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Introduction
  • TheButterflyComposer

    The Dark Lord Kelebek
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    Mar 4, 2016
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    From the distant past, the muses grip my tongue and make me sing,
    Of great men and warriors and kings!
    The hour grows late yet the fire burns bright,

    Let my great history warm you all in this place tonight!


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    Long ago, before the coming of the Lord, these isles were the home of savage men and beasts. Then the Empire with all its might rendered them quiet for a time. But these isles are old, and full of noise, not easily pacified. The invaders were thrown back into the sea by warring tribes. And in their place, why, we came, from across a different sea. From a land of cold to a land of green. Ah! The many kingdoms the Angles and Saxons built! None greater than the Northumbrians. But with the return of Christ to these lands, the power of the land changed, gripped by the fury of one man, whom we call Offa.

    Great was his host. Powerful was Mercia! The great overking and his generals raised these lands, and whilst many kings were made to kneel, others merely nodded their submission. For whom could withstand such a power? Offa returned home, victorious, as did his earls, to rule Mercia, the greatest kingdom thus far seen on these shores.

    But none but God could know, that this was not the triumph of his story, but the beginning of another’s…

    THE KING IN THE NORTH

    -/…/-
    TBC here for another (potentially) doomed to fail AAR. This time, we're going to be doing something a little different as I try (somehow) to break out as an independent Lancaster in the 769AD start date. All the rules are set to default (yes, even defence coalitions) except for the Aztec Invasion, because who knows, I might want to play this in EUIV too... if I survive.
    As an extra special treat/penalty for the readers of this AAR, you will be able to vote sporadically on things. Things like what kind of hat my guy gets to wear (i.e. when should I become king. If I get that far). And who do I attempt to bully next? You decide! Or rather, I decide, and then give you a few choices and maybe some strategy discussion because this is a dictatorship not a democracy. Enjoy, for I am not sure how long I will last. But this should be fun regardless. Happy Reading!
    -/…/-
    The prologue begins below at
    Chapter 1.

    The story begins twenty three chapters later, at
    Chapter 1.

    Minor interactivity approved by Mr.C
     
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    Chapter One: We find these islands blessed
  • Chapter One: We find these islands blessed

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    In those days Offa of Mercia made his seat within Leicester. His loyal and victorious earls were scattered around him, two lands for each.

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    Oxford to the south was married into the family, for he would be tempted by the wealthy yet lesser powers of the southern lands.

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    To the east, Lindsey kept a watchful eye on York, and also upon Offa’s own throne.

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    And the west went to his most trusted bloodkin, the cousins Worchester and Chester. The savage Britons of yesteryear did once ally with Offa against the encroaching Northumbrians, but those days were gone. In place, Offa planned a great earthen defence to establish his power over the Welsh.

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    In that, and in old Roman Chester, he entrusted to Wigheard of Derby, the wisest of his council and his chancellor of the realm. That name, to us, resonates louder than a war drum but for his part, and his time, he was a most respected man of the mind and field.

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    Beloved was he to his new subjects, and he made good peace with the Britons on his doorstep. He made his own council of local holy men and city merchants, for even in those days, he recognised the power of gold even over strength of arms. Very soon he made his seat in Chester and henceforth took its name as his own.

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    He went not alone, for his household was blessed with son Wigferth and grandson Wigberht, but alas, a wife gone to her rest. After war and many years, he spoke little of her, so the gracious woman is lost to history but beloved by God and by us for siring the line that is so dear to our hearts.

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    But sadness and pain do not last forever, dear listeners. Chester and his son, both bereaved, married again with the promise of Offa’s peace strong in their hearts. A worthy match was found in the beautiful princess of Italia, in those days Lombardy. She brought with her another maid for Wigfreth to make the family whole once more.

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    Chester did not live in a wholly civilised land nor did he rule over a notably pious people. Legend tells that when he sought out a medical man for his home and hearth, a wildling appeared and did many mystical magics in his time. Such things were commonplace in those lands, and by far from the strangest occurrences that I shall recount to you. Far from it! Why, a dragon appeared that very year and was smote down by Chester and Wigfreth’s arms.

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    So Chester made his seat, and ruled well, casting off his shadows of war, cleansing his body of many years of battle, dirt and blood. Offa’s peace was a great and noble promise, one desired by his generals, for had they all not fought long and hard for such things? And yet, the reality of ruling had struck at their great leader, and he soon demanded they give more men to his banner every year. Loyal, yet disquieted, they agreed. All seemed calm and good within the land of Mercia.
     
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    Chapter 2: A lay of the land
  • Chapter 2: A lay of the land
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    Offa was building an army, or so it seemed to the lords of Mercia. True, such demands were within his right as king, but the council were discontent nonetheless. Oxford was pacified with the marriage of his sister to Offa, but Worchester and Lindsey remained antagonised, doubly so after such a boon was granted to their peer. It took much of the loyal Chancellor’s skill and silver tongue to pacify Lindsey, but the Earl of Worchester was angered further still by Offa’s overtures and stormed away from the moot.

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    Fearing that insurrection might fast be approaching, Chester begged and was granted leave to restore and rebuild the walls of his city of Chester. Offa entrusted in his chancellor more by the day, granting him Marshal of the Long Patrol and Head of the Hunt along the Briton border. For a year and a day, peace reigned following this council, though the earls remembered well what occurred.

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    Chester grew and grew, the centre of a new trade network flowing from Mercia to Northumbria and from Anglesey and distant isles to Middlesex and the continent. It was rapidly becoming recognised as being a lynchpin for Mercian might as well, located as it was at the crossroads of Welsh, Northumbrian and Mercian lands. Throughout it all, the Earl ruled well, and kindly, and earnt the love of his subjects twice over.

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    Northumbria reigned still the greatest of all the kingdoms, though her star had waned somewhat with the coming of Mercia. Still, they were a large and potent force if suitably riled up, which was demonstrated time and time again when invaders sought to quell those lands.

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    For Chester, he eyed the Earl of Westmorland most cautiously, as both men held claim over the other’s lands.

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    Gwynedd, North Wales. A harsh land even compared to the North. The sea was cold, the land rock, and the people hard. Here many a Saxon king had met his end. From the Isle of Anglesey, the Rhos family ruled these people well, though rumours and whispers of dark and unholy magic abounded. It is certainly true that many a dragon, monster or other-such beast came from those parts, but only a few legends speak of the affected family itself. The heirs of Chester most certainly found their metal and courage tested there however.

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    Offa’s peace was broken once more, and again by the agitation of Worchester. By now it was clear he had lost the respect of his vassals for backing down to the king’s command, and a hundred other failings of ruling, to be sure. Worchester called for Offa’s councils, his generals, to have a say in when and where the king might make war. After all, were not their men and their lives and livelihoods to be used in such purists?

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    After much mediation between Worchester, Offa and the other earls, the Chancellor finally cast his lot in with his cousin, agreeing to his point, chiefly out of concern for his own people. The king was greatly displeased by this, but such was the respect he had for Chester that he did in fact nod and began to negotiate. However, Fortune, the cruel touch of the Fates, tore down this meeting of minds before it could take place.

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    Worchester died suddenly, unexpectedly. His two sons split his two counties. The balance of Mercia ruptured, and the future seemed quite uncertain. All eyes, earl and king, turned towards the divided lands of the late troublemaker.
     
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    Chapter 3: Murder in Warwick
  • Chapter 3: Murder in Warwick

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    A land cannot fall into the hands of two children without consequence.

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    First, it made the Baron of Warwick a powerful man, as he held great influence over both youths and regency over their lands. We do not know much of him, but it would be a pious man indeed who was not tempted by being raised to such heights and not seeking further stature.

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    Second, it made the entire realm uneasy and disorderly as merchants and tradesmen moved their homes and stores away from the border towards the safety of Offa’s midlands, or, increasingly, towards Chester’s walls. The Chancellor refused to make his advantage upon the king however, for he was an honourable man. Instead, he secured the future of his dynasty by insisting on a mercantile education for his grandson, to better understand the growing trade city he would one day rule.

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    Some lesser men of course, did take advantage. One of them was Chester’s own marshal, the Mayor of Chesterfield. Chester took swift action upon hearing of the news, imprisoning the villain for using his soldiers to harass and steal from the peasants.

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    The man was released after three days, after releasing his monies back to the people he had wronged. He would bear a hefty grudge against his lord, but the people of course, loved him all the more.

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    Chester rebuilt his council afterwards, and appointed the talented but wicked ex-prisoner a commander in the field, away from any mischief. He promoted his son and heir to Marshal, and put him to work developing Chester’s growing military into a proper fighting force.

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    He also built new walls for his birthplace in Derby, now a distant second to Chester in prominence but still of value to her lord. As Chancellor, he also conducted research and found Offa an historic claim to the county of Norfolk in East Anglia, in the tale of St. Guthlac. For Chester was wise and good in equal measure, and Offa trusted him, and he Offa.

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    That bond was shaken and strained by the most dastardly of actions the king undertook soon afterwards. He wanted Chester’s help in killing one of the child earls, and bringing the other into Offa’s court. Naturally, the Chancellor was horrified and denied his king outright, riding at once to the other earls, only to learn from Lindsey that Oxford had already joined the plot.

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    The two decided that Offa had indeed gone too far in his power, and began a movement to censure him within his own council. It was, perhaps even to them, a futile move, but one made of a moral and consciousness demanded by men of good hearts. And Chester had a fine one, though it was greatly wounded by these events.

    Offa did kill that poor child, with aid from his vassals, and was saddened by his friend’s turn against him. To the king’s credit, after the terrible deed was done, he seemed to have every intention of healing the divide within his realm and establishing a peace once again, a peace only he had broken. Alas…it was not to be. But sometimes, such horrors must come to pass in order for good things to come. Like the wildfire afore the downpour, the scouring before the planting. Mercia was about to enter a tumultuous time, of Offa's making but not his undoing. Not yet.
     
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    Chapter 4: The Battle of Macclesfield
  • Chapter 4: The Battle of Macclesfield

    Forgive me, for my throat is hoarse and the night grows colder. How fitting then, for the tragedy that I tell you now. It has been many years since the murder of Chester, but the scream of blood does not cool with time.

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    As you heard, St. Guthlac and his hermitage gave credence to Offa’s claims over East Anglia, the oldest of the realms, yet small and vulnerable. The king saw a quick and easy prize, whilst Chester saw the summation of his task and departed once again to his home.

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    There he tried to make peace with the wounded pride of his former Marshal, now commander. With skill and the kindness oft ascribed to him, Chester won him over.

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    The court was also blessed with a new daughter for his son, named Christina in the style of the Lombards from whence her mother came. She was promised to another child, the Earl of Surrey, whom lived far to the south beyond the Thames.

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    More unexpectedly, Chester’s own wife fell pregnant too. The household was overjoyed, especially given the lord’s older years. The pregnancy gave the woman some trouble, but love and kindness smoothest over many ills in this life.

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    In another twist of fate, Offa came to Chester cap in hand, begging for forgiveness for his past sins. Chester of course was amenable, being the purest of men. Offa’s invitation of hospitality held another, more pressing concern however. The king was stricken, dying of a life of indulgence and wickedness since his warring days.

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    The pair did reconcile over the course of several months in each other’s company, especially with Offa’s illness and Gerberga’s pregnancy. Both had the finest of care imaginable of course but in truth, both struggled with each passing mourn. Worse was to come however, for Offa began to tax the people of his kingdom to a greater extent, paranoid of leaving his heir with an empty treasury. This did not come without consequence, and with his most excellent Chancellor placed within his own court, the realm grew fiercer and fiercer in ire towards the king.

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    Finally, the horse snapped his lease and the dogs of war were released. The greatest uprising was in Chester itself, most upsettingly to her lord. The people were not, of course, rebelling against him, but a cruel overlord. However, Chester was a good man and trusted Offa one last time. He of course agreed to join his king in this fight, taking up arms against his own subjects, whom loved him dearly.

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    His wife could not accompany him, given her condition, so Offa promised to care for her within his court whilst Chester rode on ahead to confront the rebels. Offa was to follow after, but his injury, or perhaps carelessness, delayed his forces and those of the other earls. Chester thus fought the greater enemy force alone.

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    The Battle of Macclesfield was a bloodbath on both sides. Brother and father fought against one another, and the cries of anguish came not just from injury but from recognition. These were not a wicked people, but simply desperate men, wishing to feed their families and keep their pride of living.

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    The tragedy was complete, sorrowfully, inevitably. The great Chester the Kind met his end with a spear to the back, choking his last words of love for his son through bleeding lungs. The Earl’s army rushed to their fallen leader, lifting him off and away from the battlefield. They were routed. Much had been lost that day in Macclesfield. Today, the clay still strikes red when cut.

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    The realm past to the son, Wigferth. Enraged, distraught, the young man and his entire guard swore upon their swords and his father’s cooling corpse that there would be a reckoning for the crime committed that day. Offa, and all his line, would suffer for the death of Chester, for the blood shed upon the battleground. Mercia would suffer and burn for this day. He headed towards his father’s great house in Chester, for it would always be his and never Wigferth’s. The whole city was tainted by the loss of something inexpressible. The new Earl sought a new land for himself and his family, away from such heartbreak, away from the evil of Offa and his ilk.

    As well we know, they did find such a place, though at still greater cost.
     
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    Chapter 5: A Winter of Discontent
  • Chapter 5: A Winter of Discontent

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    Hatred doth despise the man who cautions peace and calm. But Wigferth the new Earl of Chester could wait and plot his revenge on Offa, for first he had to throw down the revolt that the king had caused. Having done so, the rebels being contrite at murdering king Old Chester, Wigferth left the city, rarely to return.

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    Instead, he went to Derby, his homeland, and demanded a penance be paid by the dark city for their crime. He was wary of his less than stellar relationship with Offa already, and was thus surprised that the king offered his father’s old position of Chancellor to him.

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    Offa however needed his vassals under one banner, for he had done the deed of foul nature that Old Chester had forsaken him for. He had murdered the child Warwick, and though it was carefully and craftily done, all knew whose wickedness had been performed.

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    Derby was horrified at the man he now called liege, and his horror only mounted when he learnt that he indeed benefitted from the foul murder. For he was next in line to the living Worchester child’s seat, and thus would own half of all Mercia.

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    In his sorrow over his father and cousin’s murders, the young Earl shaved his head and face, resolving to never let it grow again until he was free of this pit of darkness and shadows that Mercia was fast becoming.

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    The two remaining lords of the land were far removed from one another. Oxford remained a steadfast Offa loyalist, being further entwined and enriched by that sickened king. He was in failing health himself, and had five sons to attend to with limited lands of his own. He needed the king. The same could not be said for Lindsey, honest to a fault, who held Old Chester in fine regard.

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    Some light shone in Derby however. Chester’s wife returned with a new-born girl named Maria. Still grieving, Derby decided that this babe would have a better life far from these rainy islands, and sent her across the sea with her mother to the Lombard court of her birth. She was then eventually betrothed by matrilineal way to a Karling child staying at the court. Unbeknownst to all, those two children would one day rule all of Francia.

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    A winter of discontent ensued, with everyone and sundry’s council and vassals disgruntled by this and the other. Offa suffered more than most, with his festering limbs and incapable ruling leading rise for Derby’s chance to break free. He and Lindsey resurrected Old Chester’s movement for council power, and in those bleak times, Offa agreed.

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    It would prove a final blow for the ailing monarch, and he succumbed to his disease swiftly afterwards. Derby’s hour had come. Offa’s son had but a year under to become a man, and the realm was confused and chaotic.

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    At this time Derby rode to Chester and borrowed plentiful of monies from the merchants there, and the Jews, and began secretly building a band of men to challenge the youth king and earn his family’s freedom. He found good soldiers in a Saxon Band, sent from Wessex with love from their monarch.

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    With army and banner raised, and treasure to hold them, Derby sent a challenge to the new king to remove his fife from his lands and henceforth be a foreigner in those parts. The youth, boldly, refused, and readied his new realm for war. And so the great battle for our freedom began in earnest!
     
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    Chapter 6: Forward onto Freedom
  • Chapter 6: Forward onto Freedom

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    War came to the North once again, this time by Derby’s instigation. Our forces quickly rallied to Warwick, the scene of infanticide and murder. Mercian men were not prepared nor expecting a rebellion of such strength, and thus were separated from each other, to their cost.

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    Warwick saw half their army slaughtered before they were properly raised, and a path through the realm was opened. Derby knew however that his army, and his coin, would only march so far and last so long. So he needed to strike hard while the iron of his enemies was soft. And he did. The Saxon men of Wessex were swift and hardy, cutting down all in their path. Mercia was open to invasion and pillaging, but Derby knew he had to force another, conclusive battle, lest the boy king reformed his men and truly fought back. The rebellion could not fight such a war and win.

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    So it was that Derby forced another battle, this time on the outskirts of Sherwood forest. There three enemy commanders, Old Offa retainers, were killed. Two hundred men of Mercia were slain and for only one score of rebel soldiers. His point made, Derby ordered a march on Leicester and sent heralds before him to every village and the city itself, proclaiming that either the Earl would find a flag of truce there, or no men at all. If any men were to be found otherwise, they would be put to the sword. Mercia did not hear his claims. Thus, the city was put to siege and for many months, the nerve of the king was tested against Derby’s, each knowing that a flinch would prove fatal. What would fail first, Old Offa’s food and walls or Old Chester’s purse?

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    Eventually, perhaps humorously, both men moved in the same instant. On the very day Derby was organising an assault, the king sallied out to disperse the rebel band. Fortune favouring him, Derby quickly brought his plan into motion and pushed back, and back, until the walls were behind his own men and the city began to fall. Resistance melted away when the boy king and court fled the field, leaving Derby in Offa’s old seat and, for the first time, in command of his own destiny.

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    Here he first met his son, now a man grown, as an equal and commander in the rebellion. The youth was clever, having been tutored at the hand of Old Chester himself, and was a child both of war and peace. Derby looked upon him and was pleased.

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    But the war was not yet over, though it had most certainly been won. Mercia yet remained a power in the country and repulsing the king meant only that he would face further recrimination from his council, not that Derby could walk free. No, a great battle was required to disperse the growing army of Mercia one last time, to thoroughly exhaust the king’s patience and coffers if not his reserves of men. Derby of course was becoming poorer too, though the capture of Leicester had helped immensely with keeping the Saxon Band attentive. Burton was the place of the enemy encampment whilst they gathered their forces. Derby therefore threw caution to the wind, buoyed by past fortune and victory. And in a battle of thousands, he emerged victorious. The king was destitute and unpopular, the realm burning and the people beaten. He conceded defeat, with a grace similar to that of his blessed father.

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    Derby and Chester were now free from the chains of Mercian kings and their fallen kingdom. Free to pursue higher causes and greater destinies. What, may you ask? Well…I’m glad you asked. For now, we have reached the end of the beginning. Here then, the House of Lancaster would be born from the fires of war, and unite the whole North, the whole Isles! Against whatever fate and devil may throw at us!
     
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    Chapter 7: The Beowulf Lords of Anglesey
  • Chapter 7: The Beowulf Lords of Anglesey

    When a land loses a king, even one as cruel and foolish as the king of Mercia, the land revolts. The newly independent Derby was no different, as scores of vagabonds and criminals from the war ran from Mercian justice to the free forests. Earl Derby’s own vassals were much afraid and confused, not least because he had spent every coin they all had and used every farmer and worker to secure his own seat. Much needed to be done to restore the realm to order, and even beyond the borders of Mercia, many strange and wonderful things were happening. One such story I shall tell to you now.

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    It all began with a series of attempted kidnappings, highway robbery and general skulduggery on the road between Chester and Derby. The great Bishop of Halton was attacked, the most pious and powerful within the new earldom. Derby rounded up the villains and dispensed them with the just hand he would become renowned for.

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    There was much to be done still. Derby sat uneasily between two giants called Mercia and Northumbria. Northumbria was a harsh and unruly land by all measure, yet had dominated the seven kingdoms for many centuries. As there were lords within their midst who desired Derby’s lands, he had to be ever watchful of their movements.

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    To the south of course lay the Mercians. Defeated perhaps but by far the stronger presence to Derby. Old Offa may have died but his dreams of unifying the entire south east under his banner had not. Whilst the new king turned from the north in bitterness to greedily eye more tempting prizes, Derby would have a short while to build a force of his own to match his former king.

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    It was thus to the Britons that the Earl turned. A savage race of men, pushed by Mercian expansion far into the mountainous regions of the west. Yet Anglesey was a proud and wealthy kingdom, whom had at times blunted Offa’s great army in the days of Old Chester. If such a land could be made to bend, if just a little, a great deal could be gained from it. Of course, to get to the island, several other factions would need to be pushed out of the way. Powys was a kingdom that Offa’s Dyke was designed to keep out. Thus, it was with no small amount of bravery that Derby decided to war with them for tribute. The Briton army was quick to respond, marching straight over the earthen mound and towards Derby.
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    Chester remained the military power in those lands however, and so the Earl was able to raise his army there before moving to intercept the invaders at Chesterfield. The Britons, or the Welsh as they would become known, were fine archers. For over an hour, they frustrated Derby with constant barrages and skirmishes, felling many before he finally brought his heavy infantry into their midst. They fell back quickly and the battle was won, but both sides lost almost as many men due to the tactics on display. However, Powys could ill afford any lost men, whilst Chester had plentiful peasants to send to the field.

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    With Powys beaten back, Derby moved to occupy their lands beyond the Dyke. Swiftly it became apparent why hitherto Saxons had struggled in these parts. The land was rocky and mountainous, and where it was not, it was marshy and thickly covered in forest. Ambushes and treachery were rife. The weather was dismal. Powys’ army would have to be flushed into the open once again, and so Derby retreated back to Chester to resupply and rethink. His scouts reported however that they were being trailed by a growing body of Welshmen, and so Derby planned for two battles, one if they attacked before he reached Chester, and one if after. The Welsh began attacking at Macclesfield, and so battle commenced there soon after.

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    This time, Derby was wise to the Welshman’s tricks and whilst maintaining his shield wall, sent his own skirmishers and huntsmen around the flanks to entrap the enemy. Macclesfield saw far better gains to loses, with the enemy losing half their army and Derby only three score.

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    He had also managed to disperse the Welsh in many different directions far from their homeland, which he then marched into unimpeded. The weather had also improved. Soon, King Cadell’s halls were put to the torch and his crop sized by the men of Chester. There was more land and wealth to seize, but Derby did not wish to press his fortune too far in those treacherous and dismal lands. He returned to Chester, just in time to face the reformed remains of Powys one last time.

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    Cadell conceded defeat and promised to support and obey Derby, for as long as his strength and life held against his enemies. The Earl’s first victory in war was celebrated greatly, but there were storm clouds on the horizon that stilled the cheer within Chester. First, Wigberht, Derby’s son and heir, became very ill and infirm, and physically retired.
    Second, the Earl of Yoredale had noted our war against the savages and pressed his claim to Chester with Derby away in Powys. If he brought the might of Northumbria, or even his own not inconsiderable force down upon Derby, the new realm would shatter before it had truly begun.

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    Second, the Earl of Yoredale had noted our war against the savages and pressed his claim to Chester with Derby away in Powys. If he brought the might of Northumbria, or even his own not inconsiderable force down upon Derby, the new realm would shatter before it had truly begun.

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    Third, Warwick remained a contention even without Mercia. The brother of the murdered child earl remained himself childless, and thus Derby stood to inherit all of his land and wealth. Naturally, this caused a great deal of tension between the two sides of the family, and might have proven an issue that the king himself would forcibly correct.

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    Again of course, hope springs eternal my dear listeners. The Earl’s vassals were slowly beginning to appreciate his rule. His wife became pregnant once again. The treasury began to fill with coin from Chester and with tribute from Powys.

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    Better still, the Karling child Old Chester had promised to Maria so long ago had suddenly and quite unexpectedly become King of the Franks, and now ruled a great empire that had not been seen since the days of Old.

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    And again, better still, the marriage contract specified that the man would take the maid’s family line for himself. As amazing as it sounded, the rather young family created by Old Chester would become the founder of not one but two great kingdoms within Europe, due to this union, and be spread far and wide throughout the world. The birth of Cenraed months later only solidified the growing prominence and promise of this dynasty.

    But forgive me. You do not wish for this history lesson on Francia, as interesting as it might be. You wish to now of Beowulf of Anglesey, the Great Bear Lords of Wales. Well, I shall tell you for it is a most fascinating tale.

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    You see, in those days on the Isles of Anglesey, a rather peculiar local tradition had arisen, possibly from old Germanic stories or other such ancient place, of the majesty of bears and their ilk. The mighty beasts had long since vanished from these shores, yet their memory and image remained. So, when a tribe of them appeared in the Irish Sea, it was treated in no small exaggeration, as an act of divine provenance. The people of the island wept with joy, and threw great parades and festivals upon the bear’s rescue from the seas. They named them, and their king adopted them into his hearth and home. As extraordinary as it sounds, they practically worshiped the creatures, and well they might. For these were gigantic things, larger even than the type found in Francia. Pure white of fur, powerful limbed and majestic brows, it is not so hard to imagine the simply folk of that time worshiping the ground at their paws.

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    But here my story gets even more extraordinary and amazing. For you see, when the old king died (under most violent of circumstances, I mark you!), they made the oldest male bear their king! Yes! Hywel, the Duke of Gwynedd, ruled the rich and prosperous land of Anglesey as what we called their Beowulf Lord.

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    What is most remarkable are the stories we heard, for we did war with these people in the days before Lancaster, and the Beowulf Lord was said to have enjoyed many games and magic tricks, though his temperament suggested a grave paranoia of his surroundings.

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    Naturally, when Derby received word of this, he set out to tribute or conquer these madmen of North Wales. Of course, that meant not only fighting in harsh conditions along the coast but also against a stronger power than Powys, and also fighting a skirmisher army backed up by dozens of great bears! Well! The war was one of such legend and absurdity that much has been said of it so I shall not recount it all here. Let it be said however that though Derby did in the end slaughter most of the Beowulf army, they put up an almighty fight. That grand Duke Hywel himself was a tough fighter and warrior by himself, felling many men and horses upon the battlefield.

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    Truly without the support of Welsh archers of our own, it is hard to say how the whole sorry tale might have ended. As it was, Anglesey could be pinned against the coast and thus far more effectively committed to battle than Powys. As destructive as that was for Chester’s population, Derby’s army became very proficient at fighting in the savage lands by war’s end.

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    At Holyhead on the isle of Anglesey itself, the final battle between a much reduced but well-bloodied Derby army crushed the remaining Welsh defenders, though at great cost. Derby lost one of his oldest, indeed, he was sixty-one at the time, commanders, and friend of Old Chester.

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    Another battle had to be fought on the island before victory was won. The Great Bear died of Rabies, caught perhaps in his many rampages through our lines. Derby was pleased with his second war for tribute, though the human cost had been greatly escalated by the presence of the bear lords. He thus spread out the remaining ones amongst the settlements in Anglesey, and placed the cub of Hywel upon his father’s throne.

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    With not only more money from his conquests but now a Bear Honour Guard and an experienced if diminished army, Derby looked elsewhere for further targets. However, the battlefield glory had led to personal revelation, and the Earl became far more spiritual than he had been before. He decided to pay off the Jewish moneylenders in Chester, and then take a pilgrimage before deciding what to do next. Thus ends the first part of the story of the Beowulfs, but as you are all well aware, it would not be the last of their adventurers in these lands.
     
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    Chapter 8: The Family Creed
  • Chapter 8: The Family Creed

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    Before the sundering of the world, a mighty empire ruled in Europe. Not Roman, but those who claimed to be their descendants. And with the wisdom and foresight of Old Chester, we married into them in a very particular way beneficial to us. A scion of their family, Pepin, would take our bride and our name as his and his children’s, when the time came for them to wed. And when he, unexpectedly, became the new king in Francia, he affirmed to that promise. Perhaps he viewed Karling blood as a spent force, or sensed the vitality of our own. Whatever his reason, our House now ruled all of Europe.

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    Not wishing to rest idly, Derby took it upon himself to match his father’s intake. He promised his own son to the Princess of the Romans, whom lived and still stand strong in the East. This was before the days of their Great Seal with Lombardy, making our relation with them even older. I believe this binding will yet bring us much pain, and much power within this realm of ours. Such is the way of deals with such great powers on Earth.

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    But Derby was not satisfied with these mortal strengths. He looked to the Heavens and found the Faith in turmoil, in Francia and in Rome; something again that has yet to be rectified and perhaps never will. But it was here that my forebears first became true Christians, instead of reluctant converts. After Derby, many tales and writings emerge on our piety, and many churches sprang up in these lands. It began with this man.

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    God tested him, and tested him again. His faith was challenged and questioned, but never did Derby relent! He stood fast in his Faith and so Faith rewarded him, with a child born onto him: Wiglaf of Chester.

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    Another child of his was soon imperilled by mortal illness, and it became clear to all that Derby’s quest was not yet done. God wished him to go on a special mission and so he prepared to leave his homeland.

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    His vassals, bar the mutinous Macclesfield, were in good cheer of him by this time, so he could safely leave the place in good hands and their trust. He would also be aided by the newly matured Pepin, whose empire stretched from the coasts of the North Sea to the shores of the Mediterranean. Derby and Pepin could easily have thus taken a procession to Rome and indeed did so for Pepin’s coronation. But this was too easily done to be a holy passage, and so the pair looked further afield. They were called to the Holy Land itself, to the Great City of Christ.

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    A separate Epic tells of their travels and adventures through sea, forest and desert, through the land of the Infidel and Heathen, and to Jerusalem itself. Throughout the journey to the East, Derby began to exhibit the kindness and Christian charity his own father was well remembered for, and a humbleness that impressed the mighty king he travelled with. Some say that at this time, the king granted Derby and all his heirs the title Defender of the Faith, for their demonstrable piety.

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    As he wondered around the old city, reflecting on the Bible, Derby came to some conclusions that mark our family to this day:

    First, there is but one God in Heaven and so there must be one Arbiter on Earth. The Head of the Family must hold absolute power to rule absolutely.

    Second, the Head of the Family is God’s chosen, thus anyone from the House may rule.

    Third, a House divided cannot stand. When the Head is made, they will be followed. The only reasons to break from this sacred pledge is the Head threatening the House’s existence, or making war with God.

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    These tenants of our Creed became embedded into our very souls, that all within our family, as then not yet fully formed from the darkness, can repeat them ad nauseum. We are the children of God, and of Lancaster. And so, we will choose, with God’s aid, our ruler from within our family, to love and obey.

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    I was chosen. One day, perhaps, so will you, dear listeners. But we all bear a great weight of history, and must carry down the road towards the future Each and every one of us is responsible for the successes and failures of our entire line. And when I became Head, I was no longer a man. I am Lancaster. And to Lancaster, now, we finally come in our story.
     
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    Chapter 9: The Promised City
  • Chapter 9: The Promised City

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    Our future glory was not yet known to Derby, of course. He in fact was undergoing a crisis of faith that many great men come to before a giant leap into the unknown, to greater heights. But the man was becoming wiser, from long experiences traveling the continent and from ruling well, he was becoming much like Old Chester in judgement and bearing.

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    He secured further alliances with the Franks, promising Wiglaf to their duchess, and marrying his heir to the Roman princess. All seemed well for the new land Derby had fought so hard for.

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    At this time, the kingdom of Anglesey was usurped by a wicked young ruler called Rhodri, who locked the previous bear cub ruler away and revoked his tribute to Derby. The Earl responded…poorly to such an affront and deployed his army and the remaining bears at his command. Shocked, Rhodri quickly surrendered, and gave over his remaining bears to the victorious Derby. At this time, a curious rumour of the Earl cavorting with the beasts, having feasts and long ‘debates’ with them, came about. Perhaps there is some truth to the legends of the talking Beowulf of Wales? I cannot say, but Derby was soon diverted from this…distraction.

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    One night as he lay sleeping, the Blessed Mary came to Derby, escorted by the Angel of Mercy. She gave him divine instruction, and a great and noble quest: to conquer the land north of Chester and build a kingdom there. When the vision faded, all of the Earl’s earthly wounds and injuries faded away, leaving behind bloody hands and feet. Blessed by the stigmata, the wounds of Christ, he leapt from his bed and ran to Bishop Halton. There the two talked excitedly of the quest, and the priest wrote down the events in entirety, Derby being uneducated with letters. Satisfied this was indeed a true visitation, the two friends set out to find and win this promised land where a kingdom would be made. We all know that they found it.

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    By divine providence, Northumbria had suddenly burst into not one but two civil wars brought about by a poor harvest and ill-timed rulings from their king. There was no question for Derby, the time to strike was at hand!

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    The men of Derby and Chester roared into battle with the cross on their shields, and God with them always. The Franks, faithful as they were in those days, were quick to respond to our call to arms, and sent men and ships to help. It was they in fact that first landed in the natural harbour that would become Lancaster.

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    We hurried to meet them and, so joined, we defeated the Northumbrians in battle and lit a bonfire on the tallest mound near to the sea, where the Lord sent down a shaft of light to show where the city would be built. The Franks then split from us, vowing to march on York, capital of the North, and the rebellion, to keep the enemy busy.

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    Derby meanwhile rushed the Northumbrian army again and again, gaining victory in Settle and Durham. The inclusion of archers from the Briton lands and trained in their method proved very useful, as well as the mighty bears that caused terror and confusion wherever they charged.

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    Northumbria, now with York under both rebel rule and Frankish attack, and with their provisional encampment also under attack from rebels, sued for peace. Derby humbly accepted, taking nothing but the land promised to him by the Lord. And so, the war was over, and the Derby returned to that hill overlooking the sea. There he laid forth a shining hall and city, known hereafter as Lancaster, of which he became First Lord. We placed our faithful Bear upon the flag of this place, the Promised City, and began to dream of a brighter future along with it.

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    Chapter 10: Derby Falls
  • Chapter 10: Derby Falls
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    In the midst of the building site of the new settlement, Derby made his council. These were all good and wise men of the realm, and together they took stock of the situation. They now held enough land to potentially claim they were equal to Mercia and Northumbria in rank, that they too were kings of value. But Derby, following discussion with his son, decided that such an act would be prideful. For they were not the strength of these titans, but a smaller realm, wealthy for its size true, but small. Time was needed to grow, to strengthen, and faux titles would not make them great. Their leadership would. Derby did however begin building something not truly attempted for many years: a tower of stone to serve as memorial to the shaft of light on the hill. Perhaps one day this tower shall be surrounded by mighty walls and a great city of men. For now, it serves a pious reminder of the promise made to us.

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    But one family member would become equal, and greater, than the Saxon kings. Pepin’s bride-to-be came of age and thus set out for the Frankish empire, to create a bountiful crop of children bearing our family name. And she was called Maria, as our blessed patron was. The Lord truly does work His wonders, mysterious though it may seem.

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    Trouble threatened the realm as the bitter Elf of Westmorland, now removed of his other county of Lancaster, attempted to instead steal Chester from Derby. But the clever men of the Earl had already found out his ploy, and moved to silence his nefarious agent, halting the plot in its tracks. This began something of a tradition, where many deluded fools would rock up to our shores and try to press claims on us, and we would quietly remove them, or toss them back into the sea from whence they came!

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    Derby began to fall ill more and more. Despite this, his doctor was unconcerned and simply advised him to fast and think on his sins. Despite poor treatment and continued illness, the realm continued to prosper. The people were happy and safe, though the Northumbrians continued to fight amongst each other, and occasionally such fights crossed over the border.

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    The sickness continued and became apparent that it was the Flu. Derby was apparently far better looked after this discovery, though the council’s opinion of his doctor degraded with each passing day.

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    Wigferth by this time had grown old. Now the image of Old Chester, he had proven a worthy successor in every way. He had extended the realm, defended our independence and secured a home for our people.

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    Derby had also ensured our family would be widespread across Europe, formed the first bonds of friendship and love with the Franks, the Byzantines and many smaller duchies and counts throughout the continent.

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    The main line was also secured with a grandson called Elfwine, whom would one day rule in Lancaster.

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    Derby however would succumb to his illness swiftly after the birth. Having taught himself to read whilst bedridden, the Earl collected many texts and bibles that would form the first part of the Family Library. His son Wigberht would take the realm into a new age, having never bowed the knee to any monarch or lord save his own family. But a time of troubles was coming to Lancaster, even as the first great expansion of its power was at hand.
     
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    Chapter 11: The Benedictine Order
  • Chapter 11: The Benedictine Order

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    Wigberht was not fully respected as a man. He was infamous for his weakness of body despite his skill as a rider. Unbeholden to any man but himself, unlike the previous two Earls, it is said he questioned his role on this Earth, and sought guidance from an Authority he had lost with his father’s death. So, retaining his father’s council to keep the realm in check and oversee Lancaster’s construction, he declared he would journey east on Pilgrimage, as his father had done.

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    On his travels, the new Earl received a mixing of signs, that caused great confusion to his companions. The Earl persevered, despite his physical weakness, and began to shed his image of feebleness. The rains, which had raineth six weeks across countryside and sea, cleared upon reaching the coast of the Holy Land. Instead of clouds, bright lights pointed the way for the party, until they reached the city Jerusalem, where it is said that an Angel took them to a secluded place to pray.

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    Wigberht however was disquieted, as he confided later on in life. He had seen great splendour and wealth within the city, and on his travels. Yet people struggled to live in the world of Man, and the Church, such that it was, struggled to provide relief for them. And in this, the holiest of places, the peace of God was hard to come by, so close to the cries of the poor were to the place the Earl was staying. On the third day, it is said, he stood from his reflections and went out into the city, spending the rest of the pilgrimage giving alms to the poor and relieving their suffering anyway he could. This earnt him much praise within Jerusalem, and it has come to my knowledge that his name is remembered even today, as well it should.

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    The Earl, first of Lancaster, returned from the East a much-changed man. He had seen the world, and his place within it. His was the task to make life better for the people, his people especially. This could not be done within the bounds of the Church, nor purely with temporal power alone. After much prayer and thought, he began a new Christian sect, together with several bishops and churchmen throughout the land, based on the Rules of St. Benedict. Whilst it would sponsor monasteries that followed said rule, as most did of course, the sect sought to serve as a bridge between noble lords and the Church, that the people and the Lord might be brought closer together. Perhaps one day this sect will find friends throughout the world but for now, it is an Anglo-Saxon cult. Benedict joined the Blessed Mother and St. Peter as patron saints of the Promised City, and the sect would continue to be of great importance to Lancaster forevermore.

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    Feeble no more, Wigberht showed his true inner strength by denying the leadership of the Benedictines, instead suggesting not even one of his own bishops, but Hernam of St. Germans, a Breton from the wild southwest. In this way, all Christians of these islands were welcomed for the first time into one holy society, for in those days the Irish and Saxon Churches were still much removed from one another. The First Earl of Lancaster was very concerned with being a member, visibly as well and spiritually. He cut his hair and fashioned himself in the garb of the monks, and from that day, though he was a layman, acted much in the way of a spiritual leader. It is in fact his example of leadership that I myself feel closest to.

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    The bonds of friendship and family the were forming would prove instrumental to Lancaster on many occasions. Wigberht made many friends amongst the bishops of the realm and beyond, and brought his younger sibling Wiglaf along to many conclaves and meetings, to ensure the family would continue to invest and be a part of his new Order.

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    The Earl was not a perfect Christian though, and he made clear through his actions that he was far from a hermetic monk. Wigberht made friends everywhere he went, and did not limit himself to those of the True Faith. Amongst his court, indeed, were several Jews of note, one of whom was a purported sorcerer, that could turn the Bear Guard black with his magic, and heal the sick with his rituals. With the pragmatism of the family, the Earl took in the heretic as a doctor of medicine, saving him from the pyre.

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    It is also noted how great the love was between he and his wife. They already had a son before Derby’s death, but the couple would go on to have two daughters, and her Eastern rites of Christianity melded quite well with that which the Benedictines were trying to achieve. Still, the pair were rapacious lovers and did not cease their interactions when the lady was with child, much to the presumable shock of his bishops! To the common folk however, this humanised the Earl, especially as he ensured throughout the construction of Lancaster that no one went hungry or uncared for. The city was one that was built upon love, wisdom and faith in partnership, and so it has remained.

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    Still, the Earl waivered between his temporal and spiritual existence. He would withdraw for long reflections on the Divine, only to emerge and live normally. This could not continue forever. The man was at war with himself, and something had to give. The Almighty, in His wisdom, took the decision out of his hands.

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    His wife died in childbirth, giving life in exchange for her own. On her deathbed, she blessed her husband, and the new-born babe. The Earl was not there. He was fighting the Welsh of Powys as they rose up in defiance of tribute now Derby was dead.

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    The first battle was a disaster, ominously timed with the events in Chester, where his wife lay dying. The Earl was melancholic after the defeat, and broken upon his return to Chester. He had seemingly lost everything.

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    Not everything was at it seemed. Though fall back the army had, the enemy king had been badly struck by the Earl’s attack. He too was close to death, and his army scattered northwards.

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    Wigberht thus chased the Welsh down with a vengeance, and eventually forced a fight outside of Chester itself. Powys broke swiftly, though it was not much of a battle. Both armies were small, as befitted two at the time minor powers in the land. Still, a mere score of men to near-hundred was a good result, in warfare at least.

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    The Welsh mob then dispersed into small encampments, and the way forward seemed clear. Wenlock fell to a short siege, and a small battle at Macclesfield ended without much fighting. The Welsh continued their irritating tactic of firing volleys of arrows and then disappearing. One does not simply ‘disappear’ from a charging bear however, and the Welsh lost far more at every encounter than the Earl’s army.

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    Though beaten back, the Welsh carried on, and on, and on with their attack. This would set the standard for warfare in those wretched lands. If we could not decisively defeat them in one or two large battles or secure enough settlements fast enough, then the enemy simply melted into the mountains and fought from there. Wigberht fought a logical and patient campaign however, and was gaining ground and slowly choking the life from Powys.
     
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    Chapter 12: Growing Pains
  • Chapter 12: Growing Pains
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    Gold has always been my family’s strength. We are not the strongest or the greatest, but if we remain the smartest and richest, little else matters. Unfortunately, the campaign in Wales took the Earl away from his treasury and his trustworthy friend Bishop Halton, his Second, was with him. Thus, money and grain began to disappear from the Chester vaults, some naturally from the building of Lancaster and most from corruption and petty theft.

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    This treason and villainous behaviour was admittedly not helped by Wigberht’s constant gifts to his new religious order. However, it did make him very popular with his bishops, the only vassals of note in our lands at the time. Indeed, the only man who hated him was the ever-unpleasable office of the Mayor of Macclesfield.

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    When the Mayor of Chesterfield died, the Earl in response elected Macclesfield to his council and forced him to join the Welsh campaign to bring him into line.

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    After many months, Powys was close to collapse, and the king accepted defeat. Wigberht had a new tributary, and would seek to use it immediately in his plans for expansion. With Saxon kingdoms blocking any path eastwards, we had to look westwards to Briton lands. The Earl already had experience with and some claim to the northern coastline through his father’s campaign in the area, and his army was very familiar with the terrain.

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    Wigberht had a claim to Rhos he intended to press, and seasoned commanders to lead his armies with him. However, the Earl was growing older, and tired, and grew to dislike the cry of battle and marching during war.

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    He secluded himself within the newly built chapel within Lancaster, and did not emerge for several days. He eventually did elect to go back on campaign, but to remain somewhat aloof from the fighting. The army and Bear Guard were readied, and all marched off to war once more.

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    The Count of Rhos was a powerful tribal leader, and called upon a thousand men to defend him. The army of Chester was split, between constructors and guards in Lancaster, and veterans from Powys resting in Derby. Remembering his time in the previous war, the Earl withdrew both groups eastwards, hoping to tempt Rhos away from his defences. This of course carried the risk of marching men into Northumbria and Mercia, but both kings elected to ignore the small incursion by the Earl.

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    This ruse worked, and Rhos tried to attack the unfinished city of Lancaster. Though the invading force outnumbered them, Wigberht knew the strength of the Welsh was in skirmishing, not infantry combat. With the city unfinished, the returning army could attack from every direction whilst the Welsh were trapped on uncertain ground.

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    The battle was won and Rhos fell almost as soon as placed under siege. Lancaster was beginning its expansion outwards, and the Earl would go on to conquer the kingdom of Anglesey, establish a presence in the Irish sea, and move against the Northumbrians. Across the sea however, trouble was brewing in the land of the Heathens.
     
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    Chapter 13: Summer of Crisis
  • Chapter 13: Summer of Crisis

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    In the Summer of 793, raiders from heathen lands first crossed the North Sea and began attacking these islands. This was the beginning of a protracted campaign of terror and economic ruin that has ruined several of the great realms of our time, and diminished the rest. In Lancaster, our lands were spared the first few rounds of raiding and pillaging from these that were called Vikings. However, inevitably, the Norsemen found their way around the icy waters in Pictland and into the Irish Sea, where they began causing chaos, pirating trade and rampaging through Ireland. They were afraid of us, after hearing tales of the Bear Guard, for they fear and respect bears more than any other creature. That did not spare the Briton lands however, and where the Vikings could land, they invariably did. Much was taken, including the remaining bear cubs from the isle of Anglesey, earning the eternal hatred of all Welshmen everywhere. Our prestige in those lands actually increased after that, given that we had kept our bears protected and safe, and they thrived in the Welsh cities we were building.

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    Our people were under attack however, from a rival and false religion. A legion of devils was ransacking northern Europe and we turned to the Church for salvation. But we found nothing but corruption and indemnity. The Holy Father was a bastard of a man, and it is far from unlikely that some of the troubles we went through were punishment for allowing such a devil to rule in Rome. When he died in August, the Summer of Crisis, the Cardinals tore his regime apart at trial, sentencing his earthly remains to disintegration and his immortal soul to the blackest pits.

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    The summer was over and the raids died down after that, but the islands were wounded and in for a hard winter. The omens continued to rain down upon us: Wigberht married a Frankish countess touted as extremely ill-fortuned. Sigeric, first of our line on the Frankish throne and promised to our Maria, was murdered by his vassals and though he had a brother, to carry on our line, it was a sign of dark times ahead. The Empire of the Franks would only shrink from hereon.

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    The worst news of all spread around Christendom like a vile plague that winter…the Heathens were organising. Their false gods and bloodied forests, their deceiving druids and crazed fanatics…they had all come together at the invitation of Saxony, the dark centre of the world. There they had sacrificed a thousand infants and then thousand maidens to the dark gods in exchange for their souls, and the power to crush us. The Vikings were not renegade bands of pirates and raiders. They were scouts.

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    Lancaster, nearing completion, stood at a crossroads and the world around it was thrown into chaos. Wigberht did what he could, securing a marriage alliance with Countess Lindsey, the friendliest of Mercia’s vassals. Beor, son of Derby and brother to the Earl, would go to Mercia to try to ally and focus the lords of the land on the new threat. The child king of Bavaria would be married to Maria, and another relative would be married to a Frankish duchess. All was in mind of building a web of friends and informants to keep close eye on the goings on of the world, for things seemed grim.

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    Life went on. The old sorcerer died, and Wigberht was in need of a new doctor and advisor. Talk reached him of a man much like himself, a kind and wise soul who helped his village with matters healing and otherwise. The Earl was much impressed and begged him come to Lancaster, where the court was being assembled. The man agreed, if his village of Leigh was well compensated and placed under close protection. This was done.

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    Wigberht continued to struggle with his faith, Numerous reflections had turned him again and again to hermitage, to isolation, but he was the ruling lord of the land and would not abandon his duty. The corruption of the Church grieved him deeply, and he rather correctly noted how destructive it would end up being for the people of the world. He did find solace in his Order.

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    The Benedictines accepted everyone in Christ, and thus many women of good faith and intelligence were amongst their ranks. It was about this time, the darkest of times, that one such lady, Audovera, suggested a litany, or series of, to encourage the priests of the realm and embolden their flock. With that in mind, and with utmost piety, she humbly presented some suggestion of topics and notes to Lancaster, where they were eagerly seized by the Earl. Enchanted by her thoughts, he wrote back, encouraging she herself to write the script, if she so wished, to be transcribed later by the monks at Halton. This, after some time, and more correspondence, created the first text of true merit by the independent realm, which most assuredly shall be lauded for the ages to come.

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    Whilst the court was in the process of moving to the new site of Lancaster, Chester was hardly left abandoned. It was still the great city of the realm, for now, and a most secure and wealthy place. Particularly, it must be said, given how much order and work had been made by the people in building the new capital. Chester was flourishing, which attracted much attention given the rather pitiful state of the rest of the North. Whilst the worst was indeed yet to come, it seemed that steps were being made to ready and prepare for them. The realm was uniting around my family, our faith and our leadership. The cities were wealthy, and the people were fed and happy. In the end, there is little more we can ask for in this life.
     
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    Chapter 14: Lancaster takes Anglesey
  • Chapter 14: Lancaster takes Anglesey

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    The new year began with yet more power broker and marriage contracts. The south, ostensibly united under Offa’s Peace, was fractured once again into various independent realms. Of these, Wigberht was most interested in Essex, or rather, their grand city of London in the county of Middlesex. London was, like Chester, an old Roman town of great walls and buildings, but unlike the northern city, lay on a large and important trading river: the Thames. London was far from the most important city within the south, but it was one of the wealthiest, and most independent, things Lancaster dearly prized. Even better, the countess was a young girl suitable for marriage, a match deemed so priceless that it was I who was initially going to wed the lady. This in the end did not occur but relations with the city were established, and Middlesex would be of great interest to our family, as one can never trust Mercia.

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    The Frankish Empire remained strong but beneath the surface, fractures were beginning to appear. This was apparent with the regency council’s indecision on which crown within the three kingdoms would be primary, with West Francia, or France, eventually chosen. Eadraed, the new king, was to have a long regency ahead, which was hardly ideal for a realm in crisis with enemies at the gates. Wigberht could do little aside from offer a marriage, which nominally at least tied two halves of the family together. I suspect however that before this is all over, we shall come to regret going into France. The whole place seems, and indeed was, very unstable.

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    The continent was not our family’s main concern however, Anglesey was. Trade was beginning to flow into Lancaster’s ports from across the Irish Sea, yet Welsh pirates were causing increasing issue. Whilst the rest of the Briton and welsh lords would be put to task handling this problem in their own regions eventually, Wigberht saw and knew he could extend his grasp directly around the north coastline. Relations with the commoners and peasantry in the region was already quite good, for various reasons many of our commanders, builders and advisors came from those lands after the previous war against Anglesey. Direct conquest was thus quite popular with these fine people, and the Bear Guard was sure to gain further loyalty and prestige to our rule. Their king was unpopular for moving against the remaining Beowulf lords in the first place, though his army was again, a little larger than our own forces. This would have been a concern if not for events in Warwick.

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    Mercia had been slowly rebuilding itself in strength for some time, though it must be said our succession was not such a blow to the kings as we might like to think. The king was though quite weak personally, a tricky thing for a realm built on submission to operate. Warwick especially grated under such leadership, having never truly forgiven Offa’s line for the murder of one of their own, a child no less. Thus, they launched a major revolt that year, as our friends in Middlesex reported great panic and shock from the southlands Mercia demanded tribute from. Whilst we in the north did not hold out much hope for the end of that putrid kingdom altogether, it was a welcome distraction from our own campaign. We could safely send everything against the Welsh.

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    Whilst we were outnumbered by several hundred men, we had received trusted word that London was coming to our aid, so the Earl marched his forces west. He had built a significant war chest of gold to pay for the campaign, and could if needs be pay for a whole army of reinforcements should it come down to it. He was a wise ruler indeed, if not the greatest military mind.

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    I say that, not in disdain but admiration of his piety, for he took time and money still to support his Church and sect. Our realm was attracting more and more religious pilgrims, relics and tomes that required safe keeping and housing. He, in his wisdom, paid out great sums for this purpose, and celebrated their arrival around the city. As Lancaster relied heavily on great swarms of immigrants to grow and survive, this was a very timely and needed approach, and allowed us to grow and prosper even in the middle of a war.

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    But the war, of course! And it was a true battle of allies against a singular foe. At dawn our army met the Welsh at Denbigh, and by Noon the Londoners had arrived to reinforce our flanks. Word reached us also that week that the French had arrived in force on the isle of Anglesey, trapping the Briton army on the mainland.

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    The series of battles ended with a clear victory. Less than four score of our men had fallen to their four hundred. The enemy were trapped in our new county of Rhos, between our and the French armies.

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    The war was effectively over, and the Welsh recognised it, handing over their land to us before withdrawing back to their small island. Lancaster had nearly doubled in size, and secured the coast for our own. The good times continued as news of King Ecgfrith’s death reached us, and the rebellion still continued. His son, also of his name, now faced the revolt without command of his father’s tributes, but his own men alone. He was also suspected of already being riddled by some ghastly illness of God’s own choosing.

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    T’was not all good though in our fair isles, for in the north, we were concerned when hundreds of men began massing along our border. Northumbria was not attacking as feared, far from it. They themselves were being fought, by a great and terrible heathen army from across the icy eastern sea. The king, Elfwald, a good and pious man, begged our aid in his defence, but after our own battles we had little desire to send men. Wigberht instead sent five chests overladen with gold to York, and bade the southern lords know that they might wish to help their former masters in the North, lest it be overtaken by infidel. The Archbishop of Canterbury, diminished these many years by Offa and Mercian dominance, arose a great fervour amongst the free peoples of the southlands, and altogether I believe a good ten thousand men eventually stood strong against the numberless Norsemen hordes.

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    Worrying news came also from the departing Franks, who said in hushed voices that Iberia had fallen utterly to the heathens in several bloody invasions, and that they themselves were being rushed south to the mountains. Alas! They were all too correct on both accounts, for what good it did those brave men.

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    Wigberht, triumphant in northern Briton lands, cast his eyes south once again. The pirate raids were much diminished, but not halted. But between their bases and Lancaster lay many, many mountains, hills, valleys, and altogether a mess of country to march through. Rather than risk his entire realm and fortune on an altogether unlikely campaign of conquest, the Earl decided to take heed of Mercia and Northumbria before him and subjugate the lands through tributary instead. Each welsh lord and king would be made to bow before Lancaster’s might and pay their dues, in exchange for essential security, and an eventual unifying system of law in their lands. In the end, this strategy was most successful and we would be wise to remember that in the years ahead, it is far easier to dominate briefly and then befriend rather than enslave and try the same.

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    There were four realms to be subjugated in this manner. Powys was already under our thumb, which left three Welsh princes to deal with and the sole Saxon count within reach. Hwicce, whom had lost in their time almost their entire realm to Mercian expansion, and were in the midst of full absorption upon Offa’s death, now stood alone amidst a sea of giants. Wigberth was determined to stake full claim over the welsh lands as his, and leave under no uncertain terms that Mercia could no longer look westwards for expansion. In that aim, Hwicce, the furthest land from us, would have to be brought into the fold first, whilst Mercia remained distracted by civil unrest.

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    The Saxons, overconfident despite their situation, marched on us and met our army at Halton, near the venerable bishop’s residence. As we outnumbered them two to every man, it was not much of a battle for us, and quickly the Saxons saw reason and withdrew, recognising their overlords as they should. Lancaster was on the warpath once more, and this time our prize would be the entirety of Wales.
     
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    Chapter 15: The Marvellous Adventures of Secret, the Great Bear Spy
  • Chapter 15: The Marvellous Adventures of Secret, the Great Bear Spy

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    Our story begins, as many do, in a small farmstead in North Wales. A young cub was born to a good bear family, poor as they were. He would chafe under such a limited life however and strike out on his own to seek his fortune. He found it in Denbigh, a town in crisis. The marauding Welsh and Lancaster armies were fighting all across the land, the people were afraid and a hero was needed. Enter our young bear, now calling himself Secret. He took charge of the town’s defence, rallied the people (under threat of being eaten) to his banner and not only defeated the local bandit groups but pushed out the Anglesey garrison as well, making the town fully independent.

    Enraptured by their saviour, they elected him king, but Secret was a humble bear, and accepted only the democratically elected title of Mayor, to be held only for two terms maximum as decreed by the constitution (which he wrote in an hour) that clearly defined the mandate of the office and separation of powers into a judicial, fair and liberal system not at all unlike that which you might find in any decent place. He then rebuilt the town into a city with his bear hands, creating both a large marketplace and heavy-duty stone wall surrounding the local farmsteads, church and aforementioned market. It was also at this time that he was baptised (once the priest worked up the courage to pour cold water over his head) on the understanding that clearly some deity was at work here and presumably needed to be kept happy.

    And so, for a year and a day (or thereabouts), the Good Bear Mayor ruled the city well and wisely, and everybody was happy. Very happy. Tears upset Secret. Anyway, eventually the Lancasters arrived in the area and began submitting the local settlements to their will. They were quite surprised to find a large walled city where a fishing village was supposed to be, and even more surprised when the mighty gates opened and Secret was carried out in a golden throne by some unfortunate (presumably quite strong) serfs. High diplomacy was not Secret’s strongest suite but he made a good go of it anyway, essentially securing Lancaster’s rule over the city peacefully without his own gig being ruined by other bears that could actually fight back.

    The Good Bear Mayor ruled out his two terms in office peacefully and without fuss, save for when the latrine pit needed to be emptied. As it happened, Old Earl Wigberht was looking for a new councillor about the time Secret showed up at his court begging for a job and a place to put his vast riches. Fortunately for Secret such a place was found within Lancaster (with some difficulty) and he settled into his new position as Spymaster. He had no prior experience or interest in being an intelligence operative but considering the name, he supposed he should give it a go at least once. That and it gave him a chance to leave the city often on business, something he greatly desired as the local Bear Guard community found him to be weird.

    And so, our hero eventually found himself travelling across Europe, spying on nearly every court you can name, and all of the other ones as well. In Paris he was given flowers. Then after he killed that guy they gave him booze as well. In Rome, the Pope taught him how to play cards, and how to run a brothel, some say in the same action-packed evening. It is in Constantinople however that his legend runs greatest. Having accidentally drunk a barrel of Greek Fire rather than whiskey, the court was obliged to both redecorate the palace (kickstarting a new wave of art and culture across the world) and also to try and murder this bear that kept breaking into secure rooms and drinking things. As you might expect, it is quite hard to kill a polar bear with a remarkable toxicity tolerance gained after a lifetime of sin and excess. Since he was also an ambassador an diplomat as well as a spy (no one really bothered with spies when they figured out everyone had to take diplomats in anyway), they also had to try to be polite at all times, to save face.

    In retrospect, the gigantic explosion which wiped out the Imperial dockyards and sank the Black Sea Fleet was clearly just begging to happen given all above, and so must be blamed mostly on the Romans. For some reason, Secret was forced out the city soon afterwards however, and wandered around the Greek islands for a time before becoming addicted to Ancient Greek, and having to go back to Rome for a detox. His great friend the Pope was wonderful about the whole thing however, and Rome’s night-time economy tripled in the three months the friends were together.

    All good things come to an end however, and the Lancaster envoy to the Vatican eventually got through to remind Secret he was still being paid, so had better have something to show for it. He thus decided to steal two castles in the Italian Alps for the Earl, since he thought they looked pretty. Whilst performing a cunning scheme of blackmail and economic ruin, Secret also found time to learn how to ski, more impressive when you realise, he invented the practice.

    Returning home to a muted welcome, as it was half past one in the morning, Secret dumped his stolen castles in the courtyard before going off to bed. Stern words were had in the morning however and the Earl made him put them back, with an apology, though Lancaster still kept ownership of them, of course. These castles would go on to be a constant thorn in the family’s side for decades until finally someone had the good sense to sell them to some sucker in Italy.

    Secret though was in trouble. He had caused dire diplomatic trouble for the Lancasters, exploded Constantinople, fully corrupted the Papacy, caused two horrific boughts of border gore in the Alps, and racked up so much debt over his escapades that not only did he lose his vast riches but the Lancaster’s had to bail him out, something they hated doing more than admitting that maybe having a Bear acting as their ambassador to the world was a terrible idea. In his favour, however, was the fact he was in fact a bear called Secret, which meant he was always going to keep his job. He was pretty much confined to Lancaster for the next few years though, and the Bear Guard took it upon themselves to chastise their comrade for being such an apparent disgrace to Bearkind everywhere.

    An even more humble and wise Secret emerged from this fiasco, and he returned to his own city to rule as Mayor once again (as it turned out, the city had thrown out his constitution when he left and went back to being ruled by a noble oligarchy). At 33, which was one more year than Christ ever managed, the future seemed bright, and warm, and fluffy and white, and bear-shaped.

    And the adventure continues…
     
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    Chapter 16: The Further Astonishing Adventurers of Secret, the Great Bear Spy
  • Chapter 16: The Further Astonishing Adventurers of Secret, the Great Bear Spy

    The last four years of Secret’s short and scandalous life were not nearly as explosive as his previous decade as international espionage agent. Literally, of course, for in these isles very few things can go boom aside from especially large dung piles, and there is not much sex and violence in such things. Hopefully.

    First, pour me some more. Yes. More. More. Come on, yes! Thank ye God. Don’t want a dry throat for this bit. So, where were we? Ah yes, Secret was in the proverbial dog house, and the court was a little put out by him. Wigberht, the great man he was, eventually decided that Secret would go to the various independent Briton nobles that remained and mess with them-that is, ascertain whether or not Lancaster could easily usurp their overall autonomy into a mutually conducive but fairly one way binding contract of money and men going one way and not-murder the other. At the very least, chaos in the southern lands was preferable to keeping the affable Bear Mayor at home and under everyone’s feet, as it was quite the inconvenience to have a very large and drunken white bear under one’s foot all the time.

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    Secret, being the most excellent agent that he was, figured out quickly who the main players were and reported back on them. Powys they were already familiar with, but their new king was proving to be both rebellious and very good at it, with his compelling voice and way with the crowd. Naturally this was not good news for Lancaster and they decided to deal with him first. The other two divided the southern bit of non-Saxon land between them, a fair bit of territory that meant they were both technically more dangerous to Lancaster than Lancaster was to them. Presumably that is what they thought before Secret showed up and did what he did best. Soon each Welsh prince had a thousand men at his call only, which were far better odds for Lancaster, although they were still outnumbered. Fortunately, Secret on his way back to the city to report passed through Powys again, apparently enough of an ordeal that their king surrendered to a confused Lancaster patrol soon afterwards. Down to two targets without a war having started, Wigberht was far more pleased with Secret than he was at his own officials.

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    Secret was not the only overindulger in the land, and he was perhaps the most honest. The so-called pious members of the Christian Church were on the other hand, growing a reputation for hypocritical debauchery that would make the Pope blush (yes, even that one). Selling relics, false relics, indulgences, absolution (somehow) and much that more besides, Lancaster might have a growing market and trading economy but this came at a price of almost the entire upper Church in the land becoming hideously corrupt. Wigberht, a man not known for his acceptance of the sinful at the best of times (unless it was having lots of sex with his wife, either of them), ordered a large cleanout of the city and surrounding bishoprics of villainous persons and their wicked ways. Secret, knowing a suspicious number of the accused bishops personally, naturally sold them all up the river to save his own beautifully white pelt. He then bravely dispatched himself off to France and out of danger. Or so he thought.

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    Back in Lancaster, Wigberht announced two things of great and astonishing importance. One: he was declaring war on most of Wales in order to establish over-lordship over the entire area. And Two, more shocking by far: he was giving up sex forever.

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    This life altering decision clearly weighed a bit heavily on his mind, for when the first battle of the war broke out, his army did terribly and the Earl was forced to flee to London with his men for a few months to recuperate. Whilst he was away, Welsh raiders tore through the newly established Lancaster lands with near impunity. Altogether it was not a wonderful start to Dominion over Wales.

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    Secret was not doing much better. He was expecting to have a wonderful time in the south of France, spying on the wine producing regions and reporting back in great detail. However, he arrived to a warzone, as the French army was being utterly destroyed by invading Muslim hordes, seeking to take the wine (and everything else) for themselves! Secret roared into battle with a vengeance, and so within a few weeks, France had lost Aquitaine to the Umayyad. The road into Europe was now clear for future Muslim invasion.

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    The arrival of his absentee Spymaster in London did not improve Wigberht’s mood. His news from the continent was even worse. Whilst his entire council was assembled for the first time in years, it was in altogether the wrong city and circumstances. Worse was yet to come.

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    Secret had not come alone, and had convinced many drinking buddies, or French soldiers, to come fight with him in Wales. With the army recovered and foreign reinforcements, the Lancaster war effort returned to the right side of the island. The countryside was complete chaos, as various different armies from around the island and off it raced around trying to accomplish their various lords bidding. Secret was sure something must have been up in Mercia, but the rest of the council, at this point, could not care less about them.

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    What they did care about was their leader groaning, frothing at the mouth and biting people. This was considered most unusual. The great physician of the realm took one look at the stricken Earl and declared dramatically that there was nothing to worry about. Then, after he was suitably punished for idiocy, he actually bothered to look and gravely said that the good Wigberht had rabies. At which point, everyone turned to glare at the elephant in the room. In this case, that was a bear. Called Secret. Perhaps unfairly, given the tendency for Bear Guard members to die of rabies, the Bear Mayor was seized (somehow) and sentenced to death. This was unhelpful for a number of reasons, not least the effort required to keep Secret contained in the middle of a warzone. Also, the fact that Wigberht was dying of Measles instead.

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    When the good doctor was in fact sober, bothered and not beaten black and blue, he quickly figured this out and called off the execution, presumably before running for the hills. Annoyed and without too many ideas aside from kill the bear, Secret decided to take charge of the situation. He smeared copious amounts of faecal matter all over the Earl, and this worked quite well. At the very least, the Earl went catatonic instead of trying to bite people.

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    The Earl’s recovery was met with greater result in battle too. The Welsh army was decisively beaten at Monmouth and elsewhere, winning the war for Lancaster.

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    Secret celebrated with a pub crawl all the way to London. He and his men were utterly trashed by the time they reached the city gates, and most of them were actually dead of alcohol poisoning. This placed the bear in something of a bind. He had been entrusted with those troops by the Earl himself and getting them all through the war unscathed only to kill them with drink was not going to go down well. So, in lieu of returning to Lancaster in disgrace, he went on sabbatical to Cornwall. Unfortunately, his presence caused quite the panic in the locals, who thought the Lancaster army was within days of marching on them. Thus, to his bemusement, their Queen personally surrendered to him, and gave him a chit of tribute to gift to the Earl upon his return. Naturally, this gift from seemingly nowhere was seized upon by Secret, who quickly rushed home and spun a tale of daring do and terrible warfare that left him the sole survivor and yet victorious. Lancaster now held Cornwall within their sphere of power.

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    Secret was well received by the recovered Earl Wigberht, and rewarded with land and money to replace that which he had lost previous. Or something like that. Honestly the tale becomes a bit hazy on the details here, because no one really cares. He got vast riches again, is what I am saying. Anyway, he spent some time ruling his city again, and then holidayed along the Anglesey coast, enjoying the sunshine and plentiful booze on offer. He also managed to win the title of Count of Anglesey Island during a high stakes gambling match with the downtrodden earl whom had lost everything else to Wigberht’s marches. This titbit did not come to light until after the great hero’s death at 37, and was the crowning achievement to finish off his tulmultous career in diplomacy and espionage. With it, Lancaster had the right and duty to reclaim and complete their conquests of North Wales, which they did in short order. That is a story for another time however.

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    All that needs to be said now is that Secret, Lord Mayor of Denbigh, Spymaster of Lancaster, Papal Defender and Beloved Bear to the Realm, died in his sleep on the 24th October 807AD. Europe mourned and reflected upon a lost character that had defined a generation of diplomats and religious authorities, for good or for ill. He went to his long rest in a boat directed northwards towards the Bear’s homeland of the Ice Wastes, where perhaps in some other happy time he might return again to booze it up with the future lords and bishops of this fine realm. One can dream, I suppose.

    To Secret, may his tale never be forgotten!
     
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    Chapter 17: The Totally Unexpected and Unexplained Return of Secret, the Great Bear Spy
  • Chapter 17: The Totally Unexpected and Unexplained Return of Secret, the Great Bear Spy

    So…when I said ‘some other happy time’, I meant three months after his death. No one really knows what happened, but to be frank, not many of you care. Nobody cared that tumultuous was spelt incorrectly in the previous chapter either, people just tend to go with such things. And that doesn’t make any sense because this is an oral story and none of us can read…

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    Anyway, when we left off, Secret was ‘dead’ and Cornwall had been accepted into the growing club of nations giving tribute to Lancaster. Earl Wigberht was once again feeling conflicted about his faith, the Lancasters were making money hand over fist, and Francia continued to get its head kicked in by the Umayyad Caliphate. To all the world it seemed business as usual.

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    However, to those that were paying attention, things were in fact very peculiar indeed. For starters, the Earl’s latest retreat actually made him feel better and resolved his various issues regarding religion and sex. For another, the ‘E’ on the end of ‘Rome’ had mysteriously vanished off every map.

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    Further strange events began to occur. Offa, the Earl of Lindsey, decided to try and steal the entire county of Derby by handing out pamphlets to peasants and faking lottery tickets within the cities. This didn’t come to much, aside from confusing the illiterate populace, but stranger still was the failed attempt at murdering the enemy agent. As this agent was the middle-aged Bishop of Lincoln in full-golden regalia, the Lancasters were understandably put out by their assassin’s inability to find the man.

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    The final straw was the sudden and extremely violent accidental death of the child ruler of Cornwall, who was certainly not murdered by the completely random and unrelated new king, Donual, who was at once supremely talented and also a blackout drunk who couldn’t hit a stick with the broadside of a barn. Aside from being bizarrely made-up, the new king also refused to pay any protection money to the Lancaster’s racket, and thus had to be squashed for his impudence. Squashed much like the unfortunate prior ruler was, when a house collapsed on top of her. Repeatedly.

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    A hero was needed, nay, required. It just so happened that Lancaster got two for the price of one. First, Young Elfwine became slight-less-young, and therefore could actually lead his father’s armies into battle. After quickly growing a massive bushy beard, he set to work whipping the men into shape. He tried whipping the bears too, and then he had to whip the new men into shape twice as fast. Fortunately for all involved, he was rather good at war, and very little else.

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    Second, Secret returned in a large party barge shipped from the great city of Rom. Having finally killed the old Pope with a truly staggering amount of wine and carousing, Secret had been hard at work on the sequel: corrupting new Pope Hadrianus. As this one was already a flamboyant spender and raging homosexual with anger issues, Secret quickly surpassed all expectations in turning Rom into an even greater hive of scum and villainy. He also tore the face off of the visiting Bishop of Bangor Fawr, after a badly timed joke. And so it was that the Lancasters received word of their agent’s survival and quickly begged him to return home.

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    With two agents of destruction at his command, the Earl Wigberht laid out his plans of expansion. First, the Cornish would be squashed, and then the Welsh tributaries would aid in the final annexation of Anglesey into Lancaster. Elfwine, after studying the map for a time, suggested also that the Isle of Man would make a fine addition to the growing power, both for aesthetic purposes and also as a naval base for further expansion elsewhere because boy did that boy like killing things. Secret’s addition was to have a massive party and get Elfwine hitched, to make up for his dad no longer getting any. Miraculously, the only man to die at this gathering was the ailing Mayor of Chesterfield, who at aged 71 and dying of cancer, got up in the middle of the feast and arm-wrestled three bears into submission before dying of liver failure.

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    To no one’s surprise, the Cornish immediately gave up without a fight the day after. The Earl’s health however, was beginning to decline again, which considering the rabies and the measles, not to mention the lack of stress-relief, was hardly surprising either.

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    Whilst his father went around greeting trees with hugs and confusing the court dwarf for a nice shrub to relieve oneself in, Elfwine was hard at work preparing various excuses for war with Manaw. Secret helped out by, somehow, getting Powys the duchy of Leinester in Ireland. Hither to, that island had been completely ignored by Lancaster but Secret, never a bear to respect boundaries or even understand the concept, nevertheless dove headlong into this undiscovered country. This led to a century of near-constant warfare and countless Irish deaths, but also a great deal of money for the Lancasters, some of which was spent on a giant golden statue of Secret in Ulster.

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    Elfwine completed his mission of various flimsy excuses to conquer stuff he wanted, but was waylaid in his ambitions by various ‘little chats’ his father kept insisting on having about bees, swallows and channelling one’s urges in constructive ways. Despite the mad ramblings of a diseased old man, Elfwine did become a more rounded and stable young man, which is all the more impressive considering his best friend was an alcoholic bear who may or may not have been a zombie.

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    Anyway, the strategic brilliance of Elfwine led to Lancaster declaring war in all directions simultaneously, which certainly gave the Franks an excuse to exercise their rowing muscles. The Welsh on the other hand were not very happy, as they were under the command of Secret’s army in Anglesey whilst Elfwine took another paddling in the Irish Sea. For some reason, Secret’s army got confused at one point and marched into South Wales trying to tribute a kingdom they’d already defeated. There were many red faces after that battle was over, I can tell you.

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    Passing over that minor mishap, the wars were ably won by overwhelming force, and soon all was peaceful again in the North. Lancaster now had a great deal of wealth coming in every year from their cities and flourishing ‘trade relationships’ with Wales. They were still struggling to feed everyone given that farmland was pretty poor and fish didn’t keep for very long, but there was just enough barley for beer so that was alright. Wigberht began pondering, in his more lucid moments, various ways to gain more crops for the growing cities of the realm, and about building a place to put all of the texts he had been collecting for three decades.

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    Such industrious thought however was halted when the great Bishop of Halton died of old age, leaving the Earl despondent and vulnerable. As ever, Secret knew what to do, and reintroduced Wigberht to the joys of binge drinking. With the ruler of the realm both mad and drunk, Elfwine was left holding the reigns and was left to handle something his martial training had never discussed: peace.

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    Some bloodlust was sated by a really stupid postcard arriving from Francia telling the Lancasters that their cousin was coming to visit, with several thousand angry men in tow. After arranging a horrible death for the treacherous little shit, Elfwine sat back and took stock of the situation in his own country. The Lancasters now ruled a decent little realm in the North, and had firmly established their grip on Wales so that Mercia would not come nosing around looking for scraps. Speaking of the old enemy, Mercia had been busy expanding in the opposite direction, using Old Chester’s claims on East Anglia and making a mess of the South East surrounding Canterbury. Whilst Northumbria continued to stagnate, Wessex and the newly independent Essex stood uneasily between Mercia and their conquest of the south. The Lancasters were kept aware of the numerous hijinks between factions from their allies in London, a city that was rapidly becoming the centre of this struggle for power and influence. Elfwine hoped to gently interfere as much as possible, to ensure Mercia would remain fixed firmly far away from Lancaster.

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    This was a task that become all the more important as the Earl became even sicker, the constant boozing somehow giving him Leprosy. With Wigberht’s days numbered, Elfwine endeavoured to boost the Lancaster’s international prestige before this horrific illness became widely known.

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    Secret, always helpful, took his party barge and gate-crashed the re-opening of Constantinople, as the city celebrated finally fixing all of the damage that had occurred last time he had come calling. For some reason, the Emperor of the Romans swiftly agreed to marry off his eldest son to Mildrith of Lancaster matrilineally, and sent Secret on his way piled high with treasure and precious shiny things.

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    This remarkable bit of diplomacy earnt Elfwine a reputation as a diplomat of some renown, and his father bestowed upon him the title that began his reign, though certainly not what history remembers him by: Elfwine the Dove.

    The ailing Earl provided two final gifts to Lancaster: a gigantic pile of money he had saved over the years, and ordering the ground broken on the first stone castle to be built in Britannia since the fall of Rome. He lived long enough to hold his new-born grandson, the next heir to the throne of Lancaster: Ealdwine, before he succumbed to his horrible disease. Looking back, it was probably a bad idea for the new-born to have been held by a leper…

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    Wigberht died aged 53, an insane and physically distorted old man. The people for some reason saw his death as a good thing, and the crowning of a bloodthirsty glory hound like Elfwine a sign of further peace and prosperity. But with the passing of the old Earl, Elfwine and Secret stood ready to lead Lancaster not only into a new age but a new island.
     
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    Chapter 18: The Rise of Elfwine Lancaster
  • Chapter 18: The Rise of Elfwine Lancaster

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    Elfwine sat alone in his chambers. That evening, like every evening for the last week since his father died, he had told stories to the men. Inspired their capacity for war. Whipped them into frenzy. Now there were no more stories to tell, save the one he intended to write about himself.
    Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Unlike his forebears, Elfwine could in fact read and write both his native tongue and Latin. Perhaps once the initial task was completed, he would record his thoughts down. He intended to create a dynasty after all, it made sense to give some advice to future rulers. First though, he would have to do something worthy of note.

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    And he was planning on it. His father and grandfather had through a great deal of effort built their family holdings, and had even begun their own settlement here at Lancaster. Elfwine however, was not content to merely reside and build. Within his bones he felt the yearning to dominate, to conquer. It was not enough for the local Welsh to accept his presence amongst them, they had to bend the knee. Fortunately, the death of the old earl had riled up the Briton princes, and word was they were even now readying their people for war. This suited him fine, given his inheritance included enough coin for a large mercenary army of his own. First, he would have to go to the lands his ancestors had managed to steal from the natives, to Anglesey. He would marshal his men, and his beasts of war. The Welsh would once again fear the roar and bite of Lancaster’s Bear Guard.

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    So it was, at Chesterfield, and at Rhuddlan, and at Caernarfon. Whilst the Welsh continued to grow in number at each battle, so did their loses. It was not long before Powys, closest and weakest of the Welsh Lords, begged his peace. This was exactly what Elfwine desired, a divide-and-rule strategy that the disparate and often antagonistic Britons were especially vulnerable to.

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    And so, one by one the villians fell. South Wales at Cardigan, Dyfed at Tyddewi. Finally, Glywysing was brought to heel, though he fought for much longer than his countrymen.

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    In a mere few months, Elfwine had restored his powers to the height of what previous earls had managed. His mercenaries were barely diminished, and the treasure from Wales and his own lands would keep them for a good while yet. Thus, the Earl could swiftly move to greater targets.

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    Wessex had been the up-and-coming power for years amongst the southern Saxons. Mercia, even in the time of Offa, had struggled to dominate these people. Now with the old enemy waning, Elfwine believed he could make his own name by overpowering the realm, and through them onto Cornwall, the other remnant of the native Britons in these lands. Should both fall, Lancaster would control the western coastline and over-land trade from the Isle of Man down to the Channel. A heady proposition for a mercantile people such as they were. It would also match and threat Mercia along a huge front, and provide more than enough manpower to subvert even they, who had at one time been the masters of all on the island.

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    Elfwine went to war again, marching across the small county of Hwicce (and as an afterthought enforcing a tributary status on the local earl) onto Ramsbury, where they managed with luck to catch the advanced guard of the West Saxon army unawares, and rout them from the field. It was only in the aftermath they found the body of King Beorhtric himself, leaving his infant son of the same name on the throne. It is amusing how quickly the regency council begged reprieve and surrendered their charge’s realm to Elfwine. Cornwall, also currently in the hands of lesser regents, swiftly bent the knee as well. A bemused Elfwine had doubled the size and tripled the power of his realm through barely any effort on his army’s part.

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    It did not take long for the Earl to adjust however. Fate it seemed was shining down upon his path ahead, for Mercia itself stood open and ready for invasion. The new Queen was young, untested and, crucially, unpopular. Elfwine decided to roll the dice whilst they seemed skewed in his favour, and declared war again, calling up his new vassal lords to join him in what he promised would be his family’s great revenge against the treacherous Iceling. None needed telling twice, as both the Welsh and Wessex despised the Mercians as much as Lancaster did. And so many hundreds and thousands of men marched through what were once feared lands.

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    After so many years of living in terror of Offa and his heirs returning to reclaim their errant subjects in Lancaster, the actual war against them was pathetically underwhelming. The Queen managed a mere 400 men to match the near 3000 Elfwine used to overrun the south. Oxford and Bedford were subsequently put to the torch, and in short order even Leicester was threatened by his army. Several men advised the Earl to alter his plans to seize more than just dominion over Mercia, but Elfwine persisted. He recognised the youth of his family’s grasp on power, and was wary of expanding too quickly. Far better to become overlord of other realms than attempt and fail to build his own before he was ready.

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    Soon the emissaries from Queen Eadburh arrived to beg for mercy and restraint from a man whose family had only three generations before served most willingly underneath Mercia’s banner. The fortunes of war and of peace and firmly shifted in Elfwine’s favour, and in recognition of that fact, he insisted that the peace between realms would be not between his old family of Derby or Chester. No, it would be Lancaster, and he as its King, that the Mercians and all others would pay homage.

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    And so, two years into his earldom, he had become overlord of petty kings and lords, first of the line of Lancaster. He joined his family’s order of St. Benedict, and married the Lady Agnes, though she would prove sickly more often than not. Still, the new Duke felt blessed in all things, and prepared to undertake a pilgrimage to celebrate his ascension to the upper echelons of power in his homeland. Yet with all he had achieved, still the craving for more did not leave him. Elfwine would need to war again, and the next time he did so, it would be to a whole new land.

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    Chapter 19: Elfwine goes to Ireland
  • Chapter 19: Elfwine goes to Ireland

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    The only real difficulty in securing the southern reaches of the island, Elfwine noted, was shipping the men across. The sea between Wales and Ireland was filled with treacherous spots of bad weather and pirates. His aim in expanding to the other side of the sea was to attempt to build a squadron of ships that could patrol the waters. There was little point in building a trading network only to lose over half the shipments to criminals.

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    Northumbria was an annoyance all to itself. Their king had objected to Elfiwne’s war, for whatever reason, and had sent far more troops than the Irish defenders ever managed to lay siege to Lancaster itself.

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    Still, they had killed many in their surprise assault. Enough for Mumu, the largest and best led of the Irish Chiefs, to fight on for longer than he should have. Whilst several battles, including a large one at Tyddewi, had produced victories for the confident Lancastrians, Elfwine was frustrated by how long it took to force a surrender from the Irish.

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    Still, he returned triumphant from war yet again, and had firmly stamped his foot down on any rebellious thoughts throughout his tributaries. His lands alone were bustling with trade and commerce, bolstered by links all across the land. Whilst the Church continued to give a mere pittance for their protection, the towns and cities his family had established were roaring with trade, and provided nearly as much treasure as his conquests combined. Clearly, more development and care would be required regarding the polis, if they could provide as much as a war without the uncertainty or bloodshed.

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    Elfwine’s empire-building was paused after the successful opening of Ireland, stricken as he was by some foreign flu. In his retirement he began to write the book he had long pondered over regarding the building and management of a small realm. He also took refuge within the monastery founded outside of Lancaster, where he found much comfort for his physical and spiritual ailment. Here he redoubled his efforts to be a lay member of his family’s religious order, as well as study the growing library his family had collected…and Secret had stolen, from Rome and Constantinople.

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    As he knew, the Faith in Saxon lands was not particularly strong, especially in comparison to the northern monasteries founded by Irish missionaries. Mercia had struggled with its pagan past more than most, though Elfwine knew for a fact that outside of Kent and the seat of the Archbishop, most remained heathens in their outlook. Multiple wives, fornication out of wedlock, woodland spirits and native practices were still common even amongst the ‘educated’ kings of Mercia and Wessex. He was not therefore surprised that his family’s efforts at a Godlier way of life had been met with resistance. Armed uprisings however were always a concern. As he gave leave for the baliffs to disperse the crowds and the preists to placate them, he was suddenly hesitant to call down his Guard upon the townsfolk. Elfwine was torn back to the earliest days of his military career, before he had even become Earl, fighting his father’s fight in Powys. The Battle of Perfeddwlad had been one of his first, and an abject failure at that. He shuddered at its aftermath of grieving widows and lost sons and brothers. Many men and bears had fallen that day, and he could not even pull a victory out of their sacrifice. Another army had captured Powys and won the war. Suddenly he was angered at the injustice of it all, and called out for his Guard to seize any man who did not disperse peacefully. This was not a time to dwell on past mistakes. He was in command now, and he would be victorious.

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    Less than a week later, Elfine was pent up for another reason. His wife was in labour with his first child, a son by the Grace of God hopefully. Shut out as he was by midwifery and arcane witchcraft of womankind, he sat outside pondering the compound his family had built. Lancaster sparkled in the sun beneath the hill, atop which Elfwine had finally completed the stone tower his father was so insistent upon, and had begun extending the Great Hall his grandfather had built beside it. The tower was, for the most part, for show. It was certainly no pleasant place to be when the sea winds howled through the draughty corridor and staircase, though the view from the top was both unrivalled in tactical utility and beauty.

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    Secret came through the great gates and plodded down next to him with a grunt. They shared a companionable silence as they watched handlers attempt to wrangle the Bear Guard through daily training, and yet more others attempt to make soldiers do the same. They both leapt up however when an exhausted and harried older woman burst called from the window that the Lady had given birth to a boy child. “Edward!” Elfwine smiled at the name, as Secret snorted next to him. The men gave a great cheer at the news, which led to a hasty retreat as the bears began yowling and roaring about the place. Secret huffed and set off to try and restore order to the mess, whilst Elfwine made his way to his wife’s side.
    Yet there was a strange silence from within, and as his concern grew so did his haste, till he was practically running through his own home. As he approached the room, the infant could be heard wailing, and quieter but no less tragic sobs could be heard within. Bursting onto the scene, he first took in his new son, pink and screaming against the whitest sheets the nurses could fine. And in the bed, the remains of his beautiful wife, blood and congealed bile dried upon her lips, her eyes absent of vitality. The Duke carefully ordered the room emptied, then bolted the doors from within.

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