Friday, September 01, 2006

526: Marching Across France

Sir Mortimer relates

My son has not been seen since the tournament-feast in Oxford. Nobody's saying anything; am I to assume he's run off on some quest? It seems to be all the rage among the young knights practicing this "chivalry" fad. Like that Lance fellow we keep hearing about. Silliness if you ask me.

But as we got the call from King Arthur himself to muster out, I haven't been able to dwell on Monroe's absence. Good thing his mother's passed or she'd worry herself to death. Can you believe this? We're all at court, enjoying the companionship, when the strangest collection of...people...confronted the king. They said they were an envoy from the Emperor of Rome, and demanded tribute! Ha! The king turned them out, and immediately closeted himself with advisors. Shortly thereafter we were embarking at my fine new quay at Portchester, sailing across the Channel, and disembarking with great fanfare at Barfleur.

We are now kicking ass and taking names as we march across France. Paris is a fine city. We are taking stock here before pressing on after the Roman Lucius. And if I may make a small toot on my own horn, I am looking the part of a commander, in my fine new armor and splendid warhorse, both gifts from the hand of the king. I got a bit testy when the king excluded me from deliberations after the demand for tribute. I've been turning the tables on tribute demands since before he was born! And then, not one word from him regarding the state of affairs in Portchester.

But he made amends, splendidly. I look (and feel) great, and am happy to be back on my warhorse again.

Heh! That Pendragon and his impossible odds. We spent a good month chasing the Roman army hither and yon before finally cornering them near Saussy, in terrible terrain. I advised the king to just set fire to the countryside and smoke 'em out, but he insisted on lining up the battallions without it. My new charger, the fine Continental one the king gave me, performed admirably. As did I. Not bad for an old man of 53! But the best news came in the field: as we were fighting manfully against the hirsute Ostragoths and the splendidly fierce Ethiops, we heard a great roar from the center of the army. Our Lord Pendragon had killed Lucius! We spent the warm Continental winter marching on Rome.

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