Part 4
Malion sat on the floor of the hall in his castle, looking grim. Outside, the sounds of battle were fading. The enemy had the upper hand last he checked. Soon they would be besieging the castle. Things had gone bad quickly for Malion, since abandoning his dreams of been a famous poet and trying to keep his families name alive. He felt angry at his father and brothers for dying on him.
Malion had considered leaving his lands for someone better qualified. Someone who was into women preferably. But he could never bring himself to insult his fathers honour so greatly. The father that always had time for war but never for his poems. The father who had put him in this mess.
But now it seemed his short reign was over, and his family name along with it. There was no point in prolonging this battle by letting it turn to a siege. Malion stood up. He walked to the great wooden doors and pushed them open.
He looked around at the battlefield. Bodies were everywhere. Hundreds. His courage was fading fast, so he would have to do this quickly. The clang of swords and shields were further away than they had been. Malion headed towards them. They were coming from beyond a steep hill up ahead. When he clambered to the top he was shocked by what he saw. His banners were everywhere. Cavalry were mowing down terrified enemy soldiers. The commander of his cavalry saw him and broke off from some retreating foot soldiers.
"We have won my lord! We have won!"
Malion was lost for words. His commander patted him on the back and he started laughing uncontrollably. He couldn't believe it.
When the battle was well and truly over his army gathered around him. He was so full of gratitude for them. Something took hold of him and he began speaking.
"Men! You have fought well this day!"
There was a slight cheer of appreciation. Malion continued.
"After today, the enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis and that we will soon bring about his rightful destruction!"
There was a louder cheer. This was like poetry...he could do poetry. Malion went on to deliver the most epic speech in history, but we can't show it because its too awesome.
The next day, he set off with his army to chase the routing enemy.
In Iceland, the tension had finally erupted into civil war.
Mercator was laying in bed when he got the news. His servant rushed in to his chambers.
"My lord! Count Ari is rebelling. He intends to take your throne!"
"Oh," Mercator said, yawning.
"My lord please! He has at least 100 more men than we do. We need to do something!"
Mercator grew irritated. "I am too tired to concern myself with petty squabbles!"
His servant stared at him in astonishment. He decided to try a different tactic.
"My lord...Ari intends to end your days of contentment and put you to work in a mine if he wins."
Mercator shot up. The thought of having to do something made him ill.
"That asshole! Take me to the war room!"
"At once my lord!"
It was true. Mercator was in big trouble. Ari's army would take a while to cross the country, but once it did, they would outnumber him greatly.
"Ideas?" Mercator asked sharply.
"Well...you could marry."
"A wife would be very time consuming!" Mercator said irritably. His servant frowned.
"It is up to you...but it could be the difference between victory and defeat."
Mercator sighed. "Fine...set it up."
The servant obliged, and the next day a proposal was sent to a Spanish princess.
Meanwhile, far away in Ethiopia, King Hupu sat upon his throne, drawing with crayons. Queen DR strode in.
"My lovely wife!" Hupu said when he saw her, his eyes lighting up.
"Husband!" DR replied. "I have brought you more paper to sign!"
Hupu smiled. "Will I get another kiss?" he asked hopefully.
"That depends on if you sign!"
Hupu snatched the paper from DR's hands and signed it without so much as a glance.
"There we go, now come here!" he said, holding his arms out to embrace her.
"Actually husband, you better call your army!"
"Why?" Hupu asked, puzzled.
"Because that was a declaration of war you just signed!"
Hupu gaped. "I don't want to fight!"
DR patted him on the head. "Don't worry Hupu, that is what armies are for! I better go and send this,"
DR gently grabbed the declaration and walked off. The War for Harer had begun.
DR saw the invasion as a safe bet. Their Eastern neighbor had just under 600 men.
Whereas Hupu's army was twice the size.
The war also had religious justification, and that easily stirred men up. DR smiled. So far so good.
Dylan had been riding for weeks. He had just managed to escape his brothers henchmen back in Scotland. He had seen it coming. His brother Vernon had always been unstable, and Dylan figured he would still be in this perilous position even if he hadn't plotted against his brother. The mad king was paranoid.
Since then he had traveled south, looking for any English lord that would harbour him. None had accepted him so far. He didn't blame them. He was on the run from one of the most powerful and batshit insane men in the entire British Isles. It would be an unnecessary risk. But now Dylan's patience was wearing thin. He was approaching the walls of Northampton.
When he finally reached the gates, exhausted, a guard came to greet him.
"What is your business here," he asked.
"I am Prince Dylan of Scotland. I wish to speak with your lord."
A smirk creeped across the guards face for half a second, but when Dylan maintained eye contact with the man, he thought twice.
"I shall go wake him."
Dylan nodded. He waited for half an hour, when finally the lord of Northampton arrived.
"Hello. My name is Lord Robert."
"Did your guard tell you who I am?" Dylan asked.
"He did...you are a long way from home."
Dylan nodded. "It was too dangerous to stay. I am at your mercy, Lord Robert."
Robert rubbed his chin and thought. "It would be quite dangerous to harbour a traitor, don't you agree. No doubt that is why you travelled this far. No other lord would take you, am I right?"
Dylan sighed. "Correct."
"I aren't like most other lords though. I would be willing to hide you here."
"Thank you so much!" Dylan said with relief. Robert held up his hand.
"However, there is a price."
Dylan nodded. "I have plenty of gold friend! You are welcome to-"
"I don't want your gold," Robert broke him off. "I don't know if you are aware but right now half of your realm is rebelling against your brother in your name."
"I was not aware," Dylan said, surprised.
"Yes...you might be a king soon enough," Robert continued. "And because of that it would be criminal of me NOT to take advantage of your current peril."
Dylan grimaced. He did not like where this was going.
"The price of my hospitality and protection is an alliance with you, prince Dylan. If you become king, you must promise to help me whenever I need your assistance."
Dylan nodded. "Sure, whatever!"
"And you must swear this in front of all my bannermen later on today."
Dylan hesitated this time. There would be no going back if he agreed to that. "Fine. Will you let me in now?"
Robert smiled. "A king does not have to ask, your grace! I am yours to command!"
The gates opened and Dylan entered the town.
In Westminster, Jeffrey was walking around the court, whistling tunelessly. Being the state treasurer was easy peasy. All he did all day was walk around asking people how they thought the economy was going, writing their responses down on a piece of parchment. He didn't know if his job involved other duties, but neither did he care.
Jeffrey found himself in an unfamiliar hallway, dark and abandoned. He walked down the narrow hall, his footsteps echoing. He could hear muffled voices coming from further down. He walked towards their source, approaching a heavy wooden door. The voices were coming from the other side. He pushed it open gently.
"As soon as the Kings army march on the Mad king, we strike!"
Jeffrey cleared his throat and General Curtis turned sharply to look at him. Chancellor Boc was with him. They both looked surprised.
"How long have you been standing there Jeffrey!" Curtis said, smiling. Boc looked worried.
"I just got here. What are you doing in this part of the castle?"
Curtis grinned. "It is very naughty to eavesdrop Jeffrey!"
"I...I am sorry. I didn't know your conversation was private." Jeffrey pulled out his parchment and quill. "Let me just ask you both how you think the economy is going and I will be off."
Curtis laughed. "I think it is going swimmingly Jeffrey. What about you Boc?"
"Oh...oh yeah...great," Boc stammered.
"Great guys! Well, that will be all!"
Jeffrey turned to leave but stopped at the door. He looked back round at them. Boc gritted his teeth.
"Wait a minute..."
"What is it buddy?" Curtis asked innocently.
"Are you guys in a secret club together?!" Jeffrey asked excitedly.
"Well Jeffrey, I think you-"
"I love secret clubs!" Jeffrey interrupted. "Can I join?"
Boc gaped at him. Curtis laughed.
"You sure can buddy!"
And so Jeffrey unwittingly joined Curtis's treasonous faction, pledging the support of all the power of Oxford.
In Scotland, Natalie sat on the throne, deep in thought. The mercenary army she had hired for Vernon might not be enough to beat back both the rebels and the English army. Defeat was a distinct possibility. And if she stood by the mad kings side until the bitter end, some might take it the wrong way. She could be banished for her apparent loyalty to such an evil man, perhaps even executed.
But if she joined the rebellion, and lost, what would her beloved husband do to her? Natalie flipped a coin in her head. She made a decision. She stood up and adressed her guards.
"Get me a horse," she commanded. "I am leaving."
Natalie left to join the growing rebel army.
Back in Northampton, Dylan was attending a feast hosted in his honour. Robert was explaining the political situation to him. Vernon's war with the rebels was indecisive, but King Paulus of England was assembling his army to press his own claim to the throne. Robert said that Paulus posed the biggest threat.
"Hopefully, the mad king and my own liege can fight it out with each other whilst the rebels bide their time."
"There are a lot of variables to consider," Dylan said in frustration. "Anything could happen."
"War is always unpredictable," Robert said. "Anyway, I have it on good authority that the king will have bigger problems soon."
Dylan smiled darkly. "Please elaborate!"
"In time. If you will excuse me, your grace." Robert rose abruptly and walked off. Dylan watched him curiously.
Earl Robert was a smart and cunning man, with a strong sense of pride. He was serving under his new liege Duke Jeffrey of Oxford, a title he felt should have been given to him. Jeffrey was an imbecile, and nowhere near worthy of the honour. Hopefully that was soon to change though. Robert walked away from the feast, up to his study.
Since Jeffrey had received his undeserved power, Earl Robert had been plotting against him. Nobody had pledged their support yet, but that was hopefully that too was about to change. Robert sat at his desk and started writing a message.
General Curtis was a very dangerous individual, but he hoped he could enlist the help of the man.
In Ireland, Malion's army had chased down the enemy back to their own castle, and won yet another victory.
As the enemy lord routed yet again with his dwindling army, Malion allowed himself and his men a proper celebration.
"To our good lord Malion!" one of his soldiers cried out, before they all returned the chant. Malion had underestimated the power of speech. It had inspired his soldiers more than picking up a sword ever could.
"No!" his commander bellowed. "Not our lord...our king!"
There was a long silence.
"King Malion of Ireland!" his commander cried out. In seconds the new chant was picked up on. Malion gaped. HIm? A king?
In Westminster, Paulus was brooding in his study. His plot to kill his wife had garnered an extraordinary amount of support.
In fact, practically the whole realm was united behind his cause. It was too bad they couldn't unite behind anything else huh? The hate for his wife probably stemmed from the fact that she had no personality. Things were speeding up with so many backers. Plans were coming in to kill his wife on a regular basis.
Duke Jeffrey proposed a plan involving the queens carriage and an "unfortunate accident."
But the king preferred Henrys plan.
Poison would be perfect. Sure, he would have to watch her die, but it was despicable enough that he was seeing through with it in the first place. Hiding away from what he had done was not proper behavior for a king.
The banquet was going to be tonight. Paulus poured a glass of wine, gulping it down quickly before pouring another. It was easy to make the order. But now the murder was becoming a reality. The mother of his children! (as far as the children knew anyway).
But he couldn't live with her any longer. She had to go...
Paulus staggered to his feet. He was drunk. When he arrived in the hall, the food was been served.
"Your grace!" Duke Curtis approached him, grinning. Paulus didn't like his smile.
"General Curtis, I thought you had a war to fight!"
Curtis frowned. "The troops are still getting ready Paulus."
Paulus glared at him. "What did you say?"
"Your grace...my apologies!"
Curtis looked at him a long time. "Are you having second thoughts, your grace?"
Paulus was surprised. "I didn't know you knew," he hissed.
Curtis laughed. "Almost everyone important knows!"
Paulus sighed and strode off, his head swimming. He took his place at the head of the long table and stared at his empty wine glass. Cheryl walked in and sat by his side.
"My husband," she said in a strained voice, taking the seat next to him. The children took there places around them.
Shit. The children.
"What are they doing here?" Paulus demanded.
"Please Paulus. It is still early!" Cheryl said innocently.
Paulus could not let them watch their mother apparent die.
"To bed with you!"
They all began complaining at once.
"What is wrong with you?" Cheryl asked incredulously.
"They cannot be here!" Paulus shouted. People were looking over.
"Why on earth not?" Cheryl asked defensively. Paulus thought of something fast. He lent in and whispered in Cheryl's ear.
"This banquet was called for a reason...we are discussing matters of war. The children are not ready for such talk."
Cheryl frowned but she bought it. She wasn't smart enough to see through his ruse. Reluctantly, she told the children to go to bed. They did. Paulus started shaking. Then he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked round to see Henry walking past him, smirking. He winked at the king as he sat next to Cheryl.
"My lord, is that your seat?" Cheryl asked curiously.
"It is now, my lady," Henry replied casually. A servant rushed over and began pouring wine into Paulus's glass. He stared at it.
"Your grace," Chancellor Boc said, grabbing the glass. "Allow me to be your cupbearer."
Paulus nodded faintly. Boc took a sip and waited.
"It is safe to drink, your grace."
The servant moved over to Cheryl and poured a glass for her. Paulus watched as she took a sip. She put her glass down and Henry began fumbling in his pockets. He nodded at the king expectantly. Paulus tried speaking but he had lost his voice. He cleared his throat.
"Lovely wife..." he said distantly, keeping one eye on Henry.
"Yes," Cheryl looked at him.
"I...I am sorry."
Henry poured a small vial of colourless liquid into the wine.
"Sorry for what?" Cheryl asked hesitantly. Paulus wiped the sweat off his brow.
"Erm...sorry for getting angry just now."
"Oh that is ok," Cheryl said. "The children are too young to listen to talk of war. She raised her glass to her lips. Paulus held his breath. Then out of nowhere Jeffrey stumbled on her and knocked the glass out of her hand. It went flying across the room and landed on the floor with a crash. Jeffrey belched.
"Ohhh m good!" he said. He was absolutely wasted. He gasped and pointed at the glass. "OOOPs! Was that ttthe poisson?!"
Cheryl's eyes grew wide. She wheeled round to face Jeffrey.
"What did you say?" she demanded.
"Nothin," Jeffrey replied, belching again. Paulus facepalmed. Cheryl looked at him.
"You tried to kill me?" She murmured. Her face went dark. "YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!" She began hitting the king in rage. Paulus sat defenceless, bowing his head. A guard came over and wrestled the Queen to her feet. She screamed as he dragged her from the room. When Paulus looked up, everybody in the room was staring at him. He saw expressions of guilt mostly, but some were fearful, and some were angry. Curtis was grinning as he always was.
"Who is up for desert?"
To be continued...
