Jacob Bonet felt somewhat forgotten. It was hardly Louis’ fault, of course. The sudden influx of royal family members could not have been anticipated. Now that they were there, he certainly wouldn’t expect Louis to ignore them either. He was perfectly capable of attending to his business from Rheims just as easily as anywhere else, so it didn’t really impact him negatively to be there. It would just be nice if he had seen his old friend sometimes too. He did feel for him of course, a sudden wedding announcement was not likely to brighter the prince’s mood, knowing him, and it would be made worse by the stilling of his expansionist ambitions. Still, they had only spoken a couple times since Louis’ engagement was announced, and that had come more than a month ago now. Privately, Jacob had to think it might be for the best that the crown would not be going to war with its own subjects. As much as he wanted to see his friend happy, he found the marriage solution a rather elegant solution that was equally beneficial to trade. One which put the prince, and all their other friends, in much less danger.
Surrendering to the direction his thoughts had taken him, Jacob decided he would try and find his friend. After his latest messenger had finished a report on the lumber supply coming south from Denmark, he dismissed him and resolved to seek out Louis. He paused briefly to examine his reflection in the small mirror he had mounted in his room, hastily combing through his tangled dark hair as his surly dark-eyed reflection stared back at him. Among some of the more strict Catholic priests, such practice was condemned as frivolous vanity. A God-fearing Catholic might have done away with such a device. Jacob however, was neither, and so he made sure he was content with his appearance before he departed to find his prince.
As he travelled from his quarters to the main portion of the castle, Jacob observed an abnormal amount of disturbance. Perhaps the untrained eye would not have noticed it, but Jacob’s eye was not untrained. Even the slightest change in the way the courtly winds blew could signify opportunity or ruin in his line of work. So, when liveried servants moved through the hallways slightly faster than normal, or knights clung white-knuckled to the hilts of their swords as they strode through the castle, he took note. By the time he finally stopped out side the solar which Louis had claimed, he was on full alert after passing multiple groups of noblemen whispering together in corners, and royal messengers all but sprinting. Upon knocking on the prince’s door, it was opened promptly by Louis’ beaming young half-brother Phillipe, further within were Louis himself sprawled across his bed, and his sister Constance seated in a high-backed chair, both clearly in a very good humor.
“Ah, Jacob! Wonderful to see you!” Phillipe greeted. From his bed, the prince waved a hand lazily, and his brother stepped aside so Jacob could join them.
“Wine?” Louis offered cheerfully, already pouring. “Glad you could make it my friend!” There was no mention of the fact that it was their first encounter in weeks.
Jacob raised an eyebrow and accepted the goblet, sniffing it surreptitiously, a little concerned by the exuberance being displayed. He harbored suspicions that the alcohol, or perhaps something else, in the wine was its source. Without taking a sip, he fixed Louis with his shrewd gaze. “Something’s happened.” He said evenly.
Louis barked out a laugh. “I’ll say it has!” he crowed, raising his glass in some personal toast before taking another sip and continuing, “Someone slipped a couple lines about renewing oaths of fealty to the crown at the end of the invitations to my wedding, and some of the lords didn’t take to kindly to that at all. Some of the responses were rather, ah, deliberate in fact.” He flashed a gaze and a grin at his sister, who giggled herself, and both toasted and drank again.
Jacob knew his expression conveyed bemusement, and the prince caught it. “You see, my father can hardly afford the loss of face that comes with such rejection from his own subjects. Not before the few who have remained loyal, and certainly not with my soon-to-be father in law set to attend, and a number of nearby royalty no doubt also aware of this wedding. Our own people, and the rest of the world, are watching. He must do something about his vassals now.”
Jacob was not an unintelligent man, and as the prince spoke, that broad smile still upon his face, all of the pieces fell into place. Louis had gotten what he wanted, despite the failure of Phillipe’s hairbrained scheme. Constance had proved more than the equal of any of the partners in crime. Suddenly, with the reality of war present, what had seemed like a game between childhood friends, trying to scheme their way to glory, was suddenly far to real. He caught himself as his hand was starting to slacken, renewing his grip on his goblet before it fell to the floor. He took a steadying sip of the liquid within. It was a delightful wine. A very good vintage, possibly from the Bishop’s own storehouses here in Rheims. A shame to let it go to waste, and he could certainly use the drink.
Realizing that the eyes in the room were all turned to him expectantly, he mustered a smile and a laugh of his own, raising the goblet in a parody of celebration before taking another drink for himself. “A fine plan indeed,” he managed, with a toast to Constance, who looked thoroughly pleased with her efforts, as well as thoroughly wine-sodden.
Louis picked up his thread and continued to gush, “I expect my father will be calling a war council soon, and before long we shall be riding out to take back the lands that belong to France. And of course, once French territory is once again under French rule, it shall not be long before the true glory of the empire that should be ours can be fulfilled!”
“The true glory of the empire?” Jacob pressed. Knowing the prince as he did, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was still slightly taken aback every time he was forced to remember just how different Louis was from most men, especially those in power. “All of those tales of Charlemagne and his rule over the greatest united empire in Christendom actually speaks to your goal?”
“Of course!” Louis cheered, as Phillipe joined in, “Why else would we speak of such tales and the glory of France? Why else would we believe that she can have such glory?” With a rueful laugh and another sip of wine, Louis leaned forward conspiratorially, a little off-balance. “We are not so creative that we could summon such an idea on our own, my friend.” Phillipe once again laughed along with him, though it seemed as Louis glanced over at him there was a moment of tension in his face. In another moment there was no such thing as the two brothers laughed together, and Jacob dismissed it as an image conjured in his present drained state.
If anyone else had been speaking, Jacob would have assumed that the tales of Charlemagne and the glory of his Frankish empire had been tactics meant to stir up hope in their countrymen and strengthen their cause. He would not even have considered for a moment it might indeed be the true motive behind their desire for conquest. For this prince though, one had to consider every possibility, especially those actually concerned with the ideas of chivalry that most only pretended to espouse. Louis was fond of noble ideals, and the idea of restoring the lost glory of a kingdom would no doubt appeal to him more than a simple war of conquest for power. In fact, he was the type of man who would have been swayed had it been someone else making such appeals for selfish personal reasons. For land or ideals, or both, it was to be war nonetheless. Cold fear began to settle upon Jacob’s heart. No proclamations had been issued, no war horns sounded, but still he was already worried for the life of his prince.
He pondered the glass of wine in his hand for a moment longer, drained it, and extended it. It was promptly refilled by Phillipe, and returned. Again he drank. “How will the war begin?” He asked Louis when he was sure enough he could keep his voice from quavering. It turned out to be a close thing, and he cursed his weakness.
Louis did not seem to have noticed, and he began to explain, “The first strikes must fall upon those who are closest to the crown’s lands and stand in open rebellion. The city of Metz must be taken soon, and Flanders to the North and Provence to the south both stand independent for the time. The Duke of Brittany returned the head of our messenger for an answer, and so they too will no doubt feel the power of the crown.” A grin split his face, ruining the regal manner he had been trying so hard to maintain as he added, “Father has finally made a reasonable decision, and given me permission to lead the strike against Metz, where the reclamation of our kingdom can begin.”
To Jacob the prince’s tone seemed far too gay and light to be telling of a man who had lost his head so that their plan might come to fruition, but he said nothing of it, allowing the prince his joy. If he were someone else, perhaps he would quietly approach the king and quietly suggest that the prince might be better suited to a role away from the field of battle, at least in the beginning of the war. He was not though, and did not have the ear of the king, and so the prince would be riding to war. The merriment of the evening continued, more wine was consumed and laughs were exchanged, but for Jacob, the wine all tasted bitter and the laughs were hollow. Any excitement he might have felt had been drained.
That night, all four young people who had been present returned to their own chambers eventually, and despite their inebriated states, not one fell asleep immediately, but instead all lay awake, each with their own contemplations. Constance thought about how she must speak with Ragnhild on the morrow, as part of the continuing quest to ensure that she stayed out of Bertrade’s clutches. Louis, amid such strange ponderings as only a substantial consumption of wine could bring on, wondered why his father had seen fit to give his second son his own name rather than his firstborn. Phillipe thought of war, and death, and though excitement still lingered he, raised in comfort and ease his whole life, thought also for the first time of death. Jacob wondered long and hard whether he would have any place in war, not just in general, but in the eyes of others once the war began.
Some of these late night thoughts would bear more fruit than others. Constance woke up early the next morning and made her way to Ragnhild’s chambers where she greeted the younger woman and suggested that they might share breakfast, offering to help her with her French. Jacob also woke early the next morning, but he made his way to the barracks, where he asked the rather surly sergeant that apparently had early shift to help him train. Louis’ own private musings would remain completely forgotten when he awoke, locked away, waiting for a day far in the future when they might haunt him again. Phillipe’s apprehension would be only a dim memory, compared to a pounding headache the next morning, but he would have cause to consider death again soon enough, for war was indeed coming.
to rede I me delyte
Re: La Fleur et L'épée: SS6.4 France
dutch speaking
Primicerius
Frothy Goodness
Domesticus
Originally Posted by Axis Sunsoar
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The Sick Baby Jester
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