The Song of Wessex

[coz1]

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The Song of Wessex​

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"Not but with three matters no man should attend:
Of France, and of Britain, and of Rome the grand."
- Jean Bodel​

* * *​

Battle of Cassel – Ypres, Flanders – August 1294​

The Duke of Bourbon stood at the crest of the hill and spied down at the soldiers of Leon below as they positioned along the Lys river. Amedee was forty two and a wizened warrior, but for over a year now they had gone toe to toe with these armies of the Holy Roman Emperor and he had never fought in a war so large and across such a wide swath of Europe. From Iberia all the way to Flanders and well into the interior of the Empire, the largest forces ever assembled in Western Europe had fought for supremacy, and though the might of England was strong, this Emperor Werner held vast resources and had surprised them more than once.

He offered a curt nod and a slight grin when he began to mentally calculate the foe setting up across from them. Surely not ten thousand. He was certain of it. He himself held near to six thousand of his own in the center and the vanguard under Duke Thomas of Normandy was almost their number completely. In truth, he could only spy one mere knight upon the field. Many archers and men at arms, and perhaps even more horse than the English, but well over a hundred knights marched under his banner and the standard of the English lion. It was sure to be a rout.

As he gave the call for the longbows to set their weapons firmly, he was taken from his orders by one of these English lions, “Tis a fine morrow, my Lord. I think to spy no mist and thus I shall find a front row seat for this, do you not think?”

The Duke turned and flashed a grin, “It had better be as witness and no thing other, my Prince. Your Lord father I am certain would see no harm come to you this day.”

“Ahh!” the Prince showed his famous smile, “Yet His Grace is well to Hainaut, my Lord Amedee. How might he even know?”

“For I would be sure and tell him, my Prince,” Lord Amedee clasped an arm around the tall young man and led him from the crest of the hill, “You are to be here as witness only at the now. King Ælfstan has naught the time to find worry over you with all else that he considers, and this you well know.”

The Prince crossed his arms with a slight laugh, “I believe him to worry too much, my Lord. He may be known to all as ‘The Wise’ but in this methinks he frets more than he should. We have bested all comers...and many thanks to you, I might add...yet between your army and our mercenary friends, I think to see this one won with little trouble.”

Amedee was by now used to the bravado of this Prince and laughed himself, “You are brave, my fine young Duke of Lancaster, but allow me to remind you that I am twice your age and have seen much and more in my time. I should not like to see you in great peril and I know well the feelings of your Lord Father.”

“Oh, come now...” the Prince teased, “...just a little bit of peril.”

“Not even a jot of it, monsieur,” the Duke grinned as a horn blew, “And there comes our alarm so do not think to sneak past me once it begins. You know that I do see all.”

The Prince grinned, “Eyes to the front and back and all sides...yes, my Lord Amedee. I am well aware. Bon chance to you!”

“And to you, my Prince,” Lord Amedee gave a brief bow before turning to bark orders.

After watching him walk away with purpose, the Prince tipped back to the crest of the hill and watched as the longbows began their work. He got down to his belly and smiled as he watched the enemy begin an advance. It never got old watching this fine force do their work. The English manner of war had changed after so many years fighting in France and against other continental foes. When once a shield wall was the Saxon way, now it was done with the longbow and knights and brave men at arms. How he longed to be a part of it. His father had fought in many a battle and was known as brave as much as he was known as wise. Yet the Prince himself was no slouch in the tilt yard nor in tourneys and yet the King treated him as if he were made of nothing more impenetrable than an eggshell. It would be infuriating if he did not understand why.

As he watched the Battle of Cassel begin, he considered that very reason…

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* * *​

Blois, France – January 1280​

The Lord Bishop Geoffrey of Lincoln shuffled down the halls within the castle at Blois as fast as his robes allowed. He did not look forward to this meet with his nephew, but it had to be said and done. He had taken the fastest ship from England that he could find for the news was too grave and too hurtful to allow time and some other messenger bring it to him. Upon reaching the solar, he was surprised not to find a sentry. Had not England been at war with France these last two years? He was aware that a peace was on the table, but did not know if it had yet been signed. As he entered, he found only young Prince Arthur reading by the firelight. This was passing strange, but he enjoyed the young man and begged him welcome.

​

“My good uncle...” Arthur stood and showed his already considerable height at almost ten years of age, “...I did not think to see you here.”

“I did not think to be here, Arturus,” Geoffrey answered using a playful nickname gained from their studies together, “Yet I fear to come with poor news for your father and needs must seek him out.”

Arthur moved to pour his great uncle a goblet of wine, “Father is with Lord Ralph and Lord Stephen, uncle. They be deep in conversation about I know not what. I would tell you to seek out Arn, but he has not been well since St. Aignan and keeps to his bed.”

The Bishop allowed a grimace as he considered Prince Arnold for the news concerned him as well, “Is your father here to the castle?”

“He is,” Arthur gestured for a chair and then handed his great uncle the wine, “Did you seek out the great hall?”

Geoffrey seemed hesitant to sit but did so and gave nod for the drink, “It has been a challenging passage, I do not mind saying. Foul winds and all that. Yet I did go to the hall and he was not there.”

“Hmm,” Arthur puzzled only briefly, “Then to his chambers? I hear there is to be a presentation. Mayhap on the morrow.”

“A presentation?” Geoffrey asked.

Arthur smiled, “Have you not heard? My grandfather has made peace and Blois is ours, well and truly. I am certain that your namesake cousin Geoff will be pleased though it will surely sadden him that it will not be his. I understand it will go to the Lord Ralph of Orleans.”

“I am certain that Geoff will understand,” the Bishop offered only a brief smile as he considered his younger brother Henry’s son, “Yet what awesome news. Your Lord father must be well proud of his efforts...and your brother.”

Arthur gave nod, “Pleased enough, uncle. Though I thought him to be with Lord Stephen as I understand that he is not impressed with the match made for my sister Joan.”

“Do you not mean Jeanne?” Geoffrey suggested with a grin.

“You mean her French name?” the young Prince returned the grin, “My mother’s influence. Whatever she wishes to call herself, she has been betrothed to the young Emperor and heads now to Luxembourg to take up her place.”

With a shake of the head, Geoffrey took some of his wine and then looked to the fire with disdain, “This Viktor...too much time have we spent to these French lands. We grow too much influenced by these continental politics and leave England adrift.”

The young Arthur sat back in his seat and smiled, “You forget, uncle...my mother is a Princess of France. There is reason that father does what he does. Let us not forget also that he did take Clydesdale in Scotland and found my brother his bride in that place.”

“You are too smart for your age, young sir,” Geoffrey wished to answer with a grin but he could not, “And to speak of your mother...is she to the castle? I would have need to speak with her as well.”

“Yes...” Arthur gave nod, “...yet I fear that she has already retired. Shall I wake her?”

Bishop Geoffrey stood and bent by the hearth, “Indeed...I think that you should. This would need to be in her hearing as well.”

The young Prince stood and moved to the solar door. He hollered some few words and then returned to his great uncle placing a gentle hand to his shoulder, “You are troubled.”

Without standing or looking up, he answered, “More than I have ever wished to be, Arturus. I have seen much sadness and despair in my day, but few may challenge this.”

“What is it?” Arthur asked with sincerity.

Geoffrey looked up with a kind eye, “I must needs wait for your mother.”

They did not have long to wait as Queen Alearde moved into the solar with grace as she held her robes around her. She had not lost her French customs but spoke English well by this date. Giving the Bishop a kiss on both cheeks as welcome, she looked to him with some worry, “You travel far, my Lord Bishop. We are well met, but what is the cause?”

“Where be your husband, Your Grace?” Geoffrey stood and bowed his head before looking to her with a stern eye, “I must speak with him as well.”

The Queen showed a sadness, “He is where I come from at the now. Our son is not well.”

“Prince Arnold?” Geoffrey asked with even more worry.

Arthur chimed in, “Yes, uncle...I told you. Arn has taken to bed.”

“Arthur!” the Queen chided her son, “Let us speak!”

“Yes, maman,” the young Prince stood back.

The Bishop looked to the Queen with even sadder eyes, “Oh, my Lady...it is then even worse then I thought.”

Queen Alearde was made of sterner stuff than most but the visage before her spoke of great tragedy, “You must tell me at the now, Geoffrey. What brings you here?!”

“The boy, Your Grace...” Geoffrey tried to answer as he held gently to her hand, “...you have all been to Melun during this struggle while the Lady Helen was caused to stay in chamber after the birth. Naught but sixth months did he live...this Fulk...your grandson.”

With all of her strength, the Queen stood a bit taller and kept a sure eye upon her husband’s uncle, “You tell to me that my Arnold’s son has died?”

Geoffrey lowered his head at first but then looked back to her just as surely, “I am sad to say it, my Lady...yes.”

Queen Alearde backed away and moved to a window without saying a word. She was quiet for a time and did not turn back when she finally answered, “He will be...devastated.”

“Lady Helen most assuredly is and begs her husband’s return,” Bishop Geoffrey suggested as politely as he might.

The Queen turned finally and looked upon her husband’s uncle with a steely gaze, “She will have to wait. Arnold will not travel in the state that he is in...we will not allow it.”

“My Lady...” the Bishop took a step towards her with a plea in his eye, “...Your Grace...she is grief stricken and does need her Lord husband at this time.”

Alearde moved towards the solar door, “The King requires him, my Lord Bishop. There will surely be others. We must not jeopardize his health.”

“Yet I needs must speak with my nephew...His Grace!” Geoffrey moved to follow.

The Queen turned back coldly and looked to her son, “Arthur! See your uncle a fine room. He has traveled far. We will speak with your father and he will know the truth of it.”

She was about to leave as Bishop Geoffrey took another step towards her but as she opened the door to the solar, the white face of King Ælfstan stood before them all. He was silent for a time and only held a hand up to brush at his wife’s cheek before he softly said, “My dove...he is gone.”

Losing all of her steely reserves, Alearde crumbled into his arms and began to weep great sobs, “No!! No!!! I told you!!! It was not his time!!!”

“We could not have known,” the King tried to help his wife, “He was strong...brave. A chance arrow...a wound. It...”

Alearde responded by beating at his chest, “You did this to him! You had to have him by your side! Take him from his comfort and place him here beside you while you grasp at your past!”

“He served!” Ælfstan stood strong against his wife’s rage, “He knew what he was getting into and wished it in all ways. A King will serve and he was ready!”

“At what cost?!” she answered him between sobs, “You have told me of your fears...your family...do they not lose all in their moment of great triumph and glory?! My father was right! You will be the curse of France and you will be the curse of me!!!”

The Queen rushed past her husband leaving him to spy his uncle with great question in his eye, “Though I love you uncle...and am glad to see you here at this time...my son is dead. Why do I see you at the now?”

​

It was young Arthur that went to his father’s side and whispered into his ear. He said his words and then looked up to the King with great worry in his eyes, “Is Arn truly gone?”

King Ælfstan was now forty five years old and had already seen much in his time. He was the second of his name after his father and many had begun calling him ‘The Wise’ due to his so far great rule. Until now, there was never a trouble that he could not solve. Never a threat that he could not soften. A powerful diplomat like his father, he was able to make Lords crumble before him with every deference just by using his words. But this? This was something beyond his ken. He put a hand to his young son’s head and looked to him with a most pitiable face, “I know I need not tell you this...but you shall need to grow up quickly. Your time...is now.”

“Nephew!” Bishop Geoffrey called out, “Come and speak with me. You need the good word.”

King Ælfstan backed away and shifted to leave the room as he answered, “No, uncle. I must be to my son at the now. You should come. Yet not before you talk to this one. He needs it more than I at this time.”

The Bishop was made speechless as his nephew left the solar and while Arthur was a preternaturally intelligent child, he too had few words. It was left for just the two of them to figure out what this meant. Geoffrey slowly turned and saw the confusion on the boy’s face and took a gentle step towards him, “In all of our learning, I dare say that this is one lesson that we have not yet reached.”

“I...” Arthur hesitated in his words for a moment as he watched after the closed door, “...I worry about father...and maman.”

“Yet what of you?” Geoffrey pressed.

Arthur turned to his great uncle with a puzzled look, “Me? What may I say? I am pained about Arn, yet he did know what he was getting into when he joined with father in his campaigns. It is doubly sad to hear of his first born’s early passing at the same time. Yet surely this is the work of the other and not our great God. It is only the cruel one that might take such as these and I cannot imagine that our Lord and Savior could be so terrible as that.”

“Arturus, that is your mother’s religion speaking,” Geoffrey moved closer, “One that she has renounced before God and the King. You should not look to Catharism to find your explanation, for not only is it heretical, it is poorly crafted theology. There is but one God and mysterious are His ways, but there is always a reason for it.”

The Prince moved to the fire, “I do not think that maman has renounced it as fully as you believe, uncle.”

“That’s as may be,” the Bishop answered, “Yet it is no path for you to follow. Your own father was taken with her words when your grandfather died but did declare himself away from it when he became King. Now...more than ever...you must do the same.”

“Because now I am to become King?” Arthur turned and asked quite honestly.

Geoffrey moved to sit and patted the chair next to him, “That is the way of it. Come to here and I will tell you a story that I never get tired of telling for he must be remembered.”

The Prince did as requested but gave a nod of his head, “I know the tale that you are about to tell. You speak of your brother Ralph.”

“Of course you do,” the Bishop offered a smile, “I imagine your father has heard it many times over from his own father by now.”

“I can see why you might find it instructive,” Arthur sat forward, “For if the Prince Ralph does not die at such a young age, then the none of us might be in our positions at the now.”

Geoffrey lowered his head at the slim memory, “I fear that he would have passed at any rate...and I was young...but when it happened, my brother was in no ways prepared. He was the second of we five boys and was not expected to take the throne even after the accident. Yet when Ralph died, my mother and father thrust it upon him and he took to it with alacrity. You must now do the same.”

“Yet I am not even at ten years, uncle,” Arthur sat back and looked into the fire, “I hold no memory of your brother Ælfstan the King for I was but a babe when he passed. In truth, you are the only one of your siblings that I know at all.”

“And why your father had the great intelligence to seek me out for your learning,” Geoffrey replied, “As I did for Arnold.”

Arthur was silent for a time before turning back, “And now he is gone.”

“Yes, Arturus...” Geoffrey crossed himself as he answered plainly, “...he is.”

With consideration, Arthur was silent again for a time before giving his reply, “Then we must double my studies, uncle. I should not like to disappoint father. And you must now go to him. I believe him to need you greatly.”

“Are you sure that you understand?” Bishop Geoffrey looked deep into Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur stood and placed a calm hand to his great uncle’s shoulder, “I am young, uncle. I am not foolish. You have made a proper teacher in our time together and I must now use that. We must. All of us.”

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[coz1]

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The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Julich, Germany - September 1294​

The long anticipated war with the Holy Roman Empire had indeed come with a declaration sent by Emperor Werner von Oldenburg in May of 1293. The Emperor knew of plots on his life and knew well where they came from. Werner had bested his brother Viktor and then his other brother Hugo and he was now ascendant. Yet here was this English King...now too King of France. The Emperor was twenty five by that date and had seen enough. From Poland...the Khans...Byzantium in the east...to Aquitaine and Poitou in the West...he had bested every comer. Who was this mere King when Werner held an Empire?

​

Nominally, it was over a claim for Ypren. Boulogne had been in Imperial hands for centuries and Flanders itself should as well. Yet it was about more than one single province. It was a test match, and one the Emperor knew with certainty that he would win. The Flemish Duke was already at war with his vassal and held Ypren under siege. So weakened, they would be easily swept aside, and what forces could an English King bring to bear? In this, Emperor Werner would soon be disabused of his original notion. By September of 1293, this King Ælfstan II would have over forty thousand soldiers in or on their way to the continent.

​

Thouars in Poitou was already under siege by the Lord Amedee of Bourbon, a most formidable warrior, and fifteen thousand were moving towards Paris and the Imperial army at siege in Orleans. The English King himself was taking ship from England with an additional nineteen thousand and would land at any moment. Werner had called up nearly fourteen thousand and was just leaving Julich when the Battle of Gien began. It was over before it had started, truly. Over six thousand Imperial soldiers dead and not an auspicious opening to the war.

Yet it was Nemours where Emperor Werner was truly humiliated. Leading his force himself, the Emperor would find his nearly sixteen thousand overwhelmed when the English caught up with him. Over thirty thousand English and French descended upon him south of Reims with the English King Ælfstan at their charge. The Germans held over three hundred knights in their retinue, but within days it was clear. They were no match to the utter, sheer numbers of England. Over half of his knights would perish in the battle, most of his bowmen and men at arms. Over twelve thousand in total died. The English saw a heavy death toll as well. But it was half of the Imperial army and it was a devastation.

​

King Ælfstan had given chase and caught up once again near to Provins. Another great loss. Yet the Empire had only begun. The lands of the Holy Roman Empire were vast and it took time to gather forces, especially to the west. Even with the great English victories so far, Werner knew that he held reserves. By January of 1294, they had finally arrived. Over five thousand from Aquitaine. Brabant provided another three thousand. Almost fifteen thousand were coming up from the south and ten thousand more had finally arrived from the east. The Emperor felt confident, even with his early losses, that he held the upper hand.

​

And then the English King used his considerable war chest to hire the Company of the Hat, a mercenary band nearly ten thousand strong. The siege of Thouars was let off and all armies regrouped by March of 1294. Over forty thousand English, French and mercenaries were to Amiens and then to Vermandois. The Battle of Laon was quick and decisive with nearly ten thousand Imperial soldiers dead at the end. The English chased and again bested Werner at Valenciennes in April. The first Battle of Cassel was another great loss and another ten thousand dead. By June, the English King was to Hainaut at siege and his Lord Amedee was chasing what by now were small bands of Imperial soldiers.

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By the end of June 1294, the Emperor was lucky to escape with his life at the Battle of Tholen. Bested time and again, he ran as fast as he could back to his castle at Julich. He saw rebellion in Reims, Hainaut under siege by the English King and for a time, it seemed that the French Duke would chase him all the way home. Yet then he found a reprieve. Almost ten thousand soldiers from the Kingdom of Leon landed in Ypren and the Lord Amedee reversed course. Now, here it was September. News had reached Werner that a second Battle of Cassel was under way, and as he peered at the map, he hoped beyond hope that he might find a single victory in this war.

“Mein Kaiser,” his Chancellor announced as he entered the hall, “I come with word.”

Werner kept his gaze to the map, “It had better be good!”

“I regret that I must tell you two things.”

With a white hot fury bubbling up inside him, Werner announced, “Unless you plan to tell me that this English King is dead, then you had better find your cover for I shall not be kind!”

“Cassel is lost once again...” the Chancellor answered with the briefest of grins as he followed, “...and yes, Mein Kaiser...the King of the English is no more.”

​

“Do you speak that true?!” the German Emperor turned with glee upon his face.

The Chancellor offered a bow, “Almost seven thousand of the Kingdom of Leon have died, mein Kaiser.”

With a wave of the arm, Werner moved to him, “What care is that? Tell me now! Is this Ælfstan dead?!”

“Ja, mein Kaiser,” the Chancellor kept his head low, “Outside of Hainaut. He is gone. His young son inherits.”

“Then we have chance!” Werner exclaimed as he went back to his maps, “What is a whelp? No thing!”

“Mein Kaiser...” the Chancellor raised his head with reticence, “...do you not think...”

“I think we see victory, Heinrich!” Werner announced as he smiled, “Diminished we may be, but this is our chance!”

“There remain the twenty thousand...” the Chancellor began to say but the Emperor stopped him as he turned with glee.

“I said it...and it happens!” Werner announced and then looked back to his maps, “I will see you in hell, Ælfstan! Prepare it well for me...mein herr!”

* * *

Hainaut, Germany - September 1294​

A heavy rain poured down and Arthur sat quietly in his father’s tent listening to every drop. The constant beat was somehow comforting. A chest was open before him as he looked through the King’s things and when he came across a sketch of his mother, fresh tears came to his face. Not yet even sixty. Neither one. And here was he...somehow King of England, France and Wales. It made no sense. His father was the bravest man that he knew. The first one into every battle, and he chose them all himself. His father held no fear...and so why was Arthur so afraid?

A clearing of the throat caused Arthur to look to the tent flap and there was Sir Mark, “My liege...you have a guest.”

Arthur showed sad eyes, “Make it lad, Mark...please!”

“I…” the knight shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “...I cannot. I know you...and I know what you are. Your Lord Amedee is outside.”

With swiftness, Arthur moved to his man, “Call me lad...just one more time!”

Mark lowered his head and then looked deeply into his eyes, “You’ve a kingdom, lad. Best rule it.”

The knight did not wait for a response as he ushered in the Duke of Bourbon. Amedee was just as forlorn as Arthur and he moved to him quickly, “It is a sad fate, Your Grace. Your father deserved better.”

“You too?” Arthur looked up with irritation.

Amedee made point of giving a formal bow. When he stood tall once more, he tried to smile, “I think not that any man revered your father as much as you...unless it was me. My lands have never been better. My lot in life as a soldier, never more tested. No man has ever been more a friend...until Ælfstan. The King is dead, my Prince. Long live the King. You are now he.”

“I’m not ready!” Arthur moved to a cot and looked up with certainty.

The French Duke smiled, “Beg my pardon, monsieur...but few are more ready than you.”

“It is too soon!” Arthur protested, “It is not my time!”

Amedee slowly moved to sit next to him and put a gentle arm around the new King, “You have not the luxury of time. It is upon you. The great King Ælfstan would expect no less and he taught you well. War is here...choices must be made...and yours counts the most, lad.”

“I need you with me, Amedee!” Arthur looked to him with firmness.

The Duke smiled again, “I would follow your father to hell, monsieur. I could do no less with you.”

The new King looked down to the ground and thought for a time until looking up once more with question, “So what do we do now?”

“We keep at the fight,” Amedee was sure, “That was your father’s wish and there will be no let from these Germans. Do not let his death be for naught. You and this Werner are near the same age. What do you think he does at the now?”

“I don’t care what he does...” Arthur answered and thought for a moment, “...yet I want him dead.”

“He deserves it,” the Duke replied with certainty, “Provoked your father...and won’t take no for an answer. What will you do?”

Arthur finally raised his head and looked to his Duke with determination, “Is Cassel won?”

“It is...Your Grace,” Amedee showed a slight smile.

“And where are the Emperor’s forces?” Arthur asked.

Amedee was sure, “I’ve sent Lord Thomas to track these men of Leon and there as a small number to Reims. A revolt there. They have won it, but hold a sizable number. Many more to the west in Aquitaine and Poitou. What would you have me do? My men are at your service.”

“You shall be my Lord Marshal, Amedee,” Arthur looked to him with purpose, “I think your judgment best.”

Amedee squeezed a bit tighter to his shoulder, “And you...lad?”

“I...” Arthur kept question, “...I don’t know.”

The French Duke stood with care and slowly moved to pour Arthur a cup of his father’s ale. When he turned, he stepped forward and handed it to him with a stern eye, “You should be to Melun. There is no worth to you here. We shall see this siege carried out and I will find these stragglers. Gather your court, my young King. Find your place. Your father needs must be carried to Westminster and you...you must find your purpose.”

Arthur showed a steely eye learned not from his father, but his mother, “You have the right of it, Lord Amedee. I will go there. Yet I shall not stay long. Werner begged his chance...and by God, I will give it to him. If it is the last thing that I do!”

​

 

[coz1]

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The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle – December 1299​

The great hall at Melun had been converted into a makeshift war room. The King stood with many around him as Lord Amedee offered a progress report of the war thus far. Arthur and his soldiers had landed in Rouen by October and made quick progress south, and thus far there had been no great response from the new child Emperor. Yet this was not the only trouble to be watched as the Lord Payen remained at war with Dauphine to his south and a new actor had entered the scene.

“You Grace...” Amedee pointed to the map, “...Lord Theobald has Boulogne to siege as we speak and it goes well. He still holds nearly six thousand under his command and we have no reports of any force that size near to him at the now.”

Arthur gave nod, “That is good. Yet what of my brother by law to Upper Burgundy? Or that idiot of Champagne?”

“While they do remain beholden to this Emperor, neither raises their levies at the now,” Amedee answered with a smile.

Etienne de Pleshy spoke up, “If you wish it, Your Grace...I would be most happy to travel to Reims and shake the tree of House Scarponnais. See if we might roust him from his slumber!”

“Your excitement is commendable, sir,” Arthur grinned, “Yet I think to need you here with me for the now.”

Etienne returned the grin with a bow and the King looked back to the map, “Yet here, my Lord...this shows another force to Champagne. If this be not Sieghard, then who are they?”

“While the Empire is scattered, Your Grace...” Amedee answered quickly, “...we must be mindful. Even those that do not yet bend the knee to this young Emperor remain prideful of their lands. That number, I believe, is the Archbishop of Trier. It is unclear if he means to travel to our lands or south to assist the breakaway Dauphine, but his number should hold no issue for us. We are fifteen thousand strong and his number is but a pittance.”

“And Payen still finds his trouble,” the King gave nod as he looked to the lands of his Lord Chancellor.

Amedee replied as he traced his finger towards Dijon, “There was some luck made early by our Lord Payen, but it is said that over ten thousand have put paid to his dreams. These are the forces of Duke Guntram out of Austria in the east and while it is unclear if this German Duke desires Dauphine for himself or merely to provide a thorn to our side, we should take stock of this army.”

“I would rather be to Julich, my Lord Marshal,” Arthur showed a serious eye to his friend.

Lord Amedee gave nod in understanding, “My sentiments entirely, Your Grace...have this thing done and quickly. Yet you must remember our last war with these peoples. Vast reserves even if splintered. Every army we attack means less that they might bring to bear. And while Lord Payen might not be deserving of your generosity at the moment, this should be considered a front in our war.”

“Lord Payen remains in our good grace...for the now,” Arthur frowned, “He will be dealt with in time. Yet I like not taking our force so far to the south.”

“Understood, Your Grace,” the Marshal looked to Arthur with a keen eye, “Yet we know not what force this young Bruno may build. Better to see the enemy that we face so that we may plan for it and...here is an enemy here. Best use the army we have than sit idle and wait here to Melun. And if we may strike a telling blow to these Austrians, Lord Payen may yet remain in the fight.”

Arthur finally offered his nod, “You make a fine point, Lord Amedee. Then I suppose we shall all soon be to Burgundy.”

As he spoke, the doors to the hall opened and the Lady of Anjou entered and moved to the King, “Your Grace...I am sorry to disturb, yet I bring news.”

Arthur turned and smiled at his cousin, “Lady Emma...a bright light in our dark world. You could never disturb.”

“A moment, Your Grace?” Emma gestured to him and the King went to her to speak in private.

“What is it, cousin?”

Emma produced a letter and handed it over, “Word comes to me from York, Your Grace. The Lord Lionel there tells me that his cousin has passed.”

“That is sad word,” Arthur took the letter and began to read, “Which cousin, I wonder.”

“You will see soon enough,” she offered, “Yet it is the Earl in Gwynedd.”

Arthur showed mixed emotions as he looked to her with a slight glint in his eye, “Your vast correspondence never ceases to impress, cousin. It is good that you were here with me at this time.”

“Not much of a Christmas court, is it?” Emma offered a consoling eye.

“On the contrary, cousin,” Arthur answered with sweetness, “I’ve an enemy to best...and I get to see you. And now...I’ve a present to bestow, even with this poor news.”

Emma gave the King a slight bow of the head, “Your favorite thing to do...cousin.”

The King leaned in to kiss her cheek and then turned to the others and shouted, “Anselm of House Belle-mains? To me!”

The King’s squire stood next to Etienne and presented himself quickly, “Your Grace? Shall I prepare your things?”

“I am afraid that I have news for you, Ans,” Arthur put a hand to the young man’s shoulder, “Your ailing father, the Earl...he has passed. I am sorry.”

“Your Grace?” Anselm looked to him with sad eyes and question.

Arthur stepped closer, “Word comes from your cousin to York. It was gentle and not painful, Lord Lionel suggests. Earl Ralph has been ill at ease for some time.”

“Father...” Anselm looked to the stone floor with sorrow.

“I share in your grief, Ans. Yet he was wise when he placed you with me. He knew well that you would not only serve the crown, but you would serve the man and you have done no thing other,” Arthur kept hold to him as he looked to the men crowded around, “Lord Amedee...my sword, if you please?”

The Lord Marshal was quick to respond and handed it over. The King looked back to his squire and gave him a serious eye, “Anselm of House Belle-mains...I would ask you to kneel.”

He did as requested and kept his head low as Arthur stood before him and tapped his shoulders lightly with the blade, “Squire no more, sir! You are now my man full and true and named my Earl of Gwynedd! Rise sir, and join me in this fight as a true knight of the realm. I can think of few men I would rather have by my side!”

There were some cheers and Anselm stood slowly, “Your Grace...you know that I would never fail you!”

“You need not tell me, friend,” Arthur leaned in to whisper, “And Tienne is going to be rather jealous so be kind to him.”

However, it was Etienne de Pleshy that was the first to Anselm with a grin as the King stood back and gestured for congratulations, “I suppose I have to call you sir now, you right bastard!”

Anselm showed a reddened face in embarrassment as many others gathered round him to slap his shoulders and King Arthur looked to them all, “My Lords...we have a new one among us. And we now know our destination. We should not tarry. Let us pray for the late Lord Ralph and all of us go forward in the light of Christ. The Empire is born of the devil and north to south...east to west...we will drive the great beast from these lands!”

The hall erupted into cheers and Arthur turned to grin at his cousin Lady Emma before looking back again, “To Burgundy, sirs! And beyond!”

​

* * *

Lyon, France - March 1300​

“My Lord Payen!!” Arthur shouted as the soldiers regrouped and straggled in.

Duke Payen III of Burgundy at first tried to ignore it but could not when Duke Amedee of Bourbon got into his face, “His Grace requests your presence!”

Horse and men both mingled around and all filthy as he moved to get away from the Lord Marshal, but the new Earl of Gwynedd stepped to him, “He would see you in his tent...my Lord.”

“I am on my way!” Payen announced with irritation as he handed off the reins to his mount, “You need not press. We have just won a battle, sir!”

As he stormed off, Anselm found Amedee, “A battle won, my Lord. Another not yet fought.”

Payen trudged through the mud until he found the King’s tent and saw Etienne de Pleshy outside, “I am told that His Grace wishes my presence!”

“Oh...he does, my Lord,” Etienne showed a grin, “You will find him within.”

Ducking under the flap, the Burgundian Duke found Arthur still in his dirtied armor and studying a map. He cleared his throat as he gave bow and the King turned with a smile, “Ah...my Lord Payen. So you did hear me after all. Good. I would have preferred our private audience earlier but we did have a battle to attend to, did we not?”

“That is true, Your Grace,” Payen replied with some nervousness, “And most grateful were we when you arrived. It turned the tide.”

Arthur moved to pour them both some ale, “I hope it so. You now have your chance here to Dauphine and this Duke Guntram will bother you no more.”

​

“I admit...it did surprise me when they moved so far west so quickly,” Payen took his offered cup, “Very nearly scattered my armies to the winds.”

Arthur took a drink and then smiled once more, “You may thank our Lord Amedee for your rescue. It was his idea.”

“And you have brought me fresh men from Dijon, Your Grace,” Lord Payen followed with appreciation, “I can never repay you this kindness.”

“No...” the King replied tersely as he turned back to his maps, “...I do not think that you can.”

Payen hesitated and then finally stepped to Arthur, “Your Grace...I meant you no ill respect. There was chance here and I took it. For you...for the realm.”

“I think not for me, my Lord,” Arthur answered without looking to him, “Mayhap for your realm...but you do know my wishes when it comes to the Empire.”

“I do, sire!” Payen made his plea, “And here was chance to take some ground before this child gains his full place. You recognized it as well. After all...you are here.”

Arthur finally turned and raised a brow, “I was to war in the north, my Lord. We had found our victory and I would have liked to have discussed this fully before you took part in such an adventure. You did not leave me much choice.”

“I had not the time, Your Grace,” Payen suggested, “When the news of Werner’s death came to Westminster, I knew that I must travel with all speed. Just because the son is a minor does not change the fact that there are many at the Imperial court able to pull these wayward Princes back together. I had need to move with haste.”

With another drink, Arthur showed a scowl, “Too hasty, my Lord. I do not blame you entirely, for surely some other placed a notion to your mind, yet you remain my Lord Chancellor at the now and it is your role to be my chief counsel. That is difficult for you to do when you are so many leagues away from my person.”

“There was no other notion, Your Grace,” the Lord stood firm, “Merely a chance to take for Burgundy...for France and the realm.”

Arthur held his eye for a time as he perused the Duke’s face and then turned back to his maps, “Well...a topic for another time, my Lord Chancellor. At the now, I look to where we are. Lord Amedee provides us with good numbers and it seems that there are nearly four thousand Savoyard and Imperial soldiers to the east. Since we are to the south, we might as well meet with them. It would be rude not to.”

“I...I am sorry, Your Grace,” Payen replied with some sincerity.

“For what, my Lord?” Arthur turned back with question, “For what do you find apology?”

Payen blushed with embarrassment, “I know you wish to be at Julich...or anywhere close to there, sire. I know that the siege to Boulogne goes well and you would desire to be near in support. I have caused you hardship.”

“Indeed you have, my Lord Payen...” Arthur replied quickly as he looked once more the maps, “...yet now is not the time for recriminations. I have a war on and as our Lord Amedee might say...you fight where the true battle is and where you hold the best ground. Right now, I think to travel to Savoy and take it to these men of the Empire.”

“Would you wish me to your side, sire?” Payen asked.

Arthur turned to him once more with a smile, “Oh no...no, no. You stay here. After all...here is your chance, my Lord. I shall leave your men of Dijon here with you and see what you might make of it. Bon chance, monsieur.”

“Are you certain, Your...” Payen began to ask before the King turned away once more and cut him off.

“You may go, my Lord. Best begin your preparations for a good long siege. I shall see you soon enough. We shall then speak again.”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Vannes, Brittany – June 1303​

Arthur sat in his field tent looking over maps when he heard a commotion outside. Fearing trouble with the siege, he was quick to dip under the tent flap and then smiled wide when he saw his trusted men giving each other giant bear hugs. Anselm of Gwynedd was to Etienne de Pleshy with speed and as he turned his head, he spied Lord Amedee with a huge grin, “Did you think that I would allow you to take all of Brittany without me, sire?!”

“I assumed your bed was warm enough in Ireland, monsieur,” Arthur grinned back as he moved to clasp arms, “What poor lass did you leave behind in her tears?”

Amedee laughed, “Who is to say that it was only one poor lass?!”

“It is good to see you, my friend,” the King pulled him closer and spoke with warmth.

The Duke backed away and offered a formal bow before standing, “And I you, Your Grace. I may assure you that Ireland is free and clear of all Bretons.”

Turning to the younger men, Arthur smiled again, “And how was our man Tienne in his first chance at the vanguard?”

“I would think should be named Sir Etienne de Pleshy such was his use, sire,” Amedee gestured for them to approach, “This one will go far.”

Etienne bowed and then smiled, “I have all of my training due to you, Your Grace. It was my honor to assist Lord Amedee in this mission.”

“If I had not promised Ormond to another, I might give it to you once it is won,” Arthur gave an approving nod, “As it is, I think that you shall see your knighthood soon enough, sir.”

​

“Bloody good thing too,” Amedee grinned, “If you keep at this pace, my liege...we shall need all that we can find.”

Arthur motioned then all to his tent, “Ans...did I not warn the Scots Prince of my intentions at the end of last year?”

“You did, sire,” Earl Anselm was quick to answer.

“Should that not be warning enough to mine own men?” the King questioned with humor as he entered the tent and poured them all a drink.

As they filed in, Anselm was dutifully quick again, “I should think so, Your Grace. Well enough warning indeed.”

“No offense to you, good Etienne,” Amedee grinned as he accepted some ale, “Yet I should think to switch with His Grace and take Monsieur Anselm with me when we travel again. I like the cut of his gib...and more importantly, his damned loyalty!”

Anselm showed a polite bow of respect and Etienne was quick to his friend’s side, “Lord Anselm here has never been known to hold his tongue when there is an arse to lick, my Lord Duke.”

They all laughed and the King could not help but exclaim, “By God! It is good to see all of you again! All of us here together!”

“To le grand campaign, Your Grace!” Amedee held up his cup and they all joined in the toast.

“Sit...sit...” Arthur gestured for some stools, “...all of you sit. Catch me up to what I have missed as Ans and I sit here at boredom in Vannes. I think it shall never fall and we have been here for three months!”

Anselm gave nod but offered, “True enough, though while we sit here this so-called King Fragan does not, Your Grace.”

“Wise words again from a man who once was squire,” Lord Amedee teased, “Yet he makes a very good point. I should tell you that Archambaud has Waterford in Ormond well under siege and there is no sign of a Breton anywhere to be found once we were done with them. Not even the Duke of Munster. It is as quiet as a mouse fart which allowed me to be on my way, merci beaucoup.”

​

Arthur grew more serious, “Glad I am of it for as we sit at siege, things move ahead and we must remain at the lead.”

“Young sirs...an education in kingship is ahead...” Amedee grinned, “...so pay attention. What does transpire now, Your Grace?”

Arthur shook his head at Amedee’s humor but grinned anyway, “Our Lord Payen plays once again.”

“I expect that he is bored without his position,” the Duke gave nod, “And yet I thought Dijon was to be so fun.”

The King frowned, “He not only tries for Dauphine once more but he also seeks to remove my sister in Nevers.”

​

“Mon dieu!” Amedee cursed, “Quel fou! I think not that he likes his head!”

Etienne suggested in question, “Was she not once Lord Payen’s father’s mistress? Mayhap he dislikes her on those grounds?”

“You are as much fool as he is, Tienne!” Anselm answered him quickly.

“Now, now...” Arthur smiled at his man, “...Tienne is not wrong. Some lingering disaffection, perhaps.”

Amedee raised a brow, “Yet...disaffected by which member of Wessex, sire? Your sister is naught but a Countess and no issue to him. I think him to smart from something far greater. I doubt that he shall find it in either place, however...”

As he let the question linger, Arthur gave nod, “Of course. And she has help. Our cousins come to her aid...Nico in Norfolk and Lionel in Northumberland.”

“Heh!” the Duke laughed, “One Chancellor fighting another. That should end well.”

Arthur shook his head, “I know not how it will end, but that is not all. A new rebellion strikes up in Vermandois. It is not much but we none of us have the time to spare to put it down. I shall have to call up some other...Flanders, mayhap...Normandy...damn God for taking my cousin Emma! She would handle both of these things!”

“Careful, Your Grace...” Amedee showed a slight grin, “...you need not teach these younger men to swear so much.”

Both Anselm and Etienne knew how painful it remained to the King that he had lost Lady Emma and said not a word and Amedee knew it as well but continued, “And it is but a rebellion, sire. There are Lords aplenty...and men...to put it down. We fight this war...each war, one at a time.”

It was only Lord Amedee that could speak to him in this way and Arthur knew well why he did so as the King answered, “True enough words, but it is irritating. I left Scotland with intentions to be met and I need not this other.”

Amedee gave nod as he looked to the younger men and then back to the King with smile, “So take a rest, Your Grace! Far be it for me to say that I dislike the campaign and wish no more battle. That is my life’s purpose and I do it well. Yet take your time to...contemplate. See your children...even your wife. Lady Mary, mayhap. Enjoy what you have gained for it is so much!”

“You know me well, my Lord...” Arthur showed a sorrow in his eyes, “...but I cannot. I made a promise and I shall carry it through. Now, more than ever. I fight one war at a time...but they are all one war and it is a war that I shall win.”

“You always do, Your Grace,” Anselm was quick to follow.

Etienne felt need to agree, “Every time, Your Grace!”

The Duke drank his ale down and set it aside, “Then let us win this one. Where be the scoundrel Fragan and I shall bring him to you.”

“I know not where he is...” Arthur stared at his own drink, “...but I know where the Bretons keep their time. To Zaragoza in the south.”

​

Amedee stood, “Then I shall travel south, Your Grace. Lord Fadrique remains to the harbor and I will land in Iberia within the month!”

“No,” Arthur looked up with a clear eye, “You are right. You have said before...fight where the battle is. This fight is here. I’ve no fear of Brittany so let them do their worst in Iberia. When I have my way, they shall have no home to return to.”

The Duke stood taller, “Then the conquest of Brittany is still ahead of me. A life long dream. My young Lords...if you would see my army made ready, I will join them soon and travel forth.”

Both Anselm and Etienne were quick to bow to the King and then left the tent after he gave nod. Amedee stepped closer as Arthur stood as well, “My liege...Arthur...I am serious. You run yourself ragged thinking about a ghost that you will never find. I know your goal and I will be there at every step along the way as long as God gives life to my body but you must find rest at times. Time...to grieve. The Lady Emma was a lovely creature and your father...”

“Not a soul knows me better than you,” Arthur looked to him with determination, “And you know that I cannot.”

It was unlike the Duke but he pulled Arthur close into an embrace and held tightly, “Then there will be time to rest under the shade of trees someday, monsieur. I hope it for you. I pray for it, Your Grace!”

Arthur did not push him away.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Crieff, Scotland - January 1309​

Despite the events of Prince Arthur’s coming of age ceremony, the Prince had returned to Westminster for the Christmas court and said not a word of the visit that he held with his mother to Hereford. The King was not keen to press even if he had desire to know what was said. Putting his master of spies to it, Mayor Andrew had returned with little to say other than Sir Mark of Chelsea had been assured that the Prince had permission and dared not question the King’s desire. King Arthur’s letter reached him too late as the Prince rode fast and by then, it was too late.

More to that, the Prince had been on his best behavior all throughout the season. Chaste when close to the young Duchess of Northumberland and even offering inquiry into his aunt’s children in the Empire. Not one thing was mentioned in the King’s hearing in all of that month even if King Arthur’s other children were also curious about the state of their mother. The Mass of Christ was said and then they were off to Scotland. King and Prince, Lord Amedee of Bourbon, the Lord Chancellor Earl Edward of Chartres and the King’s nobleman, Earl Anselm of Gwynedd.

They were escorted by a sizable contingent of the King’s guard and made good time all the way to Crieff even in the winter weather that could be trouble at times in the north. All along the road, many came to see the sight of their Prince off to marry his Scots Lady and they cheered and threw laurels at his mount when he passed. Stopping only briefly to allow the Duchess of Northumberland to her home, they entered Scotland after staying but one night at the castle in Stirling and then the road was changed.

Still in struggle with the upstart Earl of Gowrie and his friends, Scotland was on a war footing and few peasants ventured out to see this English Prince ride north. The road was not deserted, but it was quiet. Those that did view King and Prince as they rode by kept to themselves and eyed with suspicion. All through the rocky terrain, the traveling party held close together and when they reached the castle at Crieff, they were relieved. Not only were they welcomed, but with great fanfare. Prince Radulf had made certain that Queen Helen spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding even if it took from the war treasury. As they entered the bailey, bunting was placed all along the walls and when they reached the steps, Prince Radulf was there himself to greet them.

“God sees us a glorious day, Your Grace!” the Prince of Scotland shouted as he moved down the steps.

King Arthur made to dismount and gestured towards his son, “It is his day and not mine, my Lord. Yet where be your mother the Queen?”

“She is...” Prince Radulf tried to smile, “...with my brother Gilbride. He’s home for the occasion and wished to have words.”

The younger Arthur too moved from his mount and stood to greet his would be father by law, “And where is your Lady Maud, my Lord Prince? Am I not to see my bride until the day of our wedding?”

Radulf offered a respectful bow, “She readies herself, my Lord Prince. It happens on the morn and she feels need to take all the night with preparation. I think that you’ll be most pleased.”

“I would be most pleased to take the measure of your good brother, my Lord,” the King of England clapped his son on the shoulder and looked to Radulf with a grin.

Prince Radulf gestured to the castle, “He’ll most surely be to the feast this night, Your Grace. He may not be to your liking but he’s very much so to Scotland.”

In truth, King Arthur was rather disappointed when he finally met this famed Prince Gilbride of Scotland. Not because he was a bore, but rather that he seemed quite amusing and amused. As told, the Lady Maud did not attend the feast that night but the rest of the Scots court, or what was left of it, did indeed. The eldest Scots Prince was quite fascinated with Lord Amedee and wished to bend his ear on all manner of things throughout the night, but Gilbride did not shun the King of England. Not at all. When it came time to toast the new couple, it was Gilbride rather than Radulf that gave the most effusive speech. And Queen Helen of Scotland, always in her cups, was right next to him smiling with a slurred speech and glassy eyes.

As the night grew long, King Arthur found himself in talk with a younger Scots noble when Prince Gilbride shifted behind him and offered yet another drink, “I was told that the English like their ale. I had some fine bit imported just for you, Your Grace.”

“And I have been tasting it all the night,” Arthur turned with a smile, “Most gracious, sir.”

Gilbride looked briefly to the high table and then back, “I hope you’ll forgive my mother. She is old and takes less care of herself than she should.”

“She has many troubles,” the English King allowed a knowing nod, “I am not offended. We are here to drink and be merry.”

“And your son...” Gilbride gestured to the Prince chatting up another of the Scottish court, “...a strapping lad. The very picture of you, Your Grace. You must be proud.”

King Arthur gave another nod, “As you are of yours, I am sure.”

“Indeed...sad that he could not be here. Yet...”

Arthur knew well, “Fighting this unfortunate war. I am sorry.”

“I’m certain that you are,” Gilbride showed a grin, “And too terrible that it should mar such an occasion.”

Lord Amedee stood nearby and joined in, “You’ll have them running in no time, good Prince. Fear not.”

“Ah!” Gilbride clapped Amedee on the back, “Yet we don’t have the famed warrior of France on our side. Too much a shame! Where’s Scots pride gone, I ask you?”

The younger Scots Prince also stood nearby and suggested with a sneer towards his older brother, “It goes nowhere but with you.”

“Come now, Ratty!” Gilbride squeezed a strong arm to his brother’s shoulder, “Let’s not fight this night. Your daughter marries on the morrow! It’s a good day, yes?”

Radulf pulled away, “You know I hate that nickname, ya twat!”

“Brothers, Your Grace,” Amedee leaned in with a whisper.

“Of course we’re brothers!” Gilbride heard it and pulled his younger sibling into a great hug, “A fine boy in young Richard! Soon to be a man! And your sweet Maud...she marries the English King!”

Arthur could not help but laugh, “Not quite yet, my Lord Prince. Soon enough.”

“Ach!” Gilbride pulled back, “Your ale...it goes right to my head. Not enough of it on campaign, right my Lord Amedee?”

Amedee gave nod, “Always, my Lord Prince. Never enough.”

As the elder Prince stumbled away, Radulf looked to King Arthur, “I’m sorry. When he drinks...he’s like our mother.”

“I actually find him quite...charming,” King Arthur suggested with a grin, “I like a man that speaks his mind. You Scots have that without fail. If I can keep my son’s wits about him tonight, then we shall all have fine time come the morn.”

“Papa!” Prince Arthur interrupted, “It’s Anselm. He’s gotten into it with one of the guards. Was looking for the stores as he ran out of wine and...”

The King was slightly shocked but also amused, “Hm. That’s unlike Ans. Shall we investigate, my Lord Amedee?”

Begging their apologies from the Scots Prince they did that very thing and true enough, Anselm had gone so far as to draw his sword but stopped immediately when he spied the King. It would turn into a long night for the three of them as they moved further into their cups and drank until near the morning. Good friends, good ale, good cheer...and then the sunlight soon. Arthur was sobered up quickly as he had no choice. His son was to be married. He hoped that the Prince had not found the same trouble for it would do no good to see a stumbling groom come down the aisle. And he did not.

Prince Arthur was there early in the main hall at Crieff and gently scolded his father for his night, “I am to be married and you find a bender?”

“We all had good fun,” Arthur smiled to his son, “And look...here come the party. She will be here soon.”

And she was.

​

Lady Maud of Scotland appeared through the doors with her arm over her father’s and looked the very picture of an angel. She was just now sixteen with bright blue eyes and a dress made to match, a fulsome figure and a truly regal bearing. If there was flaw, it might be the bridge of her nose. It was a bit broad. But her lips...her bosom...the way the dress flowed on her to show just enough of her ankle and leg. Tied up tight around the neck, Prince Arthur’s first thought was to see that collar unchained and what was underneath? They had known each other for some many years, but how she had grown!

The Queen of Scotland soon followed and paled in comparison. Sixty years old, she stooped. She shuffled in her steps. She barely made it to her seat and it was Radulf that helped her and not her eldest son Gilbride. Yet he was there too. With great fanfare, he entered the hall and walked the steps to give his niece a kiss before finding his place. They all sat. The Bishop spoke. The two royal children made their vows to each other and then...the feast.

Much like the night before, the wine and ale flowed and the newly married couple sat at the high table deeply into one another. Many of the court moved to offer their congratulations but these two seemed to only have eyes for each other. After many hours, the chants began to start the bedding. Prince Arthur and Lady Maud did not stop them. The men gathered round him and the ladies around her and they all moved as if one to the wedding chamber. Stripped of some few garments and many ribald words followed and then the Prince held up in the bed with only his breeches still on, “I shall not conquer Scotland tonight! I think to see Scotland conquer me!”

The bedding crowd shouted more ripe phrases until he held up another hand, “And I think to do it on my own!”

Some jeered but they eventually left the couple alone and went back to the revelry still going on at the feast. King Arthur did not join them. He moved back to his chamber as his head had throbbed all day. Finally finding some respite, he undid his braided coat and loosened his tunic with a great sigh. Looking to the ale provided, he considered it but then put it out of his mind. A fresh splash of water from the basin and then he collapsed on the bed with a wide smile. It was finally done. After years of planning, this marriage had happened. England joined with Scotland...of a piece. The other was...the other. Arty seemed quite pleased with his bride and no one could say that young Maud thought differently. Sixteen years...countless wars. Strife at home...and with him. But now? True peace.

The knock on the chamber door pulled him from his great smile.

Without an answer from the King, Lord Amedee entered with a grim visage, “Sire...I am sorry.”

“Amedee!” Arthur sat up in the bed as best he could, “Come...come in! What a wonderful day!”

“Your Grace...” Amedee stood like a statue with a stone face, “...I am sorry. The Queen Helen...she is...dead.”

After two days, Arthur was suddenly more sober than he had been in months, “What?!”

“Gone to her chambers,” Amedee moved into the room and shut the door, “After the feast. Her ladies found her cold.”

Great shock covered the King’s face and he was speechless at first and still unbelieving, “That is...that is impossible! We saw her just some few hours ago.”

“It is most possible, sire,” Amedee remained more then serious, “And is also true. The Princes of Scotland are now aware and worse...I fear that they come for you soon.”

“Come for me?!” Arthur stood from the bed with alacrity and by instinct reached for his sword.

Amedee raised his hand to stay the King, “Think not such as that just yet, sire. Yet they be not happy.”

Thinking quickly, Arthur suddenly grew worried over another, “Where be my son? Still abed with his new bride?”

“He has not been seen since we left the bedding ceremony,” the Duke understood immediately.

Arthur pointed towards the door, “Then you had best raise him and bring him to me. And call for Ans. Quick now, my Lord...we have little time!”

Without it needing to be said, Amedee was already away. Fully sober now, Arthur started considering the ramifications. The Scots Queen dead and the very day of her granddaughter’s wedding to the English Prince and heir to the throne. If their reception had been icy throughout Scotland on their way here, what would it be like on the way home...if they made it home? And now...who ruled Scotland itself? Surely Prince Gilbride. Perhaps his wife had been right all along. Too slow to act and now this. All of the work done to marry off his son and see a succession of this throne go to his heirs seeming for not. Which thought chilled him more? That or the sure thoughts of Gilbride and perhaps even Prince Radulf at the now?

A knock soon came to his chamber door, heavy and with purpose. Thinking it Anselm, he opened it to find the very Prince Gilbride and some of his men with Anselm held with them, “I am sorry, Your Grace...I was not quick enough.”

Gilbride held no smile this time, “I thought to make sure we had our English court under safe protection. My men have located your Lord Chancellor and search now for your Lord Marshal and the Prince.”

“And what of my other men?” the King stayed calm and asked with simple concern.

Gilbride held only a slim smirk before turning serious once more, “Surely still in drunken revelry...for now. When they all find out what we know...well...”

“Then you will not have long to wait for my Lord Amedee, for he is soon to return with my Prince in hand,” Arthur turned to calmly poor a drink of ale.

“Is that wise...” the Scottish Prince burst into the chamber with some few of his men and Anselm and then gestured towards the ale, “...after this night?”

Arthur turned with a raised brow, “I know not what you suggest, but I have heard the terrible news and for that I am sorry, my Lord Prince. A bittersweet day, if no thing else.”

“If no thing else?!” Gilbride unhanded the King’s Earl and grew red in the face, “You come to this castle to wed one of our own when your motive was murder all along! Murder most foul...Your Grace!!”

Arthur did not budge as Anselm moved to stand in between them. He then gently moved forward and gestured for his Earl to stand aside, “Move away, Ans. There is no thing to fear. The Prince is in grief and says things that he will later regret.”

“I regret nothing for I’ve not yet done anything to regret,” Gilbride sneered, “Yet let’s wait...the night remains and it is long.”

Before another word was said, the chamber door opened once more and Lord Amedee came in with Prince Arthur by his side and some few of their own men, “My Lords...Your Grace...I did not think it time for a party. Yet if there is to be one, should we not be invited?”

Prince Arthur looked angry and perhaps a little scared, “What is the meaning of this?! I am in the midst of a fine time with my new bride only to be pulled away before the most important moment!”

“Shame that, young whelp,” Gilbride kept his eye to the King, “Or not. Perhaps we’ve saved you just in time.”

Arthur returned his eye with the same steely gaze, “My Lord Prince Gilbride...how your manner does change.”

“And you know why!” Gilbride shouted, “My mother is dead and I know well who is responsible! It wasn’t enough to try and kill me, was it? Couldn’t find me? Not enough takers for your nasty plot? So...why not go for the next best thing to hurt me?!”

“You offend me, my Lord Prince,” Arthur stood tall and spoke in measured words, “There is no possible reason that I should wish either thing. We came here to see my son wed to your House. We have all had fine time until this tragic happening. I find great regret and sorrow for you and all of Scotland.”

Gilbride sneered, “You speak with a golden tongue and a black heart, sassanach! And when you address me now, you will do so with respect for I am now King!!”

“Very well...Your Grace...” Arthur nearly spit the title, “...what would you have me say? I had no hand in this. None. It is as much shock to me as it is to you. You may blame me all you wish but it does not make it true.”

Not used to such reason, Gilbride studied the King for a time before turning to Prince Arthur, “Then perhaps it was another...eh? Now that you are married, you thought to take one step closer to our throne...was that it? Sully our bed in more ways than one, eh?!”

Lord Amedee moved to place the Prince behind his own body, “You cast many stones, my Lord Prince...yet I wonder why you cast none towards your own House? Do you honestly think us to believe that you are blameless and without sin?”

“You’re a mighty warrior, Amedee of Bourbon,” Gilbride narrowed his eyes, “Yet you may also be foolish. What sin do I hold when my mother dies?”

“Only that it is a short step from Prince to King...Your Grace,” Amedee challenged with malice, “A journey ended by the ceasing of a heartbeat. I imagine that may cure many of your ills if what you have told me be true.”

“You’ve too much nerve, Frankish Lord!” Gilbride’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

Amedee’s hand was already at his own, “And balls of iron! Tell me it is not true and I shall find apology!”

“My Lords!” King Arthur shouted trying to diffuse the situation, “This gets us nowhere! Stand down and let us speak!”

Gilbride did not pull his weapon but kept his eye to the French Duke at first, “I’ve little more to say, English King. It wasn’t I that caused my mother’s death for I’ve no need. I already rule Scotland. No. I think it be the boy!”

“Gilbride of Scotland, you are no dolt...you are worse!” Prince Arthur suddenly shouted, “Thanks be to God that you have no daughter to wed for she would be worse than sheep. You may understand that, it you understand no thing else!”

“Arthur!!” the King shouted as Gilbride moved to the young Prince and held to his tunic.

“You will have a very short married life, young sir,” Gilbride peered closely into his eyes, “Your father should thank me given his own.”

“Unhand me!!” the English Prince wriggled away.

Both Lord Amedee and King Arthur moved to stand between them and the King held up a hand, “Steady, sir! You have lost your mother this night. If I should lose my son, it will be war and I will surely kill you as you believe I wish.”

“It is already war!!” Gilbride shouted.

Another voice entered the conversation as Prince Radulf entered the chamber flanked by many guards and the youngest Scots Prince Duncan, “Not yet, brother. Not unless you start one. This King of England had no hand in our mother’s death and neither did my son by law. You know this true enough.”

Gilbride showed shock upon his face as he turned, “You!!!”

“What you do not know...or consider...is that I have spent more time to this keep than you,” Radulf did not smile as his men moved to disarm Gilbride’s, “The guard here is loyal to me and we shall honor our commitment to the English who stand here as our guests. They will be provided safe escort away and will take my daughter Maud with them. Then we shall see who it was that killed our mother because it was surely one of us. And it was not me.”

“Of course it was you!!” Gilbride spit, “Now it makes sense! Your daughter marries this sassanach and you grow close with them. Place me as your target and they will help you for they wish me dead already!”

Radulf grinned, “Aye...they do. Care to give them more reason?”

The Lord Chancellor Edward finally arrived surrounded by more of Radulf’s men and some of the English guard, “Your Grace...I think it time we left for the south.”

“Yes, Your Grace...” Radulf kept his eye to his brother, “...I believe your Lord is right. Maud is packed and ready to go. Send your Lord Amedee to fetch her. We shall speak soon. I’m sorry for my brother’s ill manner but I did warn you.”

Amedee and Anselm wasted no time ushering both King and Prince from the chamber as Arthur turned back, “It is I that am sorry, sir. I had wished for a better day.”

Radulf held a firm gaze to his brother still, “There is no better day in Scotland, Your Grace. This is as good as it gets.”

Father and son, Marshal and Chancellor, Earl and guard all moved swiftly away from the castle at Crieff under the cover of darkness. Lady Maud of Scotland was taken with and by sun up, they were leagues away and finally said goodbye to their Scots escort. Slowly they traveled, away from the main roads as they knew the passages from many a war. It was only when they crossed back into England that King Arthur and Lord Amedee finally spoke on the matter.

At a slow trot finally, Arthur kept at his question, “I cannot understand, my Lord? What makes a son kill their mother?”

“Who is to say that a son did?” Amedee kept his eyes to the road ahead.

Arthur turned only a moment in the saddle, “Surely one of them did? It was not us!”

“Then perhaps it was a son...for the love of his mother,” Amedee trained his eye to the Prince up ahead riding next to his new bride.

The King followed his man’s eye and at first was irritated at the suggestion until he considered it further, “You...you don’t think…”

Amedee grinned, “Or mayhap, monsieur...the grand Lady died of natural causes after all. She did drink too much...was away from her wits.”

Arthur considered the possibilities as Amedee spurred his mount forward and hollered over his shoulder, “It matters not, sire. We have the girl, we are safe and you have your next challenge. Do you accept?”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Westminster, England – February 1314​

It was a simple box. Not ornate befitting his place and position but made of sturdy wood and well crafted at the least. King Arthur could not seem to take his hand away as he rubbed the smooth surface as if the contents inside might feel it. Too soon and not long enough...these were the times that might try a man’s life and the man before him was too young to go to God.

“Father...” a voice called out to him and caused the King to wince. Prince Arthur stepped to him in the hall and spoke softly, “...she is here.”

Arthur did not turn and instead kept his palm close to the casket. Soft steps sounded from behind and then her voice, “It is little comfort to be let from my rooms for this...husband.”

With great sorrow, Arthur turned to his wife and embraced her and she took it in with the same emotion. They shared tears and then Aveline moved to touch the casket herself, “I missed so much of his life...and I might blame you. Yet I cannot for I am a poor mother.”

“You may blame me, Ava,” Arthur looked on with sad eyes, “I kept you away. Yet what could we do? He was...weak.”

​

Aveline kept her eye to the coffin, “Where is the girl...this Berchte of Castile?”

“She mourns to the chapel,” the King answered as he moved to hold his wife’s hand, “She knows so little of our culture...of our realm. And she has too few around her.”

The Queen finally turned in sorrow, “Ned was an angel, Arthur. Now he remains so. I blame you for many things, but this was not your fault.”

“He was just to his prime…” Arthur started to say before finding tears once more.

Aveline held to him close, “You will dry your eyes and we will bury our son. You are King and you must show strength. I should not feel sorry for you...but I do, Arthur. You have lost your great left hand and now we lose our son. If I believed in a just God, I would now call Him cruel.”

“It was just the tilt yard...” Arthur looked over her shoulder at the casket, “...an accident...”

“And he was never so good with weapons,” Aveline finished for him, “Ned was not meant to be a warrior nor a King, husband. That is Arthur’s role. And while I am sad...struck great with grief...the realm does change and we must change with it.”

The King moved to hold his hand to his son’s coffin once more, “I cannot think of that at the now. I cannot think...at all.”

“Then allow me,” Aveline suggested as she held to his arm, “You will not send me back because you cannot afford to. You have lost a great man in Lord Amedee and your vassals will question. With whom do you replace him?”

Arthur felt the wood of the casket and showed another tear, “I cannot replace him.”

“Yet you must!” Aveline used her small frame to turn her husband to her face, “You must find control of yourself and rule, Arthur! Tears will not bring back our son...it will not bring back Lord Amedee! The Earl...Anselm...he is a fine soldier. Your man Etienne de Pleshey...he too would work and well. Yet you must choose!”

The King wiped at his face, “I’ve already called for Tienne. He will be to Westminster in the fortnight. I do not forget my duty.”

​

Aveline showed a frown, “And yet, you forget your composure. Do you not think that I am sad? Ned was my son as well, even if you tried to take him away. Yet I am Queen of this realm and you remain King...”

“Not that you wish it!” Arthur answered with some temper.

“Husband!” Aveline held tight to him, “We have chance. To start anew...to let our past be our past. Your father did not care for me but he knew well when he placed us together. I have born you five children and though we lose Ned...we remain with the others. Blæja is placed and Arthur is set as your heir...but there is still Eddy...and Nell. If you will allow me to be their mother...I would help you.”

King Arthur held to her with a confused look, “How can I trust you? After all that you have done?”

“Because you need me, Arthur,” his wife answered, “Who else is left? Amedee is gone. No one in the world trusts Lord Mayor Andrew. You run through Chancellors like I run through stockings. There is only our Prince...and me.”

“You find me at a weak moment,” Arthur replied and she offered a stern face.

“You are at a weak moment! Lionel of York finds himself bereft of Holy Church and you can blame your Lord Theobald for that. Amedee’s son Baudouin...he now fights for his place in Bourbon. If the cat is away, there will be too many mice. If you are weak, husband...they will smell it. And they will act.”

​

Arthur allowed her a raised brow, “You think to have solution? Can you solve our son’s death?”

“You know that I cannot,” she answered quickly, “I am no Cather like your mother, but there remains a cruel God and that is what took our son from us. Yet we live in the world that God made and we must face these harsh truths. You live by battle but there is no warrior for you to face in this. Ned is gone. I mourn. And I live. Arthur will be King and there remains our other children...and the girl. The dowry of this Berchte...it cannot be returned. She must remain.”

“Your mind, Ava...” Arthur looked to her with an odd fascination, “...it works even still.”

She held her husband close, “I have no choice. I am a woman and all I have are my looks and my mind. I am too old for one to be of any good so I must rely on the other. And I am Queen. It is a position that I will use...if you would allow it.”

“What do you propose?” Arthur asked as he looked once more to their son’s coffin.

Aveline brushed his face with her hand, “Show the world that you are strong, husband. Great tragedy visits our house but they must never know that it effects you. We cannot hold the girl Berchte of Castile as hostage, but young Eddy is soon to age...let him now marry the girl. She still gains a Prince and we her dowry. And Nell...she is young...but time enough to find her a match. I think in Poitou with the Lord Sigismund...but there is time to consider it. Above all, Arthur...you must not show that you are defeated.”

“I have never been defeated...” the King answered with sorrow, “...until now.”

“And so you will not be,” Aveline replied as she pulled him to the coffin of their son, “I am here with you as we say goodbye to the child that we made together. I am here with you to see his brother grow strong and become King of this realm and Scotland too. I am here, Arthur...if you would have me and allow me.”

Arthur looked to the casket and felt another tear as he confessed, “You find me at weakness, Ava. But we do share in this. I do think to need you...but if you cross me...”

“Let us bury our son, Arthur,” Aveline held to his back, “It is a cruel bridge that we must cross. The rest? We may work out...if we try. I am willing.”

The King offered a great sigh as he held his hand to the coffin once more, “Eadward...you were too good for this world.”

“He was,” Aveline placed her hand on top of Arthur’s, “And now will sit at God’s hand. I sit at yours, Arthur. And I wish to be with you. Allow me to assuage your grief...our grief?”

Arthur turned and reluctantly gave her a brief kiss, “So be it.”

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1351​

“Shh!” she suggested in a wicked whisper, “You fret when you need not do so.”

“Why?”

“Only look to here,” the voice replied, “In their forties, thirties, twenties...look what we have made!”

The old man turned with anger in the bed, “They are all out and I am still in!”

“Yet they are with me, Arthur,” she stated with satisfaction, “You tried to take them away...and they now live with me and not you.”

“I wished better for you,” he suggested.

She smiled and bent to give him a kiss, “No. You did not. You got exactly what you wanted. So...how does it feel?”

“You...are a witch! You bewitch me now!”

“I don’t,” she smiled again, “Yet haunt you, I will. For the rest of your days.”

“She’s not wrong, lad,” the other voice called over her shoulder, “You’ve gained twice my lifetime, and twice my troubles.”

“Father!” Arthur called out, “Save me from her!”

“He can’t,” she whispered into his aged ear, “He’s long dead...just like me. You saw to it all. We all look...and we all wonder...how does it feel?”

The old man was struck from his dream in a sweat. He looked to the ceiling and tried to adjust his eyes. They were failing. Then a soft voice showered over him, “I think you not well, Majesty. You show a fever.”

“I...” Arthur looked to Letitia with a pained eye, “...am not well. I think to find my calling and it is unkind.”

She bent down and brushed his face, “You are fevered and I will call the physician. He will let some blood. You will be well.”

“Non, mon tendre...” he looked to her with frightened eyes, “...I think not.”

* * *

Bardney Castle – May 1318​

“I was there,” Maud said with impatience, “I saw it!”

Prince Arthur stood in their new solar and showed a wide eye, “You need not tell me! She was my mother!”

“And liked me not!” Maud answered as she stood by the window, “Yet...she was a Queen. You could not witness it. Your brother and sister could not...but I did! Saw what happened to her...and what your father did!”

“Is this our first argument?” the Prince showed irritation, “Or our last...I hope?”

She turned with a hard eye, “Play the wounded son if you will...”

“I am wounded, Maud!” Arthur suggested with great sorrow, “Not only is my mother dead...her head...”

“Gone from her body, I know!” Maud looked away once more.

The Prince moved to her, “Yet to hear...to know...of what happened? I would not wish that upon your family! I love you!”

She turned with a pained eye, “It set us up, Arthur, I know! Yet this is my family! My brother...my grandmother. My father! Is this a match made from lies...deceit? In pain from start to finish? What am I to say to him?!”

The Prince moved to pull her into an embrace, “It’s a match made from love, my sweet dove. I cannot change what they have done as much as I might wish it. I care not for your throne. I care not that you gain it. I only wish you. Let them plot to their peril...”

“That is just it, Arthur,” Maud held firm in her body, “Your mother has died from plots...as have so many others. How can you not challenge your father in this?!”

Arthur looked to her with a pained face, “It was her...not him. I did not like it...but she proved her guilt.”

“Did she?!” Maud pulled away, “Did she truly?! I ask you again...what am I to say to my father? Yours gains from this. No longer a worry and more to that...gains his claim to Briefne in Ireland...”

​

Arthur stood tall in response, “It cost him much.”

“It cost you much!” Maud moved back to him and held to his arms, “Your mother is dead!”

The Prince looked deep into her eyes, “You need not remind me. I saw it too. And so you have lost and I have lost...and what is left? Us!”

“Do you not confront him?!” Maud asked with sure question, “Do you not gain his word on this?!”

“I don’t need to...” Arthur showed a harsher eye, “...and I don’t want to. I am pained...and so is he.”

“Truly?!” she asked with shock, “You think that your father the King is in pain at this?!”

Arthur showed a blank face as he answered, “Yes.”

The Scots Princess left him to look out the window once more and maintained a silence until she found words, “I...don’t want what your parents had, sir. And I cannot forgive your father for what he has done. Even in death, I will never forgive your mother. That is why I needed to see her die. I saw it for you, Arthur. For me...for my brother...for my grandmother. Yet what are we to do now?”

“I do not ask my father,” the Prince stepped closer, “For it is not for him to say. I only wish your thought. That is why I told you.”

“And you never should have!” Maud felt the tear stream down her face.

Prince Arthur moved to her and held to her back, “I felt that you should know. I could not keep it from you. It is we two and I agree...I do not wish my parent’s cause. We have our son and we have our daughter...we have our future, however it was made. Scotland and England...you and me.”

“It’s based on a bed of lies,” Maud teared up even more.

Arthur pulled a hand to brush her neck, “It is based on you...and me. That is all that we have left. I will not break from my father, even if I might wish it. I have a realm coming to me and so do you. The future is ours. Not his. Not hers. I am sad...but I still have you.”

She turned with a pained look to her eyes, “I must tell my father something.”

“No,” the Prince was quick to answer, “You do not. What worth would that do? You know it...I know it. Do you wish war between our Houses? Your House...my House? Our House?”

“Why do you not ask him?” Maud questioned with a plea in her eye.

The Prince was pained when he answered, “I...cannot. I loved my mother, but she did go against me...against us. That is all that matters to me. You! Father did what he must...”

“I love you as well, Arthur,” Maud replied with the same pain, “Yet I can never forgive him.”

“Nor can I,” the Prince answered quickly, “Yet I am his son. We are made Duke and Duchess of Lancaster and he has gifted us the county itself to make it whole. He tries to make amends, slim as they may be...and wishes not war with Scotland. Do you?”

She brushed a hand to his face, “He has enough already with his claim to Briefne. Fergus ‘the Bewitched’ will soon feel his pain, but I must tell my father.”

“Tell him what?” Arthur questioned.

Maud leaned in to kiss his cheek and then answered, “Not to join his cause.”

“That is...fair,” Arthur replied with a touching hand of his own, “I speak to you, my Lady...my Princess..my wife...it is just we two. Someday the world will be ours...with all of the shit and the grime...we will come out the other end. It is you and me. Scotland and England. My father will be gone. Your father will be gone. And we shall rule...and well!”

“You have a heady vision, husband,” Maud kept a loving hold to his face, “With your family and mine...we shall have to work on that.”

Arthur showed her a brief smile, “With your help...we shall.”

“I love you, Arthur,” Maud leaned in to kiss him once more, “I hope that your words ring true for I remained troubled.”

“My father is off to war,” the Prince answered.

She did not smile, “Again.”

“And he will win,” he replied.

“Again,” Maud answered quickly.

Arthur tried to smile, “And so it remains...just we two.”

“I hope you mean that, Arthur,” Maud kissed him once more with tender lips, “I truly do.”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Westminster, England – September 1323​

The King entered the solar and was surprised to find not one but two guests before him. Prince Arthur stood tall and smiled as he gestured to his own son Arthur, “I am sorry to be late with my gift to you father, as it took some time to arrange; but in honor of your turning to fifty and three this summer, here I bring to you your grandson.”

The youngest Arthur offered a perfect bow and the King showed a grin, “How old are you now, lad?”

With a slight look to the Prince, the boy answered “Six, Your Grace...soon to be seven.”

“Come now, lad...” the King gestured for him to sit in his lap, “...you may call me grand-papa. You serve two Kings at the now and it might get confusing for you.”

As the boy crawled up, King Arthur looked to his son, “Had I known the lad was coming, I might have found for him some treats. I wonder...however did you manage it, Arturo?”

“It was not easy,” the Prince answered, “As I wrote to you, Maud is quite heavy with child at the now and I had to promise to return swiftly so I am afraid that our progress to here will be short lived.”

As the King played with his grandson, he asked, “You risk missing the birth of another son?”

Prince Arthur turned to pour them both some ale, “I have reason to believe it a daughter, yet I am sure to be back to Cupar before she gives birth.”

“Ah! But what is this?” the King looked warmly to his grandson, “It is a fine ring, lad. Someday you shall wear it. Would you care to hold it?”

“Yes please,” the young boy answered eagerly and King Arthur slipped it from his finger and handed it over.

As the boy showed awe as he turned it over in his small hands, the Prince returned with a goblet of ale, “Be mindful that he does not lose it, father. I think that ring to be irreplaceable.”

“Nonsense,” the King winked to his son, “The actual ring is locked safely away in the tower. I had this replica made some years ago. No good losing the real thing on the field of battle.”

The Prince offered a smile, “I think you lose rather little in the field, sir.”

“If you would like...” the King smiled to his grandson, “...I can have two more made and we all three can strut around in our finery. Three rings for three Arthurs, eh?”

“Now who might get confused by that, father?” the Prince laughed and moved to the low fire.

The King stood and gently placed the youngest Arthur back in the chair to play with his ring, “Let them get confused. I learned well from mine own father...it’s the best thing for them. Did you come by way of Teviotdale as you moved south?”

“I did,” the Prince answered as his father joined him by the fire, “I be certain that Lord Anselm is fast on my heels as he was mopping up the last of the rebels there. I joined Lord Theobald as far south as his home and then we made our way to Westminster.”

“Blasted rebels!” King Arthur grimaced, “That’s why they should remain confused. I’ve no time for it. Do they not know that I grow our realm fast and furious? Yet they wish to plague me with their unruly behavior and heretical thought. I dare not think they wish to taste my bitter blade but if it should come to it...”

“I doubt very much that King Arthur the Just would do such a thing father,” the Prince jested with him.

The King skewed a serious brow in answer, “Just try him, sir.”

“True enough, father,” the Prince replied as he looked on his son, “A rebellious lot is a dangerous thing.”

“Indeed it is!” the King showed a wide eye, “Just look what has happened to your poor sister in Norway! Her husband Ulv...dead to a dungeon. From King to slave...just like that. And their poor girl...naught but thirteen.”

“I am told that Blæja is called regent for the girl,” Prince Arthur suggested.

The King shook his head, “That is little salve for the wound. I sent her there to be a Queen, not to be a pauper and answer to her own daughter.”

“Indeed...” the Prince quietly replied, “...a parent should never answer to their children.”

With a stern glare, the King turned and then softened, “I’ll allow that. It seems we are destined to always have a back and forth, Arturo. One minute you understand my mind completely and the next you question every part of it. That lad there, son…he’ll be of age soon enough. You will know then what I have gone through...what we have gone through.”

The Prince turned to his son with a prideful eye, “I hope with less rough patches, father. Yet you are likely right. I know that the crown you wear is a heavy one. I know it even more now that my wife wears one as well. It is why I come to you...so that we may be well met and my son known well to England.”

“Will Her Grace Queen Maud not scoff?” the King drained his ale and moved to pour another, “She seemed determined to raise the lad a Scotsman.”

The Prince followed for another as well, “She is determined in her way and I remain loyal to her. Yet he is my son as well. He gains much no matter which way he looks and he should be seen often in those places.”

“Pleased am I to hear it,” the King turned and poured with some pride, “What brings on this new found desire?”

Prince Arthur gave nod as he held his drink to his lips and considered it, “Age, mayhap? Maud and I are both past thirty and we have seen much in our time. She has her realm to rule and someday, I shall have mine.”

“Quite so,” the King grinned, “As you said, Arturo...I won’t live forever.”

A knock to the solar door drew them from their conversation and the Lord Marshal entered with a bow. The youngest Arthur was quick to jump from his chair and run to him, “Uncle Anselm!”

“Easy lad,” Anselm smiled and then looked to the King, “Your Grace...I am returned from Teviotdale.”

The King raised a humored brow, “And apparently now an uncle?”

“He has been to Scotland so much these past years, father...” the Prince explained, “...I believe the lad thinks him family.”

“And so he is!” King Arthur smiled as he moved to greet his Earl and held his hands to young Arthur’s shoulders, “And returns to me, my champion. I am told that Lord Theobald still has gumption left in his old bones. How much heavy lifting did you have to do this time, sir?”

Anselm grinned as he looked from Prince to King, “The King of Scotland is not wrong, sire. The Lord Duke held fast against the rebellion and it was all but done when he left the final bits to me. I thought it owed to him...hoping you did not mind.”

“You’re the Lord Marshal, Ans...I leave it to you,” King Arthur gestured for his son to get the Earl a drink, “And so we are safe once more from meddling hands to the north?”

The Prince did as suggested and then shifted to hand Anselm his ale, “Safe from Scotland, father. Connaught is back in Maud’s hands and Gowrie appears to be silenced for the now.”

“My Lord Prince is correct, Your Grace,” Anselm warmly accepted the goblet and tussled the young lad’s head as he kept his eye to the King, “As our friend Lord Amedee was want to ask often...what next, sire?”

The King allowed a hearty laugh and the knelt to his grandson, “Now see here, lad...this is a lot of boring stuff that we must needs discuss. I tell you...if your father says it is alright...go down to the kitchens and tell cook that His Grace demands that you have all the sweet meats that you desire. What think you of that?”

“Grand-papa?” the youngest Arthur looked to him with a questioning eye, “I...would like to stay...and listen...if I may?”

The Prince stood over them, “He is very curious father...he enjoys learning.”

“Then by all means!” King Arthur lifted the boy up in his arms and swung him around, “No time better than the present for a little Lord to learn his lot in life.”

“Yet you must let us talk, son,” Prince Arthur directed as the King sat him down, “Find your chair by the fire and when we are done...”

The King winked to his grandson, “And when we are done, we two shall both find sweet meats!”

Anselm grinned to the Prince, “He is spoiling him again, isn’t he?”

“I believe he can do no other, my Lord,” Prince Arthur answered with a smile.

“Hush, you two nannies!” King Arthur moved to the window and smiled wide, “I am in a good mood. My son comes to visit and brings my grandson to me...Teviotdale is done and over...and I have conquered Ireland. Why not be cheerful?”

“Because it is not your nature, father?” the Prince questioned with knowing, “And I dare say...only half of Ireland is conquered.”

The King spun with a smile still to his lips, “I am called their King, am I not? No mythical High King or some such jot...true King just as I am in England, Wales and France. I call that a conquering, Arturo.”

“Yet there is more to do there, sire,” Anselm reminded, “You ask of the north...Moray still holds Ulster and the King of the Isles...”

“Is a man I respect,” King Arthur gave nod, “Màel-Martain is known as wise for a reason. It was his misfortune to inherit Briefne when he did. The Isles do not concern me and the rest of Moray is for your wife...is it not, Arturo?”

The Prince skewed a curious eye, “You would allow Maud free passage in Northern Ireland, father?”

“It is not so much that...” the King found a larger grin, “...for I have for both of you some good news. The treacherous Sieghard of Champagne is finally dead. Long may he rot! A girl naught but twelve now rules to that Duchy. As of the spring, it was said to me by the Lord Chancellor that she was in your favor, Arturo.”

​

“In favor of the Prince for France, sire?” Anselm questioned.

The King kept his grin, “Indeed so, Ans. Yet how long do we think that will last? She grows and all the while has the Emperor to her young ear. And as I turned fifty and three this summer...Luitpold of Germany is now seventeen. A man ready to fight.”

“You don’t mean...” Prince Arthur showed concern, “...you’re not...not thinking of another war with the Empire, are you?”

“And why should I not?” the King found joy in the thought, “He’s still a boy and untried, this Luitpold. By God...he cried when I took from him last!”

The Prince stepped forward, “He was a child, father.”

“He’s still a child as far as I am concerned and will cry again,” the King drained his ale and moved to pour another, “He finds trouble to the low countries and to the south...and I did not send my youngest daughter to Poitou to see her a servant of the Empire forever. I’ve told you, Arturo...I am not yet done there.”

Anselm looked from Prince to King, “It surely can be done, sire. Yet I am but a soldier and no diplomat. It seems to me that the Lords of France...which you will need for such an adventure...are not fully invested with them all being so new.”

“They are not all that new, Ans,” the King turned in reply, “Amedee’s son Baudouin is finished with his troubles with the church...and Anjou and Orleans remain firmly ours. There is always strength to Normandy and we’ll get the strength from Burgundy even with their young Lady.”

The Prince was not done with his concern, “Berry, father?”

“The Lord of Berry holds naught but Bourges, Arturo,” King Arthur showed a firm eye, “I could not count on him if I wished to. And with the struggles to the low country, our Lord of Normandy’s Flemish troops will have free passage.”

Anselm gave nod, “I think all of that is true, sire. Yet I may remind...while we have good men at the ready, hard and true...they have been fighting to Ireland and the north for a good long time. It will take a relearning to point them east and as we do...you know well that the Bretons will take their chance.”

The King turned to his old friend and held an eye for a time before offering a smile, “I’m not sold on the idea, Ans. Just pondering. I hold claim on Reims and I aim to use it one of these days. She’s a young a girl in Champagne and above all, I hold France as the fortress. Every bit of it. It protects us. I sent Nell to Poitou for that very reason...”

“And she and her husband might find themselves greatly out should you move east, father,” the Prince cautioned.

King Arthur turned to his son with a sharp eye, “I ask your advice, Arturo, because it is your realm as much as mine. However...mayhap stick with your wife’s for the now?”

The Prince stood taller, “I do, father. It may seem self-serving, but the threat from the highlands remains always. Much can happen in the Empire but you have built so much as you have pushed far to Ireland and beyond. I believe the Lord Marshal is correct. The Breton threat remains in both Ireland and France.”

“My Lord Prince speaks it true, Your Grace,” Anselm added, “If trouble there be in the Empire...then more will come. It always does. And it remains vast, no matter the strength we hold.”

The King showed a small laugh as he moved to his grandson by the fire, “It appears that I am outnumbered, lad? What think you of that?”

The youngest Arthur shrugged his shoulders with a shy grin and caused the King to laugh even more, “Then very well! You and I shall go and conquer some sweet meats and let these two figure it out, eh?”

Leaving them no chance to respond, King Arthur had swept his grandson into his arms and left the solar. Anselm smiled at first before turning to the Prince, “You know he holds wish to the Empire.”

“I do, sir,” Prince Arthur showed caution in his eyes, “Yet...I think it not yet time for his next adventure there.”

“He will take Reims eventually,” Anselm replied with familiarity, “You know it as much as I. He will take any and every land he desires.”

The Prince looked to the Earl with appreciation, “We have grown closer, my Lord. And I am thankful for it. I shall need a man such as you as my father held Lord Amedee...”

“Do you think him too old for it?” Anselm asked with some incredulity to his mind.

“Not at all, my Lord Anselm...” the Prince attempted to explain.

Anselm pushed, “Then why do you wish him to take more from your wife...from Scotland? You know well that if he pushed north, eventually he will surround her...and your son.”

“It will all come to my Arthur in the end,” the Prince answered with a sharp eye, “And I only do what I must. You need to trust me on this, Anselm of Gwynedd. You have proved a good friend...to my father and now to me. I cannot tell you why...I just...I think father should continue north.”

The Earl gave nod as if he understood, “For your Queen’s protection.”

“Indeed so, my Lord,” the Prince wavered a bit but returned the nod, “For Maud’s protection.”

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle - August 1351​

Down and down he went. The old man played it over in his mind. The image. The very thought. His son...his own son. Plastered to the earth and sprawled out in gruesome detail. It was described to him...and he had never forgotten his own shame. His youngest boy...Eadgar. The old man still struggled to understand why. Yet it mattered not at the time. How best to present it? A war was on. The north was secure and the Bretons…

“I told you...he was not meant for this world.”

The old man turned his head within the bed, “You lie! He was our son! The last child we had when we could still say that we were happy. But you ruined him! Gave him dreams! You were always for Arturo...and then you changed!”

“I never changed, Arthur...” the voice echoed in his head, “...and we were never happy. I was maman from beginning to end. I held him up as a babe...and I held him up as my hope.”

“Your hope was wasted...” the old man called out, “...and so was our son!”

“You’ll never forget him, Arthur,” came the response, “And you’ll never forget me. You’ve born much...and yet you birth so little.”

“I wish you not!”

A humored laughed followed, “That much is clear.”

“Our son, Ava!!!”

The voice quieted to answer, “Our sons, Arthur. You could not keep them safe...and I...I was gone.”

The old man struggled in the bed, “You ruined me!”

“No...husband! You did that all by yourself.”

He reached out an arm, “Twenty three years!”

“That you have found wanting.”

“He was a good lad!” the old man shouted.

The voice answered, “And is now with me...as they all are. You tried to take them away...and now they are all with me. Look to your life, old man. See what you have made of it. An empire...and no thing at all.”

* * *

Nantes, Brittany - August 1327​

It had been quite possibly the finest execution of a plan of battle that King Arthur had ever seen. There were always needs to change when the unexpected occurred but right from the start, everything worked with precision. Lord Theobald had been dispatched to Ireland to face what little opposition the Bretons might show which was none. And unlike the past, this time King Arthur joined with Anselm and Lord Arnoul of Gloucester to provide two strong invading armies that penetrated deep into Brittany proper. After a resounding victory at Redon, the remains of the Breton force had found escape to the south while the King and Lord Arnoul split their forces to siege at both Nantes and Quimper.

Meanwhile, the embattled Bretons were set upon by a further seven thousand made up of both English and French forces led by Lord Baudouin of Bourbon. The resulting Battle of La Rochelle had left Brittany with less than four hundred fighting men. These were destroyed soon after in the Battle of Loudun. Now, the entirety of Brittany was under siege made even easier when the northern province of Leon broke away from their young Queen. The King held sway in Nantes and personally commanded the siege. He’d ordered more soldiers called up and was also in the midst of preparing an invasion of Breton Navarre when Anselm entered his tent. What was an extremely good mood quickly turned sour the moment he spied his old friend’s face.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Arthur stood to greet him with concern, “Tell me not that some great catastrophe has occurred!”

“Your Grace...sire...it is...” Anselm could not bring himself to speak the words.

“Out with it, Ans,” Arthur showed a slight grin, “It’s not like you to be tight lipped.”

Anselm pushed himself, “It...is your son.”

“Arturo?” the King now showed even greater concern, “What calamity befalls him?!”

“No, sire...” Anselm corrected with care, “...it is Prince Eadgar.”

Arthur was growing impatient, “Eddy?! What of him? Tell me not that he has tried to join with Lord Theobald to Bunratty!”

Anselm felt a tear stream down his cheek, “I am sorry, sire. Yet I must report to you...that he is dead.”

The sounds of the siege camp outside suddenly seemed to stop. In fact, no sound could be heard at all such was King Arthur’s shock. He stood motionless and speechless, unable to comprehend what he had just been told. It was inconceivable. He’d already lost one son. Now to lose another? It was all he could do to form a word with shaky breath…

“How?”

Anselm produced a letter as he replied with sadness, “The Lord Chancellor writes...says that the Prince fell from a great distance. Naught but a fortnight ago.”

“Fell?” the King questioned, “From where?!”

“His place to Briefne, sire,” Anselm answered as best he could, “It was late...mayhap too dark. He was to the castle towers...and...mayhap he slipped?”

Arthur suddenly found some urgency, “Slipped? Or was pushed?!”

“I...I don’t understand, sire...” Anselm responded before Arthur cut him off.

“Never underestimate the whims of an ungrateful woman, sir,” Arthur was starting to show a rage, “We all know that the Lady Berchte liked him not. Where is she?!”

Anselm held up his hands in protest, “Sire...I assure you...the Lady Berchte is overcome with grief. While they were not close...this has touched her mightily. I’ve also received word from Earl Laurence of Dublin. He was with them both the night that it happened. He states that there was an air of melancholy to them...especially to the Prince. He shares sincere apology, but...suggests that it is possible...”

“Possible?” Arthur questioned with anger, “Possibly what?!”

“That the Prince jumped, sire,” Anselm lowered his head as he answered.

Once again, the King was left speechless. He too began to feel tears forming and was only able to look through watery eyes as he mouthed, “My God!”

“I know that it is hard to fathom, sire...” Anselm attempted to help him, “...but it was said to me by Prince Arthur that he felt his brother deeply out of sorts...unhappy.”

Arthur looked past him as he answered, “It is a sin, Ans. One of the worst committed.”

“We don’t know it for true, sire,” Anselm replied, “Mere speculation.”

“It can never be known...” Arthur felt his knees buckle under him and he was forced to sit, “...never be told. He slipped. That is all there is to it.”

Anselm understood, “His body remains to Briefne, sire. With his wife and your grandson. I know it is hard to think on these things at the now...but what is to be done?”

“Done?” the King answered with seeming confusion.

“Indeed, sire...” Anselm moved to kneel beside the King, “...what is to be done? Shall he be placed next to his brother Prince Eadward? Or...to Briefne? And will you return to see..”

Arthur suddenly looked up with determination, “I’m not returning anywhere! We are in the midst of war and I cannot leave off this siege! We are too far gone to let up now!”

“Yet, sire...” Anselm questioned, “...should you not be present when they place him to rest?”

Coldly, the King answered, “Send for Arturo. Let him make the plans. He may see his brother treated right and well.”

“Are you certain?” Anselm questioned once more.

Arthur then softened with great sadness, “I’ve no choice, Ans. One by one...I am lost. Arturo will know what to do. He must handle it for I cannot.”

“As you wish, sire,” Anselm stood to send off the letter and knew not to say more at that time. When the King was ready, he would be there.

As he left, Arthur watched after for a moment and then fell to his knees on the earthen floor. Great tears poured from his eyes and the sound of his grief could be heard throughout the camp. No one dared disturb him. Soon enough they all knew why he was in such deep despair. The King had lost another son. And now only one Prince remained.

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Westminster, England - March 1331​

There was a heated question being debated to the council when King Arthur finally arrived. A fine morning had been had with his sweet Bella and he kept to his robes rather than dressing fully. Snacking on a sweet cake, he grinned and mumbled through his chews, “What is this, my Lords? I had thought...that we...were full of comity.”

The Prince and younger King did not stand with the others as they bowed and he attempted to answer, “It is the matter of our Lady of York, father. Father Matthew has placed his feeling with the Holy Father and the none of us quite know what to do with it. He is court chaplain to you, father and your confessor...yet he spoke rather strongly before he left for Lothian to see to the Bishop there and fears a spread of heresy to the north with Lady Adela still not of age.”

“It is merely a ruse, Your Grace,” the Lord Chancellor stated quickly to King Arthur, “Father Matthew does good works for you in many places, but I fear that he is too beholden to Rome. It is young Lady Adela’s Earl of Westmorland that pushes this excommunication for he is jealous that such a young girl should find such place at court with both York and Anjou to her title.”

Earl Randolph found his seat as the King moved to pour some ale and listened, “It is rare that I agree with Lord Edward so fully, Your Grace...yet it remains true that the Emperor is now in league with Pope Vigilius and I be sure that this is a matter meant to take our eyes from what is important and instead meddle in things that concern you not.”

“My Lord Arnoul...” King Arthur turned with drink in hand as he looked to the Duke of Gloucester, “...your nephew spends time enough to the north with his wife and Lady. Is there fear of heresy at the now?”

The Lord Steward answered diplomatically, “Lord Simon has said no such thing to me, Your Grace...yet it is a matter of interest. As you have tasked me...as you have both tasked me...we remain to building in Winchester. Fine walls and more are built to there and this other...seems of attempt to find a war where there is none.”

“Lord Jordan?” King Arthur tossed a quick eye to his Lord Marshal.

The Duke of Kent turned from the Prince to the King, “We are always prepared, Your Grace. And we are building up good men to Winchester...not just walls. Yet peace is a time to consolidate your gains...not find a war that does not yet exist. I think to agree with the Lord Steward.”

“And you, Arturo?” the King finally sat, “You are now Warden of the North and King in England...what say you?”

Prince Arthur sighed, “As I have been the prime mover of these projects to Winchester...not just for good structure, but so too for the realm’s safety...I must come to the side of the Lords Arnoul and Jordan.”

“With all respect, Your Grace...” Earl Edward turned to the Prince with exasperation, “...we’ve been round and round with this. His Grace finds no more passion in his bones than a settling of accounts with the Emperor. It is told to us...time and again...”

“Is it war that you wish, father?” the Prince interrupted and asked plainly.

King Arthur showed a hand to his Lord Chancellor, “Be still, Lord Edward. Let the King have his say.”

Earl Randolph was about to come to his friend’s aid before King Arthur silenced them and the Prince found a smile, “Indeed...only one man can speak. And that is you, father. I am sorry for Lady Adela’s plight in York...but as Warden of the North, I see no fear there. It is a petty squabble over inheritance and place, much as we still see in Leinster. Yet we all know your wish. Lord Edward does fine work to Troyes in Champagne and Lord Randolph keeps a tight eye to Luxembourg. If pretext you wish...this could be that.”

“Precisely so, Your Grace,” Earl Randolph turned to King Arthur, “If it is meddling in our affairs that the Emperor and Holy Father desire, then now is a fine time to return such favor. There continue to be areas of discontent within the Empire and at the now both Rome and the Emperor join the Doge of Pisa against the infidel in Sardinia.”

​

Lord Arnoul put a strong hand to the table, “You would have us war with the Holy Father, my Lord? Ill conceived as this excommunication may be, I doubt seriously that His Grace wishes war upon Rome!”

“Only His Grace may tell us,” Prince Arthur raised a brow to his father.

The King sipped at his ale for a moment before looking to the Lord Marshal, “My Lord Jordan...as I hold good claim to Reims and Sens in Champagne, we have every pretext for war needed. However...are we ready for such war?”

“If you were looking at, say…Brittany, sire...” Lord Jordan answered with confidence, “...then I might suggest yea. Their Queen is involved with a succession crises of their own and against a formidable group of allies. Her uncle, the Countess of Leon and the Kings of Galicia and Moray join against her. However, the previous war with the Bretons was a costly one as you well know. Lord Arnoul may speak to the treasury, but I am uncertain that our reserves of men are prepared for a true fight with the Empire at this time.”

​

“His Grace could not war with Brittany at this time at any rate,” Lord Edward suggested quickly, “Not without further angering both Rome and all Christian princes, sir. We hold a truce with this Queen Adela of Brittany for as long as she holds her seat and I would...”

“Your bickering does not solve the issue, my Lords,” Prince Arthur interrupted them both as he looked to the King, “Your goal remains to the Empire, does it not, father?”

King Arthur smiled, “That it does, Arturo. Forevermore. Yet I am inclined to agree with the Lord Marshal for the now. A state of peace is a good time to do more than consolidate. It is time to make ready for when the winds blow with more opportunity.”

“If it is war that you seek, sire...” Lord Randolph suggested, “...the truce is expired with the man of the Isles.”

“I do not seek war, sir,” the King turned to the master of spies with speed, “Yet I will not shy away from it when it presents itself. I like not this play by the Holy Father and I do agree...the hands of Luitpold in Germany appear all over it...yet I did not find success in my lifetime by being a reactionary. When trouble knocks upon your door, one is inclined to feel threatened and respond. Sometimes too hastily. Yet my Lords...I am the one who knocks. And when the time is right, it shall be this so-called Emperor Luitpold that reacts.”

Prince Arthur allowed a silent sigh of relief, “Then if war is not in the offing for the time, father...I needs must travel back to Cupar. My son has been to Westminster since the coronation and I am certain that his mother the Queen is missing of him.”

“You’re a King of England, sir,” King Arthur stated plainly, “You may do as you wish and need not my permission. Yet I might caution you...stay not there too long for your people here do need you.”

The Prince gave nod and then looked to the others, “Then we are agreed, my Lords. We do no thing for the now as regards York and their Lady. We shall maintain readiness to Winchester and all else while eyes watch the east and Germany.”

They all agreed, some more reluctantly than others. As both Kings stood, the privy council joined them and gave bow to each. Filing out of the chamber, King Arthur shifted next to his son, “You do well here today, Arturo. I believe that they trust and respect you. I did not wish to press while they were present, but are you certain that now is the right time to Scotland?”

“From one constant to another, father,” the Prince replied, “We go round and round on this as well. I cannot abandon my wife nor deprive her of our son. I am named King here to England and I will do my duties, but I remain with foot to the north.”

King Arthur grinned, “Which is why you are also named Warden. A fine bridge to connect the two. In truth, Arturo...I have no wish for war at the now. I am comforted at peace for the first time in ages and would like to enjoy it. Go with God, my son. Yet tarry not long. One thing you shall learn...events have a way of finding you even if you wish them not.”

* * *

Cupar, Scotland - May 1331​

Maud had been unexpectedly warm and embracing when the younger King of England returned to her. Arthur had assumed weeks of cold shoulders and recriminations but she had proved none of that. Instead, a lavish feast had been prepared and many Scottish nobles invited to receive their King upon his return. The youngest Arthur had been smothered in kisses and Prince Reginald especially had many questions about the south and their grand-papa. King and Queen both sat the high table with a smile before all others and when they finally retired, man and wife renewed their bond in love. It had been many months.

“Somehow...you always keep your promises to me,” Maud whispered as she snuggled with him in the bed.

Arthur held her close, “It is never easy, sweet dove. Yet with you...I would move mountains to return to your side.”

“But you cannot stay long,” she stretched her neck to look on him with sad eyes.

“I wish it were other...but father made true on his promise,” Arthur replied, “I hold great role in England at the now and I needs must be there to prove it.”

Maud rested her head to his bare chest, “I am sorry that I did not come, Arthur. I...I just could not see your father again. Especially now. That poor Annabella. What must it be like to be both prisoner and whore all at once?”

“Come now, dear heart...” Arthur protested sweetly, “...that is unfair. I was as shocked as you when I found out, but let the Lady her choice. Father is not married and she provides for him fine company. Besides...what has she to look forward to here?”

“An angry sister still,” Maud played with his chest hairs with her fingers, “Lady Mary wishes her home and protests often. While it may not be scandal to England, it may well be enough to provoke another war to Scotland.”

Arthur pulled her closer, “As King of England, my Lady...let me assure you that if your cousin wishes such a thing, then she will be rudely greeted by my forces.”

She rolled over in bed and leaned to his chest with a serious eye, “Arthur...why only England? I understand France, but your father rules vast realms. Why not also Wales and Ireland?”

“A compromise, sweet dove,” he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, “If he desired me to stay, then he would give me something. Believe me...it was no win for him.”

Maud still questioned, “Yet does he give you real power or is it in name only?”

“I am here at the now, am I not?” Arthur grinned to her, “My choice...not his. I am respected to the council and sit beside him in all audiences. Ireland and Wales are mere formalities. It is England that matters...and France that remains the question.”

“And here you are to Scotland,” Maud showed him a tender eye with a smile.

Arthur returned it, “The very jewel in my crown, dear wife. Some day we shall rule it all...together. You and I...and for our son.”

“Arty enjoyed his time to the south, I suppose,” Maud rested her head again.

“He was most taken with the court at Westminster,” Arthur answered as he brushed at her long, ginger hair, “Mostly spent his time to the libraries, truth be told.”

She allowed a small laugh, “That is a comfort. He’s a handsome young lad and could have found more than he bargained for otherwise, I imagine.”

“Thankfully, he is nothing like me at that age,” Arthur grinned, “Diligent and studious...and no rogue.”

Maud popped her head up with a feigned anger, “You were a rogue, husband? How many ladies did you defile?”

“Best not speak on it, sweet dove,” Arthur laughed, “I wish not to disturb our fine time together.”

“I think it no laughing matter,” Maud rested to his chest once more, “Yet as long as you remain true to me now, then I may forgive.”

Arthur held to her naked back, “And Arty is happy to be home by your side. I assure you. He takes to his place in both realms and when his time comes...I think him to be well respected by all.”

“Will you crown him too when the time comes?” Maud asked.

“I must admit...I had not considered it,” he answered his wife, “It being new to me...the future is just that. Yet mayhap so.”

Maud was silent for a time and closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. Still resting, she finally said, “Ava does well to Le Mans. I had a letter from her a fortnight ago. She and her Gregory are trying for issue and she says that Earl George is a fine father by law.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Arthur answered, “In truth...I have been thinking more about our daughter of late...and you.”

“I would hope that you always think about me, husband,” Maud looked up to him with a grin.

Arthur brushed her cheek, “And I do. Yet it is your role...your sex that has me of mind. Arty is due to inherit quite a lot someday. England...Scotland...all else. Yet what does Ava have in future? Perhaps as Countess of Maine? I think of my sisters. One was Queen of Norway...for a time. Now? She is near penniless. And Nell? Still to Poitou and who knows when that will be torn away from her?”

“Your father still thinks to war with the Empire,” Maud answered him knowing the truth of it.

Arthur gave nod, “He does. And for all we know, she will be fine. Her Lord husband may well follow our father rather than the Emperor. Yet who can know? Instead...for Ava...I would rather set our daughter up to be sound.”

“What have you in mind?” she asked.

“I think to give to our daughter something...” Arthur puzzled it in his mind, “...safe and secure. Lancaster is mine...is ours. It comes with it Hereford...Suffolk...Glamorgan. I may choose, especially now, how it may be inherited. I would like to leave it to her.”

​

Maud questioned him immediately, “Crown laws are slightly different here to Scotland, Arthur. You know my place is tenuous as we hold Fife and naught else. The crown lands of England are made by Lancaster. Westminster...Somerset...Winchester...all fine holdings, but...”

“I grow Winchester even at the now,” Arthur suggested, “And there is more to the crown than merely these things. My maman held Lancaster...and before my father and grandfather, it was held by a very strong Duchess. Our daughter deserves being more than just a Countess in Normandy. She is our first born child and I wish her to be a great Lord of the realm. She and Arty get on well and he may use her strength if it should come to that.”

“If it should come to that,” Maud repeated him as she rested to his chest, “And what of Reginald...and little Maudy?”

Arthur held to her, “We’ll make it just as sound for them both. Find them good matches. They are naught but seven and five. I think we have some time.”

“I think to give Reginald Connacht,” Maud stated as she brushed to his chest.

“Such problems we have, sweet dove,” Arthur pulled her to him, “To dole out lands to our good family. One that we have made together.”

Maud leaned in close and kissed him before answering, “Why can we not stay here forever, husband? In this bed...we two? Planning for the future as if we know what will happen?”

“Someday, Maudy...” Arthur kissed her in turn, “...there will be a time when it is all up to us. No fathers...no history...just you and me. And our children. England and Scotland...combined with the rest. It will be we two that rule. My father builds an empire and yours was smart enough to find you with me. And then? The rest will tremble, my Lady.”

Maud looked to him with sadness, “You have to leave soon, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered with love in his eyes.

“Then I can’t wait for that day,” she replied as she pulled in close, “Always together. You and me. None of this other.”

Arthur held to her face, “I promise you, sweet dove.”

“And you always keep your promises,” Maud smiled in reply.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Cupar, Scotland – January 1335​

All of the air was expelled from her body and she could not breathe. The letter in her hand floated to the floor as her knees buckled and she followed it down. All she wished to do was cry or scream out but nothing could follow forth from her lips. Prince Duncan tried to go to her, but Maud pushed him away with anger. Her face grew a shade of crimson as she held her palms flat to the stone floor and she finally suggested with what little air she could muster, “I will...see him dead for this!”

“Maudy!” Duncan again went to her aid, “Grief speaks to you...I know. Yet let’s not be rash. Death in battle is an honorable thing...and he was an honorable King.”

She finally allowed her uncle to help her, “And he should have been here...with me! Not with his father. More than ever I now understand Arthur’s maman. I watched her head roll from her body that day...and never more was our life the same!”

“He was your King, Maudy,” Duncan suggested as he put her into a chair, “I think you should consider going to France...seeing him to his rest. I know you hold anger at the English King...his father...but now is not the time for that.”

“He should be to here!” Maud demanded, “Here where he was first made King! Not to Westminster where his father stole him from me! Not some foreign place where he never ruled!”

Duncan dropped to a knee and held her hand, “He was your husband. I know. But he was first the King’s son. With him at the end...said to have saved his father’s life. It will be King Arthur that decides. And you now hold three roles.”

The Queen of Scotland rubbed at her face in confusion, “Why can’t I cry, uncle? Why will no tears come?!”

He held her arms more firmly, “You still rule Scotland, lass! And you must honor your husband the King in his death! More than that...you still have his son!”

“I...I have two of his sons...” Maud looked to her uncle with great sad eyes, “...and two of his daughters. Reginald is naught but eleven. Margaret only nine. How am I to tell them that their father is no more?”

“With the strength that you have always held,” Duncan answered with certainty, “And your Arty is eighteen...named as Earl...and holds a daughter of his own. It was you that found that match for him. You that convinced your husband to give him place to Lancaster while he was gone. You that can influence now...if you look to your son.”

Maud looked up again with a wistful eye, “It was all supposed to be different, uncle. We discussed it...he and I. We were to grow old together. He would be named King of it all and I would be his Queen. From Scotland to France...we would see all of our children made well. Ava was to get Lancaster...Reginald to Connacht. Arty would find it all after us...and...we had not yet decided upon little Margaret. But we would have. Now? It is all gone in an instant. What choice have I in England or anywhere else when King Arthur rules it all? The old man will never die...and his will is always to be done.”

“If you can’t go to France, then at least you can go to Lancaster,” Prince Duncan suggested with a caring face, “Go to be with your son who shares his father’s name. He remains your heir and now heir to it all. Still so young, Maudy. He needs a guiding light and you are what he has left to him.”

​

* * *

Melun Castle – January 1335​

King Arthur shuffled into the great hall looking every inch of his sixty and four years. His eyes were reddened with great bags around them and his skin was pale. He seemed listless and barely gave recognition to the Lord Chancellor standing by the bier that held his son in state. A soft hand reached forth and felt at the smooth wood before another bout of tears took over.

“Your Grace...” Earl Edward found concern, “...I will get you a chair.”

“You will not!” Arthur answered with a stern voice as he kept his eyes to his son, “I will stand...always with him!”

The Lord Chancellor backed away in fear and lowered his head, “I came straightaway when I heard. Much too awful. I have already begun preparations for his return to England so that he may be received at Westminster.”

The King slowly raised a sharp eye to his Earl, “You presume too much, sir. He will find his tomb here. Here where he was to be King after me. Here where this began.”

“His wife, sire...the Queen...” Earl Edward suggested, “...his son to Glamorgan. They will want him home.”

Arthur sighed as he looked back to his son, “Is it like me to give a care? I am at war...and I have lost too much in my victories. I’ll see him no more...but I’ll not be without him.”

“Then I shall see it made true,” the Earl announced, “Do you think to Saint-Denis? It is historical and...”

The King turned again and held out a hand to hold to the long white hair of his Lord Chancellor, “When I am won, sir...I will see a change made. I have been gone for nearly three years and much mischief has been found in my absence. Because you have been loyal...and because you have found way to worm yourself into my family...I will hold onto you. For now. Yet do not think that you are above your station. You may have seen your granddaughter married to my grandson but that does not make us kin. My son may have approved...and my daughter by law Queen...but I did not give my assent.”

“You get me wrong, Your Grace,” the Earl protested as kindly as he might, “I have held down the council...done my best to govern in your stead.”

Arthur gripped tighter, “You do not govern, my Lord. You obey my orders when they are given and no thing else. Think I don’t know what has happened while I am away? Rebellion to Ireland? My own granddaughter’s troubles to Le Mans? Rival factions warring to Lothian? The murder of my Lady of York?!”

“Naught has been proven to that, Your Grace,” the Earl gritted his teeth as the King pulled harder before letting go.

King Arthur turned back to the prone body of his son, “Arnoul of Gloucester lays infirm. What have you done about that? Nothing. The Lady of Gwynedd suffered from slow fever. Did you think to tell me that she had died? I had to learn it from her son Eric. All this time...while we have gained so much...and lost so many...you and Randolph...you press your place and think too much.”

“I assure you, sire...” the Lord Chancellor attempted to say but the King turned on him with anger.

“I will make change, my Lord! Hold your place if you can, but I shall see new men. Earl Randolph is out. Like his father before him...that you succeeded...he serves too much himself and not enough to me. I may not be in this...or seen this fate...were it not for the two of you. Your King is not happy and I will find men that I trust!”

The Earl gave bow and then questioned, “Whom do you suggest, Your Grace?”

“Send for Lord John...the Earl of Gwynedd proper,” King Arthur turned back to the bier, “He’s the son of my friend Anselm and one I may depend upon.”

Earl Edward bowed again, “I will do so...immediately.”

“And for Steward?” King Arthur ran his hand down the length of the coffin, “Give the man of Lothian a try.”

​

“He still wars against his brother, Your Grace,” the Lord Chancellor suggested.

Arthur turned again with a sharp eye, “I don’t care. I’m not done making my stand and mayhap an eye to the north is no bad thing. My son was Warden and now he is gone. His wife makes a play...sees her granddaughter named as Duchess of Lancaster. Again...not a thing for which I gave nod. Yet in little Matilda...we find one thing to share, my Lord Edward. It is for her that I do not see you turned out. But my grandson may do it...if you live long enough.”

“I have only ever wished to serve you, Your Grace,” the Earl attempted to plea once more.

The King turned back to his son, “I am undone, sir. Everything that I have planned...everything that I have built...here it is before me. Gone. I began this war to ensure his election to France. And now my Arturo is no more. Every single inch of ground that I gain...every single ounce of blood that I spilled...from this point forward...it is for him.”

“I am told already...” the Lord Chancellor attempted to answer, “...that York...Burgundy...Orleans...they declare for your grandson.”

King Arthur could not turn away from the coffin as he answered, “They had better. I will march to the ends of the Earth to see it made so. Anyone that stands in my way...they will rue that decision. Sieges that last for leagues, my Lord...death and ruin. I have no enemy now...only Satan himself. He places his forces before me...and I will best him. I will lose...but I will find satisfaction!”

“God wills that you will win, sire,” the Earl answered with certainty, “Every time.”

Arthur did not look back in reply, “So do I!”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1351​

The old man had finally found a peaceful rest the night before. His haunting dreams and visions seemed to have left him alone...for now. Letitia had woken him with a pleasing smile to her face. She’d bathed him down with a warm cloth and dressed him in a comfortable gown before assisting him to his wheeled chair. This time, she did so with a warning, “If I should find you out of that chair again, Majesty...Je ne sais pas ce que je vais faire, mais ce ne sera pas joli!”

“Assez juste alors, mademoiselle...” the old man returned her French with a grin, “...I will be a good boy.”

She smiled before bending down to kiss his head, “Very well...and you have a visitor. The Lord Marshal awaits. Shall I tell him he may enter?”

“C’est bien,” he answered and looked out to the sunny day.

After she left, a knock came to his chamber door and Lord Mayor Eric entered, “Your Majesty...it is good to see you up and about. We grew worried when you have seemed out of sorts of late.”

“I have been thinking much on the past, my Lord,” the old man answered him, “Some of it well...some of it...not so much.”

“When you have reigned as many years as you have, Majesty...” the Lord Marshal replied, “...that is bound to be the case.”

The old man kept his gaze to the window, “I was thinking of thirty seven...and what led to it.”

“Ah!” Lord Mayor Eric smiled as he took a seat, “Heady days indeed, Majesty. When I was still a young man myself. As you promised, the world did tremble at your feet.”

“Mayhap not as much as I expected,” he turned to his Marshal, “Yet they were quieted for a time.”

The Marshal smiled again, “You saw to that, Majesty. Home and abroad, you were supreme. As you remain now.”

“True enough,” the old man offered a slow nod before asking, “Yet what of the Germans? What are their movements now?”

“Think you not it time for a pause, Majesty?” Eric questioned with respect, “Four times in your life, you have bested them. And you are four score and one, sire. I remain no young man at the now, but I will lead your soldiers when they are ready.”

The old man was looking back to the window but turned again with sharpness, “When I am ready, my Lord. It is a rare thing in my life when I have not led my men into battle. I have reigned for over fifty years and I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened.”

“You have been very brave, Majesty,” the Lord Marshal agreed, “Yet I must admit...we often worry over your safety.”

“You need not remind me,” the old man looked back to the window with a wistful eye, “Many have tried to kill me over the years. And they have failed every time.”

* * *

Westminster, England – March 1338​

Arthur of Wessex was now an Emperor. Master of four realms with a fifth someday to be added to the list. He had very nearly died in the process. Lost a wife and most of his children. Yet he had gained an Imperial crown and was now the equal to the man in Germany and the memory of the Roman Empire. He’d even gained the assent of the Holy Father himself when Vigilius II agreed to allow the Archbishops of the realm to crown him as such. The Pope was no fan of Luitpold in the Empire and held a wary eye to his east at all times as Byzantium, though still large, was growing into a failed state. No bad thing to see a third actor on the scene that might be useful for another grand crusade.

Yet Arthur held no desire to go campaigning in the Levant. He was still not fully recovered from his wound even after a year of rehabilitation. His efforts to go on progress were limited to Bath in Somerset or to Canterbury to pray for those lost souls that remained to his mind. His sweet Bella kept to him and assisted in all ways, but it was not rare that Arthur was kept from a council meeting due to his ill health. And much had happened in the three months since his Imperial coronation.

A terse letter had arrived from Queen Maud in Scotland pleading for her son. Arthur was in little mood to agree with her, but the young man had shown remorse and by January even caused the new Emperor some glee when it was announced that the Prince had another daughter. He’d been allowed to see his wife during his forced confinement in the hopes that the couple would find male issue. Though it did not, Arthur considered a leniency. A group of hand picked men were allowed to accompany the Prince to Champagne where he would rule his Duchy and keep his nose clean with the other Lords of France. He was not permitted to travel without instruction and thus far, there had been little trouble.

​

It was a risky move, but the people of this Empire could not see the heir as a traitor or murderer. Much had been made of their reconciliation and this was another step in that direction. Allow the Prince his freedom enough to prove himself or hang himself. And if it were the latter...well...there were others, though few. It was for this notion that Arthur called Lord Randolph to him this day.

The Earl of Gwent entered the solar with a smile, “Your Majesty...”

Arthur turned with an amused look to his face, “Majesty? When did we start doing that?”

“You hold an exalted rank, sire,” Randolph smiled, “You should be styled as such.”

“Your Grace? Your Majesty?” Arthur waved a hand as he shuffled to pour some ale, “I don’t care. I’ve larger notions to my head than some honorific, my Lord.”

Randolph bowed, “I expect you mean your grandson.”

“Among other things,” Arthur took his drink to a window seat so that he could rest his tired legs, “And how is the lad?”

The Earl stepped forward, “Seeming loyal once again, Majesty. His wife Maud and his younger new daughter...also named Maud...join him to Chatillon in Reims and I have good men there to keep watch. Since January...no poor word comes through.”

“Mauds and Matildas!” Arthur snorted, “By God...there are almost as many of them as we have Arthurs!”

Randolph smiled, “No word yet if there is to be another of the latter, sire. After all...Lady Maud only gave birth this winter.”

“It is much on my mind, my Lord,” Arthur replied as he looked out the window, “If he does not have a son...or something worse...then the possibilities dwindle. France remains to the elective and it cannot be lost. He is to gain Scotland, but thankfully his mother refuses to die. And there is her other son. Yet I barely know the boy and cannot think that he would be good for England or the Empire. And then? There is young Eadgar to Ireland. He is thirteen now...and showed a good lad to the coronation. Yet I think his mother likes me not. And besides...his father...”

The Earl gave nod, “I understand, sire. You have built a rather complicated web, but give it time. It is sure to work out. And I will ever be trying to make that so.”

“Hmm,” Arthur ruminated for a moment before turning, “And speaking of Matildas...what is known of young Lord Alan in Northumberland? Do we think him a good sort?”

Randolph answered quickly, “He is twenty, Majesty. Holds a wife and daughter already. He comes from good stock, obviously. His mother Lady Matilda was of course of Wessex and his father Lord Simon of Bedford is de Laval.”

“But is he loyal? And what are his notions?” Arthur questioned, “Northumberland was set for my great uncle Prince John and his son Lionel was most loyal. Yet it guards the north and with my son gone from me...and this young Lord’s father’s influence...”

The Earl again gave nod, “It is true, sire. Lord Simon grows powerful. He married a Duchess and now their son is in line to inherit much. In fact, it is told to me that Lord Arnoul still lingers in poor health without heirs of his own anymore...and now Lord Simon is due to inherit the fortunes of Gloucester as well.”

“It is too few with too much,” Arthur looked out the window again with a pensive gaze, “First York and Anjou...and now Bedford with Northumberia and Gloucester? And after Lord Stephen’s disastrous decision to open the coffers to the Lord Chancellor!”

“There is no doubt, Majesty...” Randolph tried to soothe, “...that much gold was lost but it did gain you that which you desired. Claim to Hainaut...a life’s dream.”

Arthur turned with pursed brow, “And one I cannot use as I hold truce with Luitpold for another seven years. In truth...I could not fight a war right now if I wished to. Do you know how I have won all these years, my Lord?”

“Sheer tenacity, Majesty...surely,” Randolph quickly answered.

“No sir!” Arthur was just as quick in reply, “With good reserves. Of soldiers...of resources...of gold. I was forced to hire mercenaries this last go round with Luitpold and now? I couldn’t hire a proper horse to ride. I’ve no treasury thanks to Lord Edward and he cannot even answer for himself. Holds to a sickbed, I am told.”

Earl Randolph attempted to counsel, “Resources are there, sire. As you say...some rather powerful Lords...”

“I will not go begging!” Arthur stood with slowness but a determined eye, “Not as King! Not as Emperor! I did not build this Empire to create anything other than a strong central monarchy. One safe from too ambitious Lords. That is where we came from and there is no going back! No sir! The day I become a pauper to the street begging for coin is the day we have lost what we have just created. We’ve come too far for that!”

“The great Lords...they do wish a say, Majesty,” Randolph suggested, “Especially now...when you hold so much power.”

Arthur showed a stern eye, “I hold two Dukes, an Earl and a Lord Mayor to my privy council. And I am happy to give audience to any that come before me. Yet I will not be told what to do and the moment that you borrow...the lender always wishes to control your purse!”

“That much is certain, sire,” Randolph agreed quietly, “You speak the truth.”

“I tell you, Lord Randolph...” Arthur took slow steps towards the Earl, “...it has been no easy thing to build this Empire over the years. Especially when I have lost so many good men on that path. Yet now...I need them more than ever. Some few show forth...Lord John...Lord Jordan in Kent. Yet these others?”

When Arthur shrugged, the Earl gave nod, “I may only speak for myself, Majesty...but there are some few good men left.”

With a cocked brow, Arthur took another step, “We’ve had a bit of history, you and I. And I with your father before that. Yet I tell you, my Lord...I do not blame you for what happened to me. I was not happy when my son died...but ultimately, I do not now blame you for that adventure. You have served me well these last many months...and truth be told...without your actions prior, they might have finally got me. God knows they tried...but they were weakened by your efforts. You do well to keep eye to my grandson in Champagne...and of the good men I hold, I think you as loyal as they.”

“Always, Majesty,” Randolph bowed.

Arthur stepped past the Earl as he continued, “Lord Edward will not live, I do not think. Mayhap I should have sacked him years ago, but God does it for me. I think now that I should like to offer the position of Lord Chancellor to you, sir.”

“I...” Randolph was speechless as he faced the Emperor, “...I could not say no.”

“Then do not,” Arthur turned with a grin, “And continue to serve me...well.”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Bourges, France – August 1341​

The train of soldiers moved slowly through the Duchy of Berry on their way to Limousin. Lord Jordan of Kent led the way atop his tall destrier and was joined at the front by the proud but now aged Lord Baudouin of Bourbon. As they took on more men from Bourges, the army swelled to nearly eight thousand which all assumed would be plenty enough to defeat the forces of Aragon at siege at Comborn. The Bourbon Duke pulled a skin from his saddle bag and took a swig as he kept his eyes ahead.

Handing it over to Lord Jordan, the aged Duke scowled, “I’ll never find the pleasures of this life like mon pere, monsieur.”

“And yet here you are,” Lord Jordan grinned, “And at your age, my Lord.”

“Phw!” Baudouin snorted, “I am almost exactly one year older than His Majesty. If he can take the field at three score and ten, then Mon Dieu! So can I!”

“Especially as it is for your own pleasure,” the Lord Marshal mentioned as he handed back the skin.

The older Duke corked his skin and placed it back as he looked ahead, “It was his idea...not mine. His Majesty held wish for one more grand campaign and who am I to deny him? It is true that when we win, I shall gain Limousin for my Duchy. As it should be. Too long have these ill bred men of Iberia held sway to these parts. Send them back, I say.”

“Those in Toulouse apparently feel as you do, my Lord,” Jordan kept at a slow pace, “I am told they break from the Kingdom of Galicia now that we have declared.”

Lord Baudouin was in no more hurry, “I suspect exactly as His Majesty desires. We may ask him soon enough. Word comes that he leaves out of Melun with over six thousand of his own.”

“The Emperor never stops, my Lord,” Jordan suggested, “Ever forward. I suspect that he may be jealous of us that we may reach Limousin before he does.”

​

“Frankly, I was surprised to see you so swiftly to France, monsieur,” Baudouin admitted, “I was under the impression that you held troubles of your own.”

Lord Jordan waved it away, “Naught but my Earl of Surrey. My son handles it in my absence. In truth, I am rarely home to Kent. His Majesty keeps me well tasked.”

“The life of a man on council, monsieur,” Lord Baudouin replied as he shifted in his saddle, “My Lord father Amedee...I barely knew him such was his time away.”

The Lord Marshal turned with a quizzical eye, “And yet you keep your time to Bourbon, my Lord. You keep your voice quiet to court. One may wonder why?”

“I serve when called for,” the elder Duke answered, “We two did well together in the last war with the Germans. Yet my son Amedee...he refuses every match that I put to him and spends his days cavorting with his men...doing God knows what?!”

“He does not take up his role?” Jordan asked.

With a pursed brow, the Bourbon Duke answered again, “Shades of Gerald in Anjou, I am afraid. The poor boy...he will most assuredly burn in hell.”

“A pity,” Jordan gave nod, “Such troubles between fathers and sons within this realm. Thank God Almighty I have no such problem of mine own.”

Lord Baudouin kept his eyes ahead as he replied, “Give it time, monsieur.”

“Somewhat on the subject...” Lord Jordan continued, “...what think you of the young Prince?”

The elder Duke looked sideways with a slight grin, “Not very subtle, are you, monsieur? Thank to take my measure on the election for France someday?”

“I’ve a martial mind, my Lord,” Jordan suggested with a returned grin, “No time for subtlety in battle.”

“Is this a battle?” Baudouin returned his eyes to the road.

Lord Jordan did likewise, “Some might say.”

“I have over thirty years on you, monsieur,” Baudouin answered, “In all that time that I was named Lord, His Majesty has ruled. First as King and then as Emperor. I recall King Ælfstan from my youth and I do not think that he ever imagined what we have become. Mon pere...he supported the old King and he supported this one. Vocally...with his talent...with his advice. Lost his life for it, he did. Never saw his family. Tortured upon his death. I vowed then...I would keep close to myself and none other.”

“This is why you do not give voice for the Prince Arthur?” Lord Jordan asked.

Lord Baudouin turned briefly, “Why should I? He finds support from Orleans and Burgundy. Even the young Lord Raynaud of here to Berry...His Majesty was able to convince him. And we did not fight a war a decade ago when I was a much younger man to see anything other than the Prince finding France for himself when the time comes. So you ask the question...what do I think of the Prince? I think not that it matters. I will likely never live to see that choice.”

“You take on more healthy pursuits than His Majesty,” Jordan pointed to the road ahead, “You may well outlive him.”

“And yet...as you say...here am I,” Baudouin replied, “Following on the same path as mon pere.”

Lord Jordan held to the pommel of his saddle to stretch his back, “It should all be over soon. The Lord Mayor Eric leaves off from Dover with Lord Simon and the Earl of Devon. Soon enough they will be to the coast of Iberia and land to take Braganca. As we sweep aside this King of Aragon before us, it will be naught but sieges from here on out.”

​

The Bourbon Duke shrugged, “In truth, monsieur...I think little of the Prince. He preens and poses but has little of his father in him. Now there was a Prince! A King even! We had our differences...but at his death...I found my respect. The son? Mon Dieu! It is kept quiet these days...but he attempted to kill his own grandfather!”

“And failed,” Lord Jordan added.

“And is now once more kept to his holding in Chatillon, monsieur,” Lord Baudouin followed, “One little bit of freedom and he takes his liberty. The boy stands to inherit much...an Empire...Scotland from his mother...the world so close that his fingers might touch it all...and what does he do?”

Lord Jordan gave a slight nod, “I cannot disagree. Yet he is the heir.”

“A poor one at that!” Baudouin spit to his side, “Not like his father. True...fine work to Cornwall...but he cannot even find male issue. Even I did that, as poor as mine own is. If he is not plotting now, he will be again soon enough. He is bright enough...but mayhap too bright for his own good.”

“He lacks good men around him,” Lord Jordan suggested, “His father held the words from my predecessor, the great Anselm and Lord Marshal...and mayhap myself as he was good to me. Yet this Prince...naught but his wife and I am told the man de Vere. Made Earl to Glamorgan for his exploits on the Cornish campaign. That is not enough.”

Baudouin pointed to the distance, “It will not be solved today, monsieur. Look before you. We are near to La Marche. I will see you greeted as a hero, even as young as you are. And then? We are to Limousin. At my age...it is only the next step that matters.”

* * *

Turenne, France – September 1341​

“Your Majesty,” both Lords Jordan and Baudouin bowed as the Emperor entered the command tent.

Arthur grinned as he moved to clasp their arms, “You poxy old whore, Jordy! You got there before me! Deprived me of my fun!”

“There was little fun to be had, sire,” Lord Jordan smiled, “The old King of Aragon left off his siege at Comborn and came out to greet us at Rochechouart. Barely fifteen hundred men left to him and it was an easy rout.”

“Ran for the hills, Your Majesty,” Lord Baudouin followed.

The Emperor stood taller, “I was naught but a day away! Couldn’t you have stalled just a bit?”

​

“You may blame Guitard of Aragon, sire,” Jordan answered him with a grin, “He ran faster than you.”

“On those aged legs? Ha!” Arthur laughed and moved to pour himself some ale, “Yet so be it. Objective one is accomplished. The Baron of Comborn is relieved and now we get to the hard part.”

Lord Baudouin accepted a cup with a smile, “The siege part, Your Majesty. I know for you...the boring part.”

“Not for me, my Lords,” Arthur handed Lord Jordan a cup as well, “I intend to keep the two of you here to Turenne. I’ve traveled with Lord Richard and he and I will chase these fools of Aragon. I’ll find my battle with that King.”

Jordan held out a hand, “He’s naught but four hundred, Your Majesty.”

“Then it shall be easy, yes?” Arthur found a stool and sat, “We’ve leagues to go before we sleep, sirs. The Lord Mayor Eric will soon be to the coast of Iberia and land. And this Guitard has made a fatal mistake. Rather than return to Chalus and hold up, he tries to break out and meet with another force soon to land from the Bay of Biscay. I’ve over six thousand to me. I intend to meet them.”

“He should have left his men to Braganca, Majesty,” Another voice entered as Lord Richard dipped his head under the tent.

“My Lord Richard,” Jordan turned and gave a nod of the head, “As ever...good to see you.”

Baudouin also gave nod but with less enthusiasm, “So far from home in Ireland, my Lord. Does Leinster not require your prowess at the now with this war in the north?”

“I’ve no concern with the highlanders,” Arthur waved it away and gestured to the ale, “Queen Maud of Scotland...she will handle her trouble. I have only a mind to here.”

Lord Richard smiled, “And besides, my Lord Baudouin...I held wish to come and assist you. And His Majesty. A fine undertaking that is off to an auspicious start.”

“And you wished not to be left out,” Baudouin showed his distaste.

“Your Majesty...” Jordan ignored them and shifted to the Emperor, “...Turenne is heavily defended as is Limoges. Chalus even more so, even if this King is not there. I wish that you would allow me to follow King Guitard while you use all of your great talent to here.”

Arthur grinned, “Jordy...you old wet nurse! Look to Baudouin there. He doesn’t let his age stop him. I think not to either! Little may be done from Westminster or Melun. I will see battle or truly die from boredom.”

“His Majesty is hale and hearty,” Lord Richard suggested, “I could barely keep up with him on our march out of Paris.”

Lord Baudouin looked to the Emperor, “See these old bones, Majesty. I’m not the warrior that I once was. I’ll see these castles fall to you, but...”

“You’re not your father, my Lord,” Arthur turned with a sharp eye, “But then neither am I.”

“And His Majesty has never lost a battle,” Lord Richard added.

Arthur sat forward, “I came close a few times...”

“Yet, sire...” Lord Jordan started to suggest, “...long roads and ill matters. Surely a siege camp is safer...”

“I’ve the sores from my saddle to prove it, Majesty,” Baudouin added.

Arthur stood and finished his ale as he gestured to Lord Richard, “The Duke of Leinster and I will ride out before the sun is down, my Lords. Worry all you wish, but this is my campaign...my war. I will see it made true. If you hold worry, it is this. Take Turenne. That is objective two.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Lord Jordan made bow.

Lord Baudouin looked from the Irish Duke back to the Emperor, “Care for yourself, Majesty. We are old men at the now.”

“You would speak for yourself, monsieur,” Arthur winked at him as he moved to leave the tent, “Care for that wrinkled brow of yours and I would care for my waddled neck. In the end? We shall both be victorious and find good sleep in the after.”

“As you command, Majesty,” Baudouin gave a bow.

Emperor Arthur left the tent and Lord Richard stayed just long enough to follow, “Take Turenne, my Lords. Make His Majesty happy. I’ll see to his safekeeping.”

When he was gone, Baudouin turned to Jordan, “That man...I do not like that man!”

“It matters not, my Lord,” Lord Jordan answered, “We are given our charge. God willing...so too has His Majesty. Let this be clean and quick. For if not...”

Baudouin belied his age and moved swiftly, “You need not tell me, monsieur. If not...then the Prince. I will make certain of the siege.”

As the Bourbon Duke left, Jordan was on his own and looked to his drink with a sigh. He sat it aside and moved to his maps. Turenne, Limoges and then Chalus. Braganca and then the island of Mallorca. All for one thing...Limousin. Yet one more goal remained. Keeping the Emperor alive.

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle – January 1346​

He was not asleep. Stayed still to the bed and watched her, and after he opened his eyes he could not look away. She cleaned the hearth and then lit a fresh fire to warm the Emperor’s chamber. It was only when she shifted to leave that Arthur spoke, “How old are you?”

The young girl quickly bowed and kept her head low, “Your Majesty?”

“You are new, are you not?” he asked as he sat up in bed.

She finally looked up with a nervous smile, “Oui, Your Majesty. Ma mere...she works to the kitchens. Found position just after the mass of Christ.”

“You are young,” Arthur returned the smile, “I ask again...how old?”

She wrapped her arms to her body, “Sixteen summers, Your Grace.”

“And your name?”

She tried to smile again, “Letitia...Your Majesty. From Orleans.”

“She is very pretty, Arthur,” a voice answered to the Emperor’s head.

He ignored it and groaned as he moved his feet from the bed, “You do make a nice fire.”

The young Letitia did not know how to respond, “I...it is said to be done, Your Majesty. I hope it is to your liking.”

“She is to your liking...isn’t she, Arthur?”

He waved a hand in the air to get rid of the voice and the young chamber maid took that as a sign that she was dismissed. He followed her with his eyes and then sighed.

“It amazes me,” the voice suggested, “After all these years...and you remain unmarried.”

Arthur stood slowly and moved to splash his face with cold water, “You rather ruined me for that, dear Lady.”

The female voice sounded a laugh, “Hard to match. I always knew it.”

“Why do you follow me, Ava?” he turned to the empty chamber, “You hated me so much. Is this your punishment?”

“What else do you have to do, husband? Stuck to Melun and France. I have plenty of time and a curiosity. You say that you don’t wish my company? Odd that...for you were the one to conjure me.”

Arthur shifted to pour his morning ale as he replied, “I do not wish you!”

“That much was clear when you cut off my head,” the voice answered, “It still hurts. Yet you will never be rid of me. I am here with our son...our sons. I care for them now like you never did. And our eldest boy questions you.”

“Arturo would never do that!” he exclaimed in anger.

Another laugh followed, “How easily you forget.”

“I forget nothing!”

“You hold on to everything...” her voice sounded, “...and remember none. Can you even still recall the look of my face? I’m sorry to say that it is not pretty anymore...but that was your fault as much as age.”

With a sigh, Arthur finally poured himself some ale, “I have not the time for you...never the patience. You must have been a witch that you would find way to haunt me in death.”

“I told you, Arthur...” she answered him, “...you haunt yourself. I think your aged brain grows addle, sir. You lose your wits.”

“I lose my wits?!” Arthur turned again with anger and pulled a map from a nearby table, “Am I witless that I am seventy and five and will soon once more show that fool of a boy to Germany my clearest intentions?!”

Aveline’s voice grew soft, “He’s hardly a boy, Arthur. Luitpold reaches two score. If you hold memory, it is surely only of the long ago past.”

“A long ago past when you still loved me not?” Arthur slammed down the map, “A long ago past when I still held five beautiful children with no good wife to call their maman?”

She kept low in voice, “And now you wish to return to the scene of your crimes. You’ve already lost one heir in your pursuit of satisfaction. Are you planning to lose the next?”

Arthur found some calm and sat with a thud to the table, “What kind of heir have I? One that would attempt to end my days? One that finds himself cut off from Holy Church? One that has squandered every bit of good will that I have attempted to give him and now finds himself put low by illness to Chatillon?”

“Mayhap that is a good thing,” Ava suggested, “I never met the lad. Our Arthur speaks highly of him...but a father would. Why not bypass the grandson and go to his young son instead?”

With a stern eye, Arthur looked up, “You would have me murder my own grandson?!”

“You’ve done worse things...” she replied, “...I did worse things. And I do not mean murder, husband. Merely skip him. You are Emperor now...all absolute. What is the point of building all of this if you cannot rule by decree?”

Arthur rubbed at his painful leg, “His mother will not like it and he is to gain Scotland.”

“Since when did you care about Maud of Scotland, Arthur?” she asked with a laugh, “You’ve run roughshod over her all of her pretty life. The poor girl...stolen from her family to marry our son...and then she tried to steal him back from us...from me? I held no troubles seeing her grandmother dead. I hold no love for her still. We gained what we wanted and the great-grandson will inherit someday. It still holds true.”

“I forgot what is was like to plan with you,” Arthur showed the glimmer of a smile.

Aveline laughed again, “I told you, husband. You forget many things.”

“You are ruthless, Ava...were ruthless.”

“I was and remain pragmatic, Arthur...with just a hint of jealousy,” she replied, “You cannot have it all back, and I’ll have nothing at all...but as much as I hate you, it remains our future.”

Arthur sighed again as he ruminated at his ale, “The future...that I think to see little of. Mayhap that is for the best.”

“By God...you have grown pitiful!” she yelled at him, “At least before there was a beast to fight! Now you are no thing but a frightened kitten!”

“I...am tired, Ava,” Arthur suggested with weariness, “I am old...my leg is pained...I’ve so few left to trust...I’m not even certain that I could sit a horse to lead.”

Her voice grew louder, “I hate you, Arthur...but by God...you are still my husband! If needs must...go and plow your fields with that young girl. Gain your energy and stand tall as the giant that you are! I did not marry a weak man! You are a King...the Emperor...master of all before you! Soak your sorrows in ale if you must, but present yourself as you are...the greatest Prince in all of Europe!”

“I cannot believe that I say this, Ava...” Arthur hesitated, “...but...I think to miss you.”

She laughed again, “That much seems clear...but you don’t. You miss an idealized version of a thing we never were. I told you...your memory is poor. Yet if you remember me at all...it is that I always fought for you...for us. My methods may have been suspect...but my goal was always clear. All for us and no other. Is that not the way of Wessex? I married into it...and took to it well.”

“And now I must fight mine own,” Arthur suggested as he flipped a map or two, “Two claims I hold...and both descended from Wessex.”

“Here we go again,” she derided him, “The sad story of your father. All you held dear. Died so cruelly at the hands a man long dead. And you’ve never let it go! Is it worth it to fight your own House? You would know well as you’ve been doing it your entire life!”

Arthur was pained as he answered, “Nell’s husband...Sigismund...he was put out in Poitou. Yet the current Lady...she is descended from Queen Mary.”

“You stole Nell away so many years ago...what care have I?” Aveline questioned, “She still will not speak to me.”

“And Hainaut...” Arthur looked up, “...I have never forgotten that.”

She followed quickly, “Also a man of Wessex and the scene of your great pain. Just do it, Arthur. You want to. That much is clear. All this worry...is it to make you feel better? When have you ever cared about anyone’s feelings but your own? Not mine. Not Maud’s. Not Arturo’s. No one but you, sir. And in doing so, you have built an empire. You’ve a short time left, husband. You might as well make the most of your last days and go out as you came in.”

“Has it all been for naught, Ava?” Arthur asked.

Aveline answered with scorn, “I’ll hear no more of your pity. You won’t even allow me to enjoy this haunting of you! Stand to your feet, sir...and fight your last battle! And when you die, know this...I will be waiting for you in hell!”

​

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1351​

It was a passing cloud overhead that blotted out the son for a brief moment that caught the old man’s attention. He was enjoying the warmth and wished to shake a fist at the cloud, such was his irritation. Yet he softened and smiled as he spoke softly to himself, “I’ve bested everyone but God. He still plays tricks upon me.”

“Majesty?” the Lord Chancellor questioned as he entered the chamber, “I came straightaway when I heard of your summons.”

“Ah!” Arthur swiveled his wheeled chair to face his man, “Good on ye, Lord Edward. I have been thinking of late...I grow no younger, it would seem, and I think it time to put certain things to right.”

Earl Edward was unsure, “Do you...do you think of the inheritance, Your Majesty?”

The old man narrowed his eyes, “I think of little else these days, sir...but so much more than that. I am four score and have little time to finish my goals.”

“Surely you don’t mean...” the Earl found some concern.

“Think you that I care about treaties at my advancement?” the Emperor powered his chair forward with surprisingly strong arms, “Hainaut has been destroyed but Julich remains and Luitpold would feel my rage one last time, sir!”

“It has been naught a year since the last war ended, Majesty...” the Lord Chancellor tried to counsel, “...and with so much strife between our great Lords of late...perhaps it best to take a pause?”

“I have no time to pause, my Lord,” the Emperor wheeled his chair to a sideboard and poured himself some wine with a shaky hand, “If I am to leave what progeny I have left what is owed...what is earned...then I must have satisfaction in this life. I cannot wait for the next.”

The Earl questioned still, “I think you over-tired, Majesty. Mayhap worrisome from such distress...”

“Distress?!” Arthur tossed his goblet aside and held tightly to the sides of the chair. Pushing up with all of his strength, he rose to his feet and stood on wobbly legs as he showed that familiar sharp stare towards the Lord Chancellor, “Do I look in distress to you...my Lord?!”

“Nay, Majesty...” Earl Edward tried to answer, “...yet, I feel that I must...”

“You must do as I command!” Arthur bellowed, “Think you to recall what happened before you gained your position? How difficult it was for me to find you acceptable? If you do not, then I think to find another that would do my bidding!”

“Of course, I would...” the Earl tried once more to reply but was cut off again.

Arthur showed fierce eyes, “If you think it so unwise, then call my cousin Nicholas to me here in Melun. Send word to my grandson Eadgar in Munster. Even Maudy, if she should ever deign to leave her comfortable nesting place in Scotland! They would all have words to say for such effort. I would hear them. Far more than I would your timid nature!”

When the Lord Chancellor found no words, he could only bow and then Arthur took a slight step forward, “And more than that, my Lord...bring me the lad! I would talk to him most of all!!”

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Melun Castle – August 1348​

The Emperor sat by the fire in his solar and tried to read the latest reports from the front with weak eyes. It was slow going trying to revive what had been a great army put low by the lucky surprise attack from the Germans. Yet the latest mercenary band, the Company of the Star had arrived to Flanders and his further recruits had also crossed. He was trying to decipher the last letter from the Lord of Bourbon when the knock came and Bishop Siegmund of Montargis entered with his young charge.

“Your Majesty...” the Bishop announced, “...as requested, I bring to you your great-grandson.”

It was never easy for Arthur to put eyes on the boy, for little Anselm favored both his father and grandfather heavily. In truth, when Arthur spied him, his mind raced back many years to a long ago time and place when his own Arthur looked very nearly the same. Yet for all this remembrance and painful thought, the Emperor did his best to rise and moved to the boy, “How old are you now, lad? Five...six?”

With a quiet voice, young Anselm replied, “I turn six, great-grandpapa.”

“Are you missing of your mother?” Arthur questioned with a hand to the boy’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Anselm squeaked.

Arthur allowed a pained face, “There must be a presence to Champagne at the now, lad. You are much too young to show it yourself.”

“And there remains a war,” the Bishop suggested, “It would be no thing good for you to be placed in peril, my Lord.”

Arthur raised his eyes and offered a stern glare, “Nor you, sir. You flit from place to place like I bird, I am told. Best be still to take a care for this young one.”

Before the Bishop could reply, little Anselm surprised them both, “Great-grandpapa? What of my grandmother to Scotland? When shall I have chance to see her?”

“Ahh...very good,” Arthur grinned, “Already considering the future. Yes, indeed...very good.”

“I...know not,” Anselm responded with some confusion, “I...do not recall the last time I’ve seen her...yet somehow...I am missing of her too.”

With some difficulty, Arthur bent to a pained knee but tried to smile in spite of it, “There will be time enough for you to meet the great Maud of Scotland, young sir. When this war is over and done, I promise to you that we shall both go to greet her. It has been too long. Yet I do have some fine news for you. It is said that the Lords of Scotland have finally approved of more authority for that crown. A thing needed for you shall one day inherit that Kingdom along with all that I have to give you.”

The Bishop showed some skepticism but kept his words quiet on that score and instead voiced another, “It is regretful that we must be so short in your presence, Majesty...yet the new Lord of Normandy and Flanders awaits to speak with you. Shall I send for him?”

A sigh was Arthur’s first response as he gingerly moved to stand once more. He ruffled the boy’s hair and then answered, “Very well. I will see him. Keep the lad in his studies and we shall speak again.”

Bishop Siegmund gave nod and quietly left the solar with young Anselm while Arthur moved back to the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. It was not long before another knock arrived and Lord Alan of Normandy was introduced. He was forty and one with a strong build like his father but held a fairness to his face that reminded the Emperor of another.

“Your Majesty, you do me great honor to accept my person to your presence,” the Duke made a deep bow.

Arthur turned slightly and waved a hand, “Stand, my Lord Alan. I was grievously sad to hear of your father. Lord Robert was always one of my finest leaders and vassals and was too old to be traipsing through camps at his age. It pains me to lose him.”

“His wish was always to serve you, Majesty,” Alan answered, “And even if camp fever took him, at least he went out fighting rather than simpering in bed to Rouen.”

With a nod, Arthur turned fully and held out his hands, “Then come here. Let us do the thing.”

The Duke stepped forward and placed his own hands together before the Emperor. Arthur clasped his over the other and spoke, “I now place you to Normandy and Flanders in full, my Lord. All the letters patent will come to you and I swear to protect you as you serve me.”

Lord Alan bowed again, “You honor me once more, Your Majesty.”

“And now that this is done...” Arthur moved back to the fire, “...I hope that I may count upon you and your levies with our war at hand.”

“I would very much like to, sire...yet I am put to a quandary,” Alan replied with a pained face.

Arthur turned with question, “Trouble already, sir? That is not an auspicious beginning.”

“It brings me distress to report it, Majesty...” Alan tried to explain, “...but it is my brother. Held as priest and confessor to the Countess of Boulogne, he...and she...seem rather more amenable to the idea of him as Lord of Normandy rather than myself.”

“The bloody curse of Godwin...and mayhap Wessex too,” Arthur looked to the fire with disappointment, “The young Countess...she is married to Thomas of Wessex, is she not?”

Lord Alan gave nod, “Indeed she is, sire. The son of our Lord of Norfolk and your cousin that remains to the south at the now. I know that it places you in a rather awkward position...”

“That I should have to choose?” Arthur turned once more, “One blood over the other? Are you not the grandson of my Lady Emma of Anjou?”

“I am...” Alan replied, “...through my mother. Yet I know that you hold a favorite in Lord Nicholas of Norfolk and it pains me to say that he supports his son in this endeavor, as does his elder son, the Earl of Devon.”

Arthur sighed once more as he moved to sit his chair, “Then I am given no choice at all. I cannot go against the kin of Emma, nor can I the kin of Nico. In short...I shall have to let you settle it the best way you may. I’ve just sworn to protect you...and now, I cannot.”

“I do understand, Majesty,” Lord Alan bent to a knee, “And it brings me great pain to add more sorrow to your already troubled state.”

“Think me not troubled, my Lord,” the Emperor turned to him with weary eyes, “I am tired but I am not yet dead. Normandy is a prized possession and its Lord, one of my most important. Your father...and his father...and on and on. I wish you good fortune...but I’m sure you understand that I must say the same to Lord Nicholas.”

Lord Alan allowed a brief frown, “Even though he backs one that seeks to unseat the rightful son and heir?”

“It’s not personal, my Lord,” Arthur turned back to the fire, “It’s family. Trust that I will have words for him when next we meet. I will discourage it. Yet I may not tell him no. Not at the now. I remain at war...and I need him.”

“Then I must take my leave and return to Roeun, Majesty,” Alan stood with some disappointment, “And I hope that your good fortune returns.”

“As do I, my Lord,” Arthur paid him little mind, “As do I.”

​

* * *

Orleans, France – December 1348​

“You’ve taken a rather bloody road to here, my Lord,” she suggested as she sipped at her wine by the fire.

The Lord of Norfolk held post by the window, “As have most, my Lady.”

Lady Adela took another sip before tilting her head, “And you take on more trouble, I am told.”

“I am certain that it is easy to be informed from your keep when I have been so long away from mine,” Nicholas answered.

“The curse of a man that he should have to fight these bloody wars,” Adela chuckled, “I’m not sure which is worse, my Lord. Your curse or mine as a woman.”

Nicholas found the stone wall to lean on as he turned, “I should say that you remain clean, my Lady. Our battle to Deols in Bourges was a particularly harsh thing. It was only the saving grace of His Majesty's mercenaries that saved us.”

​

“Just in the nick of time, eh?” Adela took another sip.

The Lord of Norfolk frowned, “It is good that you may follow this war from your safe space. Indeed, we won. And then chased what was left to Blois.”

“Where they were bested again,” Adela suggested, “Another grand victory, my Lord. And with such disreputable people. I do wonder how you do it?”

“I wonder of whom you speak on, my Lady?” Nicholas questioned, “The Germans or those on our side?”

Adela turned with a curious look, “Two mercenary captains and the Lord of Bourbon? Indeed...this war has taken its toll.”

“The mercenaries are a motley crew,” Nicholas allowed, “Yet they prove their worth. At least in numbers. Twenty three thousand against what the German had left to him.”

​

“Which was not much,” Adela shifted to stand and held her skirt close, “And then poor Raynaud of Berry found his own troubles. A rebellion to Bourges? When have we never seen that, I ask?”

Nicholas kept a cool gaze, “Lord Raynaud is his own man and may do as he pleases within Bourges. That is not my concern.”

“He remains an elector within France, my Lord,” Adela questioned, “Is that not your concern?”

“Pray tell, my Lady...” Nicholas replied, “...what is yours? The Germans were bested and then so too the rebels. One and both are wiped from the map. His Majesty should be well pleased which is why we return to him at the now.”

​

Lady Adela of Orleans was moving near to seventy and used a cane as she shifted closer to her peer, “It was Beaugency within Blois that took the German from this field. There do remain others. You...the Lord of Bourbon...these mercenary captains...that is what is left after these long months. Lord Jordan of Kent remains to a prison. Lord Simon of Bedford holds his injury. Lord Richard of Leinster must now live with his shame...and the Lord of Normandy is another. And one I think you hold extra interest in, my Lord.”

“I would support my sons,” Nicholas stood taller.

Adela cocked a brow, “Over His Majesty? The head of your House? The Emperor of this realm? How do you think to go home?”

“I have always respected you, my Lady,” the Duke replied, “And it is to your honor that I stop to here on my way to Melun. That is my home. By the side of my cousin, His Majesty.”

She narrowed her eyes, “That is not clear to see. Not when you take a side against him.”

“How have I done so?” he asked, “When it was called that I should ferry his soldiers, I did. When I was called to join him here within France, I did. When I am now called to fight alongside Amedee of Bourbon, I did...even though I dislike the man and was at arms against him when this war began.”

Adela offered a smile that quickly receded, “I knew your father, my Lord...when I was a young girl. I know not that you received his wisdom.”

“I am Lord of Norfolk, my Lady,” Nicholas replied readily, “A proud member of House Wessex. We do protect our own.”

She answered him with no smile, “An off branch...as my daughter found to York. My husband was also of Wessex...as is the mother to your current foe to Normandy. I believe that we both know that the only branch that matters is that which derives from His Majesty.”

“Of course!” Nicholas quickly replied.

“And so I ask again...” she questioned with a harsh brow, “...as I have to so many others these last months since the death of our Prince to Champagne...whom do you serve? Truly...my Lord?”

Nicholas finished his wine and sat the cup aside, “Why do I get the notion that you care not so much for Normandy...and have a mind for something other?”

“Not so much removed from your father,” Adela took some steps with her cane, “And I wonder if you know what I have a mind for?”

“I know that you care not for Amedee of Bourbon anymore than I do,” he answered, “And I also know that you are right close with Lady Elisabeth of Burgundy, who now joins Lord Alan of Normandy in his fight. If I am to consider...I think that it is France that is yours.”

Adela took another slow step with her cane, “You do not know my true concern, my Lord. You’ve not yet guessed it, which is rather sad. France is a thing, to be sure. Yet there is something far greater. While we fight this war...and you fight yours...events move apace. A void was left when the Prince died. Did you not see it? A mother...full of grief over her husband and son. I cared not when my husband died...and I only had daughters...but I know what I felt. So I may assume to know what Maud of Scotland considers. As you now care for your children...so too does she.”

“I did never think you the plotting kind, my Lady,” Nicholas suggested with a wary eye.

She showed a smile, “I plot only for His Majesty. It is better this way. He has been so good to us...you and I. You would not like to see Lord Amedee of Bourbon to the French throne, I think. Nor would you another but the Lord of Champagne at the now to inherit it all. Now would you?”

“Lord Anselm of Wessex deserves it all,” Nicholas gave ready suggestion, “I would not argue.”

Adela stepped even closer, “And so what would you do?”

“My Lady...” Nicholas questioned, “...what is it that you do? I have been in His Majesty’s employ all of my life. I have never gone against him and he is my benefactor in every way. It is said due to a promise made to my father. I love him...and I serve him. I would see the young Lord Anselm inherit. All of it.”

“Then I shall keep you pure, my Lord,” she reached out to brush his face, “To know that you are on his side. That is all that matters. Go on to Melun and answer for your sins. He will forgive you, I am certain. And then win your war in his name. The rest? I will take care.”

Nicholas replied with concern, “You should take a care, my Lady. For he is not that forgiving. We both know...and he does not like...”

“I know what he likes...and what he wants,” Adela answered with a smile, “He may not know...but I do. We two are old...he and I...and his health is not where it once was. I still have strength about me and I will be his. So too should you. Go and see him...and commit yourself, my Lord. When the day does come...we must all be ready.”

“I will tell him that we are winning the war...and that I am sorry,” Nicholas offered.

Adela held firm to his face, “And no thing more. We will win the future...for him. Norfolk and Orleans...we are smaller than many...but we remain powerful. Do your duty, my Lord. And I will do mine.”

“You cause me a scare, my Lady,” Nicholas suggested.

She found a smile, “And you are a delightful young man, even at your age. The future depends upon it...my Lord.”

​

 

[coz1]

​

The Song of Wessex​

* * *

Epilogue​

The death of Emperor Arthur of Wessex presented a quandary within the Empire for no one completely understood the political fallout that would occur after such a long reign and such a force of nature that was this great man that had taken England from Kingdom to Empire within his lifetime. It is true that Wales and Ireland were also part of the Kingdom and that France had been gained by his father, but Arthur had thrust all else aside and formed them all into what would become the most successful empire that the world had yet seen. Historians look to the various rumors, some proved and some not, and might see nefarious doings in his manner and nature, but none can say that his acts were not paramount in such a creation.

And as much as may be said about Arthur of Wessex the man, one must also look to the historical record of House Wessex when considering this period. It was not just the House of the King and then Emperor. Over centuries and through marriage within themselves, scions of Wessex abounded all over the Empire and beyond, even into the Holy Roman Empire and Italy as well as Navarre and Iberia. This would prove both a blessing and a curse in the many years to come. When a seed is planted so prodigiously, wild trees may then grow to create some chaos.

Made worse, to be sure, by the fact that the heir to this great Empire was only a nine year old boy named Anselm. That he would grow to be as great, if not greater, than his illustrious great-grandfather could not be known at this perilous time. What was known is that a ponderous vacuum of power was created when the force that was Arthur of Wessex passed away and left this minority regency instead. Had it been his first born son that inherited, it surely would not have occurred. Less certain is the case of his grandson, also named Arthur for few notes in the record suggest that he was ultimately loved or feared. Yet both died young and predeceased Arthur of Wessex and skipping two generations left those still with power any chance to play. And play they did.

As we look over the historical case of the hundred years that followed, it must first be made clear where the players were set. When Arthur of Wessex died, there were four sets of power. Certainly the privy council and by extension, the great Lords of the larger realm from Ireland to France, and most especially those within England. Second and third, by the House of Wessex itself in the guise of the Lord of Norfolk, Duke Nicholas III and then also the Lord of Munster, Duke Eadgar I who was grandson to the late Emperor. Oddly enough it was the former that was closer to the Emperor and held greater chance to find the levers of power. And finally, also an extension of Wessex, was the late Emperor’s daughter by law the Queen of Scotland and her granddaughter (and Arthur’s great-granddaughter), the Lady Matilda, Duchess of Lancaster. This last would prove an impact for not only did it include the important inheritance and inclusion of Scotland that Arthur had so long desired, but also pitted sister against brother ultimately for the Lady Matilda was the first born child of Duke Arthur of Champagne (grandson to Arthur) and upon Anselm’s coronation to King and Emperor, the law placed her second in line to the throne just behind her very young brother.

It is here that we must now focus on the more immediate actions after the death of the Emperor and none may be considered more important than the acts of the Duke of Norfolk.

1352 to 1361​

Nicholas of Wessex is a controversial figure. He was the third Duke of Norfolk from this branch of Wessex and shared the same family tree of the famous Lady Emma, Duchess of Anjou. Their forebear was the first son of the historical Prince Beorhtmaer of Wessex, a great martial leader for both of his elder brothers, Kings Uhtræd and Eadward, and given right credit for building up the awesome gardens of Bath in the 12th century. By the time of the 13th century, this line had followed such that both Anjou and Norfolk were ruled by Wessex. One held an important place within France and the other had built a fine port in Norfolk. The first Nicholas of Norfolk had little accomplishment other than building said port, but was important also for building around the historical meaning of Thetford given the remains buried there. His son, the second Nicholas was a contemporary of Arthur of Wessex and was schooled by the wise Lord Bishop of Lincoln, Prince Geoffrey of Wessex. The same man that taught Arthur himself. The two would be raised together as Arthur was never considered to be King. Bishop Geoffrey was Arthur’s great uncle and the last surviving son of the late Queen Anne. These two were to be support for the House of Wessex going forward.

Then Prince Arnold died in 1280 and suddenly Arthur was presented as heir apparent. Due to their close education and friendship, it is said that a promise was made by the then King Arthur when this Nicholas died in 1309 and so it was that Nicholas III of Norfolk was raised and found benefactor in all ways by the King, his father’s great friend. Many points have been raised over the years over why more importance was not given to this sure scion of the House of Wessex. It was not as though he was incapable, nor was he a poor military leader. One might assume such a man would be important given the various campaigns of Arthur during these years. And yet he stayed to the sidelines until this very important moment in history.

A promise made, as some scholars suggest, or a time needed as others stepped forward, this third Nicholas of Norfolk found as a man of Wessex his true shining moment. Was it his place as a member of Wessex that caused what many consider the historical nature of the House at this time, or was he merely shrewd enough to wait out his moment? None can say with certainty. What cannot be said is that his efforts were wasted. Within months of the death of Emperor Arthur, Lord Nicholas of Norfolk had ousted the presumed Regent of Emperor Anselm and taken the young man into his own house and raising. More to that, the council was then made more conducive to the whims of the great Lords of the Empire, such as they were.

There were plots, to be certain. And yet at every step, this Duke found them and quashed them. Nicholas was not only made guardian of the new young Emperor, but within a year was named also Duke of Champagne (the title previously held by both Anselm and his father before him) but then called Lord Chancellor in 1354. It did not take long after that Duke Nicholas was finally named Regent for the young Anselm and this Lord’s power was complete. From that time until his death, he was the virtual ruler of this Empire of Britain.

This did not cause plots to cease, to be sure. And one that assisted him at this time is also a controversial figure. One Giselbert d’Albon would become, in time, a central figure within Anselm’s court. And a curious figure was he. For he was the son of Anselm’s great aunt Blæja. She was Emperor Arthur’s only living child left when he died and had been sent to a nunnery to live out her days. A most sad existence in her life given her early promise as Queen of Norway, but Scandinavian warfare had changed it all. Denmark was now powerful and her first husband had died early. Her second not long after. And her third was a no name Lord within Gelre. Blæja held a first daughter that still ruled as Countess to the north, but would never return to that land as times had changed and her life was at stake. But her later son would prove paramount and Lord Nicholas was more than happy to include this bright young man into his circle.

In fact, it may well be that this young man at only 24 in age assisted Nicholas of Norfolk when his political enemies of Normandy and Bourbon were murdered just after the Emperor died. More to that, another threat was ended in 1353 when none other than Duke Eadgar was found dead at only 28 and his young son Randolph was raised to Lord of Munster at 7 years of age. Between them, Nicholas and Giselbert consolidated their power, yet there remained two powerful forces that they could not as yet tame. One were the remaining great Lords that allowed some of this and chafed at other matters. The other force remained the young Emperor’s eldest sister Lady Matilda of Lancaster who would have a son named Arthur also in 1353.

More will be said about Lady Matilda as we move forward, but the fact that this new male son from the House of Wessex and named after the three Arthurs was then named heir to Anselm, it was inevitable that a clash would ensue. However, the child was just born and Nicholas of Norfolk had other matters to mind at the time. Many of the old guard of Lords were dying off. Hereford would change hands to a young son in 1354. The son of the powerful Lord Simon of Bedford and Gloucester would die in the same year leaving a boy called Andrew in his stead at age 10. It should be noted that Lord Simon had been called out for his factions soon after Nicholas took power and this was a further blow to his prestige as the young boy was now heir to the entire fortunes of this great Lord. The former regent Duke Stephen of Lothian and Lord Steward of the realm died in 1355. A calming factor for most, his duchy was taken by his son and his position on council by the Duke of York, Lord Guy. And then the respected Duchess Mirren of Galloway passed on in 1357 leaving a son Theobald as Duke in her place.

All the while, Lord Nicholas remained a pillar of stability and guided the ship of state and the young Emperor both with a firm hand and a kind tongue. While his actions behind the scenes might be considered suspect, this was no strange idea from what is known of the historical House of Wessex. The truth remains that rebellions were quashed, heresy was snuffed out and for the first time in decades, full court was finally restored to Westminster. The Duke was even able to pass through law a lowering of crown authority by the nascent Parliament that sat and enabled the great Lords the freedoms that had long been taken away from them by Emperor Arthur. From the time of the old Emperor’s death to 1357, Nicholas ruled as King and mayhap Emperor in all ways but name. He even sanctioned the great Lords full to enter into the 6th Crusade for Jerusalem called by the then Pope Gelasius II (which would prove successful by 1359 with the Knights Hospitaller taking the great city and setting up their rule.) And in one of his last acts as Regent, Nicholas accepted the marriage proposal made by the King of Galicia in which the young Emperor’s older sister Maud was betrothed to the son and heir of this King, Prince Soeiro who was not but 16. She was 21.

All of this was, of course, preamble to the events of 1358 when Anselm would come of age at 16. While some might have preferred a longer regency, this Anselm was already showing the signs of his forebears. He held intelligence and a not too distant memory of his late great-grandfather. He had found fine tutoring over the years, both by Lords temporal and spiritual. And while Nicholas himself might have preferred to keep at the reins of power, there was a trust between Emperor and Regent...young man of Wessex to his distant cousin...student to teacher and vice versa. Lord Nicholas would remain Lord Chancellor as Emperor Anselm came into his own and one of their first acts together was a petitioning to raise crown authority within France which was required before they might go for the ultimate goal.

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It is here that we must look to the historical nature of France. Long since had it been an independent kingdom, having been taken and rewarded to Emperor Arthur’s father King Ælfstan II (and briefly before that by King Ælfstan’s uncle Prince then King Henry of France before he died young), the lands of what many consider the old Kingdom of France were now changed. Normandy (which had always remained a nature unto itself) as well as Anjou, Orleans and the lands surrounding Paris, including the great castle of Melun, were as English as anything the other side of the channel. However, the south as well as Champagne (even with it being held by former Princes and now Lord Nicholas) identified still as the old Franks. The Duchies of Burgundy, Bourbon and Berry never quite let go of their thought of independence or at least an old idea of Kingdom. By careful maneuvers, King Ælfstan II had ensured his son’s rule in that land by changing back to the old law of election. That Arthur lived so long, this seemed not an issue. He ruled as strongly there as he did within any other of his realms of Wales, England or Ireland. In fact, Arthur spent his last decade or more within France ruling from Melun near Paris.

When Anselm finally came into his own, this would change. It would take time to gain his desired result, as he found need along with Lord Nicholas and other English and French Lords to change the mindset, but his goal was to revoke this election of Kings within France and make it just as any other part of his realm. And yet just as he was looking to this proposition within France, tragedy struck the court of the still young Emperor Anselm. In 1361, Lord Nicholas III of Norfolk would die leaving his grandson Nicholas IV as Duke (the Earl of Devon having predeceased his father.) It was an inopportune time, as the north of England remained in flames with both heresy and a fight between Galloway and Northumberland. Further, the Emperor’s grandmother the Queen of Scotland was pursuing a Holy War against her own heretics to Caithness. There were rumors of bad actors to Central Asia that concerned many at court, but most considered it more poor for the Holy Roman Emperor. Yet most of all, young Anselm was now on his own.

One could not call the preceding decade a partnership, for one was an Emperor (albeit young) and the other a mere Duke then named guardian, Lord Chancellor and Regent. Yet Anselm had received the finest education one might have at this time. First from his father, the Duke of Champagne (though of that little can be said) and then the Bishop of Montargis who briefly tried to steal power for himself, and finally by both the late Emperor Arthur himself and then Lord Nicholas. While not a martial ruler as his great-grandfather had been (much less many past Kings of Wessex over the years), nor a particularly adept financier, Anselm would go on to prove his full worth to the House of Wessex. In his first year alone and by himself, he would accept another proposal for marriage of his other sister Margaret to the only son of the King of Navarre (who had split briefly from Brittany.) He would look past considered perfidy by the Duke of York and name Lord Guy as his new Lord Chancellor. He would create the Duchy of Ulster and then grant Countess Murron of Tyrone that seat and push his standing within Ireland. He would consider and then ultimately reject a plot against his own cousin to the Duchy of Munster, Lord Randolph. And then finally, he would push through for himself that long desired goal of primogeniture within France.

In 1362, Anselm was 18 years old. His heir was his sister’s son named Arthur who was 8. He was the King of England, Wales, Ireland and France and while he held little time with his grandmother, still due to inherit the increasing fortunes of Scotland when Queen Maud passed away. He was now married to Countess Blanche of Macon (a tumultuous affair which will be covered later) and fully into his own as Emperor of the vast lands secured by his great-grandfather. In short, his future was bright and few can look back on it now and say that it was not due to the influence of Nicholas of Wessex, third Duke of Norfolk. Wessex will out, or as it is stated Emperor Arthur once pronounced, Wessex over all. The House remained sound and then so did the Empire.

To be continued...​