More Like Your Father: the Dukes of Normandy

[Aquitaine]

CK Version 1.03b
Difficulty: Normal/Aggressive
Mods & Tools used: 'Cool Courtiers' mod and PE's BrideFinder
Character: Robert, Duke of Normandy, Stuttering Son of King Bill the Bastard

Goals: A politically-incorrect, slightly off-kilter world conquest.

Notes: Inspired by some of the great old EU2 AARs, I wanted my first one to be ambitious and entertaining. Initially, I'd wanted something more ambitious than the Duke of Normandy (who stands to inherit the English crown) and I'd settled on the Duke of Lancaster, but there's already a very good Lancastrian AAR, and while I expect this one will be of a slightly different flavor, I didn't want to repeat it. Also, I very much wanted the first King title to be England, and didn't want to dink around for the first 40 years of the AAR hedging my bets against William the Conquerer. So this is not going to be the most challenging game (especially with the BrideFinder in hand), but that's not really the point; I'm not a high-calibre player who can conquer the map as the Count of Shetland. The point is to make it entertaining along the way! Various liberties will be taken with history both real and imagined.

No cheats will be used, although we will need a lot of offspring to handle all of the titles. To that end, PE's BrideFinder will find us the more fertile specimens to keep what will hopefully become a fairly large Empire together.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Robert 'Curthose', age 12, created Duke of Normandy in 1066, 21 years ahead of schedule, due to a logistical error at the Home Office of His Short-Tempered Majesty, William King of the English.

Adelaide de Normandy, age 37, sister of William the Conquerer and thus Robert's Aunt; daughter Adelaide de Poitheau, highly sought-after young woman in the court of King Philippe du Capet of France. Spouse deceased.

Alice de Normandy, age 45, Robert's cousin many-times-removed; Alice's grandfather was Robert's great-grandfather. One son currently out wandering the courts of France. Spouse deceased.

Father Francois, a priest from Poitiers imported to school young Robert in how one behaves as a premature Duke. Regrettably, due to an oversight caused by King William's Minister of Education being an unworthy leftover Saxon ingrate, Francois and Robert do not share a common language; Francois speaks French and Latin while Robert speaks Old English like a peasant, and, inexplicably, some variant of Italian he likes to call 'Norman,' despite the heinious maiming of linguistic history necessarily involved to produce such an arrangement.

Robert's Lands, the Duchy of Normandy and County of Arques:

Robert himself, Not Yet a Man and Not Yet A King:

Commentary and suggestions entirely welcome, as I haven't done this before.

 

[unmerged(10971)]

Looks like this one is going to get interesting rather quickly.

I-I-I j-j-just h-hope R-R-obert's st-st-stuttering d-d-do-do-doesn't g-g-get in the w-w-way.

 

[Aquitaine]

I. i.

January, 1067. A Field in ARQUES. Some ways off, a small fort sits on top of a hill. At the foot of the hill is a small building.

An armored knight stands at the near end of the field to the left, swaying a little bit in the breeze. He periodically reaches up to scratch his helmet with his sword hand, an action he repeats at regular intervals without ever thinking to remove his helmet.

Enter ROBERT, ALICE, and ADELAIDE de Normandie.

Robert ran through the field some ways ahead of Alice and Adelaide, enjoying himself thoroughly. Alice and Adelaide followed behind on a noonday stroll, supervising the young man of twelve summers while chatting amicably among themselves, remembering fondly the days when they used to be married to powerful men and pull the strings of nations, as opposed to babysitting the young Count.

They noticed young Robert sitting in the field and diverted course to investigate.

They discovered Robert cautiously inspecting the corpse of a small bunny whose neck he had neatly snapped. Robert held it out proudly as the two women approached.

"Look," said Robert, holding the bunny upside down by its legs, "It stopped moving."

Adelaide pursed her lips and glanced sideways at Alice, who pursed her lips.

"I made it stop," Robert continued expectantly.

"So you did," answered Adelaide at last, "How very disturbing of you."

Robert tossed the dead bunny aside and scrambled to his feet, looking out at the hill fort and the building. "So this is it?" He inquired, scanning the field for more signs of either his domain or bunnies.

"This is it," Alice replied.

"Isn't it a bit small? You know, two buildings and a field?" Robert demanded.

"There's more," answered Adelaide, indicating the knight towards the southewestern side of the field, who had taken no notice of the Count's arrival and simply stood there, swaying, scratching.

"Who's he?" Robert turned to look at the armored man.

"That's the sergeant-at-arms," Adelaide explained. "He can raise your army, when you need it. Which you don't."

"I have an army?" Robert inquired with a sly smile.

"Ah, er, um," Adelaide answered. Alice elbowed Adelaide in the ribs.

"What's that?" Robert asked, indicating the building at the foot of the hill.

"A tile factory," observed Alice authoratatively.

"A tile factory?" Robert tilted his head.

"A tile factory," Alice replied.

"For tiles?" Robert asked.

"For tiles." Alice answered.

"Tiles for what?" Robert asked.

"Oh, all sorts of things use tiles," Alice explained with grand gestures of her arms meant to emphasize the importance of tiles to national securtiy. "Like for....well, there's. . .well churches, mostly."

Robert looked around. "No church," he commented.

"Not yet," Adelaide cut in. "But Father Francois refused to come tutor you unless there was a church around. But we couldn't actually find anybody who understood what a Bascilican structure was to build a church. But this wonderful gentleman Jean-Pierre, he promises that tiles are key, and Francois seemed to believe it. So--" she smiled at the building, "--a tile factory."

The conversation was interrupted abruptly by the sound of an incoming rider. The horseman wore the colors of Robert's father William the Bastard. He addressed Adelaide and Alice as he approached.

"Greetings, my ladies and my lord Count of Arques, from His Stalwart Majesty, William the Bastar--" he began.

"William the conquerer," Robert interjected abruptly, with a dark look at the messenger.

"Yes yes," apologized the rider, "Terribly sorry. We just got the memo last week and we're all so used to the old way. Slow-moving bureaucracies, you know."

Robert leaned over and picked up the dead bunny by its legs, staring at the messenger cooly. The messenger cleared his throat nervously and continued:

"It is my honor, duty, and privilege to inform you that, per the wishes of His Majesty, may God grant Him Long Life and Legitimate Children, William King of England, does hereby create you Robert Duke of Normandy, overlord of Arques, Eu, Avranches, and Evreux, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof."

Robert, Alice, and Adelaide stood there, staring dumbly at the rider.

After an uncomfortable moment during which the rider realized that he was not going to get a tip for this one, Robert spoke:

"Eu?"

"Eu, sire," answered the rider.

"What's an Eu?"

"It's that way," the rider replied, gesturing to the East. "Lord Hastings was a little surprised to hear of your appointment, but he anxiously looks forward to the opportunity to meet Your Grace." And to kill you while nobody's watching, the rider mused. What's an Eu indeed.

"There must be some mistake," Adelaide was shaking her head. "Young Robert hasn't even finished his education yet. His tutor hasn't even got here. My brother can't possibly want him to--"

"Treason is punishable by death," the rider intoned loftily. Robert threw the bunny at him, but it went sailing just off to the left.

"What I mean is, I spoke to William just a week ago, and he told me that he was planning on holding onto the Duchy of Normandie himself for at least another ten or twenty years."

The rider frowned, produced a scroll from his saddlebag, opened it, and began scrutinizing it. "...honor and privilege....inform you...Duke of Normandie...rights and responsibilities....wait. This bit's been scratched out," the rider squinted at the parchment.

"Let me see that," Adelaide snatched the parchment from the rider and frowned at it. She held it up to the sunlight. "It would seem as though this used to say 'upon the day of his thirty-third birthday." She handed the scroll back to the rider.

"Od's blood!" The rider exclaimed. "I knew it! That bloody Saxon scribe! I'm cutting off another two fingers when I get back! --Except that I already told the Counts of Eu, Evreux, and Avranches that Robert was the Duke."

"Then you had best get back to King William and let him know what's happened, so he can rectify the situation," Alice said sweetly.

"Excellent idea. Whereabouts is your Royal Post?" The rider scanned the field.

"No Royal Post," Robert piped up. "Haven't got one."

"No Royal Post?" the rider looked stricken. "None?"

"None," confirmed Adelaide. "Maybe in a few years."

"Can't go riding post without a Royal Post," the rider sighed, dismounting his horse. "So William's all busy being King of England for a while anyway. Perhaps he won't notice that he isn't the Duke of Normandy anymore."

"Sounds good to me," Robert said absently, throwing a rock at a low-flying bird.

Adelaide and Alice exchanged glances. They both thought the same thing: The things we could do with a Duchy. . .

 

[Aquitaine]

1067-1072

I. ii: February 1070

Robert of Normandy stared into the pale, lifeless eyes of his adversary, planted his boot on the man's belly, and pulled his sword out. He handed it to George d'Estouville, whose knowledge of military strategy and tactics was unparalleled in Robert's court, but whose stomach often gave out before his brilliance. Nearly as pale as the corpse that now lay at the feet of His Grace, Duke of Normandy, George went trotting off with the sword to heave his breakfast.

Joanna de Mauvoisin, Chancellor to His Grace, was as known for her sometimes bluntly-honest opinions as she was for her short temper. The corners of her mouth twisted up in a smile as she saw the Court Painter slide off Robert's sword.

"I don't think that was really necessary," she ventured.

"Perhaps not," Robert replied, sinking onto his Ducal Chair with a sigh. "You don't approve?"

"I approve entirely," Joanna clapped her hands together gleefully. "I said that it wasn't necessary, not that it wasn't fun. Besides," she frowned at the newly-uncovered portrait of Robert at age sixteen, "You're hideous."

Duke Robert glared at Joanna but found, as always, that he could not remain angry with her. "I do not blow my cheeks out like that," he replied acerbically, eyeing the portrait. "And is my nose really that bad?"

"Mmm," Joanna replied.

"This . . . matchmaker of yours. He's really that good?" Robert changed the subject (sort of).

"The best," said Joanna. "Shall I show him in?"

Robert nodded, and Joanna departed through the doors of the Great Hall. Father Francois stepped forward, scowling at the pool of blood where the painter had hit the ground before being carted off. "Ce n'était pas nécessaire," he chided the ruler, who neither understood Francois nor cared to. "L'église est accomplie."

"Pardon?" Robert asked in a polite tone of voice.

"L'église," Francois repeated, "est accomplie."

"Ah," Robert nodded absently. "Carry on then."

Francois rolled his eyes. "The church is finished, my liege."

"Oh the church," Robert showed no more sign of interest than he had when his tutor was incomprehensible. "Carry on then."

"Mon dieu," Francois whirled around and made for the door.

"One moment, monsieur," Robert called in a butchered accent that only made Francois want to leave even more than he had previously. "I would like you to explain to me this issue of Primogeniture."

"C'est simple," Francois stopped and turned around. "Your father's realm, and, indeed, much of this one, employ a set of laws known as semisalic primogeniture, which is to say, the eldest child inherits. There is some business also in which, if there are no male heirs available, inheritance may pass through a woman, but Your Grace need not understand such things as certainly Your Lordship will have many sons."

"Mmm," Robert answered uncomfortably, self-consciously touching his face to see if his cheeks were, in fact, that large.

"...whether he's married or not," said Francois under his breath.

"Pardon?" Robert's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing, sire."

"Back to the law."

"Certainement. As Your Grace instructed, I have employed several learned scholars to determine a legal basis for your proposed new law, which you referred to in our last discussion as "what I say goes." Although of course I would not presume to dictate to Your Grace what he may or may not do, I thought it best to find the nearest legal basis for your new proposal, which in some lands is known as salic consanguinty. I assure you, my liege, for your purposes, they are the same. Nonetheless, your vassals all reacted quite negatively at the proposed changes. The Count of Evreux especially seemed to be thinking about returning to England to inform your Father that you are, in fact, the Duke."

"The nerve," Robert muttered.

"The Bishop of Avranches and the Count of Eu both expressed their desire that, although they may have concern, they also have infinite trust and faith in Your Lordship, and they hope you will find their trust well-placed, should you become King someday."

Robert smiled at the notion.

"Strip him of his titles," the Duke declared. Fracois' eyebrow shot up. Adelaide de Normandie, who had been watching the exchange from the side of the audience chamber, smiled.

"My lord?" Francois blinked.

"Go tell Monsieur Le Comte d'Evreux that I am now the Count of Evreux, and that unless he marches straight here to serve in my court, I will sink him in the English Channel before he gets to my Father."

"Right away, my liege," Francois mumbled, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Joanna entered the Audience Chamber just as Francois was leaving it. Behind her strode a man of great physical presence: a man who observed all that went on with a detached smile and a barely concealed disdain for incompetence and ignorance.

"Now remember," Adelaide whispered to the Duke of Normandy, "Unless you'd care for a tongue-lashing, don't talk about history. You are feebleminded on such things and he will be able to tell the moment you open your mouth. Do not raise his ire."

"I talk of what I please," replied Robert petulantly, "and, fortunately, it never pleases me to talk of such a dreary subject."

"I am here about your wife," said the man stiffly.

Robert paled. His stomach tightened. This was not his favorite subject either. "Y-y-y-y-es," he stammered, lapsing into his childhood stutter, "M-m-m-my w-w-w-w-w-"

"My Lord Duke," Joanna interrupted, saving Robert from himself. "It gives me great pleasure to announce the well-known matchmaker, mate-finder, bride-seeker; a man known to all the Courts of Euopre; the most well-traveled man on Life, who, for a proper fee, will ride to the Urals of the East or the Kingdom of Nubia in the South."

Robert gulped. "Y-y-your name, man?" was all he could think to ask.

The stranger half-bowed, respectful but hardly the kind of awe most visitors showed the Duke; but as this man was employed by Kings world-round, Robert had no expectation of impressing him with a mere title.

"Ebbesen, sire," answered the stranger. "Peter Ebbesen."

What a bizarre name, thought Robert. Well, no matter. I don't have to marry him.

Robert, Joanna, and Ebbesen spent the better part of the afternoon going over the needs of the Duchy, Robert's requirements in his children, and the amount of money required to locate a woman willing to overlook the Duke's prodigious cheeks and nose.

A couple of months later, all the arrangements were finally made:

I. iii

As the months passed, the treasury began to grow, aided in part both by the duty paid by Robert's subjects when he married Jehanne de Geneve, and with the added income from the County of Evreux, whose previous lord had quite willingly abdicated his title at the slightest threat from Duke Robert. According to the Adelaide -- now the Ducal Spymaster -- King William still hadn't the faintest idea that his eldest son was the Duke of Normandy. It helped tremendously that William was so intent on cataloging everything in England through some ridiculous project called the 'Domesday Book' (that Robert privately thought was a waste of time and would never get off the ground) that he overlooked entirely his lands in Normandy.

Robert also found matrimony less frightening than he's originally thought. His wife -- the sort of woman that Robert never would've been able to locate on his own -- proved both willing to submit herself to the Ducal Bechamber ever so often and had produced two fine sons, in addition to being quite adept at handling the finances of the Kingdom, leaving Robert to consider more exciting endeavours.

Summer, 1082. A field in AQRUES. Robert stands with the Ducal Spymaster, Adelaide de Normandie, and the Marshal of the Ducal Army, George d'Estouville.

"Busier field these days," commented Duke Robert, surveying the newly-completed forestry and soon-to-be-completed fishing wharf. Francois' church -- he actually had it transplanted from Poitiers, so Robert didn't even have to pay for it -- stood in the middle of the field.

"It is, at that, my lord," Adelaide answered proudly.

"So what now?" Robert inquired, addressing both the Marshal and his Aunt.

"Well, you could take after your Father and conquer England," suggested George and then immediately panicked at the idea of himself at the head of an invasion army, "...but I wouldn't suggest it."

Adelaide scowled at the idea. "Don't be ridiculous. The last thing you want to do is to get your father's attention. Just wait for him to die. You'll do fine."

"I don't want to be one of those people that waits for people to die," Robert said in-eloquently, "I want to do something."

At that moment, a rider appeared in the distance. It was the same rider from six years past. He galloped up to join the Duke.

"I hail from Liege," he announced proudly.

"Oh?" Robert asked mildly.

"They have a Royal Post there," asided the rider.

"Ah," answered Robert, glancing sidelong towards the northeast end of the field, where he had been envisioning one for when the treasury would allow such frivolous expenses.

"I am come to inform you that, due to a half-decade of legal wrangling, certain inheritance laws both hither and yon, and the fact that your great-grandfather's cousin once married a woman who had been previously married to a man whose brother had once visited Dorset--"

"The point, man," Robert tapped his foot impatiently.

"Mr. Ebbesen, during employment in the Lorraine, took the liberty of preparing a legal claim for you against what is now the Bishopric of Liege."

"Liege?" Robert frowned. "I've never been to Liege."

"Mr. Ebbesen said to tell you that, while you have probably never been there nor had any desire to go there, the history of the title was quite involved but that you were, in fact, the rightful heir, and that Godifred Duke of Lorraine had no right to carelessly create the existing Bishopric. He further instructs you not to worry about the details of the claim, suffice it that it is entirely correct, and he has prepared a verbal lashing for anyone who might mis-interpret it. He lastly says that, while he wishes you the best, the threat of one of his verbal lashings is probably not sufficient to convince either the Duke Godifred or His Imperial Highness, Emperor Heinrich, to relinquish the county to you."

Robert stared at the rider for a moment.

"So what you're saying," Robert mused, "is that I have a legal claim but no means to back it up or actually carry it out."

"That's the long and short of it."

"Sod off," Robert flipped off the rider, who took his cue to depart.

"So, Sir Marshal," Robert turned to look at George, who had nearly fainted at the notion of attacking the Holy Roman Empire. "Where do we look to expand our borders?"

"I wouldn't presume to tell your Majesty such things," George whimpered.

"Then I will tell you. We must find some cause to look to the West." He smiled a cruel smile.

"To Bretagne."

 

[stnylan]

Very amusing start. I wish you every success.

 

[Elias Tarfarius]

Since Papa already got England, why shouldn't Robert aim for Eire.

BTW don't you mean 1070 not 1080?

 

[unmerged(29883)]

'Yes yes," apologized the rider, "Terribly sorry. We just got the memo last week and we're all so used to the old way.'

Brilliant. I loved that little exchange. I'm liking this AAR, and looking forward to the next part.

On a game note, speaking as a player of the Duchy of Lancaster, its a right royal pain in the backside to have William the Conqueror looming ominously over you.

 

[Aquitaine]

Yes, 1070, thanks. Corrected.

I really wanted a way I could both begin as a count and pose a threat to William since I am sort of dead-set on having England be 'the first crown' but I couldn't figure a way to do that - even as Lancaster, you're still pretty much waiting around for the AI England to make a mistake.

Eire is a pretty tempting target, although Bretagne has a little more income. Wales is also a thought, but no kingdoms until daddy dies...

 

[Aquitaine]

I. iv: 1072-1077

I. iv.
or
Normandy vs. Pommerania, winner: Sweeden
or
Robert of Normandie unwittingly launches World War Zero

July, 1074. THE COUNCIL CHAMBER. Robert of Normandie consults with his advisors on the impending war with Bretagne.

Robert drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. Marshal George had drawn up a tentative battle plan (but then, all of George's batlte plans were tentative, or contingent on his absence from the battlefield) but Joanna had been unsuccessful in fabricating any kind of legal claim to any part of the Duke of Bretagne's realm.

"What about Ebbesen? Seems like he knows how to do this sort of thing," Robert observed drolly.

"He knows historical basis for actual claims," Chancellor Joanna replied tiredly. "I don't believe he's much help when it comes to fabricating new ones."

"Have him killed, then," Robert muttered derisively. Jehanne de Geneve, who was at the table but rarely commented on non-fiduciary matters, looked up sharply at the notion of slaying the matchmaker, but merely shrugged. Robert ordered such deaths several times a week, and it was a matter of course for his court to disregard them.

"I'm afraid we're out of options," concluded Joanna. "Even if we were able to persuade your father not to take Brittany for himself, we simply haven't got a foothold. It's over the line."

"My father conquers all of England and nobody raises any objections," Robert replied starkly, "but when I want one little county - maybe Nantes or Leon - I can't do it. This would seem to be something of a double standard."

"That may be so," agreed Joanna, "but the fact is, most of your neighbors all think that you're going to inherit the throne of England someday, so they aren't about to let you make Brittany part of England. Not without a proper claim."

"What if he starts it?" Robert mused.

"I'm not sure the Duke of Bretagne knows you exist," George observed from the corner, where he habitually sat so as to avoid looking anyone in the face when he spoke. Now was no exception. "How do you plan on getting his attention?"

"Don't you have a cousin from Bretagne?" Robert asked Joanna mildly.

"A cousin? I suppose so," Joanna replied after a moment's consideration. "I can't say as I know him terribly well. In fact I don't even know how we're related. One day I wasn't aware I had any cousins, and the next, there he was. He lives way out, though, in..."

"...the country," Robert concluded soberly. "I know the feeling. They're like rabbits out there in the country." He paused, tilted his head, and smiled. "...rabbits."

COUNTRYSIDE, Nantes. Duke Robert is in disguise as a peasant. Marshal George accompanies him, in disguise as a courageous bodyguard. George looks ready to wet his drawers.

Duke Robert and George approached the manor house and rapped loudly on the door.

Jean, Chevalier de Bretagne, answered the door. "Oui?"

Robert threw off his dirty peasant cloak and drew himself up to his full height. "I am Robert, Duke of Normandie, and I demand to be let into your house!"

Nonplussed, Jean eyed Robert skeptically and acquiesced. "So you are," he agreed, "I've heard of your cheeks. And you?" Jean indicated George with a nod.

"I'm, ah, uh, that is, I..." George stammered, turning several shades whiter.

"He is the general of my armies!" Robert declared.

Jean craned his neck to look out at the countryside behind the two men, failed to see any army there, and then stepped back.

"Well, in that case," Jean waved them inside, "you had best come inside."

The two men slunk indoors, Robert looking pleased with himself, George wondering why he gave up a promising career as a serf to join Robert's court.

"Care for a glass of wine?" Jean asked of the two men. "...my lords?" he added matter-of-factly, obviously not too upset that he'd forgotten to show the proper respect.

"Actually, no," Robert replied loftily. "We are here about ... your rabbit."

Jean narrowed his eyes. "My rabbit."

"Your rabbit," echoed Robert.

"Your spies are good," said Jean.

"The best," answered Robert. My Aunt.

"Very well." Jean disappeared for a moment and returned with a small rabbit nestled in his arms. It appeared very passive and friendly. Jean held it out for Robert, who accepted it with a deceptively warm smile.

"Just so I'm not mistaken," Robert inquired, "You are a knight in service to His Grace, the Duke of Bretagne? He is your Lord and Master?"

"He is," Jean answered, by now a little confused. "What has this got to do with the rabbit?"

"A message," snarled Robert. "For your master."

Crack.

Robert tossed the dead creature aside. "From Normandie to Brittany. Send with it scorn and defiance."

Jean's fists had clenched and it was all he could do not to lunge at the both of them. "God punish you," he hissed.

And so He did.

JUNE, 1075. THE COUNCIL CHAMBER. Chancellor Joanna pours over an enormous pile of documents, looking perplexed. Robert waits impatiently.

The now-riderless courier was let into the room. Robert rose from his seat anxiously.

"Does the Duke of Bretagne send his reply?"

"He does!" boomed the courtier. "Tempred with necessary brevity: recent wartime taxes have unfortunately limited the number of words a single message can afford."

"Wartime taxes." Robert grinned from ear to ear. "Proceed."

The courier squared his shoulders, produced a very small scroll, and cleared his throat.

"To HIS GRACE, ROBERT de NORMANDIE the DUKE OF NORMANDIE, from HIS ALSO GRACE, HOEL DE COURNAILLE, the DUKE OF BRETAGNE," he began.

"Yes," Robert tapped his foot impatiently, "get on with it."

"so sorry am currently at war w/France would like to indulge you rofl must take rain check k thx bye."

Robert's jaw hung open as the courier bowed and departed. He felt his face grow hot.

"MAP." boomed Robert.

The Ducal Mapmaker appeared and spread the Ducal Map out ont he Ducal Map Table.

"Marshal!" boomed Robert.

George scurried over to the table from the corner.

"Where may we safely attack?"

George rattled off a long list of pagan and muslim countries whose fate, George thought, didn't particularly concern anybody he knew.

"There." Robert's finger landed on Danzig. "Let's do that."

Joanna spoke up suddenly. "My liege. I'm not sure that's such a good ide--"

"Silence!" Robert hollered. Joanna's mouth clamped shut. "Prepare the armies. We sail before the week is out."

Robert whirled around and left the audience chamber. Joanna called George over and showed him something very, very interesting.

MID-SUMMER, 1075. On board the GOOD SHIP HASTINGS.

"Our numbers are just over sixteen hundred, my lord," George reported to Duke Robert. "The formal declaration of war will reach Pommerania shortly, after which the Bishop of Avranches and Count of Eu have both promised a full mobilisation to reinforce you."

"This is very exciting," observed Robert.

"I'm glad you think so," answered George, before leaning over the rail and heaving into the English Channel.

NOVEMBER, 1075. SIEGE OF DANZIG.

Duke Robert was cleaning his sword. It was his new favorite activity. After a brief, but bloody battle in which Robert's forces had dispatched over six-hundred pagans at a loss of about one hundred, the army of Duke Robert had settled in for a siege.

The courier rode into view.

"My lord," greeted the messenger, kneeling before the Duke.

"What news?" Robert asked mildly.

"William, King of England, May His Rule Be Of Greater Stature Than His Parentage, has landed in Wolgast with four-thousand, five hundred men."

Robert lept to his feet. "My father?" he barked. "Here?"

"No, sire," replied the courier, "in Wolgast."

"But that's nearby."

"Yes, my lord," said the courier, "there's more."

Robert frowned.

"The King of Sweeden has landed in Slupsk with three thousand, five-hundred men."

Robert's eyes bulged. "Sweeden? What in Heaven's name are the King of Sweeden and my father doing here?"

The courier shrugged.

Joanna spoke up suddenly. "I believe I might have an explanation."

Robert and the courier both turned to look at the Chancellor, who had a scroll in each hand.

"This," explained Joanna, "is a scroll containing a recent alliance made between William, King of England, May He Smite All Saxons, and Phillippe du Capet, King of France."

Robert stared.

"And this," Joanna went on, "is a scroll containing a recent alliance made between William, King of England, May He Change The Course of History, and .... well I can't pronounce his name, but he's the King of Sweeden."

Robert stared some more.

"So your father, no doubt thinking your situation desparate, hastened to your aid when he learned that you were at war with the Pommeranians. And Sweeden, being nearby and thinking that their faithful ally England required their aid, has also joined the fray."

Robert turned these ideas over in his head for a moment.

"So my father has 4,500 men under arms."

The courier nodded.

"And Sweeden has 3,500."

The courier nodded again.

"And we have 1,363."

George nodded.

"So that's 9,363 men under arms. And how many has Pommerania got left?" Robert asked.

"On last count," the courier spoke up, "fifty-nine."

APRIL, 1076. SIEGE OF SLUPSK.

Having wintered in Danzig and finally taken the region for himself, Robert had taken the remnants of his army - still over a thousand strong - to Slupsk, where the Sweedish King had been fighting the Pommeranians. Robert awoke early one morning to the courier's voice.

"ROBERT, DUUU I MEAN COUNT OF ARQUES."

Robert threw on some clothes and left his tent. George and Joanna were both outside, kneeling for some reason.

"I have the honor to present HIS MAJESTY, WILLIAM, MAY HIS SONS HAVE MARRIED PARENTS, KING OF ENGLAND."

Robert cursed under his breath and fell to his knees.

Later that day.

King William walked alongside his eldest son. The Sweedish army had gone off to resupply, leaving a detachment of William's troops to maintain the siege until their return. Regardless of which of the Kings were present, Robert knew that his conquests in Prussia were overwith. He had bigger problems now.

"It's not exactly England," allowed William the Bastard, "but I'm glad to see you're not resting on your laurels."

Robert smiled weakly. "Thanks."

"I'm impressed, actually," continued the King of England, "How did you manage to raise such a large force in Arques? I didn't even know you had that many men of fighting age there."

Robert laughed nervously and mumbled something about tourist season.

"Jolly good show at any rate. I'm afraid that the King of Sweeden has outmaneuvered us and will end up keeping Wolgast, Slupsk, and Stettin, but Danzig is the jewel of the lot anyw--wait . . . aren't those the standards of Count of Eu?" William squinted off into the distance.

"Look!" Robert exclaimed. "A heron!"

William whirled around to look for the great bird and didn't find one.

"I mean a herring," said Robert sheepishly. "Oh look. We're back at the camp. Must run. Nice talking to you!"

Suddenly, one of William's knights appeared, hauling the courier, who was bawling.

"What's the meaning of this?" King William demanded.

"This courier was found explaining to one of the wenches how he really served the Duke of Normandie, not the Count of Arques. We believe he is part of a conspiracy to overthrow Your Majesty and claim Normandie, perhaps using your son as a puppet."

King William arched an eyebrow and stared at the courier, who just kept bawling.

"Do you know anything about this, my son?" He asked.

"Heavens no," feigned Robert. "Plotting against you! I wouldn't dream of it!"

"Indeed," replied the King in a neutral tone of voice. "What would you suggest we do with this treacherous courier, then?"

"M-m-m-mlord," stammered the courier, "when thou art King, wilt thou hang a courier?"

"No," replied Robert softly, "thou shalt."*

"Well?" King William asked.

"Hang him," shrugged Robert. The courier stopped bawling long enough to stare, wide-eyed, at Robert as he was hauled away.

"Politics is a messy business," explained William. "But one day, you will have much more than just Arques to worry about. You must be ready."

"I pray that I shall be," said Robert, who allowed himself a brief smile.

(*) couldn't help it! Sorry! How many chances for that sort of thing do you get.

------
Newly-conquered Pommerania:

 

[unmerged(26933)]

This is a good and funny aar! I will definitly keep up with it.

 

[stnylan]

Very fun. Good to see young Robert getting out and about.

 

[unmerged(10971)]

Great AAR! I love William the Bast--I mean, Conqueror's titles.

 

[Aquitaine]

I. v, or Holy Crap (1077-1083)

I. v. The Estates of Duke Robert of Normandie, his wife, the Lady Jehanne de Genoa Whose French Shall Easily Surpass The Duke's, and their children. A rainy August evening in 1083.

Robert was preoccupied. Now twenty-nine years of age, he felt much older, although often troubled by his childhood knowledge that, but for a Saxon plot (or was it a mistake?), he would not have been created Duke of Normandy until his thirty-third birthday. He laughed weakly at the idea, reflecting on the events of the last several years. Robert was not a man often prone to introspection; he was, for all intents and purposes, ruggedly efficient to the point of cruelty. He had few regrets in life, but he had of late began to feel as though Normandie was quite small and the rest of the world quite large. There was a certain safety about his life that was no longer there--

A loud rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. Nearby, two of Robert's three sons, Hugh and Henry, stopped wrestling one another. Henry, who took very much after his father, had cheated gratuitiously and, given license, would probably have broken something of Hugh's. Robert's daughter Katherine, all of five years old, watched the boys amusedly; Cecilia, Katherine's older sister by two years, lay upstairs, dying of pneumonia, across the hall from the ex-Marshal George d'Estouville, stricken with an illness brought on by a war wound during the Danzig campaign. Robert blamed himself for the latter, as George had been appointed Marshal in spite of his request to be appointed Ducal Gardener. But for Cecilia, he blamed God.

Robert gestured idly to one of his household guards as he rose from his chair and went to answer the door. He knew very well that he had many enemies, and not a few of them were above murder; after all, Robert himself wasn't, so why should they be? Robert's left hand strayed behind his back, where he always wore a small, but wicked-looking knife, and he indicated for the guard to open the door with a curt nod.

The rain outside was almost deafening, and the hunched, pathetic figure who lay sprawled in the doorway was the worse for it. In the relative darkness, Robert could not make out enough of the man's features to determine who he was, but there was something familiar about him. Underneath a tattered cloak, the stranger wore the remnants of a chain hauberk, over which had once been a fine tunic that now lay shredded, barely clinging to its wearer. The only identifying mark on the tunic was the front end and head of a golden lion -- a slender, stretched lion, similar to Robert's own crest of two larger lions, only the tunic displayed three of them, arranged vertically. Robert's gaze fixated on this feature and his eyes grew impossibly wide.

"England is ruined," cried William of Normandie, wiping old blood from his cheek, "and her death is on your head!"


------
Six years earlier. . .

Father Francois stood in the audience chamber, reading from a scroll. He had the attention of Duke Robert, his wife, Chancellor Joanna de Mouvasin, the ailing-but-still-employable George d'Estouville, and Robert's Aunt Adelaide de Normandy, now 55, but a sharp and quick-witted spy master.

". . .do hereby find William the Conquerer, May His Reign Now Be As Illegitimate As His Parents' Fornication, guilty of Heresy and declare him Excommunicate."

The word rang out through the chamber and was met with grim silence.

"Dear God," whispered Joanna, several shades whiter than usual.

"What is the heresy of which he is guilty?" Robert demanded.

"Can't say," answered Francois.

Robert's left eyebrow shot up dangerously. "I command you to speak!" he barked.

"That knowledge is hidden from me, sire." Francois was apologetic and sincere; even Robert could tell. "In such cases, His Holiness has been known to suppress the specifics to prevent the spread of heresy. Your father or no, our souls will be the better for it if we all go to our graves without learning the grevious wrongs he has spoken."

Robert grunted, irritated. "What does this mean to us?" He demanded, ever practical, and if he cared a whit for his father's predicament, he didn't show it.

"Nothing," answered Adelaide, fingers webbed and brows furrowed as she thought. "For now. My brother is a resourceful man, but he may have gone too far. The nobles in England will take advantage of the situation. They know that, if your father dies, you will inherit, and their fealty to William will transfer to you, only legitimized as you haven't irritated the Pope lately."

"So that's good, right?" Robert cocked his head.

"No," Adelaide smiled ruefully. "They will make sure he does not die, but they will not serve him. There is no sin in fighting a heretic. If your father cannot control his vassals, they will rebel, and you will have to choose sides."

"There's more." Father Francois spoke up quietly. He had none of his usual spikey attitude; even for the short-tempered priest, this was as grave a matter as he had ever seen or heard discussed. All eyes settled on him.

"The Saxon lord Leofricsson, Duke of Cumberland, has renounced his allegiance to your father and wars with the crown."

"Lancaster will not be far behind," Robert mused; "Morcar and Edwin are brothers, and worse -- Saxons. They have been waiting for this moment since my father took the throne from that maggot Godwinson. I should not be surprised if they were behind his excommunication." Robert shot a dark look at Francois. "But I suppose we will never know that."

George coughed mightily, the color drained from his face even more than it usually did when there was talk of war. But even his well-known cowardice was put aside; history would not brook it, illness or no, and to that, George had a duty. Robert turned to look at him.

"What are your orders, sire?" Marshal d'Estouville spoke softly, and though none in the room knew precisely how little time in this world he had left, he had never spoken nor would ever speak more bravely or more honestly.

Robert studied his Marshal of ten years with a rare fondness. "My only regret," he answered quietly, "is that such glory shall not come to me in my lifetime as you deserve to be rewarded. My orders are this: retire, my friend, for we do nothing. See to your health, for the day may yet come when we need your sword."

George bowed his head at the noble praise, rose slowly to his feet, and limped off to his bedroom.

"Shall we dispatch a courier to your father?" Francois inquired.

"We have nothing to say," Robert answered, a tinge of sadness in his usually-abraisive voice, "and so we dispatch nothing."

------
A blisteringly cold February morning, 1080.

"His illness has grown into Pneumonia," the nurse reported. Robert bowed his head. George would never get out of bed, much less lead an army, and the danger grew daily as the days themselves grew ever shorter.

Robert thanked the nurse and waved her off. A courier was announced to the court.

"From the court of HIS MAJESTY WILLIAM, BOY IS HE EVER SORRY ABOUT THE CHURCH, KING OF MOST OF ENGLAND, to HIS BELOVED SON--"

At this point Robert knew his father would be asking for money.

"--THE DUKE OF NORMANDY."

Robert bolted to his feet. "Duke of Normandy?" he pressed the courier.

"Aye," answered the messenger warily, well aware of how certain previous couriers in the Duke's court had met their end. "Your father bids me convey you this: He knows, and has for some time known that the title of Normandy was wrongfully granted before its time, and that upon this news he was greatly wroth; and yet to this he bids me temper with love, for surely much good and little ill has come of this error, and even were there better ill and worse good, the mistake in the giving was not yours; yours was only in the keeping."

Robert turned the message over in his mind this way and that. "OK," he replied. "So?"

"The King desires to make you aware of the rebellion of the Duke of Cumberland," the courier explained.

"This news we had last Summer," Robert replied haughtily.

"...and that this rebellion is treacherously joined by his brother the Duke of Lancaster, and the Duke of Hereford also."

Robert's smile evaporated. Adelaide's getting a little slow, he thought.

"...the King," the courier continued, "having thus in the matter of your Most Royal Title showed his love to you now as in the past, commands you with all expediency to arms, to answer your fealty to him in warlike transport to Lancaster, whose treason he gives you leave to dispense with as your wisdom advises you, in the name of England and the House of Normandie."

Robert's gaze drifted off towards the corridor that led to the wing of the castle where his Marshal lay dying, with no replacement on hand save for the mediocre Etienne de Blois, a tremendously clever individual whose talents, alas, lay everywhere except in matters martial.

But the Duke of Normandy knew this day would come, and the having of a competent Marshal would only serve to comfort his decision, not to sway it. With nearly all of Northern England in open revolt, the two thousand men Robert could raise from Normandy and Danzig would be sorely needed by his Father, regardless of how much Robert's treasury could ill afford it.

"Give my father my regrets," Robert spoke cooly, "but we are unable to spare him horse or spear."

An audible grasp rippled across the court. Robert had not shared this decision with any of his advisors; he had, indeed, only come to it himself quite recently. The courier froze, unsure of how to reply. Robert's visage hardened as he puncuated his reply:

"To my father send my love, which, in truth and before God he has now as always. But I will send him not a hundred or a dozen of these good men from Normandy, whom some have said are abused enough merely living under my rule; and upon the Saxons I do swear vengeance and one day shall wreak it, or my sons if I infirm prove e'er long. But now, today, it seemeth my father lies in the grave he has himself dug, and while none should spite me the recalmation of what my father in poor faith lost, I will not lie beside him in this doom he hath made. My wisdom advises me thus: the House of Normandie will perish if we in this errand united fall, but may splintered yet prove itself and remake England. Though it pains me to thus splinter my father's eye, he hath erred in passing on to his son the wisdom he formerly held. I shall march neither with him nor against him."

The courier snapped out of his reverie and knelt.

"This is my message, and your errand. Bear it hence to your master and wish him for us Godspeed." Robert said as he resumed his seat.

The courier rose and departed. No-one spoke in the court, but all eyes were on Robert, who wore his traditional, unreadable expression that only partially hid his wounded spirit and broken heart.

---
Late afternoon on a day in September, 1080. Duke Robert's estate in ARQUES.

The late summer rains pounded on the roof as the Robert stared out a drafty window in the sitting room of the small castle that was his home. All morning, he had listened to reports from baliffs, overseers, and minor lords and functionaries regarding his lands; all prospered, and Arques especially. His people were the happiest they had ever been in Robert's lifetime, and even the pagans in Danzig had begun to appreciate that serving Robert was perhaps better than becoming Sweedish, as their neighbors had, since the distance between Normandy and Danzig necessitated a fair degree of autonomy.

His advisors had eventually left him, discouraged that the bevy of good news had failed to cheer their lord in the slightest. Every good report made Robert just a little more guilty.

There was a knock at the door.

"I left orders that I was not to be disturbed," Robert barked annoyedly.

"...save in the case of news from England or His Majesty," answered a voice.

Robert flew to the door and opened it. The courier stood there, sopping wet.

"What news, man?" Robert ushered the man in, gave him a blanket, and stood by the window, arms folded.

"Your father fights with masterful tenacity," the courier began dutifully.

Robert narrowed his eyes.

"...the Duke of Norfolk has joined the revolt," said the courier.

Robert's face dropped to the floor. "But what progress against the others? Surely he has conquered some of his adversaries?"

The courier was silent for a long moment. "...there are from his ally France some fourteen hundred reinforcements," he mustered eventually.

"Norfolk's army is three times that," snapped Robert. "Has my father made any ground at all?"

The courier bit his lip and shook his head.

"What have you from my father to me?"

Were it possible, the courier's face grew yet more sad. "Your father," he swallowed, "bids me return to you that which you sent him," he began, choked, and finished:

"...nothing."

Robert could only nod. "I did not expect more. Does he again demand our armies?"

"He does not, my lord," the courier answered. "...he would never admit as much while still he draws breath, but even an unlearned knave such as I can tell: two thousand, three thousand men would make no difference. Unless you have some ten thousand in reserve, the war is decided, even if the battle yet rages."

------
The Present: August, 1083.

Duke Robert walked the garden path with his father. Neither man spoke for most of the first hour.

"It is my honor to preserve you here, in Normandy," Robert began at last, "but I have no need for a man in my employ whose chief office is to blame me for his troubles."

"No man seeks blame," William the Bastard replied, his voice as neutral as his scarred face, "but that does not make him blameless."

"Blameless or no, father or no, I rule here," Robert answered harshly. "As my father I shall love you until I die; but my liege you are no longer, whether it be through your acts or mine or both, and you serve at my pleasure."

William the Bastard stiffened but swallowed his pride; he was getting used to doing that.

"You have never said what you did to anger the church so," Robert changed the subject.

"Nor will I," William replied. "You think me here to help you take England some day, for yourself. I tell you this: I will help you, but in so doing, help myself. I will sit on the throne of England again before I die, and to do that, I must repair the Church's hostility toward me. That will never be done if I utter anything to their displeasure," he explained, "no matter how wise or righteous it may otherwise be."

Robert scrutinized his father. He is mad to think he will again wear a crown, he thought. He will get nothing but what I give him, unless he thinks to dispose of me and my sons -- but that will hardly please the church. "Very well," he acknowledged, "I will not speak of it."

"How did it end?" Duke Robert asked.

William laughed bitterly. "You might say that God smiled on me in the last moment, for he did not allow the Saxon swine to gain any ground. Indeed, Philippe of France, though he could not spare enough men to turn the tide, took Chester from the Duke of Lancaster, and one of Cumberland's countesses decided that she would have no part of the war and thus renounced her allegiance. So each Saxon Duke lost a county."

"...then who was it made the final blow?" Robert smiled: news bad for Saxons was by design good for Robert.

"Gael," said William, "the Duke of Norfolk. He waited until I was completely committed against Lancaster, Cumberland, and Hereford, and swept in through the southern counties. Even had I enough men left after dealing with the first three rebels, I should not have been quick enough to meet him. His wound was the swiftest, the most deadly, and the hardest to bear. He took everything."

Robert drew himself up. "He will pay thrice over for every inch," he took his father's arm. "I swear it."

William smiled briefly. "Those are the first words to please my ears in some time."

"I expect as much from the Saxons," Robert shrugged, "but Norfolk and Hereford -- they will be remembered. And you will be there for the remembering of it."

William's smile broadened. "I understand you have an opening."

William and Robert de Normandie walked off down the path as they laid their plans so that, one day, the name of Normandie would again be in every English household.

 

[stnylan]

Well that was a fairly major twist to the tale.

I am now seriously intrigued.

 

[unmerged(10971)]

Yikes... That came out of the blue.

Here's to hoping you can fix this major problem!

 

[unmerged(26933)]

That was a good update, more serious than the other one but also good.

 

[Fall of Stars]

Ooh, that was unexpected. I love the image you present of William on his son's doorstep, all full of curses and blame.

I will be watching. I love your AAR's humor, and the fact that you balance it with seriousness when it's warranted is just icing on the cake.

-D.

 

[Aquitaine]

I. vi. 1084-1093

Author's note:

I'm going to be racing through parts of this update just because my browser crashed after I'd finished and I'm retyping it from memory. Parts of it weren't that exciting anyway, and the parts that were exciting I am now annoyed about because I won't be able to write it as well the second time through.

Also, as the scale increases and Robert gets a hold of more land, obviously I can't fit every event into the scenes. I have to pick and choose what to write about, and in most cases, I'd rather embellish a little bit than just trudge through the event log. So there may be some Meanwhiles just to catch people up on miscellaneous things that happen. To begin with...

Meanwhile . . .

Plans proceeded slowly to restore the House of Normandie to the throne of England. Duke Robert and his father made a powerful team, but they were frequently heard arguing and fighting over details large and small. Nevertheless, all who knew them agreed that it was far better than the alternative; they hesitated to imagine whether or not Curthose ever would have really inherited his father's Kingdom, had the elder Normandie had his way. The two men may be quarrelsome, but they were on the same side, fighting for the same thing.

On his father's advice, Duke Robert established an alliance with the Sweedish and the Scottish, and recruited the Archbishop of Sussex as the first step towards the throne of England.

I. vi.
1084-1093
or
Machinations

A field in ARQUES on a midsummer day in 1084. Robert de Normandie practices archery.

Duke Robert observed his Master of Horse approaching with his eldest son, Henry.

"Captain!" Robert called cheerily.

"Sire," answered the Master of Horse. Robert loosed an arrow that hit near, but not entirely on its mark. Henry took the opportunity to punch the horse master in the ribs. The captain exclaimed, "You little basta--"

Robert leveled an arrow at the horse master. "Best rethink that remark," he cautioned.

"My apologies, sire," the horse master smiled nervously. "I just wanted to let you know that we discovered your son riding one of our best horses early this morning. Riding, er, well, quite ... hard."

"Oh?" Robert inquired. "Did he hurt the horse?"

"Hurt it?" The captain frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Hurt it. Kicked it," Robert explained, "Whipped it, beat it, pummeled it, bit it, broke it, anything like that."

"Er," coughed the horse master, "...no."

"Carry on then," Robert waved them away. "He's better off than I was at that age."


------
Later that day. A garden path in ARQUES where the Lords de Normandie laid their plans.

"I need an army, Robert." William de Normandie was exasperated.

"And you shall have one," said Robert, truthfully enough. "But even were we in a position to defeat Norfolk -- which we aren't -- our situation prevents us from acting. You have claims to all of those titles, not I, and you need some kind of rank to pursue them, unless you can single-handedly fight them all off. And I am not about to grant you one when we both know full well that your first order of business as Count of Anyplace would be to revenge yourself on Norfolk and Cumberland."

"I do not need to be lectured by the likes of you on how to run a Kingdom!" William was livid.

"This isn't a kingdom!" Robert shot back. "This is the Duchy of Normandy and you are its subject."

"I would not have lost everything but for the Pope," William growled.

"Father," Robert pleaded, "I want what you want. But seperate yourself from this for a moment. You know this is going to take us a long time. We must bide our time, and if the House of Normandie is to be restored, you must know that it cannot be you who restores it."

William the bastard stopped short and regarded his son. "You are right, of course," he allowed. "I suppose part of me knew the moment I sailed from Dorset that I would not be returning."

"You have preserved your legacy," Robert said softly. "We will again be Kings. I promise you that."

"I am not yet so old that I cannot hold my sword," William answered gruffly. "What is your plan?"

"We must strengthen our position so that, when the day finally comes, we need but reach across the channel to have our will be done. To that end," Robert explained, "we will return to the Pagan Germanic lands near Pommerania. There are several other tribes in the area. And, this time," he smirked, "The King of England will not interfere."

Willliam deadpanned. "Very funny," he said flatly.

"They have as many men under arms as we do," Robert explained, "but they are scarcely as well-equipped and certainly not led by the likes of William the Conquerer!"

-----
Two years later -- late summer in 1086. The council chamber of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy.

Joanna de Mauvausion sat at the Duke's right hand, as always. Adelaide de Normandie, the Ducal spy master, sat at his left. Jehanne de Genoa, the Duchess and steward of the realm, sat opposite him.

"What news from the pagan lands?" Robert began.

"First, from Father Francois in Danzig," Joanna read from the parchment. "He reports that the pagans have taken to Christendom and that the brainwashing campaign was enormously successful."

Robert arched a brow. "Did he actually say brainwashing?"

"No," sighed Joanna, "He used the French word for 'education,' but you and I both know what he meant."

Robert laughed. "He may call it what he likes, so long as it works!"

"And from my father?" Robert drummed his fingers on the table.

"William your father asks if you could possibly find a challenge better suited to his abilities in the future," Joanna laughed over the scroll. "He expects that Lubeck and Mecklemburg will be under our control by this time next year. The King of Sweeden took the lower half of the Mecklemburg's tribes lands, but he got a raw deal; Lubeck and Mecklemburg are far more valuable to us."

"Excellent," Robert concluded. "What other issues are before us?"

"The succession," Joanna replied. "You have three children nearing adulthood. You can put this off if you like as you are still quite young, but people like to know who the next in line is."

Robert harrumphed. This was not his favorite subject, but his own father's predicament was enough for Robert to know that he needed to both choose his successor and meticulously prepare him for the role.

"William is out," Robert announced. "As much as it will pain my father to have his namesake excluded. We will find a county for him, but he is simply not the sharpest of the lot. Even," Robert mused, "if he does have a heart of gold."

"Unlike the other two," observed Jehanne abruptly. "They take after their father."

All eyes fell on the Duchess. Robert stared. Everyone else in the room privately wondered what the woman who saw the Duke at both his best and worst could have seen, could have known -- the woman who, in being one of the only people really close to the Duke, saw him for what he really was.

"Henry and Hugh are viscous and cruel," Jehanne said matter-of-factly. "William would be beloved by his people."

Robert drummed his fingers on the table. He was unprepared to face opposition from his own wife, who hardly ever spoke up on most matters affecting his realm, even if she did have a way of getting what she wanted on the rare occasion she chose to exercise her authority.

"You are suggesting," Robert said meticulously, "that we reoncisder William?"

Unblinking, Jehanne held her husband's gaze. This was a woman of quiet steel.

"No," she answered. "You are correct. William would be beloved by all his people, whether it be here in Normandy or all of England. But these are not times for such a ruler. We must have someone who can put the whole of England in order, someone who can be be both loved and feared. William would have made an excellent Duke of Normandy," she smiles ruefully, "but the England he deserves, I fear, is not the one we seek to conquer. He is out of his time."

A slow smile spread across Robert's features. "I submit to your wisdom," he said softly. None other dared to intervene in the discussion. "And between Henry and Hugh I would choose Hugh, even though Henry is the elder. Both are terribly clever, and Henry more crafty in games of deception and skulduggery, but the realm we seek to rule requires a gifted deal-broker and caretaker inasmuch as it requires the ruler to be fast on his feet. They will be the two mighty arms of the Kingdom when we have it, but it will be Hugh that wears the crown when I am gone."

There was another moment of silence.

"I would have said the same," Jehanne said quietly. It was the last decision she would make, and while she may have thought it minor, it would affect the course of history.


-----
The court of Heves in Hungary. The chambers of the young Gizella Kanizsai. The matchmaker PETER EBBESEN is deep in conversation with Gizella.

Ebbesen scratched his chin. "So just to recap," he mused, "You consent to accept the hand of Hugh de Normandie, heir to the Duchy of Normandie, in marriage?"

Gizella threw a vase at Ebbesen, who ducked with the practiced dexterity of a man whose job it is to professionally duck thrown vases.

"No!" she hollered. "No, no, a thousand times no! He's revolting and I don't even know where Normandy is."

"So would you say, then," Ebbesen continued, "That you consent not to accept the hand of Hugh de Normandie?"

"Yes!" Gizella yelled.

"Would you not not not accept the hand of Hugh de Normandie?"

"I will not fall prey to your tricks, you vile man!" Gizella fumed.

"Of course you won't," Ebbesen agreed, nodding affirmatively as she absolutely refused his request. "But would you say that you wouldn't not not have anything to do with not marrying Hugh de Normandie?"

"Yes!" Gizella replied.

"But you wouldn't otherwise not entirely not not not not not marry him?"

"Yes!" Gizella cried.

"Excellent," Ebbesen clapped his hands delightedly. "I'll let the Duke know to expect you."

Gizella stared after Ebbesen as he departed, having no idea how she'd just agreed to anything.


-----
New Years' Day, 1087. Duke Robert's Audience Chamber.

After the festivities of Christmas and New Years', the mood in the court of Duke Robert was more bright and gay than it had been in recent memory. William was still in Germania, subjugating the pagans, but he had sent word that he had created for his son the Duchy of Mecklemburg. Robert often missed the old man, but he knew that William was out doing what he did best, and he could not begrudge his father that.

The stir of conversation and celebration in the audience chamber died down as the doors flew open. The guards admitted a man in clerical robes whose presence elicted several exclamations of astonishment.

Adhemar Le Puy, Bishop of Puy and Papal Legate, approached Duke Robert and bowed politely.

Robert regarded Adhemar's approach cooly, although he liked Adhemar well from the short time he had known the man. Adhemar had once been a military man and was respected by clergy and laymen alike -- and thus an excellent envoy for His Holiness.

"Greetings, Robert, Duke of Normandy--" Adhemar began.

"...and Mecklemburg," called out a couriter.

"...and Mecklemburg," Adhemar grinned. "I come on behalf of His Holiness, Pope Urban VII, with an urgent message for all Christians. He has of late given a sermon in the French town of Clermont, the contents of which he very much wanted you to have."

Adhemar held out a sealed scroll to Robert, who accepted it, broke the seal, and began reading. Adhemar explained for the court's benefit:

"You will find in those contents His Holiness' call for a pilgrimage to the Holy Lands. It is a brief history of the Byzantine Empire; the waxing power of the Seljuk Turks, and the abuse done to Christians in the Holy Lands at the hands of accursed infidels. His Holiness bids all the rulers of Christendom set aside their differences and undertake this mission for the remission of their sins."

The remission of their sins? Robert thought. It must be serious for Urban to offer blanket pardons.

"I see," answered Robert evasively, unwilling to commit one way or the other in Adhemar's presence. Adhemar perceived this immediately.

"Your Grace's expeditions in Germania will no doubt satisfy some of His Holiness' expectations, but the pagans are more a nuisance than anything else. The infidels in Iberia, Africa, and the Holy Land should more properly be the objects of Your Grace's wrath."

"What is your role in all of this?" Robert asked.

"After I deliver a few more of these scrolls?" Adhemar laughed. "I will join on the pilgrimage -- some of Raymond of Toulose's Provencals are calling it a 'crusade,' like the word, croissader. It is a long journey, but we shall never see another like it. I hope to see you there, my lord!" Adhemar bowed, asked leave to depart, and then did so.

"One war at a time," Robert mused aloud after Adhemar left. "...I'm not quite done with this one."


------
The siege of AMIENS. Midsummer, 1092. William of Normandie at the head of his son's armies.

William of Normandie, once one of the greatest Kings on life, knelt before Bishop Adhemar Le Puy.

"Had I the strength in me to go with you, I would," William said softly.

"I know you would, my son. But that is not how things have transpired."

"Did His Holiness receive my missives?" William asked.

"He did," Adhemar let out his breath.

"And?" There was an urgency in William's voice.

"And while he is greatly appreciative of your assistance in spreading the Word of the Lord to the Pagans of the North, he feels that your judgment is beyond him now. Your time here draws to a close, and His Holiness is not so bold as to think he can weigh your soul at this late date."

"He did not have a problem weighing it fifteen years ago," William said spitefully.

"Were it in my power to change this, I would," Adhemar clasped William's shoulders. "I will pray for your soul. The Church is a creation of man; only the almighty can truly judge a man's crimes."

"All the same," William rose to his feet, "I should have liked to have died a Christian."

Adhemar embraced the old King. "Die, my lord, as you have lived, and in the end you will find peace."


-----
Two weeks later, in Robert's court.

"Your father reports that he was able to act swiftly enough that our success is assured," Joanna de Mauvaision beamed. "We were able to manufacture a claim to the county of Amiens when the former Count revolted against Philippe du Capet. Philippe's armies were initially routed, and while of course he can reinforce his position, he cannot do it before your father has taken the castle."

Duke Robert smacked the table proudly. "That old wolf," he chortled. "Count of Amiens! Just next door to the King of France. Ladies and gentlemen," Robert adopted his most charming demeanor, "the calibre of our neighbors has never been better."

Joanna's face fell suddenly. "Wait." She studied the report from the siege.

"Chancellor?" Robert turned to Joanna, his interest piqued.

"Your father -- he -- look at this." Joanna passed the report to Robert.

At the end of the administrivia was a note in William's handwriting.

September 9, 1092

My son,

Matters of a personal nature call me home after Amiens is ours. I fear we will not see one another again, but do not let that worry you.

Promise me you will give me a proper funeral, when you are King!

Signed,
William of Normandie
King of England


The scroll fell from Robert's hands and clattered to the floor.

"The King is dead," whispered the Duke. "Long Live the King."


-----
Early evening in November, 1092. The personal estates of Ralph de Gael in NORFOLK.

William the Conquerer strode through the streets of the town. He was recognized only by one or two of the townsfolk, both of whom had the good sense to go inside and forget that they'd seen him. He walked up a large hillside to a field, where the Duke of Norfolk's home lay. It was more of a manor than a castle, with no proper moat, but it was well-guarded. Two men stood at the front gate. William approached them casually.

One of the guards squinted at William's approach and his eyes widened. "M'lord?" he asked uncertainly.

William's own blank expression was replaced with a smile of recognition. "Gibbons, isn't it?"

The elder guardsman grinned. "Aye, m'lord! I was at Hastings!"

William's eyes grew misty at the memory of the greatest day of his life. "Aye," he chuckled and stepped forward to embrace his old comrade.

"What brings you he--aaaach!"

The guardsman slid out of William's grasp and collapsed in a heap. In the same second that the other guardsman noticed the bloody dagger in William's hand, William had sunk it into his belly with a good throw. The guardsman was able to stumble inside the gatehouse and cry out before collapsing into the courtyard.

William of Normandie heard cries of alarm from inside and the sounds of dozens of boots rushing down stairs and out of doors to investigate. He began to laugh, softly at first, entirely to himself. For the first time in years, he felt completely free of the burden of command, of destiny. He drew his sword from his scabbard, glanced inside the gatehouse, and ducked inside with a gallant cry:

"For God, King Robert, and England!"

-----

Exactly two weeks later, Pope Urban VII died suddenly, and was succeeded through a strange twist of fate by William's brother Odo de Normandie, Bishop of Avranches, who immediately pardoned the late King William.

-----
In the aftermath of William's death, Duke Robert of Normandie held a joint funeral for his father and his wife Jehanne de Genoa. Lacking his father's body, he swore to give him a state funeral someday in England.

William's surviving relatives met in Cornwall in December, 1092, at The personal estates of Robert of Normandie, Count of Cornwall, brother of the late William of Normandie and uncle of Duke Robert of Normandy. They had not spoken in many years; the Count of Cornwall had been an active part of Norfolk's rebellion, while William Count of Devon had simply been unable to stop it. After much discussion and debate and more than a little monetary support, the three men shook hands and vowed to restore their father's throne. To that end, both the Count of Cornwall and the Count of Devon swore fealty to Robert Duke of Normandy, heir to the throne.

And so, with the addition of two tiny counties in the Southwestern corner of Britain, the House de Normandie had a foothold. It had begun.

 

[unmerged(10971)]

Ah, yes, here we go.

Godspeed, Robert! Our hopes go with you into England!

 

[Aquitaine]

Mini-update: -1, +3, or 1093-1098

I. viii.
1093-1098
or
The first blow is struck

Meanwhile. . .

Shortly after William the Conquerer's threat to Bishop Puy regarding a King in Rome, William's own brother -- now Pope -- was overthrown by Roger Borsa de Hauteville. The Papal States were dissolved and the Catholic Church's central authority in hiding. It wasn't a Normandie in Rome -- not yet -- but the proximity of the two events was regarded as auspicious by all who knew of them.

A day after that, Robert's daughter Cecilia was miraculously cured of Pneumonia, and her marriage was arranged before the month was out.

Odo himself came to Normandie. Duke Robert's court went from having an ex-King to an ex-Pope. The Duke was overheard remarking something to the effect of, "for the love of God, don't let any Greeks in."

Robert himself re-married after the death of Jehanne de Genoa. One of King William's dear friends, the Archbishop of Sussex, had arranged the match (Monsieur Ebbesen was on a much-needed vacation after his Hungarian adventure). Mascarose de Warenne, from the County of Surrey, had proven to be both brilliant and terribly fertile; this was fortunate, because Robert would not have been able to keep track of his children without such an able steward. By the end of 1096, he would, between his first and second wife, have sired nine sons and four daughters.

Duchy of Normandy, County of ARQUES, December 1093. The Duke of Normandy is discussing matters with a candidate for the position of Chancellor after the recent death of Joanna de Mauvaison.

"George d'Estouville?" Robert frowned.

"That's right," replied George d'Estouville.

"Like the Marshal George d'Estouville?" Robert's frown deepened.

"The same," replied George d'Estouville.

"Any relation?" Robert stroked his chin.

"Cousins," replied George d'Estouville.

"And you were raised...?" Robert inquired.

"...on a farm," replied George d'Estouville.

"In the country?" Robert asked.

"In the country," George d'Estouville answered.

"How," muttered Robert, "am I not surprised. You're hired." He paused. "Provided that you marry my daughter, Cecilia."

-----
Later that same day, the Duke interviews Matthew de Say, a young knight whose father had served King William.

"I will be perfectly honest with you, my lord," Matthew said matter-of-factly, "nobody wants to be the Marshal after The Conquerer! I cannot hope to match his quality. But I can serve the same master and the same errand, and that would be a great honor."

Robert thought about it. Matthew seemed nice enough. "Sure," he agreed, "Provided that you marry my daughter, Katherine."

Arques Harbour, October, 1096. Two thousand troops arrayed under the banner of the Duke of Normandy. Robert himself is there, as is Matthew de Say.

Robert admired the newly-built harbor as they approached it. The architect was Italian, and had only been passing through, but Robert had persuaded him to stay without having to hurt him too badly. It had definitely been worth it. The ships that would ferry them across the channel -- always a dangerous venture -- were exsquisite.

Odo had come along, though he was not making the journey to England. "I don't have the taste for it I did when my brother ruled," he had said; unlike William, Odo was a soft-spoken man, not quite as energetic, and much more religious, even if his forced removal from the Papacy had stirred his cynicism. Odo had thought it a cruel twist of fate that, had he gained the Papacy a month before he was elected, he might have pardoned William before he died.

But Robert enjoyed his company, even if only because Odo was the last surviving member of William's court or family. His cousin Alice had long since died; Adelaide outlived William by only a month. William's brother Robert, the Count of Cornwall, was old and had no direct heir, leaving Cornwall in the hands of an Irishman (not for long, thought Robert); his other brother, Richard, the Bishop of Exeter, had never met Robert and seemed content to worry only about Exeter. Robert corresponded often with his nephew, William Count of Devon, but both men had their hands full and rarely got to see one another.

That was all about to change, as Robert prepared to land an army next door.

"William would be proud," Odo spoke, admiring the banners snapping in the breeze, affixed to the masts of the ships. "To see these banners sail into Dorset. Do you expect trouble when you arrive?"

Robert shook his head. "Doubtful. We will be marching through Norfolk's lands, but the farthest lands from his home, and even so, he knows that our quarrel is not yet with him. Even so, were he wise, he would strike us now, when we are abroad at his neighbor's throat; every foothold we gain brings us closer to him. But," Robert smiled cruelly, "he is not wise."

"Does the Duke of Warrick have any allies that would march against us?" Odo asked.

"Already seen to it," Robert replied brightly. "He is allied to the Archbishop of Sussex, but so are we, and he loves us best; and also to my uncle the Bishop of Exeter, who could not be troubled to leave his borders for the Second Coming. No -- he will be very much alone."

And so he was. The Archbishop of Sussex was able to mobilize some six-hundred men from Somerset before Robert even reached Hereford, and most of the battle was already won; all told, Normandy lost some twenty men out of over two thousand, and both of Warrick's vassals immediately swore allegiance to Robert.

Unfortunately, around the same time, Robert's uncle, Robert Count of Cornwall, died and the county passed to an Irish count.

At the end of 1098, Robert Duke of Normandy took stock of his holdings and his family. His position had never been stronger and he had no immediate enemies that he could tell; the new King of Scotland had been eager to cement an alliance with him, even if the new King of Sweeden had not. While he had lost Cornwall, he had gained Hereford, Gwent, and Gloucester. He had nine sons and two of his three living daughters were grown and married to some of his best advisors.

Robert owed the Saxons a visit.