Episode 92
As the blood-soaked 12th century drew to a close, there was a collective hope for a new world and a new order to emerge from the ashes of relentless war. Yet, as history often proves, when external threats wane, internal conflicts tend to flare up. The struggle between royal authority and the church’s power became the new battleground.
“We pledge our allegiance to the great leader of France, King Philip II!”
“Electing a leader is a long-standing tradition of the Holy Roman Empire! We cannot allow one family to monopolize the throne!”
It was as if a signal had been given, and debates erupted across France, the Holy Roman Empire, England, and the Iberian kingdoms. The focus, once directed towards the Islamic world, was now turning inward, a shift that seemed inevitable.
The future direction of nations would be determined by who seized control in this new power struggle. Both kings and nobles understood the importance of solidifying their positions, even if it meant shedding blood.
Exactly two weeks after the execution of the Viscount of Limoges, in the hunting grounds on the outskirts of Chinon’s court:
Swish! Thud!
“Got it!”
“As expected of Your Majesty! Your falconry skills are unmatched!”
“Hahaha! Whether it’s hunting or jousting, there’s no one in all of Europe who can match His Majesty.”
“Anyone can achieve this with enough practice.”
Richard surveyed the game his falcon had caught with satisfaction. Falconry, though introduced to Europe some time ago, had not yet reached a high level of sophistication. Accounts from the Crusades described a far more systematic approach to hunting in the Middle East. The Holy Roman Empire, having studied these methods, was likely the most advanced in Europe. Yet, the Angevin Empire had recently honed its falconry skills to rival even theirs, thanks to the influx of Middle Eastern knowledge into the Marshal’s lands in Auvergne.
“It might be fun to compete with France or the Holy Roman Empire someday.”
“Surely, Your Majesty would emerge victorious!”
“Hahaha, we’ll only know once we try.”
Richard enjoyed watching his falcon hunt. Its keen sight, the determination to never lose its target, and the precision with which it subdued its prey were qualities he admired. People, he thought, were not so different. Whether on the battlefield or in the political arena, one must be as thorough as a falcon when facing an adversary.
“I think I’ll venture deeper into the woods for more game. It seems this area is devoid of any.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to go too deep, Your Majesty?”
“Dangerous? For whom?”
Richard laughed, gesturing to the weapons strapped to his horse.
“The wild beasts should be more worried about encountering me.”
“Haha… indeed, Your Majesty.”
“Still, it would be wise to take some guards with you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Safety should always be a priority.”
“Such fuss… well, if you insist, I’ll take one with me.”
The fuss was almost comical. It wasn’t as if he was hunting foxes, and having a retinue of guards didn’t suit his style. Truth be told, having his men around diminished the thrill of the hunt. Eventually, Richard managed to send his guard away on the pretext of fetching water.
Feeling unburdened, he released his falcon towards a distant target when suddenly—
“God’s wrath upon the tyrant, the embodiment of blood and violence!”
“Revenge for the wronged victims!”
Swish!
“An ambush?”
Instinctively, Richard turned, and an arrow whizzed past his head, embedding itself in a tree behind him. Seeing the arrow miss, a man charged forward, weapon drawn.
In that split second, Richard assessed the attackers’ movements and, instead of fleeing, drew his weapon and spurred his horse forward. Though he wore no proper armor, he felt no real threat from this attack.
‘Fools. If they intended to take me down, they should have brought at least ten men.’
Thud!
“Ugh!”
The man charging at him was impaled on Richard’s lance, letting out a final cry before falling beneath the horse. The archer, too, was struck down, a spear piercing his chest, leaving him to collapse in a pool of his own blood.
As the brief skirmish ended, Richard saw his guards rushing towards him, their faces filled with panic.
“Can’t even hunt in peace, can I?”
It wasn’t hard to guess where these assassins had come from. Perhaps he had been too lenient, he mused. When it’s time to strike, one must strike hard.
There’s a saying that social status and politics are inseparable. The higher one’s name rises, the less likely it is that the world will leave them in peace. Even in fields seemingly unrelated to politics, like art or sports, reaching the top means politics is never far behind. Religion, of course, is no exception.
Being dragged from one event to another, constantly showing one’s face in political arenas, was a tiresome affair. If that were all, I might not have minded so much. But in this medieval era, roads were poorly maintained, and the ride in a carriage was enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. After a single journey, my backside ached, and my head spun.
There was a joke that prominent figures of the past spent half their lives in carriages. Now that I was in that position, I understood the sentiment.
‘Prophet, would you honor our church with your presence?’
‘The faithful in Aragon are starving for the word of the Bible. Please, have mercy on our congregation…’
‘We humbly request your presence in London for the next Easter.’
Day after day, such requests flooded in, and just coming up with excuses to decline them was a headache. Initially, I traveled to nearby regions with a tourist’s curiosity, which turned out to be a mistake.
-You visited them, so why not us?
Seeing grown adults throw tantrums like children made me sigh. So, I began declining invitations with excuses like, ‘The king has summoned me today,’ ‘I must write a letter to the King of France tomorrow,’ or ‘I need to discuss matters with the Pope the day after.’
Then, unexpectedly, a group of visitors knocked on my office door, their faces filled with desperation.
“Prophet! Please, save us!”
“If this continues, His Majesty will have us all killed!”
“Calm down and explain. Why would His Majesty want to kill you?”
I was well aware that Richard had been expanding the royal demesne with a show of force. The Count of La Marche and the Count of Périgord, standing before me, seemed anxious about their names appearing on Richard’s hit list. It seemed they had decided to seek my help to navigate this crisis.
However, what the Count of La Marche revealed was more serious than I had anticipated.
“Recently, His Majesty was ambushed by assassins while enjoying falconry.”
“Assassins attacked King Richard? Did they bring an army?”
“No, from what I’ve heard, it was just two men lying in wait.”
“Two men?”
Anyone living in this land knew of Richard’s prowess. Attacking him with just two men? Was this some kind of staged act?
Sensing my skepticism, the Count of La Marche nodded urgently.
“Logically, if they truly intended to harm His Majesty, they wouldn’t have attacked with just two men. This is clearly a conspiracy.”
“That seems likely. But His Majesty will likely use this as a pretext to further pressure the nobility.”
“That’s why we’ve come to you, Prophet.”
The Count of Périgord added, nodding in agreement.
“You saw through the staged act in France. Surely, you can uncover the truth behind this incident as well!”
I’m no fortune teller who can solve a case just by hearing about it. But these men seemed to think of me that way, so I needed to maintain a composed demeanor.
“Of course, if I seek wisdom from God, He may reveal the truth…”
“Please, we beg you.”
“If this continues, His Majesty might truly move against us.”
Not only the Counts of La Marche and Périgord but also the other nobles who had followed them were bowing their heads repeatedly.
This situation was becoming quite overwhelming. If I intervened clumsily, it might appear as if I were directly opposing Richard’s policies. Even though my status had risen, confronting the king head-on was never wise. My growing influence might already be irking Richard, and any misstep could provide him with an excuse to act against me.
If this incident was indeed a staged act by Richard, I could find myself caught in the crossfire.
If it were truly an accident, there would have been some indication. Or perhaps the one behind all this isn’t Richard, but rather…
”…I don’t wish for the peace of this country to be disturbed either. However, I’m being cautious since we haven’t fully grasped the situation yet. If we’re not careful, it might appear as though the church is meddling in the internal affairs of the Ange Empire…”
“Isn’t it customary for the church to mediate when conflicts between the king and the nobility escalate? Now is precisely when the church’s mediation is needed.”
“Indeed. And we believe that there is no one more suited for this important task than you, the Prophet.”
Why does it feel like I’m being sucked into a quagmire? Is this really the right move?
If I were to consider only the pros and cons, I should refuse immediately. But turning away these nobles who have come all this way, practically begging, wouldn’t do my image any favors either.
Perhaps it’s time to change my perspective.
After all, aren’t these people before me destined to be cast aside if not for me?
In that case, even if I merely ensure their survival, I would be doing them a great favor, wouldn’t I?
And if I happen to gain some benefits in return, no one could really fault me for that.
“Very well. I’ll do what I can within my power.”
“Really? Is that true?”
“Yes. As you said, it’s the church’s role to mediate societal unrest.”
The nobles’ faces lit up with relief.
And as I looked at their faces, a bright smile spread across mine as well.