Episode 3: The Alcoholic and the Fag
It was March 1068.
In Denmark, King Ninefingers was camped outside the walls of Copenhagen with his army.
Little had changed in the kings camp for the past few months, but there had recently been a little discord over a decision Ninefingers made.
He would be commanding one of the army divisions during the impending battle with Bryce.
Ninefingers was old, and many of his advisors were against the idea. If the king were captured or killed, the war would be won in an instant.
But Ninefingers insisted. His realm hung in the balance, and he believed that his presence could be a deciding factor in any battle. If he couldn't stand alongside his men, how could he expect them to die for him?
Further North in Norway, Bryce's army was close to finally assembling.
Bryce is the leader of one of his army divisions too, of course.
The young king was waiting impatiently for Niney to make a move against him.
In England, Paulus had called a council meeting.
All were in attendance except for Jeffrey, who was back at Oxford now. Paulus started with Chancellor Kiwi. "What news of the war?"
"Your grace, Curtis is currently camped in Northampton. Our army is further North in Westmoreland."
Paulus nodded. "Do you think he intends to march on London?"
Before Kiwi could reply FF0 spoke up."I doubt it," he said. "We still outnumber the rebel force considerably. Curtis will probably remain where he is for now, and try gather more support."
"That makes sense," Paulus said. "Now, what of the situation in France?"
Kiwi took this one. "Your grace, we have no troops to spare for that war right now. Until the traitor Curtis dealt with, Oyster Boy and his evil Regent Patrick will face little opposition."
Paulus shook his head. "I sent Boc to France on a diplomatic mission long before this mess started. It seems the French didn't heed his words."
"Or perhaps he made no effort when he was there," Kiwi said accusingly. "Have you punished the traitor yet, your grace? Word is you visited the dungeons recently."
"I did visit Boc," Paulus said, shrugging. "And I came very close to signing his execution warrant."
Kiwi raised his eyebrows. "Came close?"
Paulus sighed. "Kiwi...it occurred to me that executing Boc could be the most detrimental thing I could do for the war effort."
Kiwi looked at him in disbelief. "But...he is scum your grace! How could punishing him be detrimental?"
"Because Boc would become a martyr for the rebel cause. That must not be allowed."
Kiwi went red. "It would send a clear message to our enemies!"
"Yes...they will start calling me tyrant," Paulus said sternly. "This issue is no longer up for discussion. Now...what of Scotland?"
Kiwi sat back and glanced towards FF0, clearly not wanting to talk anymore. FF0 cleared his throat. "The same situation as France, your grace. We have no men to spare for that war either. We are devoting all our time to Curtis at the moment. But Vernon may have other problems soon. Mercenaries under the command of Russ are fighting on the side of various rebels, and the mad king has no more men to call on."
"The mad king is not long for his throne then? I am happy for his poor subjects, but not happy for what his removal will do for my ambitions to unite England and Scotland. Is there anything else?"
Kiwi and FF0 both shook their heads. Paulus turned to Adele and Kristoff, who had both been listening quietly throughout. Adele put her hand up. "Well, husband, something has come to my attention."
Paulus leaned forward. "Go on."
"It has come to my attention that Duke Henry is not rebelling in Curtis's name, but rather he is fighting for independence from the realm."
Paulus laughed bitterly. "So that means we are fighting four separate wars. I have to say I admire Henry's courage, but even if he manages to win his war, I am not sure how he intends to maintain independence."
"Henry has never struck me as someone who makes long term plans," Adele said.
"Indeed he is not." Paulus shook his head and rose. "Well...until next time. Council adjourned," he said, striding out.
In Scotland, the mad king Vernon was sat alone. Even his executioner had abandoned him. The man who had brought him the heads of so many traitors. He had woken up one late afternoon to simply find him gone. Now Vernon kept himself entertained by singing comforting songs to himself. He was singing one of them now.
"The traitors will die! I'll bake them in a pie! I will eat them and I'll smile! And then I'll laugh for a while!"
Vernon clapped. "Very good!" In his hand he had two voodoo dolls. One was of Wikey, the other Natalie. He was pulling their limbs off one by one. Voodoo magic was one of the latest unorthodox tactics Vernon was employing in his quest to turn the war around. The problem here though, was that Vernon had already killed Wikey and Natalie. In this very throne room in fact! Others had taken up their cause since then. So many...but Vernon didn't have dolls for them, because he didn't know what they looked like.
His game was interrupted by a knock at the door. A vaguely familiar man walked into the room.
"Hey King Vernon!" the man said in a very briddish London accent.
"Do I know you?" Vernon asked suspiciously.
"Me? No! Not at all!" The man's mustache fell off. Vernon looked down at it.
"Oh my!" The man said apologetically, picking it up. "I shaved this morning your grace, so my mustache is a bit loose!"
Vernon didn't think that was how shaving worked, but he didn't want to look like an idiot, so he just nodded. "It is fine. What do you want? Have you brought me the head of some traitorous scum?"
"I have brought you something better, your grace!"
Vernon leaned forward eagerly. "What is it?"
The mysterious briddish man winked. "I have a solution to all your problems!"
"Hoorah!" Vernon said, clapping. "Do tell!"
"Ok your grace, here I go! All you have to do is take out a loan for 300 gold, and hire more mercenaries!"
Vernon froze for a moment. "Oh my god...that....is....amazing!!!! Why am I only just hearing about this...loan thing?"
The man grinned. "It is a well kept secret your grace! But I am letting you in on it!"
Vernon stood up and began clapping. "Thank you very much vaguely familiar briddish man!"
"Just call me Ross!" Russ said, laughing. "I will make the arrangements your grace. Just sign this!"
Russ had already made the arrangements. He left the kings court with his signature and seal, approving a loan of 300 gold from the merchant banks of Europe. Vernon would hire a band of mercenaries to contest with Russ's own. If that seemed counterproductive, it was because Russ had other things in mind. 300 gold was enough to hire a new army, but it was not enough to pay their upkeep. And he had advised Vernon to hire a specific army, the French band, whose captain Russ had made a deal with. For cutting him in on the action in Scotland, the two captains would split the difference of the hiring fee. They weren't going to fight each other. This war was as good as over after this latest scam.
So when the mercenaries turned up on the northern shores of Scotland later that week...
Vernon celebrated! Oblivious to how doomed he was. Scotland was going to be absolutely ruined by sell swords.
In Oxford, Robert was camped outside the walls with his siege equipment yet again. He was determined to get the battle off the ground this time. Last time he was here, the king had threatened him with excommunication if he didn't make peace and go home. And this time around Paulus had gone one step further and actually excommunicated him.
But it meant little this time around. If Curtis won the war, the realm would be rid of the antipope Kristoff, and Roberts excommunication would be invalid. This impending battle was going to play a part in Curtis's cause. Having the strength of Oxford behind them would give a significant boost to the war effort. Robert was stood on the battle lines, facing his soldiers.
"Men, today we stand poised to finally rid this proud land of an imbecile who is nothing for than the false kings lackey!"
His men cheered. Robert continued. "He has enjoyed the protection of the aforementioned for far too long. It ends today!"
There was a louder cheer. Robert didn't know where these inspiring words were coming from. "Duke Jeffrey didn't even go to bloody Oxford. I did! Oxford is a title with a proud heritage...I will make you proud to serve under me!"
At that there was an uproar. Robert had them. There would be no way he could lose this time...right?
In Ireland, Malion was making a rather different speech to his own men. He was a war weary boy facing war weary men. A week ago they had started battling with Leos in the Irish countryside.
The first battle had been a defeat. But they were now gearing up for an inevitable second encounter. Leos was on the move, and Malion had to drag his soldiers out on to the battlefield to meet him. It was here that Malion had to muster up some inspiring words. If he couldn't boost his men's morale, Leos would surely slaughter them all.
"Men! Form up!" he shouted. They were slow to respond. Some didn't even seem to hear him. Malion felt queasy. He had never seen them like this before. "Didn't you hear me? The enemy is on the move!"
The men looked dazed. All morale had been sapped from them. He couldn't blame them. He wasn't looking forward to this himself. But he had to inspire them somehow.
"Listen up you bastards!" Malion roared. "Where was we but a year ago?"
Some of the men looked around at each other uncomfortably.
"I will tell you were we was! We was on the verge of defeat to rebels!" Malion scanned the faces in the crowd . He didn't seem to be having much effect. But he continued.
"And now look at us today! All of Southern Ireland stands united!"
There was some miserable murmuring.
"To the North our enemy approaches. Leos is a brave warrior. But he is not invincible!"
There was a low cheer, but it didn't seem to have any heart to it. But it was a start.
"If I am the rightful king of Ireland, and I assume I am since so many of you have taken to calling me 'Your grace', then Leos is nothing but a usurper!"
There was a more audible cheer.
"And are we going to let a usurper destroy everything we have built?"
"Fuck no!" Someone in the crowd shouted. Many more were taking up the rallying cry.
"I do not fear Leos the usurper! And today I will demonstrate that. He rides in his vanguard to battle...well today...I will ride to meet him!"
At that there was total uproar. Malion had them. His general rushed to his side. "Your grace! You must not!"
Malion gave him a stern look. "There will be no discussion about this. This is the way it has to be!" Malion strode over to his horse and mounted it. "Now men! Form up!"
They formed up.
"Ride with me, and we will unite this kingdom once and for all!"
There was a huge roar of approval.
In Oxford, the battle had begun. The catapults were flinging flaming rocks at the city, and Robert was advancing with his men, sword in hand. In front of him ladders were been thrown up. Finally, the fate of Oxford was going to be decided through battle. No more political bullshit, just a simple battle. Robert was adept in the plots and intrigue of the court, but sometimes it was nice to settle things the old fashioned way. He watched his men climbing the ladders.
Jeffrey was watching the action from the safety of one of the watch towers. Below him, Roberts men were climbing the walls, fighting with the city guard. Many were dying.
"Oh men!" Jeffrey said. "All this trouble over a chair."
To his right was his servant, who had been sent here with him on Paulus's orders.
"My lord, your city guard are useless. I better go. Stay here!"
"I aren't going anywhere!" Jeffrey said, watching his servant leave the room in a hurry.
Robert was stood below the wall, watching his men pile up on the walls. All they had to do was kill the city guard and open the gates. He was about to climb up and join his men in the fighting, when an anguished cry rang out above him. He looked up to see a man falling from the wall, ablaze, an arrow protruding from his chest. Then another. And another. Soon they were dropping like flies.
"Fire arrows!" he could hear the terrified screams from above. Robert spat. "Fucking fire arrows. I don't understand. Where did the archers come from?"
"My lord!"
Robert looked to the ladder as a panic stricken soldier climbed down. "My lord! The archers bear the kings banner!"
Robert face palmed. It seemed Paulus had long anticipated this second attempt to capture Oxford.
"Fuck this, I am going up," Robert said determinedly. But as he began climbing the ladder, on the one next to him one of his captains was climbing down. "My lord! The battle is lost!"
Robert looked at him incredulously. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!"
"I'm afraid not, my lord. These kings men are some of the best. We have lost this battle."
Robert seethed. "I cannot retreat again!"
"My lord, if we do not, we will not only lose the battle, but the war too."
Robert glared at the ground below. All this effort and he was still been denied Oxford. What would it take? And so, they retreated yet again, conceding defeat.
In Kent, Henry, with the strength of his army behind him, was trying to rally the people of the countryside to his cause. However, he was beginning to find that none of his subjects were actually interested in his cause for Kentish independence. He had arrived at the major city of Canterbury expecting to be welcomed as a hero. But the mayor had shut the gates to him. Henry had called for a meeting demanding an explanation.
"Your cause is ridiculous," the mayor had said. "Kentish independence is a pipe dream. The people of Canterbury have no interest in breaking off from the realm."
"The evil empire, you mean!" Henry had countered. "If you will not accept freedom, I will make you!"
And sure enough, Henry was now laying siege to the city.
If the people of Kent were not going to accept freedom, he would have to impose it on them.
In Iceland, Ari was working on his flying machine!
What great fun Ari was having. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. His war in Ireland was just beginning. His fleet had just arrived on the shores of the Northern coast.
First Ireland...then the world!
In Northampton, Curtis was holding a war council. Shawn had taken Boc's place as right hand man, and Dylan was representing Robert in his absence. Curtis was beaming at everybody. "Well, my scouts have informed me that the kings army is fast approaching from the North!"
Dylan frowned. "Why are you smiling? Surely that is bad news."
Curtis laughed. Since arriving at Northampton, Curtis had found the exile prince pretty tiresome. "Oh no, not at all," he replied. "The sooner his army gets here, the better!"
"Are you mad?" Dylan said. "The kings army numbers 5000. We currently have 3000. How do you propose we win? We have nowhere near enough support yet. We need to abandon Northampton."
"Firstly," Curtis started, "If anyone is mad here it is you buddy! Your brother Vernon is quite insane! And I hear Wikey had his moments too! However, numerical advantage is no guarantee of victory. Brains beat brawn every time."
Dylan raised his eyebrows. "The way I see it, the king currently has the brains and the brawn. He is no fool."
"The
false king," Curtis corrected him. "And yes, Paulus is no fool, but he isn't as smart as me!"
Dylan glared at Curtis, clearly not convinced. Curtis stared back, grinning. "This meeting is adjourned," he said. Dylan stood and left, a frustrated look on his face. Shawn was leaving too.
"Stay here brother."
Shawn sat back down uncertainly. Curtis grinned.
"I might have Dylan killed if he carries on like that!"
"He has a point Curtis," Shawn said. "How do expect us to beat Paulus's army?"
Curtis winked. "Let me tell you brother!"
In Spain, MOS was sat in his castle, fuming. Before him stood two messengers, who claimed to bring good news from his brothers. But for MOS it was the worst news in the world. For you see, something terrible had happened...
Both his brothers wives were with child. And now MOS no longer stood as the inheritor to his their titles. And he was furious. Being the eldest brother had entitled him to inherit his brothers lands should anything happen to them. Though MOS had never wished them any harm...except maybe Andy...and Budd when he pissed him off.
"My brothers don't need me anymore, is that it?" MOS moaned to the messengers, who were standing before him awkwardly. One of them spoke up.
"Your grace, your brothers thought you would be pleased to hear this news."
MOS gaped at them. "Pleased? Why would this please me?!"
"Perhaps because your families legacy stands to continue?"
MOS glared at them. But then something occurred to him. "Wait a minute," he said. "How can Amanda be pregnant? My brother Andy doesn't have...well...he isn't capable of fathering a child."
Andy's messenger shifted uncomfortably. "Well...your grace...um...they are putting it down to divine intervention."
MOS was bewildered. "Seriously?"
"Yes...your grace. It was...it was a miracle!"
MOS laughed bitterly. "Oh...I am sure it was."
MOS couldn't believe it. Amanda had cheated on Andy! And everyone was totally ignoring it. If she gave birth to a son, Andy's throne would be passed on to someone who wasn't truly born of the family name. MOS couldn't let that happen, could he? Surely it was his duty! Yes. He couldn't let this slide! It was time to bring Amanda to justice.
In Ethiopia, Hupu, in the hopes of getting DR into bed again, had taken the decision to go to war with one of their other neighbors. He was just entering her chambers to tell her the good news. He found her in bed.
"Wife! I am going to war for you again!"
DR looked up in astonishment. "With Norway? We aren't quite-"
"No silly!" Hupu said. "With more Arabs! Our Northern neighbors are pretty weak!"
DR looked at him darkly. "Hupu you bloody fool! We don't need any more territory! The army we have now is more than enough!"
Hupu looked at her uncertainly. "I...I thought you would be pleased!"
DR shook her head. "I am not pleased. You should have consulted me first. I better get up and sort this mess out!"
In Ireland, Leos and Malion were gearing up for another battle.
Leos was with his vanguard on the battlefield. He turned to face his men, flagon of wine in one hand, war hammer in the other.
"Men!" he screamed. "See how the enemy is scared to face us! They are late to the battle!"
There was a lot of laughter and cheering at that. Leos smiled drunkenly.
"Over a year ago, we killed Malion's troublesome father, along with all his brothers! Battle hardened and brave they were, but they were no match for us! Today, he stands alone. I think we can handle one more of these bastards!"
Another loud cheer.
"Let's kill him and unite this kingdom under a true king!"
Malion's army came into view a half hour later. Leos couldn't believe his luck. According to his scouts, Malion was riding with his vanguard too. He figured that Malion couldn't inspire his men without putting himself in such a dangerous position. All Leos had to do was strike the fool down, and the war would be over.
"Men! Malion rides with his vanguard! Advance with me, and we can end this here and now!"
His men roared their approval. Leos smiled. "Charge!"
Across the field, Malion's stomach lurched. Leos was charging towards his position with his vanguard. He made for a fearsome sight. He could feel the unease among the rest of his men too. He knew he must not show his fear, so he mustered up as much courage as he could.
"Loose formation!" he shouted. His men complied and began spreading out, preparing to take the brunt of the impending charge. His cavalry, meanwhile, moved out to the flanks. Leos was fast approaching.
"Hold position!" Malion shouted. If anyone lost their nerve now, it would be over, he knew. Once one of them started running, the rest would soon follow. Leos was getting nearer and nearer, his men following behind. Malion could see him swigging wine and laughing, as he swung his war hammer above his head with ease. Doubt started to niggle at Malion. What the hell was he doing here. Had he let his family name die with his brothers and father, he would be reciting poetry in some foreign court right now. Instead he was about to fight the crazy drunken Irish warrior who massacred them but a year ago. His general snapped him out of his reminiscing. "Brace yourselves!" he yelled. Malion looked towards the approaching enemy. The were close enough for Malion to make out Leos properly, who was staring at him venomously. He mouthed something to Malion. "I'm coming for you."
Seconds later the vanguard smashed into Malion's men. The battle had begun. Malion watched as Leos swung his war hammer down on someone's head, almost decapitating them. Leos laughed as blood soaked him, and all around Malion chaos was unfolding. He drew his sword. He might have been good at inspiring men, but fighting was still an area he was lacking in. So when someone approached brandishing a long sword, Malion wasn't sure what to do. But he didn't have time to think about it, as the man rushed at him, jeering. Malion dodged as the blade came swinging at his head, only barely getting out of the way. He made a half hearted swipe at the mans chest, which failed miserably. Whoever he was fighting wasn't scared at all, Malion realized. That was his only advantage. Malion dodged another series of blows and fell to the ground. The man was walking at a leisurely pace.
"I ain't ever killed a king before!" he shouted mockingly, as he began lifting up his sword. Malion braced himself. But just as all looked lost his general came out of nowhere and lopped his attackers head off. He stood over Malion.
"Your grace, you should be more-"
The general spluttered, coughing up blood. Someone had come up behind him and stabbed him. He slumped to the ground and fell on top of Malion. "NO!" Malion screamed. He pushed at his dying general, but he was too heavy.
"Here, let me help you!" A strangers voice rang out. Suddenly the general was off of him. Malion looked up to his savior, only to see Leos smiling down at him.
"Hello!" Leos said. He was so close that Malion could smell the wine on his breath.
"Give me your hand," he said cheerfully, holding it out. He seemed completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding around them. Malion looked at Leos extended hand uncertainly.
"Don't worry! I want this to be a fair fight!"
Malion glanced at the war hammer in Leos's other hand.
"Nobody can say this won't be done fair-" Malion stabbed him in the chest. Leos looked down in disbelief. What seemed like an eternity passed. Then Leos's extended hand grabbed Malion's neck. He wasn't dead! Leos started to choke him, a half crazed expression on his face.
"That was not honorable!" he shouted, spitting blood. Malion's world was going black. Leos tightened his grip further.
"That was not honorable!" He yelled again. "That was not-" he trailed off. His grip loosened. Malion gasped for air. Leos still had a firm grip on him but Malion could see that he was passing out. He mustered all his strength and pushed him off of him. Then he collapsed back down on the mud, exhausted. He looked to his side. Leos was motionless, a pool of blood gathering around him. Someone rushed to Malion's side, hoisting him up, shouting. Malion was slipping into unconsciousness, but he could make out the words.
"Leos is dead. The day is ours!"
Leos's army, disillusioned, retreated from the battlefield.
The war was over. Malion had not fought honorably, but he was still alive. And now Ireland stood to be united for the first time in history.
TBC
(Can you guess the song?)
