The Song of Wessex
* * *
Orleans, France – July 1347
The Duchess of Orleans was nearing her sixty eighth year and though she found energy enough for a Lady half her age, she was at times weary after all that she had seen and experienced during her long life. True, she was nearly a decade younger than the Emperor Arthur, but she had loved him from afar and held close to him in nearly every way. There was hope that she may live out the rest of her days in peace, but events carried on and she could not settle when the safety of the realm was at stake.
When he was ushered into her hall, the Lady sat tall but dismissed her court so she might speak alone. When all had filed out, Lady Adela stepped down the few stairs and tried to smile, “My Lord Bishop...it seems that you have been all over these last many months. My people tell me that you are hardly to Chatillon in Reims before there are sightings back to court at Melun. And at last wording, I am told that you went so far as to visit my dear granddaughter to Bayeux in Mortain. One does wonder when you have the time to give the good lessons in Christ’s love to the new young Lord of Champagne?”
“As I am sure that you are aware, my Lady...” Bishop Siegmund returned her smile, “...I am tasked with a good many other things, especially now after the tragic passing of the Prince.”
Though Lady Adela showed the sign of the cross, she answered quickly, “Are we certain that it was tragic? Though I hold all of my love towards His Majesty and for the late King of England who died too young...I may not say the same about the late Prince. He was held away from God and Holy Church for a reason, my Lord Bishop. Surely you, of all people, may understand that.”
“I know that His Majesty is grief-stricken over the event, my Lady,” the Bishop replied, “And though the young Lord Anselm be too young at the now to understand, someday he too will be heart sick when he considers it.”
Lady Adela stood as tall as she might and asked with a stern eye, “Whom do you serve, sir?”
“God the Father Almighty,” Siegmund answered readily.
She waved a hand, “Do not be coy, sir. That much is to be guessed by your robes. I must ask again...whom do you serve?”
“Then...His Majesty, of course,” the Bishop gave a firm nod.
“Do you?” Lady Adela asked as she moved away to stand before her large hearth, “Not the boy? The young Lord?”
Bishop Siegmund tried not to stammer, “I...of course. He as well.”
When she sat, she draped an arm over an adjoining chair and looked back to beckon the Bishop to her, “Shall I speak to you a story, my Lord Bishop? You should sit for it might take awhile.”
As he did so, Adela turned back to the flames, “No one could say that I have lived a poor life, and most especially not for myself. It would appear ungrateful to do so after the gifts that God Almighty granted me as well as the love and favor offered by the King now Emperor. Yet it was not without its challenges. I was matched with a man that loved me not. Loved few indeed but those men that he kept round himself and I spent my first years of marriage away from him. Yet my Lord Gerald was well aware of his station...his place, especially being the son of the preferred Lady Emma of Anjou. And so we did...somehow...find two daughters. When my mother died, I took my place here to Orleans and got on with the business of ruling in the name of His Majesty when he was King. I raised my girls myself...not my Lord husband. And then...when they were matched...sent them off into the world.”
She stopped to take a small sip of wine before continuing, “My eldest died young...but my youngest...well, she was sent to York and matched well to their Duke Lionel. But then she died in childbirth with their last issue. My sweet Alice...she deserved better. Especially with that last issue. Can you consider the name of that child, my Lord Bishop?”
“You speak of the Lady Isabella,” Siegmund offered with a caring eye.
Lady Adela showed him a worrisome look before turning back to the fire, “From the day of her birth, that child has been no thing but harm. My granddaughter. She killed her mother. She likely killed her sister. And now? I think her to wish mine own death so that she may inherit Orleans as I hold no other close kin. And the strange thing, my Lord Bishop? I love her still. She is of my flesh and the daughter of my precious Alice. I could not bring her harm and so I was able to convince His Majesty to afford her leniency. He has done so and now? I must do the same for him.”
“What makes you think that she...” the Bishop began to ask before she stood with surprising speed and hovered over him.
“I told you not to play coy, sir. Many overlook my knowledge and capacity, my Lord Bishop. I have been privy to more secrets and plots than you have ever given prayer. All of my life, I have strove to do right...for Orleans and my family...for the realm and His Majesty. When others would seek their own preferment...I stood by Arthur. And I will now do so again.”
“What do you mean to do?” Bishop Siegmund suddenly offered a question to his eyes.
She stepped back and turned to warm her hands to the fire, “The trouble is not from my Isabella. I could handle her on a poor day. She plays at plots while others break their fast, and when they are sated, she will never be. It is in her nature. Yet she is barely even a pawn. I did ask of you...whom do you serve? I held hope that you might say the boy. The young Lord due to inherit so much. It is Isabella’s intention to find another for France, is it not?”
The Bishop was silent for a time before finally giving answer, “It is, my Lady.”
“Yet she is not the considerable foe that you might think,” Adela replied without turning, “There is more threat from others after the death of the Prince. Ones...mayhap...that you did not consider when you assisted.”
“My Lady...I...” Bishop Siegmund stood to protest.
Adela turned with a fury in her eye, “You would be silent, sir! As I told you…I am aware of more than many would suspect. I cannot say why you did it...and what is more, I do not care. What matters now is the child. That is your charge and the one that I give to you once more. Unless, of course...you would wish His Majesty to hear what I have to say?”
He was contrite and so Adela continued, “You see, my Lord Bishop...the one you did not consider when you entered into such a plot was another woman...another Lady. In truth, the most important one. The Prince’s mother!”
“The Queen of Scotland?” Bishop Siegmund questioned.
“The very one,” Adela stepped closer, “All of his life, Arthur of Wessex has spent building this Empire and the cornerstone to it was Scotland. Where his son would rule by his Queen Maud and their son would inherit for ever after. The father, King Ælfstan took France. He was to take Scotland. And now, by your lack of careful plotting, there is another in line. Not your charge Lord Anselm. Instead, it is told to me that she puts forward her second son Prince Reginald. Can you imagine what His Majesty may do when this comes to light?”
Bishop Siegmund attempted to act strong, “Surely he would force her to change her mind. The Queen of Scotland is merely a vassal at this late date!”
“That you are a man of God does not mean that you hold no children,” Adela sighed as she answered, “Look only to my granddaughter and her two from the Bishop of Bayeux. Yet what you will never be is a mother, sir. It is not within your ken to understand what we may do to protect our own. They are thrust from our body after long months of nurture and care and then they are most vulnerable. We would do anything to keep them safe. Queen Maud, more than anyone, would do so. She’s lost her husband...lost her child. Not unlike myself. Thus she has little else to lose...except her second son.”
“I am not certain what you are proposing, my Lady,” the Bishop showed more question, “If in fact...you are proposing anything.”
Lady Adela moved even closer to within a whisper in her voice, “His Majesty is seventy and six, my Lord Bishop. His time begins to run out, God save us all. When he leaves us to join the Almighty, we all must be certain to protect what he has built. That means England...Wales...Ireland. That means here to France. And that means Scotland. All of these crowns...and the Imperial...must land on the very young head of your charge. It must be Anselm and no other.”
Bishop Siegmund showed some shock, “You do not suggest...”
“Come now, my Lord Bishop...” Adela showed no smile, “...tell me not that now is when you grow squeamish? If you are in, then you are all in. I am not one to plot. Rather, I am the one to thwart them for His Majesty. Yet now...I must do for him what he has done for me.”
“If His Majesty so wishes...then he should be the one to suggest such things,” the Bishop tried to argue.
Adela held firm, “He holds no time or mind for it at the now, sir. His thought is to his war and his grief. Hagenau and Trier are won as battles and he calls up another seven thousand...from York. His Lords will fight for him and he wishes with every bone in his body to be there with them, I am certain. You see...I know him better than you, my Lord Bishop. I trust him. I love him. And I am not certain that he could do what I suggest. Yet I? I am willing to do that for him. For the realm. For the Empire.”
“What you suggest...” Siegmund showed a serious eye, “...would be difficult.”
“You studied under the Bishop Ewan of St. Andrews, sir,” Lady Adela turned back to the fire, “So you then know Scotland. Use that. I would take care of my granddaughter. And you will take care of His Majesty’s grandson Reginald. In the after, we shall all be safe. Scotland, France and the Empire. And His Majesty, Arthur of Wessex.”
Siegmund was silent for a time before giving response, “I did not think you such a Lady.”
Adela turned back once more with a stern eye, “Yet I know you as such a Bishop, sir. Do not fail. Reginald of Scotland cannot live or we shall all be without. As I asked you before...whom do you serve? Let that be your guide.”
* * *
Liege, Germany – October 1347
Lord Jordan was incensed that he was forced away from the siege at Julich. After their last several victories these many months, the British forces were now able to siege at will throughout the German Empire. Only small bands of Luitpold’s armies could be found and each was routed in turn. That is until another showed up. A larger one...again.
It was the infuriating thing about fighting this so-called Holy Roman Empire. Vast resources even under a fool could be put to good use. And while the end was inevitable, as it always was, it would once more take months and months. That and a new actor was to the field. Jordan found it no coincidence that after the sad death of Prince Arthur, that the Lord Duke Richard of Leinster had made his way to Germany and the war. Had His Majesty called him forth or was this an act of a volunteer? Or worse, one hoping to be close when his time came to try and take what he considered his?
Namur was located at the confluence of the Sambre and Meuse rivers and a great Merovingian citadel overlooked the town from a rocky spur. A fine bridge spanned the Meuse connecting the town of Namur to the north with the Bishopric of Liege to the south and here is where Jordan stopped as he awaited his peer. The Duke of Leinster was not long in arriving. Trotting his fine destrier over the bridge as if he owned it, Richard fanned out his men and approached the Lord Marshal remaining on his mount, “A good morrow to you, my Lord Jordan. I do smell blood in the air and I think it to be fine German blood!”
“You think the river to run red, my Lord?” Jordan had dismounted and fed his destrier a handful of grain, “It may well be your blood if you show yourself without a care.”
Richard grinned, “We’ve crossed this span easily. The seven thousand within refuse to come out and offer proper battle.”
“I did not necessarily mean the Germans, sir,” Jordan brushed at his mount, “It is a good thing that Lord Simon remains to Hainaut if you are to be here.”
Finally Lord Richard landed with a thud and handed off his reins to a squire, “There is reason that I am here and not to Hainaut, sir. Thought to join you in Julich until this rabble presented themselves.”
“And I promptly gained your word in due time,” Jordan replied with some disdain, “Did you not think your three thousand enough?”
“I saw no reason to chance it, my Lord,” Richard pulled a flask from his side and drank as if without care.
Jordan remained unimpressed, “You chance much, Dickie. Not only with your foolish movements within these parts, but so too with the wrath of His Majesty if he did not call you forth.”
“Who is to say that he did not?” Richard asked with a grin.
“Only he and you, sir,” Jordan replied, “And I know which of you I trust more.”
Lord Richard put away his flask and turned to look out over the river, “It is a perilous time for His Majesty. Not only does his health and age keep him from the field, but now he loses his heir. A most troubled time.”
“His Majesty holds an heir still...in every place that he rules,” Jordan was quick to answer, “What is more, he is as much to the field as you and I. This war holds a large front and he manages it all from his perch at Melun. Poitiers has fallen to the Lord Mayor Eric and Ath near Hainaut will soon follow. I was making quite good progress at Julich until you arrived. I was aware that the Lord of Norfolk had been sent for. I did not hear your name mentioned, sir.”
“Surely a letter lost in transit,” Richard replied and held a cloth to his nose as he turned, “And besides...an outbreak of the pox to Leinster. I had to get away for a time and what better place to bide it than by your side, my Lord Marshal.”
Jordan sniffed with derision, “Dickie...you are unloved and an ill omen in nearly every way. Yet...I hold little choice but to fight alongside you if chance is made to place another victory before His Majesty. I am no man of court as you might wish to be. I hold only a martial mind and that is what matters. I am loyal to His Majesty and will win for him at every cost. If I may trust that you will do the same, then let us force these men of Germany out in the open.”
“Now there is a good Lord Marshal,” Richard smiled, “I have scouted the banks and found a place for you to forge at the rear of the citadel. I’ll cross back to my men and hope to see you very soon.”
Jordan sighed, “Of course you would offer me the harder placement...but so be it. We’ve now ten to their seven, my Lord. Let us make it count.”
