Here are all those classic episodes of Game of Turds for you to read again! Oh what fun.
Try not to reply to this topic!
And don't be hilarious and post something like "I tried" or some shit like that too. Otherwise I will get cross.
Episode 1: Pilot
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Introduction
In 1066, The Kingdom of England was embroiled in war.
Edward the Confessor died in 1065, naming Harold Godwinson the protector of the realm. But there was some very naughty people who didn't like this one bit. Harald Hardrada, some douche from Norway, totally wanted the throne. So did William The Bastard from France.
This led to a war between the three kings. Harald invaded the North of England in 1066, whilst William sailed across the channel in the south. Harold beat the Norwegians at Stamford Bridge, but the victory was short lived. Word reached him that William had landed in the south with a large host, and planned to crown himself king in London. He rushed his army south, and met William in battle. But his army was beaten by the uncool tactic of pretending to retreat. Harold got an arrow in the eye for his trouble and the game was over.
With no opponents left, William became King, and was nicknamed "The Conqueror."
Then he died in a yachting accident. Without producing an heir. Who would rule now?!
Enter Von Paulus, a commoner from the Black Country, and his wife, Cheryl Cole.
"I will lead the good people of England" he said triumphantly.
And so Von Paulus established his dynasty, intending to rule for many years.
Despite his low birth, Paulus possessed some of the most important qualities desired in a king. He was brave, diligent and ambitious. He valued all his subjects and was not interested in searching for glory. His main goals were to maintain peace in the realm, and unite the British Isles under one banner.
To help him meet these goals, he required a council. He needed a chancellor, a general, a treasurer, and a spymaster.
For his Chancellor Paulus chose Duke Boc of Lancaster.
With a reputation for being a just and content man, he was an ideal choice.
He chose Earl Henry of Kent for his spymaster.
It was his job to uncover conspiracies against the King. Von Paulus was aware that Henry was a paranoid schizophrenic with an interest in mysticism, but he decided it would be safer to have an incompetent spymaster than one who could plot against him behind the scenes. He had no time for such games.
For his treasurer the King chose Earl Jeffrey Fernandez of Oxford.
Jeffrey was a bit slow, and his stutter made him the laughing stock of the court. He also knew very little about looking after the economy, but Paulus chose him for his kindness and loyalty as opposed to his skills.
Finally, a general was required to maintain the discipline of the armies which protected the realm. Unlike the other choices for council, Paulus placed more emphasis on ability than loyalty. He needed a ruthless, efficient killer, who could lead men into battle...
Duke Curtis of York was a dangerous man. He was cruel and deceitful; a flamboyant schemer who would betray anyone to move up in the world. He played the part of the courteous and loyal subject well, but deep down he wanted the Kingdom of England for himself.
To the North of England was another independent realm. One which would have to be conquered if Paul was ever to unite Britain.
A mad king sat upon this throne...A cruel hunchback who was paranoid and greedy, and was known to have brutally murdered his own kin...
King Vernon Of Scotland was hated by almost all of his subjects. The imbecile murdered one of his Dukes so he could marry the mans widow, Natalie. Scotland was on the brink of civil war. A perfect opportunity seemed to be on the horizon for Von Paulus to invade.
To the west was a another country which would need to be conquered if Britain was to be united.
Ireland was a mess of squabbling minor houses with no King to keep them in check. The only chance of stability lay in the hands of two Dukes...
Malion was one. Being the youngest member of his family, he was never meant to rule. His two older brothers were destined to inherit their fathers titles. So Malion pursued a different life. He became a very accomplished poet, and when he was 18 he planned to travel to Italy to make a name for himself. But before he could make this dream a reality, all of his brothers died along with his father in battle against the other Duke of Ireland, Leos of Connacht.
Malion suddenly had the sole responsibility of keeping his family name alive, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. He had no experience of ruling, and worse still, he was homosexual.
His first goal was to marry and have children, despite how little the prospect thrilled him.
Then he needed to work out how to solve the problems he had with Duke Leos.
Leos, ever the cynic, didn't believe Malion was as kind and trusting as he appeared, insisting it was a ruse.
Leos was an angry and violent drunkard. He was an experienced fighter, and bore many scars from many battles. He had no interest in a peaceful solution to the problems he had with Duke Malion. He wanted to be rid of him by any means possible and unite Ireland against the inevitable invasion from the powerful Kings of England and Scotland. Every time he drank he came a little closer to gathering his armies for war.
Other struggles were arising across Europe. North of the British Isles was Iceland, where the natives (affectionately named snowmen), were nearing war.
Duke Mercator was the ruler of this free country.
Despite been poorly suited for the role, few challenged him. For years he had lazed around in his castle, living the good life. He was a complete coward, and had never so much as swung a sword.
There was only one person in Ireland who gave a shit about this.
Count Ari was the second in command to Mercator. He was unfortunate enough to have been born a dwarf, a curse which had made him very insecure.
He possessed an extraordinary amount of arrogance and was prone to temper tantrums when things didn't go his way. He was desperate to prove his worth to the people of Iceland...but he felt Mercator stood in his way. He wanted to be a Duke, not a shitty Count! Then everybody would love him!
At the other side of Europe is another King....the greatest king ever!
King Hupu of House Hupu was quite content with his lot in life! He was the humble and charitable ruler of Ethiopia.
He was very strong, and made for an imposing figure to his enemies.
If he were a common man, he would have been considered blessed. But Hupu was not a common man. Good kings needed to be smart...and Hupu was an imbecile! He knew nothing of diplomacy, war or stewardship. Like literally nothing...look...he got zeros on nearly everything!
The King of Ethiopia had enemies everywhere too. To the north were great muslim empires.
Hupu was going to have to work hard to keep his Kingdom safe. Would brute strength be enough?
Episode 2: The Mad King
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The Mad King
It was January 11th, 1067, and the Kingdom of England was enjoying it's first real period of stability since the "War of the three kings." Everyone seemed happy under the rule of Von Paulus, a commoner from the Black Country.
But times of peace are always short lived. How long could the King maintain this one?
Paulus called the first council meeting of the new year to assess the priorities of the realm. All four of his councillors (Boc, Curtis, Henry, Jeff) attended.
Paulus informed them that he was pleased with progress, and was confident that Scotland could be conquered within the year. He was sure that war was on the horizon for the mad king.
"We are going to march in and take the throne for ourselves!" Curtis said, grinning slyly.
A prouder man than Paulus might have taken offence at the words "for ourselves." After all, the throne belonged to him alone. But he wasn't concerned. He was sure the remark was innocent enough.
"An interesting plan, your grace," Boc said. "But...as soon as we get ourselves involved in such a war, our territory in Northern France will be under threat."
He had overlooked this. Paulus decided to send Chancellor Boc on a diplomatic mission to Paris to improve relations with the French lords.
To conclude the meeting, Paulus promised to promote Earl Henry and Jeffrey to Dukes, on the condition that they started doing their jobs properly. Jeffrey was told to actually learn something about economics, whilst Henry was sent to Scotland to build a spy network.
Perhaps the promise of promotion would inspire them to do something useful. If not, nothing would be lost by trying.
News was starting to reach the court that King Harald Hardrada of Norway was dead, along with his claim to England.
It would be premature to celebrate however, because his replacement proved to be a dangerous man.
King Bryce of Norway! A confident young warrior searching for glory.
On the other side of Europe in Ethiopia, King Hupu's Kingdom was receiving disturbing reports. The Egyptian empire had amassed its armies to march south on Hupu's Northern neighbour.
And how many could his neighbour muster to defend themselves?
Oh boy. Looks like Hupu was going to be in trouble soon. But he didn't have time to worry about the future of his entire kingdom. He was busy looking for a wife.
He was looking for a kind hearted lady who wad fun.
And Hupu thought he had found his perfect match! A Norwegian princess called DR! It was love at first sight for Hupu, even though he had only seen her portrait, and so he sent a marriage proposal straight away.
He even added a clause offering matrilineal marriage.
Gee Hupu, way to go put your dynasty in jeopardy!
In Scotland, the mad king Vernon sat upon his throne nervously.
He was alone except for a lowly courtier, who stood before him.
"Your grace," the man murmured timidly. "I bring terrible news! Your brothers plot against you! They wish to depose you and install one of themselves as the king!
His brothers, Wikey and Dylan, were indeed each plotting to overthrow him.
"This is treason! I am the rightful king! I want them arrested immediately!" He let out a violent scream and cursed at nobody in particular. Natalie calmly entered the throne room.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
Vernon was busy having a fit, so the courtier had to tell her. Natalie listened, and found herself smiling when he was finished. Vernon was evil. She despised him. She had even written a list of all the reasons she hated him!
It seemed Natalie really hated gluttony, having listed it twice. But despite all of this, she was in a position of great power as the Queen of Scotland. She stood to lose a lot if Vernon was overthrown. If she had a son with the mad king, her child would be heir to the realm. She needed a son from Vernon before she could help end his tyranny.
"My brave husband, might I suggest a course of action?"
Vernon looked at her erratically. "What do you know of war, woman?"
"Both your brothers plot against you...but only one can take the throne. Perhaps we can turn them against each other?"
Vernon narrowed his eyes. "That is so stupid...I am Vernon...I am the scum killer!" He pointed at the courtier angrily.
"Arrest my brothers at once and throw them in a dungeon! I will not tolerate treason!"
Natalie sighed.
Earl Wikey was arrested as he lay asleep in his castle.
Wikey was a drunkard who inherited some of the same madness that plagued his brother. He had a reputation for random violent outbursts. Many people claimed he was possessed by demons.
Vernons simple plan seemed to be going well. All he had to do was arrest his other brother Dylan, and the crisis would be over before it had even begun.
Dylan anticipated what Wikey hadn't. He managed to escape, fleeing south to England.
Meanwhile, Curtis was keeping himself busy in court.
He started a faction, the goal of which was to place himself on the throne. In an effort to build alliances, he sent a marriage proposal to DR, King Bryce of Norway's half sister. Oh dear.
Who would DR marry? Hupu or Curtis?
In Ireland Leos sat alone in a tavern, brooding. Drinking with the peasants was usually his favourite way to pass time, but he was distracted on this night. He was thinking about the war he had fought against Duke Malion's father and brothers. He had won, but the cost had been immense. An unruly subject had used the war as an opportunity to raise his flag in rebellion, declaring independence.
After Leos killed Malion's father and brothers, his army was in ruin, and he had to surrender half of his realm to the rebels. If Malion was as war like as his father, he could crush Leos with ease any time. Malions kingdom was larger and stronger. But Malion would not fight Leos on the battlefield. He would gather support from the other Irish lords before even thinking about making a move.
Leos decided it was time to take action. To begin staking his claim for Ireland, rather than drinking in local taverns. And what better way to start, than reclaiming his lands from the rebel scum.
"Asssemmble the armyy!" Leos shouted drunkenly, taking a big swig of wine.
That night Leos began marching East to war. Duke Malion received word in the morning. The war for Ireland had begun.
The news came at a really bad time for Malion, who had internal problems. His subject the Earl of Ormond was seeking independence.
He needed allies. The easiest way would to get them would be marriage. However, any marriage would be expected to be consummated straight away, something Malion didn't think he was ready for.
So he considered betrothal instead.
He sent a proposal to King Von Paulus, proposing marriage to his 13 year old daughter Cheryl Junior when she came of age.
If Paulus was to accept, he would have a powerful ally, and he wouldn't even have to meet the girl until the was 16. That was three years away.
In Iceland a message had arrived from Norway. Mercator was called out of bed in the afternoon to read it. The letter was from King Bryce.
The young ruler Bryce was hoping to incorporate Iceland into his kingdom. Mercator was curious about the offer, simply because it gave him less to do if he accepted. Ari made a stand on the issue though.
"We must maintain our independence!" he said sternly.
Mercator reluctantly declined the offer. But would Bryce allow them to stay independent?
Curtis recieved a reply from DR. Grinning, he began opening it.
"I knew she wouldn't be able to resist me!"
Curtis was surprised. Why would DR turn him down?
The reason was that DR had no interest in being a queen. She wanted to be THE queen.
Such a cute couple! Too bad DR was using the marriage to gather an army!
To be continued..
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Episode 3: The Drunkard And The Fag
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The Drunkard And The Fag
It was the 1st of February, 1067. Leos had marched his army across Ireland to the city of Cavan, home of the traitor count who split his kingdom up years ago. The defending army met him in battle on the fields outside of the city.
As this battle was been fought, Malion received word that his marriage proposal to King Paulus of England's daughter had been accepted.
Malion was relieved. With a king as an ally, he felt much safer. Regardless of this, he still hoped to avoid a war with his own subjects. He sent a handsome sum of money to his unruly count in a bid to win his favour and stop him from plotting rebellion.
Only time would tell if it would work.
In Scotland the mad king Vernon was visiting the dungeons. His brother Wikey was locked in a bird cage, living in his own shit.
"Brother?" Wikey said faintly, squinting at Vernon in the darkness.
"YOU ARE NOT MY BROTHER TRAITOR SCUM!!" Vernon bellowed. Wikey looked dazed.
"Why are you here?" he asked uncertainly. Vernon smiled.
"I am glad you asked!" he replied, putting his hands in his pockets and pulling out a piece of parchment. "Read this!"
Wikey reached through the bars of his cell and took the paper.
Wikey read it slowly, trembling with fear.
"I ordered Natalie to write this up," Vernon said, smirking. "All I have to do is sign it brother!"
"Your wife is smart. She was kind enough to remind you how tyrannical killing me will look to your subjects!"
Vernon shrugged. "Your head will be the first of many to roll if my subjects continue to foolishly plot against me!"
Wikey glared. "So you are going to kill me like you killed Nenna?"
Vernon was taken aback. "DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT NAME! NEVER EVER!"
"You are no brother of mine," Wikey said darkly. "Do what you like, I will be glad to-"
Wikey stopped suddenly, his expression pained and confused. Then he began writhing around on the floor. When he stopped, he turned to Vernon and started yelling in an unearthly voice.
"Malum consilium quod mutari non potest!"
Wikey was having one of his fits. Vernon looked uneasy as he left the dungeons.
"I will deal with you later," he muttered, as Wikey screamed at him in Latin.
In Iceland, the snowman Ari had decided enough was enough. He really hated Mercator.
He had to go. Ari could do his job ten times better, he was certain. So he started a faction to stake his claim.
Back in England, Chancellor Boc had successfully married a Danish princess.
Curtis, still looking for a match after Hupu stole DR away from him, decided to follow Boc's lead. The Danish King Ninefingers would make just as good an ally as King Bryce.
Curtis was also contemplating approaching Boc for help claiming the throne. Despite being Duke of Lancaster, Boc only controlled half of his duchy. Counts and earls that should have served him answered to King Paulus instead. If Curtis could make Boc see that, he might join him.
In Ireland, the battle of Cavan still raged on.
Both sides were evenly matched, with nobody really having the upper hand. That was until a vital turning point.
Leos and his personal guard slayed a prominent commander, causing the enemy to panic. From that point, there was only going to be one victor.
The enemy army routed. Leos decided to rest a while before giving chase. During a wild party to celebrate the victory, he was approached by messengers from two different Irish lords. Leos opened each in turn.
Marriage proposals! It seemed everybody wanted to be Leo's friend now that he was on the war path. He considered each of the maidens offered to him.
"If I was a Muslim I could marry both and be done with it!" Leos said, sighing. He could only choose one.
Not too far South of Cavan, Duke Malion was in despair. During the night, his unruly count had ambushed his castle, and now his men were fighting outside the walls.
The battle was not going well. His only hope was King Paulus. He sent riders out to request military aid from the English king.
In Scotland, Vernon was in his throne room, shouting and bawling. Terrible news had reached him. The loyalists to his brother Dylan had raised their flag in rebellion, and had already defeated the few who had rallied to the Kings army.
Worse still, King Paulus of England was using the rebellion as an opportunity to invade, having raised his banners for war.
Vernon sat on the floor and sobbed. "Why can't they just let me rule in peace!"
Natalie looked down at her husband with contempt.
"Get up," she said bluntly.
"You don't command me," Vernon said petulantly. "I can sit on the floor and sob if I like...I am the king!"
"If you don't get up, then I can't save your kingdom," Natalie said sternly. Vernon looked at her curiously, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"How can you do that?"
"You have a lot of money, your grace," Natalie said. "Enough money to buy a vast army to contend with our enemies."
Vernon gaped and started laughing hysterically.
"Oh my god!" he said, standing to his feet abruptly. "I will buy the greatest army ever!"
Just under 10,000 mercenaries were hired. They would demand a lot of money, but if they kept Vernon on the throne, they would be more than worth the cost.
It was early March. King Paulus was attending the war counsel he had arranged to oversee the invasion of Scotland. General Curtis was explaining the situation.
"It will take some time for our levies to get organised your grace."
"How long?" The King asked.
"A few months I expect," Curtis replied. "We must be patient, your grace. King Vernon has no allies, and the rebellion against him is getting stronger. Our army outnumbers his massively."
Henry laughed. "That is where you are wrong Mr Page!"
Curtis sighed. "Spare us one of your drug induced stories please Henry."
Henry shook his head. "I admit, whilst in Scotland I did deviate from my mission and went off into the forest to sample some of the local fungi, famed for its insightful properties and recommended to all you guys...like seriously. But I also did some spy stuff too!"
Curtis glared at Henry. Paulus was skeptical. "Are you saying you actually did something useful over there Henry?"
"Indeed I am bro. The mad king is rich, and he has hired a huge mercenary army to defend his throne."
There was a long silence as the King considered this. Boc was the first to speak up. "Your grace, Earl Henry is not the most reliable of sources. It is possible he is lying." Curtis voiced his agreement with that. Jeffrey yawned.
"We have nothing to lose by trusting him," Paulus said, "But everything to lose by ignoring him. If Vernon has hired a mercenary army, let him exhaust them fighting his civil war, whilst we wait for the perfect moment to strike."
Everyone agreed with that. Paulus looked at Henry. "Henry, you have done well. Before I sent you to Scotland I promised you would be rewarded if your mission was a success."
"Hooray!" Henry said, beaming.
"Since you lack the wits to have falsified this intel for personal gain, I hereby name you Duke of Kent. All lands and titles under the Duchy belong to you now."
"Jeffrey," Paulus contined, turning.
"Yes?" Jeff said uncertainly.
"You have done absolutely nothing, so you get nothing."
"Ok."
After this, the council was brought to a close. When outside, Curtis collared Chancellor Boc. "The king seems to take comfort in giving power to halfwits, don't you agree?"
Boc smiled wearily. "If that is so, what does it say about you and I General Curtis?"
Curtis grinned slyly. "Make no mistake, the king only tolerates us. He needs at the moment, but the day will come when people like Jeffrey and Henry will replace us!"
Boc wasn't convinced. "Paulus is an honorable man. Under his rule we shall all prosper."
Curtis sighed. "If you really believe that, you should pay more attention. Henry is now more powerful than you!"
"That is a lie," Boc said uncertainly.
"It is a fact. You are the Duke of Lancaster Boc. But half of the lords that should rightfully serve you serve the king. If you don't believe me check it out for yourself!"
Without waiting for a reply, Curtis strode off.
In Denmark, King Ninefingers was sat down in his study reading. At 48 years old, Ninefingers was a content ruler who only wanted to see out the rest of his days in peace.
In his younger days he might have been tempted to go to war when news reached him that King Paulus was preparing to invade Scotland. He had a strong claim on the English throne. But that was before he learnt the hard way that prestige and power were not worth the trouble. War was unpredictable and costly. All the king wanted to do was keep the realm prosperous during the last years of his reign. But political situations were developing which weren't going to allow it.
To the north, the young Norwegian king Bryce had married a Hungarian princess, securing an alliance along with his bride.
The Norwegian king was like Ninefingers in his younger days. Ambitious and looking for glory. Unfortunately for Ninefingers, Bryce had a claim on his throne.
The young king was a brave warrior, and posed a very real threat. But Ninefingers, with the benefit of experience, had found a possible diplomatic solution to this problem.
The Hungarian king had many daughters, and Ninefingers quickly made the arrangements for his own wedding. He had married before, but his wife had died of disease years ago.
He had vowed never to marry again since, but he didn't have any other options. If it came to war with the ambitious Norwegian king, at least the Hungarians would now have to choose whose side to take.
In Ethiopia, things were changing fast. Hupu's foreign Queen was making her presence felt. DR had barely got off the boat when she started putting her new found power to use.
"My lovely wife!" Hupu said, greeting DR with open arms. "I heard it's unrealistic for a baby to appear out of nowhere! Why don't we go and find out!"
DR waved him off. "Wonderful husband, I am tired from my long trip here! Perhaps later!"
Hupu hesitated before nodding. "Of course my queen! Take your time!"
"I aren't too tired to help you change the succession laws though!" DR said happily. Hupu looked confused.
"What is that?"
"Nothing you need to know about," she replied, handing Hupu a piece of parchment. "If you could just sign this for me husband, I would be thrilled!"
Hupu looked at it.
"I don't understand...but ok!"
Hupu signed it, smiling away.
"Thank you!" DR said, giving her husband a peck on the cheek. Hupu beamed.
"Maybe I can sign my name on more pieces of paper!" Hupu suggested. DR laughed.
"In time my husband! In time!"
DR was there five minutes and already she was a countess. She joined a handful of women across Europe with a title to their name. But she had only just started. At home in Norway there was a greater prize waiting for her.
In Scotland, the rebellion had gone from bad to worse to catastrophic.
Vernon had shut himself away in his chambers days ago, only allowing servants to enter with food and drink. Natalie had been ruling in his stead.
"What news do you bring of the war good sir?" Natalie asked the general of Vernon's army, one of his few supporters.
"I answer to the King, not his whore!" the man spat. Natalie laughed.
"The king is indisposed. I could have you fired from your seat on the council and banished if I so wished sir. You would do well to remember that."
The general blushed and bowed. "Sorry...my queen...the war goes...badly. The entire realm is up in arms."
Natalie looked at him calmly. "Our mercenaries will make short work of these traitors. We just have to find the money to pay for them."
"Your grace," the treasurer piped up. "About that...The few lords of the realm left who aren't rebelling have approved the harsh tax laws."
Natalie was surprised by this. "I don't recall ordering such a law to be put into action!"
The treasurer shook his head. "It was the king who ordered the law be passed."
That surprised Natalie even more. Her husband had made an uncharacteristically smart decision. The mercenaries weren't going to pay for themselves.
"Are you sure the king ordered this?"
"Certain, your grace. He ordered the law be passed before your marriage."
Before the marriage...and before the war. That was more like the mad king she knew. Imposing harsh taxes for no reason. No wonder half the realm was up in arms!
In Ireland, Leos was celebrating once more. His army won another decisive battle and were marching home.
With no army left to defend himself, the Count of Breifine surrendered.
Leos accepted. Usually, he preferred to completely annihilate his enemies, but in this case he didn't have the time. A bigger war was left to be fought. This was just the first step.
He had been so caught up in the fighting that he forgot about his marriage proposals. Leos had received two. Sophia and Kendra were there names. Both could have been his dream girl!
But the choice had been too difficult and he hadn't chosen either of them. Leos kept telling himself that there was too many wars left to fight to take a wife just now. He vowed to become the king as quickly as possible to rectify this.
Back in England, Paulus was sat having his supper. Cheryl Cole, his wife, walked in.
"Hello husband!"
Paulus sighed. "What do you want?"
"I know you are busy and you have a war to fight, but I was hoping you could help me with a project of mine!"
"A project?" Paulus asked, grimacing.
"Yes! I want to start a talent show for all the singers in the land!"
The King facepalmed. "No, I will not allow it!"
Cheryl glared. "You never let me do anything! I am a queen!"
"Leave me alone," Paulus said impatiently. "I can't stand been in your company."
"You can't talk to me like that! I am the mother of your children!"
"That's what you think!" Paulus snapped. Cheryl looked bewildered.
"I...I don't understand."
"My lovely wife, I cannot think of a single redeeming quality about you. Do you really think I would ever have had children with you? And so many too?"
"But...those nights we spent together?"
"I had a half wit from the stables visit you now and then. With the lights out you never knew the difference."
"But...the children...I gave birth to them!"
"You did give birth, but every time you got pregnant I got my mistress pregnant to account for it. Then I swapped the babies at birth..."
Cheryl gasped. "You wouldn't!"
"Well I did...I am just amazed I had to tell you. I thought you would have figured it out by now."
The queen was lost for words.
"Now get out of here," Paulus said coldly. She stormed off crying. The king frowned, then grabbed an ink quill and began writing.
Paulus had had enough. He would kill himself if he had to put up with Cheryl any longer. He sent letters out to those stupid and loyal enough, asking if they would back his plot to kill his wife. A few days later Henry replied.
Jeffrey followed shortly after, and Paulus made him Duke of Oxford as a reward. Other lords began to back him too. He would soon be rid of her.
Elsewhere in the court, Boc was still thinking about what Curtis had told him. Reading up on the subject, it seemed that past holders of the Duke of Lancaster had a lot more power than he currently had. Counts which traditionally served past Dukes were serving the king now instead. It made Boc uneasy. If Curtis was telling the truth, Paulus may not be the perfect king he had hoped for. When he learnt that Jeffrey was made Duke of Oxford later that night, it was enough to convince him that Curtis was right. He visited Curtis. Curtis greeted him with a grin on his face.
"Hello Boc! I have been expecting you!"
"You were right...the king is up to something."
Curtis patted Boc on the shoulder. "Don't worry! Together we can fix this."
"How?" Boc asked curiously.
"A king is only king so long as those who serve him allow him to be."
Boc gasped. "You are talking treason!"
"So? Who knows other than you?"
"But if we depose the king...who will replace him."
Curtis thought about that. "Somebody just...somebody brave, charming, handsome. Somebody who knows how to rule fairly and peacefully."
Then he laughed.
"What is so funny?" Boc asked.
"Oh nothing," Curtis replied. "I just listed all my best qualities that's all!"
Shortly after this visit, Curtis had his first supporter for his claim on the throne...
To be continued...
Episode 5: Cheryl Cole's Big Fancy Party
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Episode 5: Cheryl Cole's Big Fancy Party
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?"
In Scotland the combined rebel forces were assembling on the fields of Atholl, the county belonging to the imprisoned Earl Wikey, brother of the mad king. The rebel army had grown substantially since Natalie brought the strength of the highlands to join them. The Queen had solidified a position of leadership among the rebels rather quickly, thanks to her quick wits and calm demeanour.
When she first arrived the old leaders had questioned her loyalties.
"Why would you leave the comfort of the King's court to join us, my lady?" One had asked her. Natalie had anticipated such questions and had her reply ready.
"The court was anything but comfortable ser. I suffered the mad kings tyranny first hand!"
That was a lie of course. Natalie had been firmly in control of the situation before she left.
"What about that vast army of sell swords you hired for his grace?"
Natalie smiled. "The crown will not be able to pay them for much longer..."
That was no lie. Mercenaries were famously fickle. They would win your wars for you and carry out all manner of evil deeds, but only so long as they were getting paid...if the money stopped coming in...well, one of two things would happen. They would go back home, or they would start taking their payment by force. If Vernon didn't have the sense to dismiss them before it came to that (which was highly likely), his fate could well be sealed.
For the rebel leaders this was proof enough of her loyalty. They had little choice in the matter anyway. She had brought an army three times the size of their own to join the fight. With their combined strength they numbered just under 2000 men. The plan had originally been to wait the mercenaries out instead of engaging them in battle. 2000 men was a lot, but they were no match for 10,000 mercenaries.
Unfortunately, the mercenaries had other ideas. They sprung an ambush on the fields of Atholl.
The mad king was sat alone, singing a song with nonsensical lyrics in a high pitched voice. A timid courtier dared to interrupt him. When Vernon saw him he broke off and crossed his eyes.
"What do you want?!" he said, pointing accusingly. "Do you plot treason?"
The courtier bowed his head. "N...no your Grace! I am only here to serve!"
Vernon took a deep breath and flared his nostrils. "Goooood!" he screamed. "Because I don't like treason. Treason is very naughty!"
"Y...y...yes your grace!"
"Do you like backgammon?" Vernon asked.
The courtier looked at him, confused. "I...yes, I love it your grace!"
Vernon stared at him in disbelief. "I hate backgammon!"
"Oh my, backgammon?" The courtier laughed nervously. "I thought you said chess! I hate backgammon too!"
Vernon nodded approvingly. "You have passed my test. What do you want?"
"Well...well your grace, as you know, your brother Wikey rots in the dungeons."
"What of it?" Vernon said, examining his nails.
"Um...he said he needs food your grace...and water."
"Why?" Vernon narrowed his eyes. "Does he plot to use them to escape?"
"No...I just don't think he wants to die."
"Why would he die?"
The shifted uncomfortably, lost for words. Vernon sighed impatiently. "I will go see him MYSELF!" he said, standing abruptly.
Vernon lit a candle and went to the dungeons. When he was descending the staircase to the darkest depths he heard his treasonous brothers voice echo out faintly. "Whose there?"
Vernon strode up to the bars and held the candle up.
"You...what do you want?" Wikey murmured.
Vernon looked at him darkly. "I want to know what you intend to do with food and water! Are you hatching a plot?!"
Wikey lifted a weak hand up and facepalmed. "I was thinking of eating and drinking," he moaned.
Vernon came closer to the bars and stared at Wikey suspiciously. "Is that so?"
"Yes..." Wikey closed his eyes.
Vernon considered this. "I will make you a deal...help me fight my enemies and I will give you food and water."
Wikey frowned. "How am I going to fight your enemies for you from his cell?"
"YOU WILL FIGURE IT OUT!" Vernon said, starting to walk away.
"Wait!" Wikey called after him. "Let me make a counter offer!"
Vernon stopped.
"How about...how about you release me. Then I will fight your enemies for you!"
Vernon turned around. "You would do that for me?"
Wikey nodded. "Sure....whatever..."
Far away in the ancient city of Rome the new Pope was pacing around in his study.
Roth was the head of the Christian church, above kings in terms of power. And already, so early into his reign, he had a dilemma. A rather unexpected letter had arrived from King Paulus of England.
A divorce? What madness was this? The pope could never consent to such folly. His initial reaction to the letter was to immediately reject the proposal. But when the circumstances were revealed to him, how Paulus had opted for murder before this appeal, the Pope was left wondering what to do.
If he didn't allow Paulus a divorce, he would surely be condemning the Queen to her death. If he did allow the divorce it would set a precedent for breaking the rules of the church.
Roth was struggling to make a decision. But he didn't have time to mull it over any longer. Indecision looked weak. And the head of the Catholic faith could not afford to look weak. After giving the matter much thought, Roth settled on a decision. Giving his blessing would harm the church more in the long run. He had to stick to the rules of the church. If Paulus was not going to respect those rules, the blood would be on his hands, not Roth's.
He rejected the proposal.
In Ireland the duke of Connacht was doing a pub crawl of the local taverns of his newly conquered province of Breifne.
Leos was celebrating. Despite his promise not to marry until there were no more wars to fight, he had gotten drunk and proposed to Sophia, who had immediately accepted. He was officially on his stag night, and he had invited all his subjects along to party with him.
Unfortunately for Leos, two of his vassals were bishops, and bishops were rather boring. Seeing their liege lord drink and whore in local taverns was not helping their opinion of him either.
But Leos hoped to be rid of them soon. Bishops weren't so good at fighting, so as far as he was concerned, they were good for nothing. His other two vassals were alright. Leos enjoyed their company.
Leos had only seen his beloved bride to be in portraits so far, but he was looking forward to the marriage, and even more so to the bedding. He had hung her portrait on the wall in his chambers.
Upon showing his servants, they had thought it odd.
"Why does she look so much like a key, my lord?" one had asked.
"Well," Leos said, "Because she is the key......to my heart!"
Everyone had laughed nervously heartily at that.
Back in Scotland, Wikey was feasting on a great amount of food in Vernon's hall. He was enjoying his freedom, which had been surprisingly easy to acquire. Vernon had always been easy to fool though.
A courtier walked in whilst Wikey was eating.
"A letter for you, lord Wikey."
Wikey smiled. "Oh boy I wonder what this is!"
He opened it. It was a letter from himself! How weird!
Wikey feigned surprise. "Hm...I accept!"
Wikey stood up and skipped across the hall and out the castle, before jumping on a horse and heading for home.
As soon as he got back to Atholl he happened upon a devastated battlefield.
His brothers mercenaries had made short work of the rebel army. Wikey smiled and made his way through their camp. He showed the kings seal to anybody who challenged him.
"My brother saw sense and released me!" Wikey explained to anyone curious enough to ask.
They let him into his castle.
As soon as he got in he went to the battlements and shouted down to the mercenaries below.
"Hey assholes, I am totally rebelling! My brother can go fuck himself!"
The mercenaries exchanged confused glances. Some smirked. One of them stepped forward. "Men! Lay siege to this castle!" Wikey looked down in bewilderment as the mercenaries began assembling siege equipment.
"Why did I do that?" he murmured.
In Westminster, Paulus was sat in his great hall alone. Few had visited him since the botched assassination attempt of his wife. Any time he passed the lords and ladies of his castle, they quickly bowed, mumbled "Your grace" and ran off.
Cheryl herself had confined herself to a separate part of the castle. Paulus had not seen her or his children for weeks. He hoped to take the diplomatic route out of this marriage. It was the only option remaining to him now.
He had sent a desperate letter to the new pope requesting a divorce. The old one would never have consented, but nobody knew this one. Perhaps he would allow it. But there had been no reply yet. Paulus wondered if there would be. Maybe he would be excommunicated from the church. That would be a disaster. As if his subjects didn't hate him enough as it was. He thought back to the feast. Everyone's expressions of shock and anger. He had exposed his terrible plot to the entire court. Half the lords of the realm were involved, but they were never going to admit it now that the common folk knew about it.
It was his idea, and he had to face the consequences. But Paulus remebered one face amongst the crowd. One was smiling...Duke Curtis. Why had he been smiling?
"Your grace," Chancellor Boc was at the foot of the door. He looked out of breath.
"Duke Boc...what is your business with-"
"The Queen is dead your grace."
Paul froze. "Dead? What sort of sick joke is this?!"
"No joke, your grace," Boc said. "She was found in the grounds moments ago."
"Show me," the king demanded, feeling lightheaded.
Sure enough, Cheryl was outside on the grounds, lying in a pool of her own blood. A few nervous courtiers were stood over her.
"Get out of here," the king yelled when he saw them.
Paul strode to Cheryls side. She was covered in stab wounds. He groaned. "This is a disaster! Everybody will think I was behind this!"
"Your grace!" A voice behind him shouted. Paul turned...
To face Jeffrey, who was beaming at him. "Your grace, I hope this makes up for my blunder at the feast!"
Paul narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I killed the queen! To make up for botching the assassination!"
Boc facepalmed. Paul went red with anger. "Guards! GUARDS!"
Several mean looking knights answered his call. Paul pointed a shaking finger at Duke Jeffrey.
"Get rid of this fool immediately! Lock him in the dungeons!"
Jeffreys smile faded as the guards seized him by the arms. He looked at Paul, confused. "But...but I did this for you!"
Paulus put his head in his hands as Jeffrey was dragged out of sight.
"Why did I ever raise him so high?" Paul murmured.
Boc shook his head. "Nobody could have seen this coming, your grace."
"Oh...I suspect somebody did..." And with that the king walked away.
To be continued.
Season 2 Episode 2: Mercator Is A Retard
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[Season 2: Episode 2: Mercator Is A Retard
Summer 1067
Curtis lay basking in the sun. The villages of Yorkshire were quiet and peaceful, and made for a nice retreat from the chaos of court. He was sitting by the side of a river on soft green grass.
Curtis had left Westminster shortly after the infamous feast which saw King Paulus try to poison the Queen, Cheryl Cole. The conspiracy was exposed by poor foolish Jeffrey, with a little help from Curtis. All it had taken was an especially strong flagon of ale to cause absolute mayhem. The news of the assassination attempt spread quick, and all the lords involved were now denouncing the king to save face. The common folk despised him. Curtis was sure more would soon flock to his own banner. His number of supporters had been growing steadily.
"Me lord," a deep voice called out from behind.
Curtis turned to face a short stout Yorkshire man. "What do you want, peasant?"
The man was taken aback for a moment. "Well...me lord. I got a letter for ya, from Westminster sir!"
Curtis raised his eyebrows at that. "And how on earth did you get a hold of this letter, might I ask?"
"Well me lord...this...hooded gent give it to me ya see. And he told me to pass it on to ya."
Curtis smiled. "Well I suppose you should pass it on to me then!"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Surely...surely my lord can find it in is hart to compensate a lowly peasant like meself for delivering this."
Curtis laughed and stared at the man, who began fumbling awkwardly. "On second thoughts sir...it was no trouble," he said, handing the letter over quickly. "No trouble at all! It was an honour to have served you."
Curtis sighed and pulled a piece of silver from his pocket. He chucked it at the fool. "That will be all."
The man nodded slowly, before turning away and stumbling off. Curtis pulled out a crossbow. "You forgot something!" he called. The fool turned around and just had time to register the iron bolt heading straight for his head. "Oh dear!" he shouted, just before it hit him in the eye. Curtis shook his head and studied the letter. An update from his spies no doubt.
He studied the seal. It was blue and bore a resemblance to this: :|
Which meant it was from Boc. Curtis opened the letter.
A letter intended for Paulus.
Another letter was attached to this one, explaining. Boc wrote that he had managed to intercept this letter, and that soon it would look as if the Pope had completely ignored the kings request for divorce.
Chancellor Boc hoped to take advantage of this fabricated slight against the King to further damage his relationship with the church. Boc also wrote that Jeffrey had killed the Queen as she walked the gardens of Westminster, and was asking if Curtis had anything to do with it. Curtis laughed out loud at that. He hadn't.
Chancellor Boc was proving his worth. He was proposing exactly what Curtis would have proposed. He was learning! Jeffrey had been fun, but that game seemed to be coming to an end. What a great parting gift he had given Curtis though. At least now he could use Jeff's inevitable downfall as a way to make good on his promise to Earl Robert of Northampton, who wished to be the Duke of Oxford.
The thing with the pope was very interesting. If it wasn't handled properly, it could become a very bad situation for Paulus. And Curtis had no intention of it been handled properly. The pope not even meriting Paulus with a reply would make him furious. Curtis wrote back to Boc, to approve of his plan.
In Ireland meanwhile, Malion was standing at the shores of Ormond, with his ragged army stood behind him. On the beach, ships were coming ashore, with more soldiers than Malion had ever seen jumping out and wading up onto the sand. These were the English reinforcements Mal had requested so long ago when the war had seemed lost. He was a different person back then, though it was only a few months ago. Their commander came to greet Mal, a smirk on his face.
"Where is this shit herder you need taken care of?"
Malion had expected such an attitude. The English seemed to have an inherent belief that the Irish lords were only lords in name, and were really nothing but a disorganized band of savages.
"You needn't have come," Malion said coldly. "The war is done."
The commander scowled. "Last I heard you were crying for help in your keep."
Some of his men stirred angrily behind him. "Fuck this English bastard," one of them muttered.
Malion kept his cool. "Things change...but since you are here I suppose you might as well finish this for us. My men are tired, and we don't care for glory. Go take my castle back."
"You presume to command me," The commander said incredulously.
"I am betrothed to your lieges daughter, yes I presume to command you. Now go!"
The commander scowled at him but obeyed, stomping off to order his men together. Later that day they assaulted the castle of Osmond, as Malion and his men went home.
It wasn't long until Malion received the official surrender of his rebellious subject.
In Iceland, Mercator was in trouble. The battle to retain his shitty throne was going badly. For days the snowmen had been fighting a guerrilla war against each other in the miserable cold countryside. Mercator had been too lazy to assign proper leadership himself, and this, along with a smaller army, was proving to be undoing. Mercator was sat gorging himself on food in his lonely keep, writing a letter.
Recently, Mercator had wed the sister of the king of Navarra, in an effort to gain an ally. He was writing to his new Spanish brother in law to try and make good on this new alliance.
"My lord!" A panic stricken servant rushed in.
"OH MY GOD WHAT IS THE MATTER ARE WE OUT OF BEEF?" Mercator shouted, jumping up.
"No...no my lord! It is your army...they are...they are running."
"Running where?"
"Everywhere...they are retreating. Ari is approaching with his army!"
Mercator stood motionless. After a long silence he said. "This will not do...bring me..." Mercator stopped, lost in deep thought.
"Yes?" the servant said expectantly.
"Bring me roast potatoes," Mercator yelled. "I cannot think straight on an empty stomach."
It looked like Mercator's in-laws were his last chance.
In Norway, Bryce sat atop his lofty throne, looking down at all his stupid coward subjects.
"Your grace, I beg you, don't make any hasty decisions."
Bryce looked at his general impatiently. "Why did I appoint you general?"
"For my tactical knowledge and battle prowess, your grace."
"Wrong answer!" Bryce said. "I appointed you to lead my soldiers into battle against my enemies, not baby sit me. I know what I am doing!"
"Your grace, I fear you do not! We cannot hope to win! What with all the trouble brewing here at home!"
That was at least true, Bryce had to admit. Dangerous factions had developed across Norway since Bryce came into his throne. Most of his norse lords were old and timid, and didn't take kindly to the bold new king. Bryce smiled at his general darkly. "What is the matter...are you scared? Should I start calling you general scaredy cat?"
The general went red. "I fear for the realm...not myself, your grace."
"It is not your job to fear for the realm," Bryce said. "That is my job...and I fear for the realm if we don't press my claims. Our enemies will see me as weak if we do not go to war."
"If it must be so," the general said sadly.
"It must." Bryce said bluntly. "Send the declaration. No one can say this won't be done honourably."
Bryce was young, ambitious, and utterly without fear. And he was going to war with the older, content and cautious Ninefingers of Denmark.
In Ethiopia, DR was sleeping restlessly.
She was dreaming of home. She was at the head of a huge army of brown people, Hupu by her side. They were storming Bryce's castle, who was squirming in fear on the throne.
"My ho? You dare betray me?" He shouted pitifully.
"Your throne belongs to me.." DR replied coldly, as Bryce wept.
Before she could clamp Bryce in chains she woke up.
"Damn it, I was enjoying that," She muttered.
Hupu's armies were still making the long trek across the desert to meet their neighbors in battle. Things were moving slowly, but DR knew that was probably for the best. She was finding it hard to adjust to rule in this foreign land. A woman ruler was rare enough in the West, but in the far east it was unheard of. She wasn't exactly hated by her subjects, but she was far from loved.
Her husband Hupu on the other hand...
Was loved by all. The only problems Hupu's subjects had with him were either unavoidable (him being an imbecile and a foreigner) or were caused by DR herself. She had encouraged the change in succession law and started the war which was putting a toll on the realm's levies.
The cynic in DR said that Hupu was loved so much due to how easy he was to manipulate. But in truth there was something appealing about the kings easy going contentment with life. He wanted for nothing, whereas DR was cursed with a burning ambition. She wished she could be more like her husband. She could live an easy life. But she could never sit back and let her homeland be ruled by Bryce. He had to go down!
In Northampton, Dylan was stood before Earl Robert.
His experience in Northampton thus far had been a humbling one. Back in Scotland, before the war, Dylan would have been above Robert. But here in Northampton he was an exiled prince looking for shelter. His fortunes rested on the outcome of the war back home. The rebels had to depose his brother Vernon. If they did he would go home a king.
"Prince Dylan," Robert began. "Since you are taking refuge in my halls, I figured I might as well make use of you."
"My lord?" Dylan asked curiously. He never usually liked what proposals Robert made. He was a shrewd man, and not one to miss an opportunity. He had learnt as much when he had to bargain for refuge in the city.
Robert continued. "It has come to my attention that before the war, you once served on your brothers council."
"Yes...I was my brothers treasurer for a time."
Robert raised his eyebrows. "I see...were you good at your job?"
"I was ok," Dylan replied bluntly. He knew where this was going.
"Ok is better than what I have now. You will report for first council meeting tomorrow afternoon. That will be all."
Dylan hated the way Robert talked to him. He was a prince...he deserved more respect. But he said thanks and took his leave anyway.
Henry was in his halls smoking a hookah.
The new Duke of Kent had done little else since arriving at his new post for the first time after the chaotic feast at Westminster. The herbal remedy he was smoking helped clear his head and think things through. Right now, he was reflecting on his role in the realm-wide conspiracy to kill poor Cheryl Cole.
"I was like...the right hand man," Henry said to himself. "The assassin....not cool man...not cool."
He took a long drag from the hookah.
"Oh boy...this shit is good." Henry thought back to the feast. He had put the poison in Cheryl's cup. If Jeffrey hadn't come and ruined everything Henry would now be a killer...
"Thank you ma brotha Jeffrey," Henry murmured. There was a knock at the door. Henry stumbled to his feet clumsily, and hid the hookah away under his bed.
"Oh man...uh...come in."
A small old man walked in. Henry's servant. He sniffed the air uncertainly, but shrugged it off. "A message for you my lord, and a gift," he said, handing Henry a sealed letter and a small pouch.
"Wow...uh, thanks."
The old man limped outside and Henry took a closer look at the letter. It was from Duke Curtis of York. Henry was surprised. He emptied the pouch, and a pile of golden coins fell to the floor.
"Sweet!" Henry said. He moved back to the letter, and opened it.
Henry glared.
"This money...this is...blood money!" He gathered the coins and threw them out the window, and then returned to the letter.
Henry was overcome with anger. "This realm is filled with lies and treachery...I will not stand for it any longer! I am going to make a stand against the evil empire!"
He went back to grab the hookah from under his bed. "But first...a little more dope."
He lit up.
Back in Iceland, Mercator was sobbing whilst eating a great big cheese cake. His brother in law had declined to come and save him from Ari.
"Summon my "wife"," he ordered.
His timid Spanish bride appeared after a short while. Mercator poured a glass of wine for himself and downed it quickly, as she watched.
"My husband," she began.
"What is the point in marriage?" Mercator asked abruptly.
"I...I don't understand," she said nervously.
"The point in marriage is to gain friends! Friends who will come and help you when you need it!"
His wife bowed her head. "Oh...you are talking about my brother."
"Yes," Mercator said impetuously. "Your brother won't come to my aid. Why the hell not?!"
"Well...husband-"
"Do not call me husband!" Mercator said. "I am your lord! The rightful lord of Iceland!"
"Sorry...my lord...it is simply that my brother doesn't like you."
Mercator stared at her in disbelief. "What did I ever do to him?"
"Nothing...he just doesn't care for you or your war."
Mercator slammed a fat fist on the table. "But he made an agreement! We are allies! He cannot deny me in my hour of need!"
His wife sighed. "Marriage does not guarantee faithful allies, my lord."
Mercator buried his head in his hands. "There must be something he cares for...gold perhaps?"
"Gold he has aplenty. You have nothing to offer him."
Mercator looked at her darkly. "What about you?"
She was taken aback. "Wh...what do mean by that?"
"If your brother doesn't care for me, he should at least care for you. Guards!"
Two mean looking men appeared at the door. Mercator pointed a shaking hand at his wife. "Take her and lock her in the dungeons!"
They complied. His wife looked at him in astonishment. "You crazy bastard!" she shouted as they dragged her away.
Mercator smiled. "We will see what her brother thinks of that! He will have to come help me now!"
Back in Norway the army was amassing.
Bryce had raised the levies of all his lords. It would take time for them to get organised, but once they were, he was confident of a swift victory against Ninefingers. He was an old man, and past his time.
But Ninefingers had other ideas. He had anticipated war for a while now, and had made plans to get his army organised long before it became a reality.
His army stood armed and ready.
In Westminster, Paulus was visiting the dungeons. Since ordering Jeffrey's arrest, he had not visited the fool. Paulus had been fuelled by rage when he gave the order to arrest Jeff, but now he was feeling guilty. He had tried ignoring the problem for the past few weeks, but he knew that was not the way a king should behave. He had to face this problem head on. It wasn't going away. He approached Jeffrey's cell.
"Jeffrey," Paulus said sternly. Jeffrey came to the bars of his cell eagerly.
"Your grace! So good to see you! Can you let me out now?"
Paulus sighed. This was going to be difficult. "No Jeff I cannot."
Jeff began sobbing. "But...but why? I am super sorry! I really am!"
Paul bowed his head. "Jeff, I am sorry but...you committed treason when you killed my wife."
Jeffrey grew wide eyed. "But...I did it for you! I only wanted to serve!"
Paulus shook his head. "Half the realm hates me because of you Jeff. Everything you have done in the name of service has brought the realm closer to chaos!"
Jeff sank to his knees. "I didn't mean it!"
"I know Jeff...I know. Do you know the penalty for treason Jeff?"
Jeff looked up, hopeful. "Detention?" he asked vaguely.
"No Jeff," Paul said. "The penalty is death."
"Oh," Jeff said quietly. "Whose?"
"Oh for fuck sake! Your death you idiot!"
Jeff wailed. "Oh no! Oh god no! Please Paul! I am your frieeeend!"
"I am your king, not your friend Jeff. Look, here is the warrant."
Jeff read it hastily and ran to the corner, spewing up. He was crying out incoherently.
"Pull yourself together," Paulus said. Jeff didn't seem to hear him.
"JEFF!"
Jeffrey turned around. "Yes?"
"Do you want to live?" The king asked.
Jeffrey rushed up to the bars. "Oh god yes!" he pleaded. "I will be your faithful servant forever and always. I will never-"
"No," Paulus cut him off abruptly. "You will not be my faithful servant Jeff."
"I don't understand?" Jeff said, wiping his eyes.
"No you don't. That is why you find yourself in this predicament."
"What do you want me to do? I will do anything!"
Paulus leaned in closer. "I want you to go back to Oxford Jeffrey, and speak of all the awful things I did to you."
"What things?" Jeffrey asked, confused.
"You are about to find out. Guards...open his cell."
Two jailers moved to open his cell. Jeff walked to the exit, but they blocked his way.
"I am sorry Jeffrey, this is going to hurt."
Jeffrey frowned and opened his mouth to speak, just as a baton clipped him across the head. Paul winced when it connected. He couldn't stand to watch. So he turned around and walked away.
To be continued...
Season 2 Episode 3: The Tyranny Of Mad King Vernon
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Season 2 Episode 3: The Tyranny Of Mad King Vernon
Late August 1067
The sun beat down on the gardens of Westminster. King Paulus of England was amidst the biggest gathering he had arranged since he had tried to kill his late wife Cheryl.
The king had decided enough was enough. He couldn't hide from what he had done any longer. He had to move on.
"Do you, Paulus, take this young maiden as your lady wife?" The priest asked.
"I do," Paulus replied.
This wedding had been arranged very quickly. Paulus knew it was necessary to stamp out the memory of Cheryl as soon as possible. For his new wife he had chosen a lowly common girl, with a talent for singing. The king hoped she would not trouble him.
"And do you, young maiden, take King Paulus to be your husband?" The priest continued, not mentioning the girls name to prolong the suspense!
"I do..................
"Adele said. :o
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest said, smiling at Paulus. The two stood there awkwardly for a moment before Paulus moved close and pecked her on the cheek. "Lovely wife," he said, completely unconvincingly, "Some of your songs are ok."
"Um...thanks!" Adele murmured.
"Time for some wine, I think," Paulus said, rushing off. As the party wore on and Paulus got drunk, chancellor Boc came over to congratulate him. "May you and Adele share many happy years together your grace!"
"Piss on that," Paulus said miserably.
"Your grace?" Boc asked, surprised.
Paulus looked at his chancellor sternly. "Boc...you are my friend aren't you?"
"I am here to serve, your grace," Boc said curtly.
Paulus paused. "Good. I would speak with you alone." The king turned abruptly and headed toward a secluded clearing by the woods of the grounds. He turned to see Boc following uncertainly. He eventually stopped by the forest edge and turned.
"Boc...you are my chancellor. That makes you my go to guy for advice...and I need it now more than ever."
"What is the matter?" Boc asked.
"Ok...here goes. Before Jeff went and killed Cheryl, I was in the midst of a new plan to get rid of her. A safer one."
Boc nodded. "You sent a letter to the pope requesting divorce."
"Yes," Paul said. "I hoped this new pope would be more lenient then the old one."
"It was worth a go," Boc said. "If you don't mind me asking, where are you going with this?"
Paul laughed bitterly. "Well Boc...Pope Roth didn't even bother replying. He is probably more zealous than his predecessor."
Boc still looked confused.
Paul sighed. "If Roth didn't even warrant my request for divorce with a reply, what do you think he is going to do when news reaches him that my lovely wife was killed in my own castle?"
"Ah," Boc said. "I see the problem now."
"Yes...I fear this new zealous ruler of the church will look to make an example of me."
"You fear Roth will excommunicate you?"
"It is a strong possibility. If he does, my enemies will mount up and this marriage to Adele will shatter any stability I have recovered."
Boc thought for a moment. "Well...the way I see it, you have three options."
"Go on," Paulus urged.
"First option. Do nothing and hope this will all blow over."
Paulus laughed. "Absolutely not. I am not going to bury my head in the sand."
Boc nodded. "Ok. Option two. You can repent your sins and beg for forgiveness."
"No," Paulus spat. "I am not going to give this new pope the satisfaction of seeing me beg."
Boc shrugged. "That only leaves option three...you render the pope's authority as irrelevant."
Paulus raised his eyebrows. "How would I do that?"
"There are multiple claimants to the papacy, your grace."
Paulus grew wide eyed. An anti pope. Of course! He smiled. "Do we have any such claimants here in England?"
Boc grinned. "Yes we certainly do, your grace. Quite a few. But there is one in particular I might recommend..."
Later, Boc showed the king a list of claimants to the papacy, and a list of candidates he could choose as anti pope. One in particular caught the King's eye.
A prince-bishop named Kristoff. Paulus grabbed some ink and a quill, and wrote a letter inviting the bishop to court. If pope Roth intended to excommunicate him from the church, this was his best way to counter it.
Meanwhile in Scotland, the rebels were regrouping by the bay of Loch Tay. They had been retreating from the mercenaries for weeks. They were tired, and morale was low. Natalie was resting by the riverside with a personal guard and the other rebel leaders.
"When will your mercenaries abandon the chase?" one of them asked Natalie miserably.
Natalie looked at him. "The king will run out of money to pay them with any day now. Then it is him who must worry."
"You said that yesterday," another one piped in. "And the day before that, and the day before that too!"
He wasn't wrong. "Vernon definitely has no money left...I ran the kingdom at one point remember. I know full well what state the treasury was in before I left."
"Then why are they still coming?" one of them asked impatiently.
"I...I don't know," Natalie admitted. She was baffled. Mercenaries didn't fight for honour or glory. They fought for money, and money alone. And Vernon had none left, according to her notes, which were never wrong.
"This woman has led us to our death," an angry commander piped up, pointing at her accusingly.
"Now is not the time to lose faith!" Natalie said sternly.
"This is all your fault! You hired those bastard mercenaries in the first place. I should-
"Attack! We are under attack!" Voices were crying out in the distance. Natalie turned to see a young soldier waving at them frantically from further inland. An instant later he was burning, a flaming arrow protruding from his chest.
"They have found us!" someone cried out. Natalie found herself paralyzed with fear. "This doesn't make sense," she murmured, as chaos unfolded around her. Hundreds of mercenaries were descending on them, and within minutes they were surrounded. The bravest among them fought to the death in vain, but most surrendered quickly. Natalie remained sat on the ground, shaking. She couldn't believe what was happening. After a while a man clad in steel approached her. The mercenary captain, no doubt.
"Why?" She asked miserably.
"Just doing our job!" the captain replied bluntly.
"But...who is paying you?"
The captain shrugged. "You have me there. We bled the mad king dry ages ago. I suppose you have been waiting for us to pack up and go home?"
Natalie's confusion turned to rage. "Why are you still fighting for him?!"
The captain laughed. "Well...an unstable realm is more profitable to us in the long run."
Natalie shook her head. She understood now. The mad king was a sell-swords wet dream. The longer he remained in power, the more wars there would be to fight, and hence the more gold there would be to earn.
"Mercenaries shouldn't play at politics," Natalie said, glaring at the mercenary captain.
"Neither should women," the captain replied coldly. He patted her head. "Why don't you go back to femsnet!"
Natalie stared at him with disdain. "You will rue this day."
"Whatever," the captain said, laughing. "Men, let's take these rebels back to their king."
In Iceland, Mercator was sat eating chicken and sobbing. He had recently imprisoned his own wife in an effort to force his brother in law to come to his aid, and he had received a swift reply.
Oh wait...that was the reply he was expecting. This is the reply he actually received...
Mercator tore a piece of chicken off the bone with his teeth. It tasted of tears and grief. His brother in law had not fallen for his ploy. He had no other cards left to play. Ari was outside his walls. It seemed his life of luxury was over...what choice did he have?
He went to the walls of his castle, taking another leg of chicken with him. Up on the battlements, he could see the ragged band of Norse men Ari had surrounded his castle with. He shouted down to them.
"Hey you pieces of shit!" Mercator called out, eating more chicken. Some of the besiegers turned to look at him.
"I surrender!" Mercator shouted. "I fucking surrender! Are you happy now?"
There was no response for few moments, and then he appeared.
"I would like that in writing please," Ari said gleefully.
Mercator scowled at him. "You have won Ari. Don't rub it in!"
"In writing," Ari said sternly. "I have all the time in the world...but I imagine you will run out of food soon."
Food. Mercator needed food, and lots of it. The thought of losing it was too much to bear. "Oh god, you cruel bastard. Fine...FINE!"
Ari smiled smugly.
The war in Iceland was over.
Would Ari prove more capable than his fellow snowman?
In Ireland, war had begun again. Though this time it was not Leos on the warpath. It was Malion!
The homosexual artist had inspired men to follow his lead with his poetic speeches and a humble nature. And now he was inspiring them to unite all of Southern Ireland.
The war was his commanders idea.
"Leos will do everything to destroy you the moment he sees you as a threat," he had said.
"Maybe he can be reasoned with," Malion had foolishly suggested. He knew full well when he said it that a man like Leos could not be reasoned with.
"Your grace, Leos is a violent drunkard, and you are probably the only real obstacle he sees in his way to becoming king of Ireland."
"What do you propose?" Malion had asked.
"I propose you expand quickly. Make Leos think twice about attacking you. Uniting Southern Ireland will bring you a larger army, and more resources."
A real power struggle was beginning to develop in Ireland, with only two real contenders. How would Leos react to the building momentum of Malions campaign?
In Edinburgh, Vernon was doing a jig in his castle. The rebel leaders stood before him.
"Honourable King Vernon," the mercenary captain said, me and my men are going home, but I do not doubt you will be seeing me again."
"Thank you Captain Russ!" Vernon said gleefully. "I appreciate your assistance in capturing these traitors."
Captain Russ raised his eyebrows. "Of course...your own role was crucial, King Vernon," he said wryly.
With that, Russ walked out of the castle, his men following behind him. Natalie watched him go, a sick feeling in her stomach. She looked beside her. The other leaders were there, along with the kings brother Wikey.
"Now...just what should I do with these traitorous scum?" Vernon said aloud. "Maybe...maybe I should pardon them?"
A few looked up eagerly at that, but not Natalie and Wikey. They knew Vernon too well.
"Actually, no, what am I thinking? Treason is the worst crime of all!"
"Get on with it asshole!" Wikey yelled.
Vernon looked at him incredulously. He pointed a finger at his brother, his hand shaking violently.
"OFF...OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" Vernon bellowed.
In an instant two steel clad guards were behind Wikey, wrestling him to the ground. Another guard brought a chopping block and lay it before the poor mime, before looking up to Vernon for confirmation.
"Get on with it!" Vernon cried.
Natalie watched uncomfortably as Wikey struggled with the knights. She wanted to tell him not to struggle, that it would only hurt more, but the words stuck in her throat. She watched as one of the guards drew a long sword and lofted it above his head. Vernon's eyes glistened.
"Fuck you brother!" Wikey shouted, as the sword swung down and connected with his neck.
Wikey spluttered. His struggling had prevented a clean cut. He was still alive. Natalie whimpered. The executioner raised his sword again and brought it crashing down. This time Wikey's head rolled off.
Vernon cackled. Natalie felt a tear fall across her cheek. She was terrified.
"Well," Vernon said nonchalantly, "What other stuff do I need to do today?"
"Magnificence," a servant called to Vernon, "There are wedding arrangements to be made."
Vernon licked his lips. "Marriage? Whose marriage?"
"Yours, your grace! To a little girl called Gertrude."
Natalie didn't understand. Vernon was already married to her.
"Gertrude eh?" Vernon said. "What is the point in this marriage?"
"I don't know," the courtier said.
Vernon nodded thoughtfully. "Fine whatever, show me what to sign!"
The courtier handed the king a scroll.
"Cool! Sounds good," Vernon said after pretending to read it. Natalie knew he was pretending because Vernon didn't know how to read. Natalie watched in confusion as the king signed it. "Well that seems to be everything!"
The court started to disband, as two guards seized Natalie by the arms, along with the remaining leaders. Natalie looked down to the floor, and noticed Wikey's head resting by her feet, the mimes lifeless eyes starting up at her.
"Oh my!" Vernon shouted. Natalie looked to see him starting directly at her. "I almost forgot! There is another traitor to deal with!"
Natalie whimpered. "Please! No!"
"You have being very naughty, Natalie," Vernon said, as the guards beside her forced her to her knees.
"You helped my enemies!" Vernon bellowed, as she heard the sword being unsheathed again.
"I was spying on them," Natalie murmured.
Vernon stamped his feet. "LIAR! LIAR! PANTS ON FIRE!"
The guards pushed her head on to the wooden stump. Time slowed down.
"OFF WITH HER HEAD!" Vernon yelled excitedly.
Natalie felt like crying, but mostly she was tired. She closed her eyes. Seconds later her world went black.
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...
Season 2 Episode 5: Lol Robert
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Season 2 Episode 5: Lol Robert
November 1067
King Paulus sat on the throne, his wife Adele beside him. He had called court so everyone could bear witness to the new law he was about to pass. Chancellor Boc, Pope Kristoff, and Spymaster Henry were sat nearby. Henry had until recently been at his new post in Kent, but he had made the trip up to Westminster on the kings demand. He was visibly stoned. There were two vacant seats next to him, were General Curtis and Treasurer Jeffrey should have been sitting. But Curtis was far away in York, and Jeffrey was trapped in Oxford. Earl Robert of Northampton lay siege to the town to press the claim he had managed to forge on Jeffrey's seat. That was why everyone was here.
Paulus stood to address the court. "Attention everybody! I have gathered you all today to bear witness to a new law."
Everybody looked at each other curiously. Paulus continued. "Yesterday I received the news that Earl Robert of Northampton lay siege to Oxford, with the intention of usurping Duke Jeffrey. At a time when we are at war, infighting cannot be tolerated. In fact, infighting cannot be tolerated full stop. The current laws of the crown allow such folly. I have seen fit to change this. I hereby declare that High crown authority be put into effect immediately."
"This is a wise move, your grace," Boc said. "It is foolish for your subjects to fight one another. After all, we are not truly a united realm whilst such wars are permitted."
"Indeed," Paulus said.
"But what of Robert's war?" Boc asked. "Since he rebelled against his liege when the law allowed it, the crown cannot stop it."
Paulus nodded. "You are right. I intend to solve the situation diplomatically. Earl Robert will not be pleased, but I will insist he back down."
"Forgive me, your grace, but Jeffrey has proven time and time again how incompetent he is. Perhaps it would be best to let Robert usurp him. From what I have heard he would be a good deal better."
"No," Paulus said bluntly. "As much as I despise Jeffrey the crown cannot support the cause of rebels." Paulus left the matter at that and turned back to face the court. "Court is dismissed."
Boc shrugged. Everybody began filing out. Henry stood up awkwardly. "Oh man, I came all this way for that?"
"It was much appreciated Henry," Paulus said.
As his council began heading out, he called to Kristoff. "Stay back a moment. I need to have a word with you."
"Of course," Kristoff said. "What can I do for you, your grace?"
Paulus looked to the doors and waited until everyone had left. "I need you to sign something," Paulus said, handing the anti pope a folded piece of paper. Kristoff read it.
Kristoff smiled approvingly. "I wondered how you were going to make Robert back down. Wise move, your grace."
"So you will sign it?" Paulus asked.
"Of course your grace. I owe you for pressing my claim against Pope Roth. Had you not I would have spent my life as a prince bishop. This position gives me the power to make real changes in the church...one day I know you will take me to Rome with an army. Then the whole of Christendom will recognize my claim."
Paulus patted him on the back. "That day will come. Trust me." Then he left Kristoff in the court. He had a letter to send.
Far north in Scotland, after long months of gathering together and marching, the English army had finally arrived in full force.
They were capturing small settlements and castles across the sparse county of Cumberland.
The mad king had hardly any men to summon to fight this new enemy. The rebellion had ravaged his army, and aside from that, all his subjects detested him, and were not willing to part with many men when he called the banners. The force he could summon was nowhere near the amount required to mount a serious defence of the kingdom.
Vernon had no other options though. He had spent all the money of the realm on Russ and his mercenaries, and they had been dismissed. All that stood between him and the vast English army was a few hundred men.
Vernon had called a war council in an effort to inspire a solution. Unfortunately, they were not very helpful.
"This will not do!" Vernon yelled, slamming a fist on the table. "The smelly English are invading! They mean to enslave us!"
"Your grace," one of the councillors stammered, "We have no soldiers left to defend the realm with. The rebellion ruined us, and the mercenaries have gone home."
"I will not tolerate your feeble excuses!" Vernon bellowed. "There is always a solution!"
The councillor held his arms out. "Such as, your grace?"
"Such as dragons!" Vernon yelled excitedly. "Dragons! Why didn't we think of it before!"
"Dragons? Your grace, dragons do not exist!"
Vernon grew wide eyed at that. "What...what did you just say?"
The councillor looked at Vernon fearfully. "Your grace...they...they don't. Everybody knows."
"Oh...my...god..." Vernon pointed at the councillor. "Guards...arrest him at once! And whilst you are at it, arrest all these other idiots!"
There was a sudden uproar as the council tried to escape the grasp of the guards. After a short struggle, all were in chains but the court chaplain, who jumped out of the window. Vernon looked out and saw him limping away, holding his leg. "You better run fast!"
The chaplain turned to face him as he staggered away. "I will end your tyranny, mad king!"
(lol image fail)
The guards escorted the councillors out of the room. They would be heading for the dungeons. Vernon took a look at his council room.
"That is better," Vernon said. "No more meddlesome fools to interrupt my thoughts. Now...what should I do about the English invaders?"
He paused a long moment. "Hm...maybe I should play the lute."
And with that, Vernon walked off.
The next day, his court chaplain returned to his seat in Aberdeen and called in the assistance of mercenaries. Captain Russ was not long in answering the call.
"I knew keeping Vernon on the throne was a good idea," Russ said. We are making a killing off of this guy.
"Best not turn the tables on me like you did Natalie," the court chaplain warned him.
Russ grinned. "Relax father! I am a godly man!"
He wasn't...
In Ethiopia, the battle was over....
The final result....
Victory!
Hupu's army had routed the enemy, and surrender was not long to follow this decisive battle.
Back at court, the celebrations were starting. Hupu was drinking a great amount of alcohol. His faithful queen, DR, was restraining herself though. The victory was sweet, but it would mean nothing unless she could persuade her husband to let her share the spoils.
"My brave husband," DR said, kissing him on the cheek. "Many songs will be sang about this war you won today."
"Oh boy," Hupu said. "That kiss wad fun. Can I have another?"
"A king commands," DR said, obeying. "Now we must talk about these newly conquered lands."
Hupu looked confused. "I do not understand!"
DR smiled patiently. She had grown used to how slow Hupu was. "Well husband, you have to share the spoils of war with your loyal subjects. That is how you keep them loyal!"
"I know that!" Hupu said, clearly lying.
"And who better to share the spoils of war with than your lady wife?" DR said, smiling the sweetest smile she could muster.
"Maybe baby!" Hupu said playfully.
That was Hupu's way of beginning negotiations. DR had grown used to that too. It was no big deal though. A kiss here and there didn't hurt. "I will give you another kiss if you agree," DR said.
Hupu thought about that. "I...I want something more than a kiss this time."
DR frowned. "Oh...I see...well." She considered it a moment. Could she do it? It had to happen eventually anyway. Besides, how bad could it be? She smiled at Hupu. "Well...of course Husband! Whatever you want!"
*Insert gratuitous game of thrones sex scene here*
The next morning, Hupu grinned at her. "Oh boy. You can have whatever you want!"
"Good!" DR said. "Just sign this husband!" She handed him the grants for all the lands to the East. After Hupu willingly signed it, she had secured herself a position as the second most powerful lord of the kingdom, second only to Hupu himself.
She also saw fit to grant control of some of the newly acquired castles and cities to her own subjects, in order to better her relationship with them. Needless to say, it worked a treat.
With this new found power, in time, she would be able to call to arms just over 1000 soldiers. Almost enough to go back home with. Almost. DR knew it wouldn't be long now. Her half brother Bryce would come to rue the day he forced her into marriage.
In Ireland, Malion was at the head of a mounted troupe of cavalry, mowing down retreating peasants. It was a great victory, a battle that only a year earlier he would have written a poem about. He never dreamt he would ever find himself in a real battle. Though the real thing proved to be quite different from the poems and songs. In real battle there was no glory. No honor. Only death. Here he was, slaughtering terrified peasants, yet in years to come songs would be sung about this day. It was all bullshit.
"Stop!" Malion cried out. His men immediately stopped attacking. The peasants used the opportunity to escape.
"Your grace?" his commander asked, puzzled.
"Leave them be," Malion said. "The battle is won."
"Your grace, they may regroup and-"
"I am not going to condone any more butchery," Malion snapped. "The battle is won...the enemy lords have been defeated. That is all that matters."
That battle of Desmond was over.
Surrender was quick to follow. Malion now controlled all of Southern Ireland.
To the North in Connacht lay Leos's lands. He was the last true opponent to a unified kingdom, and Malion knew he wouldn't be beaten as easily as the others.
"What now, your grace?" His commander stood by his side, observing the battlefield. "Today cements your position as the most powerful man in Ireland. Perhaps it is time to march on Leos."
Malion shook his head. "No...not yet. I am tired of fighting. We must rest a while."
Aside from the physical demands, the horrors of war had started to wear on his conscience. He couldn't bear all the killing.
Back in England, Jeffrey was stood in a watchtower on the walls of Oxford, looking down at the besieging army below. They were trying a strange new tactic, which seemed to involve packing everything up and going home.
"What are they doing?" Jeffrey asked his servant.
The servant looked at him. "Um...my lord, they have surrendered. Don't you remember? The declaration is here." The servant handed a piece of parchment to him.
"Wow," Jeffrey said. "We really showed them?"
"Um...yes...we certainly did, my lord."
Jeffrey spotted Earl Robert somewhere among the vast army that had hours ago stood poised to assault the city. He looked very pissed off.
And he was. Robert was looking around at his army as they disbanded. "So near, and yet so far," he mumbled. He couldn't believe the king had decided to defend Jeffrey. After all the trouble the fool had caused. It didn't make any sense.
But Kristoff, the kings pet, had threatened excommunication. If he hadn't backed down, he would have found himself rotting in the dungeons of Westminster. And that is if he was lucky. Heresy was a serious charge, and more often than not it was punishable by death. Robert wondered why Boc and Curtis had plotted to get Paulus to appoint the anitpope Kristoff in the first place. It gave him more power, when the aim was to diminish it. He made a note of asking them the next time he saw them.
Meanwhile in Westminster, Paulus was writing a letter to Jeffrey.
It was blunt and to the point. But Jeffrey had a short attention span, and he didn't understand big words. The king knew to keep it as simple as possible. He had decided to name Jeffrey court jester to disassociate himself from the fool. He didn't want his enemies figuring out his plans. Soon he expected that Jeffrey would be approached by somebody. Somebody who was plotting to steal the throne. Or somebody on their behalf. When they did, Paulus had instructed Jeffrey to tell him. He had learnt not to trust the fool to do this alone, however, and had sent along a spy in the guise of a servant. The spy would make sure Jeffrey reported whatever he learnt. For too long, Paulus had tried to stay out of the mind games and plots of the court. He had maybe ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. But those days were over. He was taking charge of the situation now.
There was a soft rap at the door to his study. It was Chancellor Boc. "Your grace, I bring good news."
"Let me guess...Robert backed down."
"Yes, your grace. It seems you made him an offer he could not refuse."
Paulus smiled wryly. "Yes. I did indeed."
"There is more!" Boc said. "The army has begun the invasion of Scotland. Reports indicate that the county of Cumberland has been secured."
Paulus had almost forgotten about the war with Scotland. "It is about time," he said. Pretty soon Paulus hoped he could depose the mad king and come one step closer to uniting the British Isles. Boc was still lingering.
"Is there more?" Paulus said. "That was good enough for one day."
"Well, your grace...I didn't want to bring this up now, but I must ask your permission to leave court."
"I see. Might I ask why?"
Boc cleared his throat. "Well, I feel that I must go home for a while, to tend to my own lands. My subjects can grow lazy when I am not around."
Paulus shrugged. "Fair enough, Boc. If I have need of you I will send a letter. You may leave now if you wish."
Boc looked surprised. "Um...are you sure you don't want me to stay a little longer?"
Paulus shook his head.
"Well...thank you, your grace. I will leave at once!"
Later on, Paulus watched Boc leave with an entourage of knights from the battlements of the castle.
Boc had been sincere when he told the king he was going back to Lancaster. But he hadn't mentioned he would be stopping for a chat with Duke Jeffrey of Oxford along the way.
Season 2 Episode 6: Cuntis (Happy Christmas Special!)
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Season 2 Episode 6: Cuntis (Happy Christmas Special!)
December 1067
King Ninefingers army was camped on the outskirts of Copenhagen.
He was holding counsel with his general.
"Your grace, the enemy scouting party has headed back to Norway. It was believed that King Bryce himself was among them."
Ninefingers shook his head. "He came that far into our territory with a small scouting party? One wrong move and this war would have been over. This young Norwegian king is bold but foolish. We should take note of that."
"Might I make a suggestion, your grace."
"Yes, "Ninefingers said. "That is your job."
"I believe we should take the attack to Bryce. His army is still mobilizing whereas we are ready to strike now."
"No," Ninefingers said bluntly. "We don't know their country. It is wild and unpredictable. We will stay here...let them come to us."
His general shrugged. "As you say, your grace."
Back in England, Jeffrey was sat in his study in Oxford. There were many books in there. Books on Latin, books on the roman empire, books by Plato, books about King Arthur...all sorts. But Jeffrey couldn't read any of them. It was a skill he had never learnt.
"My lord," his servant called, appearing at the door.
Jeffrey looked up quizzically. "Oh men, what is it?"
"You have a visitor."
"Cool! Send him in!"
The servant bowed. "As you command."
His visitor appeared moments later, smiling reassuringly.
"Hey Jeffrey!" Boc said.
"Hey Boc, it has been a while!"
Boc laughed. "It certainly has...why, the last time I saw you was before the king arrested you for killing his wife!"
Jeff grimaced. "Oh men, was it that long ago? Yes...well I was very naughty Boc."
"Don't be silly!" Boc said reassuringly. "It was not your fault at all!"
"Really?" Jeffrey asked.
"Really!" Boc said, taking a seat. "So Jeffrey, how are you these days?"
"Oh you know...same old! Although recently, one of my earls came down with an army, demanding a seat from me!"
"Well that is terrible!"
"I know right! I said to my servants 'hey we have plenty of seats, just go get one from the dining area, I don't mind' but they were having none of it."
There was an awkward silence. "So," Boc said eventually, "Let's discuss more important matters!"
"Such as?" Jeffrey asked curiously.
"Jeffrey...do you remember the secret club?"
Jeffrey didn't. "Um...no Boc, I can't say I do."
"Oh really?" Boc said. "Surely you haven't forgotten about it? It was such fun."
"Hm...secret club?" he pondered.
"It was started in Westminster!" Boc said. "You must remember!"
Jeffrey smiled with sudden realisation. "Oh my god! Yes!"
Boc smiled. "You remember?"
Jeffrey nodded. "Those were fun times Boc. But what about it?"
"Well Jeffrey, I have good news! The club is still around. And we want you back in!"
"Seriously?" Jeffrey said, beaming.
"Seriously!" Boc stood. "We will talk more soon, I must go and talk to Earl Robert now. He is in the club too! And when he knows you are, you won't have to worry about him coming and demanding seats from you anymore!" Boc gave Jeffrey a thumbs up and headed for the door to the study. He opened it to come face to face with Jeffrey's servant, who bowed courteously. Boc nodded at him and left.
"Bye Boc!" Jeffrey called after him.
The servant closed the door and faced Jeffrey. "My lord," he said sternly.
"Yes?"
"You must send word to the King at once and inform him of Duke Boc and Lord Robert's treason."
Jeff gaped at him. "Treason?!"
"The king ordered you to let him know the moment anybody approached you about a secret pact...Boc just did."
"Oh men," Jeffrey cried. "Oh men oh men oh men! I must write to the king at once." He pondered that a moment. "Although...I cannot write!"
The servant sighed. "Get me some parchment, and I will write for you."
Boc was soon going to find himself in trouble!
In Ireland, Leos was having problems.
The attempted assassination of his troublesome priest had damaged his reputation, and now Thomas Becket was drumming up opposition to Leos amongst the common folk.
"This is absurd!" Leos said, slamming his fist against a wall. "This bastard priest is turning my own people against me!"
"You did try to kill him my lord," his general murmured. Leos went red with rage and turned to face him. "What the fuck did you just say?"
The general fumbled nervously. "My lord, I only meant-"
"It was your fucking idea!" Leos yelled, charging at his general and knocking him to the ground. He began battering him. "You screwed this up!" Leos shouted, smashing the generals head against the floor. "This was your fucking fault!"
He stood up panting, kicked the general in the face, and left him knocked out. He wiped his brow and turned to a trio of nervous looking captains who had watched the whole thing. Leos pointed to one at random. "You...you are my new general."
Then he gestured to the bloody heap on the ground. "That is what happens if you screw up...now fuck off."
The new general and the other captains complied quickly. When they left, Leos buried his head in his hands. "All this trouble over one priest...shit. What have I done?"
He was running out of options. If he let this fester, soon his realm would be torn apart yet again. Assassination had failed, and the cost had been immense. It had left a black stain on his honour, which he personally did not care about but all his subjects did. He couldn't risk trying assassination again. He didn't have the money for it anyway. That only left imprisonment. He could imprison Becket, but that would be viewed as an act of tyranny. But at this point what did he have to lose? The assassination was public knowledge.
Leos walked out into the courtyard of his castle. He called for attention. Everybody immediately fell silent and looked his way.
"That priest is going to tear the fucking kingdom apart. The kingdom we are working so hard to rebuild. I want him arrested immediately!"
A large party left that day to carry out the order...
In Westminster, Paulus was reading a letter from Jeffrey. It was confirmation of Paulus's worst fears. According to the letter, Boc had approached Jeffrey to invite him into an alliance with himself and Earl Robert.
"I trusted him," Paulus muttered. "And this is how he repays my trust...By plotting against me."
He scrunched the letter up and went searching for Kristoff. He found his anti pope praying in the chambers the king had allocated to him. Paulus knocked on the door. Kristoff turned, surprised to see him. "Your grace?"
"Sorry to interrupt your praying." Paulus murmured.
"Not at all, your grace," Kristoff replied. "My prayers can wait. What can I do for you?"
"I need your help with something," the king said, passing Kristoff a note.
Kristoff took it and read...
"Wow," he said when finished. "Boc always seemed so pleasant."
"I know," Paulus muttered. "He never gave me a reason to mistrust him."
"There is no need to worry your grace. He will answer for his sins."
"It is his treasons I want him to answer for, Paulus said bitterly.
"In time, your grace. That will follow."
By the end of the day, Boc was excommunicated from the church...
Paulus sighed. "I am going to need to find a new chancellor." But the king knew that even though Boc was a traitor, finding a replacement for him would be difficult.
In Iceland, King Ari sat shivering in his fancy new castle. Since usurping the throne of Iceland (which was less a throne and more an old wooden chair) from Mercator the Idle, he had done very little...in truth there was very little to do, other than have snow ball fights. King Ari had expected much and more from leadership. Where were the matters of state to discuss? The diplomacy to conduct? The intrigue of court?
So far being king of the snowmen was no different from being an ordinary snowman. Ari couldn't help wondering if that is why his predecessor had lasted so long on the throne. There didn't appear to be any need of a ruler. The only regular attendants at court were an old woman and a scraggy cat named Tuppence. And they were content just to sit and stare at Ari as he shifted on the throne uncomfortably for hours on end. Just the other day, he had tried to liven things up a bit by trying to ransom Mercator back to his closest living family.
And they refused! His own family didn't think Mercator was worth a measly 10 gold! So now Ari had a useless prisoner laying in his dungeons. He couldn't ransom him, so he was left with one of three choices:
1: Release him
2: Execute him
3: Let him rot
Ari could release him, but there would be no fun in that. And he wasn't going to execute him, no way. He wasn't Vernon. Which only left him with option number 3. It looked like Mercator was going to be spending the foreseeable future in the dungeons. All in all, Ari was finding ruling to be really shit so far. He yearned for real power. But where could he turn to find it?
Back in England, Boc was two days ride from Oxford with his entourage, and was now on his way back home to Lancaster. He had not lied to the king when he said he needed to tend to his own lands, but the main purpose of his journey had been to invite Jeffrey back to Curtis's cause. The Curtis faction would benefit from having the power of Oxford behind it, and Jeffrey had proved useful in the past. Boc wasn't sure when Curtis was planning to make a move against the king. They had gathered a significant amount of support, but they weren't ready yet. Curtis wanted absolute assurance of victory.
"Halt!" A voice cried out from behind him. Boc turned around in time to see a column of knights heading up the road behind his own. He was surprised to spot Jeffrey amongst them.
"What brings you all this way?" Boc asked uncertainly, as Jeffrey rode up beside him. "Westminster is the other way Jeff!"
"Oh men Boc...I don't know how to say this!"
Boc frowned. "How to say what, Jeff?"
"Well...you are kind of...under arrest."
Boc raised his eyebrows. "You are kidding me right..."
Jeffrey shook his head solemnly. Jeffrey's servant beside him took up speaking for him. He was grinning smugly. Boc doubted he was simply a servant.
"No joke, my lord. You have been charged with heresy. The great pope Kristoff has excommunicated you at the kings behest."
"Heresy?" Boc stammered.
"Yes, heresy. Though that is not your real crime. Your real crime is treason. Plotting to depose the king."
Boc shook his head. He couldn't believe the king had finally found out.
The servant continued. "Yes Boc. We know all about your plan to put yourself on the throne."
Boc paused at that. He almost laughed, but checked himself. This was a really bad situation, but if they didn't know about Curtis, it might be best he went quietly. If Curtis was still safe there might be a way out of this for him. So he went along with it. "These are serious charges. What is to be done with me?"
"You are to be brought to Westminster and locked in the dungeons, until such a time that his grace has decided what to do with you."
Boc shrugged. "Fine...the sooner we get to Westminster the sooner I can prove my innocence."
"Save it traitor," the servant said, as he put Boc in chains.
Perhaps the king was not so easy to fool as first thought. This was unexpected.
Several days later in Northampton, Robert was sat in his keep, lost in thought. He was holding the monthly council meeting for the city, alongside Dylan and the other councillors, but his head was elsewhere. Since Oxford had been denied to him by Paulus's intervention, he had been in low spirits. After all that hard work he was pushed down by the king to allow an incompetent fool to remain in power. It made no sense. It would make sense if the King knew that Robert was backing Duke Curtis to depose him, but if the king knew that he would be in a dungeon...or worse. So it seemed to Robert that Paulus simply preferred to surround himself with utter fools.
"My lord," a courtier entered the room, interrupting him from his gloomy thoughts. "Sorry to interrupt my lord, but a letter just arrived for you."
Robert sighed. "Let's have a look," he said, as the courtier handed him a rolled up piece of parchment. Robert noted the seal. It was his great liege lord Jeffrey's. He smiled wryly. He didn't know the fool could write. He opened it.
Robert stared at it in silence for a long time. Had he really just read that?
"What is it?" Dylan asked, reminding Robert that he wasn't alone.
"Bad news..." he muttered.
"You have gone pale," Dylan said. "Let me see." The prince snatched the letter out of Roberts hands and read. He cursed when he was finished. And rightly so. If Robert was going down, Dylan was going down with him. Robert had willingly harboured the exile prince when no one else would. And even that was when he had a chance of usurping the throne of Scotland from his batshit insane brother Vernon..
"They won't even let me be an earl," Robert said dully. "It seems they mean to utterly ruin me."
Dylan looked at him angrily. "Are you just going to sit there and take this?"
Robert shrugged. "What choice do I have? Jeffrey can call upon all the strength of Oxford if I refuse."
"But...if you surrender...you are nothing..."
"Yes well...I aimed high and I lost. And when you lose this game, you lose all."
Dylan looked disgusted with him. "What happened to the man who I first met when I arrived here? The man who had big plans for the future?"
"He lost," Robert said calmly. "I tried to take Oxford, the king took offence at the infighting in the realm, and this is my punishment."
The rest of the council was looking on awkwardly.
Dylan was red with anger now. "If you surrender, you are condemning me to death! I have nowhere else to go!"
"There is always somewhere," Robert said, rubbing his eyes.
"I searched the whole kingdom until I came across this place," Dylan stressed. "There is nowhere else for me."
"I am sorry Dylan, it is-"
"My lord!" The courtier was back. He looked exasperated. "My lord...more news...riders have just returned from the field. They say they spotted a party heading for Westminster. Duke Jeffrey was heading it, followed by Duke Boc...who was...he was in chains my lord. He has been imprisoned."
Robert shot Dylan a knowing look. "Everybody leave us at once," he demanded. The room emptied in seconds.
Now Dylan had gone pale. "He...he knows. Paulus knows! What if he knows about me too?"
"Calm down," Robert said, sighing with relief. "This might just be the best news of the day."
"How can you say that?" Dylan asked incredulously.
"The king has arrested Boc...and it just so happens he is trying to get rid of me too...he is making a move against the faction, but he might not know everything. We must act fast if we are to stand a chance."
Dylan looked up, clearly not understanding, but with a flicker of hope on his face. "What must we do?"
Robert smiled. "We need to write to Curtis...immediately. We may not be out the game just yet."
In Ireland, Leos was watching the soldiers he had sent out to arrest Thomas Becket returning to his castle. He searched and searched but could not see the church man amidst their ranks anywhere.
"If they have failed to arrest him, I have half a mind to kill them all," he muttered to himself.
Sure enough, as they entered his hall, he could see by the fearful look on their faces that they had failed. When they explained, the situation was revealed to be a whole lot worse...
"He is a fucking priest!" Leos yelled. "One priest...how can you fail to arrest him!"
Not one of them had an explanation. "Christ! I guess I am going to have to sort this out myself. Bring me my armour!"
Within the hour, Leos was on horseback, heading to deal with this churchman himself. He was going to beat this priest into submission, and make him accept imprisonment.
In Westminster, Paulus was sat on the throne, Jeff stood before him. It had been a week since Boc's arrest. The king was trying to figure out the details of the conspiracy against him, but is was difficult given how frustratingly stupid Jeffrey was.
"So, let's go over this again," Paulus said. "Chancellor Boc approached you and asked you to conspire against me with him and Robert in a bid to steal the throne? Correct?"
"No," Jeffrey said.
Paulus facepalmed. "Jeffrey...you did well escorting Boc here, but I need answers!"
Jeffrey thought long and hard, and finally said "I don't understand."
"For fuck sake Jeff." Paulus was losing his patience. "Tell me what happened again...exactly what happened. From the beginning."
"Ok," Jeff said. "Well, I was sitting in my study, wishing I could read books, and then there was a knock at the door. And then I said 'come in', and then-"
"Jeffrey stop! Stop! There is no need for so much detail. Just start from when Boc entered the room."
"Oh men, ok." Jeffrey started again. "Well, Boc said he wanted me to join the secret club again, because-"
"Wait...what?" Paulus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean again? You were in this club before?"
Jeffrey nodded uncertainly.
"Jeffrey...you never cease to amaze me."
"Thank you, your grace! Yes...I was in the secret club before. I was very much looking forward to being in it again."
Paulus looked at Jeffrey in astonishment. "The amount of treasons you have unwittingly committed would probably account for every lords and ladies in the realm ten times over Jeff. Tell me about the first time you were in the secret club. How did that come to be?"
"Well, I was exploring a random part of the castle here, and I just happened to walk in on them talking to each other in secret!"
"Them being Boc and Robert?" Paulus asked. "That doesn't make sense Jeffrey. Robert has never visited court."
"No no," Jeff said. "Them being Boc and Curtis."
Paulus gasped. "Shit."
"I know right," Jeffrey said. "So they totally had this club going, and I-"
Paulus stood abruptly, cutting Jeff off. He felt light-headed. Boc didn't want his throne...somebody else did. That was when a courtier entered from the halls.
"Your grace," he said amiably, passing a letter into his hands. "From Duke Curtis of York."
Paulus opened it wearily.
Curtis must have been warned about Boc's imprisonment very quickly to have been so prepared for this. Jeffrey was stood over his shoulder, looking as confused as ever.
"Jeffrey...if you had any wits about you at all, you could have prevented this."
Jeffrey looked at him, clueless. "Prevented what?"
Paulus sighed. "Never mind...I will not be blackmailed."
Another week passed, and the war began.
The realm was divided...
Curtis had rallied much of the North, whilst the south remained mostly loyal to Paulus.
Shortly after the start of the war, the English army was immediately called out of Scotland.
There was a more pressing matter to deal with right now.
In 1068 it was was a mass of minor rulers, all struggling for dominance. There was no unity in this land. It was split between two religions: Islam and Christianity.
The Muslim nations were situated in the South, whilst the Christian nations were in the North. Three brothers controlled the three largest Christian kingdoms of Castille, Leon and Galicia.
The eldest of these brothers, the King of Castille, was a childish and insecure man, who constantly strove for acceptance from his peers, even though it was in vain.
MOS had two other brothers, who each ruled the other kingdoms.
King Budd of Leon was the second eldest of the brothers. He had a reputation for spending most of his time in taverns and drinking heroic amounts of alcohol, but when sober he was the most level headed of the brothers.
And finally, the king of Galicia...
Andy was an incredible douche. A totally deluded retard. He was married to a contestant from a popular medieval past time called Survivor, were contestants were pitted against one another in a fight to the death. Since Andy had seen Amanda barely escape with her life from one of these games, he had been infatuated with her. He had chased her across the known world in his teens, desperate to secure her hand in marriage. It was only when his father died and he became a king that he had the resources available to make his dreams a reality.
With his two brothers having no children, MOS was currently the inheritor of both their kingdoms. What could possibly go wrong?
In Ireland Malion, was holding council. Since conquering Desmond and uniting Southern Ireland under his banner, he had been told relentlessly to keep the momentum going.
His general was sat opposite him. "Your grace, there will not be a better time to strike!"
Malion rubbed his tired eyes. He had heard the same thing almost everyday since peace had been declared. Malion had hoped for a break from war. He had known nothing else for the past year. But everybody seemed intent on refusing him that luxury.
"War is starting to take its toll on me," Malion complained.
"I understand, your grace," his general said.
Malion wasn't sure he did. His pleas to put the matter to rest kept falling on death ears. After the war with Desmond had ended, news had reached him that Leos had become embroiled in a conflict with his own churchmen. His general argued that this was an opportunity too good to pass on. But Malion wasn't sure he was ready to take Leos on yet. The drunken warrior had a fearsome reputation, Malion knew all too well. His brothers and father had been killed in the last war with him. But no matter how much Malion protested, his general would not let the matter drop.
"Your grace, I am certain of victory if we strike now!"
Malion shook his head. "You don't give up, do you?"
His general smiled. "Not when I know I am right."
Malion rubbed his chin. He had a decision to make.
The next day, he called his army back to war...
In Kent, Duke Henry was pacing up and down his chambers. News had reached last night from Westminster. War was breaking out all over the kingdom. He had received a letter from the king himself. It instructed him to make his way to court to attend war council. But Henry didn't want to go. Ever since Paulus had involved him in his plot to kill Cheryl Cole, he had grown to resent his position as Spymaster, or what he called the "hidden hand of the evil empire". He no longer trusted Paulus.
But the usurper who was hoping to replace him, Duke Curtis, was hardly better. Curtis was a manipulative bastard, and could not be trusted any more than the king. Henry had smoked all his pot last night, considering his options. He had not come to a decision. All the lords of England were picking sides...and soon Henry would have to choose too.
"Damn it!" he moaned. "I can't think straight! Someone bring my hookah!"
His servant answered his call. "You smoked all of your weed last night my lord," he said gravely.
Henry buried his head in his hands. "This is a disaster. I can't decide anything unless I am at least slightly baked."
The servant bowed his head. "My lord, I..." he stopped, looking embarrassed.
"What?" Henry asked curiously.
"Well," the servant started uncertainly. "I may have a little grass somewhere."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "How did you come across it?"
"You must forgive me my lord...I only wanted to try it."
Henry gazed at him a long moment before bursting out with laughter. "Oh my god bro, don't worry about it! I thought you were a square. How about we both light up what you have left?"
And so they did. Eventually, Henry came up with an ingenious idea. He didn't believe in the cause of either side. So the solution was obvious...let the rest of England play its shitty game of thrones...meanwhile, Kent was going to break all ties with the evil empire. Kent was going independent <img border=0 src='http://z3.ifrm.com/372/166/0/e375910/e375910.gif' id='c:B)' alt='Cool' title='Cool'>
A few days later a message arrived at Westminster. Paulus was expecting a simple acknowledgement of attendance from Henry, but what he read was quite unexpected. Henry had declared war on him. He looked at the letter in disbelief, before shaking his head and throwing it away. He motioned to a courtier. "Have the council assembled today instead. We no longer have to wait on Henry."
A short while later, the new council was called.
Duke Jeffrey and Kristoff were the only familiar faces. To replace the now imprisoned Boc, Earl Kiwi of Essex was appointed.
Kiwi was headstrong and often short sighted, always calling for blood at the first sign of trouble. But his loyalty was without question, and Paulus needed loyal men right now.
Earl FF0 of Hereford, the new general, had experience on the battlefield, having fought in Captain Russ's mercenary band. He would make a capable battlefield leader.
For his new spymaster, Paulus had to settle for his wife, Adele. She had complained that she knew nothing of the ways of spying, that she only knew how to sing, but Paulus had silenced her protests by telling her that Henry had known nothing about spying too.
Once all the council was present, Paulus stood to address them. "This is the first meeting called since the traitor Duke Curtis raised his banners for war. He studied the new faces. "So...what is the situation? Where is the army currently?"
FF0 looked up uncertainly. It was obvious he was still getting used to the idea of been part of the kings council. "Well, your grace, last I heard the army was marching South to try and engage as many of the rebels before they can band together."
Paulus nodded. "Good. We have the advantage in numbers at the moment."
Kiwi cleared his throat. "Your grace, perhaps we should discuss the prisoner."
Paulus looked at his new chancellor. "What of him?"
"Your grace, Boc is a traitor," Kiwi said. He had a menacing glint in his eyes. "He was excommunicated for heresy and high treason. We should execute him immediately."
Paulus raised his eyebrows. "That is hardly our main concern right now. Boc is locked away in the dungeons."
"He is a traitor and must be punished!"
Paulus raised a hand. "You feel strongly about this, I can see. But calm yourself. Boc will answer for his crimes eventually."
Kiwi nodded, seemingly content. Paulus turned to Jeffrey, who was daydreaming.
"Jeffrey!" Paul said sternly, snapping him out of it.
"Yes?" he asked uncertainly, as if remembering where he was.
"Earl Robert is most likely the culprit who tipped Curtis off about Boc's imprisonment. I suspect he will soon try to make a move against you so he can join in Curtis's war with the full power of Oxford behind him."
"Oh men," Jeffrey said.
"Oh men indeed. I won't be able to use diplomatic means to save you this time. So you need to go home, and do everything in your power to make sure Robert does not succeed."
Jeffrey nodded and gave him a thumbs up, though Paulus knew he didn't understand. But it didn't matter anyway. Paulus was going to make sure to send some of his most skilled soldiers with Jeffrey to defend the town.
"Well," Paulus said. "There is little else to discuss right now. Meeting adjourned."
Adele stayed behind with him as the others left. He had grown fond of his new Queen despite himself.
"I wanted to unite the British Isles," Paulus said solemnly. "But I can barely keep one kingdom together."
"This is not your fault," she said reassuringly. "Just remember...sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."
"What?" Paulus asked.
"I guess what I mean is...Curtis is an evil man. His cause is built on lies and deceit. The truth will win out in the end."
"Oh..." Paulus sighed. "I hope you are right."
In France, a great king sat atop his French throne. The greatest king the world has ever seen.
King Oyster Boy of France.
This poor boy was born with a terrible disfiguration which made him look like an Oyster, and a childhood of ridicule and neglect left him a mute. Had he not been the only son of his father, he would have probably been thrown into a river drowned. But he was the son of the great and noble king of France. The only son, in fact! He had an older sister but she could not inherit the throne, so Oyster Boy was the sole heir and thus the only one capable of carrying on his family name.
But the world was a cruel place. There were plenty of subjects in France who felt that they deserved a better king...a capable king. Perhaps some of them thought they could do the job better themselves. Had Oyster boy not had a guardian angel, he would have been doomed to a short reign after a suspicious death.
Meet his savior...
Duke Patrick "Ironface" Of Aquitaine was a rare kind of individual. He didn't yearn for power. He was an honorable and loyal individual who tried his best to uphold the laws of the realm. And it was for these qualities he was appointed regent for Oyster Boy. He remembered the day of his appointment vividly.
Flashback...
Oyster Boy's mother had reached out to Patrick and begged for him to come to Paris to rule in her boys stead. Patrick had reluctantly obliged, unable to refuse a request from the royal family. He would have rather stayed and tended to his own lands and lived a quiet life of contentment, but duty called.
Patrick had been regent for 3 years now, ever since Oyster Boys father, the previous king, had died. He seemed to be the kings one and only friend, and protecting his liege came at an enormous personal cost. In the early days some powerful French lords had plotted to poison the boy king. They had approached Patrick to ask him to be the hand that dealt the poison, due to Patrick's easy access to the king. He had responded by arresting all the plotters involved and executing them. They had underestimated his loyalty. That act sent a clear message to the realm. If anybody wanted Oyster Boy dead, they would have to go through him first. And Patrick knew there was plenty who would be willing to try. Even now, his spies were informing him of several developing conspiracies against the king.
And no matter how many of them were dealt with, new ones arose to replace them. The constant struggle was taking a toll on Patrick. He didn't feel he would be able to protect Oyster Boy forever. So today he was changing tactics. People respected power, and the best way to demonstrate power was to win wars. It just so happened that an opportunity had recently presented itself. A conflict had broken out in England between the pretender Curtis and King Paulus, leaving English territory in Normandy exposed. Now was the time to strike and take back lands that the people of France felt rightfully belonged to them. A war would unite the kingdom and quell the conspiracies against the king.
Patrick walked into the throne room. Oyster Boy was sat on the throne, gazing into space vacantly.
"Your grace," he said, bowing. Oyster Boy did not respond. Patrick walked up to him and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.
"I have something for you to sign, your grace," he said gently. "It is a declaration of war."
Oyster Boy did not respond.
Patrick sighed. "I will sign it for you!" he said, grabbing one of Oyster Boy's limp hands and writing a signature on the paper. "There you go! All done!"
Oyster Boy did not respond.
Patrick left the throne room, with the declaration in his hands.
Shortly after this, the army mobilized.
Whilst King Paulus was preoccupied with rebellion, Patrick was going to take back Normandy, starting with Maine.
In York, England, Curtis was looking at himself in the mirror. "Your grace," he said, bowing to his reflection and laughing. "It won't be long now. The throne of England will be mine."
He left his dressing room and walked out into the yard. All around him soldiers were busy assembling horses and siege equipment. They would soon be marching South to Northampton to meet up with Earl Robert. That was the agreed upon rallying point for the army. He just needed to find his brother and then the journey south could begin. He stopped one of his soldiers who was walking by pulling a couple of war horses. "Have you seen my brother?" Curtis asked.
"He is in the stables, your grace."
Curtis nodded and walked to the stables. When he got there, he was surprised at what he saw.
"Brother!" Curtis said cheerfully. Shawn turned around abruptly, a guilty expression on his face. Curtis laughed.
"Don't worry Shawn, you have fun now! I just came to tell you that we are leaving soon."
Shawn looked back at the rat, which was scurrying away from him, and then back at Curtis. "Oh...ok, no problem."
"Anyway buddy, I have been meaning to ask you something!"
"What is that?" Shawn asked uncertainly.
"How would you like to marry a Welsh princess?" Curtis was beaming.
Shawn looked uncomfortable. "Um...I don't know...aren't I a bit young for that?"
Curtis laughed. "Oh no! Not at all! It will be super fun buddy, mark my words!"
"Ok," Shawn said, clearly unconvinced.
The marriage opportunity had come about only recently. Curtis had approached the lords of Wales for some extra support in his cause. Most had refused, but recently, he had received an interesting offer from one of them.
It was a reasonable price to pay for support which could tip the balance in the war. Besides, Curtis didn't have to keep his promise. As soon as the war was over he could just break the betrothal. After all, when he was king a minor lord could hardly hope to oppose him...
TBC...
Season 3 Episode 2: Should Have Used Protection
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Episode 2: Should Have Used Protection
It was February 1068
Europe was seeing out the closing stages of winter. Spring was on the horizon.
In Iceland, Ari was visiting the dungeons.
He was visiting his best friend Mercator for a heart to heart. Mercator had been locked away in the dungeons since Ari had deposed the ex king of the snowmen.
"What do you want Ari?" Mercator's faint voice echoed across the dungeons as Ari descended the steps.
"How did you know it was me?" Ari asked into the darkness, laughing.
"Because your the..." Mercator coughed and gasped for air. "Because your the only one who visits me."
Ari smirked as he approached the bars of Mercator's cell. He was a shadow of the gluttonous and overweight man he had once been.
"You are looking good Mercator! Healthier than I have seen you in years!"
"You are starving me!" Mercator muttered angrily.
"Just think of it as extreme dieting," Ari said, winking.
"You are enjoying this a little too much," Mercator said. "Perhaps you are related to that mad king in Scotland."
Ari frowned. "Are you saying I am a sadist?"
"That is exactly what I am saying," Mercator said, before launching into a coughing fit. Ari thought about that. Maybe he was enjoying this a bit too much...though Merc deserved it. Ari had to teach him the value of moderation! Yes...it was his duty as a king to starve him!
"Why are you actually here?" Mercator asked miserably, after he had finished coughing.
Ari had almost forgotten. "Oh yes...I just came to tell you about my plans!"
"Plans?"
"I am going to take the snowmen to the top of the world!"
Mercator sighed. "Good luck with that," he said sarcastically.
Ari was not deterred. He had expected such a reaction from someone with as little ambition as Mercator. "First of course," Ari continued, "I must expand our territory."
"Where are you going to start? England?" Mercator laughed.
"No Mercator you silly fool! England will have to wait. I have something smaller in mind to start off with."
Shortly after this conversation, Ari raised the troops.
They were going to be taking a short trip across the sea to Ireland. Ari intended to establish a foothold there.
Meanwhile, in England, the English army had managed to intercept a small band of rebels marching South from Westmoreland.
They had hoped to find Curtis in the county, but unfortunately there was no trace of him. The battle was quick and decisive. But it was no real battle, more of a skirmish.
In Ethiopia, DR was confronting a very real problem. Since she and her husband Hupu had expanded their territory, they now could call on an army big enough to rival that of her half brother Bryce, the king of Norway. DR's dream of sailing home with an army was almost within reach. She just had one problem. She had no ships with which to sail!
Neither did Hupu!
Between the two of them, they had a grand total of zero ships. With no access to the Mediterranean, and no ports, this was going to remain so.
This was a problem which only had two solutions as far as DR was concerned. They could either take a port off one of the Northern Muslim empires by force, and risk incurring the wrath of their vastly superior armies, or simply march to Norway on foot, across the entirety of the known world. DR didn't think she had the patience for such a march, but angering a vastly superior Muslim nation could destroy everything she had built with Hupu.
DR had also discovered something recently. As part of the deal to secure lordship of the newly conquered Eastern half of the kingdom, Hupu had requested that DR consummate their marriage. She had obliged, and now she was facing the consequences.
Uh oh!
Back in England, Robert had summoned his council. Since the war against Paulus had started, he had been preparing to strike at Oxford again.
"Dylan," Robert addressed the exile prince sternly. "I am marching to Oxford once more. I leave you with the responsibility of my town whilst I am gone."
"I think I can handle that," Dylan said.
"Make sure you do," Robert said. "Curtis is heading this way with the army. We are going to provide supplies...and hopefully all the power of Oxford when I return."
An hour after the council meeting, Robert set off.
In Ireland, Malion's army had made camp in the countryside of Leos's lands. According to scout reports, Leos was a days march from them. Malion had the advantage in numbers and he was confident that the area he and his commanders had chosen would serve in their favour. He turned to face his men, who were in high spirits. "Listen up! Leos, the Duke of Connacht, will be here within a day. Sleep easy knowing we have the advantage. Leos is the biggest obstacle in the way of Irish unity. And tomorrow we are going to knock him down!"
The men cheered. Malion retired to his personal tent, lay down, and closed his eyes.
He opened them hours later to frantic shouting. He rushed to his feet and headed outside, as one of his commanders rushed to his side. "Your grace, Leos and his army are upon us!"
Malion cursed. "How?"
"He must have marched throughout the night, your grace."
Drumming could be heard in the distance. Malion shook his head. This was bad. "Fetch my squire so I can get in my armour, we haven't got much time!"
When he was dressed for battle, he grabbed his horse and rode out to the battle field. The drumming was getting louder. His soldiers were running around in all directions. "Form up!" Malion shouted. As they slowly started noticing him, they began getting into formation. Malion watched the tree line for the enemy. The drums were getting louder still. He looked around. Their position was far from ideal. But there was no time to do anything about it.
"Men, hold this position!"
The first signs of movement could be seen through the trees. Moments later Leos appeared, on horseback, followed by a heavily armored troop of cavalry. His vanguard. He made for an imposing sight, smiling drunkenly whilst swinging a great war hammer above his head. Malion wondered how his father and brothers had felt the day they had marched into battle against him. All of a sudden Leos was charging towards his men. The brave bastard was at the head of his vanguard.
The battle of Breifne had started.
If Malion had found facing the other Irish lords a hardship, then he had no words to describe the ferocity of the battle that followed with Leos. It was a harsh reminder that no matter how far Malion had come, he was still new to the ways of war. Riding at the head of his vanguard like the crazy bastard he was, Leos butchered Malion's men left right and centre in a drunken frenzy. It was so terrifying that even the battle hardened men of Malion's army broke and retreated within minutes. The battle was over before it had begun, as Malion ordered a retreat. As they fled the field of battle, many more of his men were cut down. By the time they had escaped to the safety of a nearby village, he had lost half his men.
In Scotland, Vernon was celebrating. News had reached him that his rebellious court chaplain had been apprehended in battle. The court chaplain had escaped arrest not too long ago at a council meeting. The other councillors had not been so fortunate.
The last remaining member of Vernon's court, and thus his only remaining friend, was his executioner. He was stood by Vernon's side when the court chaplain was brought before him by several soldiers. Vernon looked at the disgraced rebel with glee.
"Court chaplain! So good to see you!"
The court chaplain looked at him with sad eyes. "May god have mercy on you child."
"I am not a child!" Vernon spat. "I am a man grown!"
What was wrong with this court chaplain? He was stood before a king, defenceless, and insulting him! Vernon pointed a shaking finger at the bastard.
"Your lucky I don't condone the execution of holy men!" Vernon roared. "Jailer, imprison him!"
His executioner cleared his throat. "Um...your grace, we don't have a jailer any more. I am the only member of your court left."
Vernon looked at his him, smiling. "Oh dear! What ever can we do?"
"Well your grace, I could take the prisoner to-"
Vernon raised a hand. "Clearly we will have to execute him," Vernon said, laughing. "Off with his head!"
The executioner looked at Vernon uncertainly. "As you command, your grace."
The court chaplain hung his head and began muttering prayers, as the executioner drew his long sword...the sword that had taken the heads of Natalie and Wikey. Now another head was to roll. But this was not the end of Vernon's woes. His tyranny had become unacceptable amongst the lords of the kingdom. More rebellions were springing up everywhere.
Mercenaries like captain Russ were making an absolute fortune from the continuous state of war in Scotland. They were plundering and pillaging, taking the land for all it was worth.
Back in Iceland, Ari's army was getting ready to sail to Ireland. He was watching proudly from the shore as his men stepped into war ships, destined to go and announce Iceland's presence to the world. But as he watched he was distracted by something.
Fascinating stuff. There would be little to do for Ari whilst his men sailed across the sea to war...perhaps he could pursue abstract interests in the mean time!
In France, Patrick's French army had marched into Normandy undisputed.
The English had no army to muster which could defend its French territory. Everything was committed to the war against Curtis. Patrick was confident of a successful campaign.
In Spain, Andy had returned home from a long trip to visit his brothers Budd and MOS. Every year, the brothers got together for a feast, to catch up. It was always hosted at MOS's castle, which Andy had always thought was bullshit, since he had the furthest to travel to get home, but he couldn't complain. He was the younger brother after all. This latest trip to Castille had been pleasant enough, though been away from his beloved Amanda for two months had taken its toll on him. He had missed her dearly. But now he was home. And his wife was there to welcome him with open arms, as always.
"Amanda!" Andy yelled when he saw her, before embracing her lovingly.
"Oh...husband!" Amanda replied. "So...good to...see you."
"And you to, my love!" Andy said, as he started kissing her. Amanda stood limp as he did. Andy knew that was usually a sign she was enjoying it.
"Husband...whilst I would like to...kiss all day, we should go inside. I have something important to tell you."
Andy stopped and looked into Amanda's eyes. She looked worried. "Oh my, of course my love!"
They walked inside the castle, hand in hand, and up to their private chambers. Once there, Amanda told Andy the news. "Husband...something...great has happened."
"What would that be?" Andy asked curiously.
Amanda shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."
"Go on!" Andy said, grasping her hands again. "If it is good news, what do you have to fear?"
Amanda nodded. "Ok...I am...pregnant."
Andy stood motionless for a moment. "Wh...what?"
Amanda flushed. "I am pregnant with...your child," she said, before hugging Andy in that awkward way she always did.
"That...that is..." Andy was perplexed. How could she be pregnant? He had been away all this time? Unless...unless she had simply forgotten to tell him before he left! Andy cast his doubt aside and beamed at his wife. "This is the brilliantest news I have ever had!"
Amanda smiled. "Yes...it is...great!"
Andy stroked his wife's cheek tenderly. "I have missed you so much! How about a welcome home!" Andy leaned forward and kissed her. Amanda sighed, with what Andy presumed to be love and affection, as he stuck his tongue in her mouth. They made out for a little bit, before Andy began undressing. He took off his shirt and got Amanda to kiss his man boobs. She grimaced with affection as she did so. Then he ripped off her dress, and she began crying with joy. As he lay on top of her, he began salivating. Andy felt a twitch below as he began grinding against her.
"Oh yessss!" he shouted, as Amanda frowned with ecstasy. "Take my trousers off!"
Amanda complied. When she took them off she looked down at his crotch. There was nothing there but a disfigured lump.
For you see, Andy had a particularly nasty affliction...He was....
A eunuch!
"Now what do you want me to do?" Amanda asked. Andy looked down. It was easy to forget sometimes. "Oh...I don't know. Shall we cuddle?"
Amanda sighed and curled up in his flabby arms. At this point Andy looked down at his disfigured crotch. Something had ocurred to him. "Amanda...how can you be pregnant?"
"Um..." She said, looking from his crotch to his face. "Immaculate...conception?"
Andy nodded and thought about that for a while. "Yup, makes sense! I love you!"
Amanda wiped some sweat off her brow and smiled. "And I love you!"
Back in England, Curtis had arrived at Northampton with his army.
Dylan was stood on the walls of the city, watching. As Curtis grew nearer, he ordered the gates to be opened. The lanky ginger usurper looked up at Dylan and smiled a mischievous grin. Dylan didn't like that look. Curtis was not someone to be trusted, he was sure of that. But if Dylan ever hoped to see himself on the throne of Scotland again, Curtis was his best shot.
At Westminster, Paulus was talking quietly with Kristoff. Jeffrey had sent word that Earl Robert was on the move again, intending to take Oxford once and for all. Paulus could not allow that, but the impending battle was largely out of his hands. But he could still make good on a past threat to the troublesome Earl.
"It will be done, your grace," Kristoff said, bowing, before walking away.
Excommunication wasn't going to stop Robert, but it might dissuade some of his supporters from following him. That was the best case scenario really. It would inevitably come to battle, Paulus was sure of that. Paulus sighed. He hated to think that his entire kingdom was tearing itself apart because of him. He hadn't started the war, but more and more he found himself wondering why so many had flocked to Curtis's banner. Was this all because of Cheryl? He had hoped to bury that unhappy saga in the past when he married Adele. It was questions like this that led to him to visit the dungeons. Boc was one of Curtis's biggest supporters. Maybe he could shed light on this.
When he arrived at his once trusted councillors cell, he saw him sleeping. "Boc," Paulus said, waking him up.
Boc shifted up to the bars weakly, smiling for some inexplicable reason.
"Your grace."
Paulus laughed bitterly. "Forget your courtesies...you are a traitor, there is no need for pretense."
Boc nodded. "As you wish, Paulus. What can I do for you?"
"I need you to tell me something."
"What might that be?"
"I need to know why you threw your lot in with Curtis."
"What difference does it make?" Boc asked.
Paulus bowed his head. "Well, if I know what drove you to sacrifice your position as my most trusted councilor and subject, maybe I can avoid such problems in future."
Boc nodded. "I see...well, to put it simply, I backed Curtis because he promised to make me Duke of Lancaster in more than just name."
Paulus narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"I am the Duke of Lancaster, but less then half the land that comes with that title is actually under my control."
Paulus looked at Boc darkly. "And why did it never occur to you to simply ask me?"
Boc had no answer for that. There was an awkward silence.
"You allowed yourself to be manipulated Boc. And for that you have put yourself in a very perilous situation."
Boc didn't answer. Paulus reached into his pocket and grabbed a piece of parchment. He passed it through the bars. "Take a look at that...Kiwi wrote it up for me earlier."
"He is quite insistent that I kill you. You are a traitor to the realm, after all."
Boc looked at the warrant miserably.
"I want you to tell me Boc...why should I let you live?"
Season 3 Episode 3: The Drunkard and the Fag Part II
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Episode 3: The Drunkard and the Fag Part II
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?)
Season 3 Episode 4: Masked Men
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Season 3, Episode 4: Masked Men
April, 1068
The year was still in its infancy, but already it was proving to be a turbulent one. Tensions were rising all across Europe.
The British Isles were in absolute chaos. England was been torn apart by war between the anointed king, Paulus, and the pretender, Duke Curtis of York. In Scotland, mercenaries were bleeding the country dry and ravaging the country side, as the tyrant Vernon sat alone on his throne, dreaming of executing his numerous enemies.
The only semblance of stability was in Ireland, which through a bloody battle had taken the first steps to unification behind the banner of an unlikely man. Duke Malion was holding a conference in Dublin to try and persuade the remaining southern Irish lords to swear fealty to him. The conquest of Connaught had sealed his position as the most powerful man in the country, but there was still much to be done.
Malion worried how it must look to these minor lords he now found himself stood before. There he was, requesting they become his loyal subjects, when he could easily subjugate them through force. He was a stranger to them. They didn't know that he wasn't like that.
"My lords," Malion said when they were all gathered before him. "I called this meeting today not as a foreign lord from another country, but as a fellow Irish man."
The lords exchanged glances, and waited for him to continue. "As you know, recently I conquered the lands of Connaught, giving me more power than anyone in Ireland has possessed for centuries. I gathered you hear today not to threaten or cajole you, my lords. I want to make you an offer...I want you all to help me create a united Irish kingdom."
A crooked looking lord stood up. Malion recognized him as the Earl of Dublin, the man who had allowed this meeting. He narrowed his eyes. "And I assume you would be the king of this united Irish kingdom?"
Malion held his hands up. "Do you oppose that?"
The Earl of Dublin smiled darkly. "I hear you have already taken to calling yourself king, but what gives you that right?"
"I never called myself king," Malion said defensively. "My people did. I never asked them to. Surely that makes me more qualified than anyone."
There was some murmurs of agreement.
"I promise all of you, if you follow me, you will not regret it."
Malion made for the exit before turning back at the door. "I will give you a day to decide, my lords." Then he left them to consider his proposal.
Their response was quick. Later that evening, Malion received a letter from the Earl of Dublin.
It seemed the Earl of Dublin spoke for the other lords. By the next day, the South of Ireland was united behind Malion. For the first time ever, he could truly name himself king.
Leos's death had paved the way to this. Malion had stabbed the brutal drunkard when he was offering a helping hand to Malion. It kept Malion up at night thinking about it. But at least he was alive to have sleepless nights. Had he done the honorable thing and allowed Leos a fair fight, he would almost certainly have been killed. The singers were spreading the story of how Malion had bravely fought Leos in a heroic duel, triumphantly overcoming him and his war hammer with a short sword. It was bullshit, but Malion had to tolerate it if he wanted the respect of his subjects. A few surviving supporters of Leos were spreading the truth, but they were few and far between. Leos's wife Sophia had disappeared, but not before sending a threatening letter to Malion, vowing revenge. Malion hoped he would never see her again.
For now Malion hoped to put the horrors of war behind him. It was time to build a nation...
Henry was in the halls of Canterbury. The town had been captured the previous night, after he had ordered his men to storm the walls.
The assault on the town had been a risky move, but it proved to be a good one. The towns defenders were taken unawares and it wasn't long before they surrendered. Now Henry was confronting the town's bishop, demanding his surrender.
"Let's just make peace bro, and we can light up and forget this ever happened."
The bishop of Canterbury looked at him in disbelief. "I am a servant of god. I will not ingest unholy chemicals."
Henry laughed, pulling out a joint. "God gave us the marijuana! How can it be unholy!"
The bishop watched as Henry lit up and began smoking. "You have captured the town...why do you still linger?"
Henry took a long drag. "Well, because we don't want yall to cause trouble again! I am fighting for OUR freedom, after all."
The bishop sighed. "The king will never let this slip. Even if you win, how long do you hope to maintain independence."
"Typical right wing response," Henry snapped. "Somebody has to stand up to the evil empire."
For Henry, freedom was proving to be a cause that not everybody supported. But he had started something, and he intended to finish it.
In Northampton, the lord of the city was returning. Earl Robert had marched back with his army after a second unsuccessful attempt to take Oxford. Curtis, Dylan and Shawn were watching from the walls.
"Robert must really hate this town," Curtis said, smiling. "He devotes so much of his time to getting out of here."
When the gates opened and Robert entered the city, the three of them went to wait for him in his keep. When he arrived, Robert entered and gave them all a stern glance. "Paulus really likes Jeffrey it seems," he said, sighing and pouring himself a large cup of wine.
"Perhaps we could take the full army to take Oxford," Dylan suggested. "It would be no contest."
Curtis laughed. "I don't think so. We have more important battles to fight right now."
That much was true. The king's army was fast approaching from the North.
"We would stand a better chance in this upcoming battle with the power of Oxford behind us," Dylan said impatiently.
"True," Curtis said. "But we don't need an army to get rid of Jeffrey."
Robert looked up. "What do you mean?"
Curtis grinned. "Well Robert...Prince Dylan here has made you quite a wealthy man during his time as treasurer."
Robert looked at Curtis with a sudden realization. "No...I will not squander the wealth of my city on assassins."
"And why not? This city doesn't matter. Your prize is waiting in Oxford!"
Robert stopped. "I...Fine whatever. But they better not fail."
Curtis grinned. "There can be no guarantees in war unfortunately. But we will hire the best!"
Later on, Robert hired the assassins...
In Westminster, Paulus was preparing himself. Soon, he would leave court with Kiwi and FF0, and join up with his army in Lincolnshire. He wanted to deal with the pretender Curtis himself, on the battlefield. It had been a long time since he had left the court. Too long. Kiwi knocked at his door. "We are ready, your grace."
Paulus nodded. "Then let's go."
As they neared the exit, Paulus stopped his chancellor. "Wait for me outside...there is something I must take care of before we leave."
"As you wish, your grace." Kiwi looked curious, but he didn't ask. Paulus waited until he walked outside, and then he turned and headed for dungeons. Once down there, he went looking for Boc. He found him sleeping in his cell.
"Boc," Paulus said quietly. Boc woke immediately, and looked up at the king in surprise.
"What is it, your grace?"
"I am about to leave for battle."
"So soon?" Boc asked.
"Yes...soon my army will meet Curtis in battle at Northampton. And this war will be decided one way or the other."
Boc looked uncertain. "Be wary...Curtis is full of surprises, your grace."
"He is just a man. He can die like any other."
"Why are you here, your grace?" Boc asked, rubbing his eyes.
Paulus knelt down so he could come face to face with Boc through the bars.
"I came to tell you that tomorrow, Kristoff is going to come down here an open this cell door. You will be free to go."
Boc was lost for words. "That is...that's-"
"A rare act of mercy. Consider yourself lucky Boc. But know this...if you join back up with Curtis, I will kill you and everyone you care about."
Paulus stood abruptly, and before Boc had a chance to say any more, he left him there in his cell.
In Galicia, Andy was sat with his wife Amanda in the serene and tranquil gardens of his castle.
"Lovely wife," he said. "I do believe I love you so!"
Amanda looked at him, frowning happily. "I love you to husband!"
Aw, isn't that sweet! Later that night, Andy, determined to demonstrate his love, was trying to please Amanda in the bedroom. It was proving difficult given his condition.
"Oh Amanda," Andy sighed, as he rubbed his stump against her. "I wish I could be a true lover!"
"It is ok," Amanda said. "We can just cuddle.
Later on, as they lay cuddling, a masked man burst in through the window with a dagger, and stabbed Amanda in the heart. Andy screamed. Guards rushed into the room and apprehended the masked assassin.
Days later, in Castille, MOS received a letter.
MOS let out an involuntary yell of triumph at the news. But he quickly composed himself. It was a terrible thing he had done...but necessary! This was his duty. Yes! His duty! Paying assassins to kill Amanda had been a difficult decision, and something he had not enjoyed one bit...
In Denmark, Ninefingers was sat in his tent writing a letter to the pope.
Ninefingers figured he could draw Bryce to him by causing religious tension in Norway. He was on good terms with the pope and he saw no reason for him to refuse this offer. Hopefully, Bryce would soon be forced to play his hand.
In Ethiopia, DR and Hupu were holding a war council.
"This war is unnecessary," DR said. "We should sue for peace as soon as possible. Let's forget this ever happened."
Hupu was baffled. "But...but why?"
"Because we don't have time for this war. There are more important things to be doing."
"But...but I only did this for you...I want to spend another night with you!"
Hupu was crazy for his queen ever since she had spent the night with him a short while back.
DR sighed. "This was not the way to go about it...you could have just asked."
Hupu narrowed his eyes. "But would you have said yes?"
"I...I..." DR shook her head. "Probably not."
"Exactly!" Hupu said. "So I decided to conquer another kingdom for you!"
DR facepalmed. "Well I have news for you husband. This is one kingdom you will not be conquering. I mean to end this silly war before the week is through."
Hupu bowed his head. "What if I can conquer it before then?" he asked.
DR laughed. "If you can conquer it within the week, I will have sex with you again."
At that moment, a courtier walked through the door.
"Great king Hupu!" he announced "I bring news of the war!"
Hupu looked up uncertainly. "What news?"
"We have won! The enemy has surrendered in the face of overwhelming odds!"
DR groaned. Hupu smiled. It looked like he would be spending another night with his queen.
The next morning, he awoke refreshed, feeling generally awesome. He brushed DR's hair out of her eyes and woke her up. She looked at him.
"Lovely wife," Hupu said. "Tell me what to do, and I will do it...anything!"
DR was quiet for a while, and then she said three words.
"Take me home."
Hupu didn't understand. But then DR explained. Later that day, Hupu sent a message to her half brother, King Bryce of Norway.
DR was going to usurp her half brother Bryce.
In Oxford, Jeffrey was sleeping like a baby. Then suddenly a masked man jumped through the window, armed with a dagger. Jeffrey shot out of bed as the masked man approached. "Oh men oh men oh men oh men!" he shouted hysterically, as the assassin charged towards him, lifting the dagger in the air. But before he could reach Jeffrey, he tripped over a comb and fell, banging his head on the floor. Jeffrey stood and looked at the man. He was out cold. Jeffrey ran as fast as he could.
Robert received the bad news the next day...
ROBERTS REACTION TO THE NEWS WAS CENSORED DUE TO THE AMOUNT OF PROFANITY INVOLVED, SORRY
In Iceland, Ari had become engrossed in his flying machine. He was pretty sure the thing was ready for its maiden flight. He was ready to make history, and become the first man to fly. But...
Ari visited the dungeons later that day. Mercator looked worse for wear. He had been living in his own shit for the past four months, never seeing the light of day.
"Hello Mercator!" Ari greeted him cheerfully.
Mercator looked at him coldly. "What has got into you?"
"Oh Mercator...everything is just going fantastic! You won't believe how well things are going right now!"
"Really?" Mercator asked, with no hint of interest.
"Yes! Really! The army has landed in Ireland and is establishing a foothold, and I have been exploring a fascinating new hobby!"
"What hobby would that be? Being an asshole? Because that is nothing new."
Ari laughed. "Oh Mercator...wit was never your strong suit. No...my new hobby is flying machines!"
It was Mercator's turn to laugh. "You are crazy Ari."
"Well, you might think so...but hey, guess what! I want to bring you in on my project!"
Mercator froze. "What do you mean?"
Ari smiled. "Well Merc, my flying machine is almost ready, and all I need now is a test pilot!"
Mercator grimaced. "No...no way."
"Oh...yes way! I think you will make a brilliant pilot!"
"Can't you kill me in a dignified way?" Mercator protested. "Don't you have a shred of honor?"
"Merc, you are overreacting. My flying machine will work! Soon it will be replicated all across Iceland, and the snowmen will rule the skies! You will have the distinction of been the first to fly it!"
Mercator looked uncertain. "You really think it will work?"
Ari winked. "I know it will Merc!"
"So...you have forgiven me?"
"No. But if you do this for me, I will."
Merc sighed. "Ok...ill do it."
A short while later, Mercator was in the flying contraption, preparing to fly.
Mercator, once the king of the snowmen, plummeted to his death.
It was a rainy morning in early May, 1068. The city of London was just waking up.
Outside the walls, a large army was gathering. Siege equipment was been assembled, encampments been dug out, tents erected. At the centre of it all was one man. One man who was on a quest for freedom. Duke Henry of Kent.
After subduing the lords of Canterbury and getting them to go along with his fight for freedom, he had ordered his army to make for the heart of the evil empire, London. Capturing the city would all but guarantee Henry the independence he wanted. So long as Curtis and Paulus were busy fighting each other, Henry knew he was in with a shout.
In Iceland, Ari was receiving some splendid news. A messenger had arrived with news of victory in Ireland.
Not only that, but they were surrendering too!
"This is brilliant!" Ari said. "Today is the first day of the Snowman empire!"
Ari had tried reaching for the skies once already, and it had cost Mercator his life. He was playing a dangerous game now. Had conquering Tyronnell made him enemies?
Indeed it had! The conquest was bad news for King Malion, who was holding talks with the Northern Irish lords. He had offered each of them vassalisation, inviting them into his kingdom so it could become truly united, North and South.
All of them agreed. But Malion was aware of the last piece of the puzzle. What he saw as nothing more than a Norse savage was preventing the complete unification of his country. Malion was wary of the fact that he may have to go to war yet again.
In Castille, Spain, MOS was sat on his throne, fidgeting. An panic stricken messenger had arrived.
"Your grace," he said, rushing up before MOS. "You must-"
"Start again!" MOS said. "Do it properly...when addressing a king you are supposed to say 'your grace' and bow...you did not bow."
The messenger looked uncertain. "Your grace, this is really important, I don't think-"
"Start again!" MOS demanded. MOS wondered how people were so forgetful of proper etiquette.
The messenger ran out of the room. Seconds later he rushed back in.
"Your grace," he said, bowing deeply. "I bring urgent news."
MOS looked uninterested. "What news is so urgent that it made you forget how to address your king properly?"
"Your grace...it is your brother Andy...he..."
"Has he committed suicide?" MOS asked, with a hint of hope. He wasn't hoping his brother had committed suicide of course. Not at all! He was very concerned about his brothers well being and not at all interested in taking all his titles.
"No your grace...he is...he is approaching with an army!"
MOS sat up. "What?!"
The messenger explained. Andy had landed on the Northern coast during the night. He claimed to be marching against MOS to bring him to justice for the crime of kinslaying. Obviously, MOS's assassin had not taken to torture too kindly, and spilled the beans on MOS's conspiracy to kill Amanda.
But he had to keep up the pretense, lest he lose the respect of his subjects. "Kinslaying?" he spat. "What the hell is he on about?"
Amanda had hardly been kin...she was only his sister in law. How could that count as kinslaying?
The messenger continued. "Andy claims you conspired to kill his wife Amanda, your grace."
"My brother is clearly going mad with grief. Raise the banners! I will not tolerate such lies. We will give him a taste of battle and he will run home crying. Also, contact Budd. We may need his help."
Later that day, the messages were sent out, summoning the lords of the realm to war.
In Norway, Bryce was at a war council. Recently, he had received some disturbing news from Pope Roth. He had been excommunicated at the behest of King Ninefingers of Denmark. Bryce was fuming.
"I have done nothing but serve the church faithfully! What am I been punished for?"
"You were the perpetrator of this war, your grace," his general said, not unkindly. "The papacy takes a dim view on Christians who fight Christians."
Bryce slammed a fist on a table. "I am fighting for my birth right. Denmark belongs to me!"
"As far as the pope is concerned, there is never a good reason to fight our fellow brethren."
"He should spend more time worrying about what is going on in Britain then," Bryce spat. "If ever there was a place that God has abandoned, it is there."
"Your grace, I fear Ninefingers is trying to pressure you into coming to him."
Bryce laughed bitterly. "Well he will get his wish soon. I can't stick around here waiting for him whilst my enemies at home start sharpening their knives."
Bryce's general grimaced. "I think you should reconsider, your grace. You are giving Ninefingers exactly what he wants."
"Then he must be suicidal. When the battle begins, he won't know-"
Bryce stopped in his tracks. An Ethiopian had just entered his tent, escorted by two of his guards. The man was smiling at him.
"Are you Hupu?" Bryce asked.
The Ethiopian shook his head and simply handed Bryce a letter. Bryce looked at it curiously. He wondered what his half sister wanted to tell him. He unfolded it and started reading. It was in fact from Hupu, not DR...and...
"Holy shit," Bryce said, looking up at the messenger. "Is he insane? He is declaring war on ME?"
His general stood abruptly. "This is grave news, your grace. We should do everything in our power to end this war with Ninefingers, so we can prepare for this threat."
"For once we agree!" Bryce burnt the letter over a candle. "We start marching immediately. We are going to conquer Denmark before my traitorous ho DR gets here."
And so Bryce began marching to battle...
On the other side of the world, Hupu and DR were beginning their march to Norway.
2500 soldiers were starting the long trip across the Middle East and Europe. With no ships, and no readily available ports, marching was going to be the only way to reach their destination. And they had a long way to go!
DR hoped that Bryce would still be preoccupied with his war with Ninefingers by the time she got there. She also hoped he hadn't gotten himself killed like an idiot, thus ending her claim to the throne.
In Scotland, Vernon's new mercenaries had taken him for all he was worth, as Russ had intended. Now he was sat alone, reading a letter from the captain of the mercenaries he had recently hired.
What a miserable state Vernon was in!
Vernon let out a terrible groan. If he had not already been insane, this would have been the moment he snapped.
In Leon, Budd was receiving terrible news. His brothers were fighting each other! And worse still, both were asking for him to join them. Budd was devastated when he got the news. Merely a few months ago him and Andy were celebrating their wives pregnancies. Obviously, Budd knew it was strange that Amanda had gotten pregnant. But nobody had questioned the legitimacy of the child. And as far as Budd was concerned, that was the end of the matter. But apparently, that wasn't good enough for MOS. Andy was accusing him of been responsible for her murder.
It was a serious accusation, and one that could easily be completely false. Andy and MOS had never gotten along, and it wasn't too far fetched to think he might be looking for someone to blame. However, Budd knew his older brother MOS all too well, and he was the type who would probably support kin-slaying as a necessary evil to further the family name.
In fact, ever since their parents deaths and the division of their lands, Budd had always detected some resentment from MOS. Like he thought he could do a better job of ruling his younger brothers lands. And on late nights at long feasts, MOS would sometimes drunkenly brag about how he would one day inherit all their lands. Budd would always counter with "Only until we have children," which pissed his brother off immensely. Budd wondered if his brother had simply used Amanda's obvious infidelity as an excuse to further his own twisted goals of usurping his brothers.
And now Budd was been forced to choose between them. Should he support his older, power mad brother, or his retarded younger one? It was a pretty easy decision. He wrote the declaration of war that night and sent it off to MOS.
In Northampton, England, the war horns were sounding. Outside the walls of the city Paulus's army was approaching. Dylan was gearing up with Curtis, Shawn and Robert. Everybody seemed nervous except for Curtis, who was whistling a happy tune as he attached his sword belt to his waist.
Over on the fields nearby, King Paulus was amongst his army with FF0 and Kiwi.
"Where are they?" Paulus asked, scanning the field. His scouts had seen no sign of the enemy.
"They must be garrisoned in the city," FF0 said. "We outnumber them. It makes sense for them to seek refuge."
Kiwi smirked. "Cowards hide when it is time to fight."
"No," Paulus said, shaking his head. "If they didn't intend to fight us they would be long gone. They would have run when they heard we were coming rather than stick around."
"So what then?" Kiwi asked. "Do they intend to bore us to death?"
Just then, there was a shout from up ahead. "The city gates are opening!"
Paul looked to the gates in the distance, and watched as men began pouring out.
"There they are...We better start advancing and get in formation."
Paulus had assigned FF0 and Kiwi each a division for the battle. Paulus was taking the right flank with the cavalry, Kiwi the left flank. FF0 was in the middle with the infantry. Upon surveying the battlefield, straight away a clear vantage point presented itself. There was a large hill which they could situate themselves on. Setting up there would put them in a strong position. Paulus led his cavalry in that direction. Kiwi took his towards some trees to set up an ambush. FF0 and the infantry were heading straight for the gates. Paul was a logical man. And logic would dictate that this battle was already won. They almost outnumbered the enemy three to one. But logic also dictated that Curtis should not be here on this battlefield, given his military prowess. Any enemy commander would see that this battle would be best avoided. But Curtis had made no effort to retreat. Instead, he was enthusiastically setting up formation with his men outside the gates. Paulus could see his banner flying in the distance. The hair gave him away. After a while the two armies were in formation. A tense silence gradually swept over everyone. It was just a question of who was going to make the first move now. Then, in the silence, Paulus heard a familiar shout of "Charge!", followed by an eruption of horses hooves. Paulus looked to the trees and watched as Kiwi raced out at the head of his cavalry.
"Kiwi you fool," Paulus muttered to himself, face palming. "So much for the ambush."
The battle had begun.
FF0's infantry began clashing with the enemy. They were soon preoccupied. Paulus brought his cavalry to a light trot as they surveyed the battlefield. He was keeping an eye on Curtis, whose cavalry were clashing with Kiwi. Then Paulus spotted a gap in the enemy lines. Exposing it could cause the infantry to route.
"Men, follow me!"
Paulus broke into a charge as his cavalry followed suit. "Wedge formation!"
He was going to break the enemy infantry. The enemy realized too late what was happening. When he smashed into their lines, men went flying in all directions. It quickly turned into a slaughter. In a matter of minutes the enemy was running. Paulus caught up with FF0.
"Good one," he said upon seeing the king. "I will give chase, make sure they don't have chance to regroup."
Paulus nodded. "I better go give Kiwi some assistance."
Paulus turned in the saddle to look in that direction. He could see Kiwi's cavalry were doing pretty well without him. But he began making for him anyway. As he did, he started to make out faces. There was the troublesome Earl Robert, Curtis's younger brother Shawn, and...Prince Dylan of Scotland. Paulus recognized him from portraits. What Dylan was doing here in England, Paulus had no idea. Then Paulus spotted Curtis. Who didn't seem to be fazed at all by the ongoing battle. In fact, he was hanging back from the action with his entourage.
"What the hell is he doing?" Paulus wondered aloud. But as Paulus and his cavalry approached it became clear. Curtis was preparing to retreat and leave his men behind. Paulus could not believe it. After all the trouble he had been, he was just going to run away at the first sign of danger. Something was not adding up. If this wasn't a retreat, then the only logical explanation for Curtis running was that this battle could just be one big diversion. Paulus glanced back at the unfolding carnage behind him. The enemy were been crushed, and hundreds were dying. Could Curtis really be so callous and sacrifice so many of his supporters for a diversion?
What was he saying? Of course he could be. This was Curtis he was talking about. Paulus cursed as he became embroiled in the fighting. He caught a glance of the red headed menace as he disappeared from the battle with his entourage. Paulus could hear him laughing.
TBC
Season 3 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!)
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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.
