The Song of Wessex
* * *
Cupar, Scotland – August 1335
Cupar, Scotland – August 1335
When he entered the solar, Queen Maud rushed to embrace her son such was her excitement. Then she held him at a distance with a concerned eye, “Should you not be to Lancaster?”
“In truth, mama...I’ve just been to France,” the Prince answered her with a grin.
She formed a frown, “To see...him.”
“I know you like him not, but he is my grandpapa,” the young Arthur answered, “And I think he bought our idea about Matilda in Lancaster.”
“Appearances are not what they seem, my son,” Maud counseled with a sharp eye.
Arthur kissed her cheek before shifting to pour them both some wine, “He’s an old man, mama. Down in his gait and slower in mind than he used to be. The war...and papa...I believe it took more out of him than we considered.”
Maud held a firm eye to her son, “You trust him at your peril, young man. All about him, he sees death and destruction. And never once does he stop. Sixty and five with a treasonous wife and only one child left. What else does he have to lose?”
“You almost sound sorry for him, mama,” young Arthur turned to hand her a goblet with a grin, “Yet he has forever doted upon me and does so still. I remind him of papa.”
Maud held her wine in one hand and reached out her other to brush the hair from her son’s face, “You remind many of your father. And if I am forced to admit it...your grandpapa the King...he lives a very sad life. If you were in France, then surely you heard that his eldest sister passed. Like him, the Princess of France held only a grandson at her death. And I am told this Amaury is an imbecile of the first order. Not quite the legend this King’s father envisioned so many years ago.”
“I met him to Melun,” the young Prince answered as he led his mother to a settle, “Charming in his way...and simple in his pursuits. I think not to have trouble in France with the likes him of. And besides...I am given great gift.”
The Queen kept her concern as she sat, “As ever...the English King steals when he bestows. What is it now?”
“The spoils of his war, mama,” the Prince replied with a smile, “All of Champagne. I am now named Duke and great Lord. Other than Baudouin in Bourbon, I am paramount in France. Orleans...Burgundy...ruled by women. Berry still holds a child. For all of the ill effects of the war...he accomplished his feat.”
Maud once more held to his face, “Do not be so cavalier, sir. We both lost much...he and I. You and I. Your poor sister...she rests in a cold grave with only a daughter to call her own. My husband did not even have chance to say his goodbye. And he lost his sister...in front of his face. Long before he ever rushed...to that field...”
When she teared up, young Arthur held to her hand, “You cannot keep reliving the moment, mama. Papa is gone from us and we are what is left.”
“Tell me not what I can and cannot do!” she pushed his hand away, “I am Queen and no man’s vassal. I am your mother...and shall always hold forth! And I have lost so much in these past years. Your father...my husband. Now my daughter to Maine. All because of that man’s single pursuit!”
Young Arthur took his chiding and tried to help his mother, “I had chance to go to Le Mans before I returned home, mama. I saw little Anne. I think she favors you...and Ava. Her husband was ever so sorry...especially as the rebellion made the birth so difficult. Yet I am told papa tried to intervene before the Normans put it down. By then it was too late. I know you miss her.”
“Of course I miss her!” Maud allowed herself the cry, “And my Arthur! My sweetest friend!”
The Prince held to his mother’s hand, “Then we shall find way to bring the babe to Cupar. Mayhap Matilda too. See both of your granddaughters...and perhaps feel a bit better.”
“I think to never feel better,” Maud showed a sad eye, “As I have lost before...I am now losing again. You will be back to Lancaster...or now to Champagne. My uncle is in ill health...fifty and two and no longer finds his feet. Put abed and will likely be gone in a fortnight. I have no good counsel. All I have left is you three...and this kingdom.”
“I am sorry to hear about Lord uncle Duncan,” the Prince held more tightly, “I did not know that he was put low. Yet I do bring you reason for cheer. When I met with grandpapa, I was able to convince him to begin a new campaign. Back to Moray it is...and he’ll likely be to here soon to meet with these highlanders.”
Maud sighed before she leaned forward to kiss her son, “That is good for you, Arthur. Never for me. If I ever see that man again...I am like to kill him with mine own hands.”
“Yet it is great to take advantage,” Prince Arthur suggested with a caring eye, “Fergus of Moray places too much help to the Breton rebellion...and every bit that is taken from him...it helps grandpapa. It helps me. It helps you.”
“Then do me the simple favor, Arthur,” Maud held a close eye to her son, “Never see the English King to this keep. It is your future and not mine. All of me is left in the past...with my husband. I can never look at the King of all Albion in the same way.”
The Prince kissed her cheek, “You need not, mama. I will be sure of that. And I will look in on Lord uncle Duncan before I depart.”
“He will like that,” she finally offered a smile, “May have some few words of wisdom for you as he has had for me over the years. If you wish to take advantage...that is where it is held.”
“I’ve always been studious, mama,” young Arthur grinned, “I know to take the lesson.”
Maud held both of her hands to her son’s face with great care, “Then be sure! Make no mistake! Your life depends upon it!”
* * *
Aileach, Ireland – December 1335
Aileach, Ireland – December 1335
“Your Grace...I thought you right and proper,” Lord Jordan suggested, “Your treatment of the Lothian brothers...in truth, you may have been too kind.”
The King absentmindedly flipped through his maps, “You’ve been with me for some time, my Lord. I am arbitrary for a purpose.”
“I was actually quite astonished, sire,” the Lord Marshal suggested, “Lord Stephen had taken his brother’s wife as hostage…”
King Arthur looked up with a plain eye, “And I don’t care. Adam is tasked as my Lord Steward...and where is he? Fighting his older brother when more important things are at hand. I will allow the two of them to sort it out, but it is clear that the two of them...they care not for the realm in full. Started when still at war with the Empire...holds on even now? Great Lords, my Lord Jordan...ungrateful.”
“Not all of us, Your Grace,” the Duke countered, “And I remain wishing that you would allow me to return to Northumberland. I am told a great force of highlanders is there, for they wish not to seek out Lord Mayor Eric in the north.”
“I cannot spare you,” Arthur looked back to his maps with an empty eye, “Over three years of war on the continent...every bit of blood and treasure spent there...I will take this place, but my heart is not in it. I need you.”
“Sire...” Jordan pulled a stool to the table to sit, “...you are wounded. There is no taking back of our losses...your losses...but you are known as not only just...but bold.”
The King sighed as he looked up, “My Lord of Kent...you have served me well. The chronicles speak to your lineage and you have no reason to feel shame in their shadow. Dover is a marvel and the forces you put to field in the Empire...nonpareil. It seems that I have few to trust these days and you are one of the last...even as young as you are.”
“I am not that young, sire,” Jordan grinned.
“You are younger than me, sir...” Arthur went back to flipping maps, “...younger than my son. An education you received to Europe...just as my cousin of Norfolk found. I held a grand goal...and with all I needed to see it through...but now? I am left bereft and with only some few sources. You remain one of them.”
With a respectful nod, the Lord Marshal put a hand to the table, “You still hold your grandson, Your Grace. I’m told he refuses to leave from Lancaster to Champagne until this matter is over.”
“And went to visit his mother...” King Arthur answered as he slapped a map down, “...whom I fear likes me not. In truth, my Lord...I don’t blame her.”
Lord Jordan tried to smile, “You have both lost so much, sire. You a son...she a husband. Yet there remains the Prince. He is young and strong...has a child of his own. Reveres you, as he should. Lothian may be a headache...and this place, a pain. But the realm is sound, Your Grace. And you prove it.”
“You speak kind words, Jordy,” King Arthur turned to him with a forlorn face, “Yet I think too much that these Lords hate each other...hate too much. Mayhap even hate me for what I have put them through. When my son died...well...I don’t know that I can blame them.”
Lord Jordan stood and flipped the map back over before the King, “You are too hard on yourself, Your Grace. Too many tragedies...it may have the effect. Yet you remain the greatest King that anyone has seen in a lifetime. Unstoppable...and with all your loss...an heir that is worth it. The living image of your son...and true.”
“For a young man...” the King looked up with a slim smile, “...you hold wise words.”
The Lord Marshal showed a bow, “I hold the words that I require, Your Grace. Young or no, I will lead your forces wherever you demand it. Your goal is always paramount and I am no thing but your vessel. Tell me what and where...and I’ll be there.”
“Tienne...Ans...” King Arthur looked back to his maps, “...you are a good successor, Jordy.”
Lord Jordan showed a determined eye, “They are revered, Your Grace. And so are you!”
