Part VI: How ‘Bout a Threesome?
It had been five months since that snow-filled day, when the peasant Marxist Comintern, led by Orderic Balliol, had laid siege to the King’s Court, when the Duke of York attempted to overthrow the King and restore an Anglo-Saxon (himself, naturally) to the throne. For months, great hosts had criss-crossed the land, plundering the stores of peasants, raiding the castles of nobles, and turning monasteries into military headquarters. The whole realm stood on edge as the civil war played out.
Of course, you couldn’t tell that by the weather; instead, the mildest spring in centuries had melted from the frozen claws of winter, and even Aines of Aquitaine, Richard’s on-again-off-again gal pal, declared that the English countryside that year surpassed even the beautiful streets of Paris.
On the 15th of April, however, all Britons, Normans and Anglo-Saxons alike, held their breaths, as the fate of the realm hung in the balance, as the armies of the Duke and the King, each roughly 2500 men strong, pitched tent just five miles apart in the fields of Lancaster. Battle seemed imminent.
“No, Sire, I think it’s a fundamentally horrendous idea to challenge the Duke, mano e mano. I understand he outnumbers us by 200 men, but if the plan goes awry, we’ll lose it all, and these things usually end up in pitched battle anyway, with accusations of cheating and treachery. And to top it all off, there’s a Marxist army in the area, nobody knows exactly where, and reports say he has 10,000 men,” the Marshall argued. I think our best chance lies with a quick raid tonight, then flight.
“He’s right, father,” the young Richard said, “I mean, our coconut cavalry are the best in the land, but he’s got actual horses, and the battlefield isn’t in our favor. Let us flee, then, and let the damn Yorkists and the Marxists fight it out.”
The King laughed. “Retreat? Nonsense. Squire, send the messenger swallow issuing the challenge. Tell him to meet in that guy’s farmhouse. Yea, the one with the flames coming out of it…oh, I see. Let’s do the one next store then.”
The following morning, the Duke crossed four cornfields with his army, all 2392 knights and men-at-arms, and set up camp outside the agreed-upon farmhouse; the King’s army had already done likewise. Clad in his finest armor, carrying his shield and his ancestral sword, passed down for five generations and said to have been made by the same blacksmith who had forged Excalibur, he strolled into the house, ready for battle.
The King stood, donning a red cape, a lavish crown on his head, and Excalibur on his hip, he didn’t appear ready for a fight at all; in fact, he didn’t even have on any armor!
“Greetings, my insolent Duke,” the King said. “Are you ready for war?” He gestured to a table to his left. The Duke, of course, looked.
Sitting on the table was a board, with alternating black and red squares, with two sets of pieces – one crafted out by the finest carpenter in France, the other carved from Ghana’s most expensive ivory. Sixteen pieces each, eight identical, three pairs, and a man and his wife.
Chess.
Almost five thousand held their breaths outside the farmhouse as the two men dualed in the gentlemen’s game inside. Every few minutes or so, a crier emerged from the house, shouting updates.”
“The King has moved the queen three spaces to C4, eliminating the Duke’s pawn!”
“The Duke has put the King in check with a rook!”
“The King has moved the king to B3 and captured the Duke’s knight!”
With every update, each army reacted in turn, depending on the news.
Halfway through, the army of Orderic arrived, but instead of ambushing the two, they simply joined in the waiting, as Orderic entered the farmhouse to watch the game, to see whom he would be fighting against.
Six hours later, the two men sat, focusing intently on the board, plotting on victory, each with only 4 pieces remaining; the King had his king, the queen, a pawn, and a knight; the Duke had his king, two rooks, and two bishops. You could hear a pin drop in the room, the silence was so deafening, while the two men traded move for move. Sweat covered the King’s brow as he plotted victory, while the Duke bathed in so much sweat he shivered from the cold bath (he was dressed for hand-to-hand combat, not a chess match).
Finally, the king moved his pawn to the end of the board, upgrading the piece. “Checkmate.”
The Duke scanned up and down the board. What about…no, the first queen’s got ‘em…how about…no, the knight has those two covered…Oh, crap, it is. “Damn this, you cheater!” He arose in anger, flipping the board, and drew his sword.
The King stood up, drew Excalibur, and backed away slowly. “We had a deal, I win, you renounce your claim and return to York; you win, and you get the throne, and I return to Normandy.”
“Bah, I’m the one who’s dressed for battle, old man. And I’ve got you, your daughter, your prince, and his girlfriend from Aquitaine, all right here. And I outnumber you outside. Now, give up the throne or nobody leaves here alive!” The Duke’s men jumped to guard the doors.
Suddenly Orderic jumped in. “King William, I hate you utterly, but I despise traitors even more. Give me Somerset, and we’ll come to your aid.”
“Yes, please, thanks!” the King stammered, looking for a way out. “Just get us out of this bloody mess!”
Orderic grabbed the sledgehammer strapped to his back, smashed open the farmhouse wall, and shouted, “Fellow Marxists, we’ve allied with the King against the treacherous Duke! To arms, men, to arms!” One of the Duke’s guard jumped on him, and the battle erupted.
It was the fiercest fighting of the century, even more so than the Battle of Hastings.
The rest of the battle was a blur. The girl Aines screamed as three Anglo-Saxon rebels seized her, then sobbed in the corner, covered in blood, Richard lying in the dirt nearby, broken beer bottle in hand. Horses whinnied, men shouted, begged for mercy, got it (or not) and were captured (or killed), coconuts clapped, officers tried to yell orders over the roar of combat. And to top it all off, a thunderstorm had suddenly appeared, the most vicious in a century, and several men – all Yorkists – experienced lightning as their last sensation. The local river flooded, the farmhouse and the woods caught fire, a Cyclops was said to smash Lancelot’s head in (remember him?), causing Robin to drop dead in fear, wetting his pants one last time, while Sir Fred the not-dead musician composed a song about it (it became a top 10 hit on Medieval-Tunes). For years to come, the peasantry talked of the Battle of the Witches.
The minstrel and his band performing the song of Lancelot and Robin at the annual Medieval Tunes Awards in Constantinople
Three weeks later, the King stood, back at court, in his Awesomely-Great Hall of the King, in front of all the loyal nobles of the realm and the Marxist army, without whom the King would never have emerged victorious.
“Orderic, I hereby grant to you the Duchy of Somerset, to be ruled in however you see fit,” the King finished. He gestured to the kneeling man to stand up. “You may have a few words.”
The newly-appointed Duke stood. “Today is a great day for our cause, gentlemen, for now I announce to you the creation of the People’s Merchant Republic of Somerset; to ease the transition from a cause into a nation, I will serve as the first Doge, and all Doges will serve for life. And remember, we have the first stronghold, from where we will spread the revolution. This generation, Somerset; our children will get a kingdom, and our grandchildren will control all of Christendom! So Marx has written, so it will be!” The Comintern peasant army cheered.
“Uhh, yea, sure, Viva la revolucion and all that jazz, that’s nice,” the King mumbled, urging the Doge out of the way. “And now, I present to you, my son Richard, for your bravery in battle, attacking three of the rebel Duke’s guards with nothing but a broken glass bottle, to defend the lady Aines. For this, my son, you shall receive the Duchy of York, for you and our offspring to rule for generations…and, if the lady Aines shall agree, hers too, for I propose to you two that you become betrothed, and marry in two years, when you both shall come of age.”
The prince fainted while his future bride broke down in tears of joy, and the King brought the ceremony to a close and the party began.
Hours later, after an evening filled with dancing, revelry, drinking games, and lavish feasts, the King sat alone. Of everybody, he was the only one who had not become drunk, deciding instead to merely drink Coca-Cola…or was it Pepsi?...anyway, he had a cold, so he was taking medicine, and the doctor said alcohol screws with the medicine. Probably not, the King thought, but, eh, he decided not to risk it.
Suddenly a bright flash appeared in front of him, and five kids, about the same age as Richard, three guys and two girls, appeared. The one on the left had jet-black hair and sea-green eyes, wearing an orange T-shirt and blue jeans; next to him stood a girl, slightly shorter with blond hair and storm-grey eyes, like Athena in The Odyssey, wearing a blouse and jean-shorts, a black brimmed-hat with an interlocking NY on it tied around a belt loop. Alongside them were a teenage guy dressed like Indiana Jones, a girl, a couple of years younger, obviously his sister, and a short, creepy-looking young guy wearing an aviator jacket. The blond-hair grey-eyed girl was wearing a blue pack. Of course, five kids just appearing in his Awesomely-Great Hall of the King, so his reaction was pretty standard, I’d say: he screamed like a little girl.
“Who are you people?!?!?”
The guy with the orange shirt said, “Whoa, dude, chill? Don’t you remember us? We’ve come to return it, just as we said.”
“Return wha-a-att?!? I’ve never seen you people before!”
The blonde girl looked at the King intently, frowned, and then turned to the guy with the aviator jacket and the other girl before turning back to the throne. “What year is it, Your Majesty?”
“Uh, ten, uh, ten sixty, uhm, <gulp>, sixty-eight, Anno Dom-min-domine,” the King stammered.
She turned back to the other two. “You idiots! Wrong year!” Turning back to the king she apologized. The other girl chanted something in a language he didn’t understand, another bright flash filled the room, and they were gone.
“What the hell was that?!?!?” The king reached for a drink.
Umm, who are these people?
Well now I've reached the end of what I've played, so once I play some more, I'll update some more!
As always, all comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading! Oh, and remember, anything that's copyrighted I don't actually own, unfortunately.