King of the Who? An AH Vignette

King of the Who?

A Vignette by Geordie


At the dawn of the thirteenth century, the idea of an “England” and a “France” was something that all but the highest echelons of the kingdoms would have agreed existed. By the end of the fourteenth, that would be a concept that only existed for fantasists and romantics. That seismic change, as so many seem to, started with a rebellion in a place removed from either. This time, it was Ireland that set the great events in play. King Richard marched West to meet up with his army in South Wales, However, after swimming in the Thames at Dorchester, he caught a fever. Several days later, Richard the Lion Heart breathed his last in the Abbey of Cirencester, on the 23rd of June, 1204.

At this point, the King’s designated heir, Arthur, his nephew, was attending to matters in his Duchy of Britanny. Before the body of the coeur de lion had grown cold, the late king’s youngest brother, Prince John, had rounded up his allies, and declared himself king. The nation swiftly fell into disarray, the period now known as the Second Anarchy. Normandy and the Vexin declared for John nigh on unanimously, while the Bretons supported their Duke. Arthur took his forces into Anjou and Maine, securing the Plantagenet heartlands for himself. Further South, the Lords of Aquitaine declared that they were loyal to their aging Duchess alone, and her infirmity prevented anybody deciding which side to take. Poitou, by contrast, saw a bitter struggle between the supporters of Arthur and John. Some of the Poitevans favoured a king with his eyes north of the channel, who would pay little heed to their own actions, while others favoured even a Breton over John the Englishman. So it was that John was hoist on the very same petard with which he’d ousted the Norman Chancellor of England William Longchamp during Richard’s war in the Holy Land. Despite being the cause of the chaos, the Irish seemed disinterested in the quarrel to the East, instead choosing to carry on with their internecine feuding, with little regard for the man on the throne.

In England, the barons exploded into warfare. The earls took the opportunity to settle grievances, and redress old injustices, real or imagined. Those who favoured John were in the ascendency across much of the kingdom, but they lacked three vital things. First, the City of London, the worthies of which had disliked John ever since his regency, rose for Arthur, and barred the gates to those who would support the elder prince. Moreover, the Archbishop opposed John, preaching his iniquity and denying his kingship. He roused the men of Kent to Arthur’s cause, and led a militia to London to give the city succour. Last, and most important of all, John failed to win the backing William the Marshall. Despite the biographer’s claims that the aging warrior immediately raised his banner for Arthur, this appears to be untrue. Marshall was worried that the young duke, at only seventeen, was still too young and malleable to be king of such a vast domain. The most famous knight in Christendom was at the head of the army in Monmouth, awaiting the King’s arrival, when news of the Richard’s death reached him. If the de Bohun Chronicle is to be believed, Marshall initially favoured John. Whether the Earl of Hereford assisted the conversion as much as his Chronicle says, news of John’s less than Christian actions came thick and fast after he declared himself king, and Marshall turned against him. He saw the young Duke Arthur as a man who could be moulded into a better ruler than his uncle, perhaps any of his uncles, and acted accordingly.

By this time, John had secured East Anglia, and a broad swathe of the country stretching across to Northampton and Oxford. Kent and London held for Arthur, drawing Surrey and Sussex with them. In much of the rest of the South, it was as if Christ and his angels were asleep once again. The Marshall rushed to Gloucester, taking the bridges across the Severn before any of John’s partisans could trap him in the West. At this point, de Bohun went North, looking to secure the Welsh Marches, and round up reinforcements, while Pembroke went along the Thames Valley, routing an enemy force at Oxford on his way to London.

Despite his early attempt to seize the initiative, John was in serious trouble. He had lost the Thames Valley, and with it, much of the South. Marshall had linked up with the Londoners, and had the opportunity to strike any of John's supporters still south of the Thames. Arthur's men now sat athwart his route to Normandy, which was surrounded on all sides. At this point, the man who had been a thorn in the side of both Henry II and Richard I decided to poke the Angevin hornets’ nest once again. Philip II, King of France, and de jure overlord of both Arthur and John through their mainland possessions, called his vassals to arms. As September turned to October, the king marched into Maine, calling for the men to bend the knee to Philip their King, and John, their rightful Count. With the assistance of Norman Lords, Philip cut a swathe through Maine, driving his foes before him. Arthur, who had been taking Poitou to secure his rear before moving North into Normandy, was in serious danger of being cut off from his power base. Hearing that Le Mans had opened its gates and Tours had fallen, the young Prince rushed back from the Northern edges of Aquitaine. He reached the Loire near Angers, mere hours ahead of the French force sent to block him. The Bretons and their allies still had one third of their men and all their baggage south of the river when the French, commanded by the Dauphin Louis, descended on them. The battle was very hard fought, the French bottling the Bretons on the riverbank. Unable to bring a full third of their men across the river, Arthur’s embattled men were forced back, with the Prince himself losing his horse at one stage.

Louis’ haste to deny Arthur the bridge proved his undoing, for the men of Angers attacked his rear, turning one whole flank in the process. The Dauphin, attempting to prevent the rout, rode into the fray, and was cut down by the men of the city. At this point, the French collapsed, the Bretons taking scores of high value prisoners. Arthur waited long enough for his rearguard to cross the river, then moved on, hugging the West bank of the Mayenne as he desperately sought to stop Philip reaching Rennes.

When the messengers from the Count of Laval arrived, Arthur feared the worst. However, they brought unlooked for good news. Philip the second of France had fallen. Dieudonné, the God-given, had been taken by the almighty at the age of merely 38. Laval, sat across the road to Rennes, could not be left to threaten Philip’s rear, so had to be neutralised. The king, in his haste to press on to Arthur’s principal seat, had ridden too close to the walls while directing the siege. An archer top the wall had decided to take a speculative shot at the unknown Lord with the fine horse, and hit the king. The resulting fall killed Philip outright.


Within two days, the Kingdom of France had gone from cutting a swathe through the Plantagenet heartlands, to paralysed and leaderless. The King and the Dauphin were dead, Philip’s only surviving son a four year old boy of, at best, questionable legitimacy. The late Louis, married for four years, had no issue. The unbroken father-son line from Hugh Capet was broken, the realm plunged into crisis. Riders bearing the news of Louis’ death reached Laval hours after Philip’s fatal fall, and Robert, Count of Dreux, decided to abandon the siege. The ambitious Count had his sights on a bigger prize than Laval: the throne. As the peers of France realised that the throne was available to anybody with a vaguely decent claim and the men to back it, Arthur was given much needed breathing space druing the winter, and could take the fight back to John when the campaign season began once more.

While the Capetian offshoots of Vermandois, Courtenay, Dreux and Burgundy took part in the bloody dance that lead to the destruction of France, Arthur entered 1205 with a mission. He brought Maine back to his side, then moved North into Normandy by way of Calais and Caen. After a victory at Lisieux, the young Duke went to the port of Honfleur, leaving his subordinates to secure all the land West of the Seine. With a circle of close comrades, Arthur landed in Winchelsea, meeting representatives from the Archbishop. Arthur and his men, bolstered by the Kentishmen, marched towards London, meeting the Marshal in person at the Episcopal Summer Palace south of the city. The Croydon Accords ended with Arthur’s announcement that he would rule with the assistance and guidance of God, and his chief representative in England.

The promise made precious little impact north of the Channel, if the records are to be believed. Only the De Bohun Chronicle claims it swayed the English to Arthur, and cannot really be trusted on this point. More helpful was John’s latest disastrous own goal. Persuading the Archbishop of York to crown him King was both laughable and deeply problematic. At best, he controlled half of England and a few desperate castles in Normandy. Moreover, there were distinct memories of the crowning of his brother Henry the Young King, which led to unflattering comparisons with Henry II’s struggles with the martyred St Thomas of Canterbury. Even with this misstep, the reality was that Arthur still needed to defeat John. After a resounding victory at Stamford, the formidable Lincoln Castle threatened to halt Arthur’s march north for the winter. Without the assistance of the gong farmer, Lincoln could have held out for a year or more. As it was, Arthur and a picked band found a way through the castle privies, and the young man was knighted. The current Barons Mumby proudly trace their lineage back to the enterprising Sir Hugh. In the aftermath of Lincoln’s seizure, news came from the South. Eleanor of Aquitaine, She Wolf, Queen, Duchess and more, had finally passed away. The messenger brought with him a sword, that of the last reigning Duke, Arthur's Great Grandfather. It was an incontrovertible sign that, on her deathbed, Eleanor had decided to favour Arthur’s cause.

John’s heavy handed attempts to extract enough funds to pay for his mercenaries exacerbated his rapidly faltering position, with Robin of Southwell using the townsfolk of Nottingham to seize the city and castle in Arthur’s name. As Marshall mopped up resistance in East Anglia, De Bohun’s men secured much of the western midlands. Armed with the backing of the Church, the Marshall, and his late Granny, Arthur left winter quarters, determined to win his kingdom once and for all. Or kingdoms. For just as he left London, news arrived from Rennes. The nine peers and bishops of Brittany had decided to ensure that Arthur’s first fief was not forgotten. Getting the ear of a Pope looking in horror at the utter destruction of France, they had Brittany raised to a kingdom of its own, with suzerainty over the Duchy of Normandy, as well as the Counties of Maine and Anjou. He was crowned, even in absentia, by acclaim on February 28th 1206. The next month, the Archbishop would brook no more delay, and added the English crown to his brow.

It took another four months, but the result was inevitable. John surrendered at the Abbey of Bolton in Yorkshire. John’s sorry, and grisly end shall not be commented on further, for it is well documented, and helps show the violence inherent in the feudal system of western Europe in the High Medieval age.

The conversation when the beaten Prince met his victorious nephew, by contrast, is worth recording. For years, all sorts of rumours abounded, before fresh research from the University of Northampton revealed a transcript thought to be genuine. The conquering hero was announced as Arthur, King of the Bretons and the English. The herald got no further before John exclaimed,

“King? King of the who?”

“The Bretons.”

The Herald continued with “Duke of Aquitaine”, then was interrupted again.

“Look, old bints distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. You cannot derive legitimacy from some farcical Aquitanian ceremony.”


Luckily, Arthur's response, that he ruled due to the acclaim and support of the Lord God Almighty, all the saints, and the good people of the kingdoms, was a lot more salubrious...

 
I have had to stuff tissues in my mouth to stop myself laughing too much at work.

Croydon accords, gong farmers of Lincoln indeed.
 
To quote both @Thande and Tolkien, this is one that grew in the telling.

It started life as an answer to @Meadow's European Union challenge for Sea Lion Press. The idea was for an Anglo-Breton union of crowns, as a twist on the likely usual fare. Sadly, my teacher training postgrad course put a serious dent in the time I had for anything else, and I missed the deadline by a country mile.

It then evolved into an attempt to produce something written in the style of the time. I thought I'd put the last few years of reading historical documents to use, and write a counterfactual one. However, as the length grew past 1,000 words, it became increasingly difficult to keep it in style. Then it morphed into an attempt at a history book style. But as soon as I started writing it like that, the end scene came to mind. As soon as it did, writing in a dry, factual tone, all for a pay off based on Monty Python and the Holy Grail became very difficult. So, you can probably see a mismatch of at least two or three styles in there, but hopefully, it'll be a nice little Christmas treat for the Before 1900 board.
 

Dom

Moderator
>Croydon Accords

a slight smile

>Barons Mumby, sir Hugh

he grins

>“Look, old bints distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. You cannot derive legitimacy from some farcical Aquitanian ceremony.”

aaaaaa
 
I have to say I didn't see the Python ending coming. Nice little piece :D
I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)

As my later post suggests, that wasn't the original idea. It got away from me somewhat, and once I'd thought of that ending, I could see no other way out.
 
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Sir Hugh Mumby, Lisieux, the Hereford-Croydon Axis!

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

And admit it, you had far too much fun trying to work out how to justify that ending dialogue.
 
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Sir Hugh Mumby, Lisieux, the Hereford-Croydon Axis!

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Actually, Lisieux is a happy coincidence. The first time I went to France, I stayed just outside Honfleur, the port from which Arthur sails for England. It was a fairly important place once upon a time, but as ships got bigger (especially slave ships), the harbour proved too shallow. Eventually, people decamped to the other side of the estuary, and Le Havre was the beneficiary. One day, we got the train to Paris, embarking at, of all places, Lisieux. So I really wanted to use both places. Of course, knowing that somebody else was used Lisieux to great effect didn't dissuade me. ;)

And admit it, you had far too much fun trying to work out how to justify that ending dialogue.
Well, at first, hen I decided to go Python, I was just going to do the "King of the Bretons" bit. Then I rewatched the clip, and it dawned on me that "aquatic ritual" could be very easily adapted to become "Aquitainian ritual". At that point, I needed to add it, so the She Wolf handed over a sword to get the plot moving in that direction.

The rest, as they say, is alternate history.
 
I actually kind of wish that this wasn't a vignette! It's so good! Imagine all the Monty Python references you could make going all the way to the present day!
 
Oddly, I haven't received it once in my pre-1900 timeline.
It tends to blight WI discussions more than TLs, but it seems especially reserved for Medieval affairs. Your TL, which I must get around to reading, might be slightly too modern. Either that, or you're very lucky.
 
It tends to blight WI discussions more than TLs, but it seems especially reserved for Medieval affairs. Your TL, which I must get around to reading, might be slightly too modern. Either that, or you're very lucky.


Anyway, let's not retract too much from the thread, even though I'm glad that you're interested in my TL and hope to see you there someday.

This vignette looks really promising! I got quite a few chuckles from some parts. Good going!
 
:biggrin:

I love this vignette. He can call himself King of the Britons at this rate. ;)
Thank you very much.

The idea that both France and England cease to exist as ideas within a couple of centuries is a sly nod to the idea that "Britain"* is probably what replaces the latter.

I'm slightly surprised that nobody has commented on Robin of Southwell...

*Now incorporating Britain across the water, aka Brittany.
 
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