Monday, December 19, 2005


Sir Mortimer speaks

Well, the hotheads are off to London again to try and break the back of the Saxons. I, however, am leading the forces of Salisbury south to clean out Hampshire, which the county acquired during the campaigns of the former Marshall. I recovered Camelot and Portsmouth, but was repulsed at Chichester. Next year!

Oy! A son is born! I shall name him after his brother.

I can't believe how warm and fuzzy I still feel knowing that Ulfius is rotting in gaol in Caerleon.


Sir Mortimer writes

My dearest--
I may well beat this letter home. Have you heard? The forces of little Count Chuckie have successfully defeated King Ale! And that wretched scoundrel Ulfius has been captured and is being held for ransom. Heh. I hope he enjoys hospitality equal to that he has shown me.
Wait for me at Durnford, where the gardens and orchards will be in bloom.
--Sir Mortimer

It was a most lovely reunion with my dearest.

Well, well, well! Sir Belinger, whom I last saw slumped over his horse on the field of my capture, is the knight responsible for subduing Ulfius. Well done, sir, well done! And as I sat at the high table in Cirencester, I heard other marvels as well. The same Sir Belinger is the long-lost son of the Countess of Rhyddchan. Blood will tell. The Countess has stepped aside so that her most worthy son may be the Count and defend the lands against the Saxon scourge.
And the Countess of Salisbury has appointed me as Marshall now that our doughty Sir Ebble is dead. Sigh. I would he were Marshall still. He was a good man.

Our lands were quite ravaged by that marauder, Ulfius. The peasants had a difficult time making their harvests, so it's fortunate that there was plenty of spoils from Silchester's lands. My dear Ysabet is looking quite sharp these days. But the raiding did take its toll on us as well; our little son perished.

With some misgivings, I and many others marched with King Nanteliod on the Angles, currently holed up in London. Our siege was unsuccessful, and we departed for our manors for the winter.


Sir Marmaduke raves

King Ale and Duke Ulfius are once again invading the territories of others; Count Charles had me on garrison duty. I didn't mind. But as things heated up, the count summoned an army to defend Marlborough. So many knights and men-of-arms! A large force clashing, to be sure. We were doing well, my comrades-in-arms and I—Sirs Belinger and Tanicus—and even as the tide seemed to be turning in our favor with the capture of a battalion commander, an overwhelming sense of futility, of hopelessness against the ever-surging Saxon tide overcame me and I fled, maddened, from the field.

Sir Mortimer writes

My dear Ysabet:
I am still imprisioned in Silchester. The dastard will not let me out. I pray every day for your safety and that of our children, and for God to strike down that traitorous duke.

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