The Song of Wessex
- Thread starter coz1
- Start date
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Pretty much no one from Lancaster or York should be trusted in this series...
That's an ugly alliance network for the Duke of Cornwall. Humiliation is in his future.
Young Eadgar certainly does give off a treacherous vibe, but the House of Wessex is known for their production of snakes. His namesake was no angel, after all. The rare exception was Uthraed, and this line does not descend from him, after all!
Arthur 2.5 gives of a confident vibe, which is required for his potential future. Perhaps even overconfidence - committing resources before they are guaranteed. Though he clearly gets them, based on the screenshot, it can still leave a bitter taste in the mouths of others. But then, he learned from the best (or worst) in that regard.
Young Eadgar certainly does give off a treacherous vibe, but the House of Wessex is known for their production of snakes. His namesake was no angel, after all. The rare exception was Uthraed, and this line does not descend from him, after all!
Arthur 2.5 gives of a confident vibe, which is required for his potential future. Perhaps even overconfidence - committing resources before they are guaranteed. Though he clearly gets them, based on the screenshot, it can still leave a bitter taste in the mouths of others. But then, he learned from the best (or worst) in that regard.
The wheels are in motion for a little internecine warfare. I get the feeling it is shaping up as a bit of a crucible for at least two junior royal scions. Something to do to pass the time before the truce times out with that German empire.
Fb-fb:
And I'm glad you picked up on Prince Arthur's over-confidence. We'll see how things go here, but the end result may not be what he thought.
The vibe you get is intended, though it may not bear out anytime soon. When I saw him included in the list of allies, I had to include him in the scene.
The tale did begin with them so long ago...it may as well end with them too, eh?
I'm not sure what the Duke was playing at here, but fairly stupid. When I saw the ones arranged against him, this seemed a natural scene and fit right in with what I was doing with the story.
And I'm glad you picked up on Prince Arthur's over-confidence. We'll see how things go here, but the end result may not be what he thought.
There was that, even though I (as player) had nothing to do with it. But it was too good to gloss over given all the actors. As above, Eadgar, Duke of Munster may not play as much of a role at the moment, but he will return before things are done. I was setting him up here while also giving the Prince a bit of a foil. Besides, he is third in line to the throne at the moment. A worthy character, for good or ill.
The tale did begin with them so long ago...it may as well end with them too, eh?
Hopefully not right back where they started though
Wait and find out, but without getting too far in the weeds - York and Lancaster are very much part of our endgame.
And I was remiss to all not to place this within my AAR (courtesy of @Wraith11B ):
Just copy and paste the above into your own AAR so we get more eyes. Please and thank you!
Last edited:
Well, for Wessex to lose the throne(s) the apocalypse would have to happen. By now they are too entrenched and legitimate rulers. A shift of cadet branch, however, I could see.
Fb-fb:
To all - The next scene(s) follow after a moment to get it posted. As always, thanks for your great readership and continued excellent comments!
Now you always say that. Whatever would give you that thought?
Wessex remains, to be sure, but I mean that Lancaster (which is of Wessex now) and York (which is also partly of Wessex now through Emma of Anjou's son Lord Gerald) factor greatly in the end game of Arthur's story.
To all - The next scene(s) follow after a moment to get it posted. As always, thanks for your great readership and continued excellent comments!
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Westminster, England - October 1340
Westminster, England - October 1340
Emperor Arthur of Britain shifted from the table to refill his ale as the door opened to the privy council chamber. The Lord Chancellor entered and presented a bow before standing tall, “Your Majesty...all reports from Cornwall are in the positive.”
“Know it well I do, my Lord,” Arthur turned to him briefly before returning to the maps spread upon the long table, “Lord Jordan remains to Somerset and sends me dispatches.”
Earl Randolph smiled, “Wise choice there, Majesty. Should something go wrong...”
“Nothing will go wrong, sir,” the Emperor sat with a sure eye, “I put trust in those of my House and as much in Lord Eric in Gwynedd.”
“It is said that his young son Adam fights bravely,” Randolph allowed, “Barely seventeen and hardly a scratch to him.”
Arthur gave nod, “I did not suspect that Lord Rodrigo had much in him at any rate. A foolish notion...yet it does provide good training for these lads.”
“Most certainly for your grandsons, sire,” the Lord Chancellor moved to sit next to him, “Not only the Prince...but good word comes in regards to young Eadgar from Munster. His Sir William has taught the boy martial arts well.”
Flipping one map for another, the Emperor snorted a laugh, “Indeed. Enough to make Arthur jealous, methinks. Never a bad thing. Mayhap it will keep him alert. If I am to leave all of this to one, I hope it to be one that holds a sound martial mind. He will need it.”
“Yet best it be the Prince...for Scotland, Your Majesty,” Randolph suggested.
With a grimace, the Emperor cursed, “Bloody Maud!”
“I swear to you, Majesty...” Earl Randolph pressed his hands to the table, “...the Scots Queen has softened. While she clearly remains in her spite, she offers no poor words about you in my presence. Unlike before...”
“Unlike before when she wished me dead?” Arthur offered a raised brow in irritation.
The Lord Chancellor replied quickly, “Days of the past, sire. Her son is given freedom and fights well for you and the realm. For his own future.”
“We shall see,” Arthur waved a hand and returned to his maps, “Yet tell me, my Lord...what word from Poitou?”
“Not much of a change, Your Majesty,” Randolph answered as he pointed to the map, “Your former son by law is kept at struggle against others within Aquitaine, but no side gains advantage. It is stalemate all the way.”
“Hm!” the Emperor snorted, “And Lord John tells me that rebellion breaks out close to Julich. As always, Luitpold is unloved. Yet what may I do? My hands are tied by this bloody treaty.”
The Earl smiled, “Naught but five years left, Majesty. You will have your say once again to the east, I have no doubt.”
“I’m not getting any younger, my Lord,” the Emperor turned to him with a stern eye, “I fear that my days of conquest are soon to an end and I am not yet done with my pursuits. Hainaut, sir. For forty five years a face and a place have remained to my mind. Two faces, in fact. And one that requires avenging.”
“Understood, Your Majesty,” the Lord Chancellor gave nod, “However...while you wait, might I suggest another pursuit?”
Arthur turned to his maps in question, “What? Brittany again?”
“Nay, sire,” Randolph pointed once more, “Rather here...to the south. The Baron Paul of Comborn. He is vassal to your Earl George of Maine and has held out for these long years against the King of Aragon. They hold near to twenty thousand in and around Limousin in an attempt to remove him but he will not yield. While you wait...it might be good exercise to come to his rescue.”
The Emperor skewed his face, “King Guitard is as ancient as I am. Hardly an exercise. More like swatting a bothersome fly.”
“Merely a suggestion, Majesty,” Randolph answered, “And I think it no good thing to have so many of the Aragonese on our border to the south in France. All French parties will likely find pleasure in seeing them removed and it may surely help your grandson the Prince while he is away to here thwarting the Lord of Cornwall.”
Arthur was considering it, “We should stand for our own. That be true. I suppose it statement more than anything else. It would give good warning to those in Aquitaine as well.”
“Precisely, Majesty,” Randolph gave nod with another smile.
With a sigh, Arthur leaned back in his chair to drink, “So much more to do, my Lord. And how many years are left to me to do it?”
“God is always in your favor, Majesty,” the Earl found certainty.
“Is He?” Arthur looked to him with question, “As I have lost my confessor, I may not ask.”
Lord Randolph lowered his head in sadness, “Father Matthew was a true man of God, sire. Surely he has ascended.”
“And cousin to my man Ans,” Arthur showed pain to his face, “How may I trust another as much?”
“Likely you cannot,” the Lord Chancellor replied, “Yet I do have suggestion there as well. The Bishop of Southwark, Majesty.”
Arthur frowned, “Lord Bishop David? I’m not certain on that one. I trust not his face anymore than I trust his favor with God.”
“He is well respected by the Lords spiritual, Majesty,” Randolph offered.
“And likely wishes more than his place to Southwark, my Lord,” Arthur countered, “I doubt even Canterbury would suit him. I think him not happy until he finds a spot to Rome.”
The Earl smiled, “Your Majesty...I work on all fronts. Be it Scotland...Poitou...with your grandson...and most surely with the Pontiff. We have been blessed these last years not to find religious strife. Pope Vigilius sanctioned your elevation...and rightly so. The Bishop is a powerful man within the church. It can be no bad thing to bring him to the council and hold him as a man in your corner.”
“What may I care?” Arthur waved a hand, “Holy Church has not brought me to where I am. And many confessions will I have to make when my day comes. I’ll take my chances with God Almighty and not His earthly representatives. Yet if you think it wise...then go ahead. Appoint the Bishop. My mind is elsewhere.”
“Very good, sire,” Earl Randolph gave a pleased nod, “I will send word to Southwark.”
Arthur pulled a map closer, “And then return to France, my Lord. When this business is done to Cornwall, I wish to move. I grow restless and require an adventure of mine own.”
The Lord Chancellor stood and bowed, “It will be done, Your Majesty.”
“Poitou...” Arthur showed a stern eye, “...Limousin...Hainaut...find me one, sir. There is more left to me and I will see it made true.”
* * *
Dorset, England - February 1341
Dorset, England - February 1341
The combined forces under the Prince had done well in Cornwall. Routing Duke Rodrigo’s forces at Devon, what remained fled back to Tintagel and Earl Nicholas was freed from his siege. Bishop Michael was overjoyed the see his nephew as was the Earl to see his uncle and the rest of his extended kin. Yet tensions began to flair when the Prince wished to siege at Dorset and Lord Eadgar and his knight Sir William suggested following the Cornish Duke to his castle. Only the Duke of Gwynedd agreed with the Prince with all others siding with the Duke of Munster. Then in the new year, a decision was made for them.
Lord Rodrigo had hired mercenaries in his push to revoke Devon but had run out of coin to pay them. Under the command of a one-eyed Saxon named Leofheah, the mercenary band had hugged the coast and passed south of the Prince’s army and now threatened Dorset themselves. Even still, Duke Eadgar would not change his mind and so Prince Arthur alone along with his man Sir Alfred de Vere struck off to face this two thousand strong rebel army.
“Damn my cousin!” the Prince swore as he looked out at his soldiers that were taking hard casualties against the mercenaries.
The older Sir Alfred sat a horse next to him and grimaced, “Your daughter’s man Gregory of Ely takes his time moving from the north, my Lord Prince. Unless you may count upon Lord Marshal Jordan joining from Somerset...”
“He cannot!” Prince Arthur suggested with great irritation, “The Lord of Kent sees his own trouble with the Earl of Surrey. It is us and only us.”
“Then you must commit us all against this one-eyed pirate, my Lord,” Sir Alfred counseled, “His left is weak and they hold no great horse.”
Without a moment to consider it, Prince Arthur spurred his mount and raised his sword, “For Britannia!!!”
Suddenly, the rest of his force rushed into the battle with Sir Alfred leading them behind the Prince. It would turn to a great victory as Prince Arthur met with the mercenary Captain to the center while Sir Alfred led a charge against the left. Fierce fighting took up much of the afternoon and seemed near run when a breakaway force armed with axes threatened the Prince’s archers, but at the last moment, a new figure emerged onto the field. With the banners of Tours raised, old Earl Thurfrith thundered down upon the melee and scattered what remained of the mercenary force. Having lost his horse under him, Prince Arthur hacked away and came face to face with the Captain Leofheah.
“It is lost!” the Prince shouted as he squared up his sword, “Give up your men!”
“Never!!” the Saxon answered as he rushed forward.
The clash between them was epic. Trading blow for blow, they fought as all others seemed to fade away. Most of the mercenaries were running away and the Prince’s men were giving chase. Eventually, only Leofheah remained but he would not give in. Surrounded by the Prince’s army, he kept at his push and Prince Arthur answered every thrust. Finally, the mercenary Captain lost his sword and was to his knees before the Prince.
The grandson of the Emperor wasted no time. His face was covered in the blood of others and he could barely see but his blade came down quick and accurate. The head of Leofheah rolled and great cheers arose from the men. The Prince seemed stuck to his pose with his sword to the dirt after the downward thrust and his breathing remained heavy. It was not until the Earl of Tours stood forth and touched him to the shoulder that he moved.
“I’m getting too old for this, Lord Prince,” the aged Earl suggested with a grin.
With a wild eye, Prince Arthur flinched and then softened as he returned the grin, “And yet, you are so good at it.”
“Well you didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun,” Earl Thurfrith laughed.
The Prince wiped his sword clean on the dead body of Leofheah and then started up the hill, “Your presence is greatly appreciated, my Lord.”
Earl Thurfrith followed and shrugged, “Eh. I grew tired of our cousin. A lot of balls for such a young lad. Back to Ireland with him, I say.”
Sir Alfred rode up and dismounted, “The enemy are gone like the wind, my Lord Prince. Every last one. You’ve won the day.”
“And many thanks to you, sir,” Prince Arthur clapped him on the back, “I think to see you named Earl for this.”
“Merely my duty,” Sir Alfred showed a bow.
Prince Arthur smiled as they reached his tent, “And so will be Glamorgan if I can convince my grand-papa.”
“Then are we on to Tintagel, my Lord Prince?” Earl Thurfrith stood behind them and asked, “I believe we owe it to Lord Rodrigo to come calling.”
The Prince looked to them both and gave nod, “Ready the men. If we are lucky, we’ll reach there before cousin Eadgar.”
“Won’t he be sad,” Earl Thurfrith laughed and turned to answer his command.
Sir Alfred stayed a moment longer, “It was a great victory, my Lord Prince. Your victory.”
“We shall see what the Emperor says about it,” Prince Arthur suggested before ducking into the tent.
He sat to a field desk and took up an unopened letter. It was from his mother. In it, she implored him to come and visit her. Prince Arthur shook his head as he put it down and then picked up his quill to reply.
Dearest mama...I am given great freedom. I am missing of you every day, yet I am tasked to England. I shall try to find Scotland, yet for now I am to Cornwall and glory. All of my love and thanks go to you. Send regards to my brother and sister.
Yours...Arthur of Wessex.
The Prince placed down the quill and then finally brushed at his head. Blood covered his hand and he sighed. This was his future and no thing else. All that he had attempted...all that he had done...it was now this and no thing more. It was then that he finally found his true loyalty. Not to his mother and not to his grandfather...but for the Empire.
Oh I don't know - perhaps I am just a natural pessimist?Now you always say that. Whatever would give you that thought?
Randolph - I get the impression of someone tapdancing over a minefield.
New projects for the Emperor as he pores over maps while his young padawan grandson Arthur makes his bones on the battlefield. From rarefied atmosphere to the mud and blood of combat: a nice juxtaposition and revealing as to where both of them are now.
To swap analogies, I can now imagine Arthur the elder as Denethor and young Arthur as Faramir. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to him supping on sweetmeats while his poor grandson is sent to his apparent doom in battle as he tries to prove his worth!
Loyalty ‘to the Empire’ above personal allegiance? Interesting. Could go any way from here along that road paved with good intentions.
To swap analogies, I can now imagine Arthur the elder as Denethor and young Arthur as Faramir. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to him supping on sweetmeats while his poor grandson is sent to his apparent doom in battle as he tries to prove his worth!
Loyalty ‘to the Empire’ above personal allegiance? Interesting. Could go any way from here along that road paved with good intentions.
Good for him. That is what the Empire needs. His grandfather is an old, selfish duche and his mother an impotent and scorned woman who cannot move beyond her disappointments. Not too surprising, the latter, but the Prince needs to look to his future inheritance.
Huh, we might actually have a worthy replacement. Or maybe better than a replacement, a good Emperor.
Or maybe you're setting us up for tragedy.
Or maybe you're setting us up for tragedy.
He may well be killed or die shortly before or after taking office given the plauge is due...
Fb-fb:
I really cannot say more than that.
To all - Wow, time flies. I feel like I just started this chapter and I am about to end it. That said, I have joined some few shorter scenes so it feels like less time. This next set does much the same and will set up Chapter 13 coming up soon enough. As always, thanks for reading and your excellent comments!
Any Lord Chancellor for Wessex will likely do that same thing. Even the ones that are of Wessex.
It all could indeed go many ways right now. I am using some few feints and chances for peril as we go along here because it will eventually matter. But indeed, I wanted to put those two scenes together so that we see from both Emperor and Prince.New projects for the Emperor as he pores over maps while his young padawan grandson Arthur makes his bones on the battlefield. From rarefied atmosphere to the mud and blood of combat: a nice juxtaposition and revealing as to where both of them are now.
To swap analogies, I can now imagine Arthur the elder as Denethor and young Arthur as Faramir. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to him supping on sweetmeats while his poor grandson is sent to his apparent doom in battle as he tries to prove his worth!
Loyalty ‘to the Empire’ above personal allegiance? Interesting. Could go any way from here along that road paved with good intentions.
Very many thanks to you, @Jape and I hope you've enjoyed reading a work that is by now incredibly large.
Cannot disagree with any of the above. Prince Arthur is still feeling things out right now but does seem to be getting a bit better at things.
I really cannot say more than that.
I can say that it is no plague that takes any of these characters from us (though I really should have focused on that more during this period.)
To all - Wow, time flies. I feel like I just started this chapter and I am about to end it. That said, I have joined some few shorter scenes so it feels like less time. This next set does much the same and will set up Chapter 13 coming up soon enough. As always, thanks for reading and your excellent comments!
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Tintagel, England – May 1341
Tintagel, England – May 1341
With a sigh, Prince Arthur gestured to a chair. It was just he and Lord Rodrigo of Cornwall and the Cornish Duke was not happy. An ill conceived revocation of Devon had gone badly wrong and he now found himself on the losing end and treating with a boy nearly half his age. What was once a proud House within England and Britain was now diminished by his actions and it was a bitter pill for the Duke to swallow.
“It’s just a formality, my Lord,” Prince Arthur finally sat and gestured again, “I have no desire to press a harsh peace upon you.”
“You may not,” Rodrigo held to the back of his chair and remained standing, “Yet your grandfather...His Majesty...he may.”
Prince Arthur made a play of looking around before turning back to the Duke, “I don’t see him here, my Lord. It is just we two.”
“He is ever present,” Rodrigo answered as he finally sat.
“That much is true,” the Prince replied as he poured them both some wine, “And if I leave here today with satisfaction, then we shall both be happy. For if he is not pleased...then no one is pleased.”
Lord Rodrigo tentatively handled his cup, “You know...I knew your father. Some years ago...before Julich...he was to my camp in Aquitaine. I was given trust my His Majesty...before he became so. Was more loyal to him than either Richard of Leinster or even Simon of Bedford.”
“Then what happened?” Prince Arthur asked the pointed question.
“I remain loyal,” Rodrigo answered, “Yet Cornwall is my realm. I’ve no thing against your House...except that it remains overwhelming. My Lady wife is of Wessex. Our children hold the royal blood.”
Prince Arthur leaned forward, “You picked a very bad spot, my Lord. Nicholas of Norfolk is beloved by my grand-papa and his son just as much. They are our cousins and you should have known better.”
“You are a young man, my Lord Prince,” Rodrigo replied, “I’ve nothing against you and you have bested me soundly...but do you not wonder?”
“Wonder at what?” Arthur questioned.
“Everything that is built...” Lord Rodrigo continued, “...everything that is claimed. When I found my seat, I was young. A long history between Cornwall and the crown. I hold a little of that royal blood myself going back to my disgraced ancestors. I have always striven to be loyal...to be true. Yet I am not alone when I say that His Majesty...your grandfather...he attempts to be absolute.”
“He is absolute, my Lord,” the Prince replied with certainty, “He is the Emperor of Britain and the master of whatever he wishes.”
Lord Rodrigo raised a brow, “What thinks your mother of this?”
“The Queen of Scotland does not play here, sir,” Arthur answered quickly, “In truth, I am offended that you ask.”
“I mean no offense,” Rodrigo replied honestly, “Yet once more she finds herself at risk. How long before His Majesty takes up arms to defend her? Or better yet...ignores her to go after some other great prize?”
The Prince stared plainly, “I think you had better keep your mind focused to the now rather than some thing that concerns you not.”
“Is she not at war with her highland neighbors yet again?” the Duke asked.
“It is true,” Prince Arthur replied with irritation, “Moray once again presents a trouble to her, and if she requests aid, His Majesty will most assuredly go to her.”
Lord Rodrigo sat back in his chair, “So the arguments of the past are now solved?”
“I did not wish to press a harsh peace, my Lord...yet you may cause me to do so,” the Prince held a stern eye to the older Duke.
The Duke held up a defensive hand, “I need no more trouble to Wessex, my Lord Prince. I think to have enough of it at home with your kin and now I am fully shamed to all. Once I was more trusted than Richard to Ireland or Lord Simon, but now? They and all others surpass me.”
“Foolish notions like these may be why, my Lord,” Prince Arthur softened, “And my grand-papa needs no more trouble from Cornwall. His Lord Marshal already finds fight with his Earl to Surrey. The King of Aragon threatens to Limousin. Brittany is reconstituted and as you suggest so impolitely, my mother finds her own struggle to the north. There is much and more on the mind of this Emperor...especially with the other one to the east.”
Lord Rodrigo sighed and gave nod, “I know it well. My men tell me that this Luitpold has raised a massive army within his realm. Yet surely he thinks not to play again with His Majesty?”
“One may never know until he does so, my Lord,” Prince Arthur sat his drink down and looked on sharply, “Yet if you know of these troubles...then please refrain from attempting again. My grand-papa can be forgiving, I have found. Yet only to a point. When and if you find true disfavor, you will surely know it.”
As the Prince stood, so too did Lord Rodrigo with a bow, “You are young, my Lord Prince...yet here today...I believe you to show the makings of a fine King. Mayhap even an Emperor.”
“You are kind, my Lord. Yet we are not yet to that bridge. Let us wait to cross until we reach there,” Prince Arthur shifted to leave, “Until then, I will leave you to sort your House. I will report back to His Majesty that you are most sorry in your endeavors and I think him to consider the matter closed. Let it be ever so.”
* * *
Melun Castle – June 1341
Melun Castle – June 1341
When the Prince entered the solar at Melun, he felt the withering glare from his grandfather and moved to bow. The Emperor held to his ale by the window as he took in a cool breeze and gave a caustic word, “I am greatly surprised to find you to France, sir. I do not recall giving you such leave.”
“I was soon to Westminster, grand-papa,” Prince Arthur answered as he stood taller, “By way of my wife to Chatillon.”
The elder Arthur took a slow drink and kept a cool gaze to his grandson, “Did you not think I had wish to hear about the results to Cornwall?”
“I imagine that they have found their way to you already,” The Prince replied.
“Yes...” Emperor Arthur answered with a stern eye, “...by way of the Lord Chancellor. Yet given that I allowed you the command, I expected these words to come from your mouth and not his.”
Prince Arthur skewed a brow, “I’ve not seen my Maud in quite some time, grand-papa. She and my daughter are missing of me and I had need to make certain of my lands while I have been away.”
“All you needed to do was ask, sir,” the Emperor turned to look out the window.
“I might have gone to Scotland,” Prince Arthur stepped closer, “Had word from my mother and she is also missing of me. Yet I did not. I would think that you might be pleased.”
“Pleased that I must guess at where you are?” Emperor Arthur turned back swiftly, “Thank God Almighty that the Lords Randolph and John are so good at their work. Yet I am over three score and ten, lad! I’ve no need or desire to go on a chase!”
The Prince offered calming hands, “I was soon back to you, grand-papa. I promise it.”
“Hm!” Emperor Arthur snorted as he looked out the window again.
“And no other words then?” Prince Arthur asked with some irritation, “No allowance of congratulations or thanks for what was done to Cornwall? Is that it? I am to be punished for not clearing my marital visit with you?”
Without turning back, Emperor Arthur sipped at his ale, “You think to find congratulations for doing your duty? You desire a hearty thanksgiving for fulfilling your promise?”
“I wish acknowledgment that I have proved loyal,” the Prince replied, “I wish an understanding that a voyage to here and back was no thing other than a chance to greet my wife for the first time in months.”
The Emperor finally turned back and offered a stern glare before refilling his cup, “You wish a lot of things, sir. Think you that I do not as well? One of us rules and one of us does not. Why not ask yourself...which of us is of more import?”
“You are to war again,” Prince Arthur sighed as he answered, “Is it for my mother or some other?”
As he poured, the Emperor found a slight grin, “Indeed...Queen Maud of Scotland once more finds her troubles. A great shame that.”
“So it is now to the north?” the Prince questioned, “If so...then why are you to Melun? Only to scold me?”
Emperor Arthur kept his grin as he turned back to his grandson, “Do you think I should, lad?”
“War or scold?” the Prince narrowed his eyes in question.
“War, of course!” Emperor Arthur shifted and sat to a chair as he looked on, “I don’t hold an Empire merely to see parades of my fine soldiers.”
The Prince was slow to take a chair opposite his grandfather, “Then likely you should. At last word, the highlanders found nearly three thousand to Connacht. If my mother has not yet asked for help, she likely will soon enough.”
“And yet...you did ask the question,” Emperor Arthur sat back and crossed a leg, “Why am I to Melun at the now?”
“Why are you to Melun at the now?” the Prince repeated, “I should think with Lord Jordan’s trouble to Kent and all else that you might find need to stay home to Westminster.”
Emperor Arthur narrowed his brow and stared at his grandson for quite a long time before finally giving reply, “You are so like your father in many ways.”
“I would take that as a compliment...Your Majesty,” the Prince answered with some anger.
“In many ways but one, lad,” the elder Arthur sat forward with a stern eye, “You are very bright...but you lack vision.”
The Prince returned the stare, “I have eyes enough to see what is before me. Eyes and ears enough to know that you do not answer.”
“Your mother holds a strong constitution,” the Emperor stood and returned to the window, “If she had need of our aid, she would have called already. As for me...I am here to meet with the Lord of Bourbon. He is to arrive at any day now.”
“Lord Baudouin?” Prince Arthur questioned.
Emperor Arthur turned and leaned to the stone wall, “The very same, my lad. And not just him but so too the Earl of Maine. The Lord of Normandy as well. Your mother has her troubles and I have mine. Once again...which do you think find more import?”
“Grand-papa...” the Prince stood as well and moved to him, “...the King of Aragon is ancient and his quest for...”
With a sharp eye, the Emperor cut him off, “As ancient as I am? More so? Less?”
“I think you to be the same age,” Prince Arthur answered readily, “And yet one is more capable than the other. You would risk the safety of Scotland to answer this slight to Limousin? And for what? Over some Baron?”
The Emperor drained his ale and moved around his grandson to refill his cup, “The Baron Paul of Comborn is a subject of this Empire. For too long has this decrepit so-called King threatened our interests to Limousin. He himself holds only Chalus in the same region. From the House of Barcelona, he has not ever seen those lands for they hold them no longer...and not for some long years. I am to stand by and do no thing while he repeatedly attempts to take Comborn for himself?!”
“It has held out for years, grand-papa...” Prince Arthur challenged, “...and is a slight only to this King Guitard. Of all that he holds not, frankly I am surprised that the mercenaries to the south have not already challenged him...or better yet, Galicia.”
“And here is where I am called Emperor and you are called Prince,” the elder Arthur turned with a stern eye, “The Kingdom of Galicia is no more strong than Aragon. And I might remind you that the men of the White Company to the south are English as are we. I believe them to wish me to do it rather than they. Once they took the south of France, they did find gold harder to come by. Yet if I enter, and start trouble to the region, they might find fine loot to the areas around Toulouse.”
The Prince showed a wide eye, “You think a partnership with mercenaries? Shall I remind you that the German Empire is already on edge? Trouble remains to Poitou and as I left from Chatillon, I heard that the Emperor Luitpold had raised nearly twenty thousand.”
Emperor Arthur laughed as he looked to his grandson, “You think him to come after me?! Fine enough! Let him! If he wishes to break the truce, then all of my troubles are solved!”
“So you are a provocateur?” the Prince questioned with a raised brow still.
“I am an Emperor and he is a child...even if he be older than you,” the Emperor stepped closer with a firm eye, “And I grow restless with this peace. I am made to wait. I am too old to wait.”
Prince Arthur found a sadness, “So my mother is meant to suffer?”
“Nay,” his grandfather was quick to answer, “Yet she must wait her turn. I’ve secured Scotland time and again. If it comes to it...I will do so one more time...or as many times as it takes. Yet I am not done to the east. I am not done with the man that sits the throne to Julich...whomever that is.”
The Prince kept his sad eye, “As much as you have lost to there, grand-papa...and for what you have gained...when will it ever be enough?”
Emperor Arthur turned back to the window and nearly found a tear, “I made a mistake with your father, lad. I was never truly honest enough with him about my mind. I’ll not do that again with you. I lost my father to those lands. I lost my son. I would peaceably give over mine own life to change that. Yet I cannot. Here I am...having seen seventy and one summers...and I am no closer to finding satisfaction. As it concerns me...I hope to die on the fields of Julich or anywhere else within that wretched land. I know no thing but battle so let the boy come at me. He’ll find his as I find mine...and mayhap we shall both find mutual satisfaction in our misery.”
“As you say, grand-papa...” Prince Arthur stepped closer and looked to his back, “...you are seventy and one. How much longer can you war?”
With a slight laugh, the Emperor turned to his grandson with a grin, “As long as breath remains to me. It is all I have left. That...and you. So let these two old men find their agreement to Limousin. It will make Lord Baudouin stronger. It will make you stronger within France for us having done so. And mayhap? It will give me my dying wish.”
“I do not think you wish to die, grand-papa,” the Prince was quick to suggest with certainty, “I believe you to only wish vengeance.”
Emperor Arthur held to his shoulder, “They are one and the same, lad. One and the same.”
* * *
Melun Castle – August 1351
Melun Castle – August 1351
“Were they, father? Was it worth it?”
“The lad is right, monsieur. A grande armee...yet for what purpose?”
“You held your goal, sire...yet what was won?”
“And you would never give over yourself, husband...and you well know it!”
Though it remained warm to the chamber as the old man sat his wheeled chair, the voices returned and he gained a chill once more, “I need not answer to you! I will answer only to God!”
“Trust me, my son...he will find you wanting.”
“I have found no thing wanting but you!” the old man called out.
“No thing...but your son. And the other. Are you sure?”
The old man craned his neck, “It was for you!!”
“Oh...Arturus...” the voice answered, “...I cannot help you now.”
“Yet I want it father!” he yelled in response, “I need it!”
A silence took over the chamber and the old man looked around awaiting the next voice but only heard a sigh before a final word, “Never patient enough.”
* * *
End of Chapter 12
End of Chapter 12