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Chapter 36
When William the Conqueror had come to England and overthrown the rule of the Anglo-Saxons, it had seemed the great nation was on the verge of becoming a massive force to be reckoned with in the world. William had looked to across the Channel to France, seeking to expand at the expense of the equally mighty French Empire, and had given little thought to King Malcolm of Scotland.
But when Malcolm's sons had done the unthinkable and stolen their father's armies and invaded Egypt on the far edge of the world, it had spelled the beginning of the end for England. William's son Rufus had believed that with Edward and Edmund in Egypt and King Malcolm dead, the lands to the North were his for the taking and laid siege to Edinburgh. But Edward's absence from Scotland did not mean he no longer cared for the land of his birth, and his brother Alexander had returned with a crusading army meant for Toulouse and scared the English back. After being goaded by Scottish diplomats, Rufus had ridden against Alexander Canmore and met his doom, and that had been the start of the rapid fall of the English Kings.
Rufus' successor, Symond, died in mysterious circumstances, and it was Robert - another of William's sons - who replaced him. Known as the Curthose due to his short stature (his father had called him brevis-ocrea), the short man had nevertheless fallen a long way to the courtyard far below his private quarters, though it was never clear if he'd jumped or been pushed.
Godwine - related distantly to the mighty Conqueror through Harold Godwinson - had been given control of England at a time when the extent of the once mighty empire had been reduced to the immediate area outside of Antwerp. Godwine had been a brave man, but not an effective foil to the Scottish, his men serving more as fodder to distract the Scots from Milan. Finally, after the death of his Uncle Tostig at Bruges, Godwine had seen that it was futile to throw away men against Scottish walls and turned instead to the East and the Holy Roman Empire. His cousins - themselves more directly related to William than Godwine, even if it was illegitimately - had ridden and taken Hamburg and Frankfurt, while at the same time the Scottish had ridden forth and finally crushed Antwerp, killing Godwine and his General, Thomas Weste.
So the crown had fallen to Harry the Honest, and now that his mad brother Augustine was dead, he was the last blood of William the Conqueror, the last in the line of English Kings.
And a true successor to William the Conqueror.
Loved by his men, admired by his soldiers, strong and handsome and still comparatively young, Harry had proved that he was both an able General and Governor and an inspirational King. He had been known as Harry the Honest when he was first raised to the Throne, but his actions since then had seen him become known as Harry the Merciless. He had refused to send reinforcements to Hamburg that might have saved his brother from death but left Frankfurt undefended; he'd sacrificed an able young Diplomat to Duke Puccio of Milan's less than tender mercies to gain England an ally; his friendships and even his romantic liaisons always came after his duties to the Crown.
And he'd sacrificed London.
Acting under his command, English agents had infiltrated the former Capital of the English Empire and sowed discontent against Adam Canmore, which had been a far easier task than might have been expected. Adam was an unpopular disappointment, still living in the shadow of his late father Alexander, and there were many residents in London who still considered themselves English living under the yoke of a foreign invader. His agents had incited those malcontents into civil disobedience, protests and riots, and rising up in their thousands they'd sought to overthrow Scottish rule.... and been brutally smashed down at Adam's command.
Just as Harry had hoped.
Now, with the deaths of thousands of their "countrymen" in their minds, the English soldiers under Harry's command were eager for vengeance. The Scottish Commander - Hew Mar - was marching against Frankfurt with twice the number of English soldiers left in the entire "Empire", and Harry had been researching heavily into what he knew of Scottish tactics. He knew they preferred to attack in force, that walls and city gates were no match for either their Spy network or their long range Bombards. He knew that trying to defuse their superior numbers by moving them into narrow streets rarely worked, as Milan's Duke Puccio had discovered. Another plan suggested by Harry's advisors had been to let the Scottish onto the walls and fight them there, and also to let them through the gate and hold them there as long as possible while English Catapults and Trebuchets opened fire against tightly packed masses of Scotsmen. Harry had initially dismissed the idea, suspecting that even then the Scottish would still break through and at that point force of arms would be useless.... and it was then that he'd settled on his plan of defence, one that would leave him with two options; one a long shot, the other having better than even odds of success.
"Your Majesty, the Scottish have arrived," spoke his second. Harry nodded and pulled his helm on, ready to face what he hoped would not be the end of the English empire, but the start of its rebuilding.
Hew Mar, that was his name now, he had to get used to it. He found it odd that since becoming effectively a member of the Royal Family, the only thing that felt different in his life was his name. Hew was his first name now, allowing him to honor his Father's surname, but other than the fact he got to sit on a horse during battles now, nothing else about his life had changed.
Maybe things would be different after he'd killed a King.
"Our man inside Frankfurt has organized for the gates to open," informed Hew's second,"Shall we order the Bombard to fire on the men manning the walls?"
"Aye," grunted Hew, then held up a retraining arm, squinting in surprise as he saw movement on the walls,"What the devil are they doing?"
To his great surprise, the majority of the English appeared to be abandoning the walls, moving down into the interior courtyard. He frowned, confused by what seemed to be a cowardly retreat performed with the military precision of an orderly withdrawal.
"Send archers to open fire on the men still holding the walls," grunted Hew,"Send the infantry forward in force and hope our man inside is as good as his word."
As his men moved forward, Hew frowned, something was wrong here.
The Scots flooded through the gates, that opened on cue as promised by Patrick Boyd, the Spy who had infiltrated Frankfurt, and found the interior courtyard empty. The English troops that had abandoned the north-eastern wall had moved out of view along the ground, then back up onto the North-western Wall.
"We can't get stuck between those bastards up there and the other bastards inside the city!" cried the Infantry commander,"Up onto that wall, lads!"
Far down the streets of Frankfurt inside the City Square, King Harry received news that the Scottish were moving onto the walls to meet the large collection of Knights he'd ordered there.
"Good," he grunted,"Send the catapults and trebuchets to the walls, more Scottish will be coming in, I want them to be tightly packed and ripe for the crushing."
As his orders were followed, on the North-western wall it was bedlam as the Scottish smashed into the waiting English. Their numbers were equal, thanks to Harry's decision not to try and defend both walls, but the English were being hit by flaming arrows fired from outside the wall while Bombard fire smashed into the wall they were standing on.
"Move forward into the Scottish!" cried the Knight-Commander,"If they want to bring down this wall, they'll have to kill their own men to do it!"
The English moved forward, but then a Bombard blast smashed into the wall directly where they were fighting the Scots, and the wall buckled beneath their feet, throwing men violently aside, English and Scottish both.
"THE BLOODY CANMORES WILL KILL THEIR OWN MEN TO GET WHAT THEY WANT!" screamed the Knight-Commander, precisely as his King had instructed him to,"PULL BACK!"
As the English Knights abandoned the wall and ran, the English artillery had arrived at the gates only to find them flooded with Scottish troops. The Artillery Commander gritted his teeth at the sight of the baying Scots, then swallowed his pride and followed his orders, shouting,"DON'T BOTHER FIRING ON THEM LADS! THE CANMORES DON'T CARE HOW MANY THEY LOSE! RUN!"
Following orders, the English retreated down the central Frankfurt street as the Scottish followed, unit after unit, hundreds upon hundreds of Scottish soldiers eager to kill the English.
"Perfect," grunted King Harry,"Ride forward now men!"
As a flaming trebuchet blast smashed into the tightly packed Scotsmen, Harry's mounted Bodyguard rode directly into the Scottish and knocked back the first line of men into the others. The domino effect caused the first several lines to stumble or be pushed backwards, but in moments those Scotsmen behind them would push forward and it would be Harry's bodyguard that was pushed back.... he had to strike now.
"KILL THEM LADS!" cried the Bodyguard Commander,"THE CANMORES ALWAYS HAVE PLENTY OF FODDER FOR OUR BLADES! IT'S ALL THEY'RE GOOD FOR!"
As he spoke, he and the rest of the mounted men cut quickly and haphazardly about them, killing some, wounding more, making all feel pain as trebuchet blasts rained down and the English continued to cry out over the expendable nature of the men on the frontline.
Then, just as the Scottish were about to regain their footing and push back, the Commander of the Bodyguard gave the signal and they pulled back, leaving the Scottish to stumble forward unexpectedly, leaving a gap of dead bodies between them and the English.
And that is when King Harry the Merciless rode forward and spoke.
"I WOULD SPEAK WITH THE MEN OF SCOTLAND!" he bellowed, his deep baritone grabbing attention. The assembled Scotsmen stared, the English soldiers behind the King sitting with swords drawn but making no move towards their enemies,"I WAS LED TO BELIEVE THAT THE CANMORES ALWAYS RODE AND FOUGHT ON THE FRONTLINE WITH THEIR MEN!?! THAT THEY FOUGHT AND DIED WITH THEM, AND NEVER ASKED MORE OF THEIR SOLDIERS THAN THEY WOULD GIVE THEMSELVES.... BUT WHERE IS ADAM CANMORE!?!"
The Scotsmen stared at each other uneasily, battle they understood, speeches they understood.... but a speech from the enemy King in the MIDDLE of a battle?
"THE TRUTH IS THAT ADAM CANMORE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU, YOU'RE NOTHING BUT FODDER FOR HIS WAR MACHINE! WHILE DOMNALL CANMORE LEADS HIS MEN TO VICTORY AGAINST MILAN, ADAM IS IN EDINBURGH BETWEEN THE THIGHS OF HIS MISTRESS! WHILE AED CANMORE KILLS REBELS NEAR ALEXANDRIA, ADAM IS IN YORK SPENDING THE MONEY YOUR CONQUESTS BRINGS HIM! WHILE AODH CANMORE CARRIES HIS BROTHER'S ASHES TO CAIRO, ADAM CANMORE IS IN LONDON KILLING THE COMMON PEOPLE!"
The Scottish seemed spellbound, Harry spoke well and had the common touch, he was a perfect politician, and he could make anyone believe anything. He had succeeded in stopping the battle, albeit temporarily, but he knew that even he couldn't convince all these men to turn on Adam Canmore.... at least not before wiping out the English first. But he'd gotten his foot in the door, and that meant now he could suggest his other option, the one that had a better than even chance of success.
"AND IS HE THE ONLY ONE?" cried King Harry,"WHERE IS YOUR GENERAL? WHERE IS HEW MAR? HE SITS BEYOND THE CITY WALLS WHILE YOU FIGHT INSIDE FOR HIM! I SAY IT IS HE WHO SHOULD FIGHT FOR YOU! LET HIM COME INTO THE CITY, LET HIM FACE ME AS A MAN! LET ME REPRESENT ENGLAND, LET HIM REPRESENT SCOTLAND, LET ONE OF US DIE, NOT HUNDREDS OF OUR COUNTRYMEN!"
He stopped, and tried to keep his face looking earnest and not desperate. If the Scottish went for this.... if the brutal crushing of dissent in London of men, women and children that he knew at least some of these soldiers knew on a personal basis had had the desired effect.... if the chance to end the battle without endangering their own lives proved tempting enough.... if their own stereotyped belief in the superiority of themselves over the English held true.... so many ifs, but the only chance he had to preserve England and foment rebellion in the lands held by Adam Canmore, the true weak link in the Canmore Clan. King Harry was nearing 40, but he had no doubt he could kill Hew Mar, despite the 20 year age difference, Mar was barely out of boyhood and still living in the shadow of his infamous father.
Finally, one Scottish soldier stepped forward, a Highlander carrying a massive two handed sword slick with the blood of Englishmen. He eyed up King Harry critically, then gave an answer on behalf of all Scots everywhere.
"Ye paint a pretty picture, Harry, but there is one thing ye did nae take into account.... forget all the other bollocks about the Canmores, about General Hew Mar, about London and whether our Scottish noblemen take us for granted. Ye're English, and that's all the reason we need to kill ye."
The ranks of Scotsmen roared in approval as King Harry was brought down, crying out in dismay and trying to the last to talk his way out of death. Harry's bodyguard tried desperately to come to the defence of their liege, but it was too late, and soon they too were fighting for their lives as much of the remaining English infantry surged into the fray to avenge the last King of England.
Bodies littered the city square as the English were forced back, the once proud banner of the Empire left undefended as the Scottish charged in and laid waste to the increasingly smaller number of English defenders. The Scottish roared with laughter and sang with joy as they saw the impending end of their oldest and most hated enemies, and for their part the English quivered with terror as they saw that same doom approaching.
Except for one unit.
"This is it then, lads," grunted the Knight-Commander as he and the few remaining members of his unit stood and waited for the Scottish Horde to crash down upon them,"It has been an honor to fight alongside you, no matter the quality of the Kings we followed. Let us die now with the honor with which we lived."
"For England," nodded his second, and the Knight-Commander nodded as he turned to face the oncoming charge of the Scottish, led by Hew Mar who had joined in the mopping up of the English. Grimacing behind his helm, the Knight Commander and his men cried out their defiance to the last.
"FOR ENGLAND!"
---
"In the name of God indeed," hissed the Inquisitor, staring with distaste at the hieroglyphs chiselled into the walls all around him,"Prince Aodh Canmore, I formally charge you with heresy against the Catholic Church."
The Inquisitor betrayed himself with the slightest of smirks as he spoke, unable to completely hide his glee at being able to lay this charge on a member of the highly vaunted Canmore Clan here in the burial chamber of his Father and legendary Uncle. He was young and inexperienced, but a successful trial against a Canmore would gain him great prestige in the Church and then th-
He squawked in shocked outrage as Aodh Canmore suddenly jerked forward and grabbed him by the collar of his robes, shoving him out of the Burial Chamber and hard against the wall of the corridor beyond. Aodh slammed him once, twice, then released him and stepped back, panting roughly and looking furious.... but not as furious as the Inquisitor.... he had dared to lay hands on an Agent of the Inquisition!
"HOW DARE YO-" started the Inquisitor, and then Aodh roughly backhanded him, knocking him to a knee where he remained, staring in horror at the Scottish Prince.
"How dare I?" demanded Aodh, fury in his voice,"How dare YE!?! HOW DARE YE POLLUTE THE BURIAL CHAMBER OF MY FATHER, MY BROTHER, MY UNCLE!?!? HOW DARE YE SPEAK SUCH VILE WORDS IN SUCH A HOLY PLACE!?! HOW DARE YE ACCUSE ME!"
"You ca-" started the Inquisitor, beginning to rise to his feet only to grabbed around the throat and forced once more to one knee like a supplicant before the Priest. Aodh shoved his own face into the Inquisitor's, the guttering torch painting flames on his face and making his appear a devil.
"I have carried the ashes of my Brother with me to Cairo," hissed Aodh in fury,"A Brother who died to a plague that nearly killed me! It was God who spared me from death, and he did nae do so a whimpering, pale worm like ye could insult me and my family's name. How dare I? How dare ye! Ye accuse me of heresy? I accuse ye of opportunism and exploitation! HOW DARE YE!"
Abruptly Aodh pulled away and to his feet, causing the Inquisitor to drop to his face as if he was debasing himself before the Scottish Prince. Aodh roughly kicked at his shoulder and the man scrambled backwards, fear plain in his face. He had looked deep into Aodh's eyes and seen something there that terrified him.
A complete lack of fear of the Inquisition.
"Ye have made a formal charge of heresy against me," spoke Aodh, his voice horrible in its levelness, no emotion of any sort to be found in it,"And ye have looked me in the eye and heard my words, that is trial enough. How do ye find, Inquisitor?"
"I.... I.... I...," stammered the Inquisitor, face flushed red with humiliation and eyes watery with both fear and horror,"INNOCENT!"
"Get out of here before I leave ye with the rest of the Grave Robbers who dared walk into this hallowed ground.
The Inquisitor turned tail and ran, disappearing down the narrow corridor and leaving behind the most humiliating experience of his life.
"20 years ago ye would nae have been able to do that.... nae even 10 years ago," muttered Nevin of Shetland, startling Aodh who spun about to find the Spy emerging from the shadows as if he was a part of them,"And even today, there are only so many who could do so."
Aodh glared angrily at the Spy, then moved to the entrance and moved the secret lever to close the stone slab and seal up the burial chamber, then twisted about, his face contorted with rage,"Did ye ken he would come here, Nevin? What were ye hoping to accomplish by allowing this farce to occur?"
"I needed to ken if ye were still slave to the Church above all else," replied Nevin simply,"When a man looks death in the eye and survives, it changes the man. I think the plague has left ye a better man."
Aodh stepped up to within a foot of Nevin and looked him squarely in the eyes.
"Dinnae make a habit of such "tests", Nevin, and dinnae presume to ken anything about my relationship with God."
The Spy stared directly back at Aodh, then bowed his head slightly in acquiescence before Aodh turned on his heel and strode down the passage. Nevin waited a moment, then followed after.
They emerged into daylight, the guards at the entrance to the Pyramid saluting Aodh respectfully, Nevin noting the almost awed looks in their eyes. As he'd planned, they'd seen the Inquisitor enter the Pyramid and then seen him retreat with tears in his eyes and his face burning with humiliation, and by week's end all of Cairo would know the story. People would speak of Aodh and compare him to his Father and Uncle, and say he had inherited the best traits of both.
As Aodh stopped outside of the pyramid and stared across the desert towards Cairo, across the ocean his brother Domnall Canmore was in mourning for their brother Nectan; his cousin Adam was ordering the violent quashing of a revolt in London; and Hew Mar was preparing to ride on Frankfurt and end the English once and for all. Nevin stepped up beside him and looked expectantly at his Prince, asking,"And what will we do now that Nectan has been put to rest?"
"I have considered carefully," muttered Aodh,"Our first stop is Cairo, and the nobles taking such advantage of Aed's hospitality. They're about to learn the price of their privilege, and then we set sail to achieve a long lost dream of my Uncle's."
"For the glory of God then," smiled Nevin, and the Prince who had only recently learned a fresh lesson - that there was a difference between God and the Church - turned and frowned at the spy, shaking his head before correcting him.
"For Scotland."
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