The sky swirled, and the crystalline snowflakes danced to escape from her womb, burying all the snow and ice, never merciful, like the king's sword of true silver, like the count's immaculate steel.

The wind and snow cut off the information, and when spring came, the king of the Franks was no different from a blind man. Rodrigo stared at a frozen corpse, comforting himself. The corpse's expression had been erased by the cold, but its eyes had not yet been closed, gray and hollow, as if staring at something that did not belong to this world.

In the midst of the cold war, the Earl squeezed into the crimson tent with his robes in his arms.

The army of the Winter Camp is like a sleeping dragon, and the blacksmith's furnace fire burns in the depths of the spear and the tent, like the heart of the dragon's furnace, consuming precious fuel.

"It's going to get through." In the center of the tent, the Count assures the man in his bed that his anger will not go away, that the ruins will eventually awaken, the snow will melt, and the fire will burn.

Now there is only one thing to be done, where is the battlefield after the snow melts.

The flames of the Frankish palaces were blazing, the silver-inlaid doors, the deep bronze hangings, and the heavy silk draperies, and the exaggerated shapes clearly signaled the royal power, for otherwise only trolls would have needed furniture of this size. King Philip was like a statue of a powdered man, smiling and pretending to listen, and the young knights who swung their swords at their neighbors for a vine boasted of war, but the best battlefield for them was undoubtedly in the boudoir.

While the court poets were still singing the praises of Charlemagne's prowess, and the servants were shuttling among the drunken lords, Philip noticed a "news" from Normandy: Roger de Hereford, who had orchestrated the wedding of Bretteuil, had failed to attend the "solitary duel" in Adelaide, the Lady of O'Male.

The Franks laughed at the Norman lord's vile cowardice, but Philip saw disapproval in the face of his brother Count Hugue.

Hugg knew Roger from Hereford, he was at that wedding, and although more than a dozen years later, he still remembered Roger's appearance - no, some events not only create memories, he still relives that night over and over again, anytime.

The scene is very close to that night, almost a strict repetition, the same firelight, the same guests, some distorted faces under the candlelight, what is the end of those guests?

They were all dead.

Roger wasn't a coward, he was a lunatic, as formidable as his pagan ancestors. Then his absence from his duel would never be out of fear, he must have some reason.

Earl Huger's heart was beating like thunder, and in the spring, he would be armed to fight a war lord like Roger.

"You know what? My brother. "The king spoke suddenly," said the Normans, and the Saxon woman was as hot as fire, and her body was as hot as a furnace. Maybe we'll have a chance to see it soon. ”

"Yes, my majesty."

Hugg was sighing to himself, a king like Edgar saw the world as a battlefield, but his own king treated the world as a brothel.

Everything can still be stopped, it's still winter, and it can be stopped at any time before spring wakes up.

"Lord Bernard, is this your son?" In a corner of the hall, the Count of Hugue greeted a lord from the south, a nobleman of Narbonne whose robe was tightly wrapped in a sable fur and seemed very unaccustomed to the cold climate of the north.

"That's right, this is my heir, and I'll be twelve years old soon."

Yu Ge secretly said to himself, this lord's loyalty to the royal family is really breathtaking.

The Rao brothers of the Château de Beaujenzy are here, and the Montréry family is not lacking, as well as Renault of Clermont......

Hug seemed to see the scene of thousands of iron riding out under the golden flames (Oriflamme), and it seemed that he could not stop.

When the hounds are released, the boiling wildness cannot be quelled without blood, and we should train, not celebrate!

If a Saxon had been present, he might have told Hug that human pleasure would invite the jealousy of fate, and that the wine in the banquet hall would bite the heel of the warrior in the center of the shield wall, after all, man could not buy wine, but only rent. The Romans even invented emetics to satisfy their gluttonous cravings, perhaps precisely because this rented pleasure was more indulgent.

Long after the feast, Philip crawled out of the dark bathroom, he couldn't remember how much he ate and drank, but he had no doubt that what had just happened could not be called excretion, only childbirth.

This court life grew more and more tired of him, and a great sense of emptiness spread over the white sheets.

In the middle of the night of the Three Kings in 1087 A.D., the king of Franks dreamed that he had entered a rocky hall in a shimmering swamp, and that treasures and armor were hidden under countless carved palaces.

As soon as the superstitious king woke up, he immediately summoned his brothers Hugue and Rao, dressed in nightgowns, and Philip announced his decision to send troops immediately.

"Sending troops?"

"Now is the moment of our greatest advantage, a little ice and snow is nothing, but it will stop the enemy's escape." Philip's tone was more like cheering himself up.

"Brilliant idea." Prince Rao exclaimed, his brown pupils revealing naked admiration, "In this way, the Normans will not be able to share in our glory." ”

Huge did not raise his voice against it, is there any truth to the king's words? Why did he just feel a chill out of it?

Because Philip was gambling and fate was a bitch......