Shawn sighed. The night was still young and he had another four hours of awkwardness to endure. On one side of him sat the Welsh King Of Gywnedd. On the other sat his daughter, Shawn's betrothed, Princess Fugly.
Shawn looked at her solemnly. He couldn't marry her. He would rather die. Peasants looked more appealing than her. She was smiling at him dreamily. He felt a pang of guilt. It was clear that she was in love with him. Shawn forced a smile back, which she must have taken that as a sign, because she pouted her lips and moved in for a kiss. Wide eyed with terror, he pushed her away whilst Fugly's father watched intently.
"Whaat es the matter lad? My gerl Fugly not good enough for ya?
Shawn grimaced. "Of course she is!"
"Then why yeh not kiss er back then?" he asked accusingly.
"Um," Shawn murmured, thinking. "Well, it wouldn't be courteous!"
Fugly's father looked at him suspiciously. "Very well," he said. "So leng as your hart is in the rieght place."
Before this match up was arranged, her father had probably given up all chance of Fugly ever marrying. He was no doubt going to be keeping a close eye on them both to make sure it went through. Shawn didn't blame him. The arranged marriage had been the price of Welsh support in the war with Paulus. But Shawn desperately wanted out of it. He had never asked for it.
He stood from the table. "Excuse me a moment." He couldn't stand much more. He scanned the hall. Finally he felt a hand on his shoulder. Shawn turned to face his older brother.
"Hey little bro, looking for me?"
"I can't stand this anymore!" Shawn exclaimed. Curtis hushed him so he whispered. "I can't marry her Curt!"
"Who?" Curtis asked. "Oh...Fugly...she is ugly isn't she?"
"Just a bit!" Shawn said.
"So shallow of you brother! What about her personality?"
Shawn went red. "Stop it Curtis! You wouldn't marry her either!"
"" said Curtis. "I will see what I can do. But first, I need your help!"
"Will it mean getting away from here for a while?"
"You bet!" Curtis said, patting him on the back and leading him away. Shawn followed. Fugly watched them go, beaming. Shawn nodded awkwardly and carried on.
Niney
Niney arrived back at Copenhagen to jeers. He was no longer a King, but a Duke. He had been expecting a less than warm welcome back home. All the common folk saw when they looked at him was a coward who had accepted subjugation. Had he died in battle, he would be forever remembered as a hero. But accepting Bryce's mercy had allowed him to continue holding a position of power. He still had plentiful land and power to pass down to his children. Heroes were overrated.
Niney ignored the jeers and retreated to his keep. There he closed the doors behind him, shutting out the angry crowds and making for his chambers. Upon entering them, he was surprised to see he had a visitor.
"Hello father!"
Niney gasped. "Klaus! What are you doing here?"
"I heard the news. But I had to see it to believe it...my father, the great Ninefingers, deposed by Bryce."
Niney looked at his son solemenly. "Now you have seen it to be true. Was it worth abandoning your duties abroad?"
His son and heir, Klaus, spent most his time abroad maintaining diplomatic relations with foreign rulers, and keeping an eye on developing situations.
"You best believe it was. Father, a huge army from Byzantium is making way for Norway."
"I am aware," Niney said.
"Then you must see that Denmark is now in danger," Klaus said. "Denmark will be subjugated along with Norway if we don't get rid of Bryce immediately."
"No," Niney murmured. "I am not rebelling. I gave Bryce my word I would not. I have never broken promises to anyone, and I do not intend to start now."
Klaus shook his head. "Forget your vows father. The kingdom is at stake."
"We must help our new liege face this threat," Niney said impatiently. "Our combined strength might repel the Byzantines."
"Nothing will stop them father! Surely you must see that. They have the advantage in numbers!"
Niney sighed. "Wars are not won by numbers."
"This one will be. We are not just slightly outnumbered, we are heavily outnumbered. There may be four enemy troops for every one of our own. But if we retake your throne now, whilst there is still a chance, we can avoid the fate awaiting Bryce."
"I will have no part of such a plot," Niney said stubbornly. "And I will not permit you to get involved in something so reckless."
Klaus nodded. "I will do it without you then." And with that, he stormed out.
"Dammit Klaus!" Niney called after him. "Come back here!"
He didn't. Niney buried his head in his hands. This was the last thing he wanted.
Patrick
Patrick stood in the throne room, before Queen Genevive. She had become accustomed to her position quite quickly. She sat proudly on the throne, dressed in fine silk and jewels, a sparkling crown atop her head.
"My loyal regent Patrick," she said, upon seeing him. "What news do you bring me?"
"It is about England, your grace. The war is over. Your husband to be, Curtis, has won the throne. For our support we have been gifted the lands of Normandy."
Queen Genevive smiled. "This pleases me Patrick. My marriage will go ahead then?"
"Curtis promises he will visit and set a date soon."
"Splendid," she said.
Patrick smiled. Once Curtis and Genevive married, it would secure an alliance between two of Europe's most powerful rulers. With France and England standing together, they could face almost any threat thrown against them in the fast changing political landscape.
Curtis
Back in Oxford, Curtis was stood in his temporary chambers, taking a quick break from the festivities. Two guards were stood by his door. He called to one.
"Find Rita for me. Bring her here...and be discreet about it."
The guard complied and wandered off. He returned shortly with her. She gave Curtis a flirtatious grin. Curtis smiled back.
"Guards, leave us!"
They did. Rita watched them go.
"So, you finally want your money's worth?" Rita asked.
"I do...and it better be worth it!" Curtis replied, pouring two cups of wine and handing one to her.
"Oh trust me...it will be," she said, drinking.
"Why the long wait, anyway?" Curtis asked curiously.
Rita smiled. "The wait is part of the fun!"
"You could have fooled me!"
"I am full of surprises!" Rita said playfully.
"Oh I am sure!" Curtis said.
The two finished their wine.
"Well," Rita began. "You have me alone...the wait is over. Shall we begin?"
Curtis nodded.
"You are going to be so surprised!" Rita said in a low voice.
"I truly cannot wait!" Curtis beamed.
Rita walked closer, and pulled off her dress...revealing Boc! He was wearing chainmail, and holding a dagger.
"Oh my!" Curtis said. "Boc, you make a rather convincing lady!"
"Curtis," Boc said venomously. "I have waited to get you alone for a long time."
"I didn't know you swung that way," Curtis said, pouring himself another cup of wine.
Boc smiled bitterly. "Quit the jokes...I put myself in mortal peril for you. And you returned my loyalty by pillaging my lands and people for money. How could you?"
Curtis shrugged. "It was pretty easy to be honest."
"I am going to enjoy killing you."
"Ok...that is great Boc. But first, look out! Behind you!"
Boc laughed. "I am not Simplton, so don't-"
Boc was hit on the head from behind by Shawn. He fell to the floor. Curtis 'd
"I told you to watch out!"
Boc started to rise but Curtis pinned him down.
"I knew there was something up with you Rita...I just didn't put two and two together until Paul informed me that you were released from the dungeons...Shawn, get the rope."
Curtis threw Boc on a chair and tied him up.
"Well done brother," Curtis said. Shawn watched him uneasily.
"Now Boc, I am very busy and have other stuff to do. So I am going to leave you here with my brother." He grinned darkly and gave Shawn Boc's dagger. "He is going to take good care of you!"
"Bastard!" Boc yelled as he made for the door. Curtis turned to face him once more.
"You was well worth the money by the way!"
Robert
Robert watched his guests from the end of the table. He had never felt more proud. Oxford was made for him. It was elegant, sophisticated and well crafted. And it finally had the ruler it deserved. The past year had been chaotic, with many failed attempts to take the town from the inept Jeffrey. But his determination had saw him through. He watched as Paulus' wife Adele took to the stage along with several musicians. She began to sing her trademark song.
This life was made for him. Here sat some of the most important people in all of Britain, dining together. They had been at war merely a week ago. But now they were breaking bread with each other. Robert had been surprised when Curtis first told him how he intended to show Paulus and his supporters mercy. He had expected anything but mercy from Curtis, who had always seemed cruel and manipulative. But maybe Robert had judged him wrong. It was easy to think all redheads were soulless creeps. Curtis had displayed extraordinary strength of character by holding this feast. This was how sophisticated people ended disputes. Not through brute and ugly violence. Through intelligent conversation and extravagant parties. Robert smiled. He had finally arrived where he wanted to be in life.
As he sat back, happy as can be, he spotted a strange figure at the door to the feast hall, which made his stomach lurch.
The stranger was holding a hatchet. Robert sat transfixed with the figure as he calmly walked over to where the King of Gywnedd sat. The Welsh king was drinking copiously. The horrid figure stepped behind him and swung the hatchet at him. His head flew clean off. His daughter Fugly screamed in terror as her fathers head rolled into her lap. Everyone looked up at the noise. The music continued. The butcher then sliced Fugly's head off with another swift swing of the axe. Robert gaped. Everything appeared to be moving in slow motion. The musicians had dropped there lutes and had replaced them with crossbows. They were firing them toward the table, at Paulus and his entourage. Paulus was on his feet, watching the mayhem, looking completely helpless. A bolt hit him in the chest and he fell to the floor. He retreated under the table. FF0 grabbed a spoon and held it up threateningly. Roos came up from behind him and slit his throat, laughing.
Adele was still singing. The butcher cut down several of Paulus' guards as they ran for the door. Roos was enthusiastically cutting down anyone who came too close. The butcher jumped onto the table, swinging his bloody hatchet. Dylan sat frozen in fear. Sophia was next to him, a drunken look of indifference on her face. The butcher walked passed a terrified Kristoff, before looking back, as if in sudden recognition, and cutting his arm off. Kristoff cried out in pain. The butcher picked up the severed arm and slapped the poor priest across the face with it. Then he looked straight at Robert. Robert tried to stand but he was paralysed with terror. The butcher stalked over to him, the hatchet gleaming. Robert shifted his eyes toward the exit. By now several of Roos' mercenaries had blocked it off. He looked back at the approaching monster. Before he knew it he was before him. The butcher took off his terrifying mask. Curtis smiled down at him, a satanic look in his eyes. He held out a blood stained hand.
Boc
There was a tremendous noise of anguished screams and the clash of blades coming from below, as well as singing. But Boc didn't have time to worry about it. Shawn was stood before him, holding the dagger he had intended to kill Curtis with. It seemed he was going to be tortured to death. Boc had no intentions of putting himself through that.
"Shawn, if you mean to kill me, get it over with!" he spat.
"You be quiet!" Shawn yelled, trembling, and putting his ear to the door. He looked confused.
Boc looked at Shawn curiously. It seemed he was oblivious to whatever was going on downstairs. And Boc could detect fear in his voice.
"Shawn," he whispered. "This isn't you."
Shawn stared at him, wide eyed. His hands were shaking unbearably. "You don't know me," Shawn said defiantly. "I know how to use this. I have killed before!"
Boc raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"
"Yes! I have been practicing on the stable rats for a while now."
"It is one thing to kill rats Shawn, and another to kill a person."
"We will see!" Shawn yelled, moving closer with the knife. Boc eyed it cautiously. But Shawn hesitated. The knife fell out of his hands.
"Oh...I can't do it!" Shawn yelled. "You are right. Curtis will be so disappointed."
"Shawn...you are not like your brother. Don't try to be."
Boc knew he was not out of the woods yet. Shawn wasn't going to kill him, but Curtis definitely would.
"Shawn, if you don't want to disappoint Curtis...let me go. Say I escaped."
Shawn shook his head. "No way, Curtis will go mad if I let you go!"
"Only if you tell him...Shawn, you know this is wrong. My blood is still on your hands whether you kill me or Curtis does."
There was a long moment of silence, and the carnage below was the only thing that could be heard. Eventually, Shawn picked the knife up, went behind Boc and cut him loose. Boc stood and looked at him.
"Thank you. You won't regret this."
Then Boc punched him, knocking him out. He reached down and grabbed the dagger.
"You will thank me for that some day," he said, rushing out. Out in the hallways, the sound of the mayhem below was louder. He dreaded to think what was going on. He ran for the watchtower door and was soon on the walls of the town. He heard a commotion down below in the courtyard. He looked down. One of Paulus' entourage, Kiwi, was warding off two attackers, hurling abuse at them. Boc jumped down and stabbed one of them. Kiwi shot him a look before cutting down the other. Then he turned and pointed his sword at Boc threateningly.
"Scum!" Kiwi shouted. "Were you in on this?"
Boc held his hands up. "No! I was here to kill Curtis! I have no idea what is happening!"
Kiwi turned and pointed at the entrance to the castle with his sword.
"Curtis betrayed us! I must get back in there, I should never have left the table!"
Boc held him back. "You must not! Everyone in there is dead, and they will kill you too!"
"Get off of me!" Kiwi shouted, pulling away. Boc thought fast and hit Kiwi over the head with the butt end of his dagger. Kiwi turned around.
"Ouch! Why did you do that?"
Boc hit him again quickly, this time knocking him out. He dragged him away as frantic footsteps were heard approaching.
Paulus
He had seen it coming. He had seen it coming but still he had come. Paulus was laying under the table, his own blood pooling on the floor beneath him. He had not had a choice. He had a weary hand pressed around his chest where a crossbow bolt was stuck. Curtis had betrayed his trust. He had sunk to a level that he could never possibly imagine anyone sinking to. Attacking defenceless guests at a feast. It was despicable. Maybe he had underestimated just how evil Curtis truly was. And now he was paying the price for it. He looked behind him. FF0 lay dead on the floor, his dead eyes looking at him accusingly. Him and his loyal followers were paying the price. Everything was deadly silent in the hall now, save for a few faint moans, and the victorious voice of the butcher.
"Paulus! Where are you?"
Paulus watched as Curtis crept past the table, the blood stained hatchet scratching against the floor. Paulus shivered. If only he had a weapon, he could reach out and stab him. He looked down at his chest. He did have a weapon. He put his hand round the hilt of the bolt stuck inside him and pulled it out. Blood started pouring from the open wound. He wouldn't last long like this, but he could go down fighting. Curtis continued pacing by the table, eventually stopping. Paulus did not hesitate, and mustering all his strength, he made to grab Curtis by the legs and bring him down. But before he had the chance, the table was overturned. Roos dragged him to his feet and took the bolt from him. Curtis turned and grinned.
"My my!" he said. "There you are!"
Paulus closed his eyes and sighed. He looked around the hall. His men lay dead everywhere. Adele was stood over with the musicians, looking traumatized. It looked like she was the only survivor.
"Not got anything to say?" Curtis asked.
Paulus looked in Curtis' eyes. "Words would be wasted on someone as vile as you."
There was a long silence. Then Curtis spoke again.
"Disappointing," he muttered. Then he swung the hatchet at Paul's head.
Curtis
As Paulus' head rolled across the floor, Curtis turned to face Dylan. Sophia was passed out by his side.
"So Dylan," Curtis said, nonchalantly putting the hatchet down. "How did you like the feast?"
Dylan looked up at him with fearful eyes. "It...it was...eventful."
Curtis laughed. "Indeed it was! Now...there is a very particular reason I invited you down."
"Oh no...please," Dylan grovelled. "Please don't kill me!"
Curtis was taken aback.
"Don't be silly! I am not going to kill you! You are my buddy!"
Curtis took a chair next to Dylan, and patted him on the head.
"No Dylan, it is your pledge of fealty that I want!"
Dylan looked at him. "Oh...oh thank god!"
"Oh you don't have to thank me," Curtis said. "You just have to kneel."
Curtis stood and motioned to Dylan.
"You know what to do," Curtis said, watching expectantly.
Dylan slowly came and kneeled before Curtis and stammered his vows. Curtis grinned. He didn't realise how easy it would all be. In one fell swoop he had done what Paulus had never managed to do. Become the emperor of Britannia.
Roos came to his side, looking exhausted.
"A good days work!"
Curtis looked at him. "How many did you kill?"
"I killed lord FF0, and several other western lords I had made a point of targeting upon their arrival."
"All their lands are yours then, Roos! Good work!"
Roos bowed. "You may now call me Lord of Mercia, your grace."
Roos really had been busy, Curtis thought. The Lord of Mercia was a substantial title to hold. Roos would have to be watched carefully.
Robert walked over. There was no hiding the fact that he was horrified. Curtis felt justified in not telling him the plan. He could have caved in and exposed it. Robert was smart, but he didn't have the stomach for this side of things.
"Sorry about the mess! The blood will be hard to wash out, but it will eventually."
Robert said nothing. He simply looked around the bloody hall. Then he started retching. Roos laughed. They watched as he ran out of the hall.
"He will be fine," Curtis said. "More than fine in fact. My Welsh subjects need a new king. His loyalty shall be rewarded accordingly." He looked down at Fugly and her fathers corpses. Curtis got out a piece of parchment.
"I will write the order up now, in fact."
The kingdom looked very different now...
The feast would inspire hatred, no doubt. But more importantly, it would also inspire fear. Few would dare mess with him now. Curtis grinned once more, admiring the bloody hall. Then he walked out. It was time he went to London to attend his coronation.
Malion
Malion sat in his study, brooding. The war with Ari was over. Finally, the end seemed to be in sight. His country was united, and all his lords were content under his rule. War weary, he looked forward to having a rest, and hopefully beginning a long and peaceful reign. There was a knock at the door. His faithful chancellor walked in.
"A letter, your grace."
"From whom?" Malion asked tiredly.
"It bears the sigil of Paulus."
Malion stood and took the letter. He tore it open.
Malion dropped the letter. That was the last thing he had wanted to hear.
