Chapter 1.1
Gules Moon Rising
Chapter 1.1
September 15, 1066
A chill autumnal breeze blew in from the Bay of Biscay and crept into the chamber of Castle Kemper, signalling the near end of harvest. Though it’s subtle presence ignored by the room’s sole occupant, Hoël mab Alan, Count of Kernev and Naoned, head of House Cornouaille, drummed his fingers on the heavy wooden table, rough grains chafing his fingertips, as he awaited the answers to his summons, eyes continuously darting from the documents in front of him to the unmoving door.
He had ruled over these lands for 8 years now, largely keeping his head down doing the duty expected of him by God as a noble of these lands. Yet as always a deep unease stirred in Hoël’s soul, that it wasn’t enough, that he could and should be doing more. Not just paying his taxes east, while Normans and Vikings… Norsemen gathered and spread like a storm over western Europe. The yoke of anonymous duty sat uneasy on his being, and perhaps tonight would be the first step in shrugging it off. “Once everyone arrives that is” came his common grumble.
After a century of waiting, the door opened for the first time.
“I assume the servant with my invitation to this meeting on the future of our lands and family simply is lost somewhere in the castle? They shall have to face some form of discipline I suppose.” A husky voice greeted the noble, as a heavy-set moved into the room with surprising grace before settling into an ornate chair next to the pacing Hoël with an amused sigh. “Relax my husband, your face will freeze that way." Hawizof Rennes had a face that was round and kind, but it hid a rather sharp, and at times vicious mind.
Hoël shook his head at his wife’s often mercurial wit. But any retort he may of had was interrupted as the door once again opened, with more force this time, two figures shadows entering the room via flickering torchlight before their bodies did. The first stretched as me moved towards the councilroom table, a tall and dark figure with a bushy coarse goatee, this was Guérech, one of Hoël’s younger brothers, who was responsible for the diplomatic affairs of the domain of House Cornouaille.
“Brother! What are we doing inside on such a fine evening? I do hope there’ll at least be some proper refreshments served to cut the tedium.” Hoël found his teeth clenching at the lackadaisical attitude on display by his brother as the chancellor lounged down in a chair. After so many years why am I surprised? The two were merely separated by little more than a year after all. Meanwhile Hawiz shifted eagerly in her chair at the mention of possible subsistence being provided during the meeting.
The other who entered the chamber was slower and more careful with his strides, as the youngest of the male members of the Cornouaille line made his way to his seat quietly. A whole decade younger than Hoël, Bernez gave a small nod to the Count and Countess, before settling down furrowing away at the inside of one of his cheeks, a habit since he was a young child.
For the third time, the heavy yet simple door fulfilled its duty and opened, admitting a lowborn man with short cropped hair and trimmed goatee, Denis commander of the Count’s forces. Which one will we deal with today? The tacturn one or the one who won’t shut up. Hoël mused to himself. The answer seemingly given as Denis just bowed before his liege without a word.
Next in was the Mayor of Rais, Clemen. Hoël relied on his knowledge of the many merchants, and nobles who engaged in trade through out Brittany and beyond, which had lead to his appointment as Spymaster for the count.
Hoël and the five members of his lord’s council sat largely in silence as they awaited the final member of their assembly. Wine and mead were sipped, and a pastry was brought in by servants for each person, which Hawiz fell upon with a particular gusto.
“Peace be upon you all, I hope you can forgive my tardiness my lord, several of the flock needed guidance on the path here.” Lord-Bishop Arthueu announced as he made his presence known, the final remaining member of the Lord’s Council striding through the door.
“It does me glad to see you all here for the this session, Though I would remind the honorable councilmen that promptness is a virtue.” The breton lord leveled a heavy glance around at the assembled. They all nodded at the chastisement, though it had been said before, and would be said at many council meetings yet to come. “Perhaps our Lord Suffragan would care to begin?”
The head priest nodded, his miter gently sliding with the motion, adjusting his fine robes, standing just mere moments after he had taken his seat. “As my liege wishes, though first our traditional prayer.” Though Arthueu led the words, there was a distinct lack of true fervor in the repetition from the various council members. The court of Hoël had often shown little real passion towards the whims of the divine, or his representatives on earth, only doing what was expected of them.
“I have monks searching for connections to Penthièvre, as my Lord Kernev commanded, but it is still the early days. As such I must regretfully ask for my liege’s patience and forgiveness.” The young holy man finished with a flourishing bow which he held for a minute at the count.
Hoël’s mouth turned into a deep frown but he gave a short sharp nod at his bishop, in recognition of what was said. He absently waved his hand at Clemen, signalling he wanted to hear from the Spymaster next.
Clemen slowly got his feet, and gave a deep bow to the assembled council. “My friends, trade is currently bustling as I’m sure our Lord Steward will attest to soon. A tribute to the industrial and diligent work of our people.” The Mayor of Rais turned his hands to the youngest Cornouaille, who nodded. Here the elected official moved his head side to side before continuing “Little news out of Rennes. Save our Lord Duke continues his search for a wife, which my lord knows very well I believe.” Clasping his hands together, the Spymaster gave one final bow to Hoël before retaking his seat.
The following man to get up was Bernez, who stood even slower than Clemen had, as Hoël’s jaw clenched in preparation. While he was the more competent of the Count’s two younger brothers, the steward often got on the eldest’s nerves, due to some of their differences in behavior.
“According to our collectors the Harvesht is proceeding well, ahead of schedule and should be completed shoon. We should have more than enough food and funds for the winter and beyond.” A piercing whistle accompanied Bernez’ moist speech. “ In fact due to the efforts of some freeholders, some farming techniques have been discovered that should lead to greater yields in years to come.”
Hawiz lay her hand upon her husband’s, which still had a tendency to tremble at his brother’s slow and ponderous manner of speech, even after all these years. The Countess turned a smile towards the steward.
“Good-Brother, we both wish to convey our deep thanks for your tireless management of our land. My Lord and I sleep soundly knowing that our vault is in capable hands.” Bernez blushed at the praise, and lowered his head as Hoël gave him a deep stare and slow solitary nod in agreement with his wife’s statement. The youngest sibling settled down in his chair, not as small as he had been before. Hoël gave a slight squeeze to his wife’s hand before standing up and commanding the attention of his council.
Clemen slowly got his feet, and gave a deep bow to the assembled council. “My friends, trade is currently bustling as I’m sure our Lord Steward will attest to soon. A tribute to the industrial and diligent work of our people.” The Mayor of Rais turned his hands to the youngest Cornouaille, who nodded. Here the elected official moved his head side to side before continuing “Little news out of Rennes. Save our Lord Duke continues his search for a wife, which my lord knows very well I believe.” Clasping his hands together, the Spymaster gave one final bow to Hoël before retaking his seat.
“As my lady wife speaks, I do wish to acknowledge all your efforts to ensure the safety and prosperity of the people of Brittany. But now for the true reason I have called this gathering this eve.”
Hoël knew he had them, as all five of the others in the room straightened up, or began peering forward. Goblets, the third the case of Hawiz, were promptly forgotten, at the tease of the night’s true meal. Even his wife had been left in the dark as to the reason of this council summons, a fact of which she was less than pleased with, as conveyed by the less-than-ideal glint in her eye that told him that he would likely have a less than pleasant way to his own bedchamber tonight. Still what he did was best for them, the family, and Kernev.
He cut through straight to the chase, ending the suspense. “I have been in contact with the court of Perfeddwlad in northern Wales. They and I have been in negotiation for a betrothal between young Count Maredudd’s younger sister Nest, and my eldest son, and heir to Kernev, Alan”
“You negotiate? Without me.” Came the flat statement from Guérech, shoulders tensed with frustration of the slight to his authority in the role of chancellor. Hoël met his brothers infuriated gaze with a steely one of his own, subtly settling his stance. But then cocking his head, the younger let out the tension before the count could do or say anything the diplomat shrugged, looking away with his arms crossed. “Fine, no damage done to me. It’s your family I suppose.”
Arthueu rubbed at his dark facial hair thoughtfully, eyes flickering repeatedly over Hoël’s form as he slowly started to relax. “The Seisylls are a good old Welsh family, I believe. One who have ruled in their own right. Though one that has fallen on hard times and made some poor decisions. But I do believe a union of your houses would be beneficial.”
Denis was quiet and seemingly disinterested in the trade of noble blood as he had been everything else thus far during the evening, merely gave a nod to show his acquiescence to whatever was decided.
The sound of a chair scraping filled the room as Countess Hawiz stood, her dark green dress trembling. “Our son. The one who has barely started his numbers. Yet you already wish to have him bonded to some northern girl near twice his years? Have you lost your wits Hoël?”
The Count just barely managed to bite his tongue at the insult, face growing red as he turned to his wife, who was proving to be just as much of an obstacle as he thought she would. Still he would try and appease her, for now at least.
“His tutors tell me he shows an early aptitude. I believe I will be permitting him to come to court with me to observe in a year or two. ”
Eyes widened, before a breathless dry chuckle escaped Hawiz “ A year or two he says. Alan has but six mere winters, Six! He should be out playing with sticks chasing dragons, not chained to some bleeding sow, or hearing the droning of bees about corn!” An irritated huff escaped most of the council members at the small slight, shaking their heads. Hawiz' hands trembled next to her, as she took a few steps towards her husband, whose mouth twisted as she continued her tirade. “What of Mazhe? Is there some southern lady waiting to swoop down upon him?”
“Mazhe is too young of course. But a day will come where he will be Lord of Naoned, just as Alan will be of Kernev. And before that day comes they will need to step from behind their mother’s dress to do their duty! Or So help all that's left.”
Arthueu spoke up, cutting through the tension that built between the Lord and Lady “ My Lady, you’re concern comes from a Mother’s love and such should be forgiven without question. However such things are the nature of the world, and life God has granted us.” Here he stood up and approached the couple and placed a gentle hand on Hawiz’ shoulder, drawing her stare away from that of her husband. The bishop continued “Treasure your remaining years with your sons, and know that when the time comes they will have found a partner at aid and protect them, and the realm, as you have. Much as what has happened between our lord and yourself, these many years.”
Hawiz turned her head down, her hair blocking her face from the rest of the council, though all could see her heavy-set form heaving for a moment. As she raised her head, five of the others avoided her eyes to give the lady dignity. “Very well Husband. I trust you are doing what is right, and give my assent.”
Giving his wife a slow nod, Hoël let out his own breath before speaking to the council “ Very well, now that is decided, I don’t believe there is anything else for this night. I wish you all well.”
Dismissed, all six of those the council members shifted out on their own time, gradually leaving just Count Hoël in the room, who began drafting a letter to send north, there was no time like the present after all.
The first seeds had been planted, all that was left was to await the harvest, and Hoël would be ready and eager to reap his due. Never Greedy, Always Vigilant after all; the words of House Cornouaille.
Chapter 1.1
September 15, 1066
A chill autumnal breeze blew in from the Bay of Biscay and crept into the chamber of Castle Kemper, signalling the near end of harvest. Though it’s subtle presence ignored by the room’s sole occupant, Hoël mab Alan, Count of Kernev and Naoned, head of House Cornouaille, drummed his fingers on the heavy wooden table, rough grains chafing his fingertips, as he awaited the answers to his summons, eyes continuously darting from the documents in front of him to the unmoving door.
He had ruled over these lands for 8 years now, largely keeping his head down doing the duty expected of him by God as a noble of these lands. Yet as always a deep unease stirred in Hoël’s soul, that it wasn’t enough, that he could and should be doing more. Not just paying his taxes east, while Normans and Vikings… Norsemen gathered and spread like a storm over western Europe. The yoke of anonymous duty sat uneasy on his being, and perhaps tonight would be the first step in shrugging it off. “Once everyone arrives that is” came his common grumble.
After a century of waiting, the door opened for the first time.
“I assume the servant with my invitation to this meeting on the future of our lands and family simply is lost somewhere in the castle? They shall have to face some form of discipline I suppose.” A husky voice greeted the noble, as a heavy-set moved into the room with surprising grace before settling into an ornate chair next to the pacing Hoël with an amused sigh. “Relax my husband, your face will freeze that way." Hawizof Rennes had a face that was round and kind, but it hid a rather sharp, and at times vicious mind.
Hoël shook his head at his wife’s often mercurial wit. But any retort he may of had was interrupted as the door once again opened, with more force this time, two figures shadows entering the room via flickering torchlight before their bodies did. The first stretched as me moved towards the councilroom table, a tall and dark figure with a bushy coarse goatee, this was Guérech, one of Hoël’s younger brothers, who was responsible for the diplomatic affairs of the domain of House Cornouaille.
“Brother! What are we doing inside on such a fine evening? I do hope there’ll at least be some proper refreshments served to cut the tedium.” Hoël found his teeth clenching at the lackadaisical attitude on display by his brother as the chancellor lounged down in a chair. After so many years why am I surprised? The two were merely separated by little more than a year after all. Meanwhile Hawiz shifted eagerly in her chair at the mention of possible subsistence being provided during the meeting.
The other who entered the chamber was slower and more careful with his strides, as the youngest of the male members of the Cornouaille line made his way to his seat quietly. A whole decade younger than Hoël, Bernez gave a small nod to the Count and Countess, before settling down furrowing away at the inside of one of his cheeks, a habit since he was a young child.
For the third time, the heavy yet simple door fulfilled its duty and opened, admitting a lowborn man with short cropped hair and trimmed goatee, Denis commander of the Count’s forces. Which one will we deal with today? The tacturn one or the one who won’t shut up. Hoël mused to himself. The answer seemingly given as Denis just bowed before his liege without a word.
Next in was the Mayor of Rais, Clemen. Hoël relied on his knowledge of the many merchants, and nobles who engaged in trade through out Brittany and beyond, which had lead to his appointment as Spymaster for the count.
Hoël and the five members of his lord’s council sat largely in silence as they awaited the final member of their assembly. Wine and mead were sipped, and a pastry was brought in by servants for each person, which Hawiz fell upon with a particular gusto.
“Peace be upon you all, I hope you can forgive my tardiness my lord, several of the flock needed guidance on the path here.” Lord-Bishop Arthueu announced as he made his presence known, the final remaining member of the Lord’s Council striding through the door.
“It does me glad to see you all here for the this session, Though I would remind the honorable councilmen that promptness is a virtue.” The breton lord leveled a heavy glance around at the assembled. They all nodded at the chastisement, though it had been said before, and would be said at many council meetings yet to come. “Perhaps our Lord Suffragan would care to begin?”
The head priest nodded, his miter gently sliding with the motion, adjusting his fine robes, standing just mere moments after he had taken his seat. “As my liege wishes, though first our traditional prayer.” Though Arthueu led the words, there was a distinct lack of true fervor in the repetition from the various council members. The court of Hoël had often shown little real passion towards the whims of the divine, or his representatives on earth, only doing what was expected of them.
“I have monks searching for connections to Penthièvre, as my Lord Kernev commanded, but it is still the early days. As such I must regretfully ask for my liege’s patience and forgiveness.” The young holy man finished with a flourishing bow which he held for a minute at the count.
Hoël’s mouth turned into a deep frown but he gave a short sharp nod at his bishop, in recognition of what was said. He absently waved his hand at Clemen, signalling he wanted to hear from the Spymaster next.
Clemen slowly got his feet, and gave a deep bow to the assembled council. “My friends, trade is currently bustling as I’m sure our Lord Steward will attest to soon. A tribute to the industrial and diligent work of our people.” The Mayor of Rais turned his hands to the youngest Cornouaille, who nodded. Here the elected official moved his head side to side before continuing “Little news out of Rennes. Save our Lord Duke continues his search for a wife, which my lord knows very well I believe.” Clasping his hands together, the Spymaster gave one final bow to Hoël before retaking his seat.
The following man to get up was Bernez, who stood even slower than Clemen had, as Hoël’s jaw clenched in preparation. While he was the more competent of the Count’s two younger brothers, the steward often got on the eldest’s nerves, due to some of their differences in behavior.
“According to our collectors the Harvesht is proceeding well, ahead of schedule and should be completed shoon. We should have more than enough food and funds for the winter and beyond.” A piercing whistle accompanied Bernez’ moist speech. “ In fact due to the efforts of some freeholders, some farming techniques have been discovered that should lead to greater yields in years to come.”
Hawiz lay her hand upon her husband’s, which still had a tendency to tremble at his brother’s slow and ponderous manner of speech, even after all these years. The Countess turned a smile towards the steward.
“Good-Brother, we both wish to convey our deep thanks for your tireless management of our land. My Lord and I sleep soundly knowing that our vault is in capable hands.” Bernez blushed at the praise, and lowered his head as Hoël gave him a deep stare and slow solitary nod in agreement with his wife’s statement. The youngest sibling settled down in his chair, not as small as he had been before. Hoël gave a slight squeeze to his wife’s hand before standing up and commanding the attention of his council.
Clemen slowly got his feet, and gave a deep bow to the assembled council. “My friends, trade is currently bustling as I’m sure our Lord Steward will attest to soon. A tribute to the industrial and diligent work of our people.” The Mayor of Rais turned his hands to the youngest Cornouaille, who nodded. Here the elected official moved his head side to side before continuing “Little news out of Rennes. Save our Lord Duke continues his search for a wife, which my lord knows very well I believe.” Clasping his hands together, the Spymaster gave one final bow to Hoël before retaking his seat.
“As my lady wife speaks, I do wish to acknowledge all your efforts to ensure the safety and prosperity of the people of Brittany. But now for the true reason I have called this gathering this eve.”
Hoël knew he had them, as all five of the others in the room straightened up, or began peering forward. Goblets, the third the case of Hawiz, were promptly forgotten, at the tease of the night’s true meal. Even his wife had been left in the dark as to the reason of this council summons, a fact of which she was less than pleased with, as conveyed by the less-than-ideal glint in her eye that told him that he would likely have a less than pleasant way to his own bedchamber tonight. Still what he did was best for them, the family, and Kernev.
He cut through straight to the chase, ending the suspense. “I have been in contact with the court of Perfeddwlad in northern Wales. They and I have been in negotiation for a betrothal between young Count Maredudd’s younger sister Nest, and my eldest son, and heir to Kernev, Alan”
“You negotiate? Without me.” Came the flat statement from Guérech, shoulders tensed with frustration of the slight to his authority in the role of chancellor. Hoël met his brothers infuriated gaze with a steely one of his own, subtly settling his stance. But then cocking his head, the younger let out the tension before the count could do or say anything the diplomat shrugged, looking away with his arms crossed. “Fine, no damage done to me. It’s your family I suppose.”
Arthueu rubbed at his dark facial hair thoughtfully, eyes flickering repeatedly over Hoël’s form as he slowly started to relax. “The Seisylls are a good old Welsh family, I believe. One who have ruled in their own right. Though one that has fallen on hard times and made some poor decisions. But I do believe a union of your houses would be beneficial.”
Denis was quiet and seemingly disinterested in the trade of noble blood as he had been everything else thus far during the evening, merely gave a nod to show his acquiescence to whatever was decided.
The sound of a chair scraping filled the room as Countess Hawiz stood, her dark green dress trembling. “Our son. The one who has barely started his numbers. Yet you already wish to have him bonded to some northern girl near twice his years? Have you lost your wits Hoël?”
The Count just barely managed to bite his tongue at the insult, face growing red as he turned to his wife, who was proving to be just as much of an obstacle as he thought she would. Still he would try and appease her, for now at least.
“His tutors tell me he shows an early aptitude. I believe I will be permitting him to come to court with me to observe in a year or two. ”
Eyes widened, before a breathless dry chuckle escaped Hawiz “ A year or two he says. Alan has but six mere winters, Six! He should be out playing with sticks chasing dragons, not chained to some bleeding sow, or hearing the droning of bees about corn!” An irritated huff escaped most of the council members at the small slight, shaking their heads. Hawiz' hands trembled next to her, as she took a few steps towards her husband, whose mouth twisted as she continued her tirade. “What of Mazhe? Is there some southern lady waiting to swoop down upon him?”
“Mazhe is too young of course. But a day will come where he will be Lord of Naoned, just as Alan will be of Kernev. And before that day comes they will need to step from behind their mother’s dress to do their duty! Or So help all that's left.”
Arthueu spoke up, cutting through the tension that built between the Lord and Lady “ My Lady, you’re concern comes from a Mother’s love and such should be forgiven without question. However such things are the nature of the world, and life God has granted us.” Here he stood up and approached the couple and placed a gentle hand on Hawiz’ shoulder, drawing her stare away from that of her husband. The bishop continued “Treasure your remaining years with your sons, and know that when the time comes they will have found a partner at aid and protect them, and the realm, as you have. Much as what has happened between our lord and yourself, these many years.”
Hawiz turned her head down, her hair blocking her face from the rest of the council, though all could see her heavy-set form heaving for a moment. As she raised her head, five of the others avoided her eyes to give the lady dignity. “Very well Husband. I trust you are doing what is right, and give my assent.”
Giving his wife a slow nod, Hoël let out his own breath before speaking to the council “ Very well, now that is decided, I don’t believe there is anything else for this night. I wish you all well.”
Dismissed, all six of those the council members shifted out on their own time, gradually leaving just Count Hoël in the room, who began drafting a letter to send north, there was no time like the present after all.
The first seeds had been planted, all that was left was to await the harvest, and Hoël would be ready and eager to reap his due. Never Greedy, Always Vigilant after all; the words of House Cornouaille.
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