In January of 1182, the viceroy of Scotland, Wihtraed Eadricing, was summoned to Bamburgh Castle to stand trial for various minor crimes he had been accused of by his rivals at court. The trial was a thin pretext for Emperor Ealdmund Iceling of Brittania to strip the viceroy of certain estates and reorganize the distribution of vassal lands in Scotland, an ambition Ealdmund inherited from his predecessor. Outraged by his liege's demands, Wihtraed 'the Proud' instead executed the imperial messengers and raised an army to strike at the capital.

The rebellion was put down in less than a year, but Ealdmund's more mutinous vassals used the incident to stir unrest against him. In fact, some historians claim that letters between two of the main conspirators - Ahthari Isauros, viceroy of Italy, and Prince-Bishop Eadwulf Hayles of Aragon - implicate Ahthari as the main provocateur of the Lothian Incident. The letters contain veiled references to funding and advice given to Wihtraed's rivals, as well as a future rebellion.

Regardless of its origins, the Lothian Incident was a rallying cry for nobles throughout the empire, who, fearing revocation of their lands, formed conspiracies and factions in droves. At or near the center of nearly every conspiracy was Prince-Bishop Eadwulf, who had been Ahthari's son-in-law before being appointed to the Prince-Bishopric in February of 1182. With his silver tongue, Eadwulf won the great magnates of the realm to Ahthari's cause, which before then had attracted almost exclusively the support of minor lords.

By November, the realm was at the breaking point. Italy, Bavaria, and Brittany were intercepting imperial communiqués and raising taxes to unprecedented rates in preparation for war. Bohemia-Pomerania had pledged its neutrality to Ahthari in secret, Egypt-Jerusalem was embroiled in its own civil war, Africa had cut off communication with the rest of the Empire, and the Byzantine Emperor Leon V had sworn on his coronation day to avenge the humiliation of the Iceling Installation. Meanwhile, tensions ran high in the loyalist provinces. Although the viceroys themselves were loyal to the Emperor, many of their vassals were part of Ahthari's cause and did their best to disrupt and weaken their overlords without rising in open rebellion.

On Christmas Day of 1182, Viceroy Aethelward 'The Silent' Iceling (descended from the third-born son of Icel the First) of Hispania and Marshal of Brittania, was noticeably absent from the feast at Bamburgh Castle. On December 26th, the Emperor, fearing both for his servant's safety and the possibility of rebellion without the support of Hispania's troops, sent two thousand men into the surrounding hills with orders to search all of Northumbria for Aethelward.

On January 1st, a letter from Ahthari Isauros arrived at Bamburgh Castle. The same letter was delivered to Pope Benedictus V, and to Emperor Leon V. Leon is said to have chuckled after reading it and had the messenger thrown in the Bosporous. Pope Benedictus received the letter and sent a reply to Ahthari as well as every viceroy of Brittania. Ealdmund is said to have received the letter just before supper. Legend holds that he read it, sat perfectly still until midnight, then called for a horse, some rope, and the messenger, and rode in circles around Bamburgh Castle until sunrise, cursing and swearing - with the messenger dragging behind.

The war had begun.

Gascogne, October 7, 1183 AD

"My Emperor! We found him! Come quickly!"

Emperor Ealdmund of Brittania stomped over the broken bodies of his former subjects with the Bishop of Rome and a bodyguard of huscarls in tow, brooding over the day's carnage. The traitorous Viceroy Aethelward was one of the finest commanders in Christendom and his supreme martial ability had nearly won him the battle. If he'd moved more quickly, he might have routed the Imperial force, then marched east to meet the Italians, his traitors-in-arms. But then Ealdmund attacked him in the rear with his retinue, and that was the end of it. Tired as they were from marching through the night, they were huscarls yet, and of the forty thousand men that drew sword for Aethelward that grey morning not ten thousand saw the sun again.

The messenger's shrill voice rang out. "My lord, he's here."

Four huscarls stood guard over a tall, gaunt man propped up against a dead horse. His expression was blank, and blood was trickling from several places on his body.

Ealdmund grinned from ear to ear and stood a bit straighter. "There you are, Aethelward. We've been looking for you for more than a year now! We didn't expect to find you here, of all places."

Viceroy Aethelward Iceling of Hispania slowly lifted his head. His eyes widened when he saw his Emperor, and he coughed and tried to speak. "Ealdmund -"

"You were our marshal, do you remember? When you disappeared in the night from Bamburgh Castle, we sent out patrols to look for you. They didn't find you, of course. But we told them to look harder and sent them back into the rain and bitter cold. For you."

"Ealdmund! I -"

"Some of them died, of course. You know how cold it is, winter in Northumbria, in the hills, and, well, the wolves…But we couldn't stand the thought of you dying alone in the hills, taken by surprise, perhaps, and left to December's mercies, or kidnapped by a rival and held for ransom. You had many rivals at court, if we remember correctly. In fact, many of them came with us to this battlefield today. Some will never leave it."

"…Mundie -"

"Viceroy of Andalusia, King of Castille, Leon, Navarra, and Asturias. Marshal of Bamburgh Castle, Master of the Hunt. They had much to be jealous of. You were the most powerful man in the Empire, in all of Christendom, excepting our royal self. Self? Selves? Our royal selves. Imagine our surprise when we received a letter signed by you. Imagine our disgust when it was signed by that filthy Italian as well. Imagine our disbelief when we read what it said. We brought it with us, old friend."

Ealdmund reached into his boot and pulled out a muddied, wrinkled, and bent sheet of parchment, then tossed it to the man.

He turned to face the closest group of soldiers who were picking over their slain enemies' belongings. "Gather round!" Recognizing their emperor by his banner, they hurried over. "Gather round and hear the testimony this traitor has written."

"There. Read it. Read it aloud so that all may hear you and know you for an oathbreaker."

"I will not. Ealdmund, listen to me -"

"Aethelward the Silent they call you. If you will not confess, earn that name. I am in no mood for your deceit. I have memorized the letter and will read it from memory since you refuse."

"We, the undersigned, make these claims against you: You have blasphemed against God, done violence against His Church, and have broken His laws as well as the laws of men. Your ambition and greed betray your base and baseborn nature, as do your countless wars of aggression against your fellow Christians in Germania. Instead of making war with the Saracens, with whom you have signed treaties and accords, you tear God's flock apart and set His children to spill each other's blood.

"Enemy of God, bastard usurper, and faithless deceiver, we hereby make war on you, to liberate ourselves and all of Christendom from your tyranny. Surrender yourself to our justice and God's mercy at once, false king, and thereby allow that when we commend you to the King of Kings, He will have some small token by which to claim your soul for His own, and not allow it to be cast into the fires of Hell."

"What? I did not…I did not write or sign anything like that. It is…a fabrication!"

"Did you not rise in rebellion and attack armies loyal to the Emperor?"

"…I did."

"And did you not conspire to strip the anointed Emperor of his office?"

"I…did."

"And did you not ignore the Holy Father's pleas when he entreated you to submit to my authority, for the safety of your very soul?"

"I did."

"Then you are guilty, and one word or two that I have misremembered will not prove otherwise! I, The Emperor Ealdmund of Brittania, find you guilty of treason.

…You were like a father to me. My grandfather, whom you served nobly and ably, gave me over to you for safekeeping. I was a child and you brought me up as your own son. I rewarded you with titles and honors for your loyalty and service. But now, now that I have raised you above all others, you betrayed me! And in taking up arms against your anointed emperor, you profaned not only the laws of men, but those of God."

"More grave than your treachery, however, is your rejection of God's authority. I am the anointed monarch, chosen by God to rule His people. Rejection of my right to rule is rejection of God's law. Pope Benedictus, is this not heresy?"

The bishop of Rome, lost in his own thoughts, started and nearly fell over, before answering the emperor.

"It is."

"And…?"

"And…? Oh! And since…and since you reject the justice of God, Aethelward, you reject also His mercy and grace. It is therefore truly right and just and my duty to expel you from His church."

"What?!"

"Thank you, your Holiness. And it is my right and duty to sentence you, Aethelward, to death for treason."

"…"

The emperor of Brittania breathed in deeply, letting the stink of the battlefield fill his nostrils and disorient him. Then he hunched forward and in a broken voice said, "Leave us. All of you."

They scattered, some back to looting, the bodyguard to watch from a safe distance, and the bishop of Rome to his own men.

"What is it you wanted to say Aethelward? Something that would stop me from killing you?"

"…Eadburh. My daughter. She…She…You loved her once. Spare her. And my son…you were his friend -"

"Is that all you had to say? Your last words…are to ask me to treat your family with courtesy? You might have saved yourself the trouble."

"God bless you, Ealdmund."

Ealdmund came closer and hoisted Aethelward up, then flipped him over and dropped him face-down on the horse. "I didn't think to bring a chopping block, but this will do well enough."

Ealdmund drew his sword from its sheath, then closed his eyes and stood still. A minute passed, then two.

"Am I the first ex…excommunicated man you have sent to his death, Ealdmund? Is that why…you…pause?"

"You are the first, but you will not be the last. Your leader, I hear, has renounced "Orthodox Christianity". You will not suffer long without him. And the rest of the pack will follow you soon to the depths. By my own hand, as I swore when I read your letter.

"No, I pause for my grandfather. You were the best of his vassals, and he never spoke of you without great reverence and respect. You led Christian men against the Saracens, and pacified the men of Iberia who preferred revolt to conversion. For my grandfather, I pause now, and say a prayer for you."

Another minute passed.

"It is finished. Now show me your neck, Aethelward, and give my foulest greetings to Satan."

Emperor Ealdmund stomped away from the corpse and tossed his sword away. He paused for a moment, and breathed in deeply, then vomited all over his boots. He looked back at the corpse and fought down the urge to vomit again. "God damn it. God damn them. Damn…God damn. Damn!"

"Are you all right, Your Excellency?" One of his bodyguard came closer to the emperor with worry on his bearded face.

"I'm…I'm fine. Listen, go spread the word that if Aethelward's son is captured, he's to be executed on the spot."

"Milord." The man bowed low, then walked away across the battlefield. Ealdmund watched him go, and swallowed hard. He breathed in deeply again, then jerked his head up and looked at the sky.

"I…I am the Emperor of Brittania. I am the Lord of Bamburgh Castle. I am the Lord's anointed, and the son of Icel the Wolf. The grandson of Usama the Holy, of the Line of Icel the Great, who first united the kings of Europe. I…I am the Confessor, and men tremble to hear my name."

He looked across the field of corpses, then sat down and wept.

Although Athtari would not surrender for another year, the war ended at the Battle of Marsan. After executing Aethelward himself, Emperor Ealdmund granted the Viceroyalty of Andalusia to a rich merchant of the de Guinmares family, who won the loyalty of his new vassals with mass pardons and spread his wealth among the peasantry. Although de Guinmares did not raise an army in time to affect the war, by denying the rebels Hispania he cut off their largest source of income and manpower.

The Viceroy of Ireland had been cowed by the display of strength and ended his rivalry with Ealdmund, adding his battle-hardened forces to the loyalist cause.

Although the Germans had been beaten viciously by the Bavarians in a series of battles, they had reduced their rivals' numbers sufficiently that the Bavarian viceroy declined to send reinforcements to Italy when Atari ordered it, preferring to besiege his enemies more thoroughly.

Athtari finally surrendered in December 1184, having been trapped in the Po Valley near Modena between a Saxon-Irish-Scottish-Northumbrian force in the east and an Aquitainian-Burgundian-French force in the west. Emperor Ealdmund ordered every adult member of his immediate family excommunicated and executed except for his youngest daughter, who he would take as a lover in 1186. Athtari was forced to recant his grievances with the Emperor, and was stripped of all of his titles. Ealdmund then had him dragged behind his horse on a sled on the march to Rome, where men loyal to Athtari still held some minor holdfasts.

Emperor Ealdmund was the victor in the short term, having asserted his authority and executed his worst enemies. He took Aethelward's daughter as a lover, as well as Ahthari's youngest daughter, and had bastards by both of them. He increased the size of the Imperial Bodyguard from twenty thousand to thirty thousand huscarls and then continued his policy of reorganization, eventually ensuring that all of Germany, Saxony, Scotland, Middle Francia, and Africa had clearly demarcated borders that reflected historical tradition as well as the political situation of the time.

However, putting down the rebellions and reorganizing the viceroyalties proved to be too great a strain on imperial authority. Once again his supporters banded together against him, and in 1187 he was murdered by Athtari's daughter in a conspiracy that involved almost every one of the viceroys, most of the court at Bamburgh, and nearly everyone in his household. The Imperial Bodyguard, the strongest supporters of the crown, were reduced to twenty thousand and the viceroys began to fight for the territories they'd lost to each other under Ealdmund's rule.

Ealdmund's death triggered a period of intense internal strife that would last until 1214, when Pope Benedictus VII crowned Leon Iceling as Emperor of Rome. During the forty-year crisis three different regency councils ruled the empire, for a combined total of thirty-five years. Two of the regencies were for Icel the Tenth, who inherited the throne as a newborn infant and was incapacitated leading his armies in Egypt at the age of nineteen. The Iceling dynasty nearly went bankrupt buying the loyalty of its vassals and countless assassination attempts were discovered and stopped.

The Papacy, which was at the time a staunch ally of the ruling Iceling dynasty, was almost singlehandedly responsible for keeping the Empire intact throughout the crisis. Pope Benedictus VI, née Oswald Iceling, donated enormous sums to the struggling crown. Papal wealth paid Imperial soldiers and spies and bought either the loyalty or death of independent-minded vassals. Benedictus made some political moves on his own as well, having excommunicated the viceroy of Ireland and ordered the deaths of the viceroys of Bavaria-Germania and Bohemia-Pannonia, all of whom were leaders of independence conspiracies. Though he died in 1203, his successor, Benedictus VII, was also an Iceling and continued his predecessor's unwavering support of the crown.

It took the ironclad leadership of Leon Iceling, who wrested control of the empire from his regency council at thirteen years old, to restore peace and stability. After coming of age, he increased the strength of the Imperial Bodyguard to forty-five thousand and convinced the Pope to crown him Emperor of Rome. This is the legacy of the Battle of Marsan.