A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

With Geoffrey, the Earl of Essex, now dead, most of the knightly fiefs in northern Essex County quickly submitted. However, the southern fiefs, especially those near London, refused to swear allegiance to Robert.

Thus, time remained incredibly tight.

Brightling Castle, before the main gate

Eric and Robert were ready to depart. The household knights of Essex and some of the summoned Territorial Knights were also prepared, totaling nearly two hundred men.

News had arrived from Suffolk the day before. Arno, following Robert’s orders, had already begun his raids. They had to move out quickly to follow up.

”I will carry out your command without fail. Perhaps by the time you reach London, your prestige, your glory, your mercy, your generosity, will be known throughout the entirety of Essex County...” Itamar droned on and on, like a Minstrel.

Eric quickly shot Itamar a look, gesturing toward Robert, who sat grim-faced on his horse nearby.

’The man had worn a sour expression ever since they took Essex two days ago. When Eric asked what was wrong, he didn’t answer.’

”The merciful and generous Lord Robert is the rightful heir to the Kingdom of England! We firmly believe King William is perfectly aware of this, but has been led astray by treacherous men! God will surely bless Lord Robert and return all things to their proper course!”

”No, no, no. I’m just a vicious warlord, a scoundrel. I’m not worthy of such praise. Besides, I wasn’t the one who killed the Count. You should thank Eric. He’s the one who planned it all from beginning to end. Look how capable he is. What am I in comparison?”

Robert’s words were heavy with emotion. With a flick of the reins, he urged his horse forward.

”Er... Lord Robert doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood.”

Itamar froze, completely baffled.

He stared at Eric in bewilderment.

”Men have their off days, too. You understand. We’re leaving.”

Eric vaulted onto his horse and waved a hand at Itamar.

With a flick of his reins, he caught up to Robert.

”You haven’t given the order to march. The horn hasn’t even sounded. What’s the rush?”

”Don’t you exist? You can kill a Count, you can wield an axe—giving orders should be a simple matter for you. We can’t have my reckless commands getting in the way of Lord Eric’s plan, now can we?”

Robert smiled at Eric.

He then dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks, pulling ahead of Eric.

”I apologize for my recklessness the other day, Robert,” Eric said.

”That was deceit. That was you overstepping your authority, Eric. I trust you, but I despise being lied to. Even if the end result benefits me—and yes, I crave victory, I crave grinding that old man under my heel—what you did yesterday was too much.

You gravely violated convention. In public, in front of all those people, you killed a Count. And you were once a Cultivator—no, perhaps you still are. Your methods are sickening. Search your conscience. Can you justify your actions before God?

Tell me, do you dare swear an oath to God right now? Swear that you have a clear conscience, that you are without fault, that your actions were just and honorable? You’ve disappointed me, Eric. I always thought we could be friends who trusted each other.”

Robert’s voice grew agitated; he had been bottling up this discontent for a long time.

”Robert, this is war, and all’s fair in it! Appearances and reality must never align. You should seem to be moral—that much is correct—but in practice, you cannot afford to live by that morality at every turn.

You must understand this. A Monarch should be God’s Shepherd, but it doesn’t end there. In truth, Monarchs are more often described as the most wicked and foul of men. For a Monarch, cunning is a necessary evil!

If you feel uneasy, if you feel guilty, then wait until you have reached the pinnacle of power to make amends. Because right now, you don’t have that ability. Not everything is yet within your grasp.”

”Fine. If morality and the will of God are useless things for a Monarch, then perhaps one day the butcher’s knife will swing your way, my dear Eric. How can you guarantee that you won’t be the next one to fall to one of your unscrupulous, ’all’s fair in war’ schemes?

Perhaps one day, I’ll decide you’re in my way. And even if you’ve committed no crime, I’ll eliminate you by any means necessary. How would you like that, Eric?”

Robert narrowed his eyes at Eric, his gaze turning sharp.

”Would you, Robert?” Eric did not shy away from Robert’s gaze, meeting it head-on.

”That’s why I don’t want to become that kind of person. And I hope you never force me to become him. Conventions and principles are there to protect us. As you yourself said, I need to prove that I am different from my father.

So tell me, if I were to follow your way of thinking, how would I be any different from my father? Murdering a Count at a banquet, just because he stood against us?”

”Robert, no one will ever know. The world will only know that Geoffrey, the Earl of Essex, was executed by my hand for plotting to assassinate you. Writers and biographers alike will record it as such. None of the Knights here will breathe a word of the truth.

It’s just like your father’s claim that Edward the Confessor promised him the throne of England. The death of Geoffrey, Earl of Essex, is a far more reasonable story than your father’s lie. No one will know the truth.

The commoners will sing praises of your mercy, and the Nobility will laud your generosity. Who will care how the Earl of Essex died? Besides, the man’s sins were enough to condemn him to an eternity in Hell.”

”But God still knows!” Robert retorted.

”Yes, perhaps only God knows. Robert, I understand better than you just how wicked my actions were. Murder is a sin. As a Cultivator, I know that far better than you do. But it was a necessary evil. A necessary evil of war, don’t you understand?

A Count’s life is a life, yes, but what about the lives of the commoners in Essex? The lives of your own soldiers? Are they not lives as well? Are they fated to be mere fodder for the front lines, to die for the sake of so-called ’noble conventions’?

Moreover, Robert, you are fighting your own father. He is a king who has no regard for morality or convention, and he is far more powerful than you. If you insist on clinging to convention and morality, how can you possibly defeat him?

Believe me, Robert, if there were a way to win this war without resorting to foul means, without sacrificing the blood of our loyal and courageous Warriors, why would I not take it?

But is there such a way?”

”We shouldn’t give up so easily. Upholding convention and morality is difficult, I know, but does its difficulty mean we should simply cast it aside? What, then, was the point of establishing it in the first place? Tell me that, Eric.”

Hearing the word ’father,’ Robert’s tone softened.

’Eric was right. This was the reality of their situation. He was fighting someone much more powerful than he, and his father had no regard for convention or morality—at least, not where the English were concerned.’

”I’m not like you, Robert. I have nothing. You still have Normandy, you have your mother’s support. But me? I have nothing. If we lose this war, do you think your father will spare me?

From the moment I joined your cause, I was prepared to cast aside my own self-interest. It isn’t a mistake to value morality and convention. In fact, that’s precisely why I have faith in you.

So, let me be the one to commit your necessary evils. I can bear the infamy. The world will remember King Robert as a wise and virtuous Monarch, and me as a sickening, treacherous minister. That is a future I am willing to accept. Honestly, I don’t care about having a bad name.

I just want you to win!”