Vox Francorum

[Ernain1111]

The Stable Boy

Kingdom of the Franks
Île-de-France, Melun.
September, in the year of our Lord 1066

​

On the banks of the Seine, the fortress of Melun was restless. The servants had spent the last two days loading carts with supplies; in the stables, horses were being selected for the journey, and the blacksmiths were inspecting the guards’ weapons and chainmail. This activity helped ease the growing anxiety taking hold of the castle. A few mercenaries traveling to Normandy to join William’s army had even stayed behind, hoping to find less risky employment in the escort of the King of the Franks. "Anyway," they thought, "the wind hasn’t come. How long can a trip to Reims take?"

Philippe was in the stables; an additional penance had been imposed on him. He closely followed the preparations for the journey, spending hours asking how many horseshoes were needed and how much oats for the horses. Also, whether there was enough money to pay the mercenaries and how many there were. The servants were somewhat exhausted by his intensity but proud to say they had spoken with the king.

“Philippe! Philippe!”

Philippe turned, not because of the loud shout, but because of the strong tug on his cloak. He had to leave the stable boy halfway through explaining the difference between a warhorse and a draft horse. Emma was standing there, holding her skirt to avoid the stable dirt.

“Philippe, did you speak with our mother to let me go to Reims?” Emma said, looking at him intensely.

“Emma... the stables are no place for a princess of France.”

“Alright, Philippe. Did you ask our mother if I can go to Reims?”

“Melun is full of strangers...”

“And any one of them could be happy to kidnap a princess of France. That’s why I let Raoul follow me,” Emma replied, pointing to the bald man running toward them.

“Raoul,” said Philippe, looking at the regent of France.

“Sorry, my lord,” said Raoul, slightly sweaty.

“I told him if he wanted to stop me, he could dare to lay a hand on the princess of the Franks. He’d fall as fast as he got up.” Emma spoke as if Raoul wasn’t there, and the man acted as if he didn’t hear anything.

“Enough, Emma...” Philippe blushed, glancing at Raoul out of the corner of his eye. “That’s enough.”

“Alright, Philippe...”

“I’m your brother, Emma, but also your king.”

Emma fell silent, staring at him intensely. She made a small bow:

“Did you consider my request?”

“I gave you my word it would be done. It saddens me that you think of me as a king without honor.”

“I’m sorry... Philippe... Your Majesty.”

“It will be done, trust me. Now go back inside.”

Emma made a second bow and walked toward the fortress. She paused for a moment:

“If Your Highness weren’t my brother, I might have mistaken him for the stable boy.” Emma looked disapprovingly at Philippe’s dirty clothes and mud-covered boots; after a second bow, she continued on her way.

“Raoul... sorry about that... Could you make sure he returns with the children?”

“Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness. But don’t worry, I always have trusted men watching,” he said, pointing to two men dressed as servants but with war scars. “They alerted me as soon as he escaped his tutors.”

“A strong character...”

“His royal blood can’t be denied. May I have a moment of your time, Your Highness?”

“Of course, Raoul.” Philippe walked inside the fortress with Raoul.

The stable boy could barely contain his joy. Not only could he boast that the king had spoken to him, but he could also say he had talked to the regent and Princess Emma. He saw the envious and expectant looks from the other stable boys. That night, he would pay for the story with plenty of beer at the tavern and first make them listen to the difference between a warhorse and a draft horse, even though they all knew it.

They walked to the regent’s chambers, talking about the weather and how long the journey might take. Raoul opened the door with a bow. To Philippe’s surprise, inside were his mother, Princess Anna, and Prince Bishop Guido. Philippe bowed first to the bishop, kissing his hand, then to his mother.

“Raoul told me you gave your word to your sister,” said Anna, holding a glass of wine. Her eyes were deep, her expression somewhat tense. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, but she was exotic. She had come from the East decades ago to marry King Henry, from the lands of the Rus. She barely had an accent, but something in the tone of her voice still gave her away.

Philippe looked at Raoul with some reproach and then at Bishop Guido. Guido, while looking at Princess Anna, seemed anxious:

“It is important,” said Anna, “that a king can keep his word. I’m listening.”

“If it is good for the people of France to see their king, it would also be good for them to see their sister,” said Philippe without hesitation; he had been preparing his speech since his sister had forced him into this. “It’s not only a penitential journey; otherwise, we wouldn’t be bringing carts, horses, and guards. It is also to show that the King of the Franks does not hide from a bastard...”

“From the Duke of Normandy,” interrupted Anna. “It is not right to refer to a vassal that way.”

“That’s true,” Philippe was somewhat confused. His mother had cut his inspiration, and he didn’t know how to continue. He got distracted looking at the tapestries hanging on the walls. He looked at the wooden table and chairs around it; only his mother remained seated. Guido looked at him urgently. “I ask you to allow me to take my siblings with me.”

Anna looked doubtful, took a sip of wine:

“You will have guards.”

“That will be done; some mercenaries are already being hired, as I understand.”

“Not only mercenaries... The Baron of Chevreuse will accompany you.”

“Even him?! That’s too much!”

“Then it will not be done!” Anna stood up; in other times she would have towered over Philippe, but now the boy had grown.

“You will honor your mother and father, Philippe,” Guido hurried to say. “Since your father is now in the presence of the Lord, I’m sure he is displeased to hear you speak to your mother that way.”

Philippe blushed with shame. He longed to escape the control of his elders. This trip to Reims was his chance; if only servants and mercenaries accompanied him, he could manage, but with the presence of a noble, even a minor one, it would complicate things. Once again, under others’ care, only this time outside Melun. He only hoped that the marshal, Count Ertienne, who was also in Melun, would not join. He wished he had also left, like the rest of the council, to spend the winter on their own lands.

“I’m sorry, mother...”

“The Count of Sens will also go,” said Bishop Guido without letting Anna answer. “You are not trained in medicine, and your sister is young. A cold is dangerous for a child. Yes, you don’t have to tell me you will sleep in castles along the way, and when there is no castle nearby, the king will only stay in the best inns. But that is out of the question.”

Philippe could see that the bishop was speaking to him, though he was really addressing his mother. He had no options. Guido was his ally in this matter. If Anna said no, he would break his word to his sister.

“I dislike it, but I understand. I regret yelling at you, mother.”

Anna looked at Guido, but when she spoke, she addressed Philippe:

“If the good of the kingdom of the Franks requires it, so be it, but I still dislike it.”

Philippe felt she was addressing Guido, even though she looked at him. Anna offered her hand, and he hurried to kiss it:

“Come with me, you need to clean up; you look like a beggar.”
Guido sighed with relief as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"I thought we wouldn’t make it."-said Guido.

"Like any mother, she worries about her children," said Raoul, peeking through the door to make sure Phillipe and Anna were far enough away. He slammed the door shut. He poured himself some wine before continuing. "They don’t realize they’ve already grown up, especially Emma. I pity the poor man who marries her."

"In the end, she’ll submit; it’s a woman’s nature," Guido unconsciously pressed his stomach; lately, he’d been feeling a constant discomfort.

"Maybe... Have you thought about my proposal, my lord?"

"It seems risky... and I don’t think the Duke of Aquitaine will agree. It would be madness; the southern lords would rebel against him."

"It would also be madness not to try. We have few options, my lord," Raul closed the windows after first glancing outside. Then he sat down opposite the bishop. "I know you could convince Duke Guilhem. If you can’t, no one can."

"You’re overestimating my abilities."

Raoul had served the bishop for years. At first, he had been in charge of buying ink and parchment, then the tithes, and when Guido was appointed chancellor by King Henry, the latter entrusted him with organizing royal banquets—a seemingly discreet position, but one that had brought him close to power. Close enough to present himself as a compromise between the great nobles after Henry’s death. They were too jealous of one another to leave the regency in the hands of a commoner. That way, they ensured no one would gain an advantage over the king. Raúl felt comfortable, staying silent when he had to and enduring the slights he had to endure. He always looked over his shoulder. No one knew when one of the great nobles might decide they didn’t want the son of a wealthy cloth merchant, after all still a merchant, to be in charge of the regency. Outside a few guards or servants, he had no knights at his service to prevent someone from cutting his throat—at least not yet.

"It’s a journey too long to Bordeaux..." Guido felt the stomach pain ease and discreetly scratched above his navel.

"Duke Guilhem’s court is now in Poitiers, not Bordeaux; it’s closer... because of William."

"You know we tried once already; the Duke of Aquitaine’s answer was blunt. He won’t marry his daughter to the king just to erase his house’s name."

"The brother... we haven’t tried with Prince Hugues."

"If he already rejected the king, do you think he’d accept the brother? It would be the same result."

"He rejected the king because that would mean Aquitaine would fall under the crown’s control. It’s not the same with Prince Hugues."

"It’s almost the same... Hugues is the heir."

"I don’t think so. We have to try. The crown is alone... we need a strong ally. If we marry him to one of William’s daughters, the bastard will rule France, win or lose in England... you said so yourself..."

"That’s true..."

"If we look towards Hispania, considering the king’s holy piety, we’ll end up exhausted fighting the infidels..."

"Enough... you don’t need to go on... I’m already ashamed that such an unchristian thought came from me."

"You are a loyal man to the kingdom... let’s give this idea a chance..."

Raoul saw Guido still hesitating. He just had to push him a little more; if anyone could convince Guilhem, it was Guido. He had known it the day Guido convinced his stingy father to let his only son abandon the family business to serve the Church; he was a man capable of convincing anyone. Later he discovered he was also a man who could be pushed to convince anyone. He asked God’s forgiveness for using him.

"Are you still working on your poems?"

"You know I am; the ink is almost finished."

"I’ll order more; you don’t need to worry about that," Raúl poured some more wine for the bishop. "There are no poets like the Occitans... I’m sure you could find great inspiration at the duke’s court..."

"You’re shameless." Guido had been thinking about the idea. Something could be done, it would hardly work, but he trusted Raúl. There was nothing to lose by trying. "When could we leave?"

"I serve the kingdom as you do," Raúl sighed relieved inwardly. "As soon as the king and Princess Emma leave. Leave the queen mother to me; I will convince her to allow Prince Hugues’s journey south."

They kept talking most of the day, while servants brought them wine, cheese, grapes, and some meat. Guido spoke at length about the depths and subtleties of the Occitan language, much closer to Latin than the language of the Franks. He was surprised to learn that Raúl had been studying the language in his little free time and congratulated him on his diligence. From the start, he had noticed that the weaver’s son had a good mind for numbers, but not that he was also interested in the noble arts. He sent one of the servants to bring the parchments he had been working on for his Vox Francorum, an elegy to the Capetian kings. Raoul could only think that soon he would have knights at his service. Late at night, he sent for one of the stable boys and gave precise orders to reserve some horses and also a donkey.
Out of pure envy, they had made him work late into the night. Payen lingered reluctantly in the tavern, which was packed with mercenaries, rough and heavily armed men. The stable boys had been forced to corner themselves in one side of the room. But for now, he felt like a king.

At first, they treated him with indifference, trying to see if they could get something out of him without paying. But they hadn’t counted on his patience. Finally, they asked him, and he simply said he was thirsty. They cursed him while buying him a full pint; he savored the taste of the free beer.

—The king was asking me about the difference between a travel horse and a cart horse —he began to speak.

—One is strong and muscular, and the other is agile with slender legs.

Simon was four years older and not well liked; he had little patience and usually whipped the animals as soon as they showed reluctance. But everyone sided with him, elaborating on the differences between the two types of horses to annoy Payen. He simply kept drinking his beer until the conversation died down, and they bought him a second pint.

The fire crackled, and the tavern keeper defended the pork on the spit from a particularly voracious group of mercenaries.

—Well, the king, blessed be his name, didn’t know, because that’s the stable boys’ job, not the kings’. Then came Princess Emma and the regent... The king had promised to take her with him to Reims, so I already have one of the white mares ready, which is quite docile... the new one... for Princess Emma.

—What would you know if she’s going or not? —Simon was choking on bread dipped in oil and garlic.

—Well, it turns out the king gave his word, and what the king says is law.

—What the nobles say is law, Payen. If the Duke of Flanders doesn’t give permission to pay the forage at once... I don’t think that mare will leave Île-de-France.

That made most of the group turn against Simon, because the Duke of Flanders controlled the kingdom’s finances and, although he was with his son-in-law Duke William of Normandy in Rouen, he refused to loosen the purse strings.

—You’re a pig and you eat like a pig, Simon.

—And you think you’re better than you are, Payen. You didn’t speak with any princess or any regent; you just stood there while none of them noticed you. Even a mule could do that...

Payen stood up, grabbed his pint of beer, and threw it at Simon’s head. Simon was faster and the pint smashed against the wall.

The stable boys split into two groups quickly and began hitting each other with chairs and fists, amid the innkeeper’s hysteria as he called for the guards. Taking advantage of the situation, the mercenaries pounced on the pork, cutting it into pieces and laughing.

—Look what you did, you damned pigs! —the innkeeper shouted, grabbing a club to charge at the mercenaries.

The man didn’t stand a chance; the mercenaries wore chainmail and were trained for war. They disarmed him without trouble and began beating him with the club.

The stable boys felt guilty, since the innkeeper often gave them beer on credit, so they grabbed chairs and charged at the mercenaries. They managed to break the heads of a couple who were caught off guard, but soon they had to run out of the tavern. The mercenaries had drawn their swords and were drunk enough to spill blood.

—Melun, stand up! Stand up, Melun, they’re killing your sons! —Simon shouted and ran like the devil, for his life depended on it.
Some of the villagers came out carrying clubs or farming tools. Many others preferred to barricade the doors, and only the village fool ran off toward the castle.

The mercenaries were few, but they knew what they were doing. They gave the villagers a monumental beating. Payen and another boy tried to climb onto a roof when a mercenary appeared. The boy ran off, but Payen was frozen with fear.

The mercenary had his sword drawn, took a couple of steps toward him, and Payen noticed he was quite drunk. He prayed to the Virgin Mary and took off running. The Virgin must have heard his prayers because the man stumbled halfway through the chase.

It was his moment to escape the village, but he could still hear the screams. He looked around desperately and found a rock big enough. The mercenary was just getting up when Payen smashed the rock into his head, sending him back to the ground. The man began to vomit, and Payen thought he had killed him, but the man was only howling in pain and vomiting as well.

He still had to struggle and punch him a couple of times to take the sword away. Then he went back to the middle of the fray. The women peeked through the shutters, shouting curses at the mercenaries. A couple of mercenaries had come out of the tavern with torches ready to set fire.

Two men lay dead on the ground; Payen recognized them by sight... servants, just like him.

The mercenaries began to loot and crush the resistance; they knew how to do it. Courage abandoned Payen, who hid as best he could in a corner. First, they went after the men still standing, ignoring the women. Then, they started grabbing whatever they could from the houses: salt, metal pots, and supplies. Only then did they begin to divide up the women, but they were poorly coordinated. A hunchback who seemed to be in charge kept falling down drunk. It was a rather improvised raid.

—The king! The king! —shouted one of the women.

The sound of horses was deafening; about fifty riders in chainmail, helmets, shields, and lances appeared. They wore the colors of the royal house and the Count of Bourges. The kingdom’s marshal rode at the head of the group, sword in hand:

—Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons in the name of the king!

Payen hurried to throw his sword as far as possible, but the mercenaries seemed to be weighing their options; he regretted having done it.

—Drop your weapons now! —the Count of Bourges looked furious.

Philippe was terrified but tried not to show it. His mother had locked herself in with his siblings, and for the first time, he had dared to disobey her. Guido and Raoul had also tried to stop him. When the boy came running, shouting in the Melun courtyard, alarm spread. At first, it was thought that some noble might have dared to loot the village and try his luck. But no noble would dare so much, except his uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, who had already spilled family blood. Philippe feared his uncle; that man did not respect the laws of men or God. But he couldn’t just lock himself in Melun when only a few kilometers away the crown’s subjects were being dispossessed.

—If he catches you, who knows what he’ll do! —Anna of Kiev begged him, grabbing his hand and pulling him. Hugues barely spoke and looked nervous. Emma, who was trying to appear brave, said nothing either—. I forbid you! I am your mother!

—And I am the king of the Franks —Philippe kissed her on the forehead.

He felt mean for having so strongly wished the Duke of Bourges wasn’t in Melun. Philippe had never been to war, and although he knew how to hold a sword, he didn’t overestimate his skill. Besides, he counted on the knights of Bourges if it really was a raiding party from Burgundy.

—I will give my life for the king if necessary, Your Highness —Etienne of Bourges was already on his horse, giving orders to his men to form up.

They rode as if the devil were chasing them. Philippe saw some houses burning and heard the screams. The banner of Bourgogne was nowhere to be seen. The smoke made his eyes water and dried out his throat. He was stunned by the sight of the dead; he had never seen one before. He fought back the urge to vomit; he couldn’t afford to.

Count Ertienne shouted and rode his horse back and forth, but the men refused to drop their weapons. The women screamed for justice and the peasants writhed under the boots of the mercenaries. Philippe barely had time to react when Count Ertienne approached; at some point he had dismounted and was dragging a hunchback along with two other guards:

—This is the scoundrel! —Ertienne was furious—. This little man is the scoundrel responsible! Germans, your highness, Germans on their way to Normandy!

—I am a noble, you cannot treat me like this! —the hunchback struggled furiously.

Philippe looked around, afraid to speak and that his fear would show in his voice. The mercenaries had gathered and looked ready to fight. Philippe didn’t know what to do; he insisted on marching on, thinking his presence might keep the peace. His gaze met that of a boy coming from a corner, seeming to search the ground. It was the stable boy, trembling. Philippe thought he wasn’t ready, not ready to kill anyone:

—A noble? —he said, trying to sound firm.

—This ill-formed man is just another vulture, your highness —Count Ertienne shoved the hunchback.

—I am a wandering knight! My father had many sons and little land, in Flanders.

—Shut up, trash! —Ertienne struck the hunchback’s hump with the sword’s pommel.

—Enough, my lord! Release the man —Philippe felt the accusing stares of the soldiers, of Count Ertienne, the women, the villagers, and the stable boy—. If there’s going to be a fight, half of you will die here; there are almost as many soldiers as mercenaries, and these seem ready to slaughter the tied-up villagers first. If you are noble, you show it poorly by looting the lands of the king of the Franks and causing riots... Will you hand over those responsible for the deaths?

The hunchback looked at him without hesitation:

—Richard, Joaquín the Swabian, and Joaquín the Tuscan —he said, pointing at the three men. His companions, who were sobering up and thinking their lives were cheap for a few pots and some salt, lunged at those named to cut their throats.

—Enough, enough! They will be judged in Melun. You will come with us too, what is your name? —Philippe said addressing the hunchback.

—Amadeus, your highness, from Flanders —the hunchback said, trying to remain standing—. To serve the king of the Franks.

Philippe dismounted, ignoring Count Ertienne’s look.

—Your men broke the king’s peace...

—They are my traveling companions, your highness... not my men... I am not responsible for what they did —Amadeus tried to talk his way out; he had already gotten rid of his three competitors for control of the band. Now he needed to get rid of the king.

—If my men were to slaughter you right here, I would feel guilty for not controlling them... Tell them to release the villagers.

Amadeus didn’t have to say a word; the mercenaries hurried to untie the men and women.

—Since you are a wandering knight and have allowed innocent people to die, something must be done.

—“The death of the innocents... what the hell is this boy talking about?” —Amadeus thought, but dared not speak.

—Get on your knees.

Ertienne hurried to shove the man to the ground and draw his sword to cut off his head.

—Stop, my lord! —Philippe extended his hands, holding the hunchback’s; it had started raining—. How many are dead?

Ertienne rolled his eyes looking around. No one was quite sure, but after a moment they counted only one truly dead; the others were bruised but alive. One had seemed dead until a soldier kicked him in the side, eliciting a muffled scream.

—A vassal for a vassal —Philippe kept his hands out—. You’re a knight, right?

Amadeus knew he had lost control of the band when he called them his traveling companions; he had gotten rid of three, but Pablo the Tough Guy was already smiling. He took the king’s hands; it wasn’t the worst luck. He had seen a few ceremonies but wasn’t sure. He heard the king’s voice:

—I, Amadeus, pledge faith and loyalty to you...

—I, Amadeus, pledge faith and loyalty to you, Philippe, king of the Franks, to serve you with my counsel and my sword, as long as you treat me as befits your vassal.

As punishment, the rest of the mercenaries were whipped by the villagers. The innkeeper was all bruised and battered, but you could see his happy smile, two teeth missing, as he approached with a club in hand. Payen thought that something was better than nothing and, since he had already given enough blows to a mercenary, decided not to line up; he just shouted:

—Long live the king!

The villagers joined in the chorus.​

 

[Ernain1111]

The King’s Justice


Kingdom of the Franks
Île-de-France, Melun.
September, in the Year of Our Lord 1066​

Melun was a celebration, at least for the young ones. Nearly a week had passed since the tavern disturbance. Pihillipe was now the center of attention among his brothers, and even Emma seemed willing to obey him gladly. She no longer thought about William of Normandy. Most of the mercenaries had left when his mother forbade the trip to Reims. But fortunately, the Count of Sens had arrived the morning after the disturbance with his two sons and accepted Pihillipe’s offer of hospitality. Fortunately, because Shopie, the Count’s daughter, was there.

The group had gone out riding because the day was extraordinarily good for September. Pihillipe would have liked to go out with the hawk, but Anna of Kiev, his mother, had forbidden it. He listened attentively to Shopie, who chatted happily with Emma, laughing at her joke:


“Well, when the Duke of Flanders returns, I’ll ask him if our good Amadeus’s father is really his vassal,” Emma said, riding a white mare, quite large for her age, but one she had taken a liking to.


“You’re terrible, Emma” said Shopie, her hair blowing in the breeze. “Though I doubt the Duke of Flanders knows all his barons and castellans by name.”


Amadeus rode a more modest horse. He didn’t quite know what to do with it since they had brought him to the castle. Pihillipe had taken him as a sort of all-purpose servant. However, the queen, after sending him to Simon the Master of Spies, had forbidden him to carry arms. The man always looked intimidated when Emma made that joke, which made Emma repeat it more often.


Marshal Ertienne rode a little behind the group and didn’t miss the opportunity. He drew his sword and spurred his horse, which broke into a trot. He passed beside Amadeus, hitting him on the neck with the flat side of the sword, then sheathed it again and positioned his horse next to the king.


“When His Majesty commands, so it shall be,” he said, winking.


“I think we’ll keep our man for now,” said Pihillipe, smiling at Bourgogne. Until a few weeks ago, he had considered him just another old man on the council, but that ride to stop the disturbance had changed everything. Pihillipe had felt like a king for the first time—leading men, administering justice, receiving the homage of a man. It wouldn’t have been possible if Ertienne hadn’t followed his orders instead of his mother’s. He looked at Emma, pretending to be angry: “You must stop teasing Amadeus. I promised to treat him justly, and that means protecting him from my sister’s jokes.”


“If you take your promises so seriously, why aren’t we on the way to Reims now?” Emma said. She still brought up the subject occasionally.


Pihillipe felt annoyed because he knew he couldn’t simply ignore the question. Emma would keep insisting. The queen mother had said no, and it was impossible to argue. But he felt embarrassed to admit in front of Shopie that he had to obey his mother.


“If you’re interested in religious life, Your Highness, I’d recommend going to Cluny instead of Reims,” said Shopie. “The monks there are changing the Church. One hears that the best scholars of all Christendom are reforming everything.”


“Cluny?” Emma was somewhat taken aback. Normally she would have replied that she was headed to her brother, but there was something about Shopie that enchanted everyone.


“Yes, my lady, in the south,” Shopie said, smiling with rosy cheeks. “In a few years, you’ll hear nonstop about that abbey. If I could choose, I’d rather travel there than to Reims.”


“It would be a shame if someone as beautiful as you entered a convent,” Pihillipe said, saying the first thing that came to mind. He felt himself blush and get embarrassed as soon as he closed his mouth.


“Y-your Highness… you honor me,” Shopie said, lowering her gaze shyly.


“It’s not that I wouldn’t recommend it…” Pihillipe felt like dying knowing everyone’s eyes were on him. “I… I think religious life is admirable… Do you have a vocation? You should enter… I just meant… that the most beautiful things are placed before God…”


“Oh yes… I also think God is important,” Shopie said.


“If our good Prince Hugo enters a convent, he’d already have half the way done. He seems to be taking a vow of silence,” said Ertienne, pointing to Prince Hugues.


Pihillipe felt relieved by Ertienne’s intervention.


“Are you feeling well, Hugues?” he said, looking away from Shopie. “You’ve barely spoken. Hugues!”

The boy looked half asleep and regarded the group with some surprise.


“What?”


“You haven’t said anything since we started riding, my lord,” Shopie said.


“Oh, yes… I… I was just thinking about why everyone can ride horses except me.” Prince Hugo was riding a strong, sturdy pony.


“Because children can’t ride, Hugues,” Emma didn’t miss the opportunity to straighten up on her horse. She was also supposed to ride a pony, but even Queen Anna admitted it was hard to go against her.


“That’s right, Hugues,” said Pihillipe, taking advantage of the moment. “But in three years you’ll be able to ride. You’ll be twelve then.”


“Pihillipe was only able to ride two years ago,” Emma smiled innocently. Pihillipe felt like pulling her off the horse.


“I remember the first time I rode a horse,” said Ertienne, laughing out loud. “I fell flat on my face and couldn’t ride again for a week. It wasn’t the case with the king—I’ve never seen anyone ride like that.”


“That must have been quite a sight,” said Shopie, “if a man as skilled as the marshal of the kingdom says so.”


Pihillipe went from gratitude toward Ertienne to a sickly jealousy he struggled to suppress:


“Is he really that skilled?” Everyone looked surprised at Amadeus. “Could we try a race?”


Emma didn’t waste time and took off at a gallop, followed by the others. Pihillipe didn’t know how he would explain it to his mother if he fell. Finally, he reined his horse by the riverbank:


“I won!”


“We’ve arrived,” said Pihillipe, looking at Shopie. “This was the place I told you about.”


The ford lost much of its charm outside summer, but it was certainly a beautiful place. Centuries ago there had been a Roman bridge there, now ruined. The fallen stones formed a kind of waterfall, and among them were the remains of an ancient statue that seemed to emerge from the water. A small grove extended between the two banks, and some trees had managed to root in the shallower parts. Pihillipe hurried to dismount and offered his hand to Shopie. The touch of her sweaty hand made him feel excited, and he didn’t think about confessing it. The girl seemed to step awkwardly when she got down, and Pihillipe held her by the waist.


“Pihillipe, help me!” Emma sounded impatient and annoyed.


Pihillipe released Shopie, but Count Ertienne was already helping Emma dismount.


“It’s more beautiful in summer,” said Pihillipe, looking at Shopie. “If you came again…”


“I would love that.”


Pihillipe smiled and briefly took her hand.


“I’d like your family to stay for Christmas in Melun.”


Amadeus had been unloading provisions from his horse. Four other guards, who had been following them at a distance, spread some blankets on the ground and set up a folding table and chairs, which they unloaded from a donkey. Amadeus began placing cheeses, wine, some fruit and meat, and stood while the lords sat. The sound of a fast gallop made him startle, but he calmed down when he saw the two approaching figures.


Count Guerin of Sens advanced, followed by his son Manasses. The count, physician of the royal court, was richly adorned. He wore a thick ermine coat, hardly appropriate for the day, jeweled hands, and a heavy gold chain. His son was a priest dressed like a bishop, all silk, a small fortune. Pihillipe wondered who could have the idea to dress so lavishly for a countryside ride. The horses were superb, brought from Barcelona, and it was said they weren’t even from there, but from Arabia. Pihillipe admired them, wondering why God would put such noble animals in the hands of infidels.


Emma had extended her hand for Manasses, the Count of Sens’s son, to kiss it. The boy hastened to dismount and approached Emma, kneeling. The ground was wet, so he dirtied the silk as soon as he touched the earth:


“The princess of the Franks,” Manasses said, kissing her hand. Then he stood.

“Chairs!” shouted the Count of Sens, addressing Amadeus, who hurried to obey.


“You took your time,” said Pihillipe, looking at Shopie’s brother and father.


“I apologize, Your Highness,” said the Count of Sens, sitting down with a flourish and removing his gloves.


“It takes time to dress up so much,” said Ertienne, smiling.


The group burst out laughing. Pihillipe tried to hold back his laughter, but joined in when he saw Shopie do the same.

“This?” said the Count of Sens, opening his hands to show the golden cross. “You should come to Sens, my lord. I would organize a banquet where you would truly see what pomp is.”


“It took a while to get the horses, Your Highness,” said Mennasses, as he set down the cup for Amadeus to pour him more wine. “They’ve been a bit skittish since Simon took two of them.”


“Simon?” said Prince Hugues, who had just woken up a bit from the race in which he came in last.


“Mayor Simon of Jergau. The king’s master of spies. A horrible man. How can someone have such an unattractive face? And where could he possibly have his head?” said Emma, slicing a piece of cheese.


“What do you mean?” said Pihillipe, somewhat nervous.


“The queen ordered that the two boys who started the fight in the tavern be punished, my lord,” said Manasses, making the sign of the cross over the food.


Pihillipe also crossed himself.


“Manasses, my son, could you pray for us?” said the Count of Sens.


“Where are they?” interrupted Pihillipe.


“The mayor is taking them near the village, my lord,” Amadeus had come closer to serve wine to Manasses. “A little north of here.”


“Let’s go there,” said Pihillipe, standing up.


He was burning with fury inside. He had calmed the disturbance at the tavern. He had administered justice: the villagers had beaten the mercenaries, the mercenaries had killed a villager, and he had taken one mercenary as compensation for the lost vassal. It was the king’s justice. And now his mother wanted to undo it.


He looked at Emma, who had stood up from her chair.


“Sit down now!”


Emma was stunned and returned to her seat. Hugues seemed somewhat nervous. Pihillipe mounted his horse.


“Ertienne, to the king!”


Ertienne quickly stood and jumped onto his mount. The soldiers hurried to mount as well. The Count of Sens saw the group and shouted to Amadeus:


“Bring our mounts, you fool!” then slapped his son on the shoulder. “Stand up!”


Pihillipe looked at Shopia and her brothers:


“A sword for Amadeus!”


Ertienne looked around and threw him a mace offered by one of the soldiers.


“You answer with your life!” he said as he galloped away, followed by his men.


Shopia watched the group leave and saw Amadeus with the mace, unsure of what to do. Amadeus hesitated for a moment and placed the mace near the supplies.


“What happened?” asked Shopia.


“Major Simon impales criminals; they say he’s very skilled,” Emma hurried to answer, happy to say something Shopia didn’t know.


Pihillipe felt like a king once again, with the sound of the horses’ hooves. They followed the river. He had his sword with him and stroked it for a moment to gather courage. The group moved quickly and the sun was making him sweat. He showed no mercy to the horse.


They followed the ford, and he began to worry that Amadeus had led them the wrong way, or maybe they were on the other side, and then he would have to return to the ford to cross like an idiot. It was driving him crazy when they heard shouting behind some trees.

The men startled as they pushed the stake and the man screamed. Mayor Simon usually gave them a potion to numb them. He said impaling a man was an art, and for them to last two or three days, the organs couldn’t be pierced. Therefore, the act had to be done delicately, and the prisoner had to remain calm. Difficult when you’re pantsless and someone approaches you with a huge wooden stake and ill intentions.


“Did they get the potion last night?” said Simon.


He was an extraordinarily tall man with a horrible face. People said that combination suited him well, given his hobby.


The men hesitated. Finally, one decided to speak:


“This morning, sir.”


“Then we have to wait until night, and I won’t see well. Did you just ruin my day?” said Simon, smiling. “But don’t worry, I forgive you.”


The soldier started to sweat coldly. He told himself he would have preferred to be hit; now he’d be weeks without sleeping well.


“Well, these will die quickly. We’ll have to do it like savages,” said Simon. “Bring me the grease.”


The guard approached with a small barrel full of lard. Simon dipped his hands and began to smear the sharp ends of the two stakes. He looked at the tied men, who were crying and screaming.


“What are your names, boys?”


“Simon, sir,” said the first.


“Payen, my lord! Mercy!” said the second, somewhat younger.


“Which of you started the fight in the tavern? I don’t remember well.”


“Sir, it was him!” Simon had soiled himself and nodded toward Payen.


“Mercy, sir, mercy!” Payen was wetting himself and couldn’t remember how to pray.


“Well... let’s start with my namesake,” said Mayor Simon, smiling. “Life isn’t fair, boy.”


The boy began to scream, and the soldiers moved nervously. They never got used to it. Mayor Simon looked at them smiling:


“Drink wine if you need it, boys, but here we come to do the king’s justice.”
​

 

[Ernain1111]

Claro, aquí tienes la traducción al inglés de tu texto:

---

Autumn
Kingdom of the Franks
Île-de-France, Melun.
September, in the Year of Our Lord 1066​

Pihillipe thought that when they passed through the trees, his fury would unleash as he charged at Mayor Simon. Instead, he felt simply overwhelmed.

He hadn’t arrived in time, and there were the two stable boys, impaled. Mayor Simon watched them calmly while the soldiers poured wine from a small barrel. He saw those bodies suspended above the ground, screaming desperately. Was this hell?


“Take them down,” said Pihillipe, barely able to hear his own voice. “Take them down!”


Only then did Mayor Simon and his men notice the group of horsemen.


“Your Highness!” Simon bowed ceremoniously. “Your Highness, this is no place for…”


“It is not for you to say what is a place for the King of the Franks, Simon,” said Count Ertienne beside Pihillipe. “Did you not hear the king?”


Simon’s soldiers had left the wine hastily and hurried to follow Pihillipe’s orders. But they had little experience undoing the master spy’s commands and were somewhat drunk. The impaled screamed twice as loud.


“For God’s sake, Simon, what have you done?”


Simon looked worriedly at the king and his group: Count Ertienne, Count Guido of Sens, and his son Manasses.


“I… I’m only following orders, my lord. These two started the fight at the tavern, the queen ordered they be punished.”


“My mother ordered this?” Pihillipe looked shocked. He had dismounted to approach the poor wretches.


“She… she ordered them executed, Your Highness,” Simon said hesitantly.


“What are the king’s orders?” Count Ertienne had his hand on the sword’s hilt.


Pihillipe looked at the soldiers, the boys impaled, Mayor Simon. He thought about ordering Simon killed on the spot, but the words wouldn’t come.


“Allow me, my king, to look,” said Count Guido, approaching the wounded.


“Watch the clothes, father,” said Manasses with a face of disgust.


“This is the last time, Simon,” said Pihillipe, feeling on the verge of vomiting. “The last time you disobey me.”


“Your Highness, I… I never… the queen gave the order that they be punished,” Simon looked alternately at the king, Count Ertienne’s hand on his sword, Manasses’s proud gaze.


“I pardoned everyone for the fight in the tavern,” Pihillipe said, walking toward the horse. “This is the last time you disobey your king, Simon, Mayor of Jargou, Master Spy of the Kingdom of the Franks. I will not forget this.”


Pihillipe mounted his horse; he needed to get away from this. He needed to breathe less polluted air to avoid fainting. He thought of Sophia, the ride, the ford. How could a day have changed so suddenly?


Simon grabbed Count Ertienne’s hand desperately:


“Speak with the king… I am his most faithful servant… I never… I never—” Simon couldn’t find the words.


“The queen said they must be executed. You were there in the council when it happened; you know I…”


“What? That you were delighted to have a couple of men for your little depraved pleasures? Be careful, the queen said they had to be executed. You decided how,” said Count Ertienne, freeing his hand from Mayor Simon’s grip. He looked toward the Count of Sens as he mounted. “Will they live?”


“I don’t think so… maybe a couple of days,” answered the count. He looked at his son, who hadn’t dismounted.


“Go with the king!”


The boy hurried to obey his father’s order.


“Cut their throats, father, they’re already dead,” said Manasses, urging his horse to catch the king.


Ertienne watched him leave:


“Your son is useless.”


“And you’re a bastard,” said Count Guido of Sens.


“My family has held Bourges for five generations; I know who my mother is, Count Guido. Your son is completely useless. The first thing he thought of after convincing you to dress like an expensive whore for the ride was to tell the king they were impaling peasants.” Ertienne mounted his horse to leave. Guido ordered stretchers to transport the men to Melun and hurried to follow the king.


Pihillipe didn’t pay attention to Manasses, who had been talking all the way about how horses arrived from Arabia through Barcelona. Pihillipe was in a somber mood, and the only reason he didn’t yell at him to shut up was because of Sophia. They reached the ford amid loud shouting. Pihillipe didn’t know when Count Ertienne had caught up with them, who wisely remained silent.


At the table they had set up, Sophia looked nervous, trying to intervene between Hugues and Emma. Mercenary Guido moved back and forth, terrified and unsure what to do.


“Guido, hit Hugues right now!” shouted Emma, trying to grab the mercenary’s mace. “I order you to crack his skull right now!”


“What is this?” Pihillipe was about to faint from dizziness as he dismounted.


“Child’s play, Your Highness,” Sophia tried to hold Princess Emma, but the girl was out of control.


Pihillipe felt like he was moving forward by pure luck. If Sophia hadn’t been there, he would have just vomited on the ground and collapsed onto the grass.


“What is this?” said Pihillipe, looking at his brother Hugues, who was holding a branch.


“She started it! She started it!” said Hugues, looking at Pihillipe. “She got mad because you told her to sit and decided to take it out on me, saying I’m less for having to come on a pony.”


“Princess Emma started it, sir,” said Guido. “But Prince Hugues hit her with the branch.”


“This day is ruined. Mount up now, we return to Melun,” said Pihillipe.


“It’s a good day, my lord… don’t let some peasants ruin it,” said Manasses.


Pihillipe turned to hit him, but then he heard Emma’s voice:


“Pihillipe, sit down!”


Pihillipe took the branch from his brother Hugues’s hands and struck him repeatedly with it. Then he let go, approached Emma, who looked smiling, thinking her brother had taken her side, and slapped her once across the face.


“You… you can’t! I am the princess of the Franks!” The girl was disconcerted, struggling to hold back tears.


“I am your king. Ride the pony with Hugues, you can’t yet ride a horse, just like him,” Pihillipe looked at his brother. “If I hear you arguing on the way back, you’ll walk.”


The group began mounting in a heavy silence.


“Ertienne,” said Pihillipe. “Privileges for Emma are over. If anyone saddles her with a task, bring them to me.”


“It will be done as Your Highness says,” Ertienne looked at the soldiers hastily packing provisions, chairs, and tables.


The return trip was rather somber. Partly because the day had worsened and it started drizzling. It was as if autumn hastened to arrive in just a few moments. Emma looked hateful, sitting behind Hugues on the pony; she had been pinching him the whole way, pretending to be afraid of falling.


Pihillipe stopped, watching the group advance toward the tower. Manasses was worried about getting his silk wet and tried to speed up his horse. Ertienne stopped beside the king.


“Is it about the peasants?” said Ertienne.


“It’s about the peasants.”


“Count of Sens is quite skilled. He was a priest before becoming count… he might be able to help,” said Ertienne, looking at Count Guido of Sens, who nodded.


“My mother ignored my decision; Mayor Simon decided to follow my mother without consulting me.”


“You have always done what your mother ordered, my lord. It’s normal for children,” said Count of Sens.


“Do you also think I am a child?”


“Until you decided to ignore her and ride to end the tavern disturbance,” said Count Ertienne.


“I want to believe I ended a battle,” replied Pihillipe, the drizzle now soaking him; he felt cold.


“No, my lord… it was a disturbance. A battle is a bloodier matter, and no one surrenders just because the king orders it,” said Ertienne.


“Have you participated in many battles?” Pihillipe patted his horse’s neck.


“In many, my lord,” Ertienne replied, looking at Count Guido.


“I count on you to teach me how to win them when the time comes.”


“You are on the right path,” said Ertienne, smiling at the king. “The first step is to be willing.”


“My mother… I love her, but we cannot go on like this. The regency cannot last forever. I am the king.”


“You can count on us, Your Highness. Count Ertienne is on the council,” said Count Guido. “Not me, but that allows me more freedom; I can organize relations with the bishops, also write to the barons of Île de France. You won’t lack swords.”

“Do you think she would dare that much?” said Pihillipe. “Will I need swords just to rule as is my right?”


“Maybe not against your mother, my lord,” said Count Ertienne. “But in the end, you will always need swords.”


“I appreciate your offer, Count Guido. It is my wish that you move here permanently with your family,” said Pihillipe, turning toward the castle. He could not help but admit he was glad Sophia stayed in Melun.​