So, this starts a few generations into a campaign as the Robertine Dynasty; Counts of Dijon and later Dukes of Burgundy. Which got real awkward when I became powerful enough to get independence from West Francia and form my own Kingdom, since there already was a "real" A.I. Kingdom of Burgundy. Anyway, France in 983 looks like this:
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Here is the situation within my Kingdom:
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My favorite is the Donut the Count of Auxerre's territory makes around the Prince-Bishopric of Avalois. The Duchy of Champagne is ruled by my kid brother, While the Dukes of Bourbon and Viennois make up the southern frontiers. Viennois has feuded with Burgundy, and Bourbon with Aquitaine most frequently.
What I love most about Crusader Kings is the characters; the dynamic lives they lead and the drama they create. So, let's highlight a few.
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This is me, a new king at age 16, though my life could have been very different. My father, King Lothaire, had one legitimate son and eight legitimate daughters. However, he had many more children besides. My mother was one of his earliest lovers, an exotic Croatian doctor invited to be Court Physician in his realm. She was skilled, seriously: a renowned physician at age 20! The king was charmed by her "medical knowledge" and soon she became mother to me and two of my sisters. King Lothaire's true son died in battle, and he had to pick one of his bastards to legitimate. For some reason he picked me and my life was changed forever. No longer known as a Croat speaking doctor's child, I became a French Prince! Growing up in a physicians clinic didn't prepare me for battle or international diplomacy, but I did learn how to manage business, and to recite all the ancient knowledge of the doctors.
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King Eudes of West Francia used to be allied to my father through his marriage to my half-sister, but he wants nothing to do with me! He has claims on some of my land, so he may end up fighting for them! He's definitely a soldiering man, and that is all the good that can be said about him, the impatient, lustful glutton!
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King Peire-Arnaut came to power five years ago by faction demand, driving out the local branch of Karlings. He's cynical, diligent, brave: not a bad ruler, all in all, but he has gone down the path of the seducer in the intrigue lifestyle. Just as concerning for my kingdom is his alliance with the West Franks. The situation is a dire reversal for me. I am married to the sister of one of Aquitaine's old Karling rulers, a marriage my father arranged to keep peace with Aquitaine. Now that King Peire-Arnaut is in power instead, who knows if my southern border will be safe?
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So, I must look elsewhere for allies. Good King Stephan of Lotharingia is an ideal candidate. The faithful giant is a good man, and powerful enough to help me in any wars that might come.
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When he died, my father was in the middle of a war against King Nicolas. Burgundy (the other Burgundy) is my biggest rival. It was conquered by a branch of my dynasty a generation ago, but that did not stop the fighting between us. What it comes down to is that there can be only one. Unfortunately, as a content, temperate boy of only 16 years I cannot really understand that. It is a good thing that I have my council. Let's enter into the narrative portion of this story, written mainly because I needed a character driven reason why this new king of mine would continue his father's wars. Let's hear the story of the first council:
King Filip convenes the first council of his major vassals in the hall of his motte. He arrives early, and seats himself at a wooden table. His chair is a throne, and there is one for his wife beside him. The room is decorated with art and banners. The king is dressed in blue, the color of the French, and he holds his scepter in his hand.
The first to enter is his Granduncle Robert, the count of Auxerre. The count slips in through the doors with foxlike simplicity. He’s armed and he’s armored with a full coat of mail, but these things don’t clank as he walks to the table; his well-practiced footsteps render him silent. He performs a short bow for King Filip before choosing a chair. He is in his mid-fifties, though his long, graying hair makes him look older. He meets Filip’s two eyes with his own singular orb; he wears an eyepatch over his left eye socket. Crow’s feet stretch out from his right eye’s corner, proving, in fact, that he’s a man who enjoys himself. And yet there’s some mystery to his hidden smile; a thick beard obscures it and his other expressions. “I look forward to serving Your Majesty as I served your father,” he says, and his voice is gravelly -deep, but softspoken.
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King Filip remains still. He isn’t exactly sure how the Count of Auxerre served the late King Lothaire.
At that moment, the doors open again. Leonard the Realm Priest enters, walking directly to the chair on King Filip’s left. He pulls it back and it squeaks, scraping on the floor, and the priest sits down and mops his brow. He says nothing, neither acknowledging the King or the Count. He is the sort of man whose mouth hangs open, whose hair is stringy, and whose mind is preoccupied.
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The silence stretches for another moment; Leonard looks at the table, Count Robert watches the King, and King Filip wonders what to do. Eventually, he motions for some servants to bring some water.
“Hopefully this warm weather presages a warm winter,” he begins.
“Archbishop Leonard seems to be enjoying it,” Robert grins and turns his eye to the priest.
Leonard doffs his hat and wrings the sweat out of his handkerchief, splattering the floor beside the table. The look he gives Count Robert falls somewhere between irritated and affronted. “Hell is surely just as hot as this, sires. It’s a wonder I can breathe.”
Robert laughs, clear and loud. His piercing gaze transfixes the priest, who shrugs and settles down.
King Filip relaxes. He had prepared for a somber occasion, for his first true test as king, but the sight of two of his late father’s oldest advisors poking fun at each other puts him at ease.
“I had thought that we might begin by entertaining a new project,” he starts in, “I want to build an academy, right here in Burgundy, to teach young men-”
The doors swing open, and an overweight young man enters.
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“King Filip,” he declares, and then stops, seeing the other two men in the room.
Immediately, Count Robert rises and stares the man down.
Archbishop Leonard stands. “His Majesty is to be addressed as Sire, or My King,” he points out.
Count Robert indulges a self-satisfied growl. “Shall I make you, Count Epernay, repeat the vows you swore by herald; here, now, in person?”
The newcome count blanches, but he bows. “I see the old men have gotten to you already. I am new to this council, it is true, and this is the first time you have met me in person, but my father served as Marshal of the Realm for some time, and I am his son, Godefroy Epernay of Macon. I have some connections in the realm of trade, and some knowledge of things beyond our kingdom’s borders. What’s more, I am youthful, and sure to be at your side much longer than these old schemers. These old men won’t know to act; they will refuse to press for glory.”
Filip waves his scepter. Leonard sinks into his chair, and Robert sits down, watchful.
“I am King,” Filip says, “what glory could be added to this?”
“One thing,” replies Epernay, and he wets his tongue against his lips and lets his jowls flap. “One thing, and that is Upper Burgundy.”
“Upper Burgundy? Our cousins hold that. The Robertines of Langres.”
Epernay approaches the table. “They style themselves kings of all Burgundy, as you do, so how can they be your cousins? We all know that everyone serves their own interests; if they covet your domain, then you cannot treat them like kin.”
At this point the doors open again. A woman passes through; she wears red and gold linens; a dress embroidered with lilies; white ribbons guide her hair. She is a Princess of Aquitaine, the one known as Peronelle, and the crown on her head means another thing: She is the Queen.
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She brooks no delay but heads for the table, speaking while moving, and all the men listen:
“Gentlemen, Husband, forgive my late coming, but I thought it proper to let you first speak freely, and then come myself to hear what you said. So, tell me,” She says as she sits on her throne, (her husband looking all the more boyish beside her), “What is the discussion that you all have been having? Perhaps I can judge rightly if there has been a dispute. Or at least alter your tempers; mend wounds that are forming. Clear minds think best, or so I’ve always thought.”
“You come too early, perhaps, to offer advice.” Godefroy Epernay slumps into a chair.
Robert of Auxerre crosses his arms. “There’s not been much discussion,” he says, “The Count of Macon here has just proposed a war with the Upper Burgundians.”
Archbishop Leonard leans toward the King. “I remember your father pursued such a policy.”
King Filip looks down at the scepter in his own hand. “I know my father led several such wars,” he frowns, “but they were near the end of his reign, and they provoked the peasants to instability.”
He looks to his wife, and she prods him. “Surely you have a just claim,” she sits calmly, comfortably on the throne. “I believe I married the king of Burgundy.”
“I want to build a school,” the king asserts. “My father left a full treasury; 624 units of gold. I could build a fine academy with just half that and live contentedly on the rest for a good few years.”
The Queen lays her hands in her lap. “It gladdens me that you think of our future. Build your school; we will see what can be done with the rest. These Upper Burgundians, your cousins of Langres- they still might be a threat, and cause harm to us all. My family, all know, were once rulers of Aquitaine, but five years ago my brother the king was driven out. Half of 600 units of gold is still much money; a war is not likely to drain our coffers. The future of this Kingdom should be on our minds, and the other Burgundians, the Robertines of Langres, could take everything from us if we do not defeat them.”
“We could send for the realm’s Marshal; see what he thinks,” Robert of Auxerre suggests.
King Filip relaxes. “And what do you think, Count of Auxerre?”
“I serve you; I serve your father. In war or peace, it makes no difference.”
“Send someone to bring the Marshal,” Filip says to a servant, who slips out a small door just as the main doors open.
The man who enters is tall and neatly groomed. His face is pointed, not unhandsomely, but he has a weasel-look about him. He wears a tunic in the same style and colors as the Queen’s dress, and a golden circlet covers his head. They all know him as Duke Thibault Namur, a young man who, when just a toddler, had inherited the duchy of Viennois from his father.
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“My lady, my King, his vassals,” he greets the table, smiling warmly. “I have come all the way from Viennois, from my home, to attend this council. I would have arrived earlier; but the road through Macon was clogged with soldiers. Yours, I believe,” he points towards Count Robert, “harassing poor Count Epernay’s castle. Why are they doing that?”
Count Robert makes a dismissive gesture. “The war is because of my brother-in-law’s claim. I must be a good ally. I have no personal dispute with the Count of Macon.”
The Count of Macon scoffs.
“Respect your elders!” Archbishop Leonard snaps. “You are not ready to rule if you do not!”
“It is a simple thing,” Count Robert explains, “My brother-in-law has the better claim to that county. Doesn’t justice, as well as sense, require him to fight for it?”
The Count of Macon exclaims, “Justice!? Sense!?”
“Settle down!” the Queen demands. “What matters is that you serve your rightful liege. It is the Count of Macon’s idea that we have been discussing, a war for Upper Burgundy. What makes you want this, Godefroy Epernay, when you have trouble in your own home?”
Godefroy Epernay of Macon turns to the Queen. “We all must fight for our families, mustn’t we? For their glory. For their survival.”
“So, we must,” The Queen agrees.
“How interesting.” Duke Thibault sits down and leans across the table. “This war: Can we afford it?”
King Filip fidgets, thinking. “I think we can,” he says, “My father’s wars cost no more than three hundred gold units.”
“Excellent!” Duke Thibault exclaims. “I am always in favor of showing up the false Burgundy. They plagued my father constantly in his time, and I have not forgotten how your father the King defended us when we needed it. My family has been your vassal ever since. But it is true that they still threaten us, that they could strike again. Let’s never give them the chance.”
Count Robert lays a mailed fist on the table. “I’ve studied the blade a bit in my time. If we are going to war, we will need to train men. The king wants to build a school. Why not a place to educate knights? We must be prepared.”
“Exactly!” Duke Thibault says. “We are sure to do well, if we take all opportunities.”
King Filip thinks. “I will study our resources. It can be done. I know how to put gold to best use.”
“So, that’s it then?” Godefroy Epernay asks. “We are going to war?”
“The council agrees. What say you, my King?” Thibault asks.
The King’s gaze flickers once. When he brings his eyes back up, he is looking at Robert. There is a moment, and then Filip speaks. “I listen to my council. I declare war.”
The doors swing open, and they admit a man with a rough visage. Though his clothing and gold circlet mark as a man of high rank, there is a flinty gleam to his eyes, a hardness in lines on his face, a certain gruffness to his eyebrows.
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He has the bearing of a veteran warrior, and the countenance of one who enjoys his drink. He stops. He sniffs and draws a hand under his reddened nose.
He growls, “I was out praying to God, and a man comes and tells me you want to invade Burgundy.”
King Filip meets the man’s eyes. “Duke Jaufre,” Filip says, “come and sit down.”
The man goes silent and approaches the table, and everyone is left to think about how rare it is to see this man within the council chamber. Duke Jaufre Robertine-Pourcain of Bourbon is the realm’s most powerful vassal, and putatively the Marshal, but whenever he is not immersed in his duties around the capital he can be found in at a revel or in a tavern.
“My King,” he says once he has sat, “What about our western border? The West Franks have made an alliance with Aquitaine. We are NOT”-he points at Filip- “safe to attack the Burgundians. We’d be struck dead while our back was turned! We are vulnerable now, since your father’s death, and liable to all sorts of troubles. And you all seek to add to them?”
“It is a matter of justice,” says the Queen.
“And who knows justice? Who?” asks Jaufre.
“It is my plan,” says Godefroy, “You don’t need to blame yourself if it goes wrong.”
“No, that’s true,” says Jaufre, “it will be the will of God.”
Archbishop Leonard retorts, “and you presume to speak for Him?! You’re no churchman!”
“No, I am not.” Jaufre stands. “God’s bigger than all of us. Go fight then if that is your inalterable decision.”
He leaves as quickly as he had entered.
“I’ll leave as he has,” The Count of Macon stands. “I need to join my family.”
King Filip waves his scepter. “I dismiss you all then. Further talk would spoil things.”
The first council ends.
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End narrative. Stopping at certain points in a campaign and creating scenes like that is one of my favorite things. It lets me really dig in to the relationships between the characters. If I continued this, I would probably keep all the council members as the "main cast" and just see how they interact with each other throughout the events of the war with Burgundy. Turning these collections of frankly sometimes random traits into actual people is really engaging. So let's take a look at these council member's character pages now that we've seen them in story. These are some interesting people.
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Ok. Just by looking at this guy's face, you probably thought he was like a cool Santa Claus with an eyepatch. Yes. I support that thinking. But he is also a demon! 30 intrigue! 100 dread! (his natural dread is 105! Which is above the cap!!) Fifteen traits! He also has been spymaster for a really long time. Most of King Filip's father's reign, in fact. Dude is a torturer and a schemer, and still a 12 prowess fighter despite old age, one eye, and being a drunkard. He deceives everyone, but is intelligent and humble enough to keep to the shadows. Read the rest of his traits. I bet there is an excellent story behind each of them.
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Leonard has been Archbishop for a while. He is an insightful thinker, but lazy, shy, and wrathful. He seems like the sort of person who has a good idea once in awhile, but never tells anyone or follows through. His temper must come out occasionally, but most of the time he lets himself be led around by his betters.
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Godefroy. A compassionate, gluttonous, cynical, thrifty clerk who is pretty much average at everything. He is defending his county from two armies at the moment. He honestly seems like a man who just wants to enjoy life, but business keeps getting in the way.
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I think that the "Righteous Atheist" label is interesting. Where did Peronelle get her strong sense of justice, of right and wrong, if not the Roman Church? I think her moral code must be based on her personal temperance, and her justice on an understanding that everyone is out for themselves. Her cynicism and her moderation probably result in a personal code that says "put yourself first, but don't unduly squash others."
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Was it funny how quickly Duke Thibault got on board with the war? His mixture of diligence and ambition means that he has a hard time imagining that challenges could be difficult. He's been running his realm since he was a boy, and it isn't that hard. What's dangerous is his excellent diplomatic stat, because it means that he can easily persuade people to adopt his plans, which tend to be unrealistic for less driven people. King Filip is likely to look up to him as a role model.
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Jaufre wasn't on Filip's father's council, mostly because job he was good at (spymaster) was already taken by Count Robert. But he has become the realm's most powerful vassal. and so King Filip has given him a seat. Jaufre is a paranoid but honest man, often abrasively telling people exactly how he thinks they are plotting against him. He is an eager reveler, but he claims that his frequent trips to the tavern allow him to commune with God. He is more intelligent than he seems, if you can get to know him. He is reclusive and pushes many people away. Since becoming marshal, he has sounded the alarm about the Aquitainian/West Francian threat to no avail. Perhaps this is because his lands lie closest to them, while the Capital and Duke Thibault's domains border Burgundy. He is the only member of the council who has a "devoted servant" level of piety, in contrast to the King, Queen, and Count Godefroy, who are cynics, and also Robert, who is... what he is.
Bonus scenes:
%~%~%~%~
That night, King Filip lies troubled in his bed. “I still feel like a Croat bastard sometimes,” he admits, “instead of a king.” Queen Peronelle lies next to him, turned away.
“I think,” she says sleepily, “that you are a little of both and not too much of one or the other.”
The king thinks on that and watches the back of her head.
~%~%~%~
“That was brilliant!” The Archbishop Leonard is enthused with a rare fit of giddiness. “The king was led about like a dog on a leash, and the rest of the council too! You have that war you wanted, now.”
Robert of Auxerre clasps the cleric’s shoulder. “And all it took was distracting the Marshal, persuading the Queen, and blackmailing Count Godefroy Epernay into making the suggestion.”
Leonard’s smile wavers. “Do you think that the count will expose us?”
“No,” Robert shakes his head, “not while my army surrounds his castle. He knows what will happen to his sons when we take it. He’ll head back there if he wants them to live. We won’t let him out again.”
Leonard rubs his hands together. “And the king none wiser to our involvement!”
Robert shakes a finger. “Yes. It is important that we appear to be the king’s servants, instead of the other way around.”
Leonard nods. “I am your man, Robert, since the old days.”
Robert’s crow’s feet crinkle. “I promised the Late King Lothaire that this realm would increase, not decrease, after he died. He knew his son would not be a warrior. We’ve got to take charge, instead. But you, Leonard, must seem to keep your distance. Many of our plans only work if it seems that we are not aligned. Go to Besancon and work on our projects there.”
%~%~%~%~
Duke Thibault Namur of Viennois’ guest quarters are illuminated by candlelight almost all night. In the morning, King Filip is surprised when the duke delivers him detailed plans for streamlining the finance of the war.
~%~%~%~
Godefroy spends an extra day requisitioning tasty food to take back home. When he makes it to the siege lines around his castle, the soldiers let him through but take the food for themselves.
%~%~%~%~
Duke Jaufre returns to the taverns and continues “praying to God”.
Bonus picture:
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She was quite the catch for Lothaire. A chaste, patient, generous nurse was quite different than the other sorts of women he chased. Now she lives with Prince Thibault, Filip's brother, in Champagne. Filip adopted the Medicine focus in her honor.
Well, that's that. I'll write some smaller updates as things play out. Again, I am mostly interested in how these characters interact, so I will probably focus on just this generation. Don't expect this to be a sweeping story focused on the whole arc of this dynasty. Our view will be narrow, but hopefully meaningful. Feel free to speculate about vignettes that might happen or characters that might be seen (if that doesn't break the rules on interactivity? I don't know).
I want to probe the details of this world.
What I love most about Crusader Kings is the characters; the dynamic lives they lead and the drama they create. So, let's highlight a few.
King Filip convenes the first council of his major vassals in the hall of his motte. He arrives early, and seats himself at a wooden table. His chair is a throne, and there is one for his wife beside him. The room is decorated with art and banners. The king is dressed in blue, the color of the French, and he holds his scepter in his hand.
The first to enter is his Granduncle Robert, the count of Auxerre. The count slips in through the doors with foxlike simplicity. He’s armed and he’s armored with a full coat of mail, but these things don’t clank as he walks to the table; his well-practiced footsteps render him silent. He performs a short bow for King Filip before choosing a chair. He is in his mid-fifties, though his long, graying hair makes him look older. He meets Filip’s two eyes with his own singular orb; he wears an eyepatch over his left eye socket. Crow’s feet stretch out from his right eye’s corner, proving, in fact, that he’s a man who enjoys himself. And yet there’s some mystery to his hidden smile; a thick beard obscures it and his other expressions. “I look forward to serving Your Majesty as I served your father,” he says, and his voice is gravelly -deep, but softspoken.
At that moment, the doors open again. Leonard the Realm Priest enters, walking directly to the chair on King Filip’s left. He pulls it back and it squeaks, scraping on the floor, and the priest sits down and mops his brow. He says nothing, neither acknowledging the King or the Count. He is the sort of man whose mouth hangs open, whose hair is stringy, and whose mind is preoccupied.
“Hopefully this warm weather presages a warm winter,” he begins.
“Archbishop Leonard seems to be enjoying it,” Robert grins and turns his eye to the priest.
Leonard doffs his hat and wrings the sweat out of his handkerchief, splattering the floor beside the table. The look he gives Count Robert falls somewhere between irritated and affronted. “Hell is surely just as hot as this, sires. It’s a wonder I can breathe.”
Robert laughs, clear and loud. His piercing gaze transfixes the priest, who shrugs and settles down.
King Filip relaxes. He had prepared for a somber occasion, for his first true test as king, but the sight of two of his late father’s oldest advisors poking fun at each other puts him at ease.
“I had thought that we might begin by entertaining a new project,” he starts in, “I want to build an academy, right here in Burgundy, to teach young men-”
The doors swing open, and an overweight young man enters.
Immediately, Count Robert rises and stares the man down.
Archbishop Leonard stands. “His Majesty is to be addressed as Sire, or My King,” he points out.
Count Robert indulges a self-satisfied growl. “Shall I make you, Count Epernay, repeat the vows you swore by herald; here, now, in person?”
The newcome count blanches, but he bows. “I see the old men have gotten to you already. I am new to this council, it is true, and this is the first time you have met me in person, but my father served as Marshal of the Realm for some time, and I am his son, Godefroy Epernay of Macon. I have some connections in the realm of trade, and some knowledge of things beyond our kingdom’s borders. What’s more, I am youthful, and sure to be at your side much longer than these old schemers. These old men won’t know to act; they will refuse to press for glory.”
Filip waves his scepter. Leonard sinks into his chair, and Robert sits down, watchful.
“I am King,” Filip says, “what glory could be added to this?”
“One thing,” replies Epernay, and he wets his tongue against his lips and lets his jowls flap. “One thing, and that is Upper Burgundy.”
“Upper Burgundy? Our cousins hold that. The Robertines of Langres.”
Epernay approaches the table. “They style themselves kings of all Burgundy, as you do, so how can they be your cousins? We all know that everyone serves their own interests; if they covet your domain, then you cannot treat them like kin.”
At this point the doors open again. A woman passes through; she wears red and gold linens; a dress embroidered with lilies; white ribbons guide her hair. She is a Princess of Aquitaine, the one known as Peronelle, and the crown on her head means another thing: She is the Queen.
“Gentlemen, Husband, forgive my late coming, but I thought it proper to let you first speak freely, and then come myself to hear what you said. So, tell me,” She says as she sits on her throne, (her husband looking all the more boyish beside her), “What is the discussion that you all have been having? Perhaps I can judge rightly if there has been a dispute. Or at least alter your tempers; mend wounds that are forming. Clear minds think best, or so I’ve always thought.”
“You come too early, perhaps, to offer advice.” Godefroy Epernay slumps into a chair.
Robert of Auxerre crosses his arms. “There’s not been much discussion,” he says, “The Count of Macon here has just proposed a war with the Upper Burgundians.”
Archbishop Leonard leans toward the King. “I remember your father pursued such a policy.”
King Filip looks down at the scepter in his own hand. “I know my father led several such wars,” he frowns, “but they were near the end of his reign, and they provoked the peasants to instability.”
He looks to his wife, and she prods him. “Surely you have a just claim,” she sits calmly, comfortably on the throne. “I believe I married the king of Burgundy.”
“I want to build a school,” the king asserts. “My father left a full treasury; 624 units of gold. I could build a fine academy with just half that and live contentedly on the rest for a good few years.”
The Queen lays her hands in her lap. “It gladdens me that you think of our future. Build your school; we will see what can be done with the rest. These Upper Burgundians, your cousins of Langres- they still might be a threat, and cause harm to us all. My family, all know, were once rulers of Aquitaine, but five years ago my brother the king was driven out. Half of 600 units of gold is still much money; a war is not likely to drain our coffers. The future of this Kingdom should be on our minds, and the other Burgundians, the Robertines of Langres, could take everything from us if we do not defeat them.”
“We could send for the realm’s Marshal; see what he thinks,” Robert of Auxerre suggests.
King Filip relaxes. “And what do you think, Count of Auxerre?”
“I serve you; I serve your father. In war or peace, it makes no difference.”
“Send someone to bring the Marshal,” Filip says to a servant, who slips out a small door just as the main doors open.
The man who enters is tall and neatly groomed. His face is pointed, not unhandsomely, but he has a weasel-look about him. He wears a tunic in the same style and colors as the Queen’s dress, and a golden circlet covers his head. They all know him as Duke Thibault Namur, a young man who, when just a toddler, had inherited the duchy of Viennois from his father.
Count Robert makes a dismissive gesture. “The war is because of my brother-in-law’s claim. I must be a good ally. I have no personal dispute with the Count of Macon.”
The Count of Macon scoffs.
“Respect your elders!” Archbishop Leonard snaps. “You are not ready to rule if you do not!”
“It is a simple thing,” Count Robert explains, “My brother-in-law has the better claim to that county. Doesn’t justice, as well as sense, require him to fight for it?”
The Count of Macon exclaims, “Justice!? Sense!?”
“Settle down!” the Queen demands. “What matters is that you serve your rightful liege. It is the Count of Macon’s idea that we have been discussing, a war for Upper Burgundy. What makes you want this, Godefroy Epernay, when you have trouble in your own home?”
Godefroy Epernay of Macon turns to the Queen. “We all must fight for our families, mustn’t we? For their glory. For their survival.”
“So, we must,” The Queen agrees.
“How interesting.” Duke Thibault sits down and leans across the table. “This war: Can we afford it?”
King Filip fidgets, thinking. “I think we can,” he says, “My father’s wars cost no more than three hundred gold units.”
“Excellent!” Duke Thibault exclaims. “I am always in favor of showing up the false Burgundy. They plagued my father constantly in his time, and I have not forgotten how your father the King defended us when we needed it. My family has been your vassal ever since. But it is true that they still threaten us, that they could strike again. Let’s never give them the chance.”
Count Robert lays a mailed fist on the table. “I’ve studied the blade a bit in my time. If we are going to war, we will need to train men. The king wants to build a school. Why not a place to educate knights? We must be prepared.”
“Exactly!” Duke Thibault says. “We are sure to do well, if we take all opportunities.”
King Filip thinks. “I will study our resources. It can be done. I know how to put gold to best use.”
“So, that’s it then?” Godefroy Epernay asks. “We are going to war?”
“The council agrees. What say you, my King?” Thibault asks.
The King’s gaze flickers once. When he brings his eyes back up, he is looking at Robert. There is a moment, and then Filip speaks. “I listen to my council. I declare war.”
The doors swing open, and they admit a man with a rough visage. Though his clothing and gold circlet mark as a man of high rank, there is a flinty gleam to his eyes, a hardness in lines on his face, a certain gruffness to his eyebrows.
He growls, “I was out praying to God, and a man comes and tells me you want to invade Burgundy.”
King Filip meets the man’s eyes. “Duke Jaufre,” Filip says, “come and sit down.”
The man goes silent and approaches the table, and everyone is left to think about how rare it is to see this man within the council chamber. Duke Jaufre Robertine-Pourcain of Bourbon is the realm’s most powerful vassal, and putatively the Marshal, but whenever he is not immersed in his duties around the capital he can be found in at a revel or in a tavern.
“My King,” he says once he has sat, “What about our western border? The West Franks have made an alliance with Aquitaine. We are NOT”-he points at Filip- “safe to attack the Burgundians. We’d be struck dead while our back was turned! We are vulnerable now, since your father’s death, and liable to all sorts of troubles. And you all seek to add to them?”
“It is a matter of justice,” says the Queen.
“And who knows justice? Who?” asks Jaufre.
“It is my plan,” says Godefroy, “You don’t need to blame yourself if it goes wrong.”
“No, that’s true,” says Jaufre, “it will be the will of God.”
Archbishop Leonard retorts, “and you presume to speak for Him?! You’re no churchman!”
“No, I am not.” Jaufre stands. “God’s bigger than all of us. Go fight then if that is your inalterable decision.”
He leaves as quickly as he had entered.
“I’ll leave as he has,” The Count of Macon stands. “I need to join my family.”
King Filip waves his scepter. “I dismiss you all then. Further talk would spoil things.”
The first council ends.
End narrative. Stopping at certain points in a campaign and creating scenes like that is one of my favorite things. It lets me really dig in to the relationships between the characters. If I continued this, I would probably keep all the council members as the "main cast" and just see how they interact with each other throughout the events of the war with Burgundy. Turning these collections of frankly sometimes random traits into actual people is really engaging. So let's take a look at these council member's character pages now that we've seen them in story. These are some interesting people.
Bonus scenes:
%~%~%~%~
That night, King Filip lies troubled in his bed. “I still feel like a Croat bastard sometimes,” he admits, “instead of a king.” Queen Peronelle lies next to him, turned away.
“I think,” she says sleepily, “that you are a little of both and not too much of one or the other.”
The king thinks on that and watches the back of her head.
~%~%~%~
“That was brilliant!” The Archbishop Leonard is enthused with a rare fit of giddiness. “The king was led about like a dog on a leash, and the rest of the council too! You have that war you wanted, now.”
Robert of Auxerre clasps the cleric’s shoulder. “And all it took was distracting the Marshal, persuading the Queen, and blackmailing Count Godefroy Epernay into making the suggestion.”
Leonard’s smile wavers. “Do you think that the count will expose us?”
“No,” Robert shakes his head, “not while my army surrounds his castle. He knows what will happen to his sons when we take it. He’ll head back there if he wants them to live. We won’t let him out again.”
Leonard rubs his hands together. “And the king none wiser to our involvement!”
Robert shakes a finger. “Yes. It is important that we appear to be the king’s servants, instead of the other way around.”
Leonard nods. “I am your man, Robert, since the old days.”
Robert’s crow’s feet crinkle. “I promised the Late King Lothaire that this realm would increase, not decrease, after he died. He knew his son would not be a warrior. We’ve got to take charge, instead. But you, Leonard, must seem to keep your distance. Many of our plans only work if it seems that we are not aligned. Go to Besancon and work on our projects there.”
%~%~%~%~
Duke Thibault Namur of Viennois’ guest quarters are illuminated by candlelight almost all night. In the morning, King Filip is surprised when the duke delivers him detailed plans for streamlining the finance of the war.
~%~%~%~
Godefroy spends an extra day requisitioning tasty food to take back home. When he makes it to the siege lines around his castle, the soldiers let him through but take the food for themselves.
%~%~%~%~
Duke Jaufre returns to the taverns and continues “praying to God”.
Bonus picture:
Well, that's that. I'll write some smaller updates as things play out. Again, I am mostly interested in how these characters interact, so I will probably focus on just this generation. Don't expect this to be a sweeping story focused on the whole arc of this dynasty. Our view will be narrow, but hopefully meaningful. Feel free to speculate about vignettes that might happen or characters that might be seen (if that doesn't break the rules on interactivity? I don't know).
I want to probe the details of this world.
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