Arthur is always looking for his gains. Not even his most beloved matter more. It’s quite sad, what he has become. He wins, sure. But he loses still.
The Song of Wessex
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Hmm, he may be alive, but wounds can turn nasty. I hope Arty does not take a turn for the worse.
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To all - As it has usually been many months since I played the game portion of the scene I am writing, I often need to refer to notes and screens to recall what happened but this part was vividly remembered. Here I was, fighting my own nice little war for Ulster having saved the Scots crown for my son and his wife the Queen when Maud's cousin jumps on her. In a flash, it appeared that it might all be for nothing. I very much recall waiting for Maud to ask me for help and it seemed a while before she finally did. I was more than happy to oblige as it was surely England that would once more come to the rescue. Thus when writing the scene, I wanted to sort of mirror that in a way. I needed Maud to have to ask but having caused her such pride, I knew that it would be a painful thing for her to do. Thus the little game King Arthur plays here which as mentioned, I did not intend to be so spiteful until I finished it. He was actually quite cruel here and I had to have Maud call him out on it, even knowing she had to ask for help.
There are actually three relationships that I am dealing with right now - the King and his son, the Prince and his wife, and the King and the Queen of Scotland. This last scene was definitely a major building block for that last relationship. The next scenes follow and I pair them together to show a sort of side by side consideration. Thank you to all reading and certainly to those of you offering comment. I do appreciate it!
In that, you can see much of his later regret and sadness. I honestly did not begin this past scene intending on the King being so spiteful in his efforts but by the time I was done, the King had done it for me.
The suspenseful part of this particular part is over but it still holds purpose. Let's just say that the ordeal lingers in one form or another.
To all - As it has usually been many months since I played the game portion of the scene I am writing, I often need to refer to notes and screens to recall what happened but this part was vividly remembered. Here I was, fighting my own nice little war for Ulster having saved the Scots crown for my son and his wife the Queen when Maud's cousin jumps on her. In a flash, it appeared that it might all be for nothing. I very much recall waiting for Maud to ask me for help and it seemed a while before she finally did. I was more than happy to oblige as it was surely England that would once more come to the rescue. Thus when writing the scene, I wanted to sort of mirror that in a way. I needed Maud to have to ask but having caused her such pride, I knew that it would be a painful thing for her to do. Thus the little game King Arthur plays here which as mentioned, I did not intend to be so spiteful until I finished it. He was actually quite cruel here and I had to have Maud call him out on it, even knowing she had to ask for help.
There are actually three relationships that I am dealing with right now - the King and his son, the Prince and his wife, and the King and the Queen of Scotland. This last scene was definitely a major building block for that last relationship. The next scenes follow and I pair them together to show a sort of side by side consideration. Thank you to all reading and certainly to those of you offering comment. I do appreciate it!
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Lancaster, England - January 1326
Lancaster, England - January 1326
The door to his chamber sounded and Prince Arthur did his best to sit up in the bed. His leg still ached from his wound but it was healing even if slowly. Yet he was beyond pleased to see who it was when his daughter Aveline entered with a tray, “Papa...I thought to bring you some cheese and a little ale. Don’t tell mama for she wishes you to full health, but I thought you might be wanting of it.”
“Our secret is safe with me, dear Ava,” he answered as he patted the bed next to him, “You are very sweet to think of me.”
Aveline was nearing fifteen and was showing signs of a young lady both in looks and manners, “You had best drink your ale quickly, papa. I think mama may be to you soon.”
“Then I have no better companion with whom to wait,” Arthur grinned, “How are you liking Lancaster, I should ask?”
She smiled, “It’s not the home I grew used to at Cupar, but it is very pretty. Even in the winter. The winds are not quite as harsh and the grounds of the castle are so well cultivated.”
“Generations have built it over over time,” he answered as he sipped at his ale, “The poor Scots court has been caused to move so many times, they’ve yet to achieve that...but they will.”
“You mean that we will,” she suggested with a hint of humor.
The Prince laughed, “Of course...you and your brothers...and your mother, to be sure. I would help.”
“Then you had best get out of that bed, husband,” Maud stood quietly by the door before smiling to her daughter, “Ava...your little brother is like to wake soon. Would you be a dear and help tend to him?”
“Yes, mama,” Aveline was quick to rise and gave her father a kiss before she left.
Maud slowly closed the door and turned again with a grin to her face, “Who spoils who, I wonder?”
Prince Arthur had tried to hide his cup under the cover but returned the grin as he showed it, “I’ve been caught. Blame not the girl for it was I that desired it.”
“Drink your ale, husband,” Maud took Aveline’s spot on the bed, “Anything to get you back to your feet. We’ve been gone too long and I grow restless to return.”
The Prince held a hand to her leg with care, “I’m sure we shall hear soon from your uncle. Lord Anselm did as father said and cleared Cupar of your cousin’s forces but I fear it is not yet safe to go back.”
“Scotland needs their Queen, husband,” Maud answered firmly, “The victory at Dunfermline was resounding and your Lord Anselm is now to Crieff to return the favor she offered to me.”
He gave nod, “Tis true, but it is the dead of winter and my leg...it remains sore. Besides, my father shall return soon. My last word from him told of his raising over seven thousand and he even brings with him the Lords of Kent and Normandy.”
“Lord Adam of Normandy?” Maud questioned, “The man is ancient!”
“Perhaps one last hurrah in the field,” Arthur teased.
Maud pursed her brow, “I am so pleased that my very serious war gives your nobles chance to play.”
Sitting up further, Prince Arthur rubbed at her back, “You are still angry at my father from September, aren’t you?”
“It’s not just that...but yes,” Maud replied, “The nerve of him! To give over such a sign of concern just to see me break. You know your father better than I, sir, but I do wonder if you have ever seen that side of him? He’d give your mother a nearly run thing. No wonder they despised one another.”
“He’s getting older, Maudy...and I think running truer to form,” Arthur suggested, “I suppose he’s always been that way but kept it well hidden in the face of others. Mayhap not to maman...but yes, to me and my brothers and sisters.”
Maud showed a firm eye, “He plays you too, you know. Nearly as well as your mother did.”
“He plays us all,” the Prince assured her, “Even my siblings. Before Eddy left for Ireland, he told me a very sad tale. Wishing to help father in Ulster, he was turned away. Told to find his wife. Father seemed very disappointed that no issue had yet been found. I pray for poor Eddy. No matter the reward of Ulster to him, it cannot make up for being the second son and with a wife that...well...he says that his Berchte does not share his bed.”
“Poor thing,” Maud showed a sadness, “Yet she was a peculiar bird, as I recall it.”
Arthur agreed, “True enough but it leaves Eddy very melancholy. To our father, everything has a purpose and happiness does not enter into it. He and his grand goal...his singular purpose. My God...my grandfather has been dead for over thirty years and father acts as if it happened yesterday. The man responsible for it has surely been reduced to ash and bone, but father still sees that visage every night in his sleep.”
“And what of your sleep?” Maud asked with concern, “Do your dreams still...haunt you?”
He sighed as he tried to answer, “I don’t know what it was, Maudy. It seemed so real to me that I could not even tell you at first. But the woman in my dreams...she was wrong. She said that we would have a daughter and yet...there is Reginald. She said I would die...and yet here I am.”
“Thankfully alive and well,” she agreed, “So let us not test that one again, eh?”
“If I am fated, then I cannot stop it, Maudy,” Arthur was sure in his thought, “Yet thank God that I have more time. And mayhap...it was all just nonsense.”
Maud leaned over to kiss him, “If we ever get back to Scone, I’ll search the lady out myself and slap her across the face before I place the chain round her neck!”
“Who knows if she even exists,” the Prince sat back with question, “When I made mention of her to your uncle, he was quite teasing about it. Said that old crones were rampant in Scotland...especially in the highlands. I didn’t tell him all of the dream but he seemed sure that witches played a dangerous game and that I should be very wary indeed.”
“Then he was playing with you,” Maud answered with sureness before considering another thought, “However...it is said that Fergus in Moray is bewitched. I think we had best be careful.”
Arthur agreed, “Indeed we should...which is why it is not yet time to return to Cupar. At last word, father was to York on his way north. Once he has arrived, we may return. Only then, sweet dove. I know you are restless, but…”
“I hate depending on your father,” Maud balled her fists, “I hate it to my bones! But by God...we need it. Just last month I received word that Argyll had fallen in with my cousin?!”
Arthur sat up once more with concern, “Why did you not tell me?”
“You had developed fever and I thought not to disturb you with such poor news,” she answered.
“But how?” Arthur was perplexed.
Maud shrugged, “This King of the Isles...he’s too wise to be effective. Either that, or ran afoul of my cousin and she moved off there too. I know not. The island kingdom is just as those under the sway of Moray...fiercely independent and proud. They like a winner. That’s how they conquered half of Ireland before your father arrived. And now my cousin’s Albany stretches from coast to coast.”
“Then it is a good thing that my father arrives soon,” Arthur shook his head in disbelief, “If they care for winners, then he has them beat. We shall see your cousin defeated, dear heart. I promise it...and as I’ve told you before, I keep my promises.”
She kissed him once more before looking longingly in his eyes, “You did say that you would return to me and you did.”
“Of course I did,” Arthur smiled, “I could never be away too long.”
“Then we had best enjoy this respite,” Maud answered as she snuggled in the bed with him, careful of his wounded leg.
* * *
Crieff, Scotland - May 1326
Crieff, Scotland - May 1326
“You poxy whore! How could you not find the Lady?!”
Anselm turned at the outburst as he stood with his commanders and showed a wide grin, “Your Grace!! You task me so much to Scotland that I think to become a Scot myself!”
The two old friends found a deep embrace as King Arthur pulled him close, “It’s good to see you again, Ans! I have been missing of you!”
“And I you, sire,” Anselm looked on with a smile, “Yet what do you do here? You were to Scone when last I checked.”
“You there...fetch me some ale,” Arthur gestured to one of the soldiers before looking back with his grin, “I left Lord Adam in charge. The old goat needs to feel his legs before he dies. I thought to give it to him and I wished to see you. Finally made it back from the highlands, I see.”
Anselm motioned for the rest to leave them and smiled in return, “It was a long trek, sire. Yet you gave me such a glorious return with this foul woman of Albany. How could I complain?”
“No trouble to Dunfermline then?” the King took his ale with thanks, “I was told it was a simple thing, but one never knows.”
“Sire...” Anselm grinned, “...I am your Lord Marshal and I aim to serve you well. The English will not be bested in these lands.”
King Arthur gestured, “You’ve done well here, Ans. A well placed siege. Crieff was her hold...yet where is the Lady?”
“I’m sad to report that she fled before we took the inner bailey, Your Grace,” Anselm replied, “Yet...we did find something in the wreckage.”
Arthur showed a curious eye, “Truly?”
“Indeed, sire,” Anselm answered, “It would seem that the Scots ladies hold no more love for their siblings than the men folk. The poor girl...Annabella...youngest of Gilbride’s children. I have her to a locked chamber for the now. Awaiting your pleasure. I was just about to write, yet you save me the ink.”
The King clapped him on the shoulder, “You are a wonder, Ans! May the good Lord bless you. You should take me to the girl...but where to now?”
“Dunblane seems proper, sire,” Anselm pointed to a map, “Likely where this Mary and her husband have fled. Though she may be to Argyll by the now. Difficult to say, but we’ll suss her out. No worries, Your Grace.”
Arthur gave nod, “I know you will, Ans. You always do.”
As they began to walk, Anselm questioned, “And how is the Prince and his Queen? Are they finally back to Cupar? And his wound?”
“Recovered, it would seem,” the King replied as they turned a corner, “And thank God for it. The foolish lad...thinking he could save her crown with his own wits!”
“You should be kinder to your son, sire...if you don’t mind me saying,” Anselm suggested.
King Arthur held an arm to his shoulder as they walked, “You’re right, Ans. He’s done well in the past. But he’s just not...”
“You, sire?” Anselm grinned, “Very few men are. Allow him his chance...and he was very brave, I am told. A chance wound. Lord Brice of Scotland fared far worse. Your son held his ground...and he lived. That’s to be remembered. And now he and his Queen and your grandchildren are all back to Cupar and safe. Count God’s blessings, Your Grace.”
“You’ve been away awhile, Ans,” Arthur looked ahead, “You miss some things while stuck to those hills.”
Anselm was certain, “I miss nothing, Your Grace. The poor Lady Mirren...another rebellion to her lands. I shall be sure to stop there before I return to you after this war is over.”
The King stopped before the door they were about to enter, “Ans...you always do me the service. I cannot begin to thank you...”
“It is I that thank you, sire,” Anselm smiled as he unlocked the door, “I am given great responsibility and fine title. It is my honor to serve you. And now...Your Grace...may I present the Lady Annabella. Younger sister to our Duchess of Albany.”
She was young and beautiful with great tresses of ginger hair pinned such that soft tendrils fell down over her well chiseled cheeks. Sharp blue eyes stared forth with a hint of sadness to them but a glint of playfulness still there. She was only twenty and one and her dress covered her well, but the King could see that she was shapely and still nubile underneath. As Lady Annabella gracefully rose from her chair, she moved to bow and the King stopped her, “You have been through an ordeal, madam...I should not wish you more trouble.”
Annabella raised her head and showed a slight smile, “I was taught to bow to Kings and Queens.”
“Then you were taught well, my Lady...” Arthur stepped closer to her, “...yet your sister thinks herself Queen and may not be happy if she were to hear that you bow so readily to me.”
“Of course...you’re right,” she replied, “I’m sorry.”
The King gently held up a hand, “Apologize not, madam. It is I that should beg apology to you. Caught up in this mess and as prisoner, you are a prize. To be certain. Yet I do hope that my Lord has treated you well?”
She looked to Anselm with a kind nod, “Your Lord has been most fair, Your Grace. He even allows me my usual chambers.”
“Very good,” Arthur showed an appreciative eye, “And Ans...I think not that the Lady needs must be kept under lock and key. You’ve Crieff under protection by now, do you not?”
“Of course, sire,” Anselm readily answered.
The King looked back to Annabella, “Then I think we are all safe and you pose no risk of flight. Do you?”
“Your Grace...” she tried to smile, “...where would I go?”
Arthur grinned, “Quite so. I shall be in Crieff for another day or so. I hope to see you again before I leave.”
She lowered her head in shyness, “You would honor me, Your Grace.”
The King finally stepped forward and took her hand to kiss, “I promise you, my Lady...you will be kept well.”
She offered a thankful nod and then the King and Anselm departed. As the door closed behind them, Anselm looked to Arthur with a knowing eye, “Very fetching, isn’t she?”
“Very fetching indeed, Ans,” Arthur looked ahead with a grin, “More than comely. I wonder...if you could arrange it...”
Anselm grinned as well, “Say no more, sire. You should enjoy your spoils of war. I’ll have her brought round to you when the time is right. But I warn you...the Lady is said to be married.”
“Who is the scoundrel?” Arthur asked with a curious eye.
“If you can believe it...” Anselm replied with humor, “...a local man of the cloth.”
The King laughed, “I’ll not find fear from him.”
“I expect not, sire,” Anselm agreed, “And besides...it has been too long. About time you found another...pastime.”
As they walked down the hallway, Arthur put his arm around his friend, “Let us see how it goes, Ans. One can never be too hasty in the wooing of a Lady. Time and care...as in war...that is what brings true reward.”
Ooh, the saucy old goat! It seems he may be about to utter the old “it’s good to be the king” line. Though nothing is certain in this world ...
Arturo dismisses the prophetic dream, eh? That’s exactly when it comes to get you!If that earlier scene results in another child for Maud, and it’s a daughter ... well, he’ll probably turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy again.
Arturo dismisses the prophetic dream, eh? That’s exactly when it comes to get you!
If that earlier scene results in another child for Maud, and it’s a daughter ... well, he’ll probably turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy again.
Saucy, and cruel. Poor girl. Arthur is going lower and lower. At the bottom is hell, sir. Beware of the flames.
Ahh, but when one's vision is inverted - as his is - every step he descends is a step he thinks takes him higher on stairway of ascension to the divine, as he believes is his right as King and Master all All. Render unto Caesar Jesus said, and Arthur increasingly sees himself as Caesar, worthy of even divine obedience.
But we know that step by ignominious step his soul is striding purposefully towards its appointed meeting with the Morningstar.
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As for the Prince...I cannot say, but...well spotted, sir!
That said...while this is no uncommon thing for the times, I do think it shows a certain callowness of the King given all else that has happened (and will.)
To all - I am moving quite rapidly through the writing these last many days. Already knee deep into chapter 10 for me (George RR Martin, eat your heart out!) You good folks are still reading 8 at the moment, but so much more happens. I am bursting to say, but I cannot. I really do hope that it all weaves together as I wish it to. Thank you for the comments because it helps me know if and when I do. And thank you so much to you readers out there, even if you don't comment. At least I know that each chapter gets a couple hundred "look sees" and that is rewarding in itself.
No full on Mel Brooks here (even if I love him) but yes...Arthur decides to have a little fun just because he can. After the last scene between the King and Queen Maud, I think I decided to just roll with his progression and this seemed to fit right in. It, of course, plays into what happens later. But I like this interlude as more than just that. Especially as it juxtaposes against the son's relationship with his wife.Ooh, the saucy old goat! It seems he may be about to utter the old “it’s good to be the king” line. Though nothing is certain in this world ...
Arturo dismisses the prophetic dream, eh? That’s exactly when it comes to get you!
As for the Prince...I cannot say, but...well spotted, sir!
Don't cry too much for Lady Annabella. She might just like it.
That said...while this is no uncommon thing for the times, I do think it shows a certain callowness of the King given all else that has happened (and will.) I think that is probably the right way to look at Arthur's actions here. They're not terrible, in the grand scheme, but they are...maybe not thoughtful. His son's in traction but he just won a glorious siege and found some fine spoils. I use a lot of "I do it all for you, my son" language, but by now I think most of you know that much of that is the King's hubris and perhaps still singular (and vengeful) mind as it regards "the goal."
To all - I am moving quite rapidly through the writing these last many days. Already knee deep into chapter 10 for me (George RR Martin, eat your heart out!) You good folks are still reading 8 at the moment, but so much more happens. I am bursting to say, but I cannot. I really do hope that it all weaves together as I wish it to. Thank you for the comments because it helps me know if and when I do. And thank you so much to you readers out there, even if you don't comment. At least I know that each chapter gets a couple hundred "look sees" and that is rewarding in itself.
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Cupar, Scotland - November 1326
Cupar, Scotland - November 1326
Prince Arthur sat alone in his chair on the raised dais. He held wish to be elsewhere, but this was a piece of business needing to be done. Dunblane had fallen to the English just a month ago and his father was making great progress in and around Scone. And then word came from Lord Anselm. The cause of this mischief had been found. Duchess Mary had finally been caught in one more attempt to flee and now she was paraded in front of the Scots court. She showed no chains but Anselm stood close to her with a hand to the hilt of his sword. Arthur looked her up and down and then gestured for her to speak.
“What words have I to say to you?” Mary questioned with indignation.
Bishop Ewan stood close by as well and stepped forward, “You speak to the King of this realm, my Lady! You would show respect!”
She glanced at him and then back to Arthur, “Where be my cousin, sir? Where be my uncle?”
“My Lady Queen is indisposed at the now,” the Prince answered, “As it happens, she is great with child and expects the birth on this very day. Your uncle Duncan is with her as I should be. Yet I must take audience with you for what you have done.”
Mary squinted with derision, “Then many congratulations, Lord Prince. Let’s hope it be female as one of us shall rule this realm.”
“And I think not that it shall be you, my Lady,” Arthur showed her a sharp eye, “You have caused tremendous trouble to your cousin and were it up to me, you would do so no more. However, she has a loving heart and would hope to see you reconciled.”
“How may I reconcile what is irreconcilable?” she asked, “She watched my father die. The same man that your father wished to kill. Yet I am forced to speak with you and made to feel shame at your father’s forces as they ravage my lands.”
Prince Arthur sighed, “By decree of my wife, they remain your lands still. For the now. Yet you will show penitence...for that may change.”
“What has she in mind?” Mary asked in anger, “Or better yet...what terms of peace does your father demand?”
“Is it so wrong that my father demand his peace and make his terms?” the Prince questioned with irritation, “After all...he has lost much in this adventure. Wasted time in putting down what is no more than a glorified rebellion. A revered Lord of his realm was lost...the respected Lord Adam of Normandy died of an infected wound to Scone. I myself bear the scar of battle from your foolish notion.”
Mary showed a wicked grin, “Perhaps if it were a little more to the left...”
“You do yourself no favors...cousin,” Arthur offered a stern eye, “And to ensure your good behavior, a hostage shall be kept. You would think twice about rising up once more.”
“My sister!” Mary knew it immediately, “Where is she?!”
“Now you care about her? When you would leave her to the attacking soldiers before?” the Prince suggested before looking to Anselm, “My Lord...pray tell where is the Lady Annabella?”
“She travels with His Grace King Arthur as they make their way south,” Anselm was quick to reply, “She is well cared for and given all due comfort.”
“Hostage to the English King?!” Mary questioned with incredulity, “You must jest with me or tell me truly that Scotland is now no thing but a vassal to your father!”
Prince Arthur sat taller in his chair, “My Lady Queen is no man’s vassal. Yet a price is paid for services rendered, my Lady. Services required due to your poor choice. If you wish to be family again, it may be so. If not...you may not see her again. Nor my wife. So...do you wish to go down the road your father traveled? Or might you bury your differences and allow your anointed Queen to rule as she has all right to do?”
“As I have no choice...” Mary looked to Anselm with derision before turning back to Arthur, “...I must accept your demands. You may tell my cousin that I’m thankful for her leniency in the matter. That she’s a mother, and not some whoreson, shows her tender spirit. Yet I do promise you...my Lord Prince...I’ll not cease in my endeavors to see Scotland free and clear of English influence. It is our realm...not yours!”
Prince Arthur ignored her outburst and gave nod as he stood, “Then I shall see this as a thing done, my Lady. Lord Anselm will make certain that you are returned safely to Crieff. If you wish to send word to your sister...please leave the note with him. I needs must see to my wife and we shall both be happy on this day. A child is born...and this unfortunate matter has finally ended. Go with God and find prayer that you still hold life.”
Prince Arthur left the hall and Anselm was quick to follow leaving the Lady with his guards, “I think you have a bit of your father in you, sir. He would have been proud this day.”
“It was unfortunate timing, my Lord Anselm,” Prince Arthur replied, “Who knew that Maud would find your labor at this exact moment? It should have been she there to speak with her cousin and show her displeasure.”
“I think it came across,” Anselm kept pace and grinned.
Arthur looked to him as he walked, “And where is the Lady Annabella? Where does my father take her?”
“Likely the Tower,” Anselm answered, “There are fine royal apartments there. She will find her comfort.”
“You’re not telling me all, Anselm,” the Prince suggested, “He holds an infatuation, doesn’t he?”
Anselm shrugged, “I could not say...but should he not? Your father has been without wife or lover for some years now. And your maman...forgive me, my Prince...but she is now long deceased. She’s a pretty lass and as you so wisely suggested...insurance as hostage. I see no poor thing over it. Besides...your father has greater worries at the now.”
“What?” Arthur questioned, “This fifth Lord Robert? Likely happy to finally see his father shuffle off so he may take his in Flanders and Normandy. I know the feeling well.”
“Your emotions run high today, sir,” Anselm replied, “For good reason. Yet your father has wish to continue his quest in Ireland. This has taken valuable time. After all...did you not suggest that he do so? The Breton remains there. He will have his due.”
A loud scream took the Prince from the conversation and he ran to the chamber where his wife was giving birth. As Anselm followed, they were just in time to see the baby lifted up and presented. Maud was exhausted but with tired hands, she reached out to hold her new babe. As she cradled it in her arms, she looked up with a sweaty face, “Husband...it is a daughter.”
The Prince was about to go to her and then stopped cold on his feet. A mass of thought rushed to his head and he was found speechless. Anselm slapped him on the shoulder with congratulations and the others in the chamber cheered, but Arthur saw something else. Maud wearily gestured for him to come closer, “I think to name her Margaret. What think you?”
When he still did not answer, Duncan stepped forward, “A most excellent choice, Maudy. Another fine addition to your illustrious brood.”
Anselm saw the Prince’s reticence and whispered into his ear, “To your wife, Arturo. Another glorious day is made true. Go to her.”
He finally shifted and showed a smile, “Name her whatever you wish, sweet dove. You are safe and that is what matters. Your war is done, and we...have another beautiful child.”
“Was she spiteful?” Maud rested her head and held closely to the baby.
Arthur sat next to her on the bed, “It matters not, dear heart. Scotland is yours...and this...is ours.”
She looked up to him with question, “You look fearful, husband.”
“We now have four,” the Prince answered as he looked to his new daughter with concern “Somehow...we must raise them all.”
Da-da DAHHHH! Ominous music plays in Arturo’s head. Toil and trouble, indeed.
Still, only the omnipotent one of this tale (is that the game engine or the author: discuss in 1,500 words) holds the preordained answer to this question of prophecy and interpretation. I think there has been toil and will be trouble - but its form and timing remains a tense mystery.
And might one say Arturo’s mid-step hesitation was a pregnant pause? Ok, perhaps not!
Still, only the omnipotent one of this tale (is that the game engine or the author: discuss in 1,500 words
) holds the preordained answer to this question of prophecy and interpretation. I think there has been toil and will be trouble - but its form and timing remains a tense mystery.And might one say Arturo’s mid-step hesitation was a pregnant pause?
Ok, perhaps not!
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) and helps build to what I wish it to be when done. It was hard for me not to have Maud there in this scene because I know she had a lot to say to her cousin...but the timing just didn't work. I did not think she could scream at Mary while going through labor...even if that might have been both humorous and likely harsher than it needed to be.
ETA - Also see that the new round of ACAs are up. As I say every time, you need not vote for this work (though it is always appreciated) but please do vote. Five weeks to go. Get to reading and voting.
I would like to read that dissertation in 1500 words or less, but indeed this does present the Prince with a quandary. I hope it remains tense without too many "pregnant pauses" (Da-da DAHHHH! Ominous music plays in Arturo’s head. Toil and trouble, indeed.
Still, only the omnipotent one of this tale (is that the game engine or the author: discuss in 1,500 words
And might one say Arturo’s mid-step hesitation was a pregnant pause?
) and helps build to what I wish it to be when done. It was hard for me not to have Maud there in this scene because I know she had a lot to say to her cousin...but the timing just didn't work. I did not think she could scream at Mary while going through labor...even if that might have been both humorous and likely harsher than it needed to be. Likely not, though I gave her an out here. In game, Mary is imprisoned (as it shows in the screen) but I decided to let her live and free. The idea of her sister as hostage held more fertile ground and I didn't want to punish too hard (even if Mary deserved it.)
ETA - Also see that the new round of ACAs are up. As I say every time, you need not vote for this work (though it is always appreciated) but please do vote. Five weeks to go. Get to reading and voting.
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Westminster, England - January 1327
Westminster, England - January 1327
It was a cold morning so King Arthur was thankful when a groom stoked the fire in his private chamber. Stretching out his arms in the bed, he was reluctant to rise. The cover kept him warm and the figure beside him, even more so. He peered over to spy her naked and sleeping form and smiled. For the first time in a long while, there was a peacefulness in his bed. When he leaned over to kiss her forehead, she stirred and turned to look at him with a shy grin.
“I hesitate to remove myself from this bed, little dove...” Arthur stated, “...for I wish not to disturb such a happy state.”
She propped herself up on her elbows to smile back at him, “I could gladly rest here the whole day through, Your Grace...yet haven’t you a realm to rule?”
“I suppose it so, my sweet pet,” the King leaned in to kiss her once more and she reciprocated eagerly.
As he stood and put on his robe, he turned and looked to her with some question, “Sweet Bella...you would tell me if you find discomfort in our arrangement, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m here, am I not?” Annabella answered cheerfully, “You’ve been no thing but my champion since those fearful days in Crieff and what more could a girl ask for than a King as lover and friend?”
Arthur moved to splash some cold water to his face before turning to her again with a smile, “I suppose I shouldn’t care about such things, yet...does it not disturb you that I am over twice your age? Fifty and six, little dove. Grayed in the hair and full of belly now.”
“You’ve the form of a soldier, Your Grace...” Annabella grinned, “...and love as one too. If I am to be prisoner and hostage, I can think of no better way to be bound.”
“Your sister is wanting you home,” he suggested.
Annabella playfully frowned, “Rather selfish of her. She’s got her land and title still. She should be happy with that.”
“I quite agree...” Arthur answered as he moved to warm himself by the fire, “...yet I think she will grow suspicious. Many here at court already are. I’ve not had an official mistress for many years.”
“Have you any mistresses at all?” she asked with a flirtatious jealousy.
Arthur grinned, “Since my wife passed...only one, my pet.”
A knock to the door interrupted them as a groom called out, “Your Grace?”
“I’m indisposed,” the King answered as he winked to Annabella, “What is it?”
The groom replied without entering, “A note from the Lord Marshal, Your Grace. He awaits you to the privy council chamber. Shall I send something there so that you may break your fast?”
“Very good. Please inform him that I shall be along presently,” Arthur suggested and then sat once more to the bed, “Matters of state, sweet Bella. Alas the night is over, but I shall see you soon enough.”
Annabella sat up in bed and kissed him as she whispered, “I can’t wait, my precious King.”
Without dressing, the King smiled once more to her before tightening his heavy robe and he made his way to the council chamber. There he found Anselm looking over several maps and papers. With a satisfied grin, Arthur moved straight to pour himself some ale as his friend laughed, “You must be parched after a long night, sire. I take it the lass still pleases you?”
“You’ve no idea, Ans,” the King moved to sit as he replied, “I think mayhap the greatest gift you have ever given me.”
Anselm laughed again, “Twas not I that proved your happiness, Your Grace. I think something more round and firm shows it far better.”
The King gave nod, “You’re not wrong, sir. A constant quest may give a man an appetite.”
“And you’ve found just the meal to sate your hunger in the Lady from Scotland, sire,” Anselm agreed with a smile.
“Just be careful, Ans,” Arthur admonished, “I’ve no desire for this to become common knowledge.”
“Difficult to do while she is to court, sire,” Anselm suggested, “Tongues will wag as they always do. Especially if she is found to your bed each morn.”
The King pulled a map to him, “Indeed true. Yet I’ve no intention of marrying the girl. I have five honest children and four of them live. I’ve not spent all this time building something to be torn down by a succession crises. She’s a bit of fun...no more than that. And I’d rather keep it my fun and not grist for the mill.”
“I fear that it will come out eventually, Your Grace...if you keep at it,” Anselm counseled, “Your son the Prince may question...as will his wife, the Queen.”
“Let Arturo be content with his lot in Scotland,” the King replied as he studied the map, “Now four fine children of his own and a wife secure upon her throne thanks to me. In truth, I receive word that he thinks to come for a visit. I’ve replied that I hope he brings my grandson. The lad is now ten and should himself become more familiar with the court.”
“Mayhap not the best timing, sire,” Anselm pointed to the map the King was perusing, “That there is our old friend Brittany and their holdings in France, Ireland and Navarre. It’s true that you’ve done well to make your claims to the areas of Champagne in the Empire and our Lord Chancellor works tirelessly to complete them in Troyes...but the Bretons still call.”
Arthur looked up with a curious grin, “Do you not have a wife of your own, Ans? Are you so ready to return to war?”
“Indeed I do, Your Grace,” Anselm replied with a smile, “My Alduara and I find that our time apart makes those moments together that much more special. My children grow well...other than poor Blanche that passed from the sickness. My brother does well to keep things in Gwynedd work to your satisfaction and thus leaves me time to pursue your goals elsewhere. They do remain your goals, do they not?”
“Of course they do,” Arthur returned to the map, “And the Scottish war was unplanned.”
Anselm gave nod, “So as I’ve asked in the past...in the parlance of the great Lord Amedee...where to next, Your Grace?”
“You say the Bretons,” Arthur suggested as he studied closer.
“I do,” Anselm answered firmly, “Luitpold still finds struggle to the Empire, to be sure. This time from Verona, but they’ve quashed the trouble with Savoy and hold firm in Dauphine and Champagne. There is possible gain to be made south of Bourbon in France, but we have not the claims for it. Yet we do against the Bretons to the north. Most especially in Thomond within Ireland.”
The King found some agreement, “It’s true...I wish them gone from that Isle. Yet there remains Moray in northern Ireland and they’ve just found a spanking.”
“And a treaty of peace for the now, sire,” Anselm responded as he pointed to Breton Ireland, “No such things exists with Brittany and their new Queen is naught but fourteen. Marzhin is gone and Lord Baudouin proved himself well when last we fought there. I say...let us keep these French soldiers in good fighting shape. We can hit them easy in Navarre and in Brittany proper while the real work is done to Ireland. They show a Duke of Munster there? Let us make that no thing...or at least, the property of your other Prince Eadgar.”
Arthur seemed close to agreement but thought about his younger son, “Poor Eddy. Finally has a son now, you know? Kept it quiet. Ever since Downpatrick...he seems...off.”
“Good for him, sire,” Anselm showed a smile, “Perhaps you should invite him to the campaign?”
“He’s not a soldier, Ans,” the King shook his head, “Not like us. Neither of my sons...it makes me worry about the future.”
Anselm understood, “Then at least you might provide for him a fine gift. A Duchy...finally. Let him feel that he is important...more than just a spare.”
“I show him his import!” Arthur argued and his friend offered a smile.
“I’ve been in your service for most of my life, Your Grace. I’ve seen what a troubled marriage can be for a man. I’m pleased that he now finds issue...but one child after nearly ten years? I think not that the match was...sound. He lives in his brother’s shadow...and most especially in yours. Eadgar is a good lad...a good man. Let him find his role. As you say...he will be important when Prince Arthur takes his seat.”
King Arthur gave nod, “As always, sir...you are correct. Eddy will be needed come the time.”
“God willing, not for many years, sire,” Anselm smiled.
“Then I suppose we are off to Brittany, Ans,” Arthur answered with a grin, “I hope your trunks are packed.”
Anselm returned the grin, “They’ve never been unpacked, sire.”
“So we shall take one more step in Ireland...and beyond, my friend,” the King stood with satisfaction.
“As it should be...” Anselm stood as well with a bow, “...Your Grace.”
King Arthur cannot rest for but a moment. Always in motion, always demanding more and more and more - and woe betide his family who he finds lacking. Eddy most definitely, Prince Arthur too somewhat.
And I am reminded just how thin a thread the King has now on which to hold onto any sort of reality.
As for events that transpired in Scotland, trust the cousin to intrude unwelcoming onto a labour.
And I am reminded just how thin a thread the King has now on which to hold onto any sort of reality.
As for events that transpired in Scotland, trust the cousin to intrude unwelcoming onto a labour.
Worrying for his kids, Eddy in particular this time. But only for a moment, before brushing it off. Not good, not good at all.
Phew. I've been behind for more than a month, and just caught up again. As always, it's worth the time reading.
Fb-fb:
As for King Arthur, no he does not stop. As you call it - "his reality." There is a goal and a single-minded pursuit. When all is said and done, one has to ask the question - was it worth it?
Good to have you pop in, sir! Really glad that you are still reading, even if it takes a bit to catch up. I can't help it. I write and these characters demand.
To all - While I would normally wait two or three days to post the next scene, there is a little holiday tomorrow. Alternately called "treason day" or Independence (one may take their pick), I must assume that most will be out celebrating and/or lamenting Boston, Yorktown and all the rest. Thus I will post the next scene forthwith and it ends the chapter. I've been building to it, so I hope that comes across. I tried a little something different but the scene called for it. I hope it works.
Thanks so much for reading and especially for giving comment. I am knee deep in a very important section of chapter 10 and knowing that it will be received by you good readers keeps pushing me to do it right.
Lady Mary of Albany obviously does not care. She's had her own troubles what with her father and a failing war. Again, it would make sense to put her in jail, but I liked the alternative.
As for King Arthur, no he does not stop. As you call it - "his reality." There is a goal and a single-minded pursuit. When all is said and done, one has to ask the question - was it worth it?
Worrying for his kids, or for the future? I think you see it and good that this is coming across. I've peppered in a few scenes that show (hopefully) the King's mind over these years and help explain where he ends up.
Sweet!
Good to have you pop in, sir! Really glad that you are still reading, even if it takes a bit to catch up. I can't help it. I write and these characters demand. To all - While I would normally wait two or three days to post the next scene, there is a little holiday tomorrow. Alternately called "treason day" or Independence (one may take their pick), I must assume that most will be out celebrating and/or lamenting Boston, Yorktown and all the rest.
Thus I will post the next scene forthwith and it ends the chapter. I've been building to it, so I hope that comes across. I tried a little something different but the scene called for it. I hope it works.Thanks so much for reading and especially for giving comment. I am knee deep in a very important section of chapter 10 and knowing that it will be received by you good readers keeps pushing me to do it right.
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Briefne, Ireland - July 1327
Briefne, Ireland - July 1327
Prince Eadgar sat to the high table surrounded by a listless court. The hall was not terribly large and the courtiers of his Earldom were not many. His wife Berchte sat to his left and, as always, had few words to say. To his right, the portly Earl Laurence eagerly attacked his trencher. The slim conversation surrounded his father’s latest war on Brittany and Eadgar held few ideas other than his lack of participation.
“A most masterly planned invasion, my Lord Prince...” Earl Laurence suggested between loud chews of his meat, “...on all three fronts! The Breton is pushed and well. Not a battle lost. I say...a good time is had by all.”
All but me Eadgar thought to himself before answering, “Lord Theobald does well to Thomond.”
“The old coot!” Earl Laurence almost choked as he laughed between bites, “Nearly ancient! You’d think your father might have learned after the poor Lord Adam and Scotland, but...”
“He enjoys his trusted men,” Eadgar pushed the food around to his own trencher with dejection.
The Earl stuffed his face again, “That be true and good on them. The Lord of Bourbon finds his success and he even pulls in Lord Arnoul of Gloucester. What a day?!”
“Planned to precision,” the Prince replied as he thought to himself without me in mind.
Earl Laurence sensed his displeasure, “Now don’t tell me you’re still sore that the King made his play for Lord Randolph in Leinster? Your father loves you, my Lord Prince. Says so every time I speak with him. It was a valid claim and we all here to Ireland...we shall find our reward. You especially!”
Eadgar looked to his silent wife and then to the Earl, “He is most generous...my father.”
“Of course he is, lad!” Laurence smiled as he licked his fingers, “Begging your pardon...my Lord Prince. You’ve done well to Ulster. He sees it...surely. You are to Ireland as your brother is to Scotland. A great beacon of hope in an otherwise unruly land. And now you have a son! Mayhap some day...your father may even grant you the Kingdom of Ireland itself. Imagine!”
That will never happen Eadgar understood, Arty is the one...the golden child. He wasn’t even the true spare. That was Eadward...Ned. Dead at sixteen and now his wife sat beside the Prince. Cold...distant...not my wife.
“...and in time, you may claim the lands of the highlander that keep to the north. He’ll see that for you. I be certain!”
Prince Eadgar liked Earl Laurence. He was a jovial man that sat with good cheer when his own boat sat rocky and with tough shores. A font of knowledge and always with a fine story, but the Prince was rarely in the mood. Eadgar was twenty and five. Made Earl twice over. Found a second hand wife that loved him not. In truth, he knew her secret. She preferred the company of her ladies and he was happy to let her. He was smart, fit and strong. There was no trouble finding replacements. But...he was stuck to Ireland while his brother found his favor with the Scots Queen.
“...I dare say, my Lord Prince...” the Earl prattled on, “...when Bunratty falls, he may call for you soon. The Lord Anselm is with the King and he’ll be wishing of a royal presence when the Breton is finally thrown from this Isle.”
Then call for Arty Eadgar thought to himself for it won’t be me.
Earl Laurence pulled meat from the bone with his teeth as he continued, “And your brother...another girl it’s said. Four good children. These thrones are safe, sir. From France to Scotland...safe!”
“She’s named Margaret,” the Prince suggested as he looked to his food with displeasure, “Said to be a cherub...or so my brother writes to me.”
“And what of your sister?” Laurence devoured the rest of his bite, “Heard there was a dust up to Poitou. Does the Emperor wish the same trouble as finds the Bretons?”
As the Earl laughed, Eadgar looked again to his wife, “Are you unwell?”
“Tired, husband,” Berchte suggested softly.
“Then shall we retire?” the Prince asked hoping the answer to be yes.
Berchte looked out to the slim court with a nod, “Perhaps that would be best.”
“Then I fear that I must leave you, my Lord Earl,” Eadgar turned to Laurence, “Needs must see to mine own son. Enjoy the hearth and heart to here. Thank you for coming.”
Earl Laurence stood with him as he licked his fingers once more, “I hope it no more than an upset, my Lord Prince. Rich foods!”
“Indeed so,” Eadgar agreed pleasantly before following his wife from the hall.
They walked together for only a time before she split off for her chambers and Eadgar moved off to his. As he walked, he changed his course. The nursery...and his son. As he entered the chamber, the maid stood and bowed, “He’s asleep, my Lord Prince.”
“Then let me alone with him,” Eadgar suggested quietly.
A boy. Barely two. Suckling his thumb as he lay in the crib. His...and not of his wife. It was agreed. She held no desire to sleep in his bed and after some time, neither did he have the same desire. There were partners aplenty...maids...ladies...wenches. No shortage of bed mates. This one? He knew the mother well. A whore from the cheap street. She would have gone for the potion to rid herself, but the Prince convinced her not to. Coin helped as well. A child for the Prince...and his wife. The Lady from Castile. It worked for them both, even if her prospects had dimmed.
“We kept it quiet,” Eadgar suggested softly as he brushed his son’s little hairs, “And you’re still my boy.”
A child finally that he named after himself. He’d hoped that it might make his father see his worth. Grow Ireland. Be strong. Prove that he was the equal to his brother and give sign to his promise. Twenty five years...his maman dead...and he was implicated. Married to his brother’s wife. Ned...gone these long years. One sister...to a fractured Norway...and no coin of her own. The other...to Poitou. He assumed she was happy, but Nell did not write. And a brother...still alive. Married to the very Queen of Scotland. Four children. Happy. The heir to it all.
What am I?
Eadgar leaned down and gently kissed his son’s head before leaving the nursery. He walked for what seemed hours, but he eventually found his way to the parapets of his slight castle. He looked out on the night sky and tried to focus on some few stars that he could see through the clouds. So bright. They stood out. The men of science...they had words to say about them. He only thought of his place.
“Maman?” Eadgar questioned as he looked out to the dark night, “Should I have followed you?”
No answer came as reply. Eadgar felt to his hip and pulled the dagger that he kept there. Holding it aloft, he announced, “Father...I have made true and given you a son of mine own. Maman...I am sorry.”
Reaching out his hand, Eadgar dropped the dagger and watched it tumble past the rocks and stone of the keep. It was a long way down. He did not even hear it when it finally hit the ground. The Prince crossed himself, said one more prayer to God...and then he jumped.
Sweet relief...
* * *
End of Chapter 8
End of Chapter 8
Oi. That was unexpected. I was suspecting a writeup to an event of rumors of the heir being a bastard, but not suicide. What a tragedy...
Not what I expected, either. This family does so much harm to its members. Part of the weight of the crown, I suppose.