Connubium whistled a pleasant tune as he finished his letter to the pointy haired imbecile that was Aphippos. His mood had improved significantly over the past week.
“My dear Aphippos,
I have wonderful news; the Grandmaster has died. His replacement is Emmanuel Despuig, whose dossier I have included for your perusal.
That sketch was drawn by Fra Angelico with two pieces of chalk while Emmanuel was on vacation in Cyprus last year. (It is part of Angelico’s “graphic novel” project.)
As you may have guessed, Despuig is the sort of grandmaster who will take his duty of policing the Mediterranean seriously. He has already discussed plans to declare wars on Morea, Crete, Venice, Tripoli, Tunis, Morocco, and Poland. He would have also requested a plan of war against the Papal States, but I had to explain to him that the Pope would frown on that sort of thing. He sulked for a few hours after, but felt better when I suggested that maybe the Ottomans would annex the Papal States, and then we could crusade and take it back, looking good in the process. The estimated body count from such an enterprise made him grin.
Everything else is going according to plan. It will take a few years, but once our manpower has replenished, war will be upon us. With luck, I may have my hands upon the Batrachion Kouris within a few decades.
I cannot wait until you exhale in my direction once again,
Connubium Frequentia”
“Connubium!”
The aged vampire glanced up and stopped whistling.
“Yes, grandmaster?”
“Who are we sending to command the invasion of Morea?”
“De Julliac, grandmaster.”
The grandmaster adjusted his helmet and loincloth for a moment as he thought about it.
“No, he’s too much of a wuss. To effeminate. Not the sort of general I had in mind at all.”
Connubium searched through the vellum scrolls and books and produced de Julliac’s dossier.
“So, he’s not good enough for you, and he is effeminate. Did you have someone else in mind, grandmaster? I mean, he seems pretty good.”
“Pretty good? Bah, he lost one battle during the entire war with The Mamluks. Losing a single battle out of a dozen is unacceptable. Besides, the only machismo he knows about is from that stupid phrasebook you gave him.”
“Well, he only had twenty men left, grandmaster. And I think he’s learned a lot from the phrasebook. Only yesterday he was telling me that he wanted to be a lumberjack...”
Connubium considered the error in his statement for a moment before continuing.
“You have a point, grandmaster.”
“I thought you would see it my way. Find me a better general to command the invasion of Morea!”
“Certainly, grandmaster.”
“Oh, and one other thing. I want Magnus Larsson fired. She’s such a nuisance.”
“I’ll fire him at once, grandmaster.”
The grandmaster began to look confused.
“Him? But I saw… I mean, I thought I saw… you know, in the baths… hygiene… very important… dark days of the war… arrows darkening the skies… phallic symbols in the military…”
Connubium could see the grandmaster’s PTSD beginning to act up again, and decided to have mercy on him.*
“I’ll send him, err, I mean I’ll send her packing, grandmaster.”
“Excellent. And while you’re at it, hire one of those philosophers I keep hearing about.”
“You think de Julliac is effeminate, but you want to hire a philosopher?”
Grandmaster Despuig looked affronted.
“My God man, don’t you know that Socrates himself was permanently pissed? And Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle? And Plato, as they say, could stick away half a crate of whiskey every day?”
“Why no, grandmaster, I didn’t know any of that.”
“Well, shows how educated you are with your fancy learning from books.”
“Indeed. Shall I go and attend to these affairs, grandmaster?”
“Yes, Connubium. Go and find me a brilliant leader and a brilliant philosopher.”
Connubium left the grandmaster’s presence. His ego was bruised by the realization that the grandmaster had almost as much intelligence as himself, but his dignity skulked behind him, picking up his precious ego and dusting it off as he left the fortress.
I hate manipulating intelligent mortals. They have this annoying tendency to know what’s good for them. Well, a brilliant general he will get. But I have a feeling that he doesn’t need a brilliant philosopher. He just needs one that sees the world his way.
“Message for you, sir!”
The Messenger appeared smiling in his usual well groomed, infuriating manner.
“Juno’s jealousy! How do you keep sneaking up on me like that? I have senses beyond the ken of mortals, and yet you seem to appear as if from thin air.”
“I have no idea, sir. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Well, stop it. I want you to start behaving like a normal human being.”
The Messenger’s smile evaporated as a hurt look crossed his features.
“But this was the only job I could get after Oberon released me from his service after that whole midsummer night fiasco. You have no idea how difficult it is to find good work when you’re in a copyright dispute and can’t even use your own name. ‘Else the Puck a liar call’ indeed…”
Connubium sighed inwardly.
“Look, I appreciate all you’re doing here on Rhodes, I just need you to, you know, blend in a little better. I can only imagine what would happen if the current grandmaster decided you were a fairy.”
“But I am a…”
“No, you’re not. Don’t even say it. You’re a stout yeoman or some such nonsense. Whatever will make Despuig happy and not think you are too effeminate.”
“That’s racism, you know.”
“No, it’s not. It’s specism. And humans are notoriously intolerant about other species. Just take a look at all the fishing they do off the coast.”
“Oh, alright.”
Connubium could see that The Messenger was becoming depressed.
“Look, I tell you what. If I get tired and have to take one of my decades long naps, you can fill in for me. How does that sound?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I may be a manipulative bloodsucker, but at least I am an Equal Elfin Employer.”**
“That’s so considerate of you. I didn’t expect you to be so understanding.”
“Well, that’s the kind of guy I am. What was the message?”
“Oh, right. General de Julliac has the twenty survivors from the previous conflict in the courtyard as per your instructions.”
“Right. Well, carry on. I shall attend to these matters.”
The Messenger began to disappear.
“Eh, what did I tell you?”
“Oh, sorry.”
The Messenger walked off a bit awkwardly, as he tried this new method for entering and leaving scenes. For his part, Connubium walked to the courtyard where the veterans from the previous war were standing in formation.
“Are these them, General?”
“Yes…”
De Julliac paused as he mulled over a sentence in his mind.
“…these are those happy few who stood by my side on Toxic Wings Day, when we poured brewed hops once more into the breach and filled it with Mamluk dead.”
“You know, de Julliac, that is the sort of thing you should have said two days ago to the new grandmaster. You might still have a job.”
De Julliac shrugged.
“You knights, I have come to select the new leader for our crusade against the heathens. Whosoever can answer my question correctly will command our armies for the invasion of Morea and the conquest of godless Orthodox Christians who live there.”
A general murmur of excitement spread through the knights.
“My question is this: you are moving in to position to besiege a castle. Civilians are fleeing to try and get behind the castle walls. A small force of enemy infantry guards the entrance to the castle. What do you do?”
A knight raised his hand.
“I would let the civilians go, surround the castle, and begin constructing trebuchets in order to…”
“No, sorry, that is incorrect. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back?”
“I would loot both the outlying town and the fleeing civilians of all foodstuffs and movable wealth, before settling down to a lengthy siege to starve the defenders…”
“No, that is a stupid plan.”
The knight began to tear up.
“Oh, stop it! Look, someone here surely knows the right answer. Come on, tell me what it is.”
“I would order my cavalry to charge.”
The voice was obscured by the knights in the front rank.
“Charge? What do you mean?”
“Yes, charge. Full attack, give the enemy no quarter.”
“Who? The guards?”
“No, the civilians.”
The other knights groaned while de Julliac cut in.
“I’m sorry, Connubium, Johannes gets carried away sometimes.”
“No, please continue, Johannes.”
“Well, that’s all there is to it. The standard charge and full frontal assault on the fleeing column of civilians.”
“What about the castle?”
“Hmmm, I’d have to say that we would charge while conducting full frontal assault.”
“Really, is that all?”
Johannes peeked his head from behind his fellows and wiggled his brows conspiratorially.
“If I was feeling sneaky, I’d feint to the right, and then the charge and full frontal assault.”
“And what about prisoners?”
Johannes thought for a moment.
“Charge the prisoners while conducting a full frontal assault.”
Connubium smiled.
“You will do nicely. Come here, Johannes, let us discuss the invasion of Morea.”
“Oh, well, thank you. And please, call me Paul. Paul de Paul.”
The two walked out of the courtyard. On their way they passed the docks. A brewer was unloading his cargo. The brewer was holding his head like he had a headache or a hangover. Connubium decided this was the pose of a true philosopher and hired him on the spot.
And now war was on the horizon, with the rising sun red as blood. Of course, Connubium only knew this second hand, but it still felt very impressive as he reviewed the day’s documentation before going to sleep.
He updated Paul de Paul’s dossier.
*Post Transvestite Stress Disorder.
** The EEE, or Equal Elfin Employers, has stated its commitment to the gainful employment of all elves, gnomes, halflings, fairies, and dwarves. Unfortunately, the dwarves generally resent this, pointing out that they should be grouped with midgets other people with pituitary and skeletal disorders. Instead, the EEE forces them to wear chain mail, carry large axes, and quaff large quantities of alcoholic beverages in order to obtain work. Needless to say, this has caused some confusion among 21st Century directors filming in New Zealand.
“My dear Aphippos,
I have wonderful news; the Grandmaster has died. His replacement is Emmanuel Despuig, whose dossier I have included for your perusal.
That sketch was drawn by Fra Angelico with two pieces of chalk while Emmanuel was on vacation in Cyprus last year. (It is part of Angelico’s “graphic novel” project.)
As you may have guessed, Despuig is the sort of grandmaster who will take his duty of policing the Mediterranean seriously. He has already discussed plans to declare wars on Morea, Crete, Venice, Tripoli, Tunis, Morocco, and Poland. He would have also requested a plan of war against the Papal States, but I had to explain to him that the Pope would frown on that sort of thing. He sulked for a few hours after, but felt better when I suggested that maybe the Ottomans would annex the Papal States, and then we could crusade and take it back, looking good in the process. The estimated body count from such an enterprise made him grin.
Everything else is going according to plan. It will take a few years, but once our manpower has replenished, war will be upon us. With luck, I may have my hands upon the Batrachion Kouris within a few decades.
I cannot wait until you exhale in my direction once again,
Connubium Frequentia”
“Connubium!”
The aged vampire glanced up and stopped whistling.
“Yes, grandmaster?”
“Who are we sending to command the invasion of Morea?”
“De Julliac, grandmaster.”
The grandmaster adjusted his helmet and loincloth for a moment as he thought about it.
“No, he’s too much of a wuss. To effeminate. Not the sort of general I had in mind at all.”
Connubium searched through the vellum scrolls and books and produced de Julliac’s dossier.
“So, he’s not good enough for you, and he is effeminate. Did you have someone else in mind, grandmaster? I mean, he seems pretty good.”
“Pretty good? Bah, he lost one battle during the entire war with The Mamluks. Losing a single battle out of a dozen is unacceptable. Besides, the only machismo he knows about is from that stupid phrasebook you gave him.”
“Well, he only had twenty men left, grandmaster. And I think he’s learned a lot from the phrasebook. Only yesterday he was telling me that he wanted to be a lumberjack...”
Connubium considered the error in his statement for a moment before continuing.
“You have a point, grandmaster.”
“I thought you would see it my way. Find me a better general to command the invasion of Morea!”
“Certainly, grandmaster.”
“Oh, and one other thing. I want Magnus Larsson fired. She’s such a nuisance.”
“I’ll fire him at once, grandmaster.”
The grandmaster began to look confused.
“Him? But I saw… I mean, I thought I saw… you know, in the baths… hygiene… very important… dark days of the war… arrows darkening the skies… phallic symbols in the military…”
Connubium could see the grandmaster’s PTSD beginning to act up again, and decided to have mercy on him.*
“I’ll send him, err, I mean I’ll send her packing, grandmaster.”
“Excellent. And while you’re at it, hire one of those philosophers I keep hearing about.”
“You think de Julliac is effeminate, but you want to hire a philosopher?”
Grandmaster Despuig looked affronted.
“My God man, don’t you know that Socrates himself was permanently pissed? And Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle? And Plato, as they say, could stick away half a crate of whiskey every day?”
“Why no, grandmaster, I didn’t know any of that.”
“Well, shows how educated you are with your fancy learning from books.”
“Indeed. Shall I go and attend to these affairs, grandmaster?”
“Yes, Connubium. Go and find me a brilliant leader and a brilliant philosopher.”
Connubium left the grandmaster’s presence. His ego was bruised by the realization that the grandmaster had almost as much intelligence as himself, but his dignity skulked behind him, picking up his precious ego and dusting it off as he left the fortress.
I hate manipulating intelligent mortals. They have this annoying tendency to know what’s good for them. Well, a brilliant general he will get. But I have a feeling that he doesn’t need a brilliant philosopher. He just needs one that sees the world his way.
“Message for you, sir!”
The Messenger appeared smiling in his usual well groomed, infuriating manner.
“Juno’s jealousy! How do you keep sneaking up on me like that? I have senses beyond the ken of mortals, and yet you seem to appear as if from thin air.”
“I have no idea, sir. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Well, stop it. I want you to start behaving like a normal human being.”
The Messenger’s smile evaporated as a hurt look crossed his features.
“But this was the only job I could get after Oberon released me from his service after that whole midsummer night fiasco. You have no idea how difficult it is to find good work when you’re in a copyright dispute and can’t even use your own name. ‘Else the Puck a liar call’ indeed…”
Connubium sighed inwardly.
“Look, I appreciate all you’re doing here on Rhodes, I just need you to, you know, blend in a little better. I can only imagine what would happen if the current grandmaster decided you were a fairy.”
“But I am a…”
“No, you’re not. Don’t even say it. You’re a stout yeoman or some such nonsense. Whatever will make Despuig happy and not think you are too effeminate.”
“That’s racism, you know.”
“No, it’s not. It’s specism. And humans are notoriously intolerant about other species. Just take a look at all the fishing they do off the coast.”
“Oh, alright.”
Connubium could see that The Messenger was becoming depressed.
“Look, I tell you what. If I get tired and have to take one of my decades long naps, you can fill in for me. How does that sound?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I may be a manipulative bloodsucker, but at least I am an Equal Elfin Employer.”**
“That’s so considerate of you. I didn’t expect you to be so understanding.”
“Well, that’s the kind of guy I am. What was the message?”
“Oh, right. General de Julliac has the twenty survivors from the previous conflict in the courtyard as per your instructions.”
“Right. Well, carry on. I shall attend to these matters.”
The Messenger began to disappear.
“Eh, what did I tell you?”
“Oh, sorry.”
The Messenger walked off a bit awkwardly, as he tried this new method for entering and leaving scenes. For his part, Connubium walked to the courtyard where the veterans from the previous war were standing in formation.
“Are these them, General?”
“Yes…”
De Julliac paused as he mulled over a sentence in his mind.
“…these are those happy few who stood by my side on Toxic Wings Day, when we poured brewed hops once more into the breach and filled it with Mamluk dead.”
“You know, de Julliac, that is the sort of thing you should have said two days ago to the new grandmaster. You might still have a job.”
De Julliac shrugged.
“You knights, I have come to select the new leader for our crusade against the heathens. Whosoever can answer my question correctly will command our armies for the invasion of Morea and the conquest of godless Orthodox Christians who live there.”
A general murmur of excitement spread through the knights.
“My question is this: you are moving in to position to besiege a castle. Civilians are fleeing to try and get behind the castle walls. A small force of enemy infantry guards the entrance to the castle. What do you do?”
A knight raised his hand.
“I would let the civilians go, surround the castle, and begin constructing trebuchets in order to…”
“No, sorry, that is incorrect. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back?”
“I would loot both the outlying town and the fleeing civilians of all foodstuffs and movable wealth, before settling down to a lengthy siege to starve the defenders…”
“No, that is a stupid plan.”
The knight began to tear up.
“Oh, stop it! Look, someone here surely knows the right answer. Come on, tell me what it is.”
“I would order my cavalry to charge.”
The voice was obscured by the knights in the front rank.
“Charge? What do you mean?”
“Yes, charge. Full attack, give the enemy no quarter.”
“Who? The guards?”
“No, the civilians.”
The other knights groaned while de Julliac cut in.
“I’m sorry, Connubium, Johannes gets carried away sometimes.”
“No, please continue, Johannes.”
“Well, that’s all there is to it. The standard charge and full frontal assault on the fleeing column of civilians.”
“What about the castle?”
“Hmmm, I’d have to say that we would charge while conducting full frontal assault.”
“Really, is that all?”
Johannes peeked his head from behind his fellows and wiggled his brows conspiratorially.
“If I was feeling sneaky, I’d feint to the right, and then the charge and full frontal assault.”
“And what about prisoners?”
Johannes thought for a moment.
“Charge the prisoners while conducting a full frontal assault.”
Connubium smiled.
“You will do nicely. Come here, Johannes, let us discuss the invasion of Morea.”
“Oh, well, thank you. And please, call me Paul. Paul de Paul.”
The two walked out of the courtyard. On their way they passed the docks. A brewer was unloading his cargo. The brewer was holding his head like he had a headache or a hangover. Connubium decided this was the pose of a true philosopher and hired him on the spot.
And now war was on the horizon, with the rising sun red as blood. Of course, Connubium only knew this second hand, but it still felt very impressive as he reviewed the day’s documentation before going to sleep.
He updated Paul de Paul’s dossier.
*Post Transvestite Stress Disorder.
** The EEE, or Equal Elfin Employers, has stated its commitment to the gainful employment of all elves, gnomes, halflings, fairies, and dwarves. Unfortunately, the dwarves generally resent this, pointing out that they should be grouped with midgets other people with pituitary and skeletal disorders. Instead, the EEE forces them to wear chain mail, carry large axes, and quaff large quantities of alcoholic beverages in order to obtain work. Needless to say, this has caused some confusion among 21st Century directors filming in New Zealand.
