Pride, Plantagenet’s And Pain: A Serverus Claudius Chapter III The year was 1164 in what was now an Anglo-French fortress. The Might of England had subsided during the last century and war had blighted its landscape. A conflict that saw the race for the throne brought to new heights of absurdity. In the end a man won out. King Stephen of the European nations. However, having fought his cousin, Matilda, for the succession for many years this determined ruler had named Henry, Duke Of Normandy, his heir. The First of the Plantagenet’s. A great wave of social and political development and change swept the country and a new dawn was foretold. Many did not take kindly to this idea though. In large part the Saxons still held resentment towards their new Norman Masters. The Kings Mother, Roman Empress Matilda, had tired of the fight and retired to Rouen in France. The Priory Of Notre Dame du Pré became her refuge in her later years. Maintaining her lands and overseeing the development of her son as King Of England. During this time a mysterious French Monk travels to the Abby Of Notre Dame du Pré just outside of Rouen. He is accompanied by two merchants who are unaware of his mission to obtain the Hand Of St James which lies in Matilda’s hands. Unfortunately for the Monk, Serverus Claudius, he is unaware of their undercover mission to do likewise; as they are emissaries from The Holy Roman Emperor in Germany. Indeed one of the merchants is in fact the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I st in disguise. Three factions fighting for dominance over one powerful relic. For very different reasons. As fools slumbered on through sinister strife, Little does affect those tempered by life, Surging through vein and bone, Heart not reduced by any restful tone; Either within ones own vessel or without its working haze, Flowing consciousness mounts awareness through any maze. It may be said in this way Claudius stirred, As noise filtered through barrels of falling stones heard. His lids fluttered through misty glaze, Looking up to simply inquire what makes him wakeful on such a night, Intruding upon his minds ways. Of fiery position had his father left him, Not content with abandonment Claudius inherited his sin. Though in training and triumph did the Monk reign his wieldy fire, Sheathing it in labours of withdrawn manner, Holding close its wire. He swung eyes abouts the edges to see what noise was about, Across from nearby barrels and spying evil intent throughout. Daggers of life’s specter were enough to fear, Though when they were seen real then running, Came before much tear. This last Claudius assumed true, His mind racing now as he spied would be attackers in view. They lurked in darkness beyond his reach. To defend his path only one thing he knew, It was these blighted men or his kin upstairs to be, The choice he made in this instant, As heartfelt confessions crossed the sea. Such a sea of heaven prepared him for his fate, Launching his body upon the intruders, That had unsettled him of late. They had persevered beyond the Wine barrels now, It was their stench the liquor beheld, Helping Claudius’s attack upon the air he smelled. Observing their Knightly attire and Crest on chest show, He recognized the symbols and what he did know. A Plantagenet calling so plain to behold, Understanding that made reason see why they were so bold. It was a standard of honor amongst ancient Might, The visage of such would cause lesser men fright. This the Monk thought as he swung his sword in the air, Piercing the veil through which only he could stare. As he brought the Kings Guard down, A bloody stew upon the ground, Claudius realized he had drawn his blade against another, With swift skill, An action against which this current life had vowed. Confusion stormed, Identity strained, Conflict heralded as new dawn began to reign. Sinking betwixt barrels in aghast the Monk rested at last, Looking at the slain men before shaking his head, Remembering a devilish past. Taking a swig from the bottle before him, Claudius recognized the man he had been would abhor him, Shivering before all he might become in expectation, Of what was to come. He passed from this veil hours from that time, In stupor and exasperated from his own destiny, And Wine. Haipstein stoked the fire. Looking reflectively beyond its lapping haze he could see the colours of heavenly portent; striking at his regret with potent whips. Driving the demons in his consciousness. Being a trader wasnt for him he thought. It wasnt even for most traders. The market was so broken up at the moment. What with the civil war that had only just subsided and the damage it had done to any allegiances that had been set up across Europe there felt little hope of restoring the splendour of old King Stephen’s days any time soon. Thank the Lord for the Hanseatic League. The finely dressed man looked round in the clearing. The forest beckoned no rain this evening but it was terribly cold. He moved closer to the flames for warmth noticing that Siegfried had tied up their mounts with noteworthy alacrity. The wealth of travels spewed from the saddles and Haipstein considered whether going to the Priory was a good idea. Persuading the Duchess to part with anything was a trial in itself at the best of times. Let alone buying anything. Glancing at a small impression around his neck the German’s thoughts turned to the children he left at home, hoping the fortress in which he had left them would be enough to shield them from his enemies. His reverie was broken when a twig snapped behind him and Siegfried strode purposefully into view. Turning to address his guard Haipstein posited weakly at him. “Is he alright?” “He’ll be fine eventually I think. Though I cannot be sure.” Siegfried closed up the Saddlebag on the healthy and good-looking horse and delicately paced over towards his companion. Haipstein gazed levelly into the blaze, surfing doubt and skepticism upon the air in the process. He stroked his finely cut goatee and brushed ash from his yellow tunic. “I heard tell, That warriors met in single combat, Hildebrand and Hadubrand between two armies, Son and father prepared their amour, Made ready their battle garments girded on their swords, The warriors, over their ring mail when they rode to battle.” “Lay Of Hildebrand?” Siegfried looked at him quizzically, sitting beside his Master with interest. Haipstein nodded in confirmation, slightly grimly and started to poke the flames. “It just occurs to me that this Priest might not be all his aspect would tell.” The caution stretched across his brow and worry floated upon the air. “He has an aura and stance of a man who walks the land conflicted within his own shadow.” Siegfried launched himself to his feet and spoke as he wandered over to the outskirts of the clearing. “I got that impression too my lord,” he retrieved a carcass of boar from the fire that held a spit above it, “however it occurred to me that it might be more useful to see how his behavior tempered with acquaintance.” “He impresses himself on me as someone who is looking for a path. Mehaps a leader.” He contemplated for a moment. “A father.” “Happenstance suggests that is why his previous journey landed him within the Church.” Siegfried tore a piece of meat from the animal but found it rife with gristle. He spat a mouthful on the warming fire with vigor. “Good aim.” Haipstein declared as he observed the food land from such distance. “Hummnn.” Was the grudging response. “After all Rome takes in so many waifs and strays at this time, it’s hard to distinguish those who are truly holy from those who seek something wholesome.” “You let you’re distaste for the divine seat cloud all judgement, Siegfried.” Haipstein looked round at him with a small amount of disappointment. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “though it is with unaccustomed certainty that this Monk, Claudius, unnerves me little.” “You get nervous bouts much.” Haipstein sighed and browsed the bonfire once again. “That is what you retain me for.” The guardsman snarled contemptuously. Haipstein gave him a sharp glance of reproach. “Sir.” Siegfried added as an afterthought. “You’d best retire to check on the condition of the Clergy again Siegfried.” Haipstein suggested as he delved into the cold meal of Boar he had before him. “The need to do such a thing is futile.” Siegfried’s words were tinged with dismay for a moment and his voice slightly raised. “Oh,” was the response, “and why is that?” “He’s here.” Haipstein turned to observe Siegfried pointing at an Oak in the far right corner of the clearing in slight alarm. It was with these emotions that the two saw Claudius leaning against it in resounding pain and confusion. He sweated as if he had made the day new. Leaves billowed around him in the shallow gusts of wind and it was not for want of attention that Claudius found himself leaning, almost exhausted, against the Oak. It was with haste born that Siegfried and Haipstein stifled through foliage and over branches to assist him. “What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doin?” Haipstein reproached him, reaching down to support the Monk’s right arm. “I must get on good sirs,” came the determined response, “there are people of this land in misfortune who still hold faith and my path is bound to them.” “It occurs to me though that you will be of little use to them dead.” Siegfried stood over him pondering Claudius’s words which he clearly considered false. “Let us get you over to the warm.” As Haipstein fumbled with bracken and brambles to the center of their camp the horses spluttered and whinnied. This animistic reaction was presumably in contempt at Siegfried’s unwillingness to help with the invalid. He sauntered closely but stoically behind the two looking furtively but thoughtfully about the surrounding woods with mounting concern. He could feel the wind blowing in what he felt was the wrong direction and every so often would turn his nose to the air in a disparaging fashion. In the final throws of effort Haipstein eventually managed to sit the Churchman upon a parcel of blankets and straw that had been set out among the small logs and other seating. “Where are we Master Haipstein?” Claudius spluttered with ill summoned effort, “and what has occurred to me to leave me in such a state?” “How long have you found yourself restored?” Siegfried glanced down at him briefly, sweeping hair from his face and bristling his red beard. “I’d hardly find him restored.” Haipstein poured a mug of water from a saddlebag ignoring his guards comment. “I awoke but moments ago and followed the sounds of voices that echoed from tis place.” The bemused Cleric looked up. “Then worry yourself not.” Haipstein assured him. “If, as it seems, you have only recently risen from a long slumber then it will take time to reacquaint yourself with wakefulness.” “Time might not be a gift we may take advantage of soon.” Siegfried’s cryptic statement only made Claudius more curious to know what had happened to him. “But surely you might tell me how I came to this state?” He asked. “After waiting for you for a lengthy time the other morn we sought you out.” Haipstein explained, putting the saddlebag back upon his mount. “You were found within the Wine Cellar flat upon your back and two dead knaves not a few meters distant. You refused to be woken too.” “We were mindful that you might be drunk.” Siegfried continued to peruse the veil of the woods in unwieldy anticipation. “It was when you started to perspire within sleep that we became worried and have been attending you for a day and a night since.” He looked at Claudius smoothly. “Now you must rest more perhaps?” “As I said before,” Siegfried grabbed for his Masters attention, indicating a rustling sound within the forest about them, “time is no gift we can afford it seems.” “Whaaa?” Haipstein followed the arm of his taciturn guard to the slowly emerging group of men in chain amour edging towards them. The men carried about them swords of evidently good quality, stern and determined faces, as well as the coat of arms of the newly established Plantagenet King. This they sported upon their shields. “Hold sirs!” Seeing neither Claudius nor Haipstein were fit to tackle this new development in his estimation Siegfried moved forwards to address the new visitors. He now stood upon one of the boulders dotted abouts the camp in an imposing fashion. It was clear that the place they had used for an encampment had previously been used as an old out house or cellar. “Who might you be sir to stand above the Kings Men in such a way?!” One of the warriors braced past the group and stood before the boulder steadfastly. “Simple trader’s sir, on our way to the Priory of the Duchess.” Siegfried declared. “We have no issue with you good sirs. Only to be on our way by your leave.” The warrior braced himself and announced, “I am Captain Reginald Becket, Commander of the Duchess’s guard. On detachment from the King’s Men and sent hither from Normandy to secure his Mother’s protection.” He paused for a moment, presumably for effect having spied Claudius and Haipstein behind a taken aback Siegfried. Reginald waved a troop of his attachment forward swiftly and without reprieve or hesitation nodded to them to do their duty. “Kill them.” He said simply.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Jan 2015 10:35:53 +0000
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