Looking at Louis Capet, one would have no trouble believing he was a prince. Tall, handsome, young, and dashing, his bearing and manner was princely. His reputation was princely too, and many who didn’t even know him revered him. He stood now at the head of a simple wooden table before a gathering of other young men, of an age with himself, more or less. A map of Europe was spread across the table in front of him and he was fervently tracing a path through French territory and east. In an almost giddy, but still commanding tone he was rapidly detailing a plan to his compatriots.
“It is absolutely imperative that we reclaim Metz before anything else. As the birthplace of the Carolingian kingdom, and by extent the empire, it shall also be the birthplace of our conquests. It is not suitable that it should be held by a man who does not consider it part of our kingdom.”
He paused to look around the room. He had gathered a group of the brightest young members of French court, resulting in a group of nearly 20 lordlings and nobles’ sons gathered in a room just barely large enough to hold them. Many of their faces showed agreement, but on some he saw hesitation, and others seemed puzzled by his focus on the Carolingian kingdom, but none raised their voices in outright opposition. He was gladdened by the lack of dissent. It was much easier to sway an undecided mind than to override one which was already made up in some other direction.
While he acknowledged that hesitation to contradict him could partially be attributed to his status as crown prince of France, he also knew that as long as none of them felt strongly enough to reject the theory outright, he had a chance of persuading them all to see his vision. Of course, they would be joining him in his conquests regardless of their agreement with him, as they were all jockeying for position with the future king, but he did not want to march at the head of a host of sycophants who followed him only for the position it could secure them, for such men could be swayed quickly by the opportunity for power or position to follow someone else to some other goal. Instead, the young prince truly desired to lead a group of men who shared his vision and would fight to the death alongside him to see it realized.
“With Metz captured, we will have a front to hold against the Germans who currently lay claim to the title of ‘Holy Roman Empire,’ and reclaim the glory that rightfully belongs to France. The legacy of Charlemagne rightfully belongs to France. The Franks were his people first, long before he was ever anointed emperor, and it shall be France which once again rises to attain such great glory as he once attained!” As he paused again to cast about the room, he saw that he had garnered more support from the young nobles, and his impassioned speech of the glories of France appealed to their idealism, and the idea of adding new land to the kingdom boded well for their future standing.
As the nobles gathered into smaller groups and began murmured conversations, Louis allowed himself to smile faintly, slumping and dropping a hand to the shoulder of the boy seated at his right, half in approval, and half to steady himself. Though Louis himself had much love for the history of his people and the legends surrounding the country, his knowledge paled in comparison to that of his half-brother, Phillipe. Practically a scholar, the younger boy had carefully studied all the recorded histories of Charlemagne, and used other texts to piece together events that may have occurred between those specifically recorded. He had served as researcher, right hand, and a driving force behind Louis’ most recent push to convince his youthful counterparts among the French nobles to join him in his quest to expand royal holdings. Occasionally, Louis thought with some bitterness that it would be better if Phillipe himself simply took charge of the efforts. It often seemed he was the true prince of the pair, noble and refined. He was still young though, and despite this rare jealousy, Louis did love his young half-brother, whom he considered a full brother in all but name.
He leaned down to whisper, “We seem to have gained some momentum for now, but I do not know how long such an argument will hold their interest when they see the bodies of their men littering the ground, and find the money draining from their coffers.”
“It won’t need to.” Phillipe answered simply. “It need only hold their interest long enough that they throw their weight, and that of their family names, behind your position. Once we have father convinced, the misgivings of a few minor young lords will mean little. Besides, I’m sure the thought of new lands for themselves and the favor of the future king will go a long way toward soothing the pain of such losses.”
Louis nodded as he heard the echoes of his own thoughts in his brother’s words. “And if our efforts here are not enough to convince them to support us? Or if their support is not enough to convince father?”
“Don’t worry too much, our plan has more layers than just this one. I’m confident that everything will come together.”
In proof of his point, the sturdy beechwood door swung open and a young man swept in, dressed well, if somewhat plainly. He did wear a rather exceptional coat, bound at the neck with a chain of gold links. He was followed by three other men, two of them still in the livery of castle guards and the other in the trousers and rough shirt of a common peasant. The well-dressed member of the party who had entered first and seemed to be the leader of the party stepped forward as if to address the Prince, but Hugh Borel, the young heir to the Duchy of Burgundy stepped boldly into the path of the newcomers. “Men such as you are not welcome in this company,” he spat, his gaze darting between the man at the head of the company and the peasant who brought up its rear. “Why were these men allowed in?” He demanded of those who were clad as guards.
By this point, Louis had made his way to the door, where he took up a position behind the shorter, broader lord. “Easy Hugh,” his command was gently, but carried throughout the room, and all those who had not yet become aware of the newcomers stopped their conversations and now had their attention drawn to the encounter at the door. “I have been expecting the news these men carry, I will be receiving them now in private, please,” he turned an apologetic smile to the lords who populated the rest of the room, “Our business together is at an end for the time being, and I must now be on to the next. The work of a Prince, you must understand. As always, it has been my pleasure to gather with you all.” He offered a slight bow of the head to each as one by one the young noblemen of France strode from the room. Hugh was the last to leave, turning one last spiteful look on the newcomers, and half glancing toward Louis. He knew better than to question the orders of his prince, and even if he did not, he was cowed by the older man’s stature and reputation, and so he left without another word.
Before the last of the other lords left the room, Geoffrey d’Anjou, current co-count of Anjou, oldest son of the aging Fulk d’Anjou, Louis pulled him aside. Known as Martel, “the hammer,” the Angevin lord was massive, even compared to the impressive figure of Louis, his bright red hair sat a full head higher than Louis’ own head, and he was broader across the shoulders than the prince of France. Louis fixed the slightly older man with his bright blue eyes. “There are many disloyal lords in the northeast,” he said quietly but firmly, “not too far from those lands which you currently govern.” Geoffrey nodded, already guessing what Louis might be suggesting. Louis chose not to drag on the game. “I need someone in the east I can trust, and the lands of the dukes of Brittony and Normandy both stand outside of the crown’s authority for now. There lands are yours, and yours alone if you lead France’s armies against them when the time comes. You can leave Anjou to your father, and the younger brother he favors over you, and take lands of your own.” He extended a hand, and Geoffrey gripped it firmly with another nod and left the room.
Phillipe then began to stand from his chair, as after watching this encounter he too prepared to leave the room, and Louis faced a momentary dilemma. He was fond of Phillipe, and his younger brother’s blue eyes always seemed guileless enough, but who could say with the eldest son of Bertrade de Montfort. He was certainly clever enough, perhaps enough to feign innocence. He had been nothing but helpful so far though, and so a wave of Louis’ hand saw that he remained seated and eagerly present. Louis himself then followed suit, easing into a chair, pushing his sword aside so it did not hinder him. He let out a deep sigh – he had remained standing throughout the council and was more than ready to take a moment of leisure. At last he turned his attention to toward the men who he had cleared the room for, but whom he had scarcely acknowledged since their entry.
He extended a hand indicating the chairs which had, until recently been occupied by the height of French chivalry, the gentle smile he had worn since he had seen his words working on the men gathered broadening. “Jacob! It is good to see you – to see all of you, Guillaume, Michel, Dalmas – and I am glad to once again be free to spend some time among friends, all the better if it serves a purpose.”
The young merchant accepted the invitation to sit, followed by his companions, other friends of the prince, clad according to their respective roles in the charade they had put on for the king. As he moved to a chair, Jacob feigned surprise; “You mean to say that those men you chose to spend so much time among are not those you would consider friends? But I thought it was ‘your pleasure to meet with them’!” he mimicked, fairly accurately.
Louis could not help a small snicker escaping as he caught the gaze of the young merchant. “So long as they are in my company they are my friends. As soon as we part however, I do not look with any great fondness upon most of them, and I would suspect they share the sentiment. But you did not come to hear me mock the highborn of this land, did you? What news of your errand?”
“Indeed I did not, but it is a rather pleasant perk of the trip. The news I bring is good, and urgent, we have ridden hard from the moment we were out of the king’s sight.”
“Judging by your smell, I believe you fully.”
Jacob rolled the jab away with his eyes as he pressed valiantly on, this time turning to encompass the younger Capet in his audience. “Your damned fool plan worked after all, Phillipe. For a moment it seemed as if our journey had served only to give us all a bit of practice playing before a royal audience, but eventually your father became quite interested in the fact that the lords of Tolouse and Marseilles had barred their gates to representatives of the king.”
“Good!” the prince beamed at those gathered around the table. Phillipe turned to him earnestly with excitement, and a clear measure of pride shining in his eyes. “If father has at last been made to see the state of his kingdom it should not be long before summons arrive for you to join him in Paris, there is no doubt that he will seek your judgement and aid in such times. All we must do is wait.”
“Indeed, little enough time now, compared to all the time I’ve already spent,” the prince whispered thoughtfully, but something the younger prince had said seemed to have drained some of Louis energy. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it Phillipe, that father might trust my council now that he has been made to see the threat, but he has not trusted it all along as I myself have tried to reveal it to him. He only ever dismissed me as naïve, overly suspicious, and told my I was seeing demons among friends with no cause. Maybe I should have sought your help sooner,” he offered, but bitterly, as if it stung him to say so.
In an effort to restore some levity to the conversation, he turned to his brother and offered an abrupt laugh. “This at least bodes well for the chances of all your other plans brother, perhaps I should start putting more faith in you.” Despite the jest, the mood in the room did not lighten. It seemed that the friends found little more to discuss, in the wake of the prince’s ponderings, and so wait they did.
The wait, it happened, would last three weeks, though they felt even longer, and when at last an end came, it was not some royal messenger who brought it.