Ch – 1 Failed Crusade
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Dearest Son,
If you are reading this, then know that I am most possibly dead.
It must have been hard on you and your mother. I can tell that much.
It has been hard for us too. Here in a foreign and inhospitable lands, food and water had been scarce but much more scarce were the emotions of people.
The men and women here did not view us with goodwill. They spat on the path we walked, looked on us with suspicion and disgust and prayed to their gods for our quick downfall. And yet… when I look at them, all I see is us. They are not very different from us Lotharingians or Franconians or even those darned Men of the Isles, my son.
They had differences, I am sure, vast difference in the eyes of the clergy and the church in the way they prayed to their gods, in their daily routines or how they ate their food. But in the core, they were the same as us. That same spite runs within their blood, that same selfishness and capacity of evil that has plagued humanity since their inception.
And I saw it all, son. How depraved humans can be? How vile, pitiful and damned we are. I have seen things that choke my throat, suffocating me. I have heard of tales that make me wish that I had punctured my ears and I have felt emotions that I wish not even my enemies feel.
And this is what war is, son.
I have hated every moment that I have stayed away from my castle, from my love and from you. It must have been hard for you and your mother, I am sure of it but I want you to be strong now. Stronger than ever you have been and I want you to stand taller than you have ever stood. Because now you are the head of the family.
Head of House Marchosias.
I am sorry that I could not guide you like my father did for me and his father did for him. I am sorry I could not watch you grow into the fine man you are going to be. I am sorry I cannot hand you the Wolf's Bracelet and the Basterd Blade when you come of age. All I can provide you is a piece of advice, son.
Be brave in battle,
Be wise when you meet your subjects and,
Be confident when you take counsel from your councilors.
Never show cowardice.
Never show your hesitation.
And definitely never show your fear. Not even to your most dearest.
And that is how you survive this vile and treacherous world of men and monsters.
Rule these lands like you have dreamed when you were little. Rule these people how you said you would. Rule these subject like how a Marchosias would. This is my gift to you, son.
And in return, all I ask … is that you look after my family. Old and new.
I love you, son.
Goodbye and godspeed.
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There was a precipitous silence in the room as the young boy and possibly the last pure blooded scion of the Marchosias family read through the letter. Around him were his personal attendants and servants who had looked after him for the better part of his life.
"How fares mother?"
The servants looked around themselves for a moment, unsure of what they should reply. In the dim light of the room, Wulfric sat on his wooden chair with his head hung low, making it extremely difficult for the servants to accurately determine his facial expression.
"Speak." Wulfric said with a deep voice that contain both sadness and authority. "Lady … Brunhilde … is devastated," replied Albrecht, the old head butler of the Keep. "She has refused entry to anyone into her chambers and… we fear the worst."
"Mother is not that weak." Wulfric replied with conviction. "I know. I have been with her for ages. What I'm asking is, has she eaten anything yet?"
"I'm afraid not, sire."
"Hmm…"
There was a long silence in the room before Wulfric slowly nods his head and replies, "Get her some bread and broth. And prepare the bath too and a new set of clothes. Make it cotton. She must be comfortable. And send a missive to the Guards Commander and the Rear Commander. Bring Sir William and Sir Yannick too. Let's have a talk with all of them and decide on what our next moves should be. Oh, and there is no need to trouble mother regarding this. You may leave."
"And what about you, sir—"
"Leave." Wulfric shouted, his rage finally showing it's ugly head. "Now!"
The servants did not dare tarry any longer and left one by one, leaving only Albrecht behind. "Albrecht, stay behind."
"As you wish, sire."
…
"What is this, old and new? What family is this? What family is father talking about? What the hell is happening?"
Albrecht mulled over what he should say for a few moments before answering honestly, "The Crusade has gone terribly wrong, milord."
"Some arrived too early, some were too late. We started wrong and the Great Powers of East, Center and North all abandoned us for their own petty politics. The Papal forces were routed early in the war and many of the smaller forces abandoned or changed allegiances at the drop of a hat."
"Father abandoned the cause and joined the heathens?"
"... yes. I don't know the details, in fact many don't. Perhaps Julian could shed some light into the thought process of the late lord but nobody else whom I questioned knew anything."
"Father fought for the heathens… he died for the heathens… and now I have to take care of his heathen children and wives?" The mere thought of caring for those heathens left a bad taste in Wulfric's mouth. It was enough to make him puke and seethe with rage.
"Milord… you are now the ruler of Wulfrum Castle and the Wolf's Keep. The people of Kainshire and the surrounding areas depend on you. They are your subject and as their ruler and lord, it is your duty to look after them. Just like your forefathers did for centuries past.
And… even if you don't like it… even those heathen wives, children and servants are your subjects now."
"In fact, I think we may have a need for these ... heathens sooner rather than later."
"What?" Wulfric did not believe what Albrecht was saying but then Albrecht handed him an envelope, a rough envelope with a shoddy seal. A raven seal.
…
It would be an understatement to say that Wulfric did not like these new subjects of his. Born and raised in a strictly catholic household and domain with a dogmatic view of the world, he found it extremely baffling and stupefying to take care of heathens in his own lands.
The very thought of nurturing those same men and women who plotted against his own ilk felt revolting at the best of times. And perhaps thinking that these wise old men of the military would side with his thoughts, he planned a meeting with them in the wee hours of the next day.
"You don't seem to have any sleep these days, kid."
"That should be milord for you, Sir William."
"I'll call what I want, lord or no lord." Sir William grumbled to himself as he reclined on his seat. Sir Yannick, the Master of Horses looked a little peeved at the old veteran but did not stoke the fire more than it was necessary.
As for Wulfric, he had known and studied under the old master for ages and knew his personality quite well and so did not even try to argue. Not to mention, with how old Sir William was, it would have been a miracle for anyone to get inside his thick skull and have him change his attitude. And Wulfric was in no mood to bend an unbendable stick.
"We should wait for Sir Oswald and Sir Ross before starting the meeting." Albrecht, the omnipresent butler, remarked quietly as he placed a few cups of honeyed water to each of the participants. "It wouldn't be long." He promised and all three participants nodded solemnly.
The wait exceeded half-an-hour when a cloaked servant ushered the two new participants of the meeting into the room. Sir Oswald, another veteran and the one who led the rear guard of the Wulfrum Army walked in with a slight limp while Sir Ross was a man in his late thirties. Sir Ross had a more dignified and haughty look and led the Guard Regiment that protected both the Wulfrum Castle and the Village of Kainshire. Both of them wore their knight armor and cloaks with the insignia of the Wulfrum House, signifying their allegiances and loyalty.
"Have a seat, Sir Oswald, Sir Ross."
"Thank you, milord."
They both bowed a little before taking their respective seats in front of Wulfric. Albrecht passed them two cups of honeyed water before Wulfric started this secret meeting.
"I'm sure all of you know the gist of what has happened with our forces in this disastrous crusade, yes?"
There was a silent nod.
"Good." Wulfric gave a stout nod, something that he had learned from observing his father, "as such, it's not a stretch to conclude that we have lost nearly half—"
"More than half." Sir William harrumphed coldly, "we have lost more than half our forces, haven't we Oswald?"
Sir Oswald nodded drearily, making William harrumph coldly once again before taking a long puff from his ivory pipe. "In actuality, we have lost nearly 70-80 percent of our fighting prowess in this goddamned war."
"80 percent is a stretch, isn't it Master?"
"Really? Why, can you match your father in fighting, boy?" William asked with an inquisitive brow, his voice was filled with mockery and doubt. But Wulfric was not cowered, instead he remembered the words of his father, 'Be confident when you seek counsel from your councilors.'
"I cannot. But you can." Wulfric retorted, "even with your age, your prowess haven't diminished at all. You could still defeat even the most brightest and talented of our warriors with ease. You pushed my father into a stalemate, if I remember correctly."
"… that was years ago, boy. Your father has been gone for nearly three years. I have aged in those years. Now, my bones creak every time I heave a blade."
"All bones creak, old man. Our bodies will ache, so will our hands blister and muscle tear. But we must do what is needed to keep our holdings safe.
Complacence will not shelter us from what is coming."
…