The sweat stung my eyes as I gazed across the trampled and torn battlefield. My initial plan of surprise was lost when Fardulf’s mercenaries reinforced the garrison this morning. How had the Count of Loon known I would be attacking his rural fort and then responded so quickly? Fardulf’s all but abandoned outpost was now well defended and fully manned today. My cavalry and infantry had pushed them back into the enclosure and were reforming in the mid-day heat. As I watched several of our surgeons weave through the field and gather the wounded to be taken to the nearby infirmary tent, I began to ponder the events of the day before.

It was this time yesterday that Ghent was awash in music, laughter and celebrations. The day had begun with a tension in the atmosphere, much like one feels just before a summer thunder shower. I could see it on the faces of the servants and in the eyes of soldiers. It was their anticipation that nearly crackled like lightning in the air.

My mother had been assiduous that morning when we broke our fast together. I had not recalled seeing her so enthusiastic about anything since father’s death, until today. I think Pepin had something to do with that. His sharp wit and flattering tongue were both renowned throughout the Frankish lands. He had captured my mother’s adoration several years ago when he wrote a poem in honor of my parent’s 15th wedding anniversary.

The music and the words had been dramatic and captivating. He had written about the Count and Countess’s meeting, their private engagement and the elopement from the court of Charles II back to the County of Flanders. I was a tale of high adventure and love that had brought my father and mother closer to the hearts of their people.

After an extended talk with Judith, consisting of the details that she would attend to for the upcoming feast as well as what she thought would be appropriate entertainment and then a brief audience with Berengar, Theodard and Turpin, I left the Great Hall to take a tour of the inner ward. Colorful and festive decorations had already begun to spring up around the castle, hanging from rafters and candelabras. There were ribbons tied to door handles and stair railings; rose pedals littered the floors of the castle in the ancient Roman fashion, filling the air with sweet fragrances.

The market was transformed today from a place of buying and selling to the center of entertainment and refreshment. I had opened my personal cellars containing some of the best casks of wine and beer in Ghent. There would be no coin exchanged today for libations or food.

My Father once told me when I asked him why he gave away the food and wine stores at every feast, ”A ruler must reward his people in order to maintain a stable and happy homeland.” I still remember his iron grip on my shoulder and the gleam in his eyes as he gave me instruction on my duties as a Prince of Flanders.

A group of children scampered by laughing. The sound of lutes and pipes filled my ears. The smell of roasted meat and fresh breads carried like a message upon the spring breeze reminded me that I must finish my rounds and return to the Great Hall for the official commencement of the Feast.

I hurried back toward the keep and made my way into the Great Hall. The fire pit in the center was blazing under a huge wild boar. The feasting tables stretched nearly the entire length of the hall and were heaped with gorgonzola cheese, chevre goat cheese, herring, sausage, Caudel of Musculs to Potage, seafood stew, mutton and even some auroch meat. At the far end a single table set upon a dais perpendicular to the other tables. There were gilded chairs set for myself, mother and the other honored members of my court.

The hall was filling with people from the castle and the lands surrounding. It would not be long before the entire hall was filled to capacity. I took my place at in front of my chair next to Judith and Berengar, raised my hands to silence to murmuring crowd.

I was surprised at how my voice filled the room, “Welcome to a celebration honoring our own Berengar, a master of the arts of engineering and architecture. He has bestowed upon us a mechanism that will allow us to defend our lands from the Danish horde.” I paused as the cheers bounced around the hall and dissipated. “And also to honor our old friend and companion, Pepin di Aquitaine, the infamous minstrel and poet, who will be performing later this evening for our entertainment!”

The cheers increased as I looked around the hall at my people and my guests. The smiles and happiness were a stark contrast to the expressions held by my men as they now prepare for a charge on the garrison. Shaking off the thoughts of yesterday’s events, I raised my hand and gave the signal. The blare of the trumpet echoed across the battlefield followed by the thunder of feet and hooves. My army was advancing upon the fort. A second trumpet call and suddenly the wall to the right of the main gate explodes into a thousand shards of wood. The din of battle fills the air as the enemy’s soldiers fill the breach and engage our men. Again, The sound of trumpet and catapult slings another boulder, this time striking the left palisade. Now it is time! I yell a fierce cry and my horse leaps forward leading the last of my men into the battle