#1340

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Do you know this SFX? #1340

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Voting ended onMar 20

[mioritic]

St. Francis preaches to the birds.

Graduale cisterciense (Wonnentaler Graduale), Wonnental/Breisgau ca. 1340-1350, Cod. U. H. 1, f. 141v

Badische Landesbibliothek

[catplushoftheday]

(Mini) SEBASTIAN the Birman

By Douglas Cuddle Toys

1997-1999

#1340

[townsenddecades]

1340 – Day 2 - Army Camp

The snow on the roads has hardly finished melting when King Edward III, son of the deposed (and allegedly slain) King Edward II and Isabella of France, summons his magnates and their armies to wage war against France. And despite the threat from beyond the Scottish border, Lord Petersmarch doesn’t flinch from his duty to his king.

 His army consists mostly of his men-at-arms, some volunteers and otherwise of hired craftspeople, who will be needed to keep his army and their materials in good condition. Tempting as if would be to swell his army by hiring some of his many farmers as soldiers, those peasants are needed to grow food, now that winter has drained their food stores dry. And he needs to leave his lands with some defence against the Scots, too.

That is also why, while he allows his son-in-law to accompany him, he has ordered his brother Robert to stay. Someone needs to support Robin and organize a defence if the worst should happen, and there is no one he trusts more than Robert. If he were any older, Robin would be that person, but his son is hardly more than a child, for all that he has a daughter now. By rights, he should take him along to France, to ascertain that he gains the experience he requires, but their succession is paramount. Which means that Robin will stay in Praaven and hopefully soon get his wife with child again, while Lord Petersmarch rides to war.

He gathers his forces at an old fortress on the edge of his lands, accompanied, to his surprise, by his brother and nephew. Clement only shrugs when he approaches him. “As neither my son nor I have lands of our own, we will need to make our fortune another way.”

Lord Petersmarch accepted this with equanimity. Their King (who has also publicly proclaimed himself King of France now, from what the earl has heard) wants as many well-trained soldiers with him as possible, and his brother is that, if nothing else, even if the earl has never learned to care much for his company. They are far too different for that.

They are in the fortress now, viewing a map that they have rolled out on a table, charting the route they must take to reach the coast. From there, they will embark on a sea-voyage along the coast to the south.

“We will need to wait for young Pelham and his men, as well as for Sir Edmund”, Lord Petersmarch is saying just now. “But after that, we should be able to depart shortly.”

In ill humour as always, his brother huffs. “Why aren’t they here already?”

“I expect they were delayed”, Lord Petersmarch responds, without looking up from the route he is charting.

“Well, I find it irritating that we have to wait because they didn’t plan correctly. What if the weather turns and we are delayed again when we reach the coast? I have no wish to sit idly by there.”

Still determined not to be baited into an argument – as Clement, who has never enjoyed being kept waiting, is clearly fishing for – Lord Petersmarch keeps his voice even as he answers this. “Or we could arrive just after such ill weather has blown away, while we wait in a place where we can at least oversee the men’s training or practice ourselves. Why don’t you make yourself useful and do that, dear brother?”

“Fine. But don’t be astonished if I strike down one of your men.”

With that, he stalks off, leaving Lord Petersmarch pinching his eyes and rubbing his forehead. He can only hope that once they have more comrades of equal standing to interact with, Clement will find one of them to bother. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stand his brother’s foul moods all on his own.

Sadly, sending his brother out doesn’t bring him the peace he wished for, although this new disturbance does not appear to be of Clement’s making. Once he is satisfied with the route he has planned and discussed it with his captains, he walks outside, towards the open space near the stables where they have had archery targets set out. Most men, even peasants, regularly train with bow and arrow, but sharpening their skills now will certainly do them no harm.

He spots his brother at that archery range soon enough. But Clement’s frustration-fuelled, quick shots are not what draws his attention. No, that honour belongs to a pair of quarrelling men at the far side of the field.

At least, that is Lord Petersmarch’s first assumption. Then, he realizes that it is not a quarrel at all; instead, a young man in peasant garb is screaming profanities at a decently-dressed youth that looks ready to dive into the horse stalls behind him.

Very briefly, Lord Petersmarch considers simply turning away. He is in no mood to deal with more heated tempers today. But he can’t have disunity in his forces, or have his other men be distracted like this. And he has noticed more than one staring at the altercation rather than training as they are supposed to.

So, he stalks across the field towards the two men. The youth notices him first, and blanches even more, if that is at all possible. Before he can utter a word, Lord Petersmarch barks out: “You, there! Cease this at once.”

Either his address or his victim looking past him must have alerted the angry young man at last, because he stiffens and turns around. When he sees his lord stalking towards him, be blanches.

“Could you kindly tell me what the meaning of this is?”, Lord Petersmarch demands.

“M’lord”, the young man sputters, taking a step back. Obviously, he didn’t expect a reprimand from his landlord himself. Which raises the question where the captains that should be doing this office are, but Lord Petersmarch decides to deal with that irritation later.

“I’m waiting”, he says shortly.

“That brat cheated me at cards!”, the young farmer finally exclaims, his evident nervousness adding fuel onto his recklessness. “And I confronted him about it. That’s what you just saw, m’lord.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you have been gambling under my roof?”

The farmer immediately seems to realize that he has said a wrong thing, which fills Lord Petersmarch with satisfaction. He doesn’t seriously mind the gambling – it’s against the teachings of the Church, of course, but he is pragmatist enough to know that it is what soldiers do, and it is not his business if they wish to tarnish their souls. But he does wish to teach this troublemaker a lesson.

“Only for small sums, m’lord.”

“If it is only small sums, I don’t see why you need to disturb your comrades’ training for it. I expect to not see any behaviour of this ilk again, is that understood?”

“Of course, m’lord.”

Satisfied with this, and not inclined to issue an actual punishment – this time, at least – Lord Petersmarch lets the farmer go and turns his attention back towards the archery range, where people are now studiously avoiding his gaze and instead focusing on their tasks. That, too, does him good. Regardless of what Clement believes, there will be little enough time for that before they embark to the continent. Better make the most of it now.

Previous: 1340, Day 1, Part 5/5 <--> Next: 1340, Day 2, Part 2/6

[heritageredwings]

Datsyuk & Zetterberg

Precious 1340, I love em. ♡

Used a reference for this one, cause it's like one of my favorite pictures of them and I really like how it turned out in the end! I also just love them in general so was really happy this managed to turn out as I was using new and heavy pencils on it!

Reference:

[doyoulikethischaracterdesign]

Subaki from Fire Emblem Fates

"I'm no good at getting help when I need it. That's the problem with seeking perfection. You always feel like you have to do everything alone."

Do you like this character design?

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It's Complicated

Voting ended onFeb 14

[mostbelovedwrestlertournament]

Most Beloved Wrestler Tournament

#1340

Mina Shirakawa

Brody King

Voting ended onMar 28

[troger]

Rabbits capture, try and execute a hunter. The Smithfield Decretals, decorated in London, England, in the 1340s: Royal MS 10 E IV, f. 59v-61v