The Song of Wessex
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To all - Both scenes above are important, but the first with the Emperor and Prince arguing was a treat for me to write. The sickness event helped tremendously so that I could weave that in and show an Arthur closer to the one we meet in the 1351 segments. What happens there helps explain more about the Prince later as well, but the biggest assist was helping to weave the earlier and later Arthurs in a believable way. I won't deny that he is probably gaining some bit of dementia (which we have seen a little with his dreams/apparitions in the later segments) and he is likely misrepresenting things when he says things like "always" because in truth, Arthur has lost. Just not in the manner he thinks. In fact, it has been and will continue to be one of his defining traits - this idea that he never loses. I get miles of added benefit from it as we close out the story.
And though he has not yet commented, I purposefully gave @Bullfilter a few movie references to enjoy in both scenes. That was fun. See if you can find them.
Just popping in on Christmas morning after Max got his stocking full of treats (of which he has already had 4!) and awaiting the meal later with the family. A very Merry Christmas to everyone and thank you for giving me the gift of your eyes and words over these past many years. As Uncle Eddie says in Christmas Vacation - "That's the gift that just keeps on giving..." Trust me...you guys are much better than the Jelly of the Month club. Truly, thank you!
As you call him Arthur the Younger is now quite a sad figure in his own right. Or will become so. There seems to be nothing he can do to satisfy Emperor Arthur andmuch of that may be the remaining hurt caused by the earlier assassination attempt. Now, is the Emperor becoming senile? See below.
You will find I have Arthur saying many things like this as he gets older. His memory and reality sometimes may not equal one another. Again, see below.
To all - Both scenes above are important, but the first with the Emperor and Prince arguing was a treat for me to write. The sickness event helped tremendously so that I could weave that in and show an Arthur closer to the one we meet in the 1351 segments. What happens there helps explain more about the Prince later as well, but the biggest assist was helping to weave the earlier and later Arthurs in a believable way. I won't deny that he is probably gaining some bit of dementia (which we have seen a little with his dreams/apparitions in the later segments) and he is likely misrepresenting things when he says things like "always" because in truth, Arthur has lost. Just not in the manner he thinks. In fact, it has been and will continue to be one of his defining traits - this idea that he never loses. I get miles of added benefit from it as we close out the story.
And though he has not yet commented, I purposefully gave @Bullfilter a few movie references to enjoy in both scenes. That was fun. See if you can find them.
Just popping in on Christmas morning after Max got his stocking full of treats (of which he has already had 4!) and awaiting the meal later with the family. A very Merry Christmas to everyone and thank you for giving me the gift of your eyes and words over these past many years. As Uncle Eddie says in Christmas Vacation - "That's the gift that just keeps on giving..."
Trust me...you guys are much better than the Jelly of the Month club. Truly, thank you! 
Heh, have been away for family Christmas and am just checking on stuff now.
Arthur’s behaviour towards his grandson struck me as more “many a true thought spoken out loud when a bit delirious” than final dotage, but perhaps with hints of both.
I seem to have failed to pick up the movie refs - the only thing that pinged for me on the way through was “it is to laugh”, but that was more Daffy Duck, methinks.
I wonder if he’s in the wheelchair at the end in part because the leg did indeed have to get the old chop chop: bloodletting ain’t going to stop a gangrenous infection (if it comes to that).
Arthur’s behaviour towards his grandson struck me as more “many a true thought spoken out loud when a bit delirious” than final dotage, but perhaps with hints of both.
I seem to have failed to pick up the movie refs
- the only thing that pinged for me on the way through was “it is to laugh”, but that was more Daffy Duck, methinks. I wonder if he’s in the wheelchair at the end in part because the leg did indeed have to get the old chop chop: bloodletting ain’t going to stop a gangrenous infection (if it comes to that).
Well, the biggest one was this:Heh, have been away for family Christmas and am just checking on stuff now.
Arthur’s behaviour towards his grandson struck me as more “many a true thought spoken out loud when a bit delirious” than final dotage, but perhaps with hints of both.
I seem to have failed to pick up the movie refs
I wonder if he’s in the wheelchair at the end in part because the leg did indeed have to get the old chop chop: bloodletting ain’t going to stop a gangrenous infection (if it comes to that).
I figured you might pick up on The Godfather reference.
As for Arthur, much of his anger is as much about himself as it is about his grandson. He hates being stuck to Melun instead of off to war in his comfort zone. Let's just say it is creating ripples.
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Melun Castle - January 1343
Melun Castle - January 1343
After months of agonizing pain and the true threat of losing his leg due to infection, Emperor Arthur finally felt better. The Lady of Orleans had sent her personal physician that had kept her mother alive for many years past her prime, and the man was the only one that did not advocate amputation. Tinctures had reduced the fever and many poultices had been used rather than the letting of blood to reduce the ague to Arthur’s wound. He still could not walk on it yet, but his health was far better than before. If only his mind could agree.
There remained the ongoing war against the aged King of Aragon who refused to accept defeat even if it was inevitable. There was now the ongoing disruption of relations with his grandson, now quiet to Chatillon these past months after their confrontation. No letters were sent and no news was had out of Champagne. The Prince had kept to himself and his confidences quiet and close. Lord Randolph had returned to England and did as the Emperor commanded, tallying up notes aplenty on the issues that would require a tending upon Arthur’s return. And then Lord Randolph suddenly died in December.
Only at fifty and nine, which the Emperor felt was still a young age compared to his own seventy and three. Yet next to the Duke Jordan, the Lord Marshal and Earl John, his master of spies, the late Chancellor had been finally close to him and it was a great loss. The Bishop of Southwark and the Lord of Lothian, both men of the council, pleaded the case for the Earl of Westmorland to follow and be named Lord Chancellor in his stead. Arthur recalled greatly some of the adventures of this Earl from the time before the last war with the Germans when Edward de Beaumont was a much younger man. Yet from where he sat, he could only hope the now much older Earl had learned his lessons and would be true.
Through the cold winter months at Melun, Arthur healed and grew stronger. He took to sitting by the great hearth in his solar and did his best to keep up his correspondence with all. He was still not strong enough to do so for more than a few hours at a time, but this Emperor would not allow this fatigue to conquer him. He’d never been bested in battle, so what was a little illness? Thankfully, on this day he received a well desired visitor and the Emperor perked up when Lord Jordan arrived.
“Your Majesty!” the Lord Marshal offered a deep bow as he entered the solar and then stood with a smile, “There you are looking the very picture of health!”
Arthur grinned, “I’ve told you not to flatter me, Jordy. Yet I do think to be on the mend.”
“As I knew that you would, sire,” Lord Jordan suggested as he bent to a knee next to the Emperor’s chair, “And mayhap the news I bring to you will lift you up even higher.”
“Guitard has found his defeat?” Arthur questioned with some hope.
Lord Jordan smiled, “In a manner, sire. Limoges falls to you and all he holds left to him in Limousin is Rochechouart and Chalus, neither of which he can find at the now as we hold the countryside.”
“Grand news,” the Emperor replied with less enthusiasm, “Yet at war we remain. I presume that you have left Baudouin in charge as you come to here?”
The Lord Marshal gave nod, “I have done so, Majesty. He moves on Rochechouart as we speak and I return on the morrow to join him. I merely wished to bring you this news in person for I know how well it might raise your spirits.”
“You do me a service, Jordy...as always,” Arthur replied with a gentle hand to his shoulder, “If only I might find as much honor from the Lord Richard to Mallorca or the Lord Mayor...”
“Surely you know, sire,” Jordan answered quickly, “Lord Eric is back to Braganca after his poor showing of before. He...as we all do...wishes for a speedy end to this thing for your benefit. I think him to have been too eager to please you, Majesty. Yet he remains a good soldier.”
Emperor Arthur gave nod as he gestured for some ale, “Know it well I do, Jordy. His worth and yours will be needed in the days to come.”
Standing to fetch the Emperor his drink, Lord Jordan questioned over his shoulder, “The war to Scotland, sire?”
“Much and more than that, sir,” Arthur looked on, “While we take to our adventure here, events move along across the channel. There remains the trouble with your Earl who does not give in to your son...”
“It will be sorted, Majesty,” Lord Jordan returned to hand the Emperor his ale.
Arthur accepted but showed a stern eye, “Mayhap in time, but so too is there continued trouble between Leinster and Cornwall. Rodrigo is gone leaving a Lady to rule and Richard is to Mallorca. Worse still...my grandson Eadgar finds trouble to Thomond in Ireland.”
“Most unfortunate, sire,” Lord Jordan again bent to his knee, “Yet we will surely win here soon enough. And once we have, your return will most assuredly calm the spirits of those in England and Ireland.”
Arthur took a drink and then answered, “Fear me, they might...yet our trencher will remain full in the years ahead. For over a year we have been to this place and without proper regency, the fools do play. Now that Lord Randolph is gone, I have few left to trust. I had hope to gain agency with Queen Maud in Scotland, but without Lord Randolph...”
“She may not trust the Earl of Westmorland as much,” Jordan understood.
“Indeed not,” Arthur agreed, “And one cannot walk without putting a foot before the other. I intend...nay...needs must go to her aid. Yet Jordy...we have two years before us. Two years to put down these revolts and petty arguments. Two years to secure once more the Kingdom of the north for my grandson. Two years before the treaty ends with the fool Luitpold.”
Lord Jordan gave nod, “You will be satisfied, Your Majesty.”
“Two years to do this and the other,” Arthur pressed, “And I cannot yet walk myself.”
“Day by day, you gain your strength, sire,” Lord Jordan answered, “I will return to Lord Baudouin and we shall find you your victory to Limousin. I promise you, Majesty...I will see your peace within months. And then? You will surely see to peace in all things.”
Arthur found no smile, “Peace within our borders, but not without. I am not yet done with the east.”
The Lord Marshal stood, “Then two years, sire. I will not wait for the morrow. I will leave tonight and gain you victory. Let the German tremble for he surely knows that we are coming.”
“Good man, Jordy,” the Emperor found a larger smile, “Make it so.”
* * *
Breton Navarre – March 1343
Breton Navarre – March 1343
“Are you certain that this is the right course of action, my Lord?” the Duke of Bourbon asked as he tracked close to the Lord Marshal through the foothills of the Pyrenees, “I maintain that we had Rochechouart well under siege and it would have fallen within a month.”
Lord Jordan kept at a steady pace, “We have not the time for that, sir. I told you. His Majesty needs must see this war at an end. His health grows, but his mind is still at unease.”
“Indeed...” Baudouin gave nod, “...the trouble to England. I may never understand your Lords there.”
“No better or worse than French Lords, sir,” Jordan answered as he kept his eyes to the road, “France is pacified because the Emperor holds court to Melun. And when he is to Westminster...that is when they will play.”
“My Lord Jordan...” the French Duke looked over, “...we have grown close these last many years. I respect you as I hope is returned, but as we have talked about many times...this Emperor grows no younger and the Prince...is wanting.”
The Lord Marshal pursed his brow, “The Prince will need to wait and will be what he is. His Majesty is nowhere near to his deathbed and it is his other grandson that needs must see an assist. First Thomond...and now Ulster? Lord Eadgar of Munster finds his hands full and there is no help for him at the now.”
“Not while Lord Richard holds himself to the south and his men do the dirty work for him,” Baudouin replied.
Lord Jordan kept a frown, “I dare say that the Dukes of Leinster and Munster hold no love for one another. Supremacy within Ireland, my Lord. Yet Leinster goes against Cornwall and not the young Eadgar.”
“And the sad passing of their Lady of Cornwall,” Baudouin gave nod.
“Indeed...” Jordan replied, “...she leaves naught but a boy Edmund. And the Earl of Devon was not satisfied by their last peace. Much easier to war against a woman or a child.”
Lord Baudouin kept his own eyes to the road, “Prince Arthur’s finest accomplishment...all for naught.”
“Not for nothing in his eyes,” Jordan replied, “Yet he proves what we feared. Too proud and no man like his father.”
The Duke of Bourbon snorted with derision, “I gain back no years myself, my Lord. I have seen much in my time. No true friend to the Prince...the young King Arthur...but I am glad that I shall not have to see what happens next.”
“No,” Jordan responded with irritation, “You will gain here what is yours and then leave it all to your son...that you detest.”
“He has all the qualities of a detestable man, sir,” Lord Baudouin replied with certainty, “And so do many others. Leinster? Does anyone care for him but himself? Richard holds his own court which no one wishes to visit. True...he takes Alcudia for His Majesty...but Mallorca is not the war won. Instead, he sends his men to play havoc while the Emperor is gone.”
“Many within England do,” Jordan gave a curt nod.
Baudouin showed a side eye, “Your own Earl, sir. You are gone to fight the Emperor’s war and all the while, your lands are defiled. Do you never grow suspect?”
“I was raised by the Prince...” Jordan sat taller to his saddle, “...by His Grace King Arthur called the young King. I would fight until my last day for Wessex...as your father did, sir. I know what His Majesty desires and as he is put low, it is up to us to see it true. Whether to Ireland...England...France...any part of his Empire...”
“And to here,” Baudouin followed quickly, “Every bit of ground. It is all in his sight.”
Lord Jordan looked on with certainty, “Yes...it is. We shall finish this, my Lord. And when we are done, you may find yourself to Scotland. Ireland too, mayhap. And all with time enough to give him his satisfaction.”
“Another war with the east,” Lord Baudouin shook his head with a sigh, “One last gasp before he finds his maker as I will soon do myself. I tell you, my Lord...I think not to be there for I think to be gone. And...I think not to miss it for I hold no desire as His Majesty.”
The Lord Marshal spurred his mount, “Then think only of our objective now, sir. Yours. We move to Zaragoza to defeat this Moslem ally of the King of Aragon. When done, surely this war will end and you may go to your home to die in peace...and with your gain. For myself?”
“All the spoils in the world given to you by this Emperor,” Baudouin moved to catch up, “And hopefully not the fate that has followed so many others in his wake.”
Lord Jordan rode even harder, “To Zaragoza, my Lord!”
The Duke of Bourbon watched him at a distance and said to himself, “And all that follows...my Lord.”
I find the doubts of these Lords disturbing. Is it only them or is it widespread? And is it founded in reality or an empty fear? If it is widespread, that is dangerous territory. Lord Jordan might be true, but how many others?
I wonder if it is not so much dementia, as fever and cantankerous age meaning the true Arthur is at last revealed. This great and glorious Emperor, resplendent in his glory - with a heart black with curdled black through the deceit and murders. I don't doubt we shall see him starker yet, as age and infirmity in slowly make him shed all the few remaining incidental contrivances he bears to mask this truly diabolical ophidian that constricts the House of Wessex its in its folds.
I hope you have a fortunate and wholesome New Year.
I hope you have a fortunate and wholesome New Year.
The Emperor Arthur’s would not be the first Wessex king with a tainted heart beneath a builder exterior. Not all bad, not all good, entirely self-centred in that he cannot distinguish the empire from himself and his house. Which actually makes sense in both a game and narrative sense.
He’s not done yet, as we all know. And what follows him could be upheaval and chaos.
He’s not done yet, as we all know. And what follows him could be upheaval and chaos.
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To all - I hope all had a lovely Christmas and/or other holiday over the last week and that all will enjoy a Merry New Year to come. Been a bit down from a sinus infection after my Christmas but the next episode follows. As always, thank you for your eyes and your words!
One could say that it is spread wider than is thought by either Prince or the Emperor. Part of it is trying to model somewhat the continued looks to the election in France someday. There are other reasons of plotting, of course, but you can see who supports who in that screen and for some reason Baudouin never seemed to catch on to the Prince.
Certainly the combination of age, injury and other factors is causing the well placed facade to fall away. Of course, Arthur will never remove the mask he wears for himself.
All of that and more. There is definitely that sense that there is no difference between Arthur and the empire he built. To him, it would not exist without his own hand and sword. He can say it is/was to avenge his father or son, or some other thing, but we all know it is merely power. And the more power he gains, the more he wants still.
To all - I hope all had a lovely Christmas and/or other holiday over the last week and that all will enjoy a Merry New Year to come. Been a bit down from a sinus infection after my Christmas but the next episode follows. As always, thank you for your eyes and your words!
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Melun Castle - May 1343
Melun Castle - May 1343
“Little Nico!” the Emperor shouted when he spied his cousin, “What a treat!”
The Duke of Norfolk made a bow and then stood tall with a grin, “I suppose I shall always be little Nico to you, sire.”
Arthur smiled, “Of course, cousin. The precious apple of your father’s eye. Yet what brings you to France?”
“To see you, of course,” Nicholas answered as he accepted a cup, “All have been worried over you since we heard that you were injured. Yet you look to be up and around.”
“Slowly,” Arthur pointed to his leg, “I grow stronger by the day, but I cannot stand upon it for more than an hour at a time. Yet I hope to be in riding shape within a fortnight. Much to do and no time to wait.”
The Duke grinned, “You have always been impatient.”
“Indeed, no virtue of mine,” Arthur gestured to a chair, “Yet sit with me. Tell me of events to England? How does your son to Cornwall now that it is a young boy he fights?”
Nicholas joined the Emperor with a disappointed face, “I supported him before...as I know that you did, cousin. Yet Rodrigo is long gone at the now, so I am uncertain what he fights against. Mayhap he wishes to take advantage of the uncertainty to Cornwall. I’ve sent him letter upon letter chiding him for taking such chance while you remain at war, but he is head strong.”
“Sons can be that way, Nico,” the Emperor looked wistfully to his ale.
With a nod, the Duke continued, “Not that the Cornish allies have it much better. Our kin to Northumberland...Lord Alan joins the young Duke but now finds his own trouble to Teviotdale.”
“Revolt and rebellion...it spreads like wildfire,” Arthur suggested with disdain, “Even here to France, I am told that heresy shows itself in Bourges. My son’s wife to Scotland...has her troubles with the highlanders and mayhap even her cousin to Albany. My grandson in Ireland? Thomond and Ulster. And I can do no thing about it until I am finished with this bloody war!”
“Do you regret it?” Nicholas asked, “This war all for the sake of Lord Baudouin?”
Arthur turned with a stern eye, “It is not for his sake, cousin. It is for my claim to France...for the claim of my grandson the Prince.”
“Ah yes...” the Duke gave a serious nod, “...the Prince. I must tell you, cousin...rumor does abound within England that there was a terrible row between the two of you. That he holds himself to silence at Chatillon and wishes no part of you.”
“I detest rumors!” the Emperor frowned, “Yet this one happens to be true. He holds more of his mother the Queen in him than his father, I am afraid. Too ambitious without enough promise, sadly. Not like his father at all. And yet? He is my heir.”
“And a dangerous one at that, cousin,” Nicholas suggested with concern.
Arthur waved a hand, “I hold no fear from the lad. Let him sulk. He need not like me, but he will damn well respect my authority! And if he doesn’t understand it now, he surely will when I am gone.”
“Which may be sooner rather than later if you keep this up,” the Duke pointed to the Emperor’s leg.
Arthur skewed a brow, “You wish to join my grandson in disapproval? Pray tell it is not something learned from my Arturo. I’ve spent my life fighting, Nico. I’ve been gut hurt...lost countless mounts beneath me...felt the sting of many a blade throughout my career. And I do not lose. God may not love me, cousin...yet He blesses me all the same.”
The Duke held a kind hand to Arthur’s arm, “Your trials have been more than many, sire. And you have won much...built much. Do you not now think it time to find your peace and calm?”
“At the first...I cannot,” Arthur stated quickly, “Not while war rages on. Lord Jordan promises me a quick end and is now to Zaragoza to prove it...”
“...yet even when done to here, I am not finished,” Arthur continued, “I have seen war many times with the man of Germany...so called Holy Roman Emperor...yet God did not grant my long life to rest. I will gain no sleep for when I do, I am haunted. Haunted by voices. Haunted by a face...then two...and now three. When I became King of England and Wales...of France, I vowed that day to avenge my father. To burn to the ground Hainaut and all that surrounds it. Now? Julich too is in my sights. I am now named Emperor and all that I have built...all that I have done...is for that very purpose and that purpose alone.”
Lord Nicholas hesitated and then asked, “Has your effort been...worth it, cousin?”
With furrowed brow, Arthur looked again to his ale, “I have no other choice. It must be.”
Suddenly, a furious pounding upon the chamber door alerted them and the Emperor called forth. A nervous groom entered and handed Arthur a note with a deep bow. As he read it, a smile grew across his face and Arthur turned to the Duke with a glint in his eye, “And just like that, Nico...I take what is mine!”
“The war?” Nicholas questioned with excitement, “The King of Aragon? He relents?”
Arthur grinned, “Apparently he did not trust his infidel allies to make much of a stand. Lord Jordan rudely greeted them in Zaragoza and before it was even won, this fool Guitard sent word. He begs peace and Limousin is mine.”
“Well done, sire!” the Duke smiled.
The Emperor held the note in his hand and considered it, “I wished that I had more to do with it...yet it is won.”
“And as I am sure your son might ask were he here…” Nicholas looked on, “...where to next, cousin?”
Arthur felt a salty tear sting his eye, “I wish that Arturo was here. To spy his face...to hear his contempt at my ways...to argue with him as we always did. I would end my quest...if only I could have him back. Yet the Almighty works not in such kindness. Instead, I am made to fight on. Limousin is won. These rebels will taste my wrath. Queen Maud of Scotland will find her champion once more. And then, Nico? Then I shall make my last stand.”
“You are determined?” Nicholas questioned.
Arthur turned to him with a plain face, “I am soon to seventy and three, little Nico. I know not how much time I have left. Yet I have one more grand war in me. I know it. God would not make me suffer so without granting me one last chance to do what I was born to do.”
“You’ve created an Empire, cousin,” Nicholas suggested, “Is that not what is meant?”
“No, sir!” Arthur was adamant, “I will not go to my grave until I have burned Hainaut to the ground. I made a promise nearly fifty years ago and I intend to keep it. And when I am done? God help you all for I can promise no thing more.”
I will give the series this:
Of every aar I've ever read, this map looks the most like an actual medieval world. Completely messed up, with even the empires being a mash together of wildly different crowns and peoples. Iberia and france absolute messes (as they were), the HRE a terrifying dark hole no one wanted to touch much less live in, Brittania mostly under english hands but not quite and no one knows for how long....
Etc etc. Very well done on how this all turned out.
Of every aar I've ever read, this map looks the most like an actual medieval world. Completely messed up, with even the empires being a mash together of wildly different crowns and peoples. Iberia and france absolute messes (as they were), the HRE a terrifying dark hole no one wanted to touch much less live in, Brittania mostly under english hands but not quite and no one knows for how long....
Etc etc. Very well done on how this all turned out.
Ah yes, the promise. A most blessed yet also cursed thing. It brought him an Empire - and lost him his happiness and all good things in life. Pity that.
Typically rich of Arthur - he tells the Prince to stick to Chatillon, and then blames the prince for a rumour of a split.
The longer he reigns, the more despicable he becomes.
The longer he reigns, the more despicable he becomes.
It occurs to me with this chapter, and the previous one with the lords speaking at the end, at how much damage Arthur is doing to his grandson. The last thing a future king needs is to be openly undermined by his predecessor. And that's exactly what old Arthur is doing. He does it in private to Arthur 2.5's face, and pretty much does it in public too. If anyone is damaging the long-term plan, it's him. I mean, even slagging on him for only having daughters - Arthur himself is descended from a powerful English queen!
Arthur is a master of his own delusions though - wistfully lamenting his eldest son (who he would have fallen out with had he not died - Arturo already was tired of his BS), and saying he would end his plans if only he lived. We know full well he wouldn't, even if offered the choice. One does not dedicate themselves to things Arthur has dedicated himself too to be deterred by anything. Age and injury have not stopped Arthur - neither did his wife, daughter in law, or his grandson. I doubt his son being returned to him would either.
Arthur is a master of his own delusions though - wistfully lamenting his eldest son (who he would have fallen out with had he not died - Arturo already was tired of his BS), and saying he would end his plans if only he lived. We know full well he wouldn't, even if offered the choice. One does not dedicate themselves to things Arthur has dedicated himself too to be deterred by anything. Age and injury have not stopped Arthur - neither did his wife, daughter in law, or his grandson. I doubt his son being returned to him would either.
I think young Arthur and the German Emperor should both be afraid, in different ways. As should all Arthur’s enemies - and many of his friends (or followers, anyway). He is relentless and cares not too much what he damages along the way. He has his fears and regrets, but it rarely stops him doing what he believes he ‘must’.
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To all - Ready for the next scene(s) that will follow and they return to familiar themes but add a new wrinkle. Will it benefit? And if so, who? Quite a lot left in the story so hold tight and hopefully enjoy. Thanks for the always awesome comments and your continued following.
Much of that may be the way I play the game. I don't ever try to take too much and when I have inherited lands far away (think Meissen early on or later Genoa) I gave them away as it did not look or seem realistic. Granted, were the rules of warfare and peace a little different in CK2, I might have taken larger chunks of the HRE or even Brittany in past wars but as it is, I have grown slowly but steadily for 300 years and for the most part I am pleased with the borders. Iberia has always been a mess and frankly, so was France before I took it over. I am a little amazed that the HRE is not more fractured after the many, many rebellions of vassals over the years, but then again they are the BGB (previously known as the BWB.)
In many ways, the promise is the instigator for all of Arthur's actions. His prime motivator. And indeed, with it comes all of the pain and suffering that has happened since. It's all baked into his character.
I am pleased you catch that and call him out for it. Very much my intent. As always, nothing is ever Arthur's fault. The blame must always fall at someone else's feet.
Once again, very much my intent. Much of this is building to something other and this is more sowing of the seeds, as it were. And indeed, I purposely included that bit about Arthur's son and how he might do things differently had the young King not died. We all know differently. One more bit of Arthur's delusion towards himself. Arthur (as has been mentioned) is partially built with Henry II as a model and the current Prince Arthur is slightly based on the Black Prince. There are of course many differences between these characters and the real life ones, but their circumstances are quite relatable and it's been fun weaving these two together.
I think anyone in Arthur's orbit should be careful, truth be told. As you suggest above, even his friends are not immune to trouble as it tends to be the end of them (Amedee, Anselm, etc.)
To all - Ready for the next scene(s) that will follow and they return to familiar themes but add a new wrinkle. Will it benefit? And if so, who? Quite a lot left in the story so hold tight and hopefully enjoy. Thanks for the always awesome comments and your continued following.
The Song of Wessex
* * *
Chatillon, France – August 1343
Chatillon, France – August 1343
Lady Maud Hayles nursed the infant at her breast. To many in France, it was an odd sight as there were nursemaids for that, many of which came cheaply enough. Yet this Maud was an English Duchess and married to the very Prince of Scotland and heir to that and so much more. Three daughters she had found. The eldest was now the rightful Lady of Lancaster. Still young at eight going on nine, but already a fine future ahead of her. The next was her namesake Maud, perhaps named for the child’s grandmother as much as she. And then there was little Margaret, not even yet two. Three beautiful daughters...and nary a son.
She knew that it ate at her husband Prince Arthur. All that he had gained...would gain...may hardly seem worth it without an heir of his own. And the terrible fight that he had found with his grandfather. When Arthur returned from Melun, he remained spitting mad and refused to speak on it for weeks. Lady Maud was not the dynamic woman that the Queen of Scotland showed. She was not timid or meek, but did not press when she felt it not her place. Her husband was the Prince, the Duke of Champagne, the heir to the Empire and Scotland. It was to him that her allegiance was owed and she merely waited for him to come to her.
Time enough spent to seclusion, if not banishment, to his Duchy had finally caused Prince Arthur to visit his wife once more and quietly, she thanked God for his separation from His Majesty the Emperor. It allowed her more time with him and she selfishly craved such. His grandfather’s name was rarely permitted within his presence, but Maud had no desire to talk of the Emperor. She only wished to comfort her husband that she loved dearly. Slowly he softened. Eventually visited more and more. And then late in the previous year, she missed her moon cycle once again.
Oh, to give him what he wished! That was all she desired. Every care was taken. Every precaution followed. And then finally, once her screams had subsided and the midwife held her forth her latest child, Maud found the largest smile that had ever graced her face. Tears poured down her cheeks as she held tightly to her newborn. Ruddy faced and with a high pitched cry, she glowed at the sight and sound. Here it was...the son that she had long promised. Healthy and now his father’s heir.
Prince Arthur had been overjoyed and Maud had made certain that few touched the babe but her and her husband. There would be no thing to harm this child and they two would see it grow strong. She sat with him as he slept and bared her breast whenever he was hungry. Changed him, and cleaned him and loved him. Yet they had not yet named him.
The Prince had changed his entire demeanor upon the birth of his son, yet he could not accept a name and there was certainly one that he would not allow. When Arthur entered her chamber on this day, she tried once again, “Husband...you need not name the boy after your grandfather...yet think of your father? Yourself?”
“There have been quite enough of Arthurs for this or any other lifetime, my sweet lamb,” the Prince suggested as he pulled a chair close and watched his wife feed their son, “Yet I think to have finally come to a conclusion.”
Maud smiled, “My grandfather was an Edward...a name of Wessex and it is told a great King. Mayhap?”
“Nay, precious wife,” Prince Arthur leaned into them both and kissed her cheek as he looked to his son, “No Edwards or Eadgars. No Uhtræds or Ælfstans. There is one man that my father revered as much as his own...for whatever it brought him...but I think that this little one shall bear the name of Anselm. Anselm of Wessex...my son and only mine. Not my grandfather’s…not my mother’s. Ours and mine.”
She looked to him with some worry in her eyes, “Are you certain? It is known to many that besides your father...the death of Lord Anselm of Gwynedd greatly pained His Majesty.”
“That is it precisely, my cherub,” the Prince stroked lightly to his son’s head, “And frankly, the only death that ever matters to grand-papa is his own father. Yet I think that this boy here...he will be a living reminder. For all of his days...and as long as grand-papa lives...that things are lost when they are gained. His father...my father. His friend...a constant experience that he will feel every time the name is mentioned.”
Maud showed more concern, “I think that somewhat unfair to our son...to live under that expectation.”
“My sweet dove...” Prince Arthur brushed her face with a loving hand, “...I promise you. There is naught else for my grand-papa to do. He has won his war and yet maintains himself still to Melun Castle. They say that he is healthy...yet I do not believe it. If he were, then he would be first in line to battle this rebellion throughout the realm. He doesn’t. He is named Emperor and is strong...but now he is weak. He still lifts no finger for my mother...calls not for me. Has not even sent word of congratulations at our birthing.”
“I am surprised at that,” Maud agreed with disdain, “He has been on us both for years to have a male heir...and now?”
“No word, Maudy...none,” Arthur gave nod, “Instead, he spends his days fixing what he has broken. The Lord of Leinster returns to Ireland to put down rebellion against my cousin Eadgar. The Lord Mayor Eric slowly makes his way north in case more crops up to France. I just found out that revolt breaks out to Sens. Yet where is Lord Jordan...his mighty Lord Marshal? Biding his time to Dijon with the aged Baudouin and the Lady Elisabeth. Not to here...oh no! Never to help. I am certain that is due to my revered grand-papa the Emperor.”
“You could try again, Arthur,” she said to him in earnest.
He found a stern eye, “I will never try again. Never. I will bring him no physical harm. My mother may play at that again...but not I. I don’t need to. He is aged and ailing...old and decrepit. We? We are young and vibrant, with four children now and surely more on the way. And now with a son and heir for it all. All I need do is wait him out and Chatillon is as fine a place as any. In the meantime...if he should find some discomfort because I will not name my son after him? Well...there are worse things in life, dear heart.”
“You will need to go to Sens yourself, won’t you?” Maud asked with more worry.
Prince Arthur kissed her cheek, “Aye...but it is naught but a rabble. Dealt with soon enough. I will fly home to you as quick as the fastest hawk.”
She felt a tear to her face, but they both looked to the young babe with a loving eye, “Then it is Anselm. Our boy. A good name...for a good son.”
“One that will love his mother and father both,” the Prince followed.
Maud smiled, “And will someday follow you in everything that you build.”
“You have built it, my lamb,” Prince Arthur kissed her once more, “Our home and our family...everything that we are...it is all in you.”
* * *
Cupar, Scotland – January 1344
Cupar, Scotland – January 1344
“Leave us!!!” she yelled to her court and they filed out of the hall at quick pace leaving the Earl to wait with astonishment.
Queen Maud of Scotland stood and paced briskly with her hands to her hips until she finally turned once more to Lord John of Gwynedd, “You have some nerve to come to my court, sir! While not liking him, I had grown used to Lord Randolph. I’m sorry to tell you that you are a poor substitute.”
“His Majesty would be here if he could, Your Grace...” Lord John tried to explain again but she would not hear it.
“Too ill to travel? Or too bitter, I wonder?!”
Lord John lowered his head at first before raising it with certainty, “His Majesty has had much to do since the war for Limousin is over. Pockets of unrest abound throughout the realm and he sees to it from Melun.”
“What know you of unrest, my Lord?!” the Queen was at a frenzy, “As...His Majesty...has been off on his adventure and nearly dying, I am left to fend for myself. For that, I have done well. Trading blows with the highlanders is one thing, however...yet now my cousin’s son comes of age and makes his desires known. Goldenrod of head and young...named for his grandfather, my uncle...he is worse than cousin Mary!”
The Earl gave nod, “Which is why I am here, Your Grace. His Majesty holds no thing but love for you and always wishes to assist you in any way that he can.”
“Is that why he keeps my son from me?!” Maud fumed, “Is that why I am not allowed to see my grandson?!”
Lord John held back a grin, “I think you know well why that is the case. Yet the Prince flourishes in Champagne and I be certain that once these trials are over, there will be all happy families.”
“All happy families?” Maud questioned in anger, “I have known this King...this Emperor...since I was a little girl. Never has such a thing existed, sir! Like ripples on a pond, his rock thrown creates disruption to everything in his wake!”
“Lord Randolph was correct,” Lord John answered, “You are astute, Your Grace. Yet you misjudge His Majesty. He would not see Scotland fail. He would always see you secure.”
Queen Maud paced some more before turning with a sharp eye, “Your father was a good man. Liked him, I did.”
“You honor both him and myself, Your Grace,” John replied.
“Then what think you of my son giving him such honor?” Maud questioned.
The Earl was quick in response, “It is not for me to say, Your Grace. It is a glorious occasion for him to see a son and it is only for the Prince and his Lady wife to decide. His Majesty is pleased and I should think, so too are you.”
“He shows it strangely, my Lord,” Maud furrowed her brow.
Lord John ignored her taunt, “As said...His Majesty fights rebellion throughout Ireland. He holds no time for celebration at the now. However...these rebels are now defeated in Ulster and Killaloe in Munster, and two fine armies await your desire to there.”
“All the while...” Maud pressed her hips, “….my son is caused to fight his own to Sens! Your Lord Marshal does no thing to assist! And there is rebellion to Teviotdale...and what presents to me now!”
“Your Grace...” the Earl tried to explain, “...it is Lord Jordan of Kent that lands within Ireland at the now. He did not come to the Prince’s aid for he found no need. It was well in hand. He comes now to yours as His Majesty is made too sad by your fate. Both Lord Richard and Lord Jordan would happily relieve your elderly Sir James to Ireland should you wish it.”
Maud turned and paced to a stained window in her hall. She looked long and hard before turning back, “My Lord...my husband has now been dead for ten years. I am left with nothing but to beg for my subsistence. Can you understand how hard that may be? I am a Queen and no man’s vassal, yet I must plead and crawl before a man I detest and who detests me. No...answer me not in any other way. That is the truth of it. I am caused to lose one son to Champagne...and the other has now moved to Lancaster with his wife. My eldest daughter is gone to God...and the youngest? Now married and more than a handful to her new husband. In short, sir...I am alone in this world.”
“It need not be so, Your Grace,” Lord John answered with care, “The world of the past is just that. His Majesty now looks to the future...your future and that of your son. He holds no ill will and wishes only to see to your safety and security. If you love your son, the Prince...if you wish for him the best in his future as your heir and that of the Empire...you will then know that you remain His Majesty’s most beloved daughter and most faithful friend.”
“Your words are sweeter than his, my Lord,” Maud remained cautious, “I dare say that they would not come so cleanly from his lips.”
Lord John tried to smile, “Which is why I am sent to you, Your Grace. It is my honor and pleasure to be in your august presence, and I am said to say that if you would but accept his assistance, then all may be made well. As always.”
“None may ever be made well,” Maud answered with a deep frown, “Not unless you or he are able to conjure up my husband and return him to me.”
“Once more, Your Grace…” the Earl offered a caring eye, “...the past cannot be remade. Not for you. Not for His Majesty. Not for his son, the King. You both share in such grief still. A thing to hold tight between you. Allow him to come to your aid for he is most anxious to assist.”
The Scots Queen paced again before stepping down from the dais to look the Earl in the face, “The sad fact is, my Lord John...I hold no choice. I am forever in your master’s debt. I will never say that I regret my actions...but as you say, they are the past and we are at the now. My kingdom is in peril and my son’s inheritance is at risk. I may not see him, yet I will do right by him. For his father. For his future. I am a lonely woman made Queen. I am strong yet made weak, and not by my sex. For my Arthur...both of them...I can do no other but accept.”
“His Majesty will be most pleased by this news,” the Earl made bow and then looked to her with care, “And may I say, Your Grace...my father had naught but kind words to say about you. A most willful Lady...kind of heart and caring...a true monarch in every sense. Were he here, he would be most honored by your son’s naming of his own. And so too is our House. Your strength, and that of the late King...it will prove the future and we should all be proud to call the Prince Emperor.”
Maud turned away from him to step back to her throne, “I need not your sweet words, my Lord. Arthur of Wessex is my father by law...or was. Now? He needs must be my savior and I hate it! Yet for my son...I can find no other choice.”
“The Emperor and the Prince I am sure thank you, Your Grace,” Lord John replied with another bow, “And a promise is made that you will be made whole once again.”
She sat with a sad eye, “Promises are never kept by Wessex, my Lord. I know it only too well.”
Now this naming is a sutble thing from Prince Arthur. Subtle indeed, and perilous. His wife is right to be worried, but one can well understand the Prince's desire to establish some independence from the millstone that is his family. Of course, he remains of Wessex so it has to be something that cuts another in the family - how else could it be - but this is tame compared to some former gambits.
Plus Arthur deserves it.
As for Queen Maud, she is getting quite Wessexian herself, as if contact and proximity rub off. Certainly she is proving adept at discomforting Arthur's lackeys, and betimes the Emperor himself. Getting on a bit herself now, she remains sharp enough to cut to the quick, but still full of sorrow.
Plus Arthur deserves it.
As for Queen Maud, she is getting quite Wessexian herself, as if contact and proximity rub off. Certainly she is proving adept at discomforting Arthur's lackeys, and betimes the Emperor himself. Getting on a bit herself now, she remains sharp enough to cut to the quick, but still full of sorrow.
There are quite a few characters in this work I would not like to be. This Queen is definitely amongst the worst in that regard. Many has fallen in the wake of Arthur the Just, she more than most. As for the son, I don't like the sound of him facing that rabble. No sirre.
The wheels of Arthur’s machinery of state turn inexorably and care not who or what may be ground between or under them. Best to stay out of the way or if you can’t just go along for the ride. Even if you like not where they take you. This is a lesson learned many times by Maud, each iteration more bitter than the last.
I also like the reverse House Lannister reference (if that is what it was) at the end about House Wessex never keeping its keeping its promises.
I also like the reverse House Lannister reference (if that is what it was) at the end about House Wessex never keeping its keeping its promises.