[CKII] The House of Normandy (Chapter 8, 29th October)

[ccllnply]

Ok well I am finally gettting around to posting this. It's a bit earlier than I would have liked in writing terms but I'm hoping by posting it, I might get myself out of this phase of procrastination caused by being off college for the summer and having nothing to do.

I've been looking to do an AAR for a while as well as practice my creative writing, which I haven't really done since I finished school two years ago. This game provided the perfect opportunity. Originally I had no intention of turning this in to an AAR. My idea was to start a game in 867 as Hrolf of Normandy, go conquer Normandy, become Norman and then go become King of England following the historical route of the dynasty. Then I hoped to go ahistorical and keep the dynasty ruling England for as long as possible, eventually aiming for a mega-campaign where I'd have kings from house de Normandie ruling England till the start of Victoria II in the year 1836.

However, the game took on a different style, as it does and it got to the point at one stage where one premature death would have meant game over for me. I decided to persist with it though since one of the great things about Crusader Kings 2 is that losing is almost more fun than winning. Luckily it worked out and it has got to the point where I can (hopefully) make an interesting AAR out of it. The AAR itself starts after about 200 years of in-game years so there's already a history to it there that I hope to showcase in the writing.

I suppose I better go over some notes just to clear things up.

Game Rules

Well I wouldn't say rules since I usually don't like having restrictions on how I play. This is more a summary of how I usually play and how I intend to play this game. No Cheating (Obviously) I'd like to say no reloading but during the first few chapters where, at times, it looked as if I was just going to end up back where I started. Other than the first couple of decades though, there shouldn't be any reloading and if I do I'll mention it in the notes after the chapter. No Empires. For this game the Empire of Britannia would be the one to look out for. You can create it when you conquer all the British Isles and Ireland. I wouldn't be doing that. At first I didn't mind the "fantasy empires" and I probably still wouldn't if I didn't find them so gamey and ridiculous. Being Emperor allows you to add whole kingdoms to your realm just by pressing someone else's claim, it completely nullifies Gavelkind succession and AI rebellions and factions can, at most, depose you. Assuming you can reclaim your throne, you just end up as powerful as you were before with no loss of land. It's not the ahistorical empires I have a problem with (I actually like the idea) it's the gameplay mechanics of them. Paradox, it seems, also felt that every region needed an empire so you have ridiculous titles like Empire of Francia and Empire of Italia when there is already Kingdoms of France and Italy. Or the fact that there's a Empire of Espana but no Kingdom of Spain. Role-play. I'll play the character. This is pretty much essential for mega-campaigns. If my wife has a strong claim to France and my character is a content craven, it's very unlikely that I'll press it. That said, circumstances should also come into this and perhaps because I'm such a coward my wife or my councillors bully me into it. On a side note following on from that, my last mega-campaign was ruined my a ridiculous Germany-Russia Empire that they conquered from the Mongols when Nomads are weak in EUIII. I got as far as Victoria II but the game basically become pointless with this mega-power dominating Europe. If something like that happens in this game I'm going to mod it. Basically I'm going to hold the AI to similar but slightly less strict role-playing as myself

Writing Style

I just finished reading Maurice Druon's excellent The Accursed Kings series so this AAR will probably be inspired by those books (seriously, read them).I'm also a big fan of A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin but unlike that I won't really be focusing on character points of view for each chapter. In my opinion, this AAR has a half narrative, half story driven style, probably leaning more to the story driven side. The prologue will be narrative, describing a brief history of things up until the point the AAR starts. After that it will be story and character driven. However, I realised soon enough that the AAR was very slow moving so I decided that sometimes I'd switch to narrative if nothing interesting happened for a few years. This way I won't be writing full chapters for each minor event that occurs. Just like Latin Knight before me in his amazing AAR, The Crimson Dragon of Britain (again, read that if you haven't already), I have recently developed an interest in using local names for places. Infact a few decades in to this game you'll see in screenshots that I edited the games localisation so that native naming appears. So that the Frankish ruler of France is no longer "King" but "Roi". And "England" is called "Englaland" under Anglo-Saxon rule. In the AAR itself I'll only do this for place names and some titles (Anglo-Saxon Earls will be called Eorl but Kings and Queens will always be called that). To avoid confusion and I'll always place the modern English name in brackets beside the name the first time I mention it.

Playing the Game

I'm a person for who world conquests and conquering huge amounts of territory is boring. I have no interest it seeing huge portions of the map being one colour. The real enjoyment for me comes from role-playing myself and seeing the game develop in a historically plausible way. As such, what you won't see in this AAR is me fabricating claims everywhere and conquering half of Western Europe. Every conquest will have some sort of reasoning behind it. That said, if I have a proud, ambitious king who inherits a strong claim to, say, Norway, I don't see any reason why he wouldn't try to press it. My overall aim is to do a mega-campaign and reach the modern day. I realise this is quiet the task and, as I said before, this AAR turned out to be fairly slow moving and I figure it could take a long time. I definitely intend on finishing it but I realise that in this time something could happen. Saves could break, the game could be updated and be incompatible with my game etc. I'll try to do my best with modding and save game editing. I'm thinking though if I aim high, falling short will still be pretty good. So even if I don't make it all the way to EUIV, I should still get a decent CK2 AAR out of this.

That should be everything and if not I'll edit it later on. Now, on the story!

[ccllnply]

Table of Contents

Prologue

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland

Chapter 1 - The Old Queen
Chapter 2 - Heir to the Throne
Chapter 3 - Good Tidings
Chapter 4 - The Hunchback of Nantes
Chapter 5 - Removing the Pretender
Chapter 6 - A Sword in the Night
Chapter 7 - Gearing for War
Chapter 8 - The Battle of Arques

[ccllnply]

Prologue

Prologue During the 8th and 9th centuries, Europe was plagued by raiders from Scandinavia who, coming in their fearsome long ships, attacked settlements along coastlines and even down rivers into the very heart of the continent. These raiders were known throughout the west as the Vikings, and were rightly feared by all, from the lowest of peasants to the highest of kings. By the mid to late 9th century, the Vikings had become so strong that they had become a threat to even the mighty kingdom of West Francia and raided the country almost at will, even going as far as raiding the capital of Paris in 871A.D. During one such raid by Vikings from Norvegr (Norway) on the northern coast of Francia, a certain raider from Trøndelag on the western coast of Norvegr called Hrolf distinguished himself and led a group of adventurers to fight against the forces of the Salomon de Poher, King of Breizh (Brittany). Hrolf’s Vikings managed to defeat the numerically superior forces of Salomon and Hrolf himself killed Salomon in personal combat. Hrolf then led his forces to capture the settlement of Cherborg and conquer the province of Mortain. Hrolf and his army choose to become settlers instead of raiders. They claimed Cherborg for themselves and began to settle there with their families. Watching their companions sail back to Norvegr, Hrolf and his few settlers feared that the son and heir of Salomon, Riwallon, would come seeking vengeance. So Hrolf turned to the King of West Francia, known as Charles the Bald. At this late stage in his life Charles was suffering from the severe stress of ruling and becoming quite sickly and weak. He wished to see an end to the Viking raids and secure his kingdom before his son took the crown. So Hrolf made a deal with the weakened king. Hrolf and his followers would become vassals of the crown of West Francia and be taken under his protection against the other Christian lords and kings of the west. In return Hrolf agreed to stop his own and his people’s raiding and to defend the northern coast of Francia from other Viking attacks. However with Charles’s physical weakness, his kingdom also remained weak. While Hrolf had agreed to stop raiding, the other lords of West Francia had taken the opportunity presented by the king’s illness and increase their own power. They were independent in all but name and the kingdom was very decentralised. Hrolf used this to his advantage and his pagan Vikings conquered much of northern Francia. Hrolf named himself Jarl (or Duke) of Normandie and, using the local language, began to call himself Hrolf de Normandie, founding his new dynasty. Over the next century, Hrolf and his descendants would continue to expand their power in West Francia. The de Normandie dynasty became undisputed lords of the north of the kingdom. They stuck close to the old ways of their Norse ancestors who had lived in the frozen north of Scandanivia. They spoke Norse and built their long ships. They kept their old gods of Thor and Odin and openly practiced their religion to the dismay of the local Christians. The loyalty of the House de Normandie to the Karling kings of West Francia had been absolute since the time of Hrolf. They had never sought to overthrow the kings they swore to protect and place themselves on the throne. It was this that made the betrayal they faced all the more surprising and devastating. Starting with King Andre II the Wise and then continuing with his grandson King Thierry II, the Karlings started a regime to remove the Northmen from their kingdom. It proved to be very successful and soon 125 years of hard work was reversed in a few decades. The last Jarl of Normandie from the House de Normandie was Hrodgar Sigbjornsson, who had actually converted to the religion of the Slavic pagans of Eastern Europe. He died landless and penniless after Thierry Karling had driven him from Normandy, his new faith seemingly the final straw for the Frankish kings. On his deathbed, he cut the palm of his hand and forced his son, Tryggve, to swear a blood-oath. To always bear a grudge against the Karlings and destroy those who had wronged him through whatever means necessary and that all the members of his family and their descendants should do the same. This became known as the Oath of Hrodgar. Tryggve was devoted to the task utterly, taking no wife and having no children. He died in poverty just like his father but he succeeded in instilling a true hatred for all Karlings into the mindset of the de Normandie family. The once powerful House de Normandie was now on the brink of extinction. Their numbers had dwindle through illnesses, assassination and imprisonments and was now down to barely a dozen members. Where once they ruled over a Jarldom that covered all of northern Francia, they were now scratching out a living in the tiny county of Vannes in Bertangaland (Brittany). However, from here on things would begin to look up for the House de Normandie. Under the stable protection of the kings of Bertangaland they managed to grow again. As the family grew in size they began to expand their power. In 1145A.D, a nephew of Hrodgar, named Sigbjorn Baggesson led a small force of followers and crossed the sea to Irlande (Ireland). Sigbjorn was said to be a man of incredible intelligence and ability. There he fought against the different Rí Tuath (King of many tribes) and, despite being heavily outnumbered won a decisive victory and made himself King of Mumhan (Munster), earning him the nickname among his followers of “the Conqueror”. His son would eventually be pushed off the island and be replaced by Welsh invaders from across the sea but it was a sign of things to come for the de Normandies. When Sturla de Normandie, a distant cousin of Sigbjorn and the Jarl of Vannes, married Lann Eoghnacht-Raithlinn, the Irish queen of Brittany, he once again placed his family in a rank of power. Their first and only son Ingemar would die of pneumonia, leaving their firstborn daughter, Sofia de Normandie, as heir to the Kingdom of Bertangaland. The year is 1109A.D. and Sofia de Normandie has been Queen of Bertangaland for 23 years. It’s been 25 years since the death of her first husband, Onlaf Osmundsson, from pneumonia, who was the son and heir of the Queen of England. Before his death, Onlaf and Sofia had a son, Totil. Since his father died when he was just two years old, Totil has grown up in Bertangaland and has taken the name of de Normandie. As a result of Onlaf’s death, and the suspected murder of his two older brothers by Sturla, Totil is now heir to the Kingdom of England as well as the Kingdom of Bertangaland.

[Tigellinus]

Very good and interesting! I love CKII and your AAR is a prime example of the excellent writers here at TWC!

I shall be following closely.

Thanks

Tigellinus

[ccllnply]

Very good and interesting! I love CKII and your AAR is a prime example of the excellent writers here at TWC!

I shall be following closely.

Thanks

Tigellinus

Thanks for the post, the interest and the kind words, man!

[Tigellinus]

Thanks for the post, the interest and the kind words, man!

You're quite welcome, quite welcome!

I shall await eagerly for an update

Thanks

Tigellinus

[ccllnply]

Chapter 1 - The Old Queen

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 1 - The Old Queen Sofia stood on the bow of her longship and looked out ahead over the town of Gippeswyc (Ipswich) and the vast flatlands of Éastangle (East Anglia). She pulled her shawl tight around her to ward away the cool breeze that was blowing in from the North Sea behind them. Glancing over her shoulder she could see her crew beginning to remove the sail, striped black and white, the colours of Bertangaland. Underneath the mast the orderly lines of rowers began to ease the longship into the dock. They had left the open sea a short while before, entering the mouth of the river Orwell and moving up its estuary until they had reached the town. The winds had been favourable, blowing north west and allowed them to keep the sail up for most of the journey, although every now and then they had needed oars to push the boat away from the river's banks and that had almost been disastrous. In the two and a half days it had taken them to sail here since they set out from her capital in Nantes, this final bit of rowing had been the only that the crew had really had to endure and they seemed to appreciate it. The prow crawled slowly through the water into its resting place in the dock. As the crew worked to secure the longship to the pier, Sofia prepared to disembark. On the pier she could see a tall, slim man waiting patiently for them, flanked on either side by what looked like a pair of royal guards. Her eyesight wasn't what it used to be but Sofia could just about make out the rich clothes and short cropped, light brown hair which identified him to her. Osweald of Louth, heir to the Eorldom of Essex and brother-in-law to Sofia's eldest son, Totil. Both Osweald and her son were the same age and had become good friends since Totil had married Æbba, Osweald's older sister. "Ah, Osweald! What a wonderful pleasure it is to see you again" Sofia said in her best Angle as she stepped from the gangplank to the pier. "The pleasure is all mine, your Grace" Osweald replied, bowing his head. Sofia smiled. The young man had an amazing ability to be humble and to be well liked by everyone he met. A useful ally for Totil in the future, Sofia thought to herself. "Is Eorl Beorhtwine not joining us?" Sofia asked, her eyes scanned the dock. "My father is in the keep abed, your Grace. He is quite ill at the moment. He asked me to escort you to the keep. He sends his deepest apologises." "No need for that. Even I understand illness, I'm not as cruel as they say" Sofia said with a wink. “Now Osweald, lead on." On their way through the town, they talked about many different things. Osweald enquired about how his sister was faring and then about his two nephews, Markus and Onlaf, and his niece, Gunhilda, who he was extremely fond of. He asked about Sofia's son Magnus who had yet to come of age. Sofia in turn asked about the different English wars. First with the Scots raiders from the north and then even tried asking about the hated Cornish, who had proved rivals to her ambitions. She feigned interest in Osweald's new wife, although she knew the topic was controversial as Judith, as she was called, was of low birth and Beorhtwine had been less than pleased at his son’s hasty marriage. Eventually Sofia got on to the topic of the Queen which clearly made Osweald uncomfortable. He leaned in close and reduced his voice to a whisper. "My father told me to warn you, your Grace, but I think I would have mentioned it anyway. Queen Ælfwynn is getting old. Her looks may have aged well but her mind is decaying. She struggles each day and only her gardening gives her rest. Half the court are afraid to speak in her presence. I mean no offense your Grace, just be careful with what you say." "Of course. I understand." Sofia replied simply. Gippeswyc was a small town and the short distance between the dock and the royal hall made for a quick journey. Sofia had seen it from the longship as it tower above the settlement, must larger than other building in the town. As they approached she began to pick out the detail. The hall was triangular in shape built with light brown timber and a vast thatched roof which sprouted great plumes of white smoke from the fire inside. It stretched back making the hall several times longer than it was wide. Sofia's people constructed similar houses back in Bertangland. Two guards pushed open the doors on the hall and after a few moments the Queen of England emerged to greet them. Sofia knew that Ælfwynn was in her later seventies and yet the woman that walked towards her still held a level of youthful beauty. She had no aid other than a short walking stick in her right hand and even that she held with a degree of elegance, as did everything about her, a trait that had earned her the nickname "Ælfwynn the Noble". On either flank stood a royal guard. Both very large and both as fully armoured as one can be outside a battle on a warm autumn day. Two more guards followed behind and guards were standing all around the square that the royal hall was placed in. Rather unnecessary, thought Sofia. "Ah my beautiful daughter-in-law!" said Ælfwynn with an enthusiasm that her eyes didn't convey. "So good to see you. How was your crossing?" "Quick and relaxing. The weather favoured us greatly" Sofia returned with a smile "Excellent! Where is Totil? It's been so long so I've seen his face" Ælfwynn asked looking past Sofia and Osweald to her retinue who had finally arrived from the ship. "I'm afraid he couldn't join us. He's leading forces back in Bertangaland against Eustache Nicolay. The Count of Leon still opposes me." Sofia saw as Ælfwynn's mood changed instantly. The Angle Queen's face betrayed a struggle to contain her rage and she could only manage an "I see" in reply in between sucking at her teeth. "Very well, no matter" Ælfwynn said forcing a smile. "My servants will lead you to your house. Come to my quarters later, we have much to discuss." With that a well-spoken Anglo-Saxon appeared, he gave himself the title of steward of the household, and led Sofia and her retinue to a pair of buildings to the side of the square, similar looking to the royal hall. When her belongings had been set up Sofia asked for some food and books, which were promptly delievered and began to pass the rest of the evening until Ælfwynn called for her. It was several hours later and nearly sunset before Osweald arrived at her door with word that she was requested by the English Queen. Osweald escorted her once again on the short journey to the royal hall. The square was much quieter than it had been earlier, as the townspeoples returned to their homes at the end of the day, but Sofia noticed that guards were still posted all around the square and two flanked the large doors of the great hall. As they approached it became clear, despite some arguing, that Osweald was not to be admitted and Sofia was warned about what having weapons in her mother-in-laws presence would mean. The guard put a hand to the door and opened it a fraction, gesturing to Sofia to enter. Sofia entered alone. Inside the hall itself it seemed unbelievably long and spacious. Mainly down to the fact that it was almost completely empty of people. A throne lay against the wall at the far end of the hall, flanked by two smaller seats and a banner hung behind it with the colours of the House of Mercia, who had been kings and queens of England for almost two hundred years, embroided on it. In the centre of the hall a small fire smoldered in the large fireplace covered by timber that the flames couldn't hope to reach. Narrow tendrils of white smoke rose through the gaps in the kindling. To the left of the fireplace there was a long oak table surrounded by a few chairs. At its top was Ælfwynn. She sat in a high backed chair staring down at the timber in front of her as a female servant stood at her shoulder and poured her wine into a golden chalice encrusted with jewels. Neither seemed to notice Sofia entering the room. Both seemingly transfixed by the golden chalice and the pouring of wine. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Sofia was unsure of herself. She almost crept silently into the hall, strangely concerned with disturbing the two women. Eventually Ælfwynn raised her head slowly towards Sofia. "Come. Sit." Ælfwynn said gesturing to a chair in front of her. Her words were slow and pronouced. After a slight hesitation Sofia moved the chair closer to Ælfwynn and sat down. The servant placed a cup infront of her and started filling it from the wine jug before Sofia could ask. From the door the servant had seemed calm to the point of unconciousness but now that she was nearer, Sofia could see her hands trembling. "So, my grandson was unable to come with you?" asked Ælfwynn, sending a shiver down Sofia's spine. She suddenly realised why she was in the hall. She watched the last drops of wine drop into her cup to buy her a moment. "Thank you, my dear" Sofia said to the servant, picking up the cup with both hands. "He's currently leading the siege at Rennes. He couldn't be pulled away, you know Totil." "No. Actually I don't know Totil. So very strange that my grandson and heir to my kingdom visits so rarely." Ælfwynn said, half statement, half question. Sofia looked down into her cup, remembering what Osweald had warned her of and wondering how she was going to ease this situation. Eventually she said "These are strange times. The king of Jerusalem holds court in Toulouse, a Bulgarian of the Greek church rules Frisa and the Irish rule in Ib-" "Enough!" Ælfwynn snapped. "Leave us!" she ordered to her servant. Sofia stared straight ahead and listened to the clinking of jugs and the padding of the servant's footsteps as she left the hall. There was a long moment of silence where Sofia dare not speak. Eventually Ælfwynn broke the silence. "Your line has robbed me of everything. Your father took my sons from me and now you're not content with taking my Onlaf, you take my grandson from me too." Sofia struggled with how to reply to the accusation. It was widely rumored that her father, Sturla had ordered the deaths of Ælfwynn's two eldest sons after Sofia had married Onlaf, her third eldest. And it was certainly obvious that Totil was far more Norse and of de Normandie than he was Anglo-Saxon and of Mercia. Her husband, Onlaf, had died young but it was natural and Sofia had been as upset as anyone at the loss. "Ælfwynn, I-" "Guards!" Ælfwynn roared. "Guards!" she yelled again when no one answered, banging her chalice on the table and spilling its full contents around her. The two guards at the door entered cautiously, completely the opposite of the intensity of their queen. "Take her back to her rooms and see that doesn't leave tonight." Ælfwynn ordered. The guards led Sofia back to the house without any force. They seemed to be as uncomfortable with the order as Sofia was. Whether they were afraid of being too heavy handed with the mother of the future king or they too saw the madness and paranoia that had taken hold of the current queen, Sofia could not tell. The door of her residence was locked from the outside and when the guards had opened it, Sofia was sent in to sit in the dark. A short while later she heard the murmur of talk outside the door. Osweald had arrived. He said very little but with him were two servants who brought her food and lit a fire for her. After they left, Sofia passed the time eating with a book about the First Crusade open on her lap but she didn't do any reading. Instead she contemplated her situation. Her guest house had been turned in a prison. She wondered how long she would be kept here. She wondered if Osweald would help her and take a message for her and she wondered if Totil would come for her if she needed him. It was some time after midnight when she heard the commotion outside. Shouts and rapid footsteps coming from the square. She made her way to the window and pulled the shutters open a fraction. Outside she could see the torches that told her men were running in and out of the great hall. They were shouting without any concern for the time it was and there was a general panic from what she could make out. It took Sofia a few moments to understand what was going on. She moved away from the window and lowered herself back into her seat. A satisfied grin across her face.

[Tigellinus]

Excellent! I wonder how her small crew shall fare against the Royal Guards of England?

Brilliant writing so far, and I like the pictures too!

Thanks

Tigellinus

[ccllnply]

Chapter 2 - Heir to the Throne

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 2 - Heir to the Throne Snap crack! Totil watched as the eight man crew pulled down hard on the newly built trebuchet’s arm and launched the first rock of the siege over the stone walls of Rennes and down into the city. There had been a number of failed attempts before that, and Totil had come to supervise the operation himself, but all that seemed to be forgotten as the large groups of troops that had assembled to watch let out a huge chorus of cheers. "Are you sure this is the best way?" said Robert, Mayor of St. Brieuc and one of Totil's most trusted commanders despite his Frankish ways. "As sure as I am about taking this city" replied Totil. Although in truth he was far from sure. He had begun the siege after defeating Eustache Nicolay's army outside the Rennes before marching his army north west to Leon. There he had caught the count’s remaining forces camped before the walls and had fell on them, capturing hundreds in the process. Then, refusing to siege Nicolay's wife and children in the castle of St Pol de Leon he had tracked the count back to Rennes and surrounded the city. They had expected to starve the garrison out after an easy siege and send Eustache Nicolay back to his family with his tail between his legs in return for a sizeable ransom. That proved to be far too optimistic and instead, through luck, unseen aid or some wild magic, everything that could possibly go wrong for Totil and his army had gone wrong and everything that could go right for the garrison in Rennes had gone right meaning they had spent two months outside the city with no sign of it falling. They had spent three weeks trying to track down a group of bandits who had somehow evaded the guards and stole almost half the supplies of food that had just been delivered in from Nantes. When Totil and a small contingent of his housecarls eventually came across the bandits, they found a community of raiders, numbering several hundred. Totil was forced to break off a part of his army from the siege and spend a whole morning battling the renegade force. The whole affair had taken time and resources and after Totil had ordered and overseen the execution of all the captured prisoners, they found out that the bandits had managed to sell they supplies to the garrison in Rennes. Totil had felt the fool and in his anger, he had had the money the bandits made from the stolen supplies and had sent for an engineer to finish the city once and for all. Despite his rage, Totil was no fool, especially not in command. He knew his mother would want the city and its castle after Nicolay was removed and since he had let his mother travel to England on her own, he knew he owed her some sort of gift on her return. He had seen his grandmother only months before and she was not the same woman she had once been anymore. The deaths of his uncles and father had struck her hard. She constantly brought it up and blamed Totil’s grandfather. Luckily he had left before she could do something he'd regret. He would leave the city's defenses and halls intact. His plan was to pummel the residents of Rennes in to submission or force them into a straight up fight and this was the best way he knew how. Snap crack! Totil and Robert watched the smooth swing of the trebuchet's arm as it launched another missile into the city streets. The crew seemed to have found a rhythm now and would continue the bombardment for some time to come. The defenders had begun to understand what was happening and small swarms of archers could be made out on the wall trying to return the fire. The trebuchet was well out of their range and their arrows, fired in vain, fell harmlessly into the soil or stuck in the line of timber palisades the besiegers had erected before their camp when they arrived. Totil allowed himself a slight grin as he saw his tactic come into effect and realised he could leave having overseen its success. "Come, Robert. We can return to our tents." he said turning to the direction of his pavilion. Totil's tent stood in the middle of the camp, moved slightly closer to the city walls. It stood a few feet taller than those around it and several times wider. Its cloth was red and so it stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the army. On its peak, a flag swayed gently in the soft November breeze displaying the two gold lions on red of house de Normandie incase people were in any doubt of its occupant. At the tent door, to its left, two housecarls sat playing dices and joking. Their spears stood leaning against the canvas on the far side of the opening with a large round shield with green and black standing at their bottom. The two didn't seem to notice the prince and his second-in-command approach but when Robert gave an audible cough they jumped to their feet and managed panicked bows, muttering "My Lord". Totil ignored them and walked past them through the flap and into the tent. Inside a female servant was tending the large fire that burned in the center of the canvas home. The wind was light this morning and had been perfect for the trebuchets but it was still the end of November and a cold moisture was in the air that had no doubt come in from the sea. "I plan to hit the city hard for two days." Totil stated, removing his gloves and warming his hands in front of the fire. "If they show no sign of surrender at that stage, the engineers will have the rams ready for an assault. I don't much like the idea of destroying the gate but the idea of bullying the residents in a united vengeance against us seems less appealing. Robert hesitated to reply as Totil walked over to his writing desk and sat down. He eyed the servant, who was now pouring wine, with some suspicion. He felt that plans such as these should not be discussed in the presence of those who might be inclined to betray them. He feel it was that sort of attitude that had let the bandits into their camp. The young prince had been very trusting for as long as Robert had known him. Robert was not. "My lord, perhaps-" Robert started. "Wait" Totil interrupted. "Sorry, Robert but do you hear that?" The two were silent for a moment and outside they could hear commotion and the distinctive sound of a group of horsemen approaching. They looked at each other in confusion. Totil then stood and walked to the entrance. He raised the flap and surveyed the scene. Outside in the camp his soldiers had curiously gathered around his tent. They had been drawn from all over the camp by a group of approaching men on horseback escorted by two of the camp guards. The rider at the head of the group of horsemen wore a long coat of chain that stretched all the way down to his knees and looked quite expensive. A green cloak was tied around his broad shoulders and caught in the slight breeze with the speed of his horse. His helmet was high topped with a long horse hair plume and Totil could recognize the Anglo-Saxon make and immediately identified the rider as having come from England. "My Lord, these men have urgent news for you" one camp guard called as he approached. The riders stopped a few yards from the pavilion and the leader dismounted. He removed his helmet and Totil recognized him as Osweald of Louth, the son of the Eorl of Essex and a childhood friend of Totil’s. "Osweald!" Totil said, smiling. "What news from across the Channel?" Osweald hesitated for a moment. Eventually, with his helmet under his arm, he fell to one knee and bowed his head. "Hail Totil King!" he said, loud enough for all to hear and the others gathered slowly did the same. And Totil knew his grandmother was dead.

[Tigellinus]

Well, now we know how she fared! Very good! Very good, indeed!

Thanks

Tigellinus

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Chapter 3 - Good Tidings

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 3 - Good Tidings Sofia finished off another plate of bread and choked down the wine that remained at the bottom of her expensive cup. She belched quietly covering her mouth. Enjoying good food was a pastime of her’s but she wasn't rude about it and still remained a queen and mother of a king. The night she had arrived in Gippeswic had been one of the most terrifying of her live. For the first time since her childhood Sofia had felt uncertain of herself and the situation had spiraled out of her control. She had known of the English Queen's increasing insanity before she had stepped on her boat back in Bertangaland but she had to admit she hadn't been prepared for it. There had been a constant tension in the air wherever she had gone. The entire court here had seemed on edge at every moment for fear of inciting one of the Elfwynn's famous rages. Her kingdom had been peaceful and stable but it had been through uncertainty and fear that this had been achieved leaving the Queen isolated and driving her even further into paranoia. The northern lords had all but abandoned the royal court. They had blamed it on the Scots, claiming their needed to defend their lands from northern raiders but in truth their preferred to stay away from the queen and live in relative independence. The queen’s husband, King Cenfus, the Eorl of Scrobbesburg (Shrewsbury), had returned to his home in Mercia some years before and even news of his wife’s death didn’t bring him back. Sofia had sat in her rooms and listened to the commotion outside when she had realised Elfwynn had died. Almost an hour later the court chaplain had arrived and confirmed the news. Then he had asked her if she wanted to join him in prayer over the Queen's body. Sofia had agreed and followed them to the Great Hall which seemed infinitely more lively, despite the circumstances, then it had been earlier that when Sofia and Elfwynn had talked. Servants and housecarls walked back and forth organising matters and making sure the Queen looked her best. Immediately Sofia felt the tension and nervousness which had been present early was gone. At the rear of the hall, in Elfwynn's own chambers, many had gathered to pay their respects. Among them, Osweald of Louth stood by the bed, whispering orders to a servants about what to do with the bed clothing and the body beneath them. In the far corner of the room Leofhelm Wuffing, Eorl of Lothian, the Marshal of the kingdom and the only northern lord who had remained in the capital. He was of the most powerful men in Englaland and had the quick wits and intelligence to back it up. He had little to fear from the old queen and had more to gain from scheming in her court than from holding court in his own lands. He had the window shutters open and was staring out into the night. When Sofia entered he gave her an arrogant smile. This one could be trouble, Sofia thought to herself. When the sun rose a ship was sent to inform Totil of the news. Despite being up all night and clearly exhausted, Osweald insisted on being aboard it to break the news to his childhood friend and new king. That had been over a week ago and now Sofia sat in the great hall finishing off her meal having been informed that her son had arrived in Gippeswic. Upon hearing the news, Totil had reacted like the rest of the court with something that could almost be called indifference. He had send word back to England that he would stay in Bertangaland and continue the siege of Rennes and the war against Eustache Nicolay. At that moment the doors of the great hall swung open and the broad frame of Totil de Normandie entered. "I see you've made yourself at home then." Totil said, eyeing the bowls and cups arranged in front of his mother. "It's been a tragic few days" Sofia replied with a smile. Totil returned the smile and, after embracing his mother, began to pour himself a cup of ale. "You will be pleased to know that Rennes had fallen and Jarl Sturla now rules the town and the surrounding lands, just as you wish. He has taken the name Pistill for the name of his dynasty." "And what have you done with Count Nicolay?" "The Count fled the town before it surrendered. Apparently he has sought refuge with his cousins in Anjou. His lands in Léon were overrun by an army of over 2,000 men and then taken from him by some German. Werner Unruochinger is his name. He's declared himself Count of Léon for reasons I cannot fathom." "Unruochinger? As in the royal family of Aquitaine and Italy?" "The same. But I'm assured that he is so distant from his royal cousin as to barely have an ounce of kingly blood in him." "Regardless, the King of Aquitaine at least may see this as a chance to expand their power in France. The fact that a landless upstart could gather 2,000 men to capture one county is in itself suspicious." "Should Aquitaine prove a problem, I have all of Englaland to call on now." Totil said draining the last of his cup and picking up a leg of chicken. "True" Sofia agreed. "And we must focus on Englaland for now. To begin with, the Swedes still claim lordship over some of the north. Drive them out and maybe we can fix the rift that your grandmother caused. Once that’s done we can turn our backs to the sea for the moment and focus on our borders, north and south." "And what do you have planned now?" Totil raising a curious eyebrow. "I don't wish to say for certain yet but you will see soon. I may be old but I have much more work to do."

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Chapter 4 - The Hunchback of Nantes

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 4 - The Hunchback of Nantes Herewynn, handmaiden of the queen and head servant of the royal residents of Nantes led the newly arrived traveller from the fresh autumn sunshine that bathed the town outside and into the rooms of Queen Sofia. His heavy leather boots tracked in mud from outside with each slow step he took. He had a well combed, dark brown beard and his hair was clean and healthy. On his brow his eyebrows seemed to be finally bridging the gap between them. Despite this he had a soft face that some would almost call handsome. His long scarlet cloak draped over his shoulders would have reached most men's ankle but on him it stretched out over his spine and barely reached past his hips. Underneath it bulged the unmistakable hunchback that identified Magnus Beorhtsigesson, the younger son of Sofia de Normandie. Beside the hearth that burned in the middle of the floor, Sofia sat in a high back, cushion chair with a mass of blankets across her lap and a damp cloth in one hand which she held against her head. One action seemed to contradict the other in Magnus's view. "Your son, Magnus, my lady" Herewynn anounced, bowing. "Thank you, my dear" "Yes, thank you." Magnus agreed and from his purse he produced two silver coins and placed them Herewynn's hand. "Thank you, my lord" Herewynn said with excited graditude. She bowed again and left the room. Magnus, despite his deformities, or perhaps because of them, had always been charitable to those less fortunate them himself. The common people knew him to have a kind heart and they admired him for it. It was the one way in which he truly differed from his ruthless mother. In every other way, he was far more like Sofia than Totil had ever been. They both put very little faith in the words of other and they were both masters of courtly politics and intrigue, Magnus even more so than his mother. As a result, Sofia had named her son as her spymaster and he risen to the task and exceeded all the expectations of his peers. "This detestable fever!" Sofia complained. "The fresh air causes me to shiver uncontrollably and the heat is uncomfortable and makes me dizzy. God be praised, it seems to be getting better.” “Enough anyhow, any news from Paris?" she continued "I'm afraid not" Magnus replied inspecting the room. "The Duke of Artois has rebelled but he's alone and will soon be crushed I suspect. What's this?" Sofia turned to see Magnus holding the long thin chest which had been left on her desk earlier in the day. "Ah! You’ll love this. That is a piece of the True Cross. Brought all the way from Jerusalem during the last crusader, would you believe? It fell into the hands of a priest from Toulouse. Apparently his parish is in difficulty and he wished to sell it to someone with the means of keeping it safe." "I see. And how much did such a rare artifact set up back?" "A very reasonable price would you believe. He was in an awful hurry to be rid of it for something so rare." Magnus raised a cynical eyebrow and gave a wry smile. "Well, the naysayers will always be outnumbered by the devout and it will go a long way to improving the families prestige." Magnus put the case down and took a seat on the bench across the hearth from his mother. "Speaking of the family's prestige," he started. "I couldn't help but notice that my brother now rules England. He's just built himself a castle from what I hear. Even my bastard cousin is now Count of Rennes so you'll forgive me, mother, for bringing up the issue of a title of my own." "Magnus, we've discussed this before. I simply have no title to give you. Like you said, your brother has just inherited a kingdom, go ask him for some land. Go look to the church. The Teutonic Order are always looking for new recruits in Hamburg." she joked, returning a belated wry smile of her own. Magnus didn't reply. He was less than impressed at the mention of the order. With his hunchback and his lack of training at arms, not to mention the celibacy and total relinquishing of the right to bear titles, he had no intention of joining any of the Crusading knights. Sofia had no intention of letting him even if he did decide to go. He was simply too good at his duties of spymaster to lose. "Then what of this Count in Léon?" Magnus enquired. "I've had reports he's petitioning his relatives in Aquitaine to help him take your kingdom." "So I hear. We march north with an army and burn the arrogant pup out of his castle like we did with Nicolay.” “We?” Magnus asked. “Well I assumed you would want to follow the army since you’re back here. Regardless I’ll send an army to meet him in a few weeks, after Christmas. Unless you can come up with a more subtle way?” “I think this could be a situation where might beats subtlety, mother.” “Very well” Sofia said, standing and walking to the window. “I am ruler of Bertangaland by right. I am Queen, no one else. All those who deny it are traitors and I’ll crush this upstart under my boot like all the others.”

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Chapter 5 - Removing the Pretender

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 5 - Removing the Pretender At the ending of 1114A.D, only days after Christmas, Sofia had ordered her levies called and with the dawn of a New Year approaching she had declared her intention to conquer the county of Léon and make her title of Queen of Bertangaland undisputed. She had demanded that Werner Unruochinger, the Count of Léon, swear fealty to her as his de jure liege. Werner, however, coming from the royal dynasty that held the crowns of Italia and Aquitaine, had an ambitious personality that was associated with his house, having risen from lowly Dukes of Verona to being one of the most powerful families in Western Europe. Werner had made no secret of his ambitions and openly bragged about how he would one day become King of Brittany. On the 3rd of January, 1115A.D. the last of Sofia’s army had arrived. Magnus had remained at his mother’s court, his covert duties in Paris complete, and now sat and watched from his high perch on the battlements of Vannes’s northern gatehouse as the army, which seemed overly large for the task at hand, broke camp and prepared to march north to Léon. Four thousand men assembled under the shadow of the town’s meagre stone curtain wall. At their head rode Mayor Robert of St.Brieuc who had been placed in command. A Frankish man of lowborn status, Magnus had been surprised to discover, but who came highly recommended and had been a close advisor to his brother Totil in the past. Before long a stable boy appeared and informed Magnus that his horse was ready and saddled for the ride north. He meant to ride with the army on their march and represent his mother in her absence from the war. He had no intention of fighting, of course. Magnus’s hunchback had left him with very little physical strength or agility. Even his father had not seen the point in trying to train his son with the sword, beyond the basics. Instead his mother had taken charge of his education and employed teachers that would provide him with skills that mirrored her own. Magnus had achieved his own purpose in the world but fighting with sword and round shield was not part of it. His deformity had ensured that he was always easily identifiable, or at least aroused suspicious, and had robbed him of ability in stealth. Instead he had been a student of human nature and, even at his age, the young man had shown an incredible proficiency in the less savoury tasks of court life. Magnus mounted his horse and left through the northern gate in haste, trying to catch up with the head of the column. As he passed by the ranks of men-at-arms he was saluted by many. The two sons of Queen Sofia were widely respected and admired throughout all of Bertangaland. Although Totil had manage to earn the love of the English lords as well and Magnus couldn’t help but think that if brother were seated on his horse, the entire army would rise up in a chorus of cheers. At the head of the column he found Mayor Robert surrounded by a retinue of followers. “My prince! You are most welcome!” Robert said when Magnus came close. For all intents and purposes, Robert was a blacksmith’s son. Yet he made no apology for his low birth. He acted around nobility as he might act around friends in a tavern. His confidence was so much that he was hard to believe that he was a not a knight or baron himself. He didn’t even have a particularly good way with words. He was a man whose skill spoke for itself and he and everyone around him knew it. Magnus had to smile in return. He liked Robert. The man’s ability to overcome his lowborn status reminded Magnus of his own struggle to overcome his hunchback. The ride north took just over a day with a stop in the middle to camp for the night. The next afternoon, with the winter sun having finally managed to put some distance between it and the tree top so that it could begin to burn away the mist that had settled that morning, the army arrive at the castle of St Pol de Léon, the residence of Werner Unruochinger. The castle itself was not what you’d call vast. Not in comparison to the ones that Magnus had seen dotted throughout France. It had one large tower on its south west corner and a number of smaller towers at the other corners. It was surrounded by a moat which was large indeed. From where Magnus sat it looked about fifteen metres from one bank to the other. The drawbridge was up to bar their entry and the distant figures of archers and crossbowmen could be made out on the walls. Regardless of the width of the moat, the castle itself was still small enough for this army of 4,000 men to surround. They set up their camp in a circle around the walls and the leaders discussed their next move. Magnus, having entrusted his horse to the guards, entered the Mayor’s meagre tent and found Robert and his gathered retinue discussing the tactics they should use against the Count of Léon in the walls. Magnus was not sure of the credentials of the large gang of Franks that Robert had brought with him but it appeared that every one of them was free to state his opinion amongst this group. Magnus hoped to remain unnoticed and huddled in a seat in the corner to listen to the debate. “We should attack immediately!” advised a tall man with a thick mop of dark hair and a long scarlet surcoat. “The guards on the walls are just that. Simply guards! If we attack now we’ll catch them by surprise.” Others advised caution. “We shouldn’t be so impulsive. Werner knows he’s surrounded. He may come out to negotiate a surrender yet.” Said a man who seemed to be dressed for market day rather than war. Many agreed with the idea of caution but almost all felt that, having heard stories of Werner Unruochinger’s arrogance, there was no chance of him negotiating a surrender without a fight. A very skinny man with a pasty looking face stood up to talk. “The armies of the King of Aquitaine will come from the south soon to save his kin. I say we capture this castle as soon as possible and then march south to the Loire. There we can hope to hold the river against him.” Many agreed with this idea, mainly spurred on by the idea of a larger army from Aquitaine burning its way across Bertangaland. At this point though, Magnus felt he should speak up. “I’m afraid that is not quite true.” He said. The men who had not seen him come in now stared at him and the man who just seconds before hand had been so adamant about assault, now sank back into his seat seemingly embarrassed. Robert was the only one who was not at a loss for words. “We’ve had reports that the regency of Aquitaine means to go to war with your mother and see an ally crowned King of Bertangaland.” To that Magnus replied, “As my mother’s spymaster I have my own reports and these two who are meant to be kin are so distant that their great-grandfathers were third cousins. The King himself is but a five year old boy, as most of you will know, and already he finds himself fighting on many front. Armies in Anjou fight against the French King in his name. In Toulouse the King of Jerusalem attacks him over a simple border dispute. Then there’s the matter of the other Aquitaine and its Duke, who still swears fealty to the German King. The boy king will hardly have a thousand men to help such a distant relation. Whether he will bother is another matter.” Everyone remained silent. In one swoop Magnus had ended all the debating. If his reports were true, there was only one thing to do now. Sit back and starve the garrison out. It only took two weeks before the signs of the siege taking its toll on the defenders became obvious. During one night the camp guards caught three deserters from the castle trying to reach freedom. They were soaked from head to toe having swam across the moat. The castle garrison didn’t even seem to notice they were gone. A few days after they launched the diseased corpses of a pig over their walls and into the besieger’s camp. When the pig landed it burst open and revealed it to be full of grain. It seemed to be a ploy to trick the attackers into thinking they had so much food that even their livestock were well fed. Robert had asked the three captives and they had said that that had probably been the last of the castles grain. The attempt became a joke in the besieging camp. Werner had fed the last of his food to a pig and now starved inside his walls. Sure enough, a week later a white flag appeared on the battlement, the drawbridge lower and a few moments later the Count of Léon walked out with the remainder of his garrison. They were all thin beyond belief. This was the first time Magnus had seen the Count and he got the distinct impression that his head was just skin layered over bone and nothing else. The army of Bertangaland seized the castle and took the garrison into captivity. He left a sizeable garrison of his own there and now the army marched south back to Vannes with Werner Unruochinger as his prisoner. The attack from Aquitaine had come. As Magnus had thought just a few hundred men had crossed the Loire and harassed villages and farmers for a few miles past the river before retreating back into their own lands. Sofia had requested to meet with Werner after the siege if it had been successful for her. Two days later, with most of the army having disbanded on the way home, they arrived at Vannes. Robert, with the help of two house carls, led Werner to the great hall where Sofia had been listening to requests before the court and now wished to parade the man who had tried to defy her domination of Bertangaland. Her hall was full of people when the guards brought Werner Unruochinger before her. Magnus, having left his horse with a groom, arrived later to the show and was content to take a place at the back of the hall and gauge the mood of those gathered. Unruochinger squirmed and wrestled with Sofia’s soldiers as he was brought forward. Eventually he was thrown on his knees at the bottom of the Queen’s dais but still refused to submit. He stared at the steps in front of him and kept his eyes away from the Queen. “Werner Unruochinger!” the herald began. “You are hereby charged with treason against the lawful Queen of Bertangaland, Sofia de Normandie. What do you have to say?” At this Werner finally looked up and his face was filled with a mix of confused and anger. “Treason?” he said, before spitting at Sofia’s feet. The whole hall gasped and began to whisper amongst themselves but Werner was not finished. “Pass you judgement and get this mummer’s farce over with.” He continued, talking to Sofia. “You know I have committed no treason.” At that Sofia sat up in her chair. “Very well, since you will not be reasonable, we’ll get to it. Werner Unruochinger, I hereby banish you from the realm of Bertangaland under pain of death. You’re county of Léon will be forfeited to the crown and will pass to my nephew, Sturla Pistill.” The hall once again erupted into chatter but above the din, Werner shouted “I’ll be back at the head of an army, mark my words!” At the back of the hall, Magnus’s head had shot up when Sofia had made her decree about the county of Léon. Once again he had been spurned and this time in favour of his bastard cousin. He stormed out of the hall and returned to his horse in the stables. The very slight of his hunchback cleared a path for him through the crowd. In the yard he kicked a bucket in frustration, tried to hold down a scream and resolved to find a tavern and drink himself into a pit for the night.

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Sorry for the long distance between updates. I was on holiday, got bored, came home early, spent loads of time with my girlfriend and then had to register for college so I literally didn't get time to post this (which I wrote some weeks back) until today after I went through registration.

[Stavros_Kalmpou]

Another great update of a great AAR! Don't worry if you get bored, it happens to all AAR writers !

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Cheers for the support man! Much appreciated!

By bored, I didn't mean the AAR. I actually meant the holiday. My friends' wish to go out drinking every night soon lost it's appeal for me

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Chapter 6 - A Sword in the Night

Book One - The She-Wolf of Bertangaland Chapter 6 - A Sword in the Night With Sofia’s domination in Bertangaland secure, her kingdom experienced a period of great prosperity and peace. While its neighbour’s waged expensive and unending war on each for control of Francia, Bertangaland indulged in trade. With the looting and devastation of war over, farmers returned to their land and agriculture began to develop again. In the cities, burghers and bankers returned to their business without the fear and uncertainty of siege and once again filled their coffers. New buildings were erected paid for with gold from the royal finances and in Nantes, the She-Wolf of Bertangaland plotted endlessly for the prestige of her family. Across the Channel in Englaland, Totil struggled with his position. He had already earned the love and respect of his vassals and, despite ending the two hundred year reign of rulers from the house of Mercia, he appeared to have no reason to fear a rebellion. Kingship, however, didn’t come easy to the new king and he seemed to struggle without his mother’s guiding hand. The marriages he had arranged for his children began to bear fruit. Markus, his eldest son and heir who had sailed to the great city of Ko̱nstantinoúpoli̱ (Constantinople) and joined the Varangian Guard, the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, had been wedded to Hodierne Reginar, Princess of Lotharingia. In 1119A.D. the union had produced Totil’s first grandson, who they had named Karl Markusson. Even with this news the English king was struggling to cope. The role of ruler and its work had left him stressed and with stress eventually came illness. A bride had been found for his brother Magnus also. Magnus had felt slighted by his mother’s granting of Léon to his cousin Sturla. He had come to her the night she had banished Werner Unruochinger. He had clearly been in his cups but made promises that Sofia felt he was well capable of keeping. Of her two sons, Magnus was the one that Sofia worried about. Totil was no fool but he had a mind of war and battle. Men respected him for that and they followed him. She had used that to further the ambitions of her family and her and her father had worked tirelessly to see him with the crown of Englaland on his head. Magnus was more like Sofia herself and knew how the world worked. He was kind natured and a hard worker but Sofia knew he could be Sofia had married her younger son to the Elspeth Menteith, daughter of Radulf Menteith, the Scottish lord of the Irish county of Oriel. The marriage had been the result of more of Sofia’s scheming. The island of Ireland had been divided in two by invaders and the Irish themselves had been driven to the outskirts to scratch a living off rocks. In the north and east, the Scottish kingdom ruled. They had invaded in the opposite direction of their Scots ancestors before them in the hope of united the two Celtic kingdoms into a Greater Scotia. In the south, the Welsh ruled. The Irish had appealed to the King-Bishops of Deheubarth for aid against the heathen armies of Sigbjorn de Normandie. The combined Irish and Welsh armies had managed to dislodge Sigbjorn’s sons for their strongholds on the island but the Welsh had stayed and the Prince-Bishops added Deas-Mhumhain to their demesne and declared themselves King-Bishops, to the anger of the Vatican. With Totil ruling in Englaland it was inevitable that he would be drawn into conflict with these two rivals and loyal supporter in Ireland could prove to be a huge advantage. Magnus, who shared his mother’s skill for intrigue, could see the benefits as well and willingly took to this marriage of duty. The icing on the cake had been that it provided him with the landed title that he had been craving, even if it was through right of his wife. For three years this period of affluence continued. The future of her line was now secure with the coming of her first grandson and Sofia returned to working on increasing her family’s power once more. On the night of the 21st of August 1122 she was seated at her desk in her bed chambers reading through the stack of papers that Thurfirth Maddock, her chancellor, had left with her that afternoon. She had been reading for hours and her eyes began to sting. The shutters had been opened a crack and a refreshing autumn breeze blew into the room. The flames of the candles flicker and made shadows dance back and forth in the light. A sudden knock at door made Sofia start in surprise and she nearly lost control of her documents. “What is it?” she called. “My lady, we’ve brought you your evening meal” said a feminine voice through the door. “Very well, come in.” A whole crew of servants enter with plates full of food and cups brimming to the top with wine. For a woman who was approaching her seventieth year, Sofia still had no shyness when it came to food and ate as much as ever. The servants arranged the meal on another table beside her bed and Sofia paid them little heed. They began to leave almost as suddenly as they appeared, although one man remained and caught Sofia’s attention. He looked to have dropped a small case of seasoning on the floor and was scrambling to pick it up. When he finally managed it he turned back to the food and then made to leave. “Wait” Sofia said, standing up and walking towards him. “My cupbearer isn’t here to taste this. Will you do me the honours?” The servant panicked. Drawing a dagger from under his coat he lunged at Sofia. He was clearly untrained and he hesitated allowing Sofia to dodge the thrust, even in her old age. The attacker stopped himself at Sofia’s writing desk and lost control of his dagger. Now it was Sofia’s turn to lunge. She moved forward and snatched up the dagger and drove the point straight down through the assailant’s left hand. The man let out a deep cry but when the queen dripped hot candle wax on his cheek and noise of his shrieks woke the whole castle and had the guards there in a matter of seconds. It was an hour before sunrise when Magnus arrived with the news of their interrogation. “Bribery” Magnus said. He gave a long yawn and threw the bag of coins in his hands to Sofia. “He’s of your household alright. Whatever it was that he was putting on the food, the dogs in the cellar wouldn’t even eat it.” “Perhaps I should have fed it to the man himself.” Sofia added with a wry smile. “Perhaps. The irony would have been something to savour. But then I wouldn’t have been able to get name of his sponsor out of him. Tell me mother, why would the Count of Maine want you dead?” Sofia crossed to the table she had been sitting at before her would-be assassin had entered. The struggle had knocked some papers to the floor but it was still covered in sheets. She gestured Magnus to come closer and when he did he saw that the sheets of paper were letters. Scattered on top and underneath them were envelops they had come in. Magnus recognised the various seals of different Frankish lords. “Knights and lords. All of them from Normandy. I had been corresponding with Evrard Capet’s wife, no doubt he blamed me after he silenced his wife. The man has no desire to live under the rule of a woman.” Magnus was scanning through the letters on the table. Reading each with a queer look on his face. “Pledges for all of them. To not raise their swords against you and to welcome you into their homes. Documents that confirm you as their rightful liege. You mean to invade Normandy.” Sofia nodded. “The time for subtlety will soon be over. The land is in our blood, in our name. Without us there is no Normandy. The land, the horses, the Franks wasted it all before our forefathers settled it. I mean to see our house restored to their rightful home before I die.” “And how have you got the lords to agree to support it? The Franks have no love for us I can assure you.” “True, but they have even less for their German liege. Their king has his throne through marriage and doesn’t even speak their language. We ruled them once, we rule Franks now. We speak their language and I find myself more like them with each passing day.” Magnus poured himself a cup of wine and drained a large portion of it. “That’s a lot of information to take in so early in the morning. I suspect Totil was informed of all this before me? Unless you mean to take on the King of France with an army half his size.” “No one was to know until we struck. Totil will do as he is bid when the time comes.” Magnus guffawed at the statement. His laugh echoed around the room. “So much for his kingship.” “He will reign here as king for long enough, as well as in Englaland when I am buried. Until that time I mean to make use of the love the English lords have for him for the good of our house.” Magnus swirled the last of his wine in his cup and downed what remained. “So war it is then. Very well, mother. I fear I must return to my bed now, I was not made for these early mornings. Inform me of any further plans, I’ll have one of my men bring you the head of your assassin.” He finished with a smile.

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Chapter 7 - Gearing for War

“Presenting Capitano Severino, Captain-General of the Company of St.George!” Sofia’s herald announced to the gathered commanders. The man in question strutted into the tent with all the arrogance and swagger associated with the mercenary captains of Italy. Many of the others in the tent made disapproving expressions but Captain Severino didn’t even seem to notice their presence. Stopping just before Sofia’s throne he fell to one knee and made a highly exaggerated bow. Then, stepping forward he took the queen’s hand and kissed it. “Sire, I offer you the services of my humble company in your coming war against the French.” Sofia couldn’t help but smile. The man’s charm was irresistible. Rumour had it that he had taken part in an affair with the wife of the Duke of Savoy and had fallen in love. His mistress had died soon after, however, and Severino had taken an oath of celibacy which he had stayed true to ever since. Looking up and around the tent Sofia realised that the captain’s charm had not won over everyone. “It’s such a lovely day. Would you be willing to discuss your offer outside, captain?” Severino bowed in compliance and followed Sofia outside. Two guards followed at a distance and as the various jarls exited Sofia’s tent, they made sure none followed within earshot. It was just passing midday and the sun shone down brightly over the entire camp. “What do your company’s services consist of, captain?” Sofia asked getting straight to the point. “Seven thousand spears, your Grace. Two thousand archers and over one hundred knights. The rest are infantry, all professionals.” “And I suppose these services don’t come free of charge?” “My lady, my men have just returned from fighting the Moors in Iberia. Before that we crushed a Greek host led by the Emperor himself in southern Italy. They are the best fighting force in the west, worth every coin.” Coin is not an issue, Sofia thought to herself. A man like this can hardly be trusted should the fighting go ill. “You would say that, of course. Very well, captain. You’ll get your payment. Have your men ready to march with the rest of the army.” “Very good”. The Italian gave another deep, exaggerated bow and returned to his camp. Sofia spent the next few hours inspecting her camp, talking to her soldiers. Inquiring about their families, which lord they served. The answers themselves didn’t particularly interest her but getting to know the men who fought for her like her ancestors did could only inspire them. They said Hrolf de Normandie dined with all his men every night and he had conquered Normandy with just a handful of fighters. She sent a messenger to summon Sturla Pistill to her tent and now she returned to it herself to speak with him. She had become very fond of her bastard nephew, who had been named after her father, lately. Perhaps it was because of the recent death of his mother, which left Sturla without a parent. Although he had just entered his forties so Sofia liked to believe it was because of his honesty of effort. She found him in sitting in her tent, poking at the fire. He wore riding boots which where caked in mud. A coat of chainmail hung all the way down to his knees, over an orange tunic, with a split at his hips to allow him to sit in the saddle. His brown belt lay on the table. The golden pommel of his poked out from scabbard. The rich weapon of a liegeman he had become, not of a bastard he was born. His helmet lay beside it, it’s long, golden horse hair plume draped over the timber. It didn’t take close kin to realise that Sofia’s nephew was fond of horses. He had been to Francia and Lotharingia in his youth and had become fascinated with the knights there. The fascination hadn’t ended when he became an adult. Where Totil with take round shield and sword and join the front of his shieldwall, Sturla would sit a horse and lead his cavalry in the charge. He rose the moment she entered the tent. "My lady" he said respectfully. "And what news do you bring, nephew?" "We crossed the River Sarthe last night my lady. The word from the Franks in Anjou was that Eckhard von Thuringen has taken communion at the Abbey of St.Denis and the bishop has given him the Oriflamme. The French begrudge the battle standard of St.Denis in the hands of a German but they've little choice in the matter. Half the nobility are German. As is the Bishop Burchard of St.Denis, and a push over to boot." "And how many men has King Eckhard gathered to him?" "My scouts counted well over a one hundred banners. Near sixteen thousand men?" "Sixteen thousand!" Sofia was stunned. Eckhard von Thuringen was well loved and a great leader of men, she knew. The lords of France had risen up to place him on throne. Something unheard of as, while his mother was a Karling, he was the first King of France to not hold the name of Karling. He was a devoted Catholic and had fought the pagans of the north on several occasions, and yet. Sixteen thousand seemed like an impossible number. "And us with barely twelve thousand and more than half those under a man who could betray us in a second to satisfy his own ego" Sofia mused. "And still no word from Totil". "No word, my lady, but as we left the Franks two days ago, they begin to turn their march and head north east back towards the Seine. Whether they had word of Totil's coming or they mean to lure us into a trap, I could not say." "And you did not think to follow them?" "I'm sorry, my lady. They sent large bands of outriders to screen their movements. Entirely lords' retinues. I did not think it wise to stay around." "Very well, Sturla. I will think on what you've said. Now leave me." Sofia finished bluntly. Sturla Alesson bowed and left the tent swiftly. Sofia turned the a platter of food that had been prepared for her and picked a leg of duck. It tasted sour in her mouth and after a few nibbles she threw the leg across the tent in anger. She studied the map laid out of her desk. If she moved east now, she risked walking straight into a Frankish trap and surely the loss of the war. However, if Totil had landed somewhere to the north for whatever reason and the French were marching towards him, her son would be stranded and his army stood even less chance against the massed ranks of Frankish soldiers. There was nothing else for it. If she hesitated, all was lost. Later that afternoon she gave word to begin the march east

[ccllnply]

Ok guys, a huge gap between updates I'll admit. I'm back to college and it took a bit of getting used to to start off with. Maybe because of the bank holiday or maybe because of finishing my first assignment or maybe because of all the other AARs I've been reading, I suddenly experience a bit inspiration to start writing on Saturday. I slightly ruined that by getting quite drunk that night but this AAR should still be back on schedule.

I decided to change the title. "The Leopards of the North" was something I just made up on the spot. It made no sense, was pretty cringey and has been annoying me ever since. The House of Normandy isn't exactly unique but it feels a bit more proper to me. I'm also planning on doing a character index soon, hopefully to make following a bit easier so expect to see that soon and thanks for reading!

[Alwyn]

Great update and I like your new title.