SEASON FINALE!
Episode 6: Curtis Page's super genius plan! (Seriously, it doesn't rely on every character been retarded for it to work...it's really good!)
It was late June, 1068.
In England, Robert was following Curtis, side by side with Shawn and Dylan. For the past week they had been making a long march North through the English countryside. But now they were finally arriving at their destination; The county of Westmoreland. Curtis had moved his base of operations here from York when the war started. They were a long way from the battle they had abandoned outside Northampton. But everyone knew why now. Curtis had explained it all. It had been an elaborate diversion, intended to deal a blow to Paulus's army and draw him North into a dastardly trap. Robert had come close to dismissing Curtis as a grinning fool when they were stood on the walls of his town, watching Paul's superior forces arriving. But now he was beginning to see just how dangerous the ginger bastard was. He was glad he was on his side. Robert found himself missing the town he had left behind, with its mundane everyday problems and simple folk. But he was destined for greater things. He had to keep that in mind.
Curtis reigned up his horse outside a quiet tavern.
"Why are we stopping?" Robert asked.
"We are here!" Curtis replied, before hooting. A short while later the tavern door opened and a Briddish man stepped out.
"Hello Russ!" Curtis said. "It is good to see you buddy!"
"You have been keeping me waiting," Russ replied coldly. "I have wars to fight."
Robert realized who this man was. He was the mercenary captain who Curtis had been talking with since the war began. From what he knew of the plan, Russ would be bringing his mercenaries across to England to crush Paulus.
"I am sorry," Curtis said sarcastically. "You know what I am offering is worth the wait."
Dylan stepped forward. "Isn't this the asshole who is pillaging my homeland?"
Russ laughed. "I am also the asshole who is fighting to end your brother Vernon's tyranny."
"Not before fighting
for him first...you captured Wikey."
"But I didn't take his head off!"
Dylan glared. There was an awkward silence.
"Great work breaking the ice Dylan," Curtis said. "Shall we get down to business now?"
Robert cleared his throat. "How many men do you have captain Russ?"
"4500!" Russ said. "I think that should be enough to finish this war for you, don't you?"
Robert frowned. "And what are you getting out of this? I get a feeling you are doing this for more than just money."
Russ smirked. "Why don't you ask your leader."
Robert turned to Curtis expectantly.
Curtis winked at Russ. "Well Robert...to start with Russ demanded gold...lot's of gold. Unfortunately I didn't have any, but there was some close at hand."
"Where?"
"Well, when Boc was imprisoned, I went and looted all his towns and keeps for all they were worth!"
Robert shook his head. "Don't you think Boc might have something to say about that?"
"Oh, Boc isn't going to miss it," Curtis said, laughing. "He is currently in the dungeons, remember!"
"Fair enough...you were saying?"
"Yes...well Russ wanted lots of gold."
"For my
men," Russ said.
"And what do you get?"
"He gets land," Curtis said. "Russ wants a duchy of his choosing."
Robert frowned. "Are you sure that giving this man land is a good idea?"
Russ gave Robert a dirty look and spat.
"Don't worry Robert," Curtis said, patting him on the back. "Vernon was asking for it! This is different!"
Robert was not satisfied, but he didn't bother protesting further.
"Moving on," Curtis said. "Dylan...how would you like to be king?"
Dylan perked his head up. "What do you mean?"
Curtis pointed to Russ. "He is going to take you home and put you on the throne of Scotland."
Robert watched Dylan the humbled prince disappear in that very instant.
"That is wonderful!" Dylan exclaimed. "When do we set off?"
"Now," Russ said. "Your brother is not long for the throne. We need to move fast. You will sail back to Scotland with me and in a couple of days you will be king. How do you like me now?"
Dylan was smiling. "Oh my...thank you so much...both of you!"
There was no thank you for Robert. The lord who had harbored Dylan when he had nowhere else to go.
The next day, Russ's army docked at Whitehaven in Cumberland whilst Russ and Dylan set off for Scotland.
In Oxford, Jeffrey had awoken to greet a wonderful summer morning. He looked out the window of his airy chambers at the peaceful town below. According to latest reports, the rebel army had been crushed at Northampton, though the rebel leaders were nowhere to be found. Soon, the leaders would be imprisoned, most importantly Earl Robert, who had long been after Jeffrey's chair. It was suspected that Robert had sent the assassin to try and kill him. If Jeffrey had to witness another battle like the one for his seat, it might just be too much to bear. He sighed and called his servants. When they walked in, they all looked at him in horror.
"Oh men what is the matter?"
One of them fainted, and the others ran away screaming. Jeffrey started to panic.
"What is wrong?!"
He felt his face, and immediately realized something was wrong.
Uh oh. Poor Jeffrey!
Near Northampton, King Paulus was on the march. After defeating the rebel army outside the city, the enemy had scattered in all directions.
Kiwi was insisting the war was over, and that Curtis had shown his true colors on the battlefield by retreating. FF0 was remaining silent on the issue. But Paulus knew that something was amiss. He knew that Curtis had planned it that way all along, and he was just waiting for the shit storm to arrive. He didn't know what Curtis was planning, but he had to make sure everyone stayed vigilant. His army seemed to have taken the same view as Kiwi. They all thought the war was over.
For now, he decided the best move was to take his army to Dorchester. Curtis's Cornish supporters had captured the town. By marching on the town, he could remind his men that the war was far from over, whilst waiting for Curtis to make his move.
In Iceland, Ari was sat on his throne. He was super pissed off. News was arriving from Ireland. Apparently, someone called Malion had united the entire kingdom, making further expansion problematic.
"I will not stand for this!" Ari spat. "I am trying to build an empire. I will not settle for second place!"
The commander of his army was stood before him, having recently made the trip back to Iceland. "What would you have me do, your grace?
"Go back! Go back and make war with this King Malion."
"I do not think that is a good idea," his commander replied.
"I don't care what you think!" Ari bellowed. "This Irish king will cower the moment we show our intentions. Mark my words!"
A week later the Icelandic invaders declared war on Malion.
Malion quickly raised the banners...
He was tired of war, and he had recently decided to leave the snowmen be for a while. But that wasn't going to happen now. Malion was quickly learning that he would probably never be free of enemies. There were now rumors surfacing that Leos' widow Sophia was drumming up support against him from Scotland. So far Malion found kingship to be overrated.
In Westmoreland, Curtis was visiting his wife. He had stowed his Danish princess away in his base of operations, and this was the first time he had visited her since the war had started. Curtis was only here on business though.
"Wife," Curtis said coldly.
"Husband," His wife replied awkwardly.
Curtis sat on the bad near her. "Has your father reconsidered?"
"No," she said. "I told you, he doesn't want to get involved in your war."
Before the war, Curtis had married the Hungarian princess with the hopes of securing her fathers support for his cause. However, since war had broken out, all attempts to call upon this alliance had proved fruitless. Curtis was growing tired of it.
"Doesn't your father want to see you married to a king?"
"He says it isn't worth the risk."
Curtis laughed. "So he is a coward then?"
His wife flushed with anger. "No he is not!"
"Some marriage this is turning out to be. What is the point of making an alliance with a coward?"
"There is more to marriage than stupid alliances! What about...what about love?"
Curtis laughed mockingly. "What are you, like five years old?"
She slapped him. Curtis laughed more. "Well, at least someone in your family has balls. However, you should not have done that!"
Curtis lunged at her, and put his hamds around her neck. His poor wife yelped. Curtis tightened his grip.
"So hey, I have been thinking," he said casually, as she looked up at him in terror. "This isn't working out."
She began scratching at him desperately. "It's not you, its me," Curtis said, grinning. He strangled her until she stopped struggling and went limp.
At that moment the door burst open. Shawn ran in with an urgent look on his face, then looked down at Curtis on the floor with his dead wife.
"What' is going on? I heard a woman screaming!"
Curtis was stunned, but quickly composed himself. "Well brother...if you hear a woman screaming in my room, there are two very distinct possibilities! But we will save that talk for when you are a bit older!"
"Wh...what happened?" Shawn asked, noticing Curtis's dead wife for the first time.
"I really need to get a lock fitted on that door!"
"Curtis..."
"Oh it is simply terrible Shawn! She slipped and died!"
His brother was not stupid, but he was young, so he would believe pretty much anything he told him...Curtis hoped.
"Oh my god, that is terrible!" Shawn said. "I will go get help!"
"No!" Curtis said. "No. She was from Hungary...they do things different there. When someone dies in Hungary, they don't like anybody to know they have died!"
Shawn looked confused. "Really?"
"Yes, really!" Curtis said. "In fact, they have a very specific funeral ceremony in Hungary. They like to be tied up, weighed down with stones, and thrown into a ditch."
"Is that true?" Shawn said.
"Absolutely!"
Curtis wasn't proud of lying to his brother, but he wasn't old enough to handle the truth. Later that night, the two of them put the "Hungarian funeral ceremony" into action.
Now Curtis had a wedding to arrange. He already had someone in mind.
Patrick was in the main tent of his siege camp when he received the offer, outside Le Mans, Maine.
His highness Oyster Boy was in the tent with him, there to inspire the troops with his presence. Fat chance of that, but that was the guise with which Patrick had taken Oyster Boy out of court so he could keep him safe.
Patrick read the message to Oyster Boy. "Your grace, an English lord wants to marry your younger sister! Isn't that wonderful?"
Oyster boy did not respond. He simply sat there and drooled. That was hardly a surprise. But Patrick liked to think that someone in there was listening.
"Well I think it is!" Patrick said.
Whilst it was the English he was currently fighting, Curtis was fighting the same enemy...King Paulus. Perhaps Patrick could deal with this English pretender. If he agreed to this marriage, he would be expected to help Curtis in his war for the English throne. But Patrick wanted something in return.
In Scotland, the enemy was knocking at the door.
Quite literally in fact. Vernon had barricaded the door to the throne room with chairs and tables, and was racing around frantically.
"The traitors are at my door! Save me somebody!"
Nobody answered. Vernon had lost everybody. His tyranny had been too much to bear for everyone. But they had started it! His brothers Wikey and Dylan plotted against him so long ago! They started this mess, not him! And then his wife Natalie betrayed him! That was her decision, not his. The king was well within his rights to punish treachery, and everything Vernon had done he had done for the good of the realm. But now his reign looked like it was coming to an end. On the other side of those barricaded doors stood hundreds of men, all looking to bring him to justice.
Vernon saw a spiked mace on the walls. He picked it up but he could barely keep it aloft. It was too heavy. Perhaps he could talk his way out of this mess? The enemy was banging on the door insistently. He could hear them shouting from the other side.
"Off with their heads!" Vernon yelled manically.
Then he started skipping in a circle whilst singing. "Treason cannot be tolerated! Treason must be punished! And the sentence is death!"
Suddenly the barricade at the door gave way and the doors flew open. Vernon stopped in his tracks as mercenaries poured in and surrounded him, pointing all manner of weapons at him.
"Surrender!" Vernon demanded. "And I will spare your lives!"
The room erupted in laughter. One of the mercenaries stepped forward. "You are in no position to make demands, mad king!"
"How dare you call me that!" Vernon boomed.
"Yeah yeah yeah," the mercenary said, approaching Vernon with a ball and chain.
"You stay away!" Vernon shouted.
The mercenary shook his head. "This will go a lot easier for you if you come quietly."
"I am a king! You cannot do this to me!"
"No...your brother Dylan is the king. You are the tyrant who tried to have him killed."
Vernon grew wide eyed. "My brother is still alive?"
The mercenary smirked. "Yes...do you want to talk to him?"
"He...he is here?"
That is when Dylan entered the throne room. "Hello brother." There was no love in his voice. Vernon fell to his feet. "Br...brother! It has been so long!"
Dylan looked down on him with contempt. "Indeed it has. I remember fondly how you tried to have me arrested in the night."
"That was a mistake!" Vernon stammered. "A horrible mistake!"
"Yes it was," Dylan said coldly. "I am only here for one thing brother...my throne."
Vernon began crying. "The throne...but the throne is...it is mine!"
"Well let me make this simple for you," Dylan said. "Either you abdicate the throne to me, or I will have these men kill you and take it anyway!"
Vernon whimpered. Everything was lost. "I...I..." Vernon couldn't bring himself to say the words. Dylan began unsheathing a sword. Vernon didn't need much more convincing. "I SURRENDER! I SURRENDER!"
"I want it in writing," Dylan said, handing Vernon a quill and some ink. Vernon began writing, his hand shaking.
Dylan nodded. "Good. Take him away and lock him in the dungeons."
The mercenaries lifted Vernon to his feet.
"Wait a second," Dylan said. He walked over to his brother and looked at him expectantly.
"What now?" Vernon asked miserably.
"The crown," Dylan said simply. Vernon was still wearing it.
"Take it," Vernon said.
"No. I want you to give me it."
Vernon glared at his horrid brother and complied. Dylan smiled smugly as he put the crown on his head.
"I am going to be crowned tomorrow brother. It is too bad you won't be able to attend, my coronation, but you are not too popular at the moment, so it is probably for the best!"
Then Vernon was dragged away from the throne room. His reign was over.
And a new king was in power.
King Dylan was hardly what you would call great king material, but compared to his brothers he was a god send. As far as Dylan was concerned, he owed all of this to Curtis. He hadn't trusted him when he had first met him at Northampton, but he had secured Dylan his rightful throne, when it looked to be out of reach. For that, Curtis had earned Dylan's loyalty.
But he had inherited a broken kingdom...
Mercenaries had put the crown into serious debt, and a succession of bloody civil wars had destroyed the countryside and brought many towns and keeps to the sword. Many subjects had been executed on Vernon's orders, leaving the realm fractured. Dylan had no doubt he would be called upon by Curtis eventually. His throne would come at a price. But whilst the realm was recovering from the chaos of the past year, he could do very little.
On the other side of the world, DR and Hupu were a week into their march to Norway. And it was taking forever. Hupu had already started asking if they were there yet. But they had barely left home. Egypt and the great Muslim empires lay ahead of them.
The army had been living off the land, often trading in the villages dotted across their route. They were getting by.
There were very few other travelers on the road. Now and again merchant caravans passed, but that was about it. But today, a lone rider had been spotted on the horizon. And upon been intercepted, he had requested he be brought before Hupu and DR. It was very unusual.
He was brought before them that night, escorted by guards. The man was dressed all in black. He was Greek, but he had no problem speaking both DR and Hupu's native tongues. A nobleman.
DR looked at him curiously. "What are you doing riding alone so far from home?"
"I was looking for you," the man replied simply.
DR was shocked. "You were looking for me?"
"For both of you...I represent a man interested in your well being. He really wants to be friends with you both. I come bearing a gift from him."
"What gift?" Hupu asked excitedly.
"The man I represent will give you Norway, in return for an oath of fealty. He is building something. An empire is going to rise again, out of the ashes."
"What man would possess such power?" DR asked, unconvinced.
"The new Byzantine Emperor," the Greek man replied, smiling.
The Byzantine empire was what remained of the old Roman empire.
"What is his name?" DR asked.
"Willis."
"That is a nice name!" Hupu said.
To be continued...
