Roger and the Seven Year Revolt

[IamWhoa]

Authors Introduction: ​

Third attempt at an AAR. Levon the Magnificent just wasn't coming along too well, though I'll get to that someday. This coming break I'll have lots of time to work on one, and hopefully comment on some others. I expect this to be in close to 25-30 parts, with the majority of it being taken up by the war and some going to an epilogue. It will probably be shorter, or longer (but probably shorter) depending on how it evolves. That's just how my outline came out. I thought it would be more fun to write about more well known characters, like the Lionheart, who will have a major role, and Henry II. But there's also the lesser known Roger de Bigod, who is the main character. I won't try and separate narrative and history book like Kerne Theory, and I won't try and stick to one type like Levon. I talk about them like they are these well known AAR's but I'm just referencing what I know.

Note: Bigod comes from the surname Bigot. So it's not By-god like I thought it was when I was playing the game.

May it bore you to a restful sleep!

Contents:

Diving for Dutch Winter-wear
What is this 'Draughts' you reference?
The Rebellion of the Lionheart
Pitching a Tent for Battle
The Battle of Loches
Lion to Bigod

September Fair
Robert de Beaumont
Hamelina
It Was a Thursday
A Scrawling Once Found
The Battle of Brockhall
​

 

[IamWhoa]

Part I: Diving for Dutch Winter-wear​

On the 29th of April, 1187, a Flemish merchant vessel lost its way and wrecked off the coast of Norfolk, north of Yarmouth. All hands on board perished and their vessel became a star attraction for several weeks – its torn sails whipping against the menacing rocks. The rocks themselves were like a hand reaching up from the sea and each jagged finger seemed to curl around the splintered deck.

On the 5th of March a group of men on horseback arrived. They approached the shore. One carried a banner which whipped and fluttered.

A small group of children played in the sands, covered from head to toe in thick woolen garments – it was a windy day, after all. The leader of the group of men dismounted and walked to the edge of the waters. He put a hand up to his head to block out the sun as he looked out on the bobbing ship.

Then he began removing his clothes: buttons, pins, hat, shoes, and so on.

In his underwear he waded out to sea. The men he left behind remained quiet whilst the children gawked and screamed.

Finally, with a single graceful motion, the man dove into the sea. The kids themselves had silenced and rushed to the lapping waters to watch.

For several minutes there was nothing to be seen of him. In all that time, the only motion was the sudden flight of several gulls from the ship.

Then his head emerged from the waters. Sopping dark hairs snaked down his long pale face.

Slowly, he lurched towards the shore. The children laughed and cried as they fled.

When he came to the shallows he began to trudge and over his head he lifted a large chest. Bearing the burden, he walked up to his men and threw the chest down upon the sands before collapsing himself.

In each corner of the chest were four lead weights which held down a stack of tunics – each a solid and pleasant color, such as red and yellow, in addition to at least one blue. They were so thick in appearance that they emanated warmth in the minds of those that looked upon them.

A broad woolen cloth was brought before the swimmer and he was wrapped in it. Before long he stood up again, slowly and wearily puting his clothes back on. His nose had been purple but slowly regained its fairness, all the while dripping warm liquids.

He looked upon the chest. “Remove that, will you?” he said.

One of his men—John was his name—bent down and ripped out the tunics. Beneath them was a rustic iron crown. Its surface lacked polish, but it shown a faintest amount of gray sunlight.

John gave one glance at it and tossed it over his shoulder. He was disappointed to find only the soggy wooden bottom of the chest.

Another accosted him as an ass: “I don't think you know why we're here.”

The other man—the shivering man who had recovered the crown—sighed quietly and walked over to where it had struck the sands. He picked it up and tossed it about in his hand, getting a good look at all sides of it. He glanced up to the bishop of Norwich who looked down from his horse. The Bishop pursed his lips and looked north towards a faint pillar of smoke. Then he smiled brightly, revealing peculiar shining teeth: “The king will be interested to see what the Earl of Norfolk has found while swimming off his shores!”
​

 

[unmerged(109735)]

Even though I came to it late, I have hugely enjoyed your "Kerne Theory", but now I do realize that your style is also not at all unsuitable to a narrative AAR. You are off to an unsual start, and I am intrigued to see where that chest will lead us to.

 

[Enewald]

Ah the king won't be interested would the bishop shut up.

Nice beginning!

 

[phargle]

Great to see IamWhoa producing. I dug Kerne Theory, those crazy guys, and look forward to reading more about the shenanigans of nobles in their underwear.

I want to emphasize that I consider you a valued member of the community and am glad to see your gears turning. . . although maybe I just like the name 'IamWhoa'. Either way, it works out to my level of enthusiasm at this AAR being the same, so let's call it equal parts from column A and column B!

 

[Teep]

I didn't read any of your other stuff but from the other commentd you sound a good writer.

 

[robou]

Enjoyed 'The Kerne Theory' very much, and you can obviously write narrative to a high standard as well. Is the Duke of Norfolk going to crown himself King of some place or another? Well, perhaps not. Many questions to be answered, do continue!

 

[IamWhoa]

robou: Thank you! He's an Earl still, which is the equal of a Count (I hope o) but he might try this or that.

Teep: People get lucky once in a while, I suppose.

phargle: Perhaps I'll fit more underwear in there somewhere.

Enewald: He might be a little pompous.

The_Guiscard: I'm glad you liked it!

 

[IamWhoa]

Part II: What is this 'Draughts' you reference?​

King Henry II awaited Roger back in Norwich Castle, where he was given quarters – the finest that Roger could afford him. Blazing fires burned at all times in several corners of the castle. Roger had made sure to see that he was comfortable for the few days that he would stay, for the Kings of England were not entirely open to what he was to propose.

The Earldoms—under King Henry—faced a staunch opponent of their powers. Any increase would be rejected outright until the king could be fully convinced otherwise.

So the king waited with his numerous advisors. He had just finished a meal of mostly venison—of which he abstained from eating very much—when Roger arrived.

Followed by the same group of men, Roger trudged to the top of the motte and entered the stone keep. The king rose (purely out of excitement) and Roger bowed.

“So, what did you find?” the king asked. His voice was naturally abrasive, even in casual conversation.

Clutched between Roger's arm and breast was a wheat colored cloth. The Earl took it in hand and unwrapped it. Inside was the crown. It seemed to absorb the sparse light of the keep and so was very dark in appearance.

Roger felt high and powerful presenting the crown to the king, but Henry was not satisfied. Though he said nothing, he bared his palms as if to ask what it was Roger had presented.

“It's the crown of East Anglia,” Roger said.

All of the king's advisors immediately stood. One skeptic asked: “What makes you so sure?”

The Bishop of Norwich, who had stood behind Roger, stepped forward. He took the crown from Roger and felt the outside of its surface.

“It's rather faint now, but in an older script it is proclaimed that this is the crown of the Lord of the East Angles.”

Henry's brows furled. He still said nothing and with another silent gesture of his hand he beckoned the Bishop forward. The king did not touch the crown but observed it closely as the Bishop slowly turned it.

The advisors to the king were silent until he finally answered the question that was on all their minds: “I've known the Bishop for many years, and so I believe what he says.”

The Bishop smiled and immediately walked back to Roger, returning the crown to his hands.

“I'm still not sure what this means, however,” the king said.

“With it,” Roger said. “I think I could present a claim as King of Norfolk.”

“Hah!” the king blurted. He turned to his advisors, who smirked in return. “What sorts of beers do they feed you out east?” He moved some of his short red hair to one side of his forehead and quickly added: “Richard would not be happy.” The advisors gave a mixture of chuckles and ayes.

Roger felt ridiculous. He smiled to mask his embarrassment. After a short moment of silence, the king continued with his warmest tone.

“Though, I am pleased that you would consult me in person and not the magistrate – all the more reason to favor you. I know you have service to the crown at heart, and so I do not fear your intentions. As one of my finer Earls—not to mention most powerful—I shall present you the option of becoming Duke of Norfolk, premier on the mainland.”

Roger fell to one knee in gratitude. Approving cheers erupted from the entourage of both men.

“But I can do no more,” Henry said, nearly drowned out by the others.

The great king had at last given Roger a fine reward for his many years of service, and on the 5th of March he became Duke of Norfolk. The crown of the East Angles became that of the Duchy of Norfolk.

The king left the day after, but not before the new duke and his liege enjoyed each others company amid large banquets and a quickly arranged festival in Norwich.​

 

[Enewald]

Yay, duke of Norvolk!
Hmm, sounds a bit like nord volk.
North people?

Gratz for becoming the duke!

 

[IamWhoa]

Enewald: That might be what it means, I dunno.

 

[IamWhoa]

Part III: The Rebellion of the Lionheart​

In 1187, the relationship between Richard and his father King Henry II was stormy at best. Attempts to subdue Richard came to no conclusion and in a show of strength, Richard allied with the King of France, King Phillipe II. Richard and the French king came to be so close that they shared the same bed on at least one occasion. Whether this show of “unity” was political or romantic (or both) is not known for sure.

Whatever the case, Henry II was alarmed by the development. Attempts to lure Richard back to the mainland and away from his seat of power were met with mocking displays by Richard, who looted royal treasuries and fortified his own castles.

On the 15th of February, 1188, Richard had a letter dictated to his father in which he proclaimed Henry a false king. The Lionheart Rebellion had begun. Duke Roger de Bigod was just one of many asked to present his armies to the king, and he did. The Welsh chronicler Walter Map mentions the Duke once in his work De nugis curialium, claiming: “[Roger] was the most zealous of all of the king's vassals.”

In September of the same year, Roger had his barons assemble the armies of Norfolk which, on the mainland, was second only to the crown in strength.

On the 16th, Roger remained in the keep at Norwich. He stood below a 5 by 3 foot painting of himself. It was commissioned a year earlier and put together by a man claiming to have seen the lands around Jerusalem. In the painting, the Duke Roger stood upon a rocky outcrop and looked longingly upon the Holy City. In one hand was the snarling head of Salah ad-Din and in the other a sword raised high towards a golden cross in the sky.

He often tried to imitate this pose, and he did now. Though somehow he failed to live up to the grandiose rendition. Maintaining what he could of the position, he tilted his head back ever so slightly to achieve the highly noble posture, but the crown of Norfolk loosened and began to slide off his head. Fed up, he sighed and left.

His faithful servant, Edward Butler, waited for him.

​

Given the man's strict adherence to dietary modesty, most were dumbstruck as to how he became so morbidly fat. It did not matter in the end, as he was more pleasant company than most. A slight drizzle tickled their heads as they walked from the entrance of the keep to the wall of the motte.

“I believe we've been able to muster around 4,000,” Edward said to the Duke as they walked. “Few hundred knights...”

Roger nodded. “That sounds about right. I'll be setting out now.”

“Already?”

“Yes, but take note of this: I'm placing half the men in the command of the king and they shall head west to meet with him. I shall take the others across the Channel and meet up with 3,000 soldiers there. For the time being, I'll be representing the king in Aquitaine.”

“Of course!” Edward said. He questioned the details of everything commanded of him, smiling and nodding as he absorbed the information.

“Oh yes, and tell Isabelle I intend to send Hugh off to the keeping of the Archbishop in York when he's old enough,” Roger said. “See if that's to her liking.” With that he mounted a horse rode off towards a vast encampment that had sprung up outside Norwich. Edward gazed upon the departing Duke for only a moment before returning to the darkness of the castle.
​

 

[Enewald]

dark castles, so scary.

 

[robou]

So, the Lionheart has turncoated. You have destroyed the romantic image of him, even if that wasn't really true in the frist place. Perhaps a chance for more promotions in Aquitaine? Oh and for the record, Norfolk is old english for North Folk (as in North People). I'm from Suffolk, which is the county south of Norfolk and we are the South People... simple enough

 

[IamWhoa]

robou: Well, I guess we'll see if this AAR gets my house burned down by an angry Englishman.

Enewald: Azjbeth tears off Edward's head in the cut-scene.

 

[IamWhoa]

Part IV: Pitching a Tent for Battle​

Roger landed at Arques on the 26th of December, 1188. Within two months he had traversed Normandy and Maine and had arrived on the outskirts of Poitiers. There he met up with 3,800 other troops commanded by the Duke of Oxford, Aubrey de Vere.

The rain which had shown itself back in Norwich had by then grown into thick and smothering storms. The fighting was similarly intense and persistent. The long road to Poitiers was littered with traps Richard had laid. Every open field which the loyalist army treaded was quickly pelted with a hail of missiles. On two occasions the baggage train was seized by bands of Basque horsemen and only after long battles were they retaken. The mud slowed the progress of the train and thus the army.

There were three occasions in which the Duke found himself in battle: the two at the baggage trains, which he showed strong leadership, allowing him some respect amongst his men. There was also an engagement five miles north of Poitiers on the 21st of February, 1189. Several hundred rebels poured out of the woodlands and into the loyalist ranks. A demoralizing revelation quickly shot through the loyalists: Richard had come and they were surrounded. Only when Roger raised his sword high and beckoned them to follow him did the spirits of the army return. It took only a short time to drive off the relatively small attack.

On the 8th of April a sunny day finally graced the loyalists. They had remained encamped outside Poitiers for several weeks as the king organized his own forces and prepared to meet them. At that point he was still at sea.

​

All present at Poitiers knew that Richard was close -- very close. Skittish rebel scouts kept a watchful eye on the camp, leaving the loyalists in a constant state of unease – some lost their appetite, while others could hardly sleep, and still more shivered with nervousness. At night, the faint glow of fires could be seen in the east.

On the 15th they still remained in camp. Roger was becoming anxious and when the Duke Aubrey entered his tent he jumped to his feet like a startled cat.

“New information, it seems,” Aubrey said as he moseyed towards a chair. He groaned as he sat down. “Richard is making a break for the north with the entirety of his army. He is trying to keep the wetlands north of Le Blanc between us and him, but if he gets out he might reach Tours.”

“Then we'll just move north as well,” Roger said, adding some inflection as to make it nearly a question. He sat down again and relaxed.

“He might not go for it, you see,” Aubrey said. “He could go farther and break out into Normandy. From there, he could even cross the Channel! We can't wait for the new troops to arrive from the coasts and we can't simply move north – we have to move east immediately.”

Roger rose again, though more slowly. “Then this is it.”

Aubrey lazily scratched his neck before he said with a smirk: “My friend, we don't have much choice, do we?”

Roger paused for a moment before rushing around the table and out of the tent.​

 

[Enewald]

There are allways choices. He just is a fool.

 

[phargle]

This is a terribly fun scenario. Roger seems to be trying pretty hard to be a good soldier, but Richard seems to be trying pretty hard to be a wily and scary tactician! Richard's revolts against his dad are always amusing business. Maybe they'll have to chase the lionhearted one all the way back to England. It's funny to see them lay a trap and to have Richard walk into it and to have them be the ones on the defensive.

 

[robou]

So they march east, to cut Richard off... try and tempt to not to go for Normandy, or to move to Orleons? Which is it to be, as I have no doubt that the fate of the Campaign is in the hands of Roger and Aubrey, and not the King.

 

[IamWhoa]

I'm not sure how to reply to the comments this time, so I shall simply say thank you for reading. Though, perhaps it would be good to know that Roger is now under the control of the AI...

I've rewritten this update a few times and it's still pretty silly. Oh well. o