"At first, I thought that na sounded familiar, like I’d heard it sowhere before. Of the Norman adventurers active in Sicily recently, Roger and Robert, which one is your father? For the last ten years, tales of their deeds have been sung throughout Normandy. Many call them heroes, and my self-righteous father is still bitter about it.
Even now that he’s the mighty King of England, he’s still resentful that his reputation among the Normans doesn’t asure up to those two." Robert sat hunched on the bench, took a sip of ale, and exhaled. He spoke of his father without a shred of respect, his tone full of mockery.
"Robert Guiscard. Is his na really that famous?"
Eric had pretty much figured out the identity of the man before him: "Short Socks" Robert, Duke of Normandy and the eldest son of Conqueror William.
’What’s he doing here in Hereford? Could it be...’
"He’s no hero. He’s two-faced, a bully who preys on the weak, and a man who breaks his word. Only the Normans would call him a hero. A hero like that is disgusting."
Eric relentlessly disparaged his own father, Robert.
Even if Eric’s own bias against his father was mixed in, it didn’t change the final conclusion: Robert was just that kind of petty man.
"Of course, the most important thing is that you, his second son, don’t even have a single fief. He possesses all of the rich and beautiful Southern Italy, yet he won’t spare a single piece for you."
Robert pointed out Eric’s sore spot with almost no attempt to conceal it. As if rembering sothing, he stood up from the bench.
"Oh, right. It seems he’s planning to give all his lands to his third son. The eldest, Bohemond, has apparently been passed over too. To reduce the threat, he even sent you to the backwater of Engla—"
Before Robert could finish, a powerful fist flew at him. His pupils shrank, and he wrenched his neck aside, but it still left a red mark along his forehead.
"And what about you, Short Socks? What about your father? If I rember correctly, the throne of England isn’t yours either, is it! After your brother is crowned King, he’ll never let you—a huge threat to his throne—get away.
You’ll end up with nothing, and your fate will be grim. Let guess... you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. My noble Prince of England."
The attack on Robert and the verbal counterattack were almost instinctive.
But after that emotional outburst, Eric imdiately regretted it.
’Shit, wait a second. Is Prince Robert going to gather a bunch of guys to co and hack to death?’
The humiliating mory from not long ago surfaced uncontrollably in Robert’s mind. Though many days had passed, his anger still flared up. He swung his right fist at Eric’s cheek, and Eric retaliated. Their two fists collided in mid-air.
The sharp pain that shot through both their fists cald their tempers sowhat.
"That old man has lived too long! I am his heir, ! It should all be mine, mine! Before we crossed the sea, he clearly stated I was his heir. And now, a full ten years, ten years! That old bastard, clutching the Crown so tightly, he won’t even give Normandy, or even Margaret’s Mann!
Ever since William was born, he’s been full of nothing but contempt for . He’s utterly indulgent of the mistakes William and Henry make, but with , he finds fault at the slightest displeasure, blaming for not being tolerant enough of my younger brothers. But does he have any idea what William and Henry did to !"
Eric remained silent.
He was quite familiar with Robert’s story. As the eldest son of Conqueror William, Robert was sothing of a tragic figure. Red-faced William was skilled at catering to Conqueror William, while Robert was a bit too straightforward.
On his deathbed, Conqueror William had considered stripping him of all his inheritance rights. Fortunately, he ended up inheriting the Duchy of Normandy and made a pact with Red-faced William to succeed to the throne of England upon his death. But when Red-faced William died unexpectedly in a hunting accident, Robert was away on the Crusades. He got the news too late, and the throne was snatched from under him by his youngest brother, Henry.
After being defeated by his brother Henry, he was imprisoned until his death. He was quite long-lived, though, surviving into his eighties. He was just one year short of outliving his brother Henry and getting a taste of being King.
’In truth, Robert is still luckier than . At least in the end, Conqueror William didn’t strip him of his right to inherit Normandy. But , Eric, I really have nothing.’
"You should understand my pain, Eric. Running away is not the Norman way of life. What is lost must be taken back! The Conqueror... look how majestic he is now, completely forgetting he was once a bastard.
For such a great man to shut his eldest son out from the throne... for his eldest son to be worth less than a bastard... what utter foolishness.
I will destroy everything he has built! I will make future history books call him ’the Unready.’ Just like that foolish King of England, Ethelred!"
Robert raised his hands excitedly and shouted as if taking an oath, then looked at Eric.
"Make them regret it!"
Eric clenched his fist and slamd it on the table.
Every ti he thought about it, his frustration would spiral out of control.
’Why can’t I get anything!’
"Join , Eric. With your martial prowess, you should be on the battlefield, not in a dreary Monastery! If you prove yourself outstanding enough, as a reward, after I ascend the throne, I will help you lay claim to Apulia.
Let us make a pact, under the witness of God, and take back what is rightfully ours."
Of course, Eric wasn’t naive enough to think Robert would actually launch an expedition to Apulia just for him. Offering help was just empty talk.
"But I am just a worthless Priest. I’m afraid I cannot offer much help to the Prince of England."
Eric spread his hands.
"Just yesterday, I witnessed your valor. There’s no need for modesty. Without a doubt, you will be an outstanding Norman Knight. I believe you will be even greater than your father.
Let us prove to our fathers that their era is over, and ours has begun."
Robert gripped Eric’s shoulder, his expression serious.
"If you truly believe so, then I see no reason to refuse your invitation. I am willing to offer you what little Power I have."
Eric gave Robert a slight bow.
"Until everything is settled, let’s dispense with such formalities." Robert waved his hand dismissively.
"This may sound a bit presumptuous, but I was wondering how your preparations for seizing the throne are coming along? I assu your first step is to win the support of as many of the Norman Nobility as possible."
"Although the old man grows more arrogant by the day, the Kingdom is not entirely filled with sycophants. My uncles can see the truth and understand reason.
The Earl of Kent, Count Moretan, and the Earl of Hereford already stand by my side. They have sworn to fight for , to spill their last drop of blood. I will make that old man regret his decision."
"Your Highness, you’ve just revealed the entire conspiracy to a complete stranger. Aren’t you afraid I’ll report you to His Majesty?"
Eric had only asked out of courtesy, but Robert imdiately laid all his cards on the table, which startled Eric.
’That’s a little *too* honest.’
"So what if you report ? What can that old man give you? To him, you’re just an insignificant Monk. Tossing you a few pounds as a reward would be his limit.
A nobleman without land can hardly be called a nobleman. I don’t think you’re absurd enough to expect a fief in exchange for reporting a rebellion, are you? All the land in England has already been carved up.
And the old man won’t launch an expedition to Apulia for you. He only cares about himself," Robert said with a dismissive snort.
"Alright, let’s get back to your plan then. You’ve successfully won over the Earl of Hereford, so what’s your next step?"
In fact, Robert had a very strong hand.
The Earl of Kent was the most powerful figure at court, second only to Conqueror William himself. When Conqueror William left the court for campaigns, he would be appointed as Regent.
Count Moretan was the nobleman with the most land in the Norman Kingdom, and the Earl of Hereford commanded the entire Wales Border Region, while also being one of his most trusted Ministers of State Affairs.
’If used well, defeating Conqueror William shouldn’t be a problem. But if the historical Robert had such a strong hand, how did he lose?’
’How do you lose when you have such an overwhelming advantage?’
"The next step is to return to Normandy, assemble my army, march north, strike straight at London, and capture the old man alive."
"Wait, what did you just say?"
"I said, I will return to Normandy, assemble my army, march north to England, strike straight at London, and capture—" Fearing Eric hadn’t heard him clearly, Robert raised his voice even louder.
Before Robert could finish, Eric clapped a hand over his mouth.
’Isn’t this just a head-on charge? Can’t we talk so strategy?’
’Do you French Knights only know how to charge?’
He was suddenly reminded of the Mount & Blade bible: ’Sun Tzu said: F1, then F3.’
’You can’t do that in real life, can you?’
Eric was suddenly exasperated. He then took a sheet of parchnt out of his space—a map of Europe he had purchased from the system beforehand—and slapped it on the table.
"What’s wrong? Why are you so agitated? In a direct charge, I’ll never lose to him! I will knock him from his horse and shatter all his glory!"
Robert was about to lose his temper, but when he saw the exquisite map on the table, he froze for a mont. It was the first ti he had ever seen a map so exquisite.
"Perhaps we should consider a little bit of strategy."
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