The Song of Wessex

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Scone, Scotland - November 1312​

“We must stop meeting like this, my Lord Amedee,” King Radulf of Scotland smiled to the Duke, “People might suspect a plot.”

No longer a man of fine humor, Amedee kept a firm visage, “There is naught else to do in Scotland, Your Grace. You’ve found your victory once more. I would be content with that, were I you.”

​

“Where be the man of old, my Lord?” Radulf kept his grin.

Amedee scowled, “He is an old man, Your Grace.”

“Ah!” Radulf poured a drink, “Yet you should find some good cheer soon. We are to be honored with the King of England in our presence. Should that not bring a smile to your face?”

“The King of England, France and Wales,” Amedee suggested in correction, “And I am always humbled in his presence.”

Radulf skewed a brow, “Are you now? I do hear differently.”

“Whatever you hear is a lie, Your Grace,” Amedee remained tight, “I would check your ears or your speaker for one of them fails you.”

The King of Scotland was taken aback but did not have chance to reply when Earl Anselm entered the solar with King Arthur, “I bring His Grace as promised.”

Arthur was quick to Radulf’s side, “And I thank you, sir, that we might keep this a slim affair. No reason for great court etiquette when we are equals in both chair and family. I congratulate you on a fine victory and it is good to see Scotland strong once more.”

“It’s as much your victory as it is mine, Your Grace,” Radulf moved to pour another drink and handed it to the King, “And I thank you once more for your unending support. A meeting of families and kingdoms all at once.”

“I hope it so...Your Grace,” Arthur accepted the cup and answered with humor, “Yet I believe that our work here is not done. What plans have you for Moray and the highlands?”

Radulf eyed the others in the room before looking back to the King, “I think to finally secure my throne firmly before another adventure. Unless, of course, you would wish to...”

“I think that I have done quite enough...Your Grace,” Arthur stood firm, “I will support you but it must be your play. After all...it is your realm, is it not?”

Anselm felt the tension and moved to relieve it, “Of course it is, Your Grace. King Radulf...we’ve the culprit Gilchrist below in your hall. Would you care to confront him?”

“Yes...” Arthur showed a steely eye, “...I believe that he would.”

Radulf looked from Earl to King and then back again, “Indeed...I should do so. I hope His Grace will stay for a day or two...allow us chance to catch up and speak of our grandchild?”

King Arthur gave nod and Anselm was quick to follow King Radulf from the solar. It left Arthur alone with his dearest friend and he turned to look at Amedee with a smile, “I am pleased to see that you made it back from Ireland in one piece, monsieur.”

“Yes,” Amedee answered with a curt reply.

Pouring another drink for the Duke, Arthur approached, “You did fine work to Connaught...as always. Yet I have missed your voice.”

Amedee took the drink and then placed it aside, “My voice is always to your ear. You need only hear what I have said in the past and it remains true...all of it.”

“My friend...” Arthur tried to diffuse the tension, “...I need your worth always. You have always been my strongest supporter and greatest ally. Just now, there is revolt in Dublin. The townspeople dislike their Lord Mayor. Quite a lot of them, actually. I could use a man such as you to make them rethink their opinion.”

“I am sure you could,” Amedee replied with a stern voice, “Yet I think that good Anselm or your man Etienne could handle a rabble such as that. In truth, Your Grace...I beg a chance to return to Bourbon for a time. It has been too long since I have seen my Helvis and my son is now made Baron of Montpensier. I should be there to reward him.”

Arthur held up a hand, “Amedee...”

“No, Your Grace,” the Duke stood tall, “It is true. My daughters age, and my sons...two of them at least. I reach three score in years and so does my wife. I am proud of my efforts...yet I think it time to retire.”

“You know that I cannot deny you,” Arthur showed sorrow.

Amedee gave a quick nod, “I am pleased to hear it. There are many that may fill my role by this date. The Earl of Gwynedd, surely...or Etienne. I think my time at power to be done, Your Grace. You will be served better by the younger sort.”

“I will never be served better by anyone more than you, sir,” Arthur made plea with his eyes, “I cannot keep you from your home if you ask. It is the least that I could do.”

“Helvis will be very happy, Your Grace.”

Arthur tried to smile, “And your son...Baudouin. He starts a family now, does he not?”

“For some time...oui,” Amedee answered, “And I have missed much in my time away. I should like to see my grandchildren as they grow. I would not wish another time where I was remiss.”

The King understood, “Young Yves...an unfortunate accident.”

“An accident, oui...” Amedee showed a frown, “...and more than unfortunate. He nearly took his mother with him such was her grief and I was not there to assist her. I would like to be more present at the now.”

“My Lord...” Arthur attempted to persuade but the Duke would not hear it.

“Your Grace...you have plenty of good men about you. I am but an old soldier and your Lord to France. I will keep the peace and I will keep my family as long as I have them.”

“I fear...” Arthur tried to find the words, “...that we are...at an impasse. And I would like to cross that bridge.”

Amedee stood tall once more, “The road is clear, Your Grace. Make no mistake. You have found your goal with this Radulf and there is little else to say on it. The Prince is set and so is the Lady Maud. It cannot be changed. As you spoke to me...it is a thing done.”

“Yet I am not done, Amedee,” Arthur replied once more with a plea, “And I need you!”

“Need me for what?” Amedee replied and considered saying more but stopped.

Arthur began to lay out his plans, “Thoughts to Ireland...Radulf’s trouble to Moray...the Bretons. Christ...we still must plan over the boy in the Empire. Eadward is soon to age and I look now to match him. Yet to whom?”

“I am told that you look to Castile and it is a fine enough match,” Amedee answered with curtness once more, “The girl comes from royalty as it should be for your son…

​

“...and as for the rest, Your Grace...find your claim and you will win whatever war you desire. I can answer these in letters as much as I can to your person. If you wish my advice, it is always there. It has ever been to you should you choose to accept it.”

Arthur did not know what to say and finally replied, “I did not ignore you, Amedee.”

“No, Arthur...” Amedee gave nod and looked to him with a close eye, “...you did not. You heard me and then chose another way. That is your right as King. Now I choose mine. I will stay if you demand it. I hope that you do not.”

“I’ve told you...” Arthur began but Amedee cut him off.

“Then I say to you...au revoir, sire. Your Grace...my liege...Arthur...lad...” Amedee bent his neck and backed from the solar leaving Arthur alone.

 

[The Number 9]

There are probably lots of capable men, but it will be a great loss for Arthur. Amedee was really important, and it's a shame it ends like this.
There is a queen who will probably rejoice about this news when she'll hear of it. It's clearly a great occasion for the prince (and so, for her) to gain influence.

Maybe, after some time, Arthur and Amedee will reconcile.

 

[tpmcinty]

Arthur loses another of his long time advisor/friend. It seems lately for every gain Arthur makes he pays some great price. Perhaps someday Arthur and Amedee will join forces again.

 

[stnylan]

The writing was on the wall. The partnership is broken, and I doubt it can be restored. Amedee is, I think, something of a broken man - used up in the service of a King who has become both something less and something more than the Prince he once was.

Maybe if Arthur's father had not died as he did Arthur would have been better prepared for the perils of power. Maybe. All I can say is that I cannot now imagine Arthur speaking kindly to a young soldier trapped with him as his father did.

 

[Bullfilter]

Amedee bent his neck and backed from the solar leaving Arthur alone.

And alone he is, no matter how many newer men of worth surround him.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

There are probably lots of capable men, but it will be a great loss for Arthur. Amedee was really important, and it's a shame it ends like this.
There is a queen who will probably rejoice about this news when she'll hear of it. It's clearly a great occasion for the prince (and so, for her) to gain influence.

Maybe, after some time, Arthur and Amedee will reconcile.

I would not look for reconciliation, sadly. It is a huge chasm that comes and you may be right - good for the Queen and Prince, but perhaps not for Arthur.

Arthur loses another of his long time advisor/friend. It seems lately for every gain Arthur makes he pays some great price. Perhaps someday Arthur and Amedee will join forces again.

That is indeed true. It begins to make sense why the older Arthur looks back the way that he does.

The writing was on the wall. The partnership is broken, and I doubt it can be restored. Amedee is, I think, something of a broken man - used up in the service of a King who has become both something less and something more than the Prince he once was.

Maybe if Arthur's father had not died as he did Arthur would have been better prepared for the perils of power. Maybe. All I can say is that I cannot now imagine Arthur speaking kindly to a young soldier trapped with him as his father did.

That is an interesting look at Amedee and I cannot argue. See the next scene for more on that. And you are likely right about Arthur. Ælfstan had a bit more time to come into his own and did so noticeably away from his own father in France. Thus when he became King, he was entirely prepared. Arthur not as much. He had he age but not the experience as Ælfstan kept him a bit cloistered.

And alone he is, no matter how many newer men of worth surround him.

We will speak more on this later, certainly, but yes - with Amedee leaving Arthur's side, there goes the last of those that could speak to him as a near equal. The younger sort are friendly but he remains King to them at all times.


To all - the next scene follows and I don't want to get too far into the feedback until after that. It brings chapter 5 to a close and...well...read on...

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Bourbon, France - June 1313​

The irony was not lost on Amedee. Forty odd years of warfare and battle and hardly a harm came to him but to return home and find a congested chest that had turned ugly and quickly. Was he now more used to the dank English air than his home to Bourbon with its light and fresh breezes? He coughed and it hurt. More than any blow he had felt in battle. It was internal and seemed incurable. A wound could be treated. A scar, relished for the memory. A deep cut even, healed by a poultice. But this? He coughed again and cursed out loud.

His wife Helvis was quick to his side, “My Lord...you must lay still. I know that it is against your being to be unmovable but you must listen to your physician. He will soon be here to administer another blood letting. Your humors, husband...they are infected.”

He looked up to her from his bed and saw an angel such was his fever. She was beautiful and always had been, but now she was like the light calling to him and Amedee reached out a weak hand to touch her face, “I fear to leave you, sweet Lady. Je suis désolé.”

“You know that I will not have it, Amee,” Helvis bent down and gently kissed his forehead, “Baudouin is soon to here so he might assist you and I’ve enough trouble to the kitchens than to see to a sick man who will be well. Rest, husband. You travel too far to let this take you.”

Amedee tried to smile, “I...have missed you.”

“And I you, my love...” Helvis returned the smile as she pulled the bed cover to his neck, “...and I should not like to make it greater at the now. Please rest, husband. Find your sleep and awake renewed on the morn.”

“Papa!” a voice rang out as Baudouin entered the room, “I came as soon as maman called. What happens to you?”

Helvis took in an embrace from her eldest son and then brushed his cheek with her hand, “Your father finds an ailment that brings him low. Yet he remains healthy and needs our help. Do not let him rise from this bed. He would want to fight, and he should...but not in this condition.”

Baudouin looked to his father with concern, “Papa...what brings this on? You have been healthy as an ox for your entire life!”

“My son…” Amedee gestured for him to come closure, “...sit with me. Let your maman do her work. She has much to care for at this castle and I wish not to be another worry.”

Helvis smiled to him, “You have always been a worry, husband...the manner in which you live. Yet I think to have you home at the now and I will be pleased to see you better.”

“I will see to him, maman,” Baudouin answered and then looked back to his father as Helvis left the chamber, “She frets, papa. She does not show it...”

“Because...she is strong...” Amedee answered with a slim grin.

His son grasped his hand, “And so are you, papa. The mightiest warrior in all the realm. All know it. This is but a sickness. You will recover as you always do.”

Amedee held tightly to his son, “I fear to die, mon fils...of a broken heart. I have given my all and God Almighty does punish.”

“You hold a fever, papa,” Baudouin waved his hand, “No thing more. And you detest being still. Your mind races too much and you should keep calm. Maman said that the physician is near and you will feel better once he has seen to you.”

Amedee squinted his eyes through a head filled with pain, “I think to need a priest...mon fils. I need...Bishop Simon.”

“You think to be shriven, papa?” Baudouin replied with care, “You worry too much. God will always forgive your sins for you are so great a man.”

The ill Duke reached out a hand to feel his son’s face, “Baud...you are a good son. I have been gone for so long and you hold up our place...your maman...with honor. It brings me pride. I do not wish to leave you now...yet if I do...I need to say my words. Please..fetch the Bishop.”

“I am here, my Lord,” Bishop Simon answered after entering the chamber in silence, “The Duchess did call and all of Souvigny prays for you.”

Baudouin stood to greet him, “You will tell him that God will see him through. His ailment will pass. You must lift his spirit.”

The Bishop gave nod and then looked to Amedee in the bed, “Your son’s care shows the desire of the Almighty, my Lord. Allow me to sit with you and speak the word. Christ’s mercy is what you require and God the Father will bring it to you.”

The Duke’s son offered question at first but finally gave nod, “He will be well, my Lord Bishop. Let him see that.”

Bishop Simon gave nod as Baudouin left them alone and then sat by the bed with a kind eye, “Do you wish to give confession, my Lord?”

Lord Amedee looked up with a fevered head, “I must be shriven, Lord Bishop. I cannot face my God in this state. I am cruelly touched and fear...”

When the Duke did not continue, the Bishop leaned forward, “I will give you the sacrament, my Lord. It be not needed at the now, but it may assist you to unburden your soul. God does listen and He heals. Speak your mind to me and give over your troubles.”

“Bless me Father...” Amedee looked up with wide eyes, “...for I have sinned. It is not confession, for God knows all. Yet I must speak it as I fear...the after.”

“Go on, my Lord,” the Bishop knelt by the bed and bowed his head.

Amedee trained his eye to the ceiling as he thought, “I have...taken life. God given life. It brought me pride and...for that...I am doubly cursed.”

“Just war is a tenant of the church, my Lord,” Bishop Simon spoke softly.

The Duke moved through pain to adjust his eye to the Bishop, “It is not just that. I have been a man of ill worth...I have seen death and...from my own hand. A child...children...dead by my order.”

Bishop Simon kept his head low, “Did you swing the blade?”

“No...” Amedee looked above once more, “...but I knew of it. And I did nothing.”

“A hard task, my Lord,” the Bishop replied, “Yet God does forgive.”

Amedee looked to him once more, “An anointed King! And another...naught but a child! Can that be forgiven?!”

The Bishop held to the Duke’s hand, “Are we to be blamed for the actions of another, my Lord? God Almighty knows all and knows where you stand.”

“Yet I am bereft of God’s love for He made me and made me what I am!” Amedee showed some strength in his answer.

Bishop Simon showed a smile, “You presume much about the Lord Almighty. That itself is a sin. Take a care as you speak for He wishes contrition.”

“I...have been unfaithful to my wife,” Amedee rested his head and considered his many sins, “I have been...remiss to my sons...especially Yves. I was not there to help him. I am an unjust father and a poor husband in the eyes of God.”

“Go on,” the Bishop gave nod.

Amedee continued, “I have been...taken by hubris...and pride. I have been charged by mine own betterment in the face of God’s children.”

The Bishop gave nod again as he held tight to Amedee’s hand, “Your savior hears you, my Lord.”

“I…” Amedee looked to a speck above him and considered himself the same, “...have ruled unjustly and served another that does so as well. And I am shattered in my shame for I should be better...should have been better.”

“Christ allows your forgiveness,” Bishop Simon kept his hold, “Go on, my Lord.”

“I saw death...” Amedee turned to the Bishop, “...and I was not ashamed. I am sure to burn in hell!”

Bishop Simon leaned closer, “You find your reconciliation with God, my Lord. You are contrite.”

“And...” Amedee held tight his gaze, “...I have let down my liege...my King. He is God’s anointed and I do not serve him well!”

Simon offered a smile, “Your King is God and His son, Jesus Christ. Your sins will be forgiven, my Lord. You have lived your life and no matter, the risen Christ does forgive. You wish the sacrament and so I shall give it to you. As Lord...as man under God.”

“I wish...” Amedee showed pained face, “...to be free.”

“And so you shall be,” the Bishop pulled a bottle from his bag and sprinkled holy water over the Duke, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. This man is cleansed and I absolve you of your sins.”

“God forgive me!” Amedee found the strength to yell.

The Bishop lowered his head, “Oh Lord...see to the health of Your servant. See him to Your bountiful bosom and let him rejoice in all of Your glory. Find for him the forgiveness of Christ, Your son...and allow him entrance into Heaven to sit by Your side. Give to him the grace that You give to us all...that makes you so kind. Give to him the promise of Your benevolent eye. Give to him the promise of his immortal soul next to Yours, as You are so kind. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen”

Amedee looked on with a harsh eye, “Do you think that worked?”

“God is good,” the Bishop answered.

“And I will be dead soon...” the Duke replied, “...I will find out.”

And he would. Two days later, Lord Amedee, the Duke of Bourbon and Lord Marshal to the Kingdom of England, France and Wales died. Not in war. Not next to his King. Maybe close to God, but the two were one and the same. One was peace itself. The other? God Almighty ruled heaven and earth. The King ruled a realm. A large one but now remiss. And King Arthur would never forget it.

​

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1351​

Letitia had left him alone to sit his wheeled chair by the window as she fetched some wine and cheese. He watched through the great stone arch and saw a bird in the distance, rising high in the wind only to turn and sail down almost as if to strike the earth. At the last moment, another turn lifted the bird into the air once more and off it flew into the distance. It looked like a hawk or a peregrine and the old man wondered which of his nobles was out to play today. He knew which was not. That was settled so many years ago.

The curse of age. To have lived so long and seen so much...a passing of the guard, many times over. And him...that man that was his strength...his wall against all others. The Frenchman that was the paragon of England. The irony clung to his mind and the old man saw his face so clearly.

“We were to accomplish so much, monsieur,” Arthur stated out loud to an empty chamber, “We had accomplished much and yet there was more to do...as I told you.”

Silence was his only reply.

Arthur struggled in his chair as he tried to stand. His aged bones ached as he pulled himself to lean against the stone of the window and he looked down below and spoke to himself once more, “The land has shifted since those days...but there...that is where I first met you. Come to see my father before he was King to France...come to give your advice. Advice he relished...and so did I. I would never have made a good ruler...a just ruler without you. And then you were gone. And I lost so much more...”

A single tear drifted down the old man’s face as he felt the breeze enter through the window and he brought his hand up to wipe it away, “I was great, monsieur. But you were greater. And I should have listened...”

“Majesty!” Letitia exclaimed with concern as she entered the chamber, “You must not be out of your chair!”

Arthur kept his gaze to the sky, “I have strength to me still.”

“Not if you keep at this, you will not!” she fussed and moved to help him sit once more, “You are undone this day, mon cher, and I know not why. Victory should be pleasing and yet you fret. Must I call your Lord Chancellor or the Lord Marshal to settle you?”

“The Lord Marshal is gone, ma belle...” Arthur sat but kept his eyes to the land beyond the window, “...forever more...he is gone. And I cannot replace him...neither of them.”

Letitia poured him a goblet of wine and handed it over, “The Lord Mayor Eric is just yon, Majesty. You forget yourself.”

“No...” Arthur showed no smile, “...I forget nothing.”

* * *

End of Chapter 5​

 

[stnylan]

The dead, they say, can drive you hard. You cannot argue with the dead - they do not listen. They just offer their silent and terrible reproach.

 

[Bullfilter]

My guess is that after his grief Arthur will perforce harden his heart and apply himself ever more firmly to his purpose. Only to have it soften with an old man’s doubts and regrets as both the ultimate fulfilment of his ambitions and long delayed mortal end approach. Is anyone left by then to regret his passing in the same way and with the depth of memory he regrets so many himself? Time will be the test of that. It may well be that he even outlives that, remembered as a legend more than a man.

 

[The Number 9]

The moment I had feared as I was sure it was coming when you told me not to expect some reconciliation. Amedee was a great man, one of the greatest characters of all your tales of Wessex (which has many great men).
He will be missed, and even if I'm sure there will be capable man around the king, nobody will come close to Amedee.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

The dead, they say, can drive you hard. You cannot argue with the dead - they do not listen. They just offer their silent and terrible reproach.

I would say that they do not respond even if they can listen, but the larger point remains. It is that silence that is so hard.

My guess is that after his grief Arthur will perforce harden his heart and apply himself ever more firmly to his purpose. Only to have it soften with an old man’s doubts and regrets as both the ultimate fulfilment of his ambitions and long delayed mortal end approach. Is anyone left by then to regret his passing in the same way and with the depth of memory he regrets so many himself? Time will be the test of that. It may well be that he even outlives that, remembered as a legend more than a man.

You're not wrong though I cannot say it works out exactly like that (and, of course, I cannot say at all) but this has to be a major turning point for Arthur. Is he to be remembered as a legend? Likely so. What is he remembering? Not so much a legend but as you suggest, an old man's doubt. Well said. There is a lot more to cover and Arthur has a lot more ground to tread. From the bit above, this one never leaves him.

The moment I had feared as I was sure it was coming when you told me not to expect some reconciliation. Amedee was a great man, one of the greatest characters of all your tales of Wessex (which has many great men).
He will be missed, and even if I'm sure there will be capable man around the king, nobody will come close to Amedee.

I did not want to say above because I knew this was coming (as you had feared.) Thus my slight answers in the last fb-fb, but it was a major moment as I played. Like you, I considered Amedee a huge character and so I built it as a great loss. I am really happy that he came across so well and has been such a stalwart of this story for this long. He will be difficult to replace (and there really is no replacement.)


To all - I considered a number of ways to do this. Being so important and his role in the work, I needed this last to be impactful. A wound and dying of it did not seem to fit his character (even if he might have wished it.) In truth, I did not need to create the distance between Arthur and Amedee as I did because the game did not show that. But I thought this way to be the best way to give him a proper send off and I hope it works well. I was sad to lose him as Marshal and a character but he was old. I am more sad to lose him as a character because he was so fun to write for. That said, it offers a myriad of possibilities coming up. Queen, Prince, Maud...Arthur himself. That is why I end the chapter at this point. A time to re-calibrate.

There is so much more to go and I hope that you stick with me. Arthur creates a lot...and as seen, he loses a lot when it is not battle. That is why I thought this an interesting story. Thanks for reading and most especially, thank you for your comments. They sustain me!

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Westminster, England – February 1314​

It was a simple box. Not ornate befitting his place and position but made of sturdy wood and well crafted at the least. King Arthur could not seem to take his hand away as he rubbed the smooth surface as if the contents inside might feel it. Too soon and not long enough...these were the times that might try a man’s life and the man before him was too young to go to God.

“Father...” a voice called out to him and caused the King to wince. Prince Arthur stepped to him in the hall and spoke softly, “...she is here.”

Arthur did not turn and instead kept his palm close to the casket. Soft steps sounded from behind and then her voice, “It is little comfort to be let from my rooms for this...husband.”

With great sorrow, Arthur turned to his wife and embraced her and she took it in with the same emotion. They shared tears and then Aveline moved to touch the casket herself, “I missed so much of his life...and I might blame you. Yet I cannot for I am a poor mother.”

“You may blame me, Ava,” Arthur looked on with sad eyes, “I kept you away. Yet what could we do? He was...weak.”

​

Aveline kept her eye to the coffin, “Where is the girl...this Berchte of Castile?”

“She mourns to the chapel,” the King answered as he moved to hold his wife’s hand, “She knows so little of our culture...of our realm. And she has too few around her.”

The Queen finally turned in sorrow, “Ned was an angel, Arthur. Now he remains so. I blame you for many things, but this was not your fault.”

“He was just to his prime…” Arthur started to say before finding tears once more.

Aveline held to him close, “You will dry your eyes and we will bury our son. You are King and you must show strength. I should not feel sorry for you...but I do, Arthur. You have lost your great left hand and now we lose our son. If I believed in a just God, I would now call Him cruel.”

“It was just the tilt yard...” Arthur looked over her shoulder at the casket, “...an accident...”

“And he was never so good with weapons,” Aveline finished for him, “Ned was not meant to be a warrior nor a King, husband. That is Arthur’s role. And while I am sad...struck great with grief...the realm does change and we must change with it.”

The King moved to hold his hand to his son’s coffin once more, “I cannot think of that at the now. I cannot think...at all.”

“Then allow me,” Aveline suggested as she held to his arm, “You will not send me back because you cannot afford to. You have lost a great man in Lord Amedee and your vassals will question. With whom do you replace him?”

Arthur felt the wood of the casket and showed another tear, “I cannot replace him.”

“Yet you must!” Aveline used her small frame to turn her husband to her face, “You must find control of yourself and rule, Arthur! Tears will not bring back our son...it will not bring back Lord Amedee! The Earl...Anselm...he is a fine soldier. Your man Etienne de Pleshey...he too would work and well. Yet you must choose!”

The King wiped at his face, “I’ve already called for Tienne. He will be to Westminster in the fortnight. I do not forget my duty.”

​

Aveline showed a frown, “And yet, you forget your composure. Do you not think that I am sad? Ned was my son as well, even if you tried to take him away. Yet I am Queen of this realm and you remain King...”

“Not that you wish it!” Arthur answered with some temper.

“Husband!” Aveline held tight to him, “We have chance. To start anew...to let our past be our past. Your father did not care for me but he knew well when he placed us together. I have born you five children and though we lose Ned...we remain with the others. Blæja is placed and Arthur is set as your heir...but there is still Eddy...and Nell. If you will allow me to be their mother...I would help you.”

King Arthur held to her with a confused look, “How can I trust you? After all that you have done?”

“Because you need me, Arthur,” his wife answered, “Who else is left? Amedee is gone. No one in the world trusts Lord Mayor Andrew. You run through Chancellors like I run through stockings. There is only our Prince...and me.”

“You find me at a weak moment,” Arthur replied and she offered a stern face.

“You are at a weak moment! Lionel of York finds himself bereft of Holy Church and you can blame your Lord Theobald for that. Amedee’s son Baudouin...he now fights for his place in Bourbon. If the cat is away, there will be too many mice. If you are weak, husband...they will smell it. And they will act.”

​

Arthur allowed her a raised brow, “You think to have solution? Can you solve our son’s death?”

“You know that I cannot,” she answered quickly, “I am no Cather like your mother, but there remains a cruel God and that is what took our son from us. Yet we live in the world that God made and we must face these harsh truths. You live by battle but there is no warrior for you to face in this. Ned is gone. I mourn. And I live. Arthur will be King and there remains our other children...and the girl. The dowry of this Berchte...it cannot be returned. She must remain.”

“Your mind, Ava...” Arthur looked to her with an odd fascination, “...it works even still.”

She held her husband close, “I have no choice. I am a woman and all I have are my looks and my mind. I am too old for one to be of any good so I must rely on the other. And I am Queen. It is a position that I will use...if you would allow it.”

“What do you propose?” Arthur asked as he looked once more to their son’s coffin.

Aveline brushed his face with her hand, “Show the world that you are strong, husband. Great tragedy visits our house but they must never know that it effects you. We cannot hold the girl Berchte of Castile as hostage, but young Eddy is soon to age...let him now marry the girl. She still gains a Prince and we her dowry. And Nell...she is young...but time enough to find her a match. I think in Poitou with the Lord Sigismund...but there is time to consider it. Above all, Arthur...you must not show that you are defeated.”

“I have never been defeated...” the King answered with sorrow, “...until now.”

“And so you will not be,” Aveline replied as she pulled him to the coffin of their son, “I am here with you as we say goodbye to the child that we made together. I am here with you to see his brother grow strong and become King of this realm and Scotland too. I am here, Arthur...if you would have me and allow me.”

Arthur looked to the casket and felt another tear as he confessed, “You find me at weakness, Ava. But we do share in this. I do think to need you...but if you cross me...”

“Let us bury our son, Arthur,” Aveline held to his back, “It is a cruel bridge that we must cross. The rest? We may work out...if we try. I am willing.”

The King offered a great sigh as he held his hand to the coffin once more, “Eadward...you were too good for this world.”

“He was,” Aveline placed her hand on top of Arthur’s, “And now will sit at God’s hand. I sit at yours, Arthur. And I wish to be with you. Allow me to assuage your grief...our grief?”

Arthur turned and reluctantly gave her a brief kiss, “So be it.”

 

[Tyler96]

Sad end for Amedee. I suppose it remains to be seen how Arthur feels about it in the short-term?

Edit: This post was pipped by the new update. Way to double up on the grief for Arthur.

 

[stnylan]

So, this post for me confirms pretty everything everything I feel about Arthur and Aveline. If only Arthur appreciated his wife from the start, and entered into a partnership with her. Yes he never wanted the marriage, and was forced into it by his father, but I am not going to feel overly sympathetic for him for that when teh same is true for Aveline as well, and he is the Prince (and then King) and everything else.

But thinking now - his reaction all those years ago was the reaction of a spoiled teenage brat. His father's creation to be sure, but his own as well. The amazing thing is in this post I can still see the spoiled teenage brat whining "Life's not fair" to anyone who cares to listen, and everyone who doesn't. If Aveline at some point is tempted to treat him brusquely at times I wonder if it might be because in some curious ways Arthur has never grown up.

 

[tpmcinty]

Arthur can't catch a break. Death is all around him. Now with the Queen back perhaps she can guide him through his internal turmoil and bring back the Arhur of old.

 

[Bullfilter]

Ava is right, but I’m not 100% convinced either about how she will choose to use this truth. Will her own unrelenting ambition, or Arthur’s prideful truculence, or both combine to end the rapprochement? Or just the fate of harsh medieval living conditions, as with Ned? Either way, I give the renewed joint enterprise limited prospects for long-term success.

It is an interesting turning point though, especially in a story sense, following the estrangement and then passing of Amedee. The seeds of later regret are now well laid.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Sad end for Amedee. I suppose it remains to be seen how Arthur feels about it in the short-term?

Edit: This post was pipped by the new update. Way to double up on the grief for Arthur.

Well, I didn't have to work hard because that was precisely what happened in game. I did choose to break up the moments with a chapter break as Amedee's death seemed a conclusion of sorts with what h ad come before and Prince Eadward's death is a part of the next period, but it was a pretty harsh one-two punch.

So, this post for me confirms pretty everything everything I feel about Arthur and Aveline. If only Arthur appreciated his wife from the start, and entered into a partnership with her. Yes he never wanted the marriage, and was forced into it by his father, but I am not going to feel overly sympathetic for him for that when teh same is true for Aveline as well, and he is the Prince (and then King) and everything else.

But thinking now - his reaction all those years ago was the reaction of a spoiled teenage brat. His father's creation to be sure, but his own as well. The amazing thing is in this post I can still see the spoiled teenage brat whining "Life's not fair" to anyone who cares to listen, and everyone who doesn't. If Aveline at some point is tempted to treat him brusquely at times I wonder if it might be because in some curious ways Arthur has never grown up.

We should not forget that early on, Aveline was no sunshine which is why Arthur was not pleased to be marrying her (especially with his feelings towards the much sunnier Emma.) Yet your larger point remains true enough. She has not done much to help her cause, but by and large, her ideas have been more helpful than not to Arthur (even if he does not appreciate it.) I'm not sure I would say "spoiled brat" as that does indeed invoke a teenager and Arthur has grown but perhaps not in the emotional arena that one might. As King, he is used to getting his way and these latest happenings have challenged that to the extreme.

Arthur can't catch a break. Death is all around him. Now with the Queen back perhaps she can guide him through his internal turmoil and bring back the Arhur of old.

No he cannot and yes it is. However, I would not put too much hope in a full on reconciliation.

Ava is right, but I’m not 100% convinced either about how she will choose to use this truth. Will her own unrelenting ambition, or Arthur’s prideful truculence, or both combine to end the rapprochement? Or just the fate of harsh medieval living conditions, as with Ned? Either way, I give the renewed joint enterprise limited prospects for long-term success.

It is an interesting turning point though, especially in a story sense, following the estrangement and then passing of Amedee. The seeds of later regret are now well laid.

I was going to speak more on this below but here is a good enough place as any - I had to think long and hard about bringing Ava back into the larger picture. Her imprisonment has been entirely made up for story purposes and it worked well but now that Arthur has lost so much, it seemed A time that she might come back into things. Your circumspect about their renewed chance is well founded, but at least for this, I thought it time enough for her to rejoin the King. I think the loss of a child is something that carries over in any age, and if they share nothing else, there is at least their children.


To all - Having said the above, I'd also say that I made point in both the last part of chapter 5 and then the first part of chapter 6 to tie them together. To the old Arthur, the death of Amedee is directly tied in his memory to the death of Prince Eadward as they came so close together. And here we see in the first bits of this new chapter how that is, obviously. In truth, though I'm not sure how many I "fooled" but I toyed a bit at the start making it seem as if we were looking at Amedee's coffin rather than Eadward's. Too clever or not enough?

I am pleased to have Aveline back as a character on a more full time basis because she is fun to write for. To some extent, I think I did not give her enough in the above scene but given the moment, I tempered her a bit. I also love playing a bit with tropes of real history and so before we had (and continue to have) shades of Henry/Eleanor with the King and Queen, I enjoyed hearkening back to Catharine of Aragon here with poor Berchte of Castile who loses one young prince only to be married to the younger brother. They say steal from the best, and nothing is better than the actual real thing.

Now that chapter 6 has begun, we jump right into the ramifications of Amedee's death and the reunion of King and Queen. That will be the larger focus of this chapter. Look for the next scene tomorrow and thank you, as always, for reading and commenting.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Dijon, France - July 1314​

Duke Payen III of Burgundy sat alone in his private chambers and licked his fingers as he moved quick pace through a rather delicious capon. At his age of sixty and nine, his appetites had not ceased even if the will to fulfill them often did. His wife and son were on progress to Charolais in the south and it offered him a perfect time to fill both his belly and his many other desires. The bird was but one effort as his wife had often chided him of late about his unhealthy eating. And the visitor that knocked to his door was his effort to see about the second. No, it was not the maid that had caught his eye of late. She would come later. For now, it was his equal within France...Duke Ancel of Berry.

“You’ve a lot of nerve to call me to you, my Lord!” Ancel suggested in anger after he was announced, “And by the looks of it, it appears that you wish the moniker of your long late namesake Payen the Fat!”

This Payen was still much slimmer than the long dead French King, though his waistline had filled out indeed, but the Burgundian Duke laughed and gestured for the opposite chair as he looked to his groom, “Boy! Go and get another for the Lord here! And more wine!”

“You did not send letter to fete me, my Lord,” Ancel eyed his equal with suspicion but did sit.

“Ahh...but we are old men, are we not, Ancel?” Payen moved to finish his goblet in anticipation, “Lived through much and deserve the finest in our dotage.”

Ancel of Berry watched the Duke feast away at another leg with greasy pleasure and showed disgust in both face and eye, “It is no wonder why you were dismissed these many years ago, my Lord. Your appetites are too much for you.”

“Yet...” Payen held up a greasy finger before licking it clean, “...the object of my demise is no more. For too long we have lived under the grand aegis of the great Amedee the Warrior...the closest we have had a true French King since my illustrious forbears. Now he is gone. The wonder is...who will pick up that scepter, my Lord...you or me?”

Now is was Ancel’s turn to laugh, “As they say when one eats too much...your eyes are bigger than your belly. What makes you think it could be you? A dismissed Chancellor with no favor either here or within England?”

The Duke of Burgundy sat back calmly in his chair and eyed Ancel as his groom returned with a fresh pitcher of wine and poured for them both. He licked his fingers fully and then took a healthy pull before sitting back once more with a smile, “The trouble with you, Ancel...is that you lack any sort of grace within your mind. You do know that many call you possessed? You have not the ability to think any further than your next fresh kill and it thwarts so much that might be accomplished. It is true that I was rather cruelly dismissed but then I did serve His Grace of England in his Scottish wars. Further to that...what care should we have what occurs to England, my Lord? We are French, you and I...and wish to remain so, I presume. Oui?”

The Duke of Berry waited for the chamber door to shut before he took his drink in hand and sat back as well, “You have something cooked up, I believe. I can see it in your lascivious eyes, my Lord. Yet you forget one important thing. It was never Amedee of Bourbon that thwarted you, or myself for that matter. It was the House of Wessex and its King Arthur at the now.”

“But of course!” Payen sat forward with mock surprise and awareness before finding a grin, “And yet...King Arthur seems to have run into some rather bad luck of late. First he loses his great shield and left hand and now it is said that he loses a son. Mon Dieu!”

Ancel finally took a slight drink and then answered with firmness, “The spare. And he has another that will do just as well.”

With a nod, Payen moved to fill his goblet once more, “Yes...the young Eadgar. Quite the scandal there. To have betrothed him to his brother’s wife of Castile? I think it not Godly, my Lord.”

“You’d marry the girl yourself to save a dowry, monsieur,” Ancel waved it away with scorn, “And it matters not. Surely you have heard...the wife is returned to good graces with the King. She is now Queen in full once more and is never to be trusted.”

Payen allowed another nod, “A most delicious looking snake indeed.”

“Attractive or no...” Ancel sat his drink down with a thud, “...you do not explain why these latest happenings find you in such good cheer. This Arthur has shown that he is capable of much, even through grief. In truth...sometimes because of it. What makes you think you have an open?”

“News does travel slowly in Bourges, monsieur,” Payen sat back once more with a wicked grin, “Have you not heard?! The Lord Mayor of London...he was attacked by the peasants in Lancaster. Some tax or another...it brought out their worst and the poor man was strung up in the square. Many times over, it is said. A most cruel and unfortunate outcome for this man Fulk...though lowborn...yet it does leave His Grace another man down. First to lose his left hand and now his right? Tsk-tsk...the King finds hardship one after the next.”

​

Though it took more than a little to shock Ancel Karling of Berry, he did show a wide eye at first before settling, “Do you honestly think that King Arthur would waste one moment in thought over you when it came to it? He will find another Lord Marshal and he will find another Lord Steward. And he will remain King with a Prince now married well into Scotland...and who will be King of France after him.”

“Will he now?” Payen mocked the wide eye before grinning and counting at his fingers, “Let us see...the Lady of Orleans would surely give over her voice to the Prince...and even that sodomite in Anjou, oui? Yet what remains? Amedee is dead and his vote goes over to the son who is now embroiled in a war over his place. There remains chance with Baudouin of Bourbon. And Lord Sighard of Champagne? The man is older than the hills at this date and would do whatever the boy Emperor tells him to do. It would not be voting for an English King, I can assure you. Non! And then there is us...we two. Unjustly forced to bend the knee for the son before he is ever King...and with great forbears, both. I put it to you, Ancel...do not let your short sight get the better of you. Now we have chance.”

“Payen...I am old,” Ancel dropped his shoulders, “My days of plotting are to an end. Our days of rivalry...though truly with your father...have been fun. Yet I am tired. You have sparked some interest and it is fun to spar...but I’ve no wish to place my head before the English King. I like it right where it is for as long as I still have it.”

Looking with disdain, Payen finished his wine and sat aside his empty goblet, “I am as old as you are, monsieur...in truth, one year older. Yet I do not lose my vigor. Do you truly not wish to grow your realm and influence? Poitou? Lusignan? Well...if not, I do. I have no plans to go against the King openly. Of course not. I am not a fool...”

“You’ve not yet proved that,” Ancel frowned.

“Phw!” Payen dismissed him, “I’ve yet to prove it because I have not yet had chance. I am surrounded by this King’s sisters. One...Isabel to the east and married to Eberhard of Upper Burgundy...there is rebellion to those lands. And the other? Mon Dieu...the other! Adela...I have seen enough of that one!”

Ancel found a slight grin as he answered, “Lost to her twice, you have. Think to have another go?”

“The Lady thinks she is Duchess herself...” Payen showed disgust, “...just because she holds both Nevers and Macon and is sister to the King and daughter of their father King Ælfstan. Yet she is no thing! Her mother was naught but a Countess! At least Arthur and his other siblings have the royal blood of France in their body!”

“You really don’t like her, do you?” Ancel found a larger grin, “Might it be from her relationship with your own father?”

Payen narrowed his brow, “She is a poutain!”

“She was his prisoner,” Ancel suggested with some satisfaction.

“The only tight chains she ever found were with my father when they fucked!” Payen nearly shouted, “And she bewitched his mind!”

Ancel raised a brow as he sat back. He was enjoying this and found that he was not quite as tired as he thought, “So...you would spite the King in some other way? Dare not go after him openly...but towards his sister? Is that it?”

“I wish Macon,” Payen sat taller and showed a stern eye, “And I wish France. It is due to my House and for too long we have suffered under this English yoke. No, monsieur...I am not young, but in the time left to me I wish to kindle that fire. I have a son that will follow me just as Arthur of England does. If I can find your vote...if I can find that of Champagne...we can return France to us...AS France! Not some petty district of the greater empire of this...Wessex King!”

“Then I wish you bon chance,” Ancel stood and took a cloth to wipe at his mouth, “The men of Karling are always willing to listen, my Lord. Berry is prosperous and we surely wish the greater good of France. Yet I fear that I must go as it appears that you have a great war you wish to plan. I hope it goes well...this time.”

Before Payen could answer, Ancel had offered a polite nod of the head and excused himself. Yet the meeting had not gone as bad as it might. There was never great love between Berry and Burgundy. There was never great love between Berry and anyone. Yet if Payen could find the support...anything was possible. It was a whole new world.

​

 

[stnylan]

I rather think that Payen is living in a form of alternate reality. Maybe it is dementia setting in?

 

[Nikolai]

The confession scene of Amedee...I think it one of your best scenes coz1. Really strong and evocative.