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| The Kings of the French - Louis VII (Tonto_Marius) |
| It was said by many afterwards that there had never been a time when Louis VII was not the King of France. Indeed, two entire generations of Frenchmen remembered nothing but his rule. When he died in 1195, the question was on the lips of every Frenchman: What would France do? Étant un compte du règne de Louis VII, par la Grace de Dieu Roi de la France, de l'Angleterre, et de l'Ecosse; Défenseur de la Foi; Marteau des Musulmans. Being an account of the reign of Louis VII, by the Grace of God King of France, England, and Scotland; Defender of the Faith; Hammer of the Muslims. |
| Anno Domini 1161 - Paris Castle |
| The bishop, in a swirl of white and gold vestments, placed a heavy golden crown on the brow of the young man kneeling before him at the altar. Making the sign of the cross over the kneeling figure, the bishop chanted in Latin, the bishop paused, then spoke again in French: "Arise, King Louis of France, England, and Scotland!" The young man, all of twenty-five, stood and strode out of the chapel onto a balcony. The people of Paris clustered below, burst into cheers of "Louis! Louis!" and "France! France!" Without turning his head, the new King spoke to his Grand Chamberlain, the Duke of Ile de France, the Lord of Bouillon. "The festivities are likely to go on all night, but there's too much to do. Look, you know the plans as well I do." Louis and the Grand Chamberlain had made the plans, after all. "We've got to stop the Spanish and Aragonese. Order new conscriptions. Put the English nobility to use. Call down the Scottish clans. And on your way to England, get those troops transferred between the garrisons in Flanders and Ile de France. And that architect my father used? Put him in one of the regiments due for Spain." "As you command, so shall it be done, sire." With that, the Lord of Bouillon strode off of the balcony. Louis smiled, and the cheers of the crowd grew ever higher. |
| Later That Night |
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The blonde nibbled the earlobe of the man in bed. "That was very clever, getting rid of my husband like that." King Louis rolled the woman over on top of him. "I rather thought so, thank you. The conscriptions weren't THAT urgent, of course, but he doesn't need to know that. Besides, love, I'd rather celebrate this day with you than with him." |
| Anno Domini 1165 - Paris Castle |
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There was a soft knock at the door. Louis rose and lit a candle, moving softly so as not to rouse the woman sleeping in the bed. A nervous-looking young page stood there, cap and a scroll in hand. "Sire. You asked for news from the front as soon as it arrived." "I did indeed, boy. You have some for me?" "Yes sire. This letter from the Lord of Bouillon just arrived." "Excellent. Good job, boy." Shutting the door on the page, Louis strode to into his study and unrolled the letter. Pamplona Castle, Navarre, July 3, AD 1165. |
| Anno Domini 1170 - Paris Castle |
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King Louis VII, King of France, England, and Scotland, greatest ruler of Christendom, paced the throne room restlessly. He snapped irritably to a knight standing watch. "Has that blasted cleric arrived yet? How dare he? Cardinal or no cardinal, I am the greatest Christian king since Charlemagne! How dare he make me wait on his plea..." The door creaked open, and in swept the red-robed Cardinal in question. A quickly composed Louis knelt, kissed the Cardinal's ring, and awaited the inevitable Latin. Seating themselves opposite one another, the Cardinal spoke. "I bring the greetings of his Holiness, the Pope, my son. And his blessing." Louis bowed his head briefly, but said nothing. "His Holiness is displeased with you, my son. Why is it you have allied yourself with the heathen?" "It was needed, Cardinal. The Almohaddens are very many, and we are few. Also, the Holy Roman Emperors eye our eastern provinces covetously. France has many enemies, Cardinal, and few friends." "Be that as it may, my son, His Holiness commands you now to act as a true son of the Church. Cast off the chains of heresy, and walk in the light of God. Take up the Cross. Save Christendom from the scourge of the Turk!" "The Turk, Cardinal? The Turk does not threaten France. The Almohaddens, on the other hand, do. I am a true follower of God's will, but I am a poor follower if I allow my kingdom to be cast to dust." "The black spawns of Satan threaten all the world, my son. Even now they have destroyed the heretical Byzantines, and their Sultan holds sway from Prussia and Lithuania to Greece. The Hungarians and Poles cannot hold the ramparts against them. You are the last hope of Christendom, my son." "I say once more, Cardinal. I cannot send the armies of France to fight in distant lands when they are assailed on two sides by enemies. You must give me assurances." "Assurances, my son? I can give you but two. First, His Holiness will anoint you Defender of the Faith and swear everlasting friendship with you. The Holy Roman Emperors will prove themselves to be your friends, or they will be cast from the Grace of God. As for the second, my son..." From within his vestments, the cardinal drew out a small cloth and unfolded it. Inside was a lock of blonde hair. "I trust you see my meaning, my son. God will forgive your sin, but you must prove worthy of forgiveness." Louis seethed inwardly. How could they know? Alice and he had been most careful. If the entire kingdom knew... "So be it. France will take up the Cross." The First Crusade marched in May of that year, bound for the Turkish land of Prussia. The Second departed the lands of the Germans in June, bound for Constantinople. The Second Crusade failed utterly, but the First yet had a role to play. |
| Anno Domini 1172 - Paris Castle |
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King Louis VII, by the Grace of God King of France, England, and Scotland, Defender of the Faith, stood in the chapel of Paris Castle, watching his son Charles lift the veil of his young German bride. What was her name? Brunhilda, or some such. The Germans had no sense of style in naming. No matter. What mattered was that his son and heir was married, and that his alliance with the Holy Roman Empire was secure. Important, especially as he had recieved a messenger from the Almohad Caliph, saying that as France was now at war with his allies the Turks, he must regretfully end his close relations with France. Louis sighed inwardly. That was an alliance he sorely missed. Never mind that he was now on the best of terms with both the Papacy and the Germans. It was the Almohaddens that would be his bane. He knew it. Especially now that Aragon was a French province. Louis smiled at that. Free from Papal interferance, the French had crossed into Aragon earlier in the year, put the King and his heirs to the sword after a short battle, and incorporated Aragon as a province of France. Aragon was rich, but it added an additional border on Almohad Spain. Ah well. Charles kissed his German bride, sealing the fate of Europe forever. |
| Anno Domini 1175 - Crusader Camp, Konigsberg, Prussia |
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Sir Thibaut de Vesc, leader of the Knights Templar on the First Crusade, sat wearily writing a letter to Louis, King of too many places to mention.
Sir Thibaut de Vesc to Louis, King of the French, health and greetings. My Lord, the Crusade has succeeded. We met the Turk on the fields of Konigsberg this past day, and we have triumphed. Over a thousand of the spawns of Satan lie dead on the field, and they have fled Prussia altogether. What's more, the Vikings of Norway and Sweden have come, tempted by the Turkish loot, and have sworn fealty to you. I shall presently set up an administration here, and will write more at that time. I am told that in France the Cathar sect has risen once more. I should not need to tell you, my Lord, that they are vile heretics, and engage in the most shocking sexual practices. They are corrupters of the Word of God, and I petition you most humbly to crush them soon, before they lead the faithful astray. By the Grace of God, I remain, Sir Thibaut de Vesc, Knight Templar |
| From The History of the Crusades by Jean de Wessex, 1343 |
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The Third Crusade left France in the year, 1177, fueled by holy fervor and joy at the capture of Prussia from the Turks. Wherever it passed, it caused one and all to throw off their former
allegiances and declare for the Crusaders and for France. Friesland was first, then Pomerania. The Crusaders were momentarily disconcerted at the loss of Prussia to the Turks, but they invaded that province and triumphed over the Turkish armies in 1182, but then failed year after year to take Lithuania, and the last survivors gave up hope in 1187. The Crusader state in Prussia lasted for a further five years, fighting off Turkish invasions until 1192, when a vast Turkish horde descended on the duchy, and the last Crusaders fled to Pomerania. |
| Anno Domini 1187 - Paris Castle |
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Prince Charles knelt before his father the King. "Sire, we have won a great victory in Aragon! Our armies are victorious!" Even if they were mercenaries, thought Charles. Whatever possessed Father to put me in charge of such soldiers, I know not, but they're good troops nonetheless. And God knows we could use the victory. It's been a long, hard war. The infidels, putting the lie to their claims of friendship, had invaded Aragon nine years before in 1178. They were defeated easily, and the next year the confident French armies of the Chancellor Lord de Payns had moved into Castile, capturing the province, while the garrison in Navarre had held off another attack. That was our first mistake. We stretched too far. The infidels invaded Castile the very next year, and drove us back, even if we did kill their Caliph in the battle. That had been in 1181. For the next two years, the Almohaddens had invaded Aragon and lost the first time. The second, they routed another French army, though suffering enormous casualties. That was the first crack in the facade. Then they invaded Toulouse. We lost, of course. They always have had better generals than we have. That's why we lost in our attempt to relieve de Payns in Aragon, too. 1185 was a bad year. Not that 1186 was much better. The Almohaddens lost in their assault on de Payns' castle in Aragon, but de Payns himself was killed. And then we lost Toulouse altogether. The King was speaking. "Excellent. It was a good battle, then?" "The best, sire. The mercenaries fought well, charging the enemy positions and routing them. It was a slaughter, sire." "And our invasion of Toulouse?" "Failed, sire. Our men are all frightened of the Almohaddens, sire. They forget their duty to God, and run at the first sight of them. Cowards, the lot of them." "God's Will works in mysterious ways, my son. If we have faith in him, we shall surely overcome." |
| Anno Domini 1188 - Somewhere in Toulouse |
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The Lord of Bouillon, Lord Chamberlain of the Empire of the French, sagged beneath the tree he had watched the battle from. He wiped his brow. It was hot, and he was getting far too old to be
gallivanting across the countryside like this. He had done it when Louis VI was a young man, and now Louis VII was hardly young himself. He smiled a moment, thinking of his wife, Alice. She was enough to keep any man young. And being hot and sweating here in the shade was better than what had happened to the poor bastards down on the bridge. He turned to his aide, Sir Touchet. "It's done, then?" "Yes, my Lord. The enemy has fled the field. We are victorious." Yes, thought Bouillon, we are. We have saved France here, this place, this day. But at what cost? The battle had been terrible. The armies of the French and the Almohads had faced each other across a small river. A single bridge was the sole crossing point. Time after time the French had hurled themselves across the bridge into the waiting spears of the Almohads, first the men at arms, then the spears, then the cavalry, then whatever could be scraped up, and the bridge and the ground had turned slippery with blood and finally the Almohads had broken and run. Even now the river ran red. "And the Germans? What of them?" "Lord Karolinger was killed in battle, my Lord. His men fled the field. A few stayed with us, but as for the rest I have no idea where they are. Run back to the Empire with their tails between their legs, no doubt." "Perhaps. It was a good sign that they at least sent something, however. The grand alliance of Christendom may yet work." "Perhaps, my Lord. Perhaps." Touchet looked unconvinced by the possibility. |
| AD 1214 - Somewhere in Toulouse |
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"Tell us again, Gaspar! Tell us again!" The peasants clustered around the old man, clutching mugs of beer and crusts of bread. The old man himself lay propped against a tree, legless, a crutch nearby. "All right, all right. I'll tell you again. Listen up, now." The crowd drew closer, especially the young men, too young yet to go off to war. "The year was, as best I can figure it, 1189. It was during the darkest hours of France, when the Almohadden infidels had swept through Aragon and Toulouse like the Wrath of God, burning and looting, raping the pigs and killing the women - or the other way 'round, made no difference to them. Good King Louis sent army after army after them, and army after army returned home smashed to bits. France was bled white - you could tell, as the only men left were in their thirties, like me. We were the last hope. Our armies had taken Toulouse the year before, and now stood poised on the steps of Aragon, ready to take it from the infidel and reunite the Empire of the French." The old man closed his eyes. "The two armies faced each other over some river - I never did hear what it was called. We fought a lot of battles over rivers, those years. Anyway, there was only one bridge over this river. Lot of that, too. Makes you wonder what the generals were thinking." The old man gestured with his hands, showing the positions. "We French drew ourselves up with spears in the middle, and archers to either side. The reserves were all up on a hill for the first part. That's where I was, so I got a pretty good look at what came next. They came over the next hill in a flood, crying that terrible cry of theirs - 'Allahu akhbar!' or some such. We were frightened, but we stood our ground. Then our bowmen started firing. There were so many arrows flying overhead, the sky turned black. Hundreds of the heathen died that way before they even made the bridge. I saw them later, trampled into the mud by the cavalry. Terrible end, even for a heathen." The old man gestured again. "And then their foot came crashing into our spears. The ones behind just kept going, driving the ones in front straight into the spears like mad sheep. And they failed. They wavered, and they broke. We drove them over the bridge, and slaughtered even more on the other side before the cavalry came up and forced us back over the bridge. That's when the archers ran out of arrows, and withdrew, leaving us reserves to come up. About time, too. There were only 'round fifty men left holding the bridge when we got there." The man blinked. "I don't remember much more, just all of a sudden there I was right up in front, swinging my sword at this black heathen and trying not to be impaled. Next think I know, I'm flat on my back, my leg's off, and this dirty savage is standing over me with me a sword for a second before somebody drove a spear into him and the battle moved past me. Had to crawl off the bridge, I did, over the bodies of the other hundreds like me. Terrible time, men crying out for water or their mothers or for God to save them from dying in that hellhole. I don't know as how any of them got what they were looking for, but I made it back over and got patched up and by the Grace of God, here I am." The crowd let out its collective breath creating an explosive rush of air, and one of the younger men solemnly asked, "And then what happened, Gaspar?" "And then, lad, or so I'm told, we routed the enemy off the field, and drove them back all the way out of Aragon, and France was saved." |
| Anno Domini 1195 - Paris Castle |
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"He's dead, then?" "Yes, sire. He told me to give you this when you arrived from Spain. Do you wish refreshment?" "No. I'll read, first, then eat. Leave me." Charles, soon to be King of France, sat wearily on a window ledge and unrolled the scroll he had been handed. To my son, Charles, from Louis, King of the French, greetings and health. My son, I hope this letter finds you well. It shall not find me so, as you will only have it after I am dead. Grieve not, my son. It was the Will of God that it be so. Listen, then, to my last instructions to you, my son. Firstly, crush the Almohaddens. I know you've got them on the run. They haven't got many men left, as best I understand. You're already driving them from Castile and Leon. Drive them from Spain and cleanse the land of their heresies. Secondly, the Turks. We've let them be for far too long. I urge you, take up the Cross and drive them from the East. Follow in my footsteps, and save Christiandom from them. Thirdly, build the realm. It is one of the great regrets of my life that I was forced to lay aside my building plans to fight wars. Now more than ever we need new castles, more farmland, more ships and trade. War has bled us dry, my son. Take what you can, and then stop. Long life, health, and wise rule, my son.
Charles sighed, rolled up the scroll, and went in search of the body of his father. He found it in one of the suites, laying on a bed, peaceful in death. And not alone. A woman dressed in black, hair more grey now than golden, stood, looking down at the dead king. At Charles' arrival, she looked up. |
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