Inheritance of Bar [Lancastrians, 1480]

[Dirty Chai]

Duchy of Bar, amidst its neighbors, straddling the periphery lands between the Emperor and the King of France

Rene of Anjou, King of Naples and Jerusalem, Duke of Anjou, Duke of Bar, Count of Piedmont and Provence, is dead, having lived to the loft age of 71 years. He lived long enough to see his property and domains protected from conquest by Burgundy - his enemy, Charles the Bold, slain by Rene's Swiss allies at Nancy in Lorraine. A year after the Burgundian estates signed a treaty with King Louis of France, Rene's soul was carried to heaven by angels, as if they had postponed his departure for the sake of his legacy.

Now, in his will, Rene has voiced desire to leave the Dukedom of Bar and its attached domains to his grandson, Edward of Westminster, the sole and rightful heir to King Henry VI of England. He leaves the Duchy of Anjou, County of Maine, County of Provence, and Viscounty of Chatellerault to his salic nephew, Charles, and his eldest daughter Yolanda - Edward's aunt - had long since inherited Lorraine from her mother. But for Edward, after all, he leaves Bar, with the reasoning that Bar should have gone to Margaret.

However, there are obstacles to this inheritance. Edward of Lancaster has just been dismissed from King Louis' court in the midst of a treaty which demands his person be given over to usurper in England. His cousins of Lorraine may not approve of the inheritance, while his mother's cousin Charles may demand he be given Bar as well. Part of Bar (the Barrois mouvant) is a fief of France, while part of it (the Barrois non-mouvant) is fief of the Holy Roman Empire. Two different lieges must give Edward their investment and approval, before anything else.

When word of this will reached Lancaster in the late summer of 1480, he was in the Champagne, travelling to find a new patron and host in his cousins of Lorraine. It came with the implications that the Dukes of Lorraine might already be taking action to assume the Duchy of Bar as well, while Charles, the new Duke of Anjou, sat silently in the west.

---

The city of Reims in Champagne, with Notre Dame de Reims towering above all

This night, Edward of Lancaster rests on the hospitality of the Archbishop, Pierre de Montfort-Laval, who allows the itinerant King of England to stay in the apartments outside of the cathedral grounds along with his few companions. They are in a positive mood of sorts, for once, for it was upon entering Reims that they received word of the prince's grandfather's death and the generous inheritance he had willed him. The Archbishop confirmed he had heard such a tale, and welcomed the Lancastrian's affinity into his home.

Earlier that day, Ed had been pondering - as ever - how long it might take for his last supporters to desert him - or likely, turn him over to his enemies for pardon or reward. This boon would at least allow him more time, he decided, if nothing else. There was some sort of restored hope to his name, even if fragile. And this Dukedom.. its domain was struck right into the middle of his enemies in the old kingdom of Lotharingia.

He had to act on it, he knew. Lancaster had to be decisive now, and move fast, if this was to give him any new chances of a real future - a future where he wasn't counting the seconds until he reached the rocky bottom of this sea they call 'exile.' Which is why he took a bath.

The prince had decided himself that he had become as a knight, hardy and humble, able to tolerate much hardship, and he found a strange sense of pride in this. Not many others of his birth could claim such virtue. But he also knew on the contrast that one could turn anything into a virtue - especially being of wretched and rank state.

Once out of his bath - telling the servants to thank the Archbishop for him, sincerely - he dressed in clean clothes, swaddling his thin frame, and strode out to find his grizzled companions: Roger de Clifford and George de Vere and the handful of footmen who still followed the two.

[The Mad Skylord]

Sitting up as the Red Prince walked out into their company, a few things were immediately evident about Roger de Clifford's personal hygiene. It existed. In his youth, the Baron Clifford had been a vain and ostentatious man, but years of drudgery, poverty and war had steadily taken its toll on the Englishman. A thick beard had overtaken his once dashing face, and though it was clean and neatly trimmed, it stole the handsome looks that had once resided there. The once black curls had grown longer and longer - it had been too troublesome to cut his hair and curl it - and it was now pulled back into a pony tail, bound with a leather cord. Dressed in a black doublet with matching hose and - for the first time in a long time - a cloak that was more about fashion than warmth, for it was red and decorated cunningly with black thread. At the side of his chair sat the errant rogue's sword - a masterful piece of steel. Perfectly balanced, the blade showed blue rings along its length from where it was hammered during its forging. The scabbard and hilt was bound in a beautiful dark red leather, and upon the center of the hilt there was an engraving of Clifford's livery badge - a dragon.

Sir Roger regarded Edward silently for several moments. The Baron was 44 years old, and he'd spent his whole life following the man before him or fighting for the cause of his house. He was perhaps one of the only men still alive who had fought from the First Battle of St Albans, through Blore Heath and Ludford, the Second St Albans, to stand by his brother at Ferrybridge and to watch him cut down by Anthony Neville at Towton. It hadn't been the end of his journey, he mused, Wallingford had been the next step on that long, long road that had lead all the way to the various Battles in Italy, where he had watched more friends, comrades and livery men who had served him so faithfully die. Finally they were here, living off the hospitality of an Arch-Bishop as they sought to claim the Duchy of Bar - Rene's only gift to his grandson.

It had been a long journey - and far from a successful one, but even as Clifford took each step closer to death, a greater determination to win and see himself and his King restored in their homeland was born in him. He continued to pursue that dream with his bitter desire, desperation almost, to see the end of the House of York and the restoration of the House of Lancaster. Breaking out his his thoughts, he frowned and looked his King up and down, before glancing across at De Vere and the handful of their remaining liverymen around the room. Not even knight was left of their number - only an exiled Prince, Baron, the third son of an Earl and a handful of longbowmen and infantry. It would all change though, so long as Edward was allowed to inherit Bar.

"Are you ready to begin begging for your rightful inheritance then, Edward?" Some familiarity had bled into the relationships in this band - there was nobody else to talk to, after all.

[Barry Goldwater]

When their king entered and the titular Baron Clifford sat up, George de Vere arose. The fourth son of old Oxford, the twelfth earl who'd been felled between Yorkists to his fore and traitors in his rear at Wallingford, had grown into a tall and barrel-chested man with jet hair and beard to match his black eyes, resembling his old man more than any of his surviving brothers - though neither he nor they knew it, having not seen each other since he and his second brother John (God rest his soul) had sailed from English shores to join the Lancastrian court (or rather what was left of it) seventeen years ago.

Those seventeen years had been the hardest of his life, and in fact had taken up more than half of said life. John, whom he'd squired under and who he had watched give their Red Prince King riding and tilting lessons, had died exactly in Italy ten years ago: George could not forget the dreadful sight of that Lombard halberdier slicing through his brother's head and helm in one forceful blow while the older knight was distracted amidst a losing battle, for it kept replaying itself in his nightmares. Two years after that, King Edward was taken captive, and for the first time in his life, George found himself questioning his allegiances; when he wasn't drinking until he blacked out or debating with Clifford over what they should do next, he'd privately ponder if all of this trouble was really worth it, worth his word of honor and loyalty to a king with no kingdom who was about as threatening to Edward of March as a gnat to an elephant and who seemed to have no future, save moldering away in an Italian prison until he finally died of natural causes at best. Perhaps it would not be so bad to follow in the footsteps of Butler, the man they'd all cursed for his treacherous abandonment so long ago that it felt like an eternity, and find some way to reunite with what family he had left back home. What has Lancaster ever done for me that I should remain loyal to him unto my own death? Which is probably around the corner if I stay with him like this, was a familiar refrain in his head back in those days.

Well, it was a good thing De Vere didn't walk out on the Lancastrians then, as otherwise he would not be present for to-day: a day when, after seventeen years of languishing in exile and careening from one failure to another, the Red Rose finally caught a break. Old René, duke and count of more lands than George had fingers and yet also a king with no kingdoms, had left for Heaven, leaving to his grandson Edward IV, true King of England, a duchy...smack dab between the lands of Burgundy, his old rival, and hungry relatives in Lorraine. Still, it was more than any of the Lancastrians had gotten used to over the past near-twenty years of irrelevance - if they can keep it, an endeavor George was happy to help with. The ducal palace of Bar would beat any ruined Poitevin castle or Alpine and Lombard prisons. "Aye," De Vere began after Clifford had spoken. "Has anyone started contesting your grandfather's will yet?"

[Dirty Chai]

The room was a small drawing room or dining room - different from that of a secular noble's - which seemed to connect the entire apartments given to them this night. A table sat the center of it, and Ed approached it with a rather unhurried manner - suggesting either relaxation or languor. His left hand raised only a little and waved them to relax and sit - a persisting sign of a man born to the highest pomp that he would still use such mannerisms, even after all he'd been through. The callouses and rough nails on his hands however probably restored any confidence lost by his followers - he was a fighter, even if only through failure after failure and survival seemingly only dictated by the Lord Almighty's strange plans for the future.

"My cousins of Vaudemont, perhaps," Ed said, his usual sour tone implying that he in fact assumed they would attempt to seize Bar. "The Burgundians, perhaps."

Lancaster took a chair which faced both of them somewhat, pulling it out and placing it underneath his rear; he sounded out as he relaxed into the chair, arms resting on its sides.

"Both neighbors. They surely desire it."

He frowned, forming an expression his wardens knew quite well, going back to the days as an adolescent. Back then it had more lip to it, pouting and exaggerated. Now it garnered a more serious effect on a grown man whose expectations of the world had been long ago broken.

"No, we should assume my aunt's sons will move to occupy Bar. We must act accordingly. If we seize Bar before they do, or.."

Edward grasped at straws mentally, trying to picture how less than twenty men could seize a territorial state similar in size to the polities he'd briefly traversed in Italy.

"If we make good on the will, with haste, perhaps my cousins can be convinced to take it seriously."

[The Mad Skylord]

Clifford nodded slowly. With haste would be difficult, first Edward would need to see King Louis, before madly rushing to the Holy Roman Emperor in Nassau. "We must meet with King Louis first then - should he acknowledge the will, we will have no trouble on the French side of the border."

It would be a desperate grab to keep Bar - truly it was the only way out of their predicament. With Bar in hand, preparations could be made for an invasion. "Should Bar be secured, we must also make preparations to find you a wife. We have a small window of good possibilities, while a boy sits the throne with a woman as his regent."

[Dirty Chai]

Westminster tapped a fist of knuckles against the table top, a habit he'd formed long ago.

"Louis won't protect Bar from anyone - or help me get it. We have to assert the inheritance, then seek Louis' investment."

[Barry Goldwater]

"We don't exactly have a great army at our backs," George said, scratching his nose - a tic of his, which became apparent whenever he was concerned or confused. "Perhaps if we figure out where your cousins are most likely to come from, and then find somewhere we can block their path with the men we do have - a river crossing or narrow road or some hills, I don't know - or scare them by making our force appear greater than it really is..." He trailed off. Even George, not the brightest of the De Vere brothers, knew it would be best to secure Bar with as little bloodshed as possible, or none at all; they hardly had the strength to directly fight off just the Duchy of Lorraine, after all. Bluffing was a better card to play than attempting to force a confrontation that, realistically, they would probably lose, in his mind.

[Dirty Chai]

"If God is on my side," though it was hard to say if he ever had been before, "then perhaps sitting myself inside Bar-Le-Duc is all we need."

[The Mad Skylord]

A frown as Clifford pondered the problem. "We could borrow a small sum of coin to hire some men. With a couple of hundred of troops, we could easily and quietly establish control over the region - we just need to show a bit of force."

The Baron leaned back into his chair. "Of course, we will need men to bleed Bar white of coin. Force will be required to make these Frenchmen and Germans part with their gold - gold we need to fulfill our objectives. We could sell the land off once we've taxed it dry. You'll forever be the Duke of Bar, but we should part with the land and peasants as swiftly as possible."

[Dirty Chai]

How crude. Not a day since word of inheritance and already the Baron was considering how best to whore off his master's grandfather's estate. But, what else to expect from Clifford?

Edward however knew it was the most use they'd get out of Barrois if indeed they ever planned to even consider returning to England in a voluntary manner, without chains and with his head. It was just tempting to remember that living and dying a Duke of Bar was no small miracle. He'd live comfortably.

But he was a king of England.

"And where to get the money to get the men to get the money to get the men to move forward?" Ed laid out the paradox in brutally simple terms.

"If I am the legal Duke of Bar now, then perhaps we can simply enter Bar-Le-Duc and gain loyalty and men that way."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Barry Goldwater]

"A strategem so bold that our enemies may not see it coming, and so risky it might actually work...count me in, m'king." George said, smirking and crossing his arms. In case things went horribly wrong and they got torn apart by a mob of angry Barrois or something, well, he'd figured it wasn't like they had much left to lose in the first place anyway.

[The Mad Skylord]

Clifford cocked his head. Half of his rhetoric was listened to now at least, which was better than before. "I am sure we could manage to borrow several hundred pounds from a bank of some kind - especially since you now hold title and lands."

He nodded thoughtfully. "We probably could just walk in and seat you as Duke in the Bar-Le-Duc. It is woefully pointless to rely on Barrois nobility and levies to attempt to conquer England, the only way forwards is with the coin we can take by selling everything that isn't nailed to the floor."

[Dirty Chai]

Westminster nodded, agreeing or at least assenting to that logic.

"So from where then? Perhaps moneylenders here in Reims would be enough."

He glanced at de Vere, as if that might be his next task, then back to Clifford.

"And mercenaries?"


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[The Mad Skylord]

"Reims should be fine, we won't need vast armies, just enough men to enforce your will."

But here was a greater conundrum, mercenaries of any quality would cost thousands to recruit.

"For Bar, I believe hiring a band of footmen and some archers would probably be sufficient, but for England.... for England we will need to hire Swiss columns - they are by far the greatest infantry of Europe and the Duke of Gloucester is the only man to ever have beaten them in pitched battle - and even that was a struggle according to rumour."

[Dirty Chai]

Edward had spent the entirety of his life - that is, life after the death of his mother - with the advice and opinions of Roger de Clifford in his ear. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, usually somewhere in between. But it came from the most loyal, longstanding mouth, and thus the king - a king of air, with less than twenty subjects - valued this man's discourse, no matter how much he disagreed with it (which was often).

On the topic of his mother.. he often thinks of what she might do, in given circumstances akin to the ones he's come across, if she still yet lived. Indeed, his mother - not his father - was the one with a profound shadow in his childhood recollections. But it also occurred to him that her history and experiences - or rather, the little he knew of her from his assuredly one-sided point of view - showed she was no more a role model than his father or the living companions beside him today.

The most ample advice the prince'd ever received came from the long dead. A lot of dead Italians, but most particularly Sir John Fortescue. He'd not read the man's words until long after he'd deserted him and returned to England with a pardon - and now had died last year, Ed had learned recently - but what Sir Fortescue, a justice of the king's bench, had left for Edward was profound. Similarly, he tried to find advice in the works of the poets - particularly during his detainment in Genoa; the inferno held much in his imagination, but offered little practical knowledge.

He most regretted the deaths of his former followers, particularly John de Vere and Beaumont. And surprising himself, he no longer blamed Butler for deserting them, considering what befell those who stayed loyal. There was a growing sense, especially as Westminster aged closer into the middle of most men's lives, that he had been inadequately prepared - not only to lead, but to even comprehend much of the world around him. A part of him feared that impossible dream which consumed his very soul - England. All he could imagine was the rivers running with blood from all those lords who had turned away from him. And that was..

"Where do we get these men?" Lancaster asked after a moment with a sleepy blink of the eyes, referring to the men they believed they required to take control of Bar.

"Well.. that must not be hard," he quite quickly added, "these are the periphery principalities. The empire. And war has just ended. There must be plenty of soldiers of fortune roving the countryside in search of work."

"Écorcheurs," Ed feigned a horrible Parisian accent, mocking it.

A long pause, a sniff of the nose. Another tap of the knuckles, this time almost inaudible.

"But these men will be untenable. They're more likely to become bandits. They'll not give me a cent when they're done. We need loyal men."

[Barry Goldwater]

Westminster nodded, agreeing or at least assenting to that logic.

"So from where then? Perhaps moneylenders here in Reims would be enough."

He glanced at de Vere, as if that might be his next task, then back to Clifford.

"And mercenaries?"


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Edward had spent the entirety of his life - that is, life after the death of his mother - with the advice and opinions of Roger de Clifford in his ear. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, usually somewhere in between. But it came from the most loyal, longstanding mouth, and thus the king - a king of air, with less than twenty subjects - valued this man's discourse, no matter how much he disagreed with it (which was often).

On the topic of his mother.. he often thinks of what she might do, in given circumstances akin to the ones he's come across, if she still yet lived. Indeed, his mother - not his father - was the one with a profound shadow in his childhood recollections. But it also occurred to him that her history and experiences - or rather, the little he knew of her from his assuredly one-sided point of view - showed she was no more a role model than his father or the living companions beside him today.

The most ample advice the prince'd ever received came from the long dead. A lot of dead Italians, but most particularly Sir John Fortescue. He'd not read the man's words until long after he'd deserted him and returned to England with a pardon - and now had died last year, Ed had learned recently - but what Sir Fortescue, a justice of the king's bench, had left for Edward was profound. Similarly, he tried to find advice in the works of the poets - particularly during his detainment in Genoa; the inferno held much in his imagination, but offered little practical knowledge.

He most regretted the deaths of his former followers, particularly John de Vere and Beaumont. And surprising himself, he no longer blamed Butler for deserting them, considering what befell those who stayed loyal. There was a growing sense, especially as Westminster aged closer into the middle of most men's lives, that he had been inadequately prepared - not only to lead, but to even comprehend much of the world around him. A part of him feared that impossible dream which consumed his very soul - England. All he could imagine was the rivers running with blood from all those lords who had turned away from him. And that was..

"Where do we get these men?" Lancaster asked after a moment with a sleepy blink of the eyes, referring to the men they believed they required to take control of Bar.

"Well.. that must not be hard," he quite quickly added, "these are the periphery principalities. The empire. And war has just ended. There must be plenty of soldiers of fortune roving the countryside in search of work."

"Écorcheurs," Ed feigned a horrible Parisian accent, mocking it.

A long pause, a sniff of the nose. Another tap of the knuckles, this time almost inaudible.

"But these men will be untenable. They're more likely to become bandits. They'll not give me a cent when they're done. We need loyal men."

"What should I say to the moneylenders?" De Vere asked, unconvinced that he should be the man to negotiate funds for their cause. He was no great diplomat, and lacked his late brother's courtesy, but he knew enough to feel that just walking in and demanding the city's usurers turn over all their gold to support a cause that had been languishing in irrelevant exile for near-twenty years was probably not the greatest of ideas. If they had more men, maybe he could bully the moneylenders into submission or just seize their coin outright - but of course, they didn't, so that's that plan scuppered. And to hire more men, they needed money, which they may not be able to get without having enough men to threaten those who did have that money into compliance...quite the bind. "I can't say I'm very experienced with diplomacy, or coin, but surely if these usurers haven't gone out of business yet, they'll have the sense to ask for assurances that we aren't a terrible investment."

[Dirty Chai]

"The Duke of Bar desires a loan and he possesses the property to back it up."

Ed paused, eyeing de Vere curiously.

"Perhaps I should go, and you two come with, instead? It is the easiest and smoothest deal we've ever been able to propose."

[Barry Goldwater]

To that, George laughs lightly. "If you think it will be that easy...well, alright then!" He rose to stretch and crack his knuckles. "Whether you wish I go it alone or represent yourself before those usurers, let us - or me - go at once. The sooner we get money, the sooner we can hire swords, and the sooner we get more men, the sooner we can secure your inheritance."​ It wasn't entirely clear whether the fourth of old Oxford's sons was referring to Bar, or to England.

[The Mad Skylord]

Roger snorted with amusement. "Aye, we don't need rehired Free Companies - that's asking for trouble. Our best bet may be Guglers - Englishmen who were left in France after the war ended. Some of them may even swear allegiance to the King of England, should we find any."

Clifford cocked his head and suppressed a smile. De Vere could be odd. "It is as the Prince says, with the amount of collateral we can simply walk in and demand a loan. I would suggest £2000, nothing too strenuous but enough to band together some men to fleece Bar clean."

A sudden frown, for Clifford's mind had leapt from one issue to the next - as it often did - and had found some solutions. "You must go to Louis and swear fealty, I think, then simply walk into Bar-Le-Duc and declare you are the rightful Duke. Then, once the vassals are summoned and they have bent the knee, I suggest you declare your intention to retake the English Crown and offer service and rewards to any second or third son who wishes to join your retinue and fight for you. They will bring retainers and liverymen of their own, and provide the cavalry of the army that we can then strengthen the spine of with Switzers. They are also unlikely to care about our extortion, they will be more interested in their rewards in England."

[Dirty Chai]

Ed was caught off guard, watching de Vere rise up. "You will depart now?"

"Check with the townsfolk as you leave the holy grounds; the clerics will pretend to not know of any usurers."