Fic Post
An Angevin/Norse mythology mash up with a title stolen from an episode of Game of Thrones
He has more aloes than honey in him; his tongue is smoother than oil; his sweet and persuasive eloquence has enabled him to dissolve the firmest alliances and his powers of language to throw two kingdoms into confusion…a hypocrite in everything, a deceiver and a dissembler - Gerald of Wales re Geoffrey of Brittany
Geoffrey, that son of perdition. Roger of Howden
Richard pushes his way past the French guards and into the tent where he has been told his brother is being held. He arrives in time to see Geoffrey wiping at his own dripping blood and looking up at his assailant; Hugh of Burgundy. They both turn at Richard’s voice, his too shrill demand of, “What do you think you’re doing, Burgundy?”
From his place on the floor Geoffrey grins and gestures, “Ah my elder brother has come to my rescue! I suppose this means Papa isn’t far behind you, I’d wager he isn’t best pleased is he?”
Richard takes his glare off Burgundy for a moment, turns it on his brother and hisses, “For once in your life just keep your fucking mouth shut!”
Geoffrey shrugs and pulls himself into a sitting position letting Richard refocus on Burgundy whose face is as red as the wine his vineyards produce. It’s a ridiculous thought and Richard just stops himself from snorting at the idea. There is nothing amusing about this situation.
Burgundy points back to Geoffrey, “This traitor comes to Paris. Did you travel through the village? Did you see what’s left of it? He has sworn his homage to the French Crown and he attacks the Ile De France itself! Phillip will have his fucking head for this!”
Richard ignores Geoffrey’s call of “Oh Richard will put in a good word for me with Phillip, won’t you, brother? I’m sure you’ll think of some way to persuade him.”
Burgundy begins to turn at that, enraged, but Richard catches his arm, tries another tactic, “My father and I share your grief and outrage, but Geoffrey will answer to King Henry for this for he has also ravaged Normandy. We do not want more bloodshed, do we?” Richard hopes the threat is not lost on Burgundy. Any further bloodshed will be French.
Burgundy does not seem to trust himself to say anymore and departs from the tent without comment. Richard turns to follow for he has no need to speak to Geoffrey. He would more likely get an honest answer if he asked Geoffrey’s horse for an account of his adventures. He is stopped by his brother’s voice though, muttering, as if speaking to someone and then the clear sound of laughter and, “Ha, yes I remember you saying the very thing about your own brother!”
Richard turns and finds himself looking around the room, ensuring they are truly alone as for a moment he would have sworn there was someone else there. “Geoff? Are you speaking to me?”
Geoffrey leans against a chest that has been left in the tent, dabs at the cut on his lip that Burgundy had left, “Why would I talk to you? You may as well go do whatever it is you do when there’s no fighting to be done or troubadours to fuck. It’ll all be over by the morning anyway.”
Richard is feeling increasingly like he is walking on a ship and unsure if the next step is going to send him sprawling on his arse but regardless he asks, “What will be over?”
With a sigh Geoffrey explains, “I will you dolt! Really what mother sees in you…Do you really think Burgundy has any intention now of taking me to Paris now that you're here? Or of handing me over to Papa? I’ll be dead by sunrise one way or the other.”
Richard protests, “Phillip would not…”
“Oh Phillip! Fucking Phillip probably ordered it as the contingency plan! Really it’s about time, brother, you saw our friend Phillip for what he really is rather than what you’d like him to be. He’s a conniving, malicious, sanctimonious bastard. It’s why I’ve always gotten on with him so well.”
Richard purses his lips and feels his face flush with something not exactly anger, it is more akin to embarrassment. He does not mind what people think of him unless it’s that that they think him a fool. There is no point arguing with Geoffrey about Phillip. Richard suspects that ultimately he would not care to hear what Geoffrey has to say on the subject. Instead he says, “I will stay here then, no one will harm you, Geoffrey, not without coming through me first. You will answer to our father for what you’ve done and no one else.”
Geoffrey shrugs in answer.
~
They have no choice but to bed down together. As children they always slept together and even then it was a constant battle of kicks and attempts to wrestle a greater share of the bed sheets from the other. They lie back to back now, Geoffrey facing the wall and Richard facing any theoretical assailant. In truth he is not unduly concerned about that, a combination of not really believing Burgundy to be that foolish and certainty in his own abilities with his sword; Geoffrey’s too, if it comes to that. He finally feels himself being slowly tugged into slumber and so answers Geoffrey’s soft calling of his voice with a grunt. Geoffrey takes that as an invitation to continue. “Do you remember what our nurses used to say when we children, Richard? That we were descended from the Devil and that is why we were so wicked? Did you believe them?”
Richard opens his eyes, “No. I would not go so far as to say I don’t believe in the Devil, Geoff, but I’m sure he and his get have better things to do than marry provincial French counts. It’s just a story. Why do you ask?”
There is a silence and for a moment Richard thinks Geoffrey has fallen asleep. “It’s just…sometimes I think he’s talking to me, encouraging me to do things I know will end badly but I can’t seem to help doing them anyway. Just to see what will happen, how far I can push things, how much cleverer than Papa and Phillip and you I can prove myself to be. I do not know which I would prefer. For it to be true that he is talking to me or for it just to be that I am mad. “
Geoffrey does not speak after that but Richard finds he cannot sleep now.
~
Their father thunders into the camp just before daybreak and the noise jolts Richard awake, he swears he must have slept only minutes. Richard makes his way to his father’s side, pulling a just roused Geoffrey by the arm alongside him. The French do not attempt to stop them, not now that Henry is here. Henry is easily found for he is the one bellowing at Burgundy and even if they could not see him in the dim light they’d certainly be able to hear him. He pauses his tirade briefly only to gesture and shout, “Take him over there to Marshall, by God boy don’t think just because I won’t hang you that you won’t suffer for this! Out of my sight! Now!”
Richard leaves his brother in Marshall’s care, Geoffrey greets him with a cheerful, “Will! Always good to see you. Did the old man have you riding all night then?” Richard leaves Will to it, he’s sure Marshall can cope with one mad prince. When he returns to his father Henry has a wine skin in hand having let Burgundy slink away. Richard pitches his voice low, he can scarcely believe he’s about to speak in Geoffrey’s defence but before he can change his mind he states, “Papa, I must speak in private with you…I fear there is something very wrong with Geoff…he told me he thinks the devil speaks to him for we are his truly his descendants…”
As soon as he has said it aloud he realises how foolish it sounds and the heat of anger flushes through him. How could he have been so naïve? Geoffrey would say anything if he thought it would give him some advantage, tell any story. It was a ploy to get Richard to protect him and nothing more. He is about to laugh off his previous statement, insist but of course he wasn’t taken in when he notices the stricken look on his father’s face.
Richard asks in confusion, “Papa? Are you alright?”
His father takes another swig from the wine skin, “My brother once said the exact same thing. Only he said the devil got angry if you accused him of being such a thing. He insisted he was a god. “
Richard takes the wineskin when his father holds it out to him.
Historical Note: The Angevins were famously rumoured to indeed be the descendants of a demon who had married a former Count of Anjou. Their claim to the English throne came through their Norman blood of course and as everyone knows I’m sure ‘Norman’ is a corruption of what those people originally were. Norsemen.
He has more aloes than honey in him; his tongue is smoother than oil; his sweet and persuasive eloquence has enabled him to dissolve the firmest alliances and his powers of language to throw two kingdoms into confusion…a hypocrite in everything, a deceiver and a dissembler - Gerald of Wales re Geoffrey of Brittany
Geoffrey, that son of perdition. Roger of Howden
Richard pushes his way past the French guards and into the tent where he has been told his brother is being held. He arrives in time to see Geoffrey wiping at his own dripping blood and looking up at his assailant; Hugh of Burgundy. They both turn at Richard’s voice, his too shrill demand of, “What do you think you’re doing, Burgundy?”
From his place on the floor Geoffrey grins and gestures, “Ah my elder brother has come to my rescue! I suppose this means Papa isn’t far behind you, I’d wager he isn’t best pleased is he?”
Richard takes his glare off Burgundy for a moment, turns it on his brother and hisses, “For once in your life just keep your fucking mouth shut!”
Geoffrey shrugs and pulls himself into a sitting position letting Richard refocus on Burgundy whose face is as red as the wine his vineyards produce. It’s a ridiculous thought and Richard just stops himself from snorting at the idea. There is nothing amusing about this situation.
Burgundy points back to Geoffrey, “This traitor comes to Paris. Did you travel through the village? Did you see what’s left of it? He has sworn his homage to the French Crown and he attacks the Ile De France itself! Phillip will have his fucking head for this!”
Richard ignores Geoffrey’s call of “Oh Richard will put in a good word for me with Phillip, won’t you, brother? I’m sure you’ll think of some way to persuade him.”
Burgundy begins to turn at that, enraged, but Richard catches his arm, tries another tactic, “My father and I share your grief and outrage, but Geoffrey will answer to King Henry for this for he has also ravaged Normandy. We do not want more bloodshed, do we?” Richard hopes the threat is not lost on Burgundy. Any further bloodshed will be French.
Burgundy does not seem to trust himself to say anymore and departs from the tent without comment. Richard turns to follow for he has no need to speak to Geoffrey. He would more likely get an honest answer if he asked Geoffrey’s horse for an account of his adventures. He is stopped by his brother’s voice though, muttering, as if speaking to someone and then the clear sound of laughter and, “Ha, yes I remember you saying the very thing about your own brother!”
Richard turns and finds himself looking around the room, ensuring they are truly alone as for a moment he would have sworn there was someone else there. “Geoff? Are you speaking to me?”
Geoffrey leans against a chest that has been left in the tent, dabs at the cut on his lip that Burgundy had left, “Why would I talk to you? You may as well go do whatever it is you do when there’s no fighting to be done or troubadours to fuck. It’ll all be over by the morning anyway.”
Richard is feeling increasingly like he is walking on a ship and unsure if the next step is going to send him sprawling on his arse but regardless he asks, “What will be over?”
With a sigh Geoffrey explains, “I will you dolt! Really what mother sees in you…Do you really think Burgundy has any intention now of taking me to Paris now that you're here? Or of handing me over to Papa? I’ll be dead by sunrise one way or the other.”
Richard protests, “Phillip would not…”
“Oh Phillip! Fucking Phillip probably ordered it as the contingency plan! Really it’s about time, brother, you saw our friend Phillip for what he really is rather than what you’d like him to be. He’s a conniving, malicious, sanctimonious bastard. It’s why I’ve always gotten on with him so well.”
Richard purses his lips and feels his face flush with something not exactly anger, it is more akin to embarrassment. He does not mind what people think of him unless it’s that that they think him a fool. There is no point arguing with Geoffrey about Phillip. Richard suspects that ultimately he would not care to hear what Geoffrey has to say on the subject. Instead he says, “I will stay here then, no one will harm you, Geoffrey, not without coming through me first. You will answer to our father for what you’ve done and no one else.”
Geoffrey shrugs in answer.
~
They have no choice but to bed down together. As children they always slept together and even then it was a constant battle of kicks and attempts to wrestle a greater share of the bed sheets from the other. They lie back to back now, Geoffrey facing the wall and Richard facing any theoretical assailant. In truth he is not unduly concerned about that, a combination of not really believing Burgundy to be that foolish and certainty in his own abilities with his sword; Geoffrey’s too, if it comes to that. He finally feels himself being slowly tugged into slumber and so answers Geoffrey’s soft calling of his voice with a grunt. Geoffrey takes that as an invitation to continue. “Do you remember what our nurses used to say when we children, Richard? That we were descended from the Devil and that is why we were so wicked? Did you believe them?”
Richard opens his eyes, “No. I would not go so far as to say I don’t believe in the Devil, Geoff, but I’m sure he and his get have better things to do than marry provincial French counts. It’s just a story. Why do you ask?”
There is a silence and for a moment Richard thinks Geoffrey has fallen asleep. “It’s just…sometimes I think he’s talking to me, encouraging me to do things I know will end badly but I can’t seem to help doing them anyway. Just to see what will happen, how far I can push things, how much cleverer than Papa and Phillip and you I can prove myself to be. I do not know which I would prefer. For it to be true that he is talking to me or for it just to be that I am mad. “
Geoffrey does not speak after that but Richard finds he cannot sleep now.
~
Their father thunders into the camp just before daybreak and the noise jolts Richard awake, he swears he must have slept only minutes. Richard makes his way to his father’s side, pulling a just roused Geoffrey by the arm alongside him. The French do not attempt to stop them, not now that Henry is here. Henry is easily found for he is the one bellowing at Burgundy and even if they could not see him in the dim light they’d certainly be able to hear him. He pauses his tirade briefly only to gesture and shout, “Take him over there to Marshall, by God boy don’t think just because I won’t hang you that you won’t suffer for this! Out of my sight! Now!”
Richard leaves his brother in Marshall’s care, Geoffrey greets him with a cheerful, “Will! Always good to see you. Did the old man have you riding all night then?” Richard leaves Will to it, he’s sure Marshall can cope with one mad prince. When he returns to his father Henry has a wine skin in hand having let Burgundy slink away. Richard pitches his voice low, he can scarcely believe he’s about to speak in Geoffrey’s defence but before he can change his mind he states, “Papa, I must speak in private with you…I fear there is something very wrong with Geoff…he told me he thinks the devil speaks to him for we are his truly his descendants…”
As soon as he has said it aloud he realises how foolish it sounds and the heat of anger flushes through him. How could he have been so naïve? Geoffrey would say anything if he thought it would give him some advantage, tell any story. It was a ploy to get Richard to protect him and nothing more. He is about to laugh off his previous statement, insist but of course he wasn’t taken in when he notices the stricken look on his father’s face.
Richard asks in confusion, “Papa? Are you alright?”
His father takes another swig from the wine skin, “My brother once said the exact same thing. Only he said the devil got angry if you accused him of being such a thing. He insisted he was a god. “
Richard takes the wineskin when his father holds it out to him.
Historical Note: The Angevins were famously rumoured to indeed be the descendants of a demon who had married a former Count of Anjou. Their claim to the English throne came through their Norman blood of course and as everyone knows I’m sure ‘Norman’ is a corruption of what those people originally were. Norsemen.