aid the usurper in any way,” Alphonse said. “However, this message brings me joy, so I did not hesitate when he asked me to deliver it. He wishes for you to again take a place on his council.”

Foulques shook his head. Did he hear that right? A return to the council? He had not expected anything like that after Maine, especially with Toulouse as marshal.

“Has something… happened to the Duke of Toulouse?” Foulques asked.

“No, he is fine,” Alphonse said. “And you are not to be marshal. Instead you will be the my uncle’s steward.”

“Steward?” Foulques could barely believe his own words. He had some knowledge of balancing books after all these years, though it remained an immense chore he had avoided whenever possible. How the king could think him a worthwhile choice was beyond him.

“Do I assume correctly in thinking you will accept this offer?” Alphonse asked.

“What… what happened to my nephew, Simon?” Foulques wondered.

“The same thing that has happened to most of my uncle’s councilors,” Alphonse said. “His feelings toward them change with the seasons. I’m sure Simon will end up somewhere else on the council in a few years. Perhaps spymaster!”

“Geoffrey must be disappointed,” Foulques said aloud.

“Yes, they are friendly with one another,” Alphonse said. “But your son will have you by his side once more. What is there not to like about that?”

Foulques smirked. “Do you know that little of our relationship, boy?”

Alphonse shook his head. “I joke, Duke Foulques. Though I admit to some envy - I would have most like to have served as a councilor to my father provided he had not lost--- excuse me, I speak out of turn again.”

Foulques could say little to that, except to be reminded of what should have been. Though perhaps by now Philippe would have succumb to the cancer that he had been stricken with before he was felled by an assassin. After all, it was apparently too much for Foulques to expect his friends to outlive him.

“You have not answered whether you would accept,” Alphonse said. “I admit I look forward to having an ally of my father’s on the council… but I also would not mind seeing the look on my uncle’s face when I tell him of your refusal. I may actually venture to Melun for it!”

Foulques shook off the cobwebs. “No, I accept. It just took me a moment to consider it all.”

“Ah, that is just as well,” Alphonse said. “As I said, I will be pleased having an ally on the council.”

“My son is not?” Foulques asked.

“He did not save my life, Duke Foulques,” Alphonse said. “Nor that of my mother or siblings. I shall be forever grateful to you. And no matter what you may say to my uncle, I know you remain my family’s steadfast ally.”

The boy is still a bit naive, Foulques realized, as a small pang of guilt hit him for the ease at which his loyalty had been bought by the king.

Well, not easily, he mused, as Maine was a large price to pay. But he had been bought nonetheless.

….

Supper was a subdued event. Foulques felt little desire to celebrate his return to the council - a sign of respect as it was, he did not know that he wished to leave Melun, especially to perform the duties of a steward. It was not his strength. Not his calling… and at his age, he wondered if it was worth it.

As he sat alone in his chambers, Foulques pondered these questions and he sipped on some wine. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. A glance up revealed no one at first in the dim light - causing his stomach to clench at the thought his ghosts had returned, but when Foulques adjusted his gaze, it revealed the dwarf.

“You are getting better at this,” Jaspert noted.

Foulques shook his head but offered the man the seat across from him. Jaspert hobbled - his awkward gait had grown worse with age - and pulled himself onto the chair. He then eagerly took the cup of wine Foulques offered him.

“I see you have grown no more couth in your discourse,” Foulques noted.

“You lecturing me about manners?” Jaspert asked. “That is rich. Though, perhaps, not as rich as you these days. I hear your coffers practically burst with gold.”

“Flattery?” Foulques noted. “What are you after?”

“Nothing actually,” Jaspert told him. “But I had not seen you since just after Hugues’ coronation. I never did properly thank you for your saving of the prince… and the credit you paid to me.”

Foulques shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

“When you are one such as myself, you can never count on anything as a given,” Jaspert said. “So, how are you then these days? Ascendant in the realm. Ruler of all that your uncle once held and more.”

“Old,” Foulques grunted.

“We all grow old, Duke Foulques,” Jaspert said. “If we are fortunate. And it appears you and I are.”

The duke chuckled at that. “In some ways, in some ways. Ultimately, though, we all meet the same fate. Some of us just must wait longer than others.”

“Do we?” Jaspert asked, his brow arched.

“Do we what?” Foulques replied.

“Do we all meet the same fate?” Jaspert asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “Some men may die kings. Other beggars. Some may amass fortune, others lose it. But it matters not if you are a servant or Julius Caesar… your death is the one certainty of life.”

“But what if it were not?” Jaspert asked.

“Every man dies,” Foulques said.

“Most men die,” Jaspert said. “So many that it may seem like all. But… what if a select few… did not?”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” Foulques scoffed.

“I would not expect you have,” Jaspert said. “You do not walk in the same circles as me.”

“The circles of heresy and the dark arts,” Foulques said.

“Ah yes, the ‘unnatural,’” Jaspert said, making the quotes with his stubby fingers. “The same unnatural which cured you of your pox.”

“And scarred me for life,” Foulques said.

“Yet you live, your mind intact,” Jaspert said. “Unlike your nephew Gilles or his wife who are both lunatics. Would you have suffered the same fate as they had I not removed the disease from your face before it reached your brain? Who can say?”

Foulques was quickly being reminded why he had grown to dislike the dwarf. “What do you have to tell me?”

“I come to offer you the possibility of… perhaps cheating death,” Jaspert said. “So that you may continue for as long as you wish. Perhaps… living long enough to see that your beloved grandson inherits rather than your son.”

“You speak of the impossible,” Foulques said.

“Perhaps,” Jaspert said. “Perhaps not. In my travels and studies I have come across stories of men who have extended their lives miraculously.”
“I do not think such things could remain a secret,” Foulques said.

“Ah, but it is because it is such a valued, treasured thing that it must remain secret,” Jaspert said. “Those that have uncovered these secrets would not easily let them slip into the open.”

“Then how do you know?” Foulques demanded.

“I do not… not for certain,” Jaspert said. “But I have heard things. Interesting things. And I present these interesting things to you.”

“You speak of… immortality,” Foulques said. “But you would give it to me… and not take it for yourself?”

“No,” Jaspert said. “But in truth, it is because I ask, what is the point for me? I am a miserable dwarf, who find few who will accept him. I have found a home with the good prince, but in time, I would have to leave him as he left this mortal coil. And then I would be forced to start fresh… it is not something I desire. So no, my life is not worth extending.”

“But mine is?” Foulques asked.

“That is up to you,” Jaspert replied. “I offer you this because we have shared much. And I would not have this position with the prince were it not for you. I have my life because of you, Duke Foulques. It is a… final method of repayment. A way to repay a life for a life.”

“I remain skeptical… there is no way to cheat death forever,” Foulques said.

“And I remain insistent that if it were, it would be guarded well,” Jaspert said. “But, your skepticism is warranted. Sleep on it. In the morning, before we depart, give me your answer. If it is yes, I shall have others contact you in time.”

….

“You know you cannot escape us, brother.”

Foulques was hardly surprised to see Hildegarde before him. Offered a chance for immortality, no matter how small, surely would bring about the ghosts who eagerly awaited his demise.

“The dwarf may say differently,” Foulques replied calmly.

“You place your faith in a monster, cursed by God?” Simon demanded.

“Our brother has always placed faith in those who would bring him what he desires, regardless of their character,” Geoffrey noted.

Simon chuckled, drawing a glare from Foulques.

“He speaks of your father, you realize,” Foulques replied.

Simon grew wide eyed and shot a look at his eldest brother, who shrugged.

“I might have just referred to Duke Guilhem,” Geoffrey noted.

“But you did not,” Foulques interjected.

“You cannot turn us against one another, brother,” Hildegarde interrupted. “You may think you will have your escape from us, but no one has ever managed to cheat death.”

“That you know of,” Foulques said. He parrotted Jaspert. “They would guard such a secret well.”

“Let us take him now,” Simon pleaded. “We cannot risk he escapes.”

“If you think yourself capable,” Foulques answered.

“I think us more than capable,” Geoffrey said.

“You never were able to before,” Foulques noted.

“They could not,” Hildegarde said. “But I could. You were always my little brother - and I was able to subdue you easily when we wrestled.”

Foulques frowned. Of course she would remember that.

He was motionless as she quickly grasped hold of him, his body once more unable to move. Her cold, bony hands locked his in place, while Hildegarde’s white grin reflected the moonlight.

It sent a chill down his spine. She had him. If she wished it, she would take him now.

“No,” Hildegarde said, the toothy grin remaining on her face. “I think he should remain.”

“What?!” Simon and Geoffrey demanded in unison.

“Hush,” Hildegarde said. “And trust in your eldest sister, wisest of all of mother’s children.”

She locked eyes with Foulques. “If you wish to pursue your quest for immortality… do so. It will likely result in nothing. But… should it succeed, enjoy your life. A life that continues as you waste away. A life that continues as all that you care about withers and dies. It has been your friend. Your love. How long is it before it is your daughter? Or your son… who you may feign distaste for, but secretly hold great pride in - so much so you clear his path at every turn?”

Hildegarde released Foulques from her grip and walked back to her wide eyed brothers. She glanced back at Foulques.

“By all means, brother, seek immortality,” Hildegarde said. “I think you shall find it a greater punishment than any we could ever inflict upon you.”

She disappeared into the darkness, with Geoffrey and Simon following her out of sight. Foulques stood alone, his stomach twisted so tightly he would have vomited.

If he could move.

….

The next morning, Foulques stood at the entrance to his keep, alongside Agnes, Guilhem and Antoinette. Prince Alphonse looked out to see his horse brought forth by the stablehands. So too was Jaspert’s.

“I wish I could have remained longer, Duke Foulques,” Alphonse lamented. “I did not get a chance to truly experience the revelry I have heard your guests normally get to enjoy. So I hope you shall have me back at a later time.”

“Give me a month to prepare,” Foulques said. “And I guarantee you a time you will not forget.”

“Excellent!” Alphonse exclaimed as he embraced the elder duke. The younger man’s squeeze was tight, forcing the air from Foulques’ lungs. “Though I suppose it shall fall upon your lovely daughter to arrange such things with you collecting taxes and such for my uncle”

Foulques frowned at the thought of his new, mind-numbing position. Was it even worth the status it would bring?

“I shall plan you a feast fit for a man of your rank,” Agnes promised. “But only if you bring your lovely mother. I still have not properly repaid her for the lovely gift she gave me for my wedding.”

“I think she shall be overjoyed to hear that,” Alphonse said.

Meanwhile, Foulques looked to Jaspert once more. The dwarf had one eyebrow raised as he looked up toward the duke.

“Have you anything you wish to ask me, Duke Foulques?” Jaspert wondered.

Foulques slowly shook his head. “No. Somethings are best left in the darkness.”

Jaspert nodded. “A wise choice. Perhaps not the most ambitious one, but wise regardless.”

Alphonse, Agnes, Guilhem and Antoinette all looked on quizzically.

“What is this about Jaspert?” Alphonse asked.

“It is nothing my lord,” Jaspert replied. “I offered the good duke help in a matter. He prefers to be left to his own devices. I cannot blame him.”

“Father, are you ill?” Agnes asked.

Foulques shook his head. “I am fine, daughter. Not forever… but that is alright.”

And with that Foulques bid his guests farewell, then turned, and marched his way back into his keep.

Death would come for him eventually. He was certain of that now. But he would not wait around for it. He had a new job to prepare for.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 136
October 1108 - Melun, France

“They found him this morning.”

Foulques heard the words of his son, Geoffrey, but he could barely process them. Not now, not as he stood near motionless in the stables as he looked over the horse-drawn cart where his steward Guilhem lay. Eyes closed, body still, lifeless and cold…

It was not how Foulques last saw him a few days before, when he had dispatched his oldest friend to Paris. He appeared spry and fit - not at all looking his 73 years. Sent to the city to collect taxes, something Foulques did not have the energy or patience to deal with, there had been no sign of any problems upon his departure.

But now Guilhem lay dead in a cart. Foulques saw no evidence of struggle or discomfort. It was like Alearde. Peaceful.

And upsetting.

“There was no evidence of foul play?” Foulques managed to get out, even if he already knew the answer.

Rogier de Bourges shook his head. One of Duke Gilles' many bastards, who was also Foulques courtier, replied: “None my lord. I was awaiting him to waken for our morning duties. When he did not, I had the inn’s staff check on him. They found him like this.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “At his age… it isn’t surprising. But… it is not any easier.”

“Of course you would say that,” Foulques told Geoffrey.

“I mean it,” Geoffrey said. “There are few people I have known my whole life. You, Agnes, Adalmode and steward Guilhem. I count the man a friend, even if I had not spoken to him much since my departure for Aquitaine.”

“I knew him for nearly 50 years,” Foulques said as he leaned on the railing of the cart. “I met him not long after I ascended in Tours. He was with me when I decided to unseat my brother... I had to bribe him in fact. But then… then he never abandoned me. He was always there… always keeping the coffers of Anjou growing. And now he is not.”

“Rogier…” Geoffrey said. “Send word to my sister in Anjou. He is to be buried by the chapel in Ambroise, his birthplace. She will see it arranged.”

Foulques looked toward Geoffrey. It was not his responsibility to see to these arrangements - nor did he have the right to order those who were not his courtiers to do anything.

And yet when Rogier gave a glance to Foulques, as if to look for confirmation, the duke just meekly nodded and waved him off. The young man bowed and then left father and son alone.

“We can escort the body,” Geoffrey suggested.

“You?”

“Alongside you,” Geoffrey said. “As I said, I consider Guilhem an important figure in my life. I came for Alearde’s burial, did I not?”

Foulques could not help but view it all with suspicion. Geoffrey was always looking for an angle… an opportunity. Perhaps he just wished to slowly win over courtiers to his eventual rule.

Foulques knew that wasn’t technically a bad thing. But something about it all felt so unseemly…

I am not dead yet, boy, he thought.

The duke pushed himself off the cart… only to have his legs give out from under him. He awkwardly stumbled, reaching for the rail again, but just brushing the wood with his fingertips as he collapsed to the ground.

“Father!” Geoffrey said as he reached down to aid him. Foulques swatted at him.

“Away! I do not need your help!” Foulques exclaimed.

“You will draw attention to yourself,” Geoffrey noted. “Let me help you back to your feet.”

“I can get myself back to my feet,” Foulques insisted. He reached up for the cart, but there was little he could grab onto. And a few awkward pushes off the ground with his arms did not make the situation any better.

Geoffrey took hold of his arms and again Foulques thrashed to force him to let go.

“Fine,” Geoffrey said. “Lay out here until the rats taken you. It matters little to me.”

Geoffrey stomped off and Foulques watched him go, his stomach clenching, a mix of anger, fear and resentment. But less toward Geoffrey and more toward circumstance. He did not think he feared death… no he feared everything that came before. Laying a helpless invalid like Aureade while all those around him passed away. His sister still lived... but what kind of life was that?

Then he noticed Geoffrey stop in the distance while his shoulders slumped. The younger duke turned back toward Foulques and marched on over.

“I should leave you here,” Geoffrey told him. “You who are too stubborn to admit you need my assistance for once. But I would not abandon a stranger who cannot stand on their own, so I certainly cannot do so to my own father.”

Geoffrey offered his arm. Foulques grunted and stared at it for a moment, before he took it.

A few attempts later, Geoffrey had Foulques back on his feet, the duke again leaning against the cart for balance. Breathing heavily, Foulques looked around. The good news is that the stable was largely empty. Few, if any, saw that moment of weakness… even if Geoffrey had.

“That did not happen,” Foulques said. “Do you understand?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “I do not know who you seek to fool. I have seen your infirmity ever since your return here a few months ago. Herve notices as well - he is concerned after seeing what has happened to his mother, Aunt Aureade.”

“I am not her,” Foulques insisted. “She is weak. I am not.”

“It is not about weakness,” Geoffrey said. “It is God’s will.”

“Now you speak of such nonsense,” Foulques said. “You say it is God’s will to have my body crumble? To force me to watch as everyone I know dies?”

“What else do you believe it to be?” Geoffrey asked. “If not God?”

Foulques frowned. He did not have an answer.

“I do not understand your obstinance,” Geoffrey said. “I seek to help you and you look at as an insult… yet you speak on how I should be grateful and aid you in other matters.”

“I… I do not wish for help,” Foulques said. “Yours or anyone but your sister’s.”

“I will never understand why you think Agnes is acceptable but I am not,” Geoffrey said. “Regardless… I can help you in this and other matters.”

“What other matters?” Foulques asked.

“After Guilhem… you will want new help with your duties here,” Geoffrey said. “Rogier will probably be best served fulfilling duties in Anjou. But my chancellor Alias has some contacts. We can scrounge something together to do a passable job. And alleviate the pressure on you.”

Foulques did not love the idea of putting his job in the hands of Geoffrey, and by proxy his chancellor. But the elder duke also had little patience for these matters, and had no energy for it.

“Do it,” Foulques said.

Geoffrey nodded. He took a step forward then looked back to Foulques. The duke of Anjou knew what he was waiting for. So he pushed himself off the cart and took a foot forward. Then a second.

Foulques held his head high and walked past his son, and out of the stables.
….

That evening, Foulques heard the door to his chambers creak as he poured himself his wine. He expected the ghosts at this point - how could they not come to revel in yet another loss?

“Here to taunt me once more, sister?” he asked.

“Sister? Grandfather… I do not understand,” Foulques the younger said as he stood by the door.

Foulques’ eyes widened at the sound of his grandson’s voice. He took a moment to collect himself before turning to the boy.

“Excuse me, I thought a sister from the nearby convent was present,” Foulques said. “What do you need boy?”

The teen closed the door and approached. Foulques looked him over - he was nearly a man grown. And he looked quite a bit like his father at that age, tall, thin, with plenty of brown hair on his head, but precious little on his face.

“Father tells me the king may be preparing to attack the heathens in Iberia,” the teen said.

That was true. In the council meeting earlier that day, King Hugues voiced his displeasure at the decision of the church to declare a crusade for the Holy Lands, when so many Christians suffered under heathen oppressors in Europe.

So the king informed the council of his decision to prepare to take up arms against the Emirate of Barcelona - much to the silent consternation of Toulouse after his failure there - a failure which had a large part to do with the king. There would be no war declared yet, but once the levy was ready and proper support secured, the Franks would again venture south, where they had met defeat in their last two adventures.

“The king will have his war,” Foulques said. “Likely in the spring.”

“Father also told me that the king may take him to help command his armies there,” the teen added.

Foulques was unaware of that. Geoffrey as commander? That seemed… inadvisable. Geoffrey had precious little experience in such a role, and his victories against his cousins came with odds overwhelmingly in his favor. It appeared as if the king was dooming himself to repeat the mistakes he made when he made his cousin, the former Duke of Burgundy, as commander of his last Iberian adventure.

And Foulques’ first instinct was to grow frustrated the king had not selected him. But the duke quickly realized the foolishness of it. He might be able to direct men. But he could not lead them anymore - not from the front - and that was the only way he knew how.

“Is father truly going to Iberia?” the teen asked.

Foulques shook his head. “I don’t know. He has not told me. But… I do not think he would lie to you.”

The teen frowned. Seeing that, Foulques poured him a cup of wine and offered it to him. The offer did break the boy’s frown for a moment, but it soon returned.

“What is it?” Foulques demanded.

“I fear for father,” the teen said. “He is not the leader of men that you are. And should something happen to him…”

“He may learn something,” Foulques said. “It will be good for him.”

“But what if he does not return?” the teen asked.

“Then you will be invested as Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou,” Foulques said. He sighed as he looked at his own trembling hand. “And perhaps soon, Duke of Anjou as well.”

The teen grew wide-eyed and stiffened up. “I… I… that cannot happen.”

“But it will happen,” Foulques said. He paused to correct himself. “Should something happen to your father. But that may not.”

“But if it does?”

“Then you will do as you must,” Foulques said. “I have no doubt you will be a fine knight - you remind me much of me when I was your age. And have I not ascended in the realm?”

“You… you are a great man,” the teen said. “I do not know if I am cut from the same cloth.”

“Drink that cup of wine, boy,” Foulques ordered. Wide-eyed once more, the teen sipped it. “No, I mean drink it fast. Now.”

The boy hesitated for a moment and then chugged it down. It was not very strong, but he likely did not have much experience in drinking wine that quickly, and grimaced as he sought to hold back spitting it out.

“There. Even if you did not realize it, you have the stomach for it,” Foulques said. “In our blood runs greatness. I see it in you, even more than I have in your father. In time, you will be one of the greatest men in our realm. Should the fates dictate it, that time will start sooner rather than later. And if it does, you shall not run from it. You shall face it, as I would. Or my uncle did.”

The teen straightened up, and held his head high, even as his lips quivered and his body trembled. “I will not be afraid, grandfather. I will… never feel fear.”

Foulques shook his head. He did not understand. And that lack of understanding, and that desire to prove himself could prove a fatal combination.

“Then you will be foolish. Fear is natural. All men have it - and should not run from it or pretend that it does not exist.”

“But… does that not make you craven?” the boy asked. “Not you, grandfather but…”

“Surrendering to fear - letting it control your life,” Foulques said. “That is what makes a man craven. But fear, no, fear is not in itself bad. It is a natural thing - necessary for a man to remember that he is mortal. One must fear at times for his life, or that of his family. But he must not be held by it - he must use it to drive himself when necessary.”

“You have been afraid?” the boy asked.

“Yes,” Foulques said. “Many times. But I never let it control me. Even now, as I look to the future, and do not know what it holds. But I trust in you, boy… to continue what I have started… and that is enough.”

The teen looked to the ground and then back at him. “Thank you grandfather… but what of father? Do you not trust him to continue your legacy?”

Foulques closed his eyes for a moment and released a long sigh.

“Your father… your father has not become the son I wished him to be,” Foulques said. “He is not forceful enough for my tastes. But… he has done well for himself… with me at his ear. When I am gone, it will fall on you to be his steel, boy. That way, you shall have a strong duchy to rule when it is your time. And you will know that you are ready for it.”

The teen nodded. “I will, grandfather. Thank you.”

The teen bowed before his grandfather and turned to leave. But Foulques called him back.

“Sit,” Foulques instructed.

The boy followed instructions. Foulques then sat down across from him and poured him some more wine.

“I have told you about Rouen,” Foulques said as he handed him the cup once more. “Everyone knows about Rouen. But there were other days. Other battles in my life. From each, I gained a lesson.”

“What lessons were those, grandfather?” the teen asked.

Foulques smiled. He’d long wished to have someone to regale these tales with for years. Herve, for all his martial skills, was not quite sharp enough to fully grasp them. But in his grandson, Foulques saw curious eyes, and a mind ready to understand the world around him.

He will be a fine knight, and a great lord. Perhaps… even better than me.

And so Foulques took a sip of his wine and started from the beginning, at Saintonge.

“You lost?” the teen asked.

“Yes, to your great-grandfather,” Foulques said. “But I learned my most important lesson.”

“What was that?”

Foulques smirked. “I did not like the bitter taste of defeat. I grew to fear it.”

The teen appeared perplexed. “You were afraid of defeat?”

“I have long been,” Foulques said.

“How did you defeat the fear?” the teen wondered.

“I made a vow to myself, that would never experience defeat again,” Foulques said. “In anything that I do.”

The old duke took a long drink from his cup, then slammed it down on the table. “I haven’t lost since,” Foulques said.

Then he met his grandson’s gaze with a wide grin. “And I never will.”

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 137
October 1109 - Melun, France

It had been months since the keep at Melun had this much activity.

Foulques slowly walked down the hall, his grandson, Foulques the Younger, providing support. Servants and workers hurried past them as the pair moved at their slow pace. Preparations had to be made for the feast that would be held in the evening - preparations that Foulques, as steward, technically oversaw.

Technically because in actuality, Foulques left the business to others, specifically his son Geoffrey’s chancellor Alias, who had remained behind in Melun even as his lord ventured south with the king. It was a “gift” from Geoffrey that Foulques did not want, but he grudgingly accepted, as there was no way the duke could handle the job of steward these days on his own.

And Foulques did not wish for any problems with this feast - not when the guest of honor was someone he has to deal with.

The King of the Saxons to some, King of England to others, the former Prince Thoræd had been crowned days before. His father Ælfmær had succumb in the Holy Lands on Crusade and now the new king, having taken his father’s place on the throne, looked to take his place leading men against the heathens.

His journey to the Holy Lands would see him travel south through the realm of the Franks with his entourage of knights and warriors. Then he would travel along the coast by boat until reaching his destination.

However, there was no King of the Franks to greet him. Hugues was fighting heathens himself, in Catalonia. By his side was Geoffrey, leading troops as they laid siege to Rosello, just over the border with Toulouse.

That meant Thoræd’s hosts in Melun would be the council. At the head was the Count of Mallorca, acting as regent. But Foulques and Toulouse needed to make their appearances as well, while Alphonse had greeted Thoræd when he landed in Normandy, but did not accompany him to Melun.

It took much of Foulques’ strength to remain upright when Thoræd arrived in the main hall, as he stood with the other members of the council. His body continued to fail him, so much so that he found it difficult to stand, much less walk. But through sheer determination he managed.

But while Thoræd was present in the hall, he did not have to move. And once the initial greetings were finished, Mallorca and Toulouse led Thoræd away, while Foulques the Younger was able to once again move to his grandfather’s side.

In truth, Foulques needed his grandson with him. While he could walk, he struggled to maintain his balance now. Stumbles were frequent. And he moved at a snail’s pace.

It had become almost impossible to hide. So Foulques had kept himself largely out of sight. When that was impractical, he kept Foulques the Younger close by to maintain the illusion the best he could.

It was just one of many changes Foulques found himself dealing with. Beyond the decline of his physical health, he had to handle a role he was uncomfortable with while ordering change in Anjou.

His own council had gained two new members over the past year. First was the steward - with Guilhem’s death, Rogier de Bourges had been elevated to the role. Foulques’ grandnephew by way of Gilles and the mother of the Karling brood, Ermengarda, the young man had also been rewarded with a new wife in the form of Ness.

Foulques knew his former lover was less than thrilled with the prospect of marrying a simple courtier, especially given her own sister was a duchess in name, but he had little interest in sending her elsewhere in the realm where she could plot against him or his family. Under the watchful eye of his loyal courtiers in Anjou, she could do the least amount of harm.

But not everyone in the de Limoges clan was downtrodden. Adhemar was all smiles these days, or at least Foulques imagined he was in Bourges, as the young man had been named as the new chancellor of Anjou.

It pained Foulques to do it as, unlike with Guilhem, Godfrey still lived. But former chancellor had contracted the Great Pox in his travels, and it had wreaked havoc on his mind. Unable to keep his sanity long enough to be properly effective in the role, even Agnes, who had remained his strongest ally, was forced to concede that a change was in the duchy’s best interest.

It had been months since Foulques had seen his council in Anjou, but he was glad for it - they were a reminder of how the world was changing around him. And he did not like it.

Of course, the new council members seemed to have their growing pains. Adhemar had yet to secure the claim in Bourges any faster than Godfrey had. And Rogier had angered the mayors in Anjou by unsettling the peasantry in his attempt to collect taxes - something Foulques could not remember Guilhem doing in all his years of service.

Fortunately for Rogier, Foulques found himself more forgiving than in the past. Such was the case now that the elder duke had a better understanding of the role of a steward and the difficulty in it. Reading the ledger was enough to put him to sleep and the less said about collecting taxes the better.

He had been tasked by the king to learn what technological advances might be of use for the kingdom and even that was difficult. Alias assisted him the best he could, as did the men Geoffrey had promised him. But it was slow and painful with little progress being made.

So while it was rare for diplomacy to provide a respite from anything for Foulques, today he was looking forward to focusing on something else. And the potential to flex some muscle was also appealing.

After Foulques and his grandson arrived in his chambers, they knew they did not have much time. Servants were finishing up their preparations when they arrived and Foulques gave them the order to let Alias know they were ready to receive the king.

“Chin up, boy,” Foulques instructed to his grandson as they waited. “You need to cut an impressive figure.”

“Do you think it will have an impact on whether he accepts me as a son-by-law?” the teen asked.

“It will not hurt,” Foulques said.

He suspected Thoræd would accept Foulques the Younger regardless. After all, these unions had more to do with the benefits for each side than whether the prospective bride and groom looked impressive. However, having a healthy and knightly looking Foulques the Younger was better than the alternative.

The knock soon came, with Alias escorting Thoræd into the duke’s chambers.

“Duke Foulques,” Alias said, “May I present to you Thoræd, first of his name, king of England.”

“Thank you Alias,” Thoræd said as he shook the hand of the chancellor. “Please pass along my regards to Duke Geoffrey the next time you see him. And that I pray for his safe return.”

“He will be glad to hear it, and no doubt offer you the same prayers,” Alias said as he bowed before Thoræd. And with that the chancellor of Aquitaine slipped out of the room, while the king approached Foulques and his grandson.

Foulques had forgotten how short and stout Thoræd was. He came up to just the chin of Foulques and the comparison was even more stark when he came up to the teen, who was slightly taller than his grandfather and still rather thin and lanky.

“I am glad to see you once more, Duke Foulques,” Thoræd said. “And this fine lad is?”

“My grandson,” Foulques said as he introduced him. The boy bowed before the king.

“It is my pleasure, your highness,” Foulques the Younger said. “Congratulations on your recent coronation and may you find success in the Holy Lands.”

“Ah, the younger Foulques,” Thoræd said as he reached up to grip the boy by the shoulders. “I have heard much about you. Both your father and your grandfather speak of your promising future.”

The teen blushed but made certain to meet the king’s gaze. “I am grateful for their praise. But I have much to live up to. My grandfather and father are two of the greatest men the realm has seen.”

“And with their guiding hands, I have little doubt you prove worthy of their legacy,” Thoræd said.

“Thank you for your faith, your highness,” the teen said.

Foulques the Younger then pulled a chair from the table for his grandfather. As to not make it seem as though he was doing it because Foulques was unable to, he also did so for Thoræd. Then he stood close by to Foulques as the elder duke carefully lowered himself into the chair, ready to spring to his aid should it be required.

It wasn’t as Foulques successfully sat. He looked back to the teen.

“You may go boy,” Foulques instructed. “I will call if I have further need of you.”

The teen bowed before the two men and then swiftly made his exit.

“Handsome boy,” Thoræd said. “It appears he will grow into a strapping lad. Fine build for a knight.”

“As I’ve mentioned, he shows talent for that as well,” Foulques said. “I think I shall quickly find a place among my men when he comes of age.”

“I hope for similar things of my son when it is his time,” Thoræd said.

“So, I hear this crusade fares well,” Foulques noted.

“Yes!” Thoræd exclaimed. “My father made significant gains before he finally succumb to his illness. I trust God will reward such efforts - I heard his final few months were difficult. He is now at peace.”

“And now you take up his sword,” Foulques said.

“How could I not?” Thoræd asked. “It is God’s calling. Every able Christian man should.”

“And I suppose you are disappointed that the Franks of this realm have not?” Foulques asked.

“It is not for me to judge whether anyone is able,” Thoræd said. “Now… I know you did not wish to meet with me to discuss this crusade… rather my Æthelræda.”

“You’ve seen the boy,” Foulques said after taking a sip from his goblet. “Would he not make for a fine husband for your daughter?”

Thoræd grinned. “Let us be honest, Duke Foulques. He is a fine lad, but there are many fine lads who seek the hand of my daughter. What can you and Lord Geoffrey offer me that others cannot?”

“At my disposal is a levy that is near equal to the entirety of your nation,” Foulques said. “And it is a levy that may well grow in size in time, when my son’s possessions in Aquitaine and Poitou are added.”

“You promise me help… should I require it?” Thoræd asked.

“I can promise you nothing directly,” Foulques admitted. “I will not lie to you and claim that if you need it, Anjou will be by your side. Because i know not what the future holds. But I will say that we shall look upon you with favor… and as long as we are friends with you, we shall not be friends with your Norman troublemakers.”

“Normans?” Thoræd asked. “Duke Foulques, I have little to fear from Normans. Robert, son of the Bastard and the man who dreamed himself king died in the spring. You think I fear this boy he leaves in his stead?”

“The boy who claims both the blood of the Bastard, and the blood of the two houses of Hwicce?” Foulques asked. “The boy who rules Mercia and York? If you do not fear him, then you are a fool.”

Thoræd narrowed his gaze. “I think you forget who you speak with.”

“If I were the grandson of a king of the Franks… and possessed the levies I do, would the king of the Franks be right to fear me?” Foulques asked.

Thoræd frowned. “It is not the exact same…”

“You are right,” Foulques admitted. “The king fears me, and I do not even have a claim. I cannot imagine his state if I did.”

“Have you invited me here to taunt me, Duke Foulques?” Thoræd asked.

“I lay out the situation,” Foulques said. “My son is the one who speaks honeyed words. I am the old knight, the one who hasn’t time to coddle you with falsities.”

A grunt escaped the king’s lips followed by: “The Normans have approached you?”

“I look for powerful allies outside my realm,” Foulques said. “When I look to your island, I see you, and I see that Norman boy. If I cannot have one, then I may well have the other.”

“So you deal with both of us?” Thoræd asked.

“No, I prefer you, King Thoræd - I never have liked dealing with Normans, given my ancestors’ many battles with them,” Foulques said. “Though times do change. I assure you that if we do not agree to this now, it will change with my son - who never has held the Normans in as low esteem as I have.”

“Some might take that as a threat,” Thoræd replied.

“Take it how you would like,” Foulques said. “I have spent my life as a blunt man, King Thoræd. I see no reason to change now. It is what you shall get with me.”

“So it is,” Thoræd said. “So it is.”

The king sat, rapping is fingers on the table.

“It shall be,” Thoræd said. “As I am departing for the East, I cannot wait on this any longer. My daughter is hereby promised to your grandson. I do pray that your friendship is worth as much as you claim it is, Duke Foulques.”

“That we do not deal with the Normans is worth plenty, I would think,” Foulques said as he took Thoræd’s hand.

Thoræd did not seem thrilled at Foulques’ response, but the men shook hands anyway.

Foulques did not know what might become of this union. Did Geoffrey truly harbor ambition to influence the events of the realm of the Saxons? The elder duke thought it foolish - there was plenty to do in their own realm.

But ultimately, he could not think of a better match for his grandson. Marrying a princess brought prestige. And with prestige came respect… and possibly further power.

He suspected King Hugues would not like it. But the king would accept it. He would not dare challenge Foulques. And Geoffrey likely could spew some nonsense that would placate him.

In the end it did not matter. It was another issue he had resolved… before the end.

Now, he just needed Bourges.

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 138
December 1109 - Anjou, France

I don’t like the way this sounds.

Foulques thought to himself as he lay in bed, parchment in hand. It was a section of his “History of Anjou” that he had begun years before - a work that neared completion. But as it did, he went back to look over other sections and wondered if perhaps they might be improved.

“You should rest,” Adalmode told him as she stood on the other side of his bed. “You have been struggling of late. It may be the only way to recover.”

Foulques looked over at the old nun and rolled his eyes. “I do nothing but rest in this bed.”

Adalmode frowned but Foulques went right back to his business.

Things had been a struggle lately. He had returned to Anjou a month ago, his weakness severely limiting him. He had barely managed to make it back to his keep on horseback and had been mostly confined to his bed since returning.

To pass the time, he had been reading over his writings - at least then he felt he was doing something. Tonight’s read took him back to his ill-fated relationship with Aines de Poitou, the murder of her husband, and her death. Much to Foulques’ dismay, he did not like how he appeared in it.

While he had attempted to play on the late Adhemar’s cruelty as a “justification” of sorts for his murder, it still seemed unseemly - almost villainous. So Foulques tried his best to think of either a new way to phrase it… or perhaps a new charge to level at the dead courtier.

The duke put down the parchment to pour himself another cup of wine. When he looked back to grab it once more, he saw, sitting by the bed with the parchment in hand, was Hildegarde.

It should not have surprised him… but it always sent a chill down his spine to see his sister’s ghost. She glanced up at him and shook her head.

“You may tell this tale any way you like brother,” she warned. “But you are still a murderer.”

Foulques eyed his sister. “So now you complain about others, rather than just of our family?”

“No, I wish to save you the trouble,” Hildegarde said. “I actually am far more interested in what you have said of me. Surprisingly complimentative, though no mention of my daughter, Vainmonde. Is she not family enough for you?”

Foulques frowned. It is because Vainmonde did nothing of note but commit adultery, he mused, and was likely murdered some 15 years ago.

“I see,” Hildegarde said. “So only those who have done something important may get mentioned? I wonder, what of your secret son, Edouard, who has managed little in his time on earth?”

“How… how did you know my thoughts?” Foulques demanded.

“It is the way with avenging spirits.”

Foulques turned to see Adalmode staring on the other side of the bed. His eyes widened.

“You… you can see her?” Foulques asked. “How?”

“I have experience in such matters,” the nun said.

“Can you help me be rid of them?” Foulques asked.

“Rid of us?” Hildegarde asked. “I do not think that shall happen.”

Behind her, his brothers Simon and Geoffrey appeared. But this time there was another by Geoffrey. It was a face Foulques had not seen in well over two decades. And as a result, he felt drawn to her - enough to rise from his bed and stroke her cheek before tilting her head up toward him.

“Lithuaise?”

“You are surprised to see me?” she asked - her face betraying little emotion.

“You… you are here?” he replied. “With Geoffrey?”

“You would wish for me to disregard her,” Geoffrey said. “But I will not.”

“To spite me?” Foulques asked.

Geoffrey said nothing, so Foulques looked back to his former mistress, who died birthing their bastard child. “I did not wish for you to run. I would have acknowledged Edouard. Even now, I accept him as if he were my own.”

“You do not understand,” Lithuaise said, tears in her eyes. “I did not leave because I feared you would dismiss me or because I feared the Lady would kill me. I ran because I knew I had committed the ultimate sin. I begged for repentance… from priests… and your brother.”

“You knew?!” Foulques exclaimed at Geoffrey. “And you said nothing?”

“I believed you likely forced yourself upon her, even if she claimed otherwise,” Geoffrey said. “It is your way to take what is not yours, after all. And you would wish for me to denounce her… if for no other reason than to show you have cuckolded your own brother!”

“Silence! Both of you! This bickering remains foolish!”

The two glanced at Lithuaise, who looked on wide-eyed. She pointed behind them, where a gray-haired woman stood, hands on hips, glaring at the two brothers.

“Mother?” the brothers said in unison.

Ermengarde marched herself between them, giving each of them a slap on the face - that stung more than expected, given Foulques’ mask. And that’s when the duke realized his face was oddly uncovered. “You openly bicker over who fathered a child?” Ermengarde demanded. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Hildegarde smirked. “You know them, mother. Always trying to prove who is superior.”

“I think that has been proven without a doubt,” Foulques said, smug grin on his face.

Another slap from his mother. “What have I told you about trying to show up your brother?”

Geoffrey smirked, but that was soon wiped away with another slap. “And you make it far too easy for him, and always have. In conversation, politics and warfare.”

Geoffrey grimaced but said nothing. Then Simon stepped forward.

“I never did that mother,” he said. “I never tried to show them up.

“Of course not,” Ermengarde said. “You never truly set out to do anything.”

And with that she took Foulques’ arm and guided him away from his siblings. He glanced back at them, Geoffrey and Simon both frowning but Hildegarde smiling, then at his mother. His mother… he had not seen her in over 40 years. It was strange to look upon her now, still vibrant - and defiant - after so long.

They walked the quiet, dimly lit halls of the keep. Foulques glanced back - his siblings had remained behind in his chambers. Only Adalmode followed, a few paces behind. It was a relief - if she had experience with these ghosts, perhaps she might be able to aid him should they become more… aggressive.

“You have led quite the interesting life since I departed,” she said as they walked.

“Yes…” Foulques said. “I have reclaimed everything Geoffrey had lost.”

“What did I tell you about that?” Ermengarde demanded.

“It is true,” Foulques said.

“You overstate your brother and you are far from blameless,” Ermengarde said. “Your uncle struggled against the Bastard in Maine. And you and your brother’s inability to cooperate is why you lost Saintonge.”

“But his leadership was poor,” Foulques said. “And you cannot deny the strength of our home now.”

“No, I cannot, and would not try,” Ermengarde said.

“But you disapprove of what I have done,” Foulques said. “Or so my siblings tell me.”

Ermengarde laughed. “I told you I did not wish my children to fight and kill each other. I am disappointed that you insisted on fighting your brother. But you knew that before. I told you as much when I lived.”

“Hildegarde and Geoffrey said…”

“Come now, you let your elder siblings get under your skin?” Ermengarde asked. “You, a man who thinks himself the Iron Duke of the Franks?”

Foulques frowned as Ermengarde pushed open the door to the strategy hall. She led him to the map and then looked down, smiling broadly as she traced a path from Vannes though Dijon.

“Ultimately, my children have done well for themselves in a brutal world,” Ermengarde said. “You can cross the realm from west to east in the lands controlled by my grandsons. No small feat.

“I have a son who is a bishop. Another grandson who served you as a great leader of men. A granddaughter who might yet be a queen, and others still who may be duchesses. No, I am hardly saddened Foulques. I am prideful at all that all that has been done.”

And there it was. Validation.

“So it was all worth it,” Foulques said.

Ermengarde’s brow rose. “For me. But I said nothing for you. Whether it was worth it… that is for you to decide for yourself. I cannot help you there.”

She approached him and adjusted his leather armor, which he did not remember putting on, until it was up to her standards.

“Good. Very professional,” she said. “I shall not have you looking poor to meet the king.”

“The king?” Foulques asked. “Hugues has come to Anjou? But I thought him in Iberia?”

“My friend, that hurts, Though not nearly as much as the assassin’s arrow.”

Foulques turned to see Philippe sitting on the chair in the hall. As he stood to approach, the duke could see the king’s robe bloodied around where the arrow had struck him. Nonetheless, he smiled at Foulques.

“I am gone not even 10 years and my brother is the first king to come to mind?” Philippe asked. “Maine was worth that much to you?”

Foulques felt compelled to drop to a knee. But Philippe grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back to his feet.

“There’s no need for that, my friend,” Philippe said. “This is hardly a formal gathering.”

“What exactly is this?” Foulques wondered.

“The preparation for a journey,” Philippe said. “A long journey… but one we must make.”

“I don’t understand,” Foulques said. “Why must we make it?”

“It is the way of things,” Philippe said. “But you shall not make it alone. I have even finally located Amaury, the simple knight who you could not find after our victory over Champagne.”

Foulques shook his head as he opened and shut his eyes quickly. His mind surely played tricks on him as before the old, bearded knight was not present. Yet now he was, alongside Philippe.

“It is good to see you again, my lord,” Amaury said. “I have been lost for some time now… without direction. But when the king found me, he promised that was to soon change. He has recruited us…”

“Us?” Foulques asked.

Then by Amaury’s side stood Andre, the Baron of Cholet. And on the other side, steward Guilhem, dressed in leather armor, even though Foulques had never known the man to fight. And so too was Baudoin, the old spymaster who died of rabies, silent, as he usually was unless he had something important for Foulques to hear.

“We are ready to serve at your behest once more, my lord,” Guilhem said.

“But you cannot,” Foulques said. “For you… all of you are dead.”

“You speak with them and yet you wonder about them serving you?” Philippe asked. “Duke Foulques, you never cease to amuse me with how your mind works.”

“It is easy to be amused when the consequences are less dire for you,” a female voice said.

“Less dire? My dear Aines, did I not die, as the result of an assassin’s arrow?” Philippe asked.

The raven-haired Aines de Poitou wrapped her arm around Foulques and learned her head on his shoulder before replying: “You do not blame my love for Champagne’s actions, do you?”

“He could have mentioned the plot to kill me,” Philippe said. “He knew of it for years.”

“Truly Philippe?” Aines asked. “It likely was not even the same plot.”

The king shook his head before looking again at Foulques. “That woman is an attack dog. I do enjoy her.”

“Always the charmer, Philippe,” Aines said. “My father clearly was not forceful enough for you to convince you to take me as your wife.”

“If he had, the realm would have been a far different place,” Philippe noted. “You as my wife… and my friend Foulques would have been free to chase his heart. But… alas.”

“Yes, but alas,” Aines said. “Now, may I have a moment? You shall have him again soon.”

“I can hardly tell a woman such as yourself no,” Philippe said. “But do not damage him! I have need of my friend in the days ahead!”

As Aines led him out of the strategy hall, Foulques looked into her beautiful blue eyes and asked: “What does he mean by that?”

“Pay him no mind for now,” Aines said. She kissed him. “It is good to see you again… my love.”

It was then that Foulques fully comprehended her presence. There she was, in all of her youthful, beautiful glory. The woman he lusted over… the woman he had killed for. Restored. And as he looked into her eyes, he was reminded of why her daughter was but a pale imitation.

“You live,” Foulques said.

“I most assuredly do not,” Aines said as she pulled away from his embrace. “I remain stuck, unable to move forward, and continually look back. Back with… at times... disgust at what we did. And at other times… pleasure.”

“As do I,” Foulques admitted. Then he felt his stomach clench as a thought occurred to him. “Have you… have you seen what has transpired since your death?”

“You mean your bedding of my daughter?” Aines asked. She scowled. “I did. Made to watch in disgust. Though I cannot say I am surprised. I knew who you were when I met you.”

“I am sorry,” Foulques said.

“You are not,” Aines told him. “No, you are sorry that I saw. That I know. But you are not sorry that you did it. It is how you are. You were sorry I believe that our actions caused God to punish me - but you are not sorry we killed my husband or that you married me and laid with me as his child grew in my belly.”

Foulques looked down. He could not bring himself to maintain eye contact with her.

“You need not shirk from your culpability,” Aines told him as she titled his chin up. “As I have said, it is no surprise. We were, ultimately, perfect for one another. A sinful lot, driven by lust, passion and desire for power. We suffer… but I am uncertain we could have lived life differently.”

Then she grabbed him by the chin and turned his head. Though it was dark, he could see they were out on the ramparts now, overlooking the Maine, the moonlight reflecting off the water’s surface.

It was the view he loved. The view he had seen less of as he’d grown older… he had come to take it for granted.

“For perhaps it was worth it,” she said. “Much like this view that you admired, but had to betray your brother to secure.”

Then Aines pulled him close for a long, deep kiss. After, she released her grip and pushed him away.

“But if there is one thing I realize,” Aines said. “It is that we are not meant to be together. I have had my fill of you, and now I release you to the others.”

“Others?” Foulques asked, his voice nearly cracking at his reply to the ominous words spoken.

“You need not worry, my love, Aines simply seeks to spread some of the misery she suffers.”

Foulques turned to see Alearde by the entrance to the stairway back into the keep. She looked… younger than when she had last seen her, yet still far more mature than the girl he had seduced so many years before.

The duke embraced her tightly. His eyes even stung, uncharacteristically.

“I thought you were taken from me forever,” he said.

“Only for a time,” Alearde said. “A difficult time, but a time nonetheless.”

“There is much I wish to say,” Foulques told her.

“But there is no need,” Alearde said. “We have already said all that needed to be said.”

“I did not say goodbye,” Foulques said.

“A lifetime of memories can hardly be sullied by a thing like that,” Alearde assured him. “You need not worry over it. After all, you made me quite happy in life.”

The smile he loved so much formed on her lips - lips he moved to kiss, the temptation too great. But he ran up against her fingers instead.

“You know we cannot,” Alearde said. “Not even here.”

“If not now, then when?” Foulques asked.

“Never,” Alearde said. “That time is past.”

“Why?” Foulques demanded. “Are you angry at me for choosing Aines over you?”

Alearde gently stroked his face. “For a time. But I saw what fate befalls those who become your lover or wife. The Lady did well, but the rest? Miserable. And most end up hating you. I cherished our time together too much… I did not wish for that to happen to us. And it did not.”

Foulques shook his head.

“Besides,” Alearde said as she tossed her hair. “You are not mine anyway. You never were. That honor belongs to the Lady.”

“The Lady?” Foulques asked.

He looked up and around and noticed the star-filled sky was gone, replaced by the high ceiling of the main hall. Up on the dais, someone sat in his ducal chair. He approached, slowly with caution, and was left wide-eyed as he realized who it was.

There sat his first wife, Beatritz. The Duchess of Anjou who had died some two decades earlier, appeared plump and healthy, as she had been before the cancer that eventually felled her. Silvery hair, but more youthful in face, her thin lips formed a wide grin as she gazed down upon Foulques.

She rose from the chair and approached him, slowly, swaying her hips as she descended the dais. When she reached him, she pressed herself against his chest, and he kissed her forehead.

“Beatritz…”

“Have you missed me husband?” she asked.

Before he could answer, her thin lips formed a sly grin.

“Of course you have,” she said. “You have never been the same since I left you. So many have tried to fill my seat… my niece, her daughter, the Northwoman, the Karling girl, Alearde, even Agnes when it came to administering Anjou. But they have failed… though I admit, it was a large seat to fill.”

She pulled Foulques hands down her side and around her wide hips.

“You seem… pleased,” Foulques noted.

“Why would I not be?” Beatritz asked. “My son has achieved what I dreamed of doing so many years before - becoming the Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou. My daughter has grown into a fine woman. And after so many years, I have my husband back with me again. I have missed you.”

Now the words struck home… their meaning clear. Foulques released Beatritz and slowly backed away.

“Back with you,” he said. “You mean to kill me?!”

Beatritz laughed. “Husband, I need not kill what is already dead.”

“No!” Foulques said. “That is impossible. It is…”

He glanced back to the hall saw it was now populated by those who he’d seen on the night - his siblings, his mother, Aines, Philippe, Guilhem and his old council members… Lithuaise. And there were others he did not even recognize. They all seemed to stare back at him, knowingly. A few had sly grins, others solemn expressions.

“NUN! Adalmode!” Foulques demanded. She stepped out from the crowd and faced him.

“What do you wish?” she asked.

“What is this madness?” Foulques demanded. “I am not dead.”

“But you are,” Adalmode said. “You drifted off to sleep while you read your writings. And it was then that your body succumb to age. God’s will.”

“No,” Foulques said. “No… that is…”

And yet, he knew it was true. He knew that is why they were all here. His mother, Aines, Philippe, Amaury, Alearde… Beatritz… they were here for him. To take him away.

“You… you killed me!” Foulques shouted at Adalmode. “That is why you wished for me to rest. So that I would die!”

But the nun shook her head. “I did no such thing. I have guided you as best I can in your life, standing by your side since the moment you became the lord of Anjou, keeping you healthy… and your family as well… until it was your time. And now I guide you once more, on this final journey.”

“What are you?” Foulques demanded. “Are you an angel… a demon?”

Adalmode laughed. “Does it matter? Have I not aided you when you needed it most? Ensured your legacy?”

“But you will not aid me today?” Foulques said. “Even as they come for me?”

“Do you not understand?” Adalmode asked. “They do not come for you. You have always come to them.”

Foulques stood still, mouth hanging open while his body trembled.

Beatritz took his hand. “You need not fear the future husband. Did you not fear being left alone? I know not about the others, but you shall always have me by your side. Our marriage vows say as much.”

A thought that was oddly comforting. But Foulques shook it off. “No… there is much I have to do.”

“You have done all you were meant to do,” Beatritz said. “As you so proudly boast, you claimed Anjou. You took Nantes and Vannes. You aided in your family reclaiming Saintonge. You die holding rights over the lord of Maine. I think you have done enough.”

“But Geoffrey…”

“Geoffrey is a man grown,” Beatritz said. “A man who has achieved much. You can let go this foolish mistrust of him. Has he not done you proud? I know I smile when I look upon him. A son that should not have even been… instead has become a figure who kings themselves must fear. My son… our son.”

“Our… son,” Foulques mused.

“Does that not fill you with pride?” Beatritz asked.

“He… he has not turned out like I expected,” Foulques said.

“Because he is my son as much as he is yours,” Beatritz said. “We were most successful together, so it is no surprise that our child has excelled as he has.”

“He hates me, you realize,” Foulques said.

“He does not,” Beatritz said. “He disagrees with you. He thinks you are often wrong. But he has always respected you.”

“But what will he do to my legacy?” Foulques asked. “Will he make me some monster? Some demon which he has restored Anjou from?”

Beatritz grinned. “I think Geoffrey wiser than to admit his demon blood. Your legacy shall be fine, husband. But even if it is not, it is out of your hands now. Come, our horses should be ready now.”

It was a blur as Beatritz pulled Foulques from his hall, the path open as the crowd melted away to allow them passage to the exit to the keep - a journey they had not made together in two decades.

Foulques was fearful… and yet calm. She had always been a good wife - and the groundwork for all his accomplishments happened during her life. When she died… he had become lost.

It was then that he made his mistakes with Aines, Adhemar and Alearde. It was then that he had contracted the pox and lost his face. It was after Beatritz that he let Geoffrey scheme right under his nose. And it was after her that he let Champagne play him and left Philippe to die.

For all his bravado, Foulques could see now the value she had provided him. His success came in no small part due to her. And for the first time in some time, he felt grateful.

“I have missed you, Beatritz,” he told her when the reached the stables.

“And I you, husband,” Beatritz said before they kissed.

Then he helped her up onto her horse, and, with a spryness he had not felt in years, bounded up onto his own steed. As the two wandered out of the stables, Philippe, on his own horse, came up beside him.

“I know not what the future holds,” the late king said. “But I know that so long as I have my greatest knight by my side, I do not fear it.”

Foulques glanced to Beatritz beside him. “Agreed, my king.”

The old duke then raised his hand. He took one last deep breath and urged his horse forward, riding into the unknown, one last time.

....

Note: And so it ends. I started this AAR just over 11 months ago, and we spent the entirety of it with Duke Foulques IV of Anjou. That time comes to an close now, as the Iron Duke passes on. I said it was nearly perfect - that's because the real Foulques IV died in April 1109, so this version also fell in the same year. It seemed fitting.

I had this finale in mind for sometime. Who exactly would appear in it would differ as I played it out in my head, but Foulques being confronted by the literal ghosts of his pasts as he shuffled off seemed fitting. I wrote him as a man always somewhat haunted by his actions, and as such, this made sense to me. And it gave us one last opportunity to not only send of Foulques, but the characters who shaped him yet departed early. In some ways, this was as much their final send off as Foulques'.

But the story does not end here. Now we step fully into the boots of Geoffrey - a version who is already far more successful than his real-life equivalent, who ruled Anjou briefly alongside his father as Geoffrey IV, but ended up dying just before Foulques did. Whether he can lead to the ultimate expanse of the Angevin line, as his brother did in real life, will be a question we will look to answer as we go forth.

Above all, thanks for all of your support. This has gone from a story with a few loyal commentators to one where seven or eight are the norm and 10 or so is not uncommon. And there are even more who read but don't comment. It inspires me to keep going and work to provide you all with a story that is worth reading.

I hope this send off for Foulques was as enjoyable for you reading it as it was for me to write. And I aim to keep providing you with more quality as we move forward. Thanks again!

On to Book 2, (which will remain in the same thread) - tentatively titled "Angevin Ambition".

 

[JabberJock14]

Before Plantagenet - Chapter 139
December 1109 - Rosello, Catalonia

Geoffrey, Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou, laid on his cot, cursing his luck.

He had spent so much of his life trying to avoid conflict and battle. At the very least, if he was going to have to don his mail, he wanted it to be for something in his own interests.

This? This was a waste of his time.

He was in Rosello, the walls of Perpinya near enough he felt he could hit them by throwing a rock - an exaggeration, but still underlined the closeness they were to their target. But closeness had no bearing on the actual completion of their task - the walls stubbornly held.

And for what? A king that may not even live to see his success.

King Hugues lay in his own cot, in the command tent. His disease had flared, and his physician had bled him. It looked to be a mistake.

When Geoffrey had seen the king earlier in the day, he looked pale as a ghost - so weak he could barely lift his hand, let alone his head or rise from bed. Geoffrey's brother by law, Prince Henri, was likely en route from the north as messengers had been sent to notify him of his father’s declining condition. It certainly appeared there would be a new king of the Franks soon enough.

The king’s weakness left Geoffrey commanding, and feeling imprisoned by, a siege camp that was filled with its usual stench of waste, animal and human, not to mention of the animal carcasses they were hurling at the walls of Perpinya.

A better knight might have figured out a way to make it go faster. A braver knight might have just stormed the walls. But Geoffrey was not about to throw his life away on account of a king who was too out of his depth to pick proper leaders.

This should be Toulouse, he mused. After all, it was Toulouse who wished this land for himself. It was Toulouse who had fought the war to claim it, only to have it disrupted by the king’s foolishness. And it should be Toulouse who sat here, in this miserable, wretched camp, deciding whether to endure the wait to starve out the heathen defenders or risk his life by challenging the walls and those on them.

Geoffrey pushed himself up from the cot and moved to pour himself some wine. It was weak, but it’s purpose was not to get him drunk - rather, it was to cleanse his palate for a moment of the vile odors that surrounded him. The sweet liquid provided but a temporary reprieve.

Of course, he had no one to share it with. He kept his chancellor, Count Alias of Perigord, in Melun, aiding Geoffrey’s father Foulques and keeping an eye on things there. Prince-Bishop Leonard was in Bordeaux, administering the duchy as steward. And Gerard of Thouars was overseeing the levy reinforcement there as well.

And he could not even bring a lover - not in the king’s presence. Normally he had tolerated King Hugues abhorrence of adultery, but the situation was so miserable, it was yet another grievance for Geoffrey to hold against him.

Not that he needed any more complications. He had sired three secret bastards in the last few years - two by the piggish Helvis de Bethune, and one by Melisenda, the sister of his late friend, Ide of La Marche. None had been revealed to be his, but even Alias had warned he should probably ease off such encounters, lest he want to have the reputation of his lecher cousin Gilles, a man so prolific in his bastard-making, there was talk his virility had spawned him a child with a rose bush!

Swirling the wine in his cup, Geoffrey walked to the edge of his tent and peered out. At least it was not cold here, and it was usually much brighter outside than even Bordeaux this time of year… and it certainly was far better than Anjou.

He sighed. It was nearly time to tour the camp and make his inspections.

But as Geoffrey was fitting on his hauberk over his leather armor, a guard entered his tent, informing him he had visitors in the form of Alias and Adhemar de Limoges, the chancellor of Anjou.

What does my father want this time, Geoffrey wondered. Though, it was odd Alias and Adhemar both arrived at the same time. If this is a request, it could have been sent through Alias.

The pair entered his tent and, to his surprise, they both dropped to a knee... even stranger given Alias rarely ever did so, and Adhemar wasn’t his courtier or vassal. And then it occurred to him.

No… no, I can’t believe it. The old man could not have…

“My lord,” Alias said. “Adhemar brings news from Anjou.”

Impossible...

Adhemar picked his head up. “My lord, I travel from Anjou to tell you, your father has passed.”

Geoffrey heard the words. He knew what they meant. But he did not believe his ears.

He had often thought of this day - what it would look like, where he would be, how he’d react. He’d usually imagined himself in Bordeaux. Perhaps in Anjou… had he been given advanced warning his father was ill - similar to how it was when his mother Beatritz had passed.

This wasn’t what he expected.

“What… what took him?” Geoffrey managed to ask.

“It looks to have just been his time,” Adhemar said. “However, the nun, Adalmode, is nowhere to be found. Your sister, the Lady Agnes, finds it suspicious, and searches for her.”

“The nun killed my father?” Geoffrey asked. “She served him for decades. I can hardly believe that.”

“Your lady sister just finds it suspicious, my lord,” Adhemar said. “But there were no signs of struggle or anything odd with his death. He had grown weak over the last few months and could barely rise from his bed.”

Geoffrey stroked his chin. He didn’t think his sister was wrong to investigate… but he also thought it unlikely anyone murdered Foulques. He was old, his body was failing. Sometimes, there was nothing to it - people just died.

And he also wanted no part of any murder talk - such things could easily be rumored to be his doing, regardless of the truth.

But now there was the matter of the duchy - rightfully his but he had many siblings - two legitimate and three other bastard brothers. His father had changed ducal law to ensure Geoffrey’s succession decades ago - but that was before he had brothers. And before he had Aquitaine and Poitou. Now, someone might try to ensure he did not take Anjou, and with it, bring a third of the realm under his control.

“I must… I must return Anjou,” Geoffrey thought aloud. “To take my place as its ruler.”

“Agreed,” Alias said as he stood up. Then he leaned in close: “Will the king allow you to depart?”

“The king may well be dying,” Geoffrey whispered back. “He has little power to stop me. Make sure my horse is prepared and get my personal knights ready to depart.”

Alias nodded and started off. Then Geoffrey motioned for Adhemar to rise. “Brother, I must speak with the king. Come with me, and tell him of the need for the people of Anjou to see their new duke.”

“Of course, my lord,” Adhemar said.

Geoffrey made his way down to the command tent with Adhemar in tow. There were guards posted but they allowed him access. An attendant of the king was by his side, applying cool, wet cloths to his head to bring down his fever.

Geoffrey knew he could not wait to confirm his investment as the Duke of Anjou. The king might die. Then it would be delayed until Prince Henri arrived. Henri might even wait until he was crowned before officially taking any oaths of vassalage.

No, I need this resolved now.

“My lord,” Geoffrey said as he dropped to a knee. Adhemar followed suit.

“Duke Geoffrey…” the king began, his raspy voice weak and not very audible. “Have you come to tell me the town has surrendered?”

“I have not,” Geoffrey said. “They still hold out against the inevitable. However… my father does not. He has passed. Adhemar, his chancellor, can confirm it.”

Geoffrey stood up and motioned for Adhemar to approach. The king eyed him. “You are Peronelle’s brother?”

“Nephew, my king,” Adhemar replied. “I am the brother to Duke Geoffrey’s wife, the Duchess Marguerite, grandson of the late Duke Guilhem of Aquitaine.”

“What do you have to tell me?” the king asked.

“Duke Foulques has passed,” Adhemar said. “I had just arrived back to report to him the status of my mission in Bourges… and I learned of the news. Duke Geoffrey’s sister, the Lady Agnes, dispatched me to inform her brother of the tragic news.”

“The Lady Agnes,” the king said as he closed his eyes. “In a different world, she would be my wife.”

Adhemar’s brow rose and he glanced at Geoffrey, who motioned for him to not ask about it. The king had heard the rumors of his wife’s infidelity but had proven nothing. Still, he longed for a “wiser, more mature woman” who would not fall victim to her passions so easily. Geoffrey never said anything to that.

“A great man has passed,” the king said. “The realm mourns with you, Duke Geoffrey.”

“Thank you my king,” Geoffrey said. “And now, I need to return to my father’s lands. I will make my presence known and speak to the barons and mayors. As such, I request that you allow me leave. I am hardly needed here, in a siege, with yourself present.”

“I cannot rise from my cot,” the king said. “I am in no position to lead.”

“Prince Henri will arrive soon,” Geoffrey replied. “He is a far better suited to this task than me.”

“My king, if I may,” Adhemar said. “The people have known no other lord than Duke Foulques in over four decades. They are uncertain, and concerned. Hearing the words of Duke Geoffrey is important for Anjou… and its productivity to the realm.”

“So you will abandon me?” the king asked.

“I will not abandon you, should you truly need of me,” Geoffrey said. “But I have a responsibility to my charges. I do not wish to shirk it.”

“They are not your charges yet,” the king noted. “I have not yet invested you, have I?”

“No, you have not,” Geoffrey said. “But is there any reason you would not? I may withdraw myself and my personal guard to venture north, but my levy, and what was my father’s, shall remain…”

And suddenly an idea came to him and a small grin formed on his lips.

“My father’s levy will remain, should they be told to remain,” Geoffrey noted. “Right now, they have no lord to tell them to stay. Invest me now, and my first order will to ensure there is no question among the men of Anjou of where their place is.”

“Their loyalty should be with the crown,” the king muttered.

“But we know ‘what should be’ and ‘what is’, often are at odds,” Geoffrey said. “Uncertainty at home will only weaken their resolve.”

“Then inspire them,” the king said.

“They are not yet my charges, as you so aptly put to me,” Geoffrey said. “Tell them I am their lord and there will be no issue.”

The king continued to grumble, but his words were inaudible. Finally he raised his trembling hand and spoke, in a raspy, shaking voice, “kneel Duke Geoffrey.”
…

“Deftly handled, my lord,” Adhemar said as they walked from the command tent.

“And you as well… brother,” Geoffrey said. “I have heard your skill complimented. But it is another to see it in action. I am impressed.”

“It was what you wished of me,” Adhemar said. “And… I believe it is what is necessary for Anjou.”

There is a world larger than Anjou, Geoffrey thought. But he would not say that aloud, not to Adhemar. Not yet. Not before he could properly trust him.

After all, Adhemar had a claim on Aquitaine and Poitou. And rebels fought in his name in Gascony.

But he is skilled, Geoffrey realized. I can use him.

Now invested as the Duke of Anjou, Geoffrey quickly found the Angevin knight captain. After Adhemar broke the news to him of Foulques’ death, the knight captain knelt and swore his oaths to Geoffrey as his liege lord. In turn, Geoffrey instructed him to remain here with the king until he returned from Anjou.

Then Geoffrey gathered his things quickly. He did not want to wait around for the king to change his mind and try to hold him here.

He then hurried down to his horse, which had been prepared by Alias’ orders. He mounted the beast, and at the head of his bodyguard, he ordered them north, back toward the realm of the Franks… back toward Anjou.

As the pungent odors of the siege camp faded into unpleasant memory, Geoffrey smiled.

It was time to claim what was his. And Anjou was only the beginning.