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Chapter 8
Wherin Northumberland and Durham spark a little civil war​

A Field Outside of Lancaster castle - August, 1080

The Duke of Northumberland, grinning like a Cheshire cat, clapped the Count of Durham firmly on the back and pointed at the distant castle. A massive rock from one of Northumbria's trebuchets crashed into the castle wall, causing a huge collapse and sending several of the castle's defenders scurrying for safety. One of them slipped, grabbed onto the edge of the parapet - legs kicking frantically - before losing his grip and plummeting to the earth below with a wilhelm scream. Northumberland roared with laughter.

"Come on - tell me that wasn't pure comedy!"

Durham smiled sheepisly.

"Amusing it might have been, but I'm still worried."

Northumberland scowled.

"Not this again..."

Durham planted his hands on his hips before releasing just how camp this made him look and deciding to fold them instead.

"Yes 'this again'. Although we've driven Lancaster's forces from the field, I'm still concerned about the King."

"The King's not involved - he's not declared war..."

"...yet! Have you seen this? The latest map of the Kingdom? The royal cartographers have picked your Duchy out in a different colour!"

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"So?"

Durham rolled his eyes.

"So...that means that the powers-at-be consider you to be a distinct political entity!"

"So?"

"You sound like a three year old do you know that?"

Northumberland raised an eyebrow and Durham waved his hands frantically.

"...my Lord. Look, all I'm saying is that it looks like London thinks you've ceded from the Kingdom by declaring war on Lancaster and I think that means they're going to come after you. My spies tell me that the King's host is on the move."

Northumberland turned his attention back to the castle just as another enormous piece of rock whooshed towards the Countess of Lancaster's home. He smiled wistfully.

"I think you're over-reacting Durham, old son. Lancaster's a pagan witch. Why on earth would the King come to her aid?"


Inside Lancaster Castle - September, 1080

The Countesses audience chamber was largely empty, save for her, her chancellor and an envoy of the King. The latter seemed somewhat distracted by the enormous mound of pumpkins piled off in the corner, some of whom had odd faces carved into them. The countess' chancellor gave him a sympathetic look. Eventually, the countess spoke, her voice thick and wheezy with cold.

"So those are his majesty's terms?"

The envoy nodded.

"Absolutely. The King recognises your dilemma but also acknowledges his position as a Christian monarch. To be seen to be taking the side of a heathen in a religious war would not be fitting."

The countess considered this before coughing loudly, a dreadful rattle echoing in her throat. She patted her back.

"Sorry about that. Honestly, this country does not have the climate for dancing naked under the moon in praise of the mother goddess! Do you know how much rain we get here? half my coven couldn't make last month's meeting due to ill health and..."

She stopped as she saw her chancellor's head go into his hands and the envoy raise an eyebrow. Smiling sheepishly she shrugged.

"...but obviously none of that is of any interest to the King, right?"

The envoy nodded and smiled coldly.

"His majesty would rather if his vassals did not indulge in such...ah...excesses. However, he would show excessive generosity to those who turned their back on such blasphemous, primative beliefs and came back to the bosom of the one true church."

"Just how generous exactly?"

The envoy smiled like a shark.

"Well, defense against errant neighbours for one? And an acknowledgement that the region requires stable leadership from a strong duchess?"

The chancellor raised his head from his hands and smiled but the countess scowled cynically.

"That all sounds lovely, but just how would it help me? An army from London would take months to reach here, and by that point Northumberland, Durham and their goons would doubtlessly have torn down my castle walls and put me to the stake."

The envoy smiled again.

"Indeed, my lady. However, you've not been outside of your castle for days, have you?"

Lancaster scowled at him.

"Odd that - no. It might have something to do with the fact that there are a bunch of psychotics camped out on my lawn firing ruddy great rocks at my home! Why do you ask?"

"Well, you may be interested to know that my travelling companions are camped nearby. And by 'travelling companions' I obviously mean a royal army."

The countess beamed. And then coughed.

"Really? Wow. Well, in that case I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

The envoy simply smiled.

"Shall I tell his Majesty that you agree to his offer?"

"Offer? Demands more like... Yeah. Tell him I accept."

The envovy beamed and produced a folded piece of fabric from within his robes which he handed to the countess. She raised an eyebrow and tapped it suspiciously with a finger.

"What's this?"

"Your new standard...duchess."

Lancaster smiled.

"Chancellor, fly this from the battlements will you? Let's see what Northumberland makes of that."

The chancellor winced.

"When you say 'fly this from the battlements' I'm assuming you don't expect me, personally, to go up there? There's just rather a lot of real-estate flying around at the moment."

Lancaster reached under her throne and produced a helmet which she threw in his direction before waving her hand in a "just-get-it-done" sort of way. The envoy bowed deeply.

"Thank you for your co-operation, duchess. I'm sure when the king hears of your new found love for the Church he will be only too happy to help."

He smiled oilly and left. Lancaster got to her feet, growled and threw a pumpkin across the room.


A Battlefield Outside of Lancaster Castle - September, 1080

Northumberland raised his visor and jabbed his sword in Durham's direction.

"Don't!"

Durham took a step backwards and raised his own visor.

"Don't what?"

"Don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"That 'I told you so' look?"

Durham sighed, went to put his hands on his hips and thought better of it.

"I wasn't giving you any look. I'm wearing plate armour in case you hadn't noticed which includes a full face helmet!"

Northumberland gestured angrily with a mailed fist that jangled as he did so.

"It was your general posture. You had a certain je nais sais quoi going on."

Durham blinked.

"A WHAT?"

Northumberland went to answer but then threw himself behind his shield as a hail of arrows rained down on them. Durham did likewise. All around them were the screams of those whose reactions weren't quite as quick or who weren't quite as well protected. Northumberland growled.

"Bloody Welsh and their bows. I don't know why the King employs them."

Durham peeked round from behind his shield at the carpet of dead bodies before them, each one playing host to half a dozen or so arrows. He cocked his head to the side and pointed at the bloody mess.

"Maybe because of that?"

Northumberland scowled.

"Now's NOT the time to get technical!"

"Oh really? Why not? Could it be because there's two royal armies threshing their way towards us?"

"Oooh. You're such a sarcastic bitch when you get stressed! You need to manage it better!"

Durham flushed scarlet.

"Stressed? Stressed? Of course I'm bloody stressed! This ill-advised little venture looks certain to cost us our titles - if not our lives - and the evil pagan we were crusading against has had a change of heart, is now best buds with the king and has a new, sodding title to boot! So - yeah. I'm a bit stressed! Is that ok wi..."

A knight in the King's livery suddenly broke through the line and charged towards them. Durham threw his shield at the man, de-horsing him in the process, before leaping on him and stabbing him repeatedly with his sword whilst yelling all manner of foul expletives. Northumberland stood watching shaking his head and whistling through his teeth. Durham, armour now glistening with gore turned to look at him.

"What?"

Northumberland whistled through his teeth again and shook his head.

"Nothing."

Durham stood up and wiped his sword on his tabard.

"You've got that smug look about you. So I'll ask again - what?"

Northumberland gestured at the dead knight.

"That."

"What about it?"

"Well, that's the proof?"

"The proof of what?"

"That you don't manage your stress well. That reaction of yours - totally over the top."

Durham growled.

"I really don't bloody believe you at times, I really don't."

Northumberland smiled, stuck his tongue out and closed his visor. There was a pause and then he yelped.

"Pleeth! Durham! Help me! Pleeth!"

Durham smirked.

"Problem, my lord?"

"I'vth th-tuck my tongue in my vithor! It really bloody hurt-ths!"

Durham slowly raised Northumberland's visor.

"Better?"

Northumberland massaged his mouth and nodded.

"Yeah."

He cast his eyes over the battlefield where the forces of the King were merrily slaughtering his men. He turned to Durham.

"Bugger this for a game of soldiers. Let's go. Be a sweetie and sound the retreat will you?"

Durham picked up a great horn.

"With pleasure."

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The Royal Palace, London - October 1080

The counts of Northumberland and Durham stood before the King like a pair of naughty schoolboys, their heads hung in shame. Their monarch paced before them, hands clasped behind his back, mulling things over in his head. He stopped to peer out of the massive palace window before addressing his two errant subjects.

"So... Gentlemen. What have we learned today?"

Durham shot a hand into the air and the King gestured at him.

"Yes?"

"That we shouldn't go attacking other lords or ladies?"

The King nodded.

"Anything else?"

Durham waved his hand in the air again.

"That we should always tell you when other lords are plotting sedition?"

The King smiled and Northumberland muttered under his breath.

"Teacher's pet!"

Durham blew a raspberry and the King coughed loudly.

"Gentlemen... Remember what we promised earlier?"

Both of them nodded their heads and the King raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

When they both spoke it was in sing-song tandem.

"We promise to behave ourselves and play nicely with our peers and not cause civil wars and not declare war on our friends and to tell the King if anyone is plotting treason."

The King smiled beatifically.

"Splendid. Well, I think you've both learned a valuable lesson, don't you?"

They both nodded and the King gestured towards the door.

"Of you trot then. And remember, I don't want to have to have this conversation with you chaps again!"

As they skulked towards the exit Northumberland turned round, eyes wide and hopefull.

"Please sir..."

The King cocked his head to the side.

"Yes?"

"...can I have my Dukedom back?"

The King waved a finger in his direction.

"What did I say before?"

Northumberland sagged.

"Not until I learn to behave like a Duke..."

The King nodded. Northumberland wandered out after Durham.

"It's so unfair", he muttered, "he's ruining my life."

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That update had an unpleasant back-to-school feeling... ;):D
 
NOTE: After writing this and reading it I'm concerned that it may offend some people. Therefore, if it does I apologise in advance!


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Chapter 9
Wherein Oxford dispenses some judgment​

Oxford Castle - November, 1080

The three young peasants stood in the Duke's audience chamber, shuffling nervously from foot to foot and casting accusatory glances in each other's direction. Occasionally one of them would peer hopefully towards the door but a glare from the chainmail-clad gorilla standing there quickly had them turning their attention elsewhere. Eventually the tallest of the three thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his hooded tunic and scuffed his foot on the highly polished floor before growling at the smaller youth next to him.

"Dis is well your fault innit, geezer!"

The kid standing behind the tallest one peeked over his shoulder and jabbed a figure at the smallest of the three.

"Dat is what I is finkin' too bruv! You 'as well vexed da Duke and dat is well lame, bitch, you get me?"

The smallest youth threw his hands in the air before planting them on his hips.

"Oh my God I so can't believe you just said that, but there's this whole other fing wot you don't know nuffin about so shut up, Dwayne!"

The tallest one swaggered slightly from one foot to the other.

"What you chattin' about, blood? You disrespecting me or summit Ryan?"

Dwayne nodded too.

"Yeah, bitch! Dat bling was sweet, innit, but I said stop an' you kept robbin'! Da Duke is gonna well slap us up big stylee!"

Ryan threw his head back, mouth open in mock indignation.

"Oh shut up you total virgin! I'm not in trouble because you know Tyrone? Well, he saw the whole thing, right, because he was bunking off the farm because he was gonna go down behind the monastery and get off with Jade Haraldson, only he never did because she's frigid, so he got off with Donna-Marie instead, so shut up!"

The other two blinked as Ryan thrust his nose in the air and stormed up to the guardsman. The large soldier peered down at the small hooded figure and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

Ryan stiffened.

"No, but yeah, but no, because if you don't let me go then the Duke is well gonna give you beatings because I've actually already met him already anyway, actually, down at the opening of the new monastery!"

Despite the passionate intensity of this plea the guardsman appeared unmoved.

And uninterested.

And possibly unable to understand.

Dwayne peered over at him sympathetically.

"Don't mind him, bruv. He is a total bell-end, innit, ain't that right Kai?"

The tallest youth nodded.

"For sure, blood! 'e is the one wot did everything, for real!"

Before Ryan could respond the doors were thrown open, there was a fanfare of trumpets and a deep, booming voice announced, "All rise for his Excellency, the Duke of Oxford!"

The three youths hunched over and ambled around nervously as a tall figure dressed in the finest robes marched in, flanked by two very impressive looking, very handsome guardsmen who flanked him menacingly as he took his seat on his throne. With an air of complete disinterest he waved his hand in the direction of the three young men.

"And who are these riff raff, chancellor?"

A smaller man, holding a satchel full of scrolls unfurled one of them, cleared his throat, and read aloud.

"Should his please his Excellency, the three peasants brought before you are charged with brigandry and rustling. The people of the county of Oxford demand your swift and unyielding justice!"

He bowed with a flourish and stood off to the side. The Duke turned to the three nervous looking figures before him.

"Well, do you have anything to say in your defence before I pass sentence?"

Ryan bustled with indignation.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you jus' sed thaat! Jus' cus I was somewhere when someone did summink don't mean I had anyfink to do with them so stop giving me evils! I didn't even hit anyone cause I wasn't even there and didn't take the gold but I can't 'av done nuffink coz you know Dwayne, well he snogged Destiny by the pond and now everyone's goin' around saying that she's a complete slag but don't trust Candice 'cos she plays with knives."

There was a moment of complete silence as everyone gawped at Ryan. Eventually Dwayne shook his head.

"Your chat is well wack, bro."

Kai folded his arms.

"Word."

The Duke stared at the whole ensemble with a look of utter disbelief on his face. Seeing Ryan warming up to answer his peers the Duke slammed his hands down on the arms of his throne and yelled "Enough!"

Everyone jumped and the Duke smiled.

"Good. Right, I'm bringing these proceedings to an end. Chancellor, fetch Gunter."

The chancellor bowed, and exited the room, returning seconds later with a massive blonde man with piercing blue eyes who, for some reason, was wearing a pair of leather lederhosen and knee high leather boots. He smiled nastily at the assembled youths before turning to the Duke, snapping his heels together and nodding.

"Jawohl mein graf!"

Oxford nodded and smiled before turning to the three peasants.

"So - let's get this over and done with. You've been brought here accused of brigandry and whether you're guilty or not you've done a grand job of pissing me right off so I think that pretty much settles things. However, because I'm a fair man I'm going to give you a choice of sentence."

Ryan, Dylan and Kai craned forward in eager, if slightly nervous, anticipation. Oxford winked at Gunter and the larger man pounded his fist into his palm. The Duke smiled before returning his attention to his prisoners. He pointed at Kai.

"Ok, tough guy. You first. What's your fate going to be? Death - or bonga?"

Kai cocked his head to one side.

"You wot, boss?"

Oxford smiled nastily.

"It was a simple question, you sty-reared idiot. Death or bonga? What's it to be?"

Kai thought about it.

"Well... Nuffink's worse than deaf, innit? I is well gonna pick bonga, for sure!"

Oxford waved a hand in Gunter's direction. The large German beamed, walked towards Kai and, with one hand slung the youth over his shoulder. With his other hand he slapped the struggling Kai on the backside and laughed; a deep, bassy sound that rumbled through the room like a localized thunderstorm.

"Du bist mein Liebling!"

He pushed open the door to the hallway, and as it slammed shut behind him the other two youths stood stock-still in horrified fascination, desperately trying to hear what was happening to their friend. For a few seconds there was nothing but tortured silence which was quickly obliterated by Gunter's booming laugh and the words "Sie hat der Rüssel!" There was the sound of clothing ripping and Kai just had the chance to shout "Man dis is well ga..." before he started screaming.

For a good few minutes.

Eventually the doors to the chamber creaked open and Gunter strode back in, a huge smile on his face. From beyond the wall everyone could hear Kai sobbing gently to himself. Oxford turned to the two youths and pointed at Ryan.

"Now you know what your choice of punishment is. So, what's it to be little man? Death, or bonga?"

Ryan threw his hands in the air.

"Oh, my God! This is so unfair! This is like, well sexual harassment! If you like, fancy me why don't you just say so? God, this is exactly like the time Squire Jones, who everyone knows is a total poof, made Dwayne stay behind after he'd ploughed the field, and started telling him off for gobbing on Kai's hair. But everyone knows he only made him stay late because him wanted to get off with him, cuz when him was telling him off his legs were wide open and Dwayne reckons he was touching his co..."

Dwayne turned and pushed Ryan in the chest.

"Shut up man! You is well gayin' me out innit!"

Oxford raised a hand.

"Right - I'm tiring of this. Death or bonga?"

Ryan puffed his chest.

"Yeah, but no but yeah! I ain't having no big German loser touch me up or anything so just don't ask me or nuffink because that's just so not gonna happen so shut up 'cos I pick death."

Gunter sagged slightly, a look of complete and utter disappointment creasing his face. Oxford smiled slyly and waved a hand.

"Ok, so just to clarify, you've picked your fate as DEATH and not bonga?"

Ryan bristled.

"Yeah, and you can't do anything or nuffink about it you complete two-faced virgin!"

Oxford nodded.

"Ok. Death it is then. Death...by bonga!"

Before Ryan could open his mouth Gunter had swept him up and dragged him out of the room. Oxford leaned forward and eyed Dwayne hungrily.

"So, that story about you and Squire Jones? How much truth was in it."

Dwayne gulped and Oxford smiled.

"I thought so."

He got out of his seat and went to leave, but stopped and turned to his chancellor, waving a hand in Dwayne's direction.

"Have that one washed and brought to my chamber. It's time I got to know my peasants a bit better."
 
I'm not easily offended or maybe I'm just too daft to get it... ;)
 
Chapter 10
Wherein some pagans come to grips with the new world order and treason is plotted​

Lancaster Castle - December, 1080

The three members of the Duchess of Lancaster's coven - now officially her Ladies in Waiting - were not happy. One of them, a tall, formidable looking woman called Jane, stood in front of the Duchess, arms folded and tapping her foot.

"This is complete crap! Are you telling us that because of some wishy-washy deal you've cut we can't practise our relgion freely?"

Lancaster scowled at Jane.

"Before you take that tone, missy, let me remind you that if it wasn't for the 'wishy-washy' deal that I'd cut it's entirely likely that a couple of large, over-zealous Northumbrian soldiers would probably be merrily roasting you over a fire at this exact moment in time."

Martha, an aged crone and the oldest member of the coven sniggered and rubbed her hands together.

"Oooh. I wouldn't mind a couple of big Northumbrian lads getting over zealous with me and doling out a right good roasting; know what I mean?"

She elbowed Jane in the ribs and winked disgustingly. The other woman paid her no heed and instead concentrated on the Duchess.

"That may be so, but does this just mean that we have to completely abandon our worship of the All Mother?"

Lancaster shook her head.

"No - of course not. We just have to be more careful, that's all. In fact, I've had a few ideas on how we can bring our rites out into the open without raising the suspicions of the Church."

Jane and Martha brightened and leaned into hear more, but an anguished moan went up from Genevive, the youngest of the coven. All eyes turned to her and she swooned dramatically and wailed.

"Woe is me for my unlife is ended! Thrust out into the open the sun's kiss will seize me in a fiery embrace!"

Martha and Jane rolled their eyes in a "not-this-again" way but Lancaster held up a hand before either of them could say anything. Instead she turned to the anguished Genevive and smiled politely.

"Genevive, darling. We've been over this before haven't we?"

The girl, placed a hand to her brow and threw her head back.

"Why is fate so cruel? Did I ask to be ripped from my mortal life and thrust into the dark courts of the night? Did I ask to become a reluctant sanguine predator, cursed forever to drink the blood of the living? And now this - the inexolarable advance of the Church - come forth to destroy a gentle soul who asked only to be loved! Oh the woe! THE ANGST!"

In Genevive's mind's eye she was tall and willowy, dressed in the finest black velvet, with sallow skin as delicate as porcelin, long raven hair that fell in waves down her back, and dark, mysterious eyes that burned with an intensity and passion so great as to break the hearts of all men (and some women) who beheld them.

In reality she was about four foot eleven, with the ruddy complexion of a farmer's wife, short, curly, ginger hair and slightly watery, sad blue eyes. Her dress, however, was made of velvet and when she walked she clanked due to the abundance of cheap, silver occult jewelry that she adorned herself with.

Lancaster laid a hand on the girl's knee and smiled again, this time with less patience.

"What did we agree last time Genevive? Can you remember?"

Genevive grasped Lancaster's hand.

"So kind! So kind! Look how she doesn't even recoil from my icy touch!"

With elaborate patience the Duchess patted Genevive on the hand.

"Actually, your hands are pretty warm. Now - for the last time. What did you agree with us at our last meeting?"

Genevive tossed her head back and laughed.

"Nothing! I shall not yield to the vile tactics of the opressor's puppet. Look into my eyes mortal! Gaze into my soul and feel it's power..."

Lancaster slapped Genevive hard across the cheek and the girl fell backed shocked.

"REPEAT AFTER ME - I AM *NOT* A BLOODY VAMPIRE!"

Genevive sobbed.

"Is this how it's going to be? In bed with the Church so we have to cast off all trappings of our true nature?"

Jane shook her head.

"No lovey. It's just that the three of us agreed a while back that your pretnending to be a scion of the night is really, REALLY annoying and we'd be very grateful if you stopped doing it."

Martha nodded.

"Yeah. Doesn't do a girl any favours acting like that. You want to find yourself a right good young man, that's what you want! Get him to stick a stake in you and get this vampire business over and done with for good, know what I'm saying?"

She jabbed Genevive in the ribs with her elbow and winked. Lancaster clapped her hands together.

"Right - what I was saying earlier was this. We can carry on as normal, but we have to put a Christian veneer on everything. For example, our May day rite..."

Martha held up a hand.

"That's the one when we dance round the great big stone and give thanks to the All Mother for our fertility."

Lancaster nodded.

"Got it in one. Well, we do the same thing this year, but instead of carrying it out at night, in the sacred grove under the light of the moon we do it during the day, in a field."

Martha raised a hand again.

"But, the big holy rock thing. That won't be in the field will it? You're not expecting the four of us to carry it all the way from the sacred grove to some field, are you?"

Lancaster shook her head.

"Of course not. Instead, we're going to use some clever symbolism. The Christians are big fans of this. Instead of the holy rock of fertility to dance around, we're going to dance round a pole - let's call it a May pole since it's on May day. And the beauty of this is that we can get everyone else involved. Say it's a new Christian rite celebrating the abundance and joy that the change in seasons brings. Instead of a congregration of four, the All Mother gets all of the young women in the realm worshipping her unknowlingly. Clever huh?"

There was a general murmer of assent before Martha once more stuck a hand in the air. Lancaster waved at her.

"Yes Martha."

"I can't see people going for it."

"Why not?"

"Well, 'cos of the pole."

Lancaster looked puzzled.

"Why wouldn't they go for that?"

Martha furrowed her brow.

"Well, this pole's the replacement for the holy rock from the sacred grove, right?"

"Right."

"And this rite's the replacement for the holy rite where we give thanks to the All Mother for our fertility and what have you, right?"

"Right."

"So this new pole thing's going to be all symbolic just like the holy rock was all symbolic, right?"

"Right."

"But, when you was explaining to us ages ago about the symbolism of the holy rock you said it was meant to represent a great big coc..."

Lancaster held up a hand.

"OBVIOUSLY the symbolism is the same..."

Martha threw her hands up.

"I can't see the priests wanting to let young girls dance round a great big tonker!"

Lancaster sighed and counted to five before speaking.

"...but obviously we don't EXPLAIN the symbolism to anyone else."

There was a series of enlighted "ooohs" from the coven. Lancaster smiled.

"Everyone happy?"

A series of nods accompanied the "oohs" to confirm this.

"Fantastic."

The Duchess turned to Jane.

"Right - now that that's out of the way, how about you conjure up a little healing spell for me to see if you can shift whatever ailment it is that's gripping me. I feel dreadful."

Jane looked aghast.

"But your excellency! You said I wasn't to do any magic!"

Lancaster smiled.

"Of course not. Now that you're a good Catholic girl you're a 'faith healer'. So use some of your faith and get me healed."

As Jane laid hands on her and attemtped to cast out the disease that had been (pardon the pun) plauging her for the past few weeks Lancaster wondered if all covens were as stupid as hers. If that was the case, maybe it would go some way to explaining the easy with which Christianity had spread across the world.

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York Castle - March, 1081

The rain was coming down in torrents and the thunder rumbled like an angry god's laughter. Occasionally a jagged fork of lightening would sunder the leaden sky and briefly illuminate the landcape below. The countryside was devoid of life - for neither man nor beast would dare brave the elements on a night such as this - save for a lone horse and rider, careering towards York castle. The horse's eyes were wide with fear and its mouth was white with foam as its rider drove it on faster and faster through the night. With a clatter of hooves on wood it tore across the drawbridge into the castle's court yard, and before it had even come to a halt its rider had sprung from its back and dismounted. The poor animal collapsed in a heap, panting madly as steam rose from its flanks. Without so much as a glance backwards the rider, dashing up the stairs to the keep's doors, simply pointed over his shoulder and yelled at the startled guardsman on the parapet.

"Tend to my mount, for I have business with your Lord!"

With that he stepped up to the massive double doors of the Keep and heaved them open.

Inside, the Duke of York was sitting with his wife, enjoying a quiet meal. Both of them almost spilled their drinks in surprise as the huge doors were flung open and a howling gale from outside almost snuffed out every candle in the room. York turned to face the intruder who stood in the doorway, hands on hips, cape billowing in the wind. As the Duke went to speak he was cut off by a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. The figure in the doorway raised a hand and pointed at him.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures!"

The Duchess put her head in her hands and shook her head, while the Duke narrowed his eyes and peered at the figure more closely.

"Hereford, is that you?"

The Duchess sighed.

"Of course it's bloody Hereford. Who else talks like that?"

There was a slam as Hereford (for it was indeed he) pulled the doors shut and strode across the room to where the Duke stood. He grasped him in an embrace and hugged him tightly, before slapping him on the back, shaking him and laughing heartily.

"Well met my friend! Well met indeed."

He grasped York by the cheeks and grinned.

"Yet looks he like a king. Behold his eye, as bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth controlling majesty!"

York wriggled free from Hereford and smiled politely. Leciester simply sighed and poured herself some more wine.

"So", said York, "I gather you got my message?"

Hereford laughed again and clapped York on the shoudler.

"Aye - that I have. My mind is aflame at the thought of what we will accomplish!"

York nodded and indicated that Hereford be seated. Leicester drained her glass, and poured herself another one. She pointed the bottle accusingly at her husband.

"Whatever you're up to I want no part of it - I'm making that clear now. Especially if that nugget", her she jabbed the bottle in Hereford's direction, "is involved! I'm off to bed."

York waved her hand dismissivly and Hereford punched him on the shoulder.

She stood up, turned to leave, stopped and returned to the table from which she snatched up her glass.

"And I'm taking this with me!"

Hereford roared with laughter and his fist into his palm.

"I like a woman with spirit!"

Leicester drew him a look that suggested she was willing to put that theory to the test, but York intervened and turned Hereford away from his rapidly smouldering wife.

"So, you've seen my proposal and you agree?"

Hereford puffed his chest out.

"Agree? Truly we stand on the threshold of greatness! The strands of fate unwind and split, weaving a new, richer tapestry - one of honour, virtue and greatness!"

York look puzzled.

"Look, are you absolutely sure that..."

Hereford sprang to his feet, clenching one mailed fist as he did so and raising it to the ceiling.

"For too long has the yoke of opression hung around our necks. We are men of honour, dignity, integrity and valour, yet we are forced to dance to the tune of another. Our talents are wasted, squandered - taken for granted! But hark! For a light doth burn in the blackness. A tiny flicker, yes - but one that shall soon burst into a mighty inferno so great that it will sear the very darkness asunder! Burn mighty fire! Burn and set us free! Burn and..."

York tugged Hereford's leg.

"Can you get down off the table please? I've just had it revarnished and the Duchess... Trust me - she'd go completely spacko if she saw you up there."

Hereford, somewhat deflated, climbed down. York smiled an embaressed smile.

"Er...so...you're little speech there. I couldn't help notice that you kept using words like 'honour', 'valour' and 'integrity'."

Hereford beamed.

"Indeed sir, for the venture on which we do depart..."

York waved his hands and made a little "sushing" motion.

"I know, I know. However, you are absolutely certain that you completely and utterly understood my message?"

Hereford puffed out his chest, went to speak but York cut him off.

"Just yes or no will do."

"Oh. In that case yes."

"So you know what I'm proposing. Again, yes or no."

"Yes. I think so."

York sighed and ran his hand through his hair before looking at Hereford and smiling politely.

"Ok. In simple terms, what I was proposing was a revolution. Namely that you and I declare our independance from the King and the combined mighty of our realms would be sufficent to eclipse his power, setting us up as the new, defacto, rulers of England."

Hereford's brow furrowed.

"A noble venture! One that we under take in the name of liberty, justice, honour and..."

York shook his head.

"Basically, it's a cheap grab for power, taking advantage of the events that have just happened in the north."

Hereford sagged slightly.

"Oh."

A cunning smile flickered on York's face and he put an arm around Hereford's shoulders.

"Of course, once we had brought peace to the realm you'd be free to introduce your own standards of honour, liberty, justice and whatever other virtues you desire."

Hereford bounced to his feet.

"Then our venture doth live! I must ride! If my steed is not ready then have your men prepare me another! Preperations await! Hosts must be raised! To battle! To arms! We shall claim this realm in the name of nobility! Blow wind! Come wrack! At least I'll die with armour on my back!"

He raced to the door, half tripping over his cloak and almost falling head over heels in his excitment to get outside. York stood at the top of the stairs and cheerily waved goodbye. When Hereford and his horse had torn off into the distance the Duke shut the doors behind him and exhaled loudly. Slumping into his seat he drained the rest of his wine before heading upstairs to bed. Once he had gone the Duchess slipped out from the shadows, a viscious smile on her face. She rubbed her hands together nastily before muttering "I'll teach you to mark my bloody table." before slinking upstairs after her husband.

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Oooh, watch out for revengeful women!!:eek::D
 
Any feedback on the change of style would be appreciated. Do you like it? Prefer the old way?

Let me know!

Hi Iain!
Congrats on your youngster. Enjoy the early years as they grow up so fast. As for this AAR, it is entertaining but I miss the pics. Being a visual person, I prefer that style of presentation.
 
Sadly this AAR is going to have to come to a premature end. I rebuilt my laptop at the weekend and foolishly didn't copy the save game files, the customised setup files or the image captures I'd taken!

So, sadly this tale is going to have to go the way of the dodo :(

Thanks to those who were reading!
 
Unfortunate... :(

Oh, well, onwards to the next and others... :D