<<''Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please.''>>
"Florentine Histories" by Niccolò Machiavelli, 1526.
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28 February 1266
Two French soldiers strolled through the battlefield, their armor and conversation clearly identifying them as such. They walked, laughing and jesting, amidst a grisly scene that would terrify most. The ground they traversed was littered with lifeless bodies, and circling crows eagerly feasted on the fallen. Yet, the soldiers appeared unfazed, carrying on with their morbid task.
"What's bothering you now, Pierre?" inquired his comrade.
Pierre, the more solemn of the two, replied, "It's just a bit frustrating, you know. After everything we endured in the battle, we're assigned this tiresome and monotonous duty."
Louis chuckled in response. "Ah, don't be such a grump! You spent most of the battle in the rear, probably the most action you've seen in a while was you taking a look at your dick. This might just be the hardest work you've had since arriving here. Besides, you might stumble upon one of those corpses our officer mentioned, and who knows, there could be a reward in it for you."
Curiosity piqued, Pierre inquired, "Who exactly are we looking for? What's so important that the King is determined to find him?"
"His name is Manfred," Louis explained. "His whereabouts are unknown, and His Majesty believes he may be among these fallen soldiers."
Suddenly, Louis spotted a body that seemed to fit the description. "Ah, here's one that matches the description! Call the others over, let's get him into the cart!" he exclaimed.
Summoning their comrades, three more soldiers swiftly arrived and together, they hauled the lifeless body into the waiting cart. Unbeknownst to them, the very corpse they had discovered was the one their monarch had been fervently searching for.
During this time, their king, 'Charles of Anjou,' was drafting a letter to the Pope, informing him of the war.
*Dear Holiness* he began his letter
*May God bless the church, the kingdom, and our lives in the future." Following the sacred mission that God has given me to complete, I have done everything in my power to succeed so that I do not waste Your Holiness's goodwill. My mission has been completed, and I thank God from the bottom of my heart. My holy troops destroyed the demonic Manfred at Benevento. We don't know what happened to Manfred, but if God wills, his soul is undoubtedly in the clutches of the Devil.*
He continued writing after briefly pausing to smile, glad of his success.
*At first, Manfred's army had the advantage, most likely aided by demons and witchcraft; nevertheless, one of my knights, endowed by God with wisdom, managed to locate the weak areas in the Devil's spawn's armor, leading my army to victory. After giving an account of what has occurred here since my arrival, I greet you good health and bless you with great regard
Your loyal servant King Charles*
Charles surveyed the makeshift personal tent where he had penned the letter to the Pope. His gaze shifted to the tools and instruments used to craft the missive, reminders of the diplomacy and strategy required in his role that he had used to reach this newfound triumph of his
Filled with a sense of impending pride, Charles exited the tent. The prospect of victory, the sweet taste of success, compelled him to witness the battlefield's outcome firsthand. Few things brought him greater joy than the realization of his efforts.
As if the day couldn't get any better, Charles received news that his soldiers had discovered a body that matched the description of Manfred. With this revelation, it seemed the final obstacle to his ambition had been swept away. The battle was won, and his ascent to the throne was now all but assured.
Charles acknowledged the existence of the sole surviving member of the House of Hohenstaufen, the rightful heir by men's law. However, this young boy of fourteen posed no significant threat, lacking both experience in statecraft and prowess in warfare. He was a mere child, easily eclipsed by Charles' grand plan.
The day had been long and grueling. Charles and his nobles had deliberated the next steps in their conquest, resulting in the decision to march their troops across the land to establish order. Weary from the responsibilities weighing on his shoulders, Charles returned to his tent for a moment of respite.
As exhaustion gradually overcame his elation, Charles succumbed to sleep, unaware that the very youth he had underestimated was a lion in the making. With sharpened claws and honed teeth, this young contender was preparing to pounce on the tiger intoxicated by its past victories. The future remained uncertain, and fate had yet to reveal its final hand.