Season 2 Part 4
September 1067
Queen DR sat by Hupu's side. She had finally persuaded him to let her into the war council. For the first time ever, she had struggled to manipulate her husband, reason been that Hupu associated "war councils" with danger. It took DR several hours to explain that war wasn't actually fought in a war council, it was simply discussed.
The King's councilors didn't much like her presence, but DR was quickly finding out that this was a common attitude among the men of the court. The more power she gained, the more they despised her.
"This is no place for a woman, your grace," one of them insisted to Hupu when she first took her seat. That almost made DR laugh. She had pushed for the war in the first place. If this wasn't her place, it wasn't anybody's. Before them lay a table with a map of the Kingdom, and the neighbour they were invading.
Hupu's combined army numbered 1259 men.
It was first thought that the enemy would provide no challenge, but that had changed. The enemy forces were almost evenly matched in terms of numbers.
The war would be decided by the upcoming battle. And both forces were almost evenly matched. It could go either way.
"I do not like these odds," DR muttered. "I would rather be assured of victory. We need more men."
"This is the way of war," one of the councilors said. "It is always unpredictable."
DR studied the map. "Perhaps I can bring in some outside assistance."
"Your half brother?" the councilor asked.
DR nodded. "Bryce is young, foolish, and brave. He won't be able to resist a call to arms."
"Then I suggest you write to him, my lady."
The council ended at that, and DR made straight for her study to find some parchment. Along the way a servant interrupted her. "A letter for you, your grace." He handed her a folded piece of paper, with the royal seal of Norway on it. Odd.
"Thank you," DR said, not looking up from the letter. This was curious. Bryce had already written to her. She opened it and read.
"That stupid brave bastard!" she yelled, scrunching up the letter. With Bryce preoccupied back home, he wouldn't be able to come help her now. The war would be decided by Hupu's armies alone.
In Denmark, Bryce was leading a small scouting party. They had made the short sea trip across the oresund in longboats, landing roughly 40 miles North of Copenhagen. Since then they had been marching steadily towards the Danish capital. Their goal was to assess the enemy. Bryce was riding at the head of the party, his general by his side. "It is warmer here. I cannot wait to take my crown."
The general shook his head. "Your grace, we shouldn't underestimate King Ninefingers."
"I am not underestimating him," Bryce snapped. "What do you think this scouting mission is for? We are checking the situation out before charging in with our whole army."
The general frowned. "Then why are you talking as if this war is already won?"
Bryce smiled. "Belief goes a long way. And besides, how much of a fight can Niney put up? He has had years to press his own claims on England, but he never has. Why do you think that is?"
"Men grow tired of war," the general replied.
"Perhaps," Bryce said. "Or maybe he just doesn't have as great an army as he used to."
"I hope you are right your grace," the general said. "Otherwise defeat will come quickly."
"Riders returning!" A voice rang out in front of them. Everyone tensed up. A minute later a small party of cavalry rode up before Bryce.
"Your Grace," their leader said.
Bryce grinned at them. "What news do you bring?"
"We spotted the enemy camp outside of Copenhagen your grace. By my estimation there were about 2000."
The general groaned. Bryce turned to him. "Come on, that is not so bad!"
"Your grace, that is more than we have raised. And they have already banded together."
"Yes," Bryce said. "It is a wonder that Ninefingers hasn't brought the fight to us already!"
The general narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand, your grace."
"Don't you see general. Ninefingers intends to stay on the defensive. He wants us to meet him in battle here."
"You may be right, your grace," the general said, nodding. "It is understandable if he doesn't want to be drawn away from his own lands."
Bryce grinned. "That is why we must make sure he is."
For the first time ever, the general smiled at Bryce in approval. "Forgive me for saying this your grace, but up until this point I thought you were bloody mad."
"I ain't just a pretty face," Bryce said. "It is time to go home. We have to figure out a way to draw this old king out of his comfort zone."
Days later, the scouting troupe were back on the other side of the oresund and heading for home.
It was a bleak and stormy night in Northampton. Dylan was sat over piles of papers, tired and weary. Since Earl Robert had named him Treasurer, he had suffered many sleepless nights. It was hard work. Half the time he wasn't even sure what he was doing. But Earl Robert had told him he was doing a great job, and since compliments from the lord of Northampton were rare, he figured he must be doing something right.
"Prince Dylan." Dylan looked up from his papers, startled. One of Robert's courtiers stood before him.
"I am sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but Earl Robert has requested your presence."
Dylan shifted uncomfortably. "What could Earl Robert possibly want with me at this hour?"
"It is not my place to say," The courtier said, bowing. "If you would follow me, prince."
Dylan stood up and followed uncertainly. When he reached Roberts study, the courtier left him. Dylan knocked on the door.
"Enter," Roberts voice called out from the other side. Dylan pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Sorry to call for you at this hour," Robert said. "Please...sit down."
Dylan sat. "What can I do for you?"
Robert grimaced. "An hour ago I received a letter. News from Scotland."
"What news?" Dylan asked eagerly.
Robert sighed. "The rebellion is over. Your brother has won.
Dylan froze. He had not been expecting that. "No...how can that be?"
"His mercenaries decided to stick with him after the money stopped coming in."
Dylan put his head in his hands.
Robert continued. "It seems their captain wants to see Vernon's reign continue."
"But...why?" Dylan asked.
"Money," I suppose. "The mad king is good for business."
Dylan shook his head in dismay. "I cannot believe this."
"There is more," Robert said solemnly.
"More?" Dylan asked. He wasn't sure how it could get any worse.
"Vernon saw fit to set an example to the rebel leaders. Your brother Wikey is dead. Executed in the throne room, I hear."
Dylan frowned. "Wikey was half mad himself. He had no love for me. What was he doing fighting for my cause?"
"He wasn't. He was fighting for his own claim to the throne. Apparently he announced his intentions from the battlements of his keep, in front of the entire mercenary army."
"The bloody fool," Dylan groaned. "Everything is ruined."
"Look on the bright side," Robert said.
"What fucking bright side?" Dylan muttered, his anger flaring.
Robert held his arms out. "Well, you are the treasurer for an ambitious English lord for one."
"What is that compared to a kingdom?" Dylan cursed.
Robert stood up and walked towards a table and grabbed a silver flagon. He filled two cups of wine and passed one to Dylan.
"Would you rather your head was on a spike on the walls of Edinburgh?"
"I would rather Vernon's was," Dylan said bitterly.
"Eventually it will be. It is inevitable. A king as terrible as him cannot last forever."
Dylan shook his head. "But the next rebellion will not be in my name...it will be fought out of desperation to end my brothers tyranny. The lineage of the crown will not matter at all."
Robert nodded. "You are correct. It is a shame your rebels were not successful. It has forced me to change my plans."
"Plans?" Dylan said, confused.
"Your throne is not lost, my prince. Trust me on that. I have recently become friendly with a certain individual who would see me become the new Duke of Oxford. In return I promised him my swords to his cause."
"Who are you talking about?"
Robert took a sip of win."Duke Curtis of York. Alongside him and our other allies, we intend to build this kingdom anew. You were supposed to help us do that when you came into your throne. But no matter. We will still have need of a loyal Scottish king when we are finished here in England."
"You intend to depose Paulus!" Dylan gasped.
"That is right. My opportunities under him are few and far between. And besides, it was an insult to name Jeffrey Duke of Oxford over me. How can such a fool as him bear such a proud title."
"So what can I do?" Dylan asked.
"Well for the moment carry on as you are," Robert said bluntly. "Keep serving as my treasurer and be patient. I have to take Oxford from Jeffrey first. From there Curtis must secure a few more powerful lords to his cause. And then we will be ready."
In Ireland, Leos was brooding over a map of his lands.
He had a pint of cider in hand, and one of his generals sat beside him. "Look at this bullshit," he muttered. "That Southern fag Malion is on his way to becoming more powerful than me. And here I am sat on my arse getting pissed."
"My lord, we cannot-"
"And that is another thing!" Leos said miserably. "I hear his men call him king now! Nobody calls me king!"
"I am sorry, my lord," the general said. "We can start calling you king if you wish."
"No, fuck that!" Leos slammed his pint on the table. "I want to earn the title."
He stood up, swaying slightly. "General, we need to raise the soldiers. We need to get back to war!"
"Your churchmen say otherwise, my lord."
He was right. Since restoring his duchy to its old strength, Leos had been bogged down waiting for his levies to reinforce, only to realize that his churchmen were dissuading the common folk from flocking to his banner. He had an uneasy relationship with them.
Leos clenched his fists. "My fucking churchmen. Oh how they hate me. They don't like anybody to have fun!"
They didn't approve of Leos's alcohol and whore fueled life style, nor did they approve of his new wife, Sophia, who was of low birth.
"We believe they have a ringleader," the general announced. "One named Thomas Becket."
Leos nodded. "Of course. He is the worst of them all. But what can I do? Stripping him of his lands would be seen as tyrannical."
"There are other ways, my lord." The general had a dark look in his eyes.
Leos knew what he was getting at. "I...that would be despicable. Cowardly."
"It would be safer," The general insisted. "He is just one man. One defenseless churchman."
Leos bowed his head, considering. After a long moment he looked up. "Will somebody rid me of this tiresome priest?"
The general nodded and walked out without another word.
The next morning, Leos woke to receive the bad news.
Leos groaned. "How could they fuck this up?" He shouted. "He is a fucking priest! What did he do? Bore them to death with sermons?"
The churchman Thomas Becket didn't take it well when he discovered that his liege had tried to kill him. His opinion of Leos was lowered further.
Back in Northampton, the sun was rising. Robert was looking down at an unopened letter with Duke Curtis's seal. When he learnt about Jeffrey's release from the dungeons of Westminster, he had written to Curtis immediately, to request his assistance.
And now Curtis had sent his reply. He opened it nervously. It was surprisingly blunt. "Sure. Have fun!" was all it said, with a (: next to it. Robert nodded.
Robert was not one for waiting around. He had enough support to press his claim, and his men were ready to take down the inept Jeffrey. Robert couldn't imagine the king would mind, not after all the pain the fool had caused him. He would make a better subject...at least until Curtis called him to war.
By mid-day, his army was in Oxford, laying siege to the town.
Jeffrey was stood watching the chaos below from the safety of one of the watchtowers.
"Oh men oh men oh men!" he shouted, his hands on his head. "What is going on?"
A grim looking servant walked to his side. "My lord, Earl Robert of Northampton has besieged the town. He wants your seat for himself."
Jeffrey looked at him, puzzled. "Which seat? Tell him he can have it!"
His servant sighed. "No my lord, not an actual seat...he wants to be the Duke of Oxford."
"Oh men, is he stupid or something? I am the Duke of Oxford! There cannot be two! Somebody go tell him!"
"Oh my god," The servant shouted, losing his patience. "My lord, let me send a letter to the king to plead for his assistance."
"Ok, whatever!" Jeffrey said, running around in a circle and yelling "OH men oh men oh men oh!"
In Ethiopia, the sun was blazing down on the scorched African plains. Two armies were engulfed in battle.
Hupu's army was finally engaged in the battle for their neighbours territory. It was going to be close...
To be continued...
