Charles pulled tightly on the reigns of his horse bringing it up short. Up and down the line he looked his brave knights formed up in orderly rows pennants baring their crests, armor gleaming in the bright morning sun. He had come to know them all in the years he’d been King; it seemed such a short time ago now but he and they had aged.

His skin had darkened several shades from the Mediterranean climate and his Spanish these days was quite passable, and for a wonder he’d even grown accustomed to the heat! That itself was a miracle that God himself must surely take credit for. At his hip still hung his ax, the same weapon that years ago he had carried across Western Europe intent upon taking Orders until a call from Spain reached him and he rode hard to answer it, a tale of unknown linage spun before him until he found himself on a throne he had never sought. The crown had been heavy, it still was, but he knew he had grown into it. Just as the number and quality of his knights had grown even more powerful than they had ever been before.

“Knights of Santiago,” he began, his voice booming now so different from the soft spoken young man he had once been. It carried the air of authority now, the tone of a man used to being obeyed. “Since I have come to you we have done many things together… we have beaten back invasion from the Imazighen, we have risen to the defense of our allies the Moors and prevented diplomatic debacle by England that would have brought Christian nations to war. We have stood beside our allies when called to do so… despite our feelings on the subject or objective in question. When called we rode to Ireland’s defense when the Finns attacked their lands… we were proud to do so, and when this threat ended before our forces arrived we did not return home. We stayed to protect lands stripped bare of defense by the demands of a war far to the North that had nothing to do with ourselves, but we stood watch where there were no others to do so.”

Charles paused for a moment glancing to his left and right where his priest Paul and the Captain of his personal guard Carlos stood mute… stalwart pillars at his side.

“We have also done other things. We have endured countless sneering glances and remarks, veiled threats, sugar coated promises of brotherhood and friendship rooted in the absolute submission of ourselves to the whim and fancy of rulers far from our own boarders. We have watched with horror and shock at the atrocities committed in the name of ‘vengeance’ and ‘spite’ and held our tongues for we were treaty bound to stand beside these same no matter what the cost to our hearts or souls. We destroyed a people to the South for the pride of one woman who could not stand having her will defied, scattered their lives to the ashes. We imprisoned brave souls whose only true crime was speaking what their hearts and consciences demanded that they say because of one who sees enemies under every rock and shadow. We have sacrificed the honor of Spain to keep our word.”

“What, you might ask, was our reward for this? How did our allies repay our loyalty? They repaid it with scorn, they repaid it by equating disagreement with treason… to an authority they know not. They have threatened our homes, our children, and our very right to exist as a proud nation because they cannot stand that we too have our own minds, that we are not bound to believe as they believe… we are not duty bound to always walk lock step with them when they are wrong.”

Charles paused a moment and drew a sword, the metal gleaming in the sun as he pointed it to his left. The faint creek of leather saddles could be heard in an otherwise deadly quiet moment as dozens of faces turned in the direction he pointed.

“Knights of Spain. Brothers of Iberia Leon and Castille. Knights of the Order and allies from the East. There, to the north are the lands of the Irish Tyrant and her lapdog false Pope! There are the armies of the people who have threatened your lands because we are no longer satisfied to allow them to run our affairs. We are our own people, these are our lands, it is to the Nations of this Peninsula alone to determine our course and from this moment forward we shall! They have grown fat and lazy living off lands that should be long to other peoples, decadent and complacent… arrogant in their own power and oh so certain that none would be so rash as to defy them. We shall break that illusion with the strength of our sword arms.”

“Knights of Santiago, you are the finest force of fighting men and women in the world. Now it is time to go and prove it. TO WAR!”

With a cry that rippled up and down the line the horses turned and surged to the north crossing into the lands of people who were once their allies. Charles watched them ride for a moment and looked over his shoulder as he sensed Paul pull up closer beside him.

“Are you alright your Majesty?”

Charles paused a moment and then gave a wisp of a smile, it was one touched with the weariness of only one who has born the responsibility of an entire people could truly understand.

“Yes, Father, I have never been prouder of them. Their bravery truly astounds me. Come, we had best not get left behind, for today Father Paul we fight the Apostates!”

The thirth day in prison, and filled with tears about what happened to her beautiful and beloved Ayre. When she looked at the sky, she saw a bird flying to her prisoncel. She recognized the bird by the black wings. It was from her shire. When the bird reached her she saw that it contained a letter from her personal guard.

Milady FallenAngel,

I must inform you that there are two Spanish armies crossing our borders. I am afraid they are here to conquer your shire. With the rumors that the Banrion left us and with you imprisoned, the men are filled with fear and they won't hold the battle for long. I am afraid this is my last letter to you, and I speak for all the men that it was a honor to serve you and that we are proud to fight under your banner. I hope that you will be released soon and that the Gods blesses you

Your humble servant.

This is the last she could take. What will be of her life and of her children. She prays that her husband will survive it and take care of her children

"Oh you damn hamfisted fish monger!" yelled Charles as the doctor pushed the arrow deeper into his arm. His teeth gritted together tightly and then with a grunt it passed through to the other side, gory from it's time inside him and then his arm was applied with leaches and left to sit while they attacked any flesh already gone bad.

He gripped a goblet of wine in his free hand while he looked over to Carlos, his disapproving guardsman and cracked a little bit of a smile despite his best efforts to retain his displeased countenance.

"A good day Carlos, a good day."

The man-at-arms, likely in his early forties cleared his throat behind a beard that served to mostly hide his facial expressions. Charles found it a bit annoying to be honest, but you couldn't control every little detail... not when it came to those you knew you could trust.

"Yes your Majesty," he said gruffly, "but you should not be exposing yourself to such risk!"

"Of course I must if I expect those men out there to risk there's as well," Charles sighed a bit as the doctor began removing the leaches and wrapping his arm with a temporary dressing. The man would be back with his leaches and his bandages for a couple weeks... the creature. "Carlos, look around you... where we are! The first blow of our battle for freedom against Irish-English oppression has been struck. And you speak so rashly, be merry... have some honey."

"I... do not want Honey your Majesty. We have won here aye, but the war is far from over. And there are reports from the South that the Moors sail to attack us now."

Charles nodded a bit, disappointed by that. "Yes... it is unfortunate they have such short and selective memories, Gregory's plot to provoke the Roman Empire to drive them from their lands was ultimately unsuccessful, but not far from the attempt."

"But.. why would he do that to an ally, it does not make sense!"

Charles smiled a bit sadly, "Because Gregory does not think like a normal sane man my friend. He's one part viking and the other part ass. If he's not kicking, fighting, or screaming at something it's just not a good day for him. And to do that he needed more knights... more than he even has now to satisfy his bloodlust. So he contrived to create a situation in which knights who served him in the past would be forced to return to serve him now."

"Is that why you two had such a violent falling out your Majesty?"

"Part of it," he nodded slowly, "when I got involved diplomatically I don't think he's ever forgiven me for derailing his plan by speaking sense. As I say, he is like a viking but without the desire for honorable combat... this makes for a bad combination."

"Hmmm...." Carlos said then rubbing his jawline.

"Fret not. For while we hoped the Moors would see where their true friends lay we did not expect it. And they will soon see the true folly of their decision. For now though, distribute some of this honey to the troops, tomorrow we will crush the remaining resistance here before continuing on."

"And what shall we do with the prisoners, sire?"

"Leave the peasants be for the most part unless they resist, and then make as few examples as possible, the crimes of their leaders are now their own, nor is the rapaciousness of their armies our ways. We do not destroy peoples Carlos, we destroy armies."

"What of the Irish soldiers we have captured?"

"The ones that ran from our armies... release them, they are no threat to us. The brave ones, the ones who stood and fought without hope? Kill them."

"Majesty?!" Carlos blinked.

Charles looked up, his still somewhat boyish features turning suddenly hard, "This is not a war for the faint of heart my friend, we spare the innocent, but those soldiers are not that. They took up arms against us and they will pay that price accordingly so that in the lands we journey to next all will see that those who lay down their arms to us are treated with respect and Christian love, but those who shall resist we shall grind into the ground until the salt in their blood ruins their fields."

Carlos swallowed for a moment and nodded before stepping out of the tent, leaving Charles to his own thoughts.

"Paige! Pen, paper!"

10th September, 1023

Upon hearing of the threat posed by the approaching Moorish force King Symon de Castile hastened his army south toward the coast. The days seemingly dragged on but it soon became apparent there would be time enough for the Iberians to organize a defense and turn away these foreign mercenaries that were in the pay of the heretic English King. All they could do was wait for the enemy to show themselves, and then engage the battle.



3rd October, 1023

The rider arrived abruptly in the morning, sweat-stained and weary from his exertions on the road. Though his arrival was unexpected, his face was well known among the Castilian army. Sanchez Avendano had been knighted two years past by the King's own hand, and hence forth the young caballero had been in service of his beloved Castile.

His current charge was to bear missives between his liege-lord Symon and the Rey de Espania, Charles Hart. Now, standing in the tent of his King, Sanchez could barely contain his exuberant jollity. He wore a smile that would brighten the darkest of dungeons and Symon knew at once the news was good.

"Victory, my Liege. The Irish are routed at Guyenne and that land is now under control of Rey Charles." Symon, relieved that his friend and ally had dispatched their foe, dipped his brow in thanks then dismissed Sanchez to take some rest and attend to his grumbling stomach.

As news of Guyenne's fate swept through the Castilian army, Symon sat at his escritoire and began to write a letter...

QUOTE:
To Good King Charles, Rey de Espania.

Greetings my friend. We are greatly pleased to hear of your victory over our enemy. We had hoped to join your battle but affairs in the south require our presence. Be assured we will endeavor to smite the English King's mercenaries deftly so we can come north and the caballeros of Spain and Castile can stand shoulder to shoulder in defiance of our foes. Fear not your heavy handedness of our enemy. The Banrion of Ireland was offered temperance yet chose to forsake diplomacy. Know that we act justly in defense of Iberian sovereignty and let none but our Blessed Father above judge our actions.

Praise God your injuries and the injuries of your knights heal swiftly.


Para el honor y la gloria de Iberia,
Symon de Castile, King.

Symon decided to give Sanchez a night of rest. When he was summoned the next morning the young caballero placed his King's letter in a saddle-bag and departed the Castilian camp, making for Guyenne to where he would find the victorious Spanish and the Rey de Espania.

“The messengers have returned lady,” A males voice interrupted Rowan’s thoughts as she was looking over a map of the Spanish lands, placing a flag in the newly conquered Guyenne, turning to look at the paige who stood before her.

He was a young boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, barely yet out of childhood and yet he stood as proud as any Spanish warrior. She could see the slight hint of anxiety in his eyes as he stood at the entrance of her tent, “and what is it they say?” She asks quietly.

“My lady, they wish to tell you personally. They sit at the main most campfire with eating their share of food for the day while the horses are being wiped down.” He smiled upon Rowan St James as she seemed to give a nod of approval, “shall I tell them you will arrive anon?”

“Of course, of course. I just need to finish this letter and I will be right out,” the paige turns to leave, “oh and Ranulf?” She calls out to him, making him pause, “make sure you have your share of today’s food as well, I know you. You’re so eager you haven’t touched a thing since breaking your fast this morning.” He gives her a sheepish grin and a bow of his head before leaving the tent.

Rowan turns back to her parchment and she would sit down, picking up her quill.

She was a learned woman, having been taught to read and write by her knighted father prior to his death. Many women toiled away with dainty, pretty little things, however Rowan never had such a care. Instead she enveloped herself to learn the ways of the knight, as well as scholarly pursuits, and of course enlightened pursuits as well.

She reads over the words that she had already written.

QUOTE:


Your Majesty,

Word has just been brought to me that the battle upon Guyenne has been successful. It has brought forth an invigorated spirit in my camp. I must tell you that I never had a single doubt that it would be victorious. The wise council of not only our Minister of War and the Rey of Spain is one that should be heralded for years to come.

The map that I have placed within my tent has been updated with this latest victory. If it does so please your Majesty, I would suggest that we send the wounded who cannot fight for a few days back to the walls of Barcelona so the healers may be able to relieve some of their pain, as well as those peasants who had fought for their country and are badly wounded. If this is not possible, I can send a missive to have a healer be sent to Guyenne to care for the pains there.

She was unsure of how to finish the letter, so for now she would set the quill down once more and stand. Gathering her cloak about her, she leaves the tent and would move towards the main fire listening as someone strummed a lute, and another would be telling a tale of how the Rey of Spain Charles Hart had indeed become the Rey.

Sitting at the fire sat Ranulf who was eagerly filling his stomach of today’s food as well as the two messengers she had sent out. They looked worn but warmed by the food and the good spirits within the camp. She quietly watched for a moment, before she too would sit down and her hand was immediately occupied by a tankard which she took a drink from.

It took the scouts several minutes to realize that the Foreign Minister was sitting beside them. As they began to put their plates down she motioned for them to stop, “please, eat your fill. We can speak while you do so,” she offers them a kind hearted smile. A portion of bread was given to her as she would set the tankard down and began to tear it with her hands so she could eat it.

“My lady,” one of the messengers, his name Roberto would speak, “it is as was predicted, the Moors have landed upon the island,” he of course meant Mallorca, “they will attempt to take the island,” he sounded slightly vexed, perhaps to bring such news.

Nodding her head gently, she would give a faint smile, “of course they are. No doubt Gregory has deigned it to be so. But that is all right,” she said taking a bite of the bread as she would sit there staring at the crackling fire now. “If they believe that this is where they will make their startling and devastating stand, then they along with their little master Gregory are far mistaken.” The messengers stopped eating, staring at Rowan for a long moment, “you heard the words of the Rey, you felt the chills, the inspiration before they set out along that journey to Guyenne. The Moors, they do not fight for themselves, they fight in fear of Gregory and what he would do if they defied him. They have no heart in this, while we do. Their weapons may be sharp,” she nods her head, “but their hearts… Their souls are empty and will remain to be so as long as they are Gregory’s lapdogs.”

She shrugs a shoulder taking another bite of her bread, “I warned Molly Cumhail, who no doubt would have given word to her dearest sweetest brother,” sarcasm dripped from her words, “that the fall out if she continued on with her plans would be great. Now we will see who has, as the saying goes, egg on their face when this is all said and done.” She sighed lightly, “it will not be an easy battle if they reach our shores, but it will be a battle fought and won in the name of God, Spain, and a free Iberia.”

The messengers were quiet, looking up their lady for a long moment as she would give them yet another smile, “we will be victorious, and while there will be wounded, and yes there will be those who may be lost.. Spain and Iberia WILL stand strong.”

There had been those in the encampment that had come to hear the words of Rowan St. James, and they cheered right along with the messengers and Ranulf, raising their tankards.

Standing, she would take a toasting with them, before she would retire back to her tent.

Picking up her quill, she would finish her letter to the Rey.

QUOTE:
The messengers have reported that the Moors have landed upon Mallorca. We will be ready for them if they decide to step upon our coast, and we will not fail you.

Humbly,
Rowan

Folding the paper, a wax seal impressed upon it with her signet ring, she would send a runner out to deliver it to the Rey.

As she would insure her weapon was nearby if their encampment was attacked, she could hear the sounds of story telling and lute playing still. Let them have this night, for tomorrow, the battle would rage on.

Charles grunted as an arrow thudded off his shield and turned his head. All around him several others were in a similar position before the charge, their horses moving at a soft walk forward as they weathered the storm fired by the obviously concerned men dressed in the colors of some Irish nobility. The fighting had been consistent, skirmishes and difficulty bringing the defending militia into a decisive engagement but here at last the Spanish and backed them into a corner and the defenders had no choice but to stand and fight.

A breathless scout dove for the relative safety of the shadow of Charles' shield and horse panting with the exhertions of his running from his post.

"Majesty! To the west, another force approaches!"

Charles snapped his head down sharply eying the man from beneath his mail.

"Whose banner's do they fly man? The Irish, the English? Speak man speak!"

The scout gulped air trying to fill his lungs enough to respond when another splatter of arrows struck home drowning out his reply as the steel points sounded like hammers striking anvils a hundred times over all up and down the line.

"Brittany sire! Brittany, they fly the flag of Brittany."

Charles laughed and removed his axe from his waist smacking the blunt back edge against his shield in a taunt to the defenders and dug his spurs into the sides of his horse. It respond eagerly prancing a step or two and then surged forward with the rest of the knights shattering the enemy lines and laying the path open deeper into enemy territory.

By dusk key points and strategic towns were held securely by the Brittons themselves, and the Spanish army wasted no time in marching onward, for this war was far from done and the wicked men before them must be crushed ruthlessly.

He dispatched messages south to tell of the battle, his allies would be heartened now that Gregory's mercenaries had arrived on the shores of Iberia. But hope abounded he sent another message... towards the sea.

Mid Señor....Mid Señor!!!
Carta del Frente!!!....
(My Lord....My Lord!!! Word from the Front!!!)

Shouting a man while running to the fields, where Marcos "quitos" De Gonzalez carried on his daily training.
Once the messenger reached his destination, bowed and handed the letter to a young master drenched in sweat.

...... Hmmm parece que todo va bien en el norte con el rey, pero hay amenasa en el sur! pero nada muy grave, said quitos to his trainer and good friend.
(.....Hmmm everything seems to be going well in the kings camp, but there is a small threat to the south, nothing to worry about thow.)

<The Gonzalez house had not been called to arms in a long time. A stain in the family history had denied them of riches, but the young knight would do anything to return his familys name to the ears of the Spanish nobility. But in mad fortune this letter was not a request from the king to join him in the lands far north, but rather from his personal spy giving him the news of another good victory he had missed out, and the rumors around the kings camp.>

Aqui llega otra carta Mid Señor,... esta llega de Guyenne said the messenger with a smile on his face.
(here you have a nother letter... this one i picked up passing through Guyenne)

Carta del Rey? Señor. (A letter from the king my lord?) asked the trainer

No..No!... de Rowan... Esta estacionada en Guyenne y pide si podria asistirla con algunos hombres en Bearn, donde piensa pelear.... Claimed Quitos while thinking deeply.
(No..No!... From Rowan... she is station in Guyenne and askes if I am able to assist her with some men in Bearn, where she will fight....)
..............
A door was heard slamed open in the upper levels of the house.
Vos! scribile a Rowan decidle que estare en Bearn con hombres de la casa Gonzalez.
(You! write a letter to Rowan tell her that i will meet her in Bearn with men from the Gonzalez house)

Guardia!!!! a guard came in to the room where quitos was putting on his armor.... prepara los hombres marchamos asta Bearn!
(Guard!!!!-prepare the men we head to Bearn)

I VOS!!! comer i beber todo lo que quieras, pero rapido que cuando termines partes con un caballo fresco para el norte... al campamento del Rey. Dicidle que ire a asister a Rowan, que cuente con los caballeros de Calantrava! para Vencer O! Morir!
(And You!!!! eat and drink as much as you like, but with haste, for when you finish you ride with a fresh horse to the North... to the kings encapment. Tell him that i move my men to assist Rowan, that if he wishes he can count with the Knights of Calantrava.. Victory Or! Death)

War. Such an ugly and abrupt word, Charles thought as he guided his horse Truendo de Dios (Thunder of God), down the increasingly dusty trail. There was no art, or grace, or beauty in it, it was an ugly thing like a sword before the Master had time to craft the touches that turned it from a dead thing if iron into a living extension of its wielder. It could not create, or sustain... it did nothing for the betterment of men's souls and yet... it was an impossible to escape compulsion. How disappointing we must be to He who made us... still unable to escape the tragedy of Caine and Able.

For some times merchants had told of armies massing in the North, of lands being seized and once such things began momentum it was impossible to stop until all of Aragon was a buz with tales mundane to profound. An Eastern Horde had landed and slaughtered thousands said one... Burgundy has set up a false Pope said yet another.... No the Eastern Horde had been hurled into the sea, it was the Italians who had slaughtered thousands of Frenchmen in a bid for conquest... No it was Sicilian Pagans who had done this and the Italians who had been slaughtered. There was no sense or reason to such rumors. Yet armies WERE gathering, the proofs were everywhere, and when his own scouts began returning with reports of massive amounts of battle-flags from half a dozen nations flying so close to Aragon there was but one response. Form the army in force and move North to investigate. The truth must be determined and someone must look after the welfare of the people. As so often seemed to be the case, this fell to Charles.

He glanced back over his knights, wondering for which among them this would be their last campaign and gave a slight sigh. To war again.... "...until in blood we all drown..."

QUOTE:


To the known Christian World, special care, or inclusion, to the foreign ministers of Italy, Burgundy, Serbia, Sicily, Castille and France,

News and rumor has reached Aragon of a great massing of armies along our boarder. This is understandably an intolerable situation for us. I will not recount all the rumors I have heard, but many are greatly distressing to me for reasons of an equally varied nature.

We ride forth now to determine for ourselves the nature of events unfolding, with a sure warning, that Aragon is prepared and willing to commit its forces against any if the most shocking of these rumors is discovered to be accurate.

-Charles Hart
King of Aragon, Rey de Espania

Charles pulled his horse up tight, and slowly slid out of the saddle. His axe dripped with blood as he pulled his helm from his head, the metal plate having baked him in the warm Mediterranean afternoon so that his hair and beard were matted to his face and skull with sweat. Behind him his son, Argorian the Younger, drew reigns beside Fernando of Bearn, one of the members of the royal guard and watched his father closely.

Throughout the battle he had been at his father's side, a silent shadow against the storm as they'd ridden through the mass of the enemy until it ceased to be an army and had become a mass of retreating individuals now lost on the horizon. It had happened quite suddenly, one moment they had been scouting, trying to uncover what was happening in Southern France, and then out of nowhere the Sicilians had appeared with a hail of arrows raining down upon the ranks of the Knights of Santiago. Rallied they had charged, outnumbered not entirely sure who or what they faced... when out of nowhere the afternoon sun had revealed the banners of Burgundy rushing to their aid. Together they had smashed the Sicilian lines and thrown them back off the mainland.

It was a hot day, a bloody day... but one of glory. Now Argorian watched his father as he looked back over the field, torn and strewn with the dead. He watched him give a small nod, surveying the field much as a blacksmith might examine a finished item. Charles had been known as many things... to some of his enemies as "the Butcher" to others as a champion of Justice, a defender of the weak, a man of violent temper and unshakable faith. But in this moment Argorian saw something that chilled him to the bone. Whatever Charles might say about disliking war, and he did seem to find the prospect discouraging, the sight of that field of battle filled him with obvious satisfaction. For the first time in years the young man saw a man at peace with himself. Who was this man who was his father?

"Argorian!" He grunted as he looked over his shoulder at his son now serving as his banner men. "Ride out, find Lord Derby and her Majesty, we just rally the troops and send out scouts. It seems our part in this war has been determined by the Sicilian's cowardly attack!"

"Yes, Father..." he turned to put his horse in motion.

"And find me a bloody scribe in this mess!"

QUOTE:


Grand Duke Fecamp,

Congratulations on your timely arrival the sight of your banners riding to the fore is one I shall cherish. It seems that I now know as much as I need to know about the matters occurring in this area and place both myself and my knights at your disposal for the protection of your lands, people, and holdings. The Knights of Santiago will stand with you in this dark hour with sure conviction of our victory.

-Charles Hart
-King of Aragon, Rey de Espania

QUOTE:


To the Foreign Ministers of all Nations,

This day the forces of Sicily have conducted an ambush upon the forces of the Kingdom of Aragon within sight of the walls of Barcelona itself. This act will not go unanswered and has forced me to reconsider my earlier position of discovery to one of decisive action. The regions to the direct North and South of our boarders are ones of direct interest to the Crown and people of Aragon and we consider any activity in these regions to be our interest. With this in mind let it be known that Aragon is in a state of war, until such time as stability returns to this region, against any who attack its people.

-Charles Hart
-King of Aragon, Rey de Espania

QUOTE:
To Charles Hart

Sicilians army was traveling in a free nation,and it was you who ambushed them. You came in a free land with a killing diplomacy toward the poor peasants and expanded your territory. Your accusation are un-based, especially when i sent you a personal mail with my intention near your land and comforting your unworthy concern of my army presence near your borders. With the comforting letter I asked you also if we could use your port, because we where sucked,letter you never replied even when my scouts told me you got it.

You better stay away from heat,refresh your ideas ,and find other lies to tell the world in order to engage in hostile actions against Sicily.

I hope this actions are fault of the heat,and not a destruction of my opinion for you as 'a man of honor ' Opinion created from our letters,contacts,and with all your concerned letters toward my diplomacy with other nations,and so on.

Also i want to remind you that, it will be me who will remember your action,not you.

Bisha
King of Sicily