The Song of Wessex
* * *
Crieff, Scotland - January 1309
Despite the events of Prince Arthur’s coming of age ceremony, the Prince had returned to Westminster for the Christmas court and said not a word of the visit that he held with his mother to Hereford. The King was not keen to press even if he had desire to know what was said. Putting his master of spies to it, Mayor Andrew had returned with little to say other than Sir Mark of Chelsea had been assured that the Prince had permission and dared not question the King’s desire. King Arthur’s letter reached him too late as the Prince rode fast and by then, it was too late.
More to that, the Prince had been on his best behavior all throughout the season. Chaste when close to the young Duchess of Northumberland and even offering inquiry into his aunt’s children in the Empire. Not one thing was mentioned in the King’s hearing in all of that month even if King Arthur’s other children were also curious about the state of their mother. The Mass of Christ was said and then they were off to Scotland. King and Prince, Lord Amedee of Bourbon, the Lord Chancellor Earl Edward of Chartres and the King’s nobleman, Earl Anselm of Gwynedd.
They were escorted by a sizable contingent of the King’s guard and made good time all the way to Crieff even in the winter weather that could be trouble at times in the north. All along the road, many came to see the sight of their Prince off to marry his Scots Lady and they cheered and threw laurels at his mount when he passed. Stopping only briefly to allow the Duchess of Northumberland to her home, they entered Scotland after staying but one night at the castle in Stirling and then the road was changed.
Still in struggle with the upstart Earl of Gowrie and his friends, Scotland was on a war footing and few peasants ventured out to see this English Prince ride north. The road was not deserted, but it was quiet. Those that did view King and Prince as they rode by kept to themselves and eyed with suspicion. All through the rocky terrain, the traveling party held close together and when they reached the castle at Crieff, they were relieved. Not only were they welcomed, but with great fanfare. Prince Radulf had made certain that Queen Helen spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding even if it took from the war treasury. As they entered the bailey, bunting was placed all along the walls and when they reached the steps, Prince Radulf was there himself to greet them.
“God sees us a glorious day, Your Grace!” the Prince of Scotland shouted as he moved down the steps.
King Arthur made to dismount and gestured towards his son, “It is his day and not mine, my Lord. Yet where be your mother the Queen?”
“She is...” Prince Radulf tried to smile, “...with my brother Gilbride. He’s home for the occasion and wished to have words.”
The younger Arthur too moved from his mount and stood to greet his would be father by law, “And where is your Lady Maud, my Lord Prince? Am I not to see my bride until the day of our wedding?”
Radulf offered a respectful bow, “She readies herself, my Lord Prince. It happens on the morn and she feels need to take all the night with preparation. I think that you’ll be most pleased.”
“I would be most pleased to take the measure of your good brother, my Lord,” the King of England clapped his son on the shoulder and looked to Radulf with a grin.
Prince Radulf gestured to the castle, “He’ll most surely be to the feast this night, Your Grace. He may not be to your liking but he’s very much so to Scotland.”
In truth, King Arthur was rather disappointed when he finally met this famed Prince Gilbride of Scotland. Not because he was a bore, but rather that he seemed quite amusing and amused. As told, the Lady Maud did not attend the feast that night but the rest of the Scots court, or what was left of it, did indeed. The eldest Scots Prince was quite fascinated with Lord Amedee and wished to bend his ear on all manner of things throughout the night, but Gilbride did not shun the King of England. Not at all. When it came time to toast the new couple, it was Gilbride rather than Radulf that gave the most effusive speech. And Queen Helen of Scotland, always in her cups, was right next to him smiling with a slurred speech and glassy eyes.
As the night grew long, King Arthur found himself in talk with a younger Scots noble when Prince Gilbride shifted behind him and offered yet another drink, “I was told that the English like their ale. I had some fine bit imported just for you, Your Grace.”
“And I have been tasting it all the night,” Arthur turned with a smile, “Most gracious, sir.”
Gilbride looked briefly to the high table and then back, “I hope you’ll forgive my mother. She is old and takes less care of herself than she should.”
“She has many troubles,” the English King allowed a knowing nod, “I am not offended. We are here to drink and be merry.”
“And your son...” Gilbride gestured to the Prince chatting up another of the Scottish court, “...a strapping lad. The very picture of you, Your Grace. You must be proud.”
King Arthur gave another nod, “As you are of yours, I am sure.”
“Indeed...sad that he could not be here. Yet...”
Arthur knew well, “Fighting this unfortunate war. I am sorry.”
“I’m certain that you are,” Gilbride showed a grin, “And too terrible that it should mar such an occasion.”
Lord Amedee stood nearby and joined in, “You’ll have them running in no time, good Prince. Fear not.”
“Ah!” Gilbride clapped Amedee on the back, “Yet we don’t have the famed warrior of France on our side. Too much a shame! Where’s Scots pride gone, I ask you?”
The younger Scots Prince also stood nearby and suggested with a sneer towards his older brother, “It goes nowhere but with you.”
“Come now, Ratty!” Gilbride squeezed a strong arm to his brother’s shoulder, “Let’s not fight this night. Your daughter marries on the morrow! It’s a good day, yes?”
Radulf pulled away, “You know I hate that nickname, ya twat!”
“Brothers, Your Grace,” Amedee leaned in with a whisper.
“Of course we’re brothers!” Gilbride heard it and pulled his younger sibling into a great hug, “A fine boy in young Richard! Soon to be a man! And your sweet Maud...she marries the English King!”
Arthur could not help but laugh, “Not quite yet, my Lord Prince. Soon enough.”
“Ach!” Gilbride pulled back, “Your ale...it goes right to my head. Not enough of it on campaign, right my Lord Amedee?”
Amedee gave nod, “Always, my Lord Prince. Never enough.”
As the elder Prince stumbled away, Radulf looked to King Arthur, “I’m sorry. When he drinks...he’s like our mother.”
“I actually find him quite...charming,” King Arthur suggested with a grin, “I like a man that speaks his mind. You Scots have that without fail. If I can keep my son’s wits about him tonight, then we shall all have fine time come the morn.”
“Papa!” Prince Arthur interrupted, “It’s Anselm. He’s gotten into it with one of the guards. Was looking for the stores as he ran out of wine and...”
The King was slightly shocked but also amused, “Hm. That’s unlike Ans. Shall we investigate, my Lord Amedee?”
Begging their apologies from the Scots Prince they did that very thing and true enough, Anselm had gone so far as to draw his sword but stopped immediately when he spied the King. It would turn into a long night for the three of them as they moved further into their cups and drank until near the morning. Good friends, good ale, good cheer...and then the sunlight soon. Arthur was sobered up quickly as he had no choice. His son was to be married. He hoped that the Prince had not found the same trouble for it would do no good to see a stumbling groom come down the aisle. And he did not.
Prince Arthur was there early in the main hall at Crieff and gently scolded his father for his night, “I am to be married and you find a bender?”
“We all had good fun,” Arthur smiled to his son, “And look...here come the party. She will be here soon.”
And she was.
Lady Maud of Scotland appeared through the doors with her arm over her father’s and looked the very picture of an angel. She was just now sixteen with bright blue eyes and a dress made to match, a fulsome figure and a truly regal bearing. If there was flaw, it might be the bridge of her nose. It was a bit broad. But her lips...her bosom...the way the dress flowed on her to show just enough of her ankle and leg. Tied up tight around the neck, Prince Arthur’s first thought was to see that collar unchained and what was underneath? They had known each other for some many years, but how she had grown!
The Queen of Scotland soon followed and paled in comparison. Sixty years old, she stooped. She shuffled in her steps. She barely made it to her seat and it was Radulf that helped her and not her eldest son Gilbride. Yet he was there too. With great fanfare, he entered the hall and walked the steps to give his niece a kiss before finding his place. They all sat. The Bishop spoke. The two royal children made their vows to each other and then...the feast.
Much like the night before, the wine and ale flowed and the newly married couple sat at the high table deeply into one another. Many of the court moved to offer their congratulations but these two seemed to only have eyes for each other. After many hours, the chants began to start the bedding. Prince Arthur and Lady Maud did not stop them. The men gathered round him and the ladies around her and they all moved as if one to the wedding chamber. Stripped of some few garments and many ribald words followed and then the Prince held up in the bed with only his breeches still on, “I shall not conquer Scotland tonight! I think to see Scotland conquer me!”
The bedding crowd shouted more ripe phrases until he held up another hand, “And I think to do it on my own!”
Some jeered but they eventually left the couple alone and went back to the revelry still going on at the feast. King Arthur did not join them. He moved back to his chamber as his head had throbbed all day. Finally finding some respite, he undid his braided coat and loosened his tunic with a great sigh. Looking to the ale provided, he considered it but then put it out of his mind. A fresh splash of water from the basin and then he collapsed on the bed with a wide smile. It was finally done. After years of planning, this marriage had happened. England joined with Scotland...of a piece. The other was...the other. Arty seemed quite pleased with his bride and no one could say that young Maud thought differently. Sixteen years...countless wars. Strife at home...and with him. But now? True peace.
The knock on the chamber door pulled him from his great smile.
Without an answer from the King, Lord Amedee entered with a grim visage, “Sire...I am sorry.”
“Amedee!” Arthur sat up in the bed as best he could, “Come...come in! What a wonderful day!”
“Your Grace...” Amedee stood like a statue with a stone face, “...I am sorry. The Queen Helen...she is...dead.”
After two days, Arthur was suddenly more sober than he had been in months, “What?!”
“Gone to her chambers,” Amedee moved into the room and shut the door, “After the feast. Her ladies found her cold.”
Great shock covered the King’s face and he was speechless at first and still unbelieving, “That is...that is impossible! We saw her just some few hours ago.”
“It is most possible, sire,” Amedee remained more then serious, “And is also true. The Princes of Scotland are now aware and worse...I fear that they come for you soon.”
“Come for me?!” Arthur stood from the bed with alacrity and by instinct reached for his sword.
Amedee raised his hand to stay the King, “Think not such as that just yet, sire. Yet they be not happy.”
Thinking quickly, Arthur suddenly grew worried over another, “Where be my son? Still abed with his new bride?”
“He has not been seen since we left the bedding ceremony,” the Duke understood immediately.
Arthur pointed towards the door, “Then you had best raise him and bring him to me. And call for Ans. Quick now, my Lord...we have little time!”
Without it needing to be said, Amedee was already away. Fully sober now, Arthur started considering the ramifications. The Scots Queen dead and the very day of her granddaughter’s wedding to the English Prince and heir to the throne. If their reception had been icy throughout Scotland on their way here, what would it be like on the way home...if they made it home? And now...who ruled Scotland itself? Surely Prince Gilbride. Perhaps his wife had been right all along. Too slow to act and now this. All of the work done to marry off his son and see a succession of this throne go to his heirs seeming for not. Which thought chilled him more? That or the sure thoughts of Gilbride and perhaps even Prince Radulf at the now?
A knock soon came to his chamber door, heavy and with purpose. Thinking it Anselm, he opened it to find the very Prince Gilbride and some of his men with Anselm held with them, “I am sorry, Your Grace...I was not quick enough.”
Gilbride held no smile this time, “I thought to make sure we had our English court under safe protection. My men have located your Lord Chancellor and search now for your Lord Marshal and the Prince.”
“And what of my other men?” the King stayed calm and asked with simple concern.
Gilbride held only a slim smirk before turning serious once more, “Surely still in drunken revelry...for now. When they all find out what we know...well...”
“Then you will not have long to wait for my Lord Amedee, for he is soon to return with my Prince in hand,” Arthur turned to calmly poor a drink of ale.
“Is that wise...” the Scottish Prince burst into the chamber with some few of his men and Anselm and then gestured towards the ale, “...after this night?”
Arthur turned with a raised brow, “I know not what you suggest, but I have heard the terrible news and for that I am sorry, my Lord Prince. A bittersweet day, if no thing else.”
“If no thing else?!” Gilbride unhanded the King’s Earl and grew red in the face, “You come to this castle to wed one of our own when your motive was murder all along! Murder most foul...Your Grace!!”
Arthur did not budge as Anselm moved to stand in between them. He then gently moved forward and gestured for his Earl to stand aside, “Move away, Ans. There is no thing to fear. The Prince is in grief and says things that he will later regret.”
“I regret nothing for I’ve not yet done anything to regret,” Gilbride sneered, “Yet let’s wait...the night remains and it is long.”
Before another word was said, the chamber door opened once more and Lord Amedee came in with Prince Arthur by his side and some few of their own men, “My Lords...Your Grace...I did not think it time for a party. Yet if there is to be one, should we not be invited?”
Prince Arthur looked angry and perhaps a little scared, “What is the meaning of this?! I am in the midst of a fine time with my new bride only to be pulled away before the most important moment!”
“Shame that, young whelp,” Gilbride kept his eye to the King, “Or not. Perhaps we’ve saved you just in time.”
Arthur returned his eye with the same steely gaze, “My Lord Prince Gilbride...how your manner does change.”
“And you know why!” Gilbride shouted, “My mother is dead and I know well who is responsible! It wasn’t enough to try and kill me, was it? Couldn’t find me? Not enough takers for your nasty plot? So...why not go for the next best thing to hurt me?!”
“You offend me, my Lord Prince,” Arthur stood tall and spoke in measured words, “There is no possible reason that I should wish either thing. We came here to see my son wed to your House. We have all had fine time until this tragic happening. I find great regret and sorrow for you and all of Scotland.”
Gilbride sneered, “You speak with a golden tongue and a black heart, sassanach! And when you address me now, you will do so with respect for I am now King!!”
“Very well...Your Grace...” Arthur nearly spit the title, “...what would you have me say? I had no hand in this. None. It is as much shock to me as it is to you. You may blame me all you wish but it does not make it true.”
Not used to such reason, Gilbride studied the King for a time before turning to Prince Arthur, “Then perhaps it was another...eh? Now that you are married, you thought to take one step closer to our throne...was that it? Sully our bed in more ways than one, eh?!”
Lord Amedee moved to place the Prince behind his own body, “You cast many stones, my Lord Prince...yet I wonder why you cast none towards your own House? Do you honestly think us to believe that you are blameless and without sin?”
“You’re a mighty warrior, Amedee of Bourbon,” Gilbride narrowed his eyes, “Yet you may also be foolish. What sin do I hold when my mother dies?”
“Only that it is a short step from Prince to King...Your Grace,” Amedee challenged with malice, “A journey ended by the ceasing of a heartbeat. I imagine that may cure many of your ills if what you have told me be true.”
“You’ve too much nerve, Frankish Lord!” Gilbride’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
Amedee’s hand was already at his own, “And balls of iron! Tell me it is not true and I shall find apology!”
“My Lords!” King Arthur shouted trying to diffuse the situation, “This gets us nowhere! Stand down and let us speak!”
Gilbride did not pull his weapon but kept his eye to the French Duke at first, “I’ve little more to say, English King. It wasn’t I that caused my mother’s death for I’ve no need. I already rule Scotland. No. I think it be the boy!”
“Gilbride of Scotland, you are no dolt...you are worse!” Prince Arthur suddenly shouted, “Thanks be to God that you have no daughter to wed for she would be worse than sheep. You may understand
that, it you understand no thing else!”
“Arthur!!” the King shouted as Gilbride moved to the young Prince and held to his tunic.
“You will have a very short married life, young sir,” Gilbride peered closely into his eyes, “Your father should thank me given his own.”
“Unhand me!!” the English Prince wriggled away.
Both Lord Amedee and King Arthur moved to stand between them and the King held up a hand, “Steady, sir! You have lost your mother this night. If I should lose my son, it will be war and I will surely kill you as you believe I wish.”
“It is already war!!” Gilbride shouted.
Another voice entered the conversation as Prince Radulf entered the chamber flanked by many guards and the youngest Scots Prince Duncan, “Not yet, brother. Not unless you start one. This King of England had no hand in our mother’s death and neither did my son by law. You know this true enough.”
Gilbride showed shock upon his face as he turned, “You!!!”
“What you do not know...or consider...is that I have spent more time to this keep than you,” Radulf did not smile as his men moved to disarm Gilbride’s, “The guard here is loyal to me and we shall honor our commitment to the English who stand here as our guests. They will be provided safe escort away and will take my daughter Maud with them. Then we shall see who it was that killed our mother because it was surely one of us. And it was not me.”
“Of course it was you!!” Gilbride spit, “Now it makes sense! Your daughter marries this sassanach and you grow close with them. Place me as your target and they will help you for they wish me dead already!”
Radulf grinned, “Aye...they do. Care to give them more reason?”
The Lord Chancellor Edward finally arrived surrounded by more of Radulf’s men and some of the English guard, “Your Grace...I think it time we left for the south.”
“Yes, Your Grace...” Radulf kept his eye to his brother, “...I believe your Lord is right. Maud is packed and ready to go. Send your Lord Amedee to fetch her. We shall speak soon. I’m sorry for my brother’s ill manner but I did warn you.”
Amedee and Anselm wasted no time ushering both King and Prince from the chamber as Arthur turned back, “It is I that am sorry, sir. I had wished for a better day.”
Radulf held a firm gaze to his brother still, “There is no better day in Scotland, Your Grace. This is as good as it gets.”
Father and son, Marshal and Chancellor, Earl and guard all moved swiftly away from the castle at Crieff under the cover of darkness. Lady Maud of Scotland was taken with and by sun up, they were leagues away and finally said goodbye to their Scots escort. Slowly they traveled, away from the main roads as they knew the passages from many a war. It was only when they crossed back into England that King Arthur and Lord Amedee finally spoke on the matter.
At a slow trot finally, Arthur kept at his question, “I cannot understand, my Lord? What makes a son kill their mother?”
“Who is to say that a son did?” Amedee kept his eyes to the road ahead.
Arthur turned only a moment in the saddle, “Surely one of them did? It was not us!”
“Then perhaps it
was a son...for the love of his mother,” Amedee trained his eye to the Prince up ahead riding next to his new bride.
The King followed his man’s eye and at first was irritated at the suggestion until he considered it further, “You...you don’t think…”
Amedee grinned, “Or mayhap, monsieur...the grand Lady died of natural causes after all. She did drink too much...was away from her wits.”
Arthur considered the possibilities as Amedee spurred his mount forward and hollered over his shoulder, “It matters not, sire. We have the girl, we are safe and you have your next challenge. Do you accept?”
