The Song of Wessex
* * *
Julich, Germany – May 1299
Emperor Werner sat at his high table and ate with purpose. He was alone and no one sat below. He was thirty one and neither his wife nor his children loved him. Four of them...two girls...two boys. His eldest son Bruno was off with his mother God knew where, and frankly, he was happy with the peace and quiet. And he held the empire. He had bested his elder brother...both of them, in fact. Viktor was lucky to keep a seat at court such was that English whore that was his wife. And Hugo? The less thought about him, the better. Theirs was not a close family and Werner was happy enough with his feast, his drink and his women.
Yet he was still caused to find interruption when his Chancellor appeared before him and bowed, “Mein Kaiser...I bring word of England.”
“You whoreson! Arschloch!” Werner cursed and threw a chicken leg at him, “Can I not have my time?!”
Folkhard bent to a knee and lowered his head, “I beg apology, Mein Kaiser. I thought that you should know.”
“Know what other victories this gottverdammt Arthur finds?!” Werner sat forward in anger, “You should come and tell to me that he has died in the dark forests of Scotland! It was a great day when his father met his maker and I long for the day that I hear that news again!”
“I am sorry that I cannot tell you that, Mein Kaiser,” the Chancellor pushed ahead with a nervous voice, “It is said that the King of the English would take this land of Scotland within a year, and from news told to me he is likely to do so. He leads his forces himself along with his French Lord...and he wins.”
“I would as soon take your head than hear another word escape your lips, mein herr!” Werner nearly tipped over his table such was his anger, “Leave this hall and do not return to me until you have news better to me ears!!”
Not risking a beheading, the Chancellor did just that and escaped the hall with his life. The Emperor sat back down and looked to the trencher before him in disgust. The juices of the fowl seemed to seep and looked as if blood to him. He pushed it away into a great mess and cursed again as he left the hall to find his chambers. At least one good thing might find him this night. A juicy little thing he had found when last to Koln. Said to have been the paramour for the Archbishop himself, Werner was happy enough to steal her away.
As he entered his chamber, there she was. Brunhilde...fair of hair...blue eyed...buxom. She had loosened her dress just enough to tease and when he closed the door, she smiled and poured him a goblet of wine, “I would wait all night...but you do tarry.”
“A man has an appetite!” Werner went to her for an embrace, “A man needs his energy!”
She took him in and allowed his greasy fingers to trace her face and his sloppy mouth to kiss her lips. As if he had not found a meal, he was ravenous and she finally pushed away and teased at him as she pulled up her skirt and showed him a leg, “I am encumbered, oh great German Kaiser! What will you do?”
Werner grinned and stepped back, “You may lose your dress, fraulein. Take it away so that I may see you in full.”
“Liebschen!” she demurred as she held her arms to her chest, “I am but a fair maiden! And you are untoward!”
They both grinned as he moved to the trestle table and poured her some wine, “Then take some courage. I am vexed this night and you may need it.”
Brunhilde offered a playful pout as she put her arms around him, “What troubles you, mein herr? You are too bothered...especially when you have this.”
After another deep kiss, Werner held her away and answered, “You have not the mind to understand. Do as I say and allow me to forget. You are so very good at that!”
“Yet you hold too many clothes...mein Kaiser,” she teased as she unbuckled his breaches and moved to her knees. After a time, he was inflamed and pushed her to the bed, nearly tearing off her dress. They were savage in their lovemaking and when they were through, Werner took deep breaths and wiped at his sweaty chest.
“That wine! Bring it me! I shall quench my thirst and conquer once again!”
Brunhilde did as demanded and returned with two goblets. Handing one to him, she grinned, “Do not take long. I am not yet satisfied.”
“You will be! Worry not!” Werner took a long drink and threw the empty goblet away before pulling her to him again, “I think to conquer the south as much as the north this night!”
As he moved in for a kiss, she held him away and teased again, “You do not mean...the Italian way?!”
Tossing her in the bed, he lay on top of her and grinned, “I would call it the German way. They know nothing to the south!”
“Yet...” Brunhilde held his head away, “...what happens there?”
Werner began to speak but found a gurgle in his throat. When the words did not come, he pushed away and fell towards the floor. Brunhilde watched for a moment before she moved from the bed and pulled a cover to her shoulder. Kneeling, she watched as the Emperor clawed at his neck and face.
“What is it that you speak, liebschen?” she showed a caring eye.
“You?!!” was all that Werner could pronounce as his throat clenched and his eyes grew wide.
She offered a feigned worry, “Me? I am well. Yet you do not look so good.”
Werner was able to point with his hand and as he held it up, she laughed, “Very good...mein Kaiser. In Koln, we call that...the last gasp. Bavaria...Franconia...they have different words. It is a large realm...that should be expected.”
As his mouth began to froth with little white bubbles, she moved closer and grinned, “What you are experiencing now, I am told, is quite excruciating. Yet you will live...for but a moment longer. North to south...mein herr...not a one of us wants you. I’ve been told to tell you that. For me? I did not mind so much the touching. You have a gentle hand at times. Yet not enough.”
Werner’s eyes grew wide as he felt that he could not breath and she smiled once more, “Painful...yes. I should say while you still have your hearing...I’ve been told to give you one more message.”
He pulled at his throat as if somehow he might clear it and gasped at air that would not come. She moved her face closer and smiled, “I am also to say that Arthur gives you answer. When you saw the lion dead, you should have killed the cub. The cub still lives!”
* * *
Melun Castle – August 1351
“Your predecessor robbed me,” the old man looked to his Lord Marshal with irritation.
Lord Mayor Eric looked to Arthur with great question, “Your Majesty?”
“I was to kill him!” Arthur stated with anger, “He was my hunt! My white stag!”
“I’m afraid that I do not follow, Majesty,” Eric suggested as he helped the old man to a soft bed, “Mayhap some rest will clear your memory.”
Shaking him off with surprising strength, Arthur sat gingerly and looked up with a fury in his eyes, “My memory is as sound as your sword, sir! Compiegne? Julich? Boulogne? Do these names ring a bell for you?”
“I am Lord Mayor of Compiegne, Your Majesty,” Eric answered as he moved to fetch Arthur some wine, “And we have all just come from Julich. I am uncertain where Boulogne falls into...”
“Lies and deceit,” Arthur muttered as he lay back and then yelled, “And he was mine!”
Carefully returning with the wine, Lord Mayor Eric stood over Arthur with question still, “Who, Your Majesty? Of whom do you speak?”
“The whoreson...” Arthur muttered and ignored the outstretched arm, “...the beast...the devil...”
When Eric did not respond, Arthur sat up in his bed and showed clear eyes and his anger remained, “...Werner!!”
* * *
Westminster, England - July 1299
A great thundering horde of hooves sounded as the army of the King returned with Arthur at the lead and his men behind him. The castle was frenzied in activity to greet him and groomsmen were quick to take the King’s reins as he jumped from his mount. Looking up to the restored palace, Arthur smiled and then turned to Lord Amedee, “A wise choice, monsieur! A man can do more than one thing at once...and do it well!”
Amedee too dismounted from his courser and went to the King’s side, “A glorious campaign! I’m sure it is good to be home.”
As the yard bustled with activity, Etienne and Anselm moved to part the sea of bodies and found Arthur. It was Etienne that spied her and pointed, “Your Grace...you look to have a visitor.”
Training his eye to the steps, there was Queen Aveline with their children. Princess Blæja was soon to be nine and already favoring her mother. Yet unlike her mother, she held great love for her father and rushed to greet him. Jumping into his arms, she kissed him about the cheek, “Papa! How you have been missed! Maman comes just in time!”
Arthur looked past his little girl and to his wife for a time before hugging Blæja once more, “A man could find no better reception, my little angel.”
“Blæja!” Aveline shouted from the steps, “Mind your manners! A Princess does not jump about!”
Setting her down gently, Arthur smiled to his wife, “I did not expect to see you here, my Lady.”
Aveline showed no emotion as she gestured to her eldest son, “Arthur…go and greet your father.”
The young Prince was six going on seven and released from the clutches of his stern mother, finally ran to the King, “Papa! Did you slay the beast? Did you find a wound? How many battles were you in?”
“Calm now, young sir...” Arthur grinned as he bent to a knee, “...many questions that will require a telling over a good fire. Let me greet your brother and my Lady wife. There will be time enough for the other.”
The King kissed his son on the head and stood to go to Aveline, “And how is little Eadward? Growling as any good lion cub should?”
“You may see for yourself,” she answered as she gestured to the nursemaid holding Prince Eadward, “Healthy and strong.”
“Pleased am I that you brought him to here,” Arthur answered as he moved to kiss his youngest child on the top of his head.
Aveline gestured to the other two children, “It is hot, Arthur. Let us remove from the sun.”
Blæja and Prince Arthur followed her directive and were soon into the castle as Lord Amedee shifted to the King’s side, “She grows warmer by the day, Your Grace. What a grand reception.”
Nudging him to the ribs, Arthur turned to his men, “Tienne...Ans...see to the baggage. And you, my Lord...let us enter and find out how sunny and hot it is on the inside.”
With a grin, Amedee followed the King into the castle where they found that the Queen had already sent the children away. Aveline stood with no expression and seemed to wait patiently as Arthur once more went to her, “It is unexpected and appreciated...but you did not have to come.”
“Yet I did,” she answered him and pointed towards the solar, “An audience is required.”
With a shrug, Arthur turned to the Lord Marshal with a grin, “The wars never cease, my Lord. Find your care and have a bath for I fear that you stink. I shall see you on the other side.”
There was no fondness between Queen and Lord Marshal but as Amedee bowed and was about to be away, she stopped him, “He should come too.”
“My Lady Queen?” Amedee asked with great question.
Aveline turned on her heel and answered over her shoulder, “Do not tarry, sirs. There is much to be discussed.”
“I believe that she enjoys ruling in your absence,” Amedee joked as he moved to follow her.
Arthur gave nod and walked with him towards the solar. When they had finally ascended the steps and entered, they found Queen Aveline looking out the window over Westminster with her back turned. The King unbuckled his belt and placed his sword aside as he went for some drink, “An unscheduled meet. Your typical icy reception. To what do I owe the pleasure and more importantly, what grand scheme do you have now?”
Aveline did not turn as she answered, “The Emperor Werner is dead.”
“What?!” Arthur had barely had chance to pour when she spoke and turned to her with shock, “Is that true?!”
The Queen finally spun and looked to Amedee for a moment with no smile before turning to her husband, “It is fact. To be seen no more, your most hated foe was found dead to the floor in Julich and what is left of the German Empire is now ruled by an eight year old boy.”
“What is left?” Lord Amedee asked with his own shock, “Where is Lord Payen? Why does he not give us this news?”
“A very good question...monsieur,” Aveline showed Amedee a frown, “Most astute. Word came to Hereford that he was traveled back to Dijon not a fortnight ago. Thus, my Lord husband...the reason for my visit.”
Arthur looked at the full cup in his hands for only a second before placing it aside and moving to his wife, “You tell me that my Lord Chancellor is back to Dijon and that the Emperor is dead? What happens here?!”
“While you play at war, the mice are without their cat,” Aveline raised her chin in reply, “Pleased am I that you won Galloway for your cousin, Lord Lionel of Northumberland...yet matters of state are at hand and I came to here as soon as I heard. After all...someone must rule.”
Amedee stepped forward, “My Lady Queen...please explain why Lord Payen has returned to Burgundy. Does he quit the council?”
“Quite the contrary, my Lord,” Aveline turned to him, “He neither begs off of his position nor challenges in any way. What he does is war to his south against Dauphine. I told you...the Empire is broken up with the death of this Werner and the time is ripe for a plucking.”
Arthur held to his wife, “Did Lord Payen send you this word?”
“No,” she quickly answered, “In truth, it was your man Lord Mayor Andrew. A cagey fellow, but in the know. I have my own spies, but his are better.”
Turning to Amedee, the King held question, “What can this mean? Have I lost chance to best my enemy? And what does Lord Payen play at? You know him better than I! What does he do?!”
“The better question, Arthur...” Aveline stood strong, “...is how have you allowed this to happen? I thought that we were in agreement. Conquer from within. Is that not what your Lord here says? Yet you move off to war and in a mere year’s time, this is what we see!”
“My Lady...begging your pardon...” Amedee shifted to pick up the King’s ale and handed it to him, “...you do not quite understand my theory. You do well here to bring us this news, but there is no bad thing about it.”
Arthur still did not drink as he looked to Amedee with shock, “Lord Payen abrogates his responsibility and that is no bad thing?!”
The Duke looked to Queen Aveline and allowed her a smirk as he turned once more to the King, “I know that you think to have missed your chance, monsieur. It matters not. The man is dead. Worry over him no more. Yet what is left? Lord Payen saw it. He makes his move. If what your Lady Queen says is true, then the Empire is torn asunder. Small bits and pieces all working for themselves. You have your own play here. Galloway is taken...and we shall return to Ireland and Scotland...yet what chance this gives us!”
“Scotland!” Aveline stated as loud as she might, “For my son! That is the goal. This other is no thing but...”
Arthur turned to her with a less than kind eye, “I will care for our son! Make no mistake. Yet you should find silence at the now! My Lord speaks it true. This is an excellent opportunity.”
“What?!” Aveline showed question with shock, “You now think to war on the continent? Leave England once again? Mayhap find your end just as your father did?!”
“My Lady...” Arthur grinned, “...I did not know that you cared so much.”
Aveline pulled her skirt to her as she moved towards the door, “I do not! Yet Arthur is naught but six! He is not yet ready!! If you wish to be a fool then do it on your own time! I need it not...the realm needs it not!”
She slammed the door behind her and Arthur turned to his Lord Marshal with a raised brow, “She has spirit if no thing other.”
“Again, monsieur...she is not wrong,” Amedee stood with arms folded, “To question Lord Payen...and the matter with the Emperor has our man Andrew’s hands all over it...and the realm. We have just won one war. Are you ready to fight another? Are we?”
Arthur finally took his drink all in one go and then placed the cup aside, “My father once told me...it is a large realm with enemies on all sides. If I am to be King of these many realms, then I must attend to them each. I cannot hold things personally. It is a matter of governing and taking chance where it shows itself. My father showed that...my great-grandmother. I say it again...a great opportunity.”
“So you do not hold it personal that you were not able to kill this bastard of Germany?” Amedee queried.
The King turned to him with a stern eye, “I shall never forget that. I wished my sword in his belly and desired the look of shock upon his face. Yet time races fast. He is dead and chance is before us. Payen saw it and moved. I think to do the same.”
“So...” Amedee showed a slight grin, “...where shall we go?”
Arthur thought on it and moved back to pour two drinks. He finally handed one to his Duke and then grinned himself, “Our Lord Adam of Flanders holds great claim on Boulogne. If my Lady wife is true, then the German cat is away in the Empire. What better place for the mice to play?”
“Are we the mice?” Amedee showed a larger grin.
“No, my friend...” Arthur took another drink and smiled, “...we are the lion. Let all who stand tremble before us.”
Amedee quickly finished his ale and sat his cup aside, “Then I shall call the banners once more.”
“Leave no thing to chance!” Arthur was now certain, “Call up my cousin to Norfolk...York and Lancaster...everything to France! You know this drill for we have been there before. Time is of the essence and strength plays!”
The Duke moved towards the door but turned back with a grin, “You do realize that you need not tell me all of that?”
“I am angry, monsieur!” Arthur stated with furrowed brow, “I want it done and I want it done quick. I was to kill him and now that such has been robbed from me...I will take the scraps.”
Amedee kept his grin, “Boulogne is no scrap.”
“No...it is not,” the King agreed as he moved for another drink, “It is just one more piece. When I am done...”
“Let us not get too ahead of ourselves, Your Grace,” Amedee held his hand to the door, “One scrap at a time. And in time...you will find your satisfaction.”
As he left, Arthur held his cup in hand and stared at the drink. It would always be personal, and he was not done with the north or Ireland...but yes. Some satisfaction. And some day...he was certain that he would see so much more. Yet he would never hold his hands around Werner’s neck. Never get the chance to bury his blade into Werner’s stomach. That God damned grin! He knew that it would eat at his mind for the rest of his life but by God...he was going to take something from this!
* * *
End of Chapter 2
This is a very active King. 
