A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Earl Hugh of Chester could bear it no longer.

He called out for the four soldiers carrying the litter to slow down.

"Why are we in such a hurry to deliver the King to his death?" Hugh said, annoyed.

It was unclear who he was speaking to—perhaps Beaumont, perhaps the other nobles, or perhaps himself.

Meanwhile, Lord Beaumont of Leicester leaned down to comfort William. "Your Majesty, your son Rufus is well. He has come to see you several times these past few days, but he was asked not to disturb your rest. He is somewhere behind us, but not far."

He caught Hugh’s sidelong glance, then reined in his horse, allowing old King William’s litter to move ahead.

Answering Hugh’s unspoken question, he said, "Yes, it’s a lie, and I’ll continue with it. For God’s sake, what else can I tell him? By all means, Hugh, feel free to come up with a better story."

Beaumont had always looked down on Hugh, whom he considered hot-tempered and flighty, crude in speech and utterly uncultured. Defeating him in an argument was almost too easy.

But now, Beaumont feared his words.

In fact, Hugh and Beaumont had been arguing constantly for the past few days. The proposal for peace talks had come from Beaumont, and Hugh had been complaining about it nonstop.

But this time, Hugh didn’t respond to Beaumont. There was no argument, just a sigh.

Hugh was mentally and physically exhausted by the events of the past few days. Now that they had fallen into such a state, arguing was pointless.

Beaumont’s lie seemed to satisfy the tormented old King, and the somber procession continued toward Beeston Castle.

Scouts reported seeing Robert and Count Odo waiting near a lone oak tree. They had only a dozen or so knights behind them.

Indeed, there was no need for them to bring a large force to deal with a dying King and a group of cornered knights.

William regained consciousness for a moment and insisted on being helped onto his horse.

"I may be sick, but I am not helpless... This is all your doing, Hugh... Hugh... Help me onto my horse. Do you think I’ll wait for them lying in a litter?" William called out weakly.

They lifted him from the litter. He nearly fainted, but was finally settled into a padded saddle and led across the field.

He wore his war-crown—a simple silver coronet welded to his helmet—and a purple cloak trimmed with ermine.

His golden hair curled at the edge of his helmet, and rain trickled from the small holes in the coronet, dripping onto the fur collar.

Once the King was ready, they escorted him toward the lone oak tree. The knights all remained behind, seemingly unwilling to risk the mockery of the opposing knights.

Odo glanced at Robert, who remained motionless. After a moment’s hesitation, Odo walked straight to his brother to support him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

William immediately shrugged off Odo’s hand, wincing in pain. He looked at Odo, then at Robert. "Well? You invited me here. For what? To hear your terms. Then read them! Robert, read them!"

He panted proudly, shrunken by illness, and his left foot began to kick involuntarily.

The sight was heartbreaking, but when Hugh looked at Robert, his face was calm. Hugh then glanced at Beaumont, his detestable cousin. Beaumont had also seen Robert’s expression, and for the first time in a long while, he simply gave Hugh a shrug in return.

It made Hugh feel a sense of powerlessness.

Robert handed a letter to Eric, who broke the seal. It was the letter of excommunication from the Holy See, but with some additional content.

"To William, the arrogant Monarch of England, from the successor of Saint Peter and Saint Paul:

I have been made aware of your recent circumstances by Prince Robert. Your condition worries the Church. Arrogance and cruelty are sins not tolerated by God. The suffering of Britain and the lament of the English Church have crossed the La Manche Strait and the vast lands of Northern Gaul, arriving at Holy Rome. They now circle above the Holy See.

Ceaselessly, day and night, they speak of your transgressions and forbidden deeds. They say that you have forgotten your mother, the Holy Roman Church, who loved you more than other kings and princes, and placed her special trust in you.

You once swore an oath to her to be the most docile lamb, to closely follow God’s guidance and His Shepherd on earth. Yet this has proven to be a shameless and despicable lie, like the dark clouds now circling above the Holy See.

You have seized the inherent powers of the English Church, trampled the dignity of the English clergy, and ignored God’s love for His flock. You have slaughtered God’s lambs at will and allowed your soldiers to violate women. In God’s own world, in the homeland of Saint Augustine, you have created tragedy and oppression.

Your greed, tyranny, and arrogance disgust me. The devotion, justice, and humility of Prince Robert make him worthy of the station that should not be yours.

You are now infamous for your monstrous crimes. Therefore, at the request of the sincere Prince Robert, William of Normandy, Monarch of England, and all who follow him in his wrongful deeds and arrogance...

...are hereby, unless they repent, cursed by the Lord with the same curse that falls upon Simoniacs, Valentinians, Arians, Nicolaitans, Donatists, Severians, Manichaeans, Pneumatomachi, Nazarenes, and all other heretics, and upon the Devil and all his angels.

Amen, Amen, Amen."

"Hilbrand, that ridiculous clown. Judging me with this laughable document. Henry of Germany... COUGH, COUGH... that young Emperor will teach him the lesson he deserves. He will be destroyed even faster than I."

William laughed, but soon began coughing again, his face growing even paler. Suddenly, his gaze fell upon Eric.

"Your voice... I’ve heard it somewhere before. I remember now. Outside London City, that unknown, arrogant knight. I’m not mistaken; I am very sensitive to voices."

"That My Lord remembers me is my honor."

"And now... you’ve made a name for yourself."

"My wish has been granted, My Lord." Eric gave a slight nod.

"You are... COUGH, COUGH... you are a good knight. There is no knight braver than you. What has Robert rewarded you with? A few manors? A fine warhorse?"

Seeing Eric’s lack of response, William smiled. "Oh, my generous son. Now, will you tell me your name?"

But his weakness was such that he could barely stay upright.

William’s body swayed, and at last, Hugh caught him.

But William pushed Hugh away.

"Eric."

Eric announced his name, but before the sound had faded, Robert’s voice cut in, "De Outville."

"Outville..." William muttered the name, his gaze fixed on Robert.

The atmosphere grew tense. Both men were silent, and no one else present dared to make a sound.

But Eric spoke again, choosing to break the silence.

"Next are the demands of King Robert:

To restore peace between William of England and Robert of Normandy, the following conditions must be met:

He will henceforth acknowledge his son Robert as his sole heir and command his barons to swear fealty to him..."

William insisted on standing on his own, trying to remain conscious, but as time ticked by, his body protested with pain.

Soon, he could no longer hear what Eric was saying at all.

He could no longer control his weak body and fell backward into the mud behind him. His war-crown fell into the mire as well. At that moment, the rain began to fall. He felt the drops slide down his cheeks, mingled with something else.

Crying, to William, was an ugly sound, for he was worse at grieving than anyone.

In his entire life, he had apologized less than a dozen times. Until the previous year, he could count his failures on one hand. He viewed failure as some obscure, foreign disease.

In any case, he was immune to this disease.

He had ruled the Duchy of Normandy for forty years. He had conquered all of England. He was the supreme Monarch and administrator, the standard by which other kings measured their worth.

And now he had fallen to this, to such a humiliating state. A victorious reign, an entire life, had all come to nothing.

But Eric’s voice, reciting the terms, had not yet stopped.

Robert stepped past Hugh, trying to help his father up. Hugh moved to pick up the fallen war-crown.

Robert held his father, and he heard his father’s words: "I pray to God that I live long enough to see you utterly destroyed as I have been, my dear child, Robert.

I offer you my sincerest blessing: that you will burn forever, be torn to pieces, every scrap of your flesh, every piece..."

By the time Hugh tried to place the war-crown back on William’s head, he had already fainted.

Just then, Eric reached the final sentence: "As for the nobility who supported the old King, the merciful His Majesty Robert grants them his pardon. Titled nobles shall be stripped of their rank, but will retain one-third of their fiefs. Knights shall not be prosecuted for past offenses, and rights of inheritance shall remain intact."

"Take it. Just take it all! It’s all yours, Robert! England, Normandy, I’m handing it all over! It’s all yours now! I’m done!"

Hugh threw the war-crown aside.

Hugh mounted his warhorse and galloped off into the distance.

Beaumont performed a rite of fealty to Robert, removing his cap and placing it at Robert’s feet as a sign of submission.

"Your Majesty, what Hugh just said were merely the ravings of a drunk. He drank a great deal today. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness on his behalf."

Robert nodded.

Beaumont then mounted his horse and rode after Hugh.

Robert waved a hand at several of the surrounding knights.

"Carry my father back. Have the physicians attend to him."

Several knights lifted William and carried him into the castle. The other knights followed.

Soon, only Robert and Eric remained outside.

"I was trying... I was trying to act like a king. Do you understand, Eric? I was trying..."

"I know. I know, Robert."

Thankfully, the sound of the intensifying rain drowned everything out, offering a moment of release.

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