Eventually, the person that broke first was Sir Morgan Tonlaire and his wife. They were both dressed immaculately and the small treacherous part of my brain that finds everything kind of funny, wondered whether the delay was due to the fact that they needed to get into their proper costumes for what was about to happen.
Sir Morgan himself looked like the perfect figure of a Knight. He was wearing what I had taken to call “formal armour” which is to say, those particular pieces of armour that do not really interfere with any normal movement of a person. The stuff that can be burnished up to shine really brightly and look pretty on a person while also managing to keep all the unsightly wobbly bits that come with a rich diet and increasing age, from view.
It’s the kind of armour that no self-respecting Knight would even vaguely consider wearing into battle. But it gets worn to courts, parties and dances and things in order to remind everyone present and watching, that the person who is wearing it is a Knight and a man, or woman if you live in one of the cultures that likes that kind of thing, of action.
Lady Tonlaire, Morgan’s wife, was the very image of a severe matron. She was spear haft straight as she moved, her dress was a shiny thing of the same shade of metallic thread that matched the colour of her husband’s armour. Her hair, which I thought would be rather long, was bound up and tied to her skull tightly and she was wearing one of the more old fashioned headdresses with scarves that fell backwards. The kind of thing that had begun to go out of fashion when Princess Adda had declared that the stupid things were awkward and left her feeling clumsy, ungainly and ugly.
I think I would have liked to see the then Princess Adda in action. From a distance of course. Where I had places to run and hide if she started to get cross.
Lady Tonlaire’s attitude was one of stern, aloof outrage. For the first time I wondered if the pair of them had had any children to their name and if they did? I found that I pitied them. I couldn’t imagine them receiving any motherly affection from this one. She looked as though she would spend some time trying to figure out exactly how much time she needed to spend with the wailing things before she could get away with going off and doing something more important. She was not ugly, far from it, I sometimes think that there is some kind of magic in Toussaint that forbids the women from being unattractive. It was just that she was cold and hard. Like ice or stone.
For himself, Sir Morgan quivered with a barely suppressed rage. It was the rage of a man who wants to be seen to be barely suppressing his outrage and anger. The kind of man who says “I don’t mean to be rude but…”.
He stalked to the front of the room, his wife separating herself off to go and stand with some other people that I didn’t really know while Sir Morgan began the show.
“Where is the Duchess?” He demanded. “Where is the Knight Commander? I have come here to demand justice be done. To see that proper criminals are brought to respect Law and Order.”
He fixated on Guillaume and Kerrass that were standing together in the back of the room near the Duchess’ seat.
“There you are, you villains.” He snarled as he stalked towards them. “Where are they? Where is the Duchess? Where is that bitch of a Knight Commander who thinks that her shit smells sweeter than the rest of us.”
The court gasped in horror and delight. The show was going to get good it seemed.
I looked to see where Sir Gregoire was. He was off to one side watching the proceedings, quivering with his own suppressed emotions. He was more honest about it than Morgan was. Morgan was enjoying his anger whereas Gregoire was actively trying to control his. There was some deep breathing and clenched eyes, going on.
I shifted my position to move towards the back of where Gregoire was. Just a small movement, mostly as an experiment to see if Gregoire would notice.
He didn’t. That was good.
“Forgive me noble Lords.” Morgan went on. “And especially you, assembled ladies. Forgive my crude language but I have been dealt a cruel insult by the, so called, authorities of Toussaint and I am demanding that my voice be heard.”
I will say this about him. He played his part well.
“I have received word, that a force of Knights and guardsmen have invaded one of my properties here in the city. To think that I should live to see the day where a Knight such as myself should have one of his homes abused in such a way. To think that I should live to see the day. That such as I...”
I swear that his lip actually quivered as though his heart was broken. To this day, I don’t know if it was a pretense or not.
“We were a great nation once.” He wailed. “We were great but now this is what we are reduced to. Reduced to the state where a man isn’t even safe in his own home. Where people going about their honest business can be just sitting there, minding our own business. No, it’s even worse than that.”
He started to pace, to move around and lend some energy to what he was saying.
“It’s worse than that. I was actively on the business of the Duchy. I was working to try and find the men that were masquerading as Jack. A figure that our so called, much vaunted Knights of Saint Francesca have been unable to find. Not even with the aid of a foreign Lord and an equally foreign Witcher. A Witcher who was, at one point, even implicated in the killings himself.
But it was that very Witcher that was part of the raid into my property. A raid, led by a common born man, a Witcher and a foreigner into the home of a Knight of the realm. A raid for which there was no warning, no justification and no explanation. A raid that has led to the deaths of a number of people including those guards that carried out the raid. Where is the justice, where is the truth of such a matter. How can we continue to allow these… these vigilantes to continue playing at justice and carrying old grudges against their betters?”
I felt like applauding. It really was very well done.
“A common born man, a foreigner and a filthy mutant went into my home and now have the temerity, the gall to refuse me entry. And when I demand to know why? They refuse to say. Am I some criminal that must be brought to justice I wonder? Am I some… monster that a Witcher needs to brought to slay?”
A random movement of the court meant that I could suddenly meet the gaze of Sir Leblanc and he was hiding a grin behind a wine goblet. He winked at me.
“Well no more.” Sir Morgan was coming to the climax of his little speech and moved to stand on the dais of the throne room so that everyone could see him. “I will not stand for it, I say, and neither should any of you. What does it say about our world if armed men and women can invade our most private of homes in order to get what they need? Picture it gentlemen, alone in your homes dealing with your private businesses while ruffians suddenly burst into your house and your property without warning.
“Ladies, while alone in your boudoirs. Readying yourself for your evening’s entertainment as armed men storm your doors and demand entry.
“What have we come to when you could be entertaining friends, families, loved ones and suddenly, the guard arrive. What does that say about the world we live in. I will not stand for it I say and I demand to know what is taking place here. I will not leave this spot until I receive justice.”
He sighed and shook his head, again with the wobbling lower lip and I realised, with no small amount of horror, that his speech had not come to it’s climax after all.
‘To think that I should live to see the day.” He said as he turned and wiped away a tear. I would like to believe that the tear was real. I really would like to give him that credit.
“That I should live to see the day when those of us that have fought and bled for this country should be treated like this. Should be treated no better than a common criminal. I have given my life in service to this Duchy. My entire life since the moment that I was born.”
That same small and treacherous part of my brain that finds amusement in these kinds of things wondered what part of his shitting in his crib and vomiting over his wetnurse and nanny did to contribute towards the Duchy. I hid my small fit of giggles by pouring myself another drink.
“I have fought, I have bled, I have sweated and wept. I have held dying comrades in my arms as they bled out their lives onto the grass of Toussaint. I lost my father to the Giant Breschau and now it seems that all of those sacrifices are being thrown back into my face. Into all of our faces.”
He shook his head. “I have tried my friends. I really have. I have tried to uphold these new and foolish laws. I have tried to support this Duchess through all of her trials and tribulations. I stood by her when her husband was killed and when she chose to take up the rulership of the Duchy onto her own shoulders when it would have been far better had she married again to ensure that we had a proper Ducke to administer the affairs of the Duchy. I stood by her side when the treachery of Crawthorne was exposed, even as I despised the measures that the tyrannical Empress exerted on us.”
There was some shifting in the crowd. Calling the Empress a tyrant is not something that is easily taken back. The Imperial Confidential Agencies are not known for their forgiveness and their reputation under Lord Voorhis had only become more sinister.
“I have stood by and I have stood by. I have supported and nodded. I voiced my disagreement and my anger at the measures that were being taken but when the decision was taken, I did as I was bid. But it seems that now, I am being punished for expressing my views. Views that are my own and where I have a duty to express them. To say nothing at all when I watch the country that I love being steered into a cesspool would be cowardice of the highest extreme. Only now it seems that I am to be punished for doing my very best to save Toussaint from the folly that afflicts it.
“There is a word for that my friends. That word is tyranny. Yes, I shall say it. I disagree with the Duchess on what she is doing, especially in promoting men who have no business being in charge of so, sweeping an agency as the guard. When she uses the worst kind of nepotism to give her treacherous, treasonous harlot of a sister a position of all consuming power. When she would rather trust foreign nationals to do our work for us. Foreign nationals to administer our lands. Where does it end? Now we are to accept this stray bastard of a girl to be adopted as part of the Ducal family. A bastard of a traitor who laid his hands on the Duchess herself. What unholy reason would the Duchess have for elevating so base born a wretch?”
I could no longer contain a sigh. The man was clearly intending to speak for hours and hours if he could. I don’t entirely know what his plan was there. I also wondered if what he was doing was working himself up to the point. It certainly takes more than a little courage to try and raise a rebellion or whatever it was that he was trying to do. Later, Emma would wonder if he was trying to play down the clock. To see at what point the Duchess, who had called the court in the first place, would come into things and call him out. I am unsure on the matter. All I knew was that I was growing bored. We all had better things to be doing than to be standing around and waiting for a puffed up wind bag of an aging Knight to come to the point.
All of us. Including him.
“Where does it end?” He demanded. “I will tell you where it ends. If the Duchess has her way we will be absorbed by the Empire. Our goods, our money and our trade will fatten the Imperial treasury where corruption is known to be rampant. Our Knights will be summoned to the far flung corners of the Empire to fight in foreign wars and all the time, Imperial soldiers will police our streets in a martial law where any man who has a free thought in his head will be taken in for, at best, questioning. I will not stand for it, I say. I will rise up. I will stand forward and I will not allow Toussaint to go quietly into whatever future the Duchess would have in mind for it. I will fight to preserve our proudest of traditions and I will fight to preserve the honour of our nation against all comers. Against all enemies both within and without. And if the Duchess tries to stop me then I shall demand justice.”
“And what justice is that?” The Duchess wondered. “I am curious to know the answer Sir Morgan. And while you consider the question I would expect you to step down from my dais lest I add the treason that that action is to the list of charges that we are about to bring to the fore.”
The Duchess had arrived. And she was dressed for battle.
I have said this before when I have been writing about my sojurns into the courtly side of life on the continent. It would seem that Syanna’s threat of commissioning me to write a book on practical courtly techniques for the young Knight was not an idle one although I privately think that if you just condense everything that I have said in all of these works so far, then you have a good idea as to what will be in that book. But there will be an entire chapter based on this particular piece of knowledge.
Everything that happens in a courtroom is a statement. Everything. From where you stand, to how and when you speak. How does your voice sound, what is your vocabulary like, who do you stand with, talk with, how much do you eat, how much do you drink, what do you drink. Wine? Ok, but what kind of wine, where is it from, what colour is it, how much water do you add to it.
But there is one thing that people often overlook and that thing is what a person is wearing. Everything about you sends a statement. Are you in armour, do you have a weapon on your person, how useful or decorative is the weapon, what kind of armour are you wearing and on and on it goes.
The biggest example that I can say about this, up until this point of course, is the way that the Empress attended the parties and things around her coronation. Where everyone else, even the Nilfgaardian noble men and women who are known for their drab colours, were wearing their best, fanciest, most jewel encrusted clothing. There were Nilfgaardian Noblemen who were wearing a Northern King’s ransom on their chains of office and authority. There was a Northern Duchess that I saw whose dress was so ornate and fancy that it almost hurt the eye to look at it and the wealth that was on display in Toussaint at the time was truly aweinspiring.
The Empress, both before and after her coronation (The coronation dress itself was a different story of course. That dress screamed “I’m the Empress,” at the top of it’s lungs) wore simple, if elegant clothing. She wore riding clothes. Admittedly not of the kind of cut of riding clothes that I have ever worn. But they were simple, unadorned and elegant. The only piece of jewellery that was on her person was an ornate Golden Sun over her heart. I have since learned that the device also acts as an extra piece of armour over the chest but that’s not important.
The point that the Empress was making was that she was the Empress. If you had to ask who she was, then you did not deserve a seat at the table. There were more subtleties to it of course. Including the fact that she was a busy woman, an active woman, would not be tied down by convention, preferred utility over anything else and also that she would not suffer fools.
I don’t want to give it away, you will have to buy the book, but I intend to do a case study of how the Empress dressed during those parties.
But there is another cast study that I will add and that is the way that the Duchess Anna Henrietta of Toussaint uses clothes like a weapon.
There is no denying that the Duchess is a beautiful woman. It was once said that if a list of the top ten famed beauties of the continent was constructed then the majority of that list would contain Sorceresses, specifically the Sorceresses of the Lodge. But there are some other additions to that list that do not have a magical bone in their body and one of those women is the Duchess of Toussaint.
I have no idea how old she is and reports on the matter vary. She is still smooth of skin, hair free of dye or grey hairs and able to wear clothing that would make other people wince in sympathy. She is fit and active although she doesn’t seem to exercise that much but there are enough stories of her taking to horse and charging off that it is most believable. She stands tall and does not need too much corsetry. Only enough to ensure that the skirts flounce properly.
(Technical terms according to Emma.)
Since the disappearance of my sister, the Duchess had taken to wearing simple, basic clothing. The rumour was that she had wanted to be sent to a nunnery in disgrace after the horror that had been brought to the Empress’ party. After one of her vaunted Knights had made her into an oathbreaker she had wanted to retreat although the Empress had not allowed it.
Or that was the story anyway. With those two women, anything is possible. Including that it was all a ruse to make a point.
But since then the Duchess had taken to wearing simple light coloured dresses with minimal ornamentation and decoration. Her jewellery and makeup had been vastly reduced and her hair was now worn in far more simple styles. They were the styles of a working woman, pony tails, braids or simple twists to keep it up and out of the way. I was not alone in suggesting that she was, to my eyes at least, far more beautiful for the differences.
Today she had come back into the courtroom in her clothing of old. An ornate golden dress, dripping jewels and metallic golden thread, huge skirts with frills and bustles. Hands clasped in front of her. Her hair was done up in ringlets and the full Ducal jewels were on her fingers, ears and around her neck. The Ducal crown was upon her head and the effect of the makeup was such that I swear that it would be a close run thing as to what would be harder. Diamond, or her cheekbones.
Or her gaze I suppose. Her gaze which skewered Sir Morgan where he stood. That might have been the hardest thing about her that day.
Her skirts were wide and just walking forward, she parted the crowds before her. It was amazing and once again, I had to hide some inappropriate laughter behind a wine cup as I saw these courtiers, that just minutes before had been up in arms against this woman, quail before her as she reminded each and every one of them exactly who she was.
Again, The Duchess is a courtier on the continental level. Someone like Morgan would have been eaten alive in the Imperial Court, or the court of Foltest. Radovid and Henselt would have sent him to the war front fairly quickly where I am sure that Sir Morgan would not have lasted that long.
My thinking is that he would be the kind of military Knight that got upset when he was forced to fight in the rain, or the mud, before being upset that some uppity little peasant stuck his horse in the side with a sharpened piece of wood. Then he would have been particularly upset when said peasant wouldn’t have recognised the word “ransom”. The world is full of this kind of pillock and we can do better than to let them have their day.
There was so much going on with the Duchess’ outfit. The first and most obvious message that she was sending was that she was the Duchess and all of these uppity little courtiers had better remember it and not forget it otherwise, by the Prophets, she was going to get all Ducal at them and that they wouldn’t enjoy that in the slightest. I think that was the primary purpose of the dress.
The other purpose was a little more subtle. I think that she was drawing the eye of the court. It was impossible to look elsewhere, anywhere other than at the Duchess herself because she was so… blinding.
Which meant that the people that came after her were increasingly drab and uninteresting to everyone’s eyes. So it was only because I noticed Ariadne coming in along with the Ducal party that I looked beyond the Duchess herself.
Following the Duchess was Syanna and she was wearing her full “I’m the Knight Commander,” outfit. The armour that she was wearing positively shon in the sunlight that came through the windows. It had been polished to an eye-hurting intensity, over and above what even Guillaume could manage and for the first time I was forced to wonder whether or not Syanna had a squire of her own to do this kind of thing for her.
She freely admitted, much later and as I think I’ve mentioned before, that this was an outfit. A costume if you prefer the term. There was no way that this armour would stand up to a proper fight although it could probably stand up to a dagger thrust or a crossbow bolt. She would certainly have been insulted if you told her that she had to go and fight something in it.
She looked stern, angry and… dare I say it… righteous.
And between the two sisters, it was almost impossible to see the people that came in behind them. One of which was Ariadne, dressed in a light cream travelling dress. It was the same cut of dress that she had worn early on after her immediate freeing from the tower, because she was a little concerned that wearing black all the time would be a little bit too, on the nose. She wears black a lot when she is studying, or working in her lab. She claims that this is because the black hides the chemical stains that little bit better, but I have also caught her dressing, and playing, according to type.
Sometimes she takes great delight in playing too and against what people’s impressions of her are. She likes to greet church officials and other nobility in the sunlight, outside in a light, flowery, floaty dress that could not possibly be considered sinister. But then she likes to greet merchants or anyone that wants something from her in dark, austere and sinister clothing. When that happens she likes to stand there and instead of staring them in the eye she will, instead, stare at the pulse point in the offending idiot’s neck.
If that doesn’t unnerve them enough, she will start to smile before slowly, and almost hungrily, licking her lips. That normally does the trick.
This was the same kind of outfit that she wears when neither is appropriate. When she wants to fade into the background. Something inoffensive that isn’t going to draw the eye while at the same time, not playing up to the stereotype of what a vampire is supposed to wear and look like. Especially a beautiful female one.
And it worked. Not a single eye in the courtroom was focused on her.
The same could not be said for the other person in the party though. Dressed in a similar way to Ariadne and, like her, hooded against view was Anne. The image that was presented was two of the Duchess’ ladies in waiting, following behind their mistress in order to fix any misplaced hairs or loose threads.
I also caught Lady Vivienne de Tabris du Launfal slipping in behind the Ducal party. She caught my eye and winked at me. It was good to see her working with and for the Duchess again. I had been worried about the relationship between the two friends but it seems that that is the pattern between everyone. Occasionally the Duchess gets grumpy and insults a group of people that she should think of as being her friends which results in them not talking for a while before friendship is, inevitably, reaffirmed. When the two of you believe in the state as much as Lady Vivienne and the Duchess do, then you have one of the best possible reasons to reunite in the face of adversity.
Although no-one was watching Ariadne, I was quick to notice that there was one other person in the courtroom that was watching Anne and I had to physically stop myself from giving a little cheer when I saw that Sir Gregoire had noticed Anne’s entrance into the hall.
It could not have a more profound effect on Gregoire if she had walked up and slapped him in the face. It was also a prime example of what happens when you take a martial man and put him in a courtroom without any training at all. He might as well have held signs up to describe what he was feeling.
First, he was astonished to see her. Just plain astonished. So much so that his mouth hung open in a way that should have caused his mother to comment that if he had his mouth hanging open like that then he was in danger of catching flies.
He realised this pretty quickly and closed his mouth with a snap. After that came relief. A relief so potent that he nearly staggered with it. I caught him looking at Anne’s hands and feet, noticing that she wasn’t bound or manacled, that she wasn’t gagged and then I saw him checking for signs of injury. Studying her gait and her movements.
Then he was happy to see her, but only for a second. Just a split second it was as though his entire world had just gotten brighter.
Then he realised that Anne was trembling and needed her weight supported by Ariadne. I don’t know if he recognised Ariadne or not but he certainly saw that the need for support was there.
Then there was rage. He had an interesting reaction to that. The rage was sudden, almost overwhelming and then he visibly swallowed it. Literally swallowing it and in doing so, he forced the emotion down into the pit of his stomach. I found myself wondering if he had digestive issues.
Then he turned and moved gently through the crowd so that there were lots of people between him and her. So that no-one could see his face or reactions. That suited me fine, but it meant that he didn’t see Anne’s face when she saw him. He didn’t see her brighten when she saw his immense bulk in the crowd, but nor did he see the hurt when she utterly misunderstood his turning his back on her.
Not for the first time that morning, I remembered her telling me about Gregoire and I remembered guessing how she really felt about him.
It was one of those realisations that hits you where you kind of already knew it in advance but hadn’t registered it on a conscious level up to that point.
All of this happened in a couple of heartbeats. The Duchess had made her entrance in a way that no-one noticed. Including me. ANd as she walked forward I could feel myself thinking about it. “Right then,” I thought. “Shit’s on.”
And it was.
“I am waiting for your answer Lord Tonlaire.” The Duchess said in tones that would cut glass. “What does that justice look like?” She started to walk towards the dais and the throne where Sir Morgan was, rather foolishly, still standing. Her footfalls echoed off the stone floors and it was as though they were the footsteps of doom.
Again, the inappropriate giggles threatened to climb up my throat. For all the world, Sir Morgan looked like a deer, frozen in the hunter’s vision.
“Also, I would ask what has been done that offends you to the point of suggesting treason to the assembly. There are words for that kind of thing Lord Tonlaire. Words like the aforementioned treason. Words like sedition and rebellion. You swore oaths, Lord Tonlaire. Oaths against your life and the lives of everyone you hold dear. Oaths that you swore to me and towards that throne that you stand with your back to. Oaths that you made while kissing the hem of our garments. Oaths of fealty, love and honour. But now that the Duchy and the Continent are moving in directions that you do not like, you speak of breaking those oaths and “demanding” things of me.
She stepped onto the dais. Anne and Ariadne had moved to stand behind the throne while all eyes had been on the Duchess. Syanna had moved forward with her hand upon her sword, ready to leap forward into action at a moment’s notice.
“You do not demand things of me Sir Morgan. I demand things of you.”
Sir Morgan stepped backwards. If he had stood his ground then he would have been body checked by the Duchess herself and then there would have been violence. I don’t think that there was really any doubt as to what was going to happen then. Of course he was going to step back. But it was one of those moments that everyone holds their breath for anyway.
The Duchess stood before the throne room as Morgan staggered back from his retreat, missing the steps up to the dais and only his years of martial training meant that he was able to keep his feet.
“I am Anna Henrietta. Duchess of Toussaint,” The lady herself declared in a ringing tone.
“That means KNEEL.” Syanna shrieked. Her own voice, harsh and discordant in comparison with her sister.
I wondered if they had rehearsed that.
The court sank to its knees. Again, because what else were they going to do. The Duchess swept her gaze around the assembly before moving up to the throne and sitting down in it. The front of her gown barely moved as she did so, an action that spoke of ridiculous amounts of practice. Then she nodded to Syanna.
“All rise.” Syanna called, still a little discordant. I know that that was an affectation. Syanna has had almost as much vocal training as her sister has.
Then the Duchess smiled.
“Now,” She began, pretending that nothing particularly important had happened. “First let me thank you all for coming and I apologise for keeping everyone waiting. But in these kinds of cases it strikes me that it is increasingly important to get all the facts right before, potentially catastrophic and deadly, mistakes are made.”
I was out of the line of sight as I was moving, slowly, around the back of the courtroom. But Emma told me later that the Duchess looked at Sir Morgan when she said the word “deadly”.
“I have brought you all here to discuss what took place earlier today and what has led to that situation. For a start, let me welcome, again, the Coulthard party to our court as this matter concerns them. Because, again, grave insult has been done to the Coulthard family in our presence, indeed, in our very palace and it is time to address that.”
“How does this connect to the disgrace of…?” Sir Morgan began.
“Oh believe me Sir Morgan, Lord Tonlaire.” The Duchess said sweetly. “We will get to the guard’s invasion of your property. And while we are about it. We will also address the fact that an increasing number of so called residences are being built with large warehouses attached so that people can avoid paying proper taxes on the things that they import to the Beauclair markets. Lady Vivienne?”
“Your Grace?” The Lady in question called from the entrance to the room.
“Make a note please Lady Vivienne, that I really must get round to setting limits on that kind of thing in order to cut that particular loop hole in our tax code.”
“I fail to see how that is relevant.” Morgan protested. He had found his courage from somewhere. Doubtless from standing in amongst all of his own cronies. He was no longer alone and he could feel his balls getting bigger as he did so.
“It is not.” The Duchess said. “But I am the Duchess and as such I am occasionally reminded of matters of state which need our attention for the future. I’m sure you understand. But I was apologising to the Coulthard family. Again. For the actions and negligence of some of my subjects. Again. My Lord of Coulthard?”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mark stepped forward. His face was schooled to neutrality and I wondered how prepared he was for what was coming.
“Your Grace.” He bowed. Mark might be getting sicker by the day, but he still knows how to give good courtier.
“We apologise to you and yours My Lord and ask if there is anything that we might do to make reparations?”
“No reparations are necessary Your Grace.” The correct response by the way. Nothing is more fickle than the Gratitude of Kings, or Duchesses, and if you start asking for things they may decide that you are being cheeky and have you destroyed before you have a chance to collect your reward.
“You are to kind My Lord of Coulthard. As such, we will think of something in order to properly express our gratitude.”
Which is the follow up. That way the ruler can think of something suitably fitting for the visitor or the Lord who should then always, and I do mean always, make themselves scarce.
“But in the meantime, My Lords and Ladies, it is our sad duty to inform you all that the Coulthard family has, once again, been wronged. Once again, this has happened in our house and at the hands of our nobles. Shame My Lords. Shame on us and on our blood and our titles. Shame, that this could be allowed to happen again. Shame I say. Shame.”
“What shame is this?” Someone called. I did not see who it was but I would not put it beyond this particular piece of courtly theatre to suggest that it was a plant in the audience.
“And what does that have to do with me?” Sir Morgan demanded. “I have barely met the Coulthard’s despite their seeming interest in me and my business. Why is this connected to me?”
The Duchess gave him a withering stare until he subsided.
“The Coulthard family,” she began again, “despite being Lords of the North and servants to different masters than ourselves have done more for the betterment of the realm of Toussaint in the last year than many of the people that are in this room now. That is not an exaggeration my Lords and I would thank you all to remember that when the time comes.
“They have taken a once powerful and prosperous territory and Vineyard responsible for some of the finest vintages of our childhood, that had fallen onto hard times due to the neglect of those people that had previously been in charge of it. They have taken that land that was all but destroyed and resurrected it with a grace and nobility of purpose that already, after only a year, has seen a vast and notable improvement on previous levels. Enough so that, I hope, I can soon look forward to a good and rich Kayalese red to grace our table again.
“But they have given us more than that. It is from their number that we have gained a saint. Saint Francesca, a lady, a symbol that has gone to the hearts of many, including the people in this room. The church of the Prophet tells me that, increasingly, people are praying to the Saint for their blessings and even though Francesca has yet to be properly canonised… There is more and more evidence to say that she is listening to those prayers and that blessings are being answered.”
I saw a few people looking sideways at one another. I could sense some of the desire to point out that such blessings are not uncommon and that a plank of wood would give a blessing if you pray to it long enough and hard enough.
I also saw some of the assembled nodding in agreement and offering a quick prayer to the heavens.
“But despite all of this, despite the hospitality that I have given them, despite the gratitude that we owe them, someone placed an agent in their midst to spy on them.”
There was shifting in the room. Sounds of outrage and shock and dismay. I am even prepared to give some of them the credit in believing that some of those sounds were genuine.
“A spy.” The Duchess went on. “Who had orders to report everything that family did, said and planned to the spy’s masters. The spy stole from the COulthards. And just so we are clear, we are not talking about the theft of dignity and privacy but actual physical items were stolen from the Coulthard family.
“Not only that, but reports as to the health of the Coulthard family. As is well known, Lord Mark, Baron of Coulthard and Cardinal of the Eternal Flame is sick. He is dying and now all of his correspondence, all of the plans for his succession and the inner workings of the church of the Eternal Flame have been betrayed. As well as his status and his faculties.”
This was a bit of an exaggeration. We were pretty sure that this wasn’t the case. Mark is much more circumspect about his private papers than I am and made a habit of keeping them all under lock and key. His health is not yet too debilitating and if half of what he says about the inner workings of the church of the Eternal Flame are true, there are plenty of spies in his household already, just as there are plenty of spies in the houses of all the cardinals. Mostly because those same cardinals are spying on each other.
“But also Lord Frederick himself.” The Duchess went on. “A man who has fought for the benefit of Toussaint, who has literally shed his own blood in the defence of Toussaint as well as risking his own health and well being in order to serve to the best of his abilities. The details of his illness have been made clear to Lord Frederick’s enemies.
“The risk to Toussaint has been incredible and it shocks and appalls me that someone would risk our relations with one of the most powerful trading concerns of the North. The Coulthard trading network is vast and powerful while also being responsible for a huge amount of the money that is flowing into our coffers. Coulthard shipping is the primary way that Toussaint wine gets sold to the North.”
That at least is true. It could be argued that other shipping companies could be used but Emma offers a decent rate and is now powerful enough to know that she can offer decent rates on bulk. Therefore Toussaint gets amongst the best deals it can due to Coulthard shipping. It’s complicated but the truth is that it is a mutually beneficial agreement that neither Coulthard Shipping, nor the Toussaint treasury would risk setting aside. We also knew that Anne had been instructed to avoid that side of the family’s interests for precisely that reason.
“So it is shocking my Lords. Appalling even that someone would dare to send a spy into their midst.”
“Pah.” Sir Morgan said, “If they are fool enough to allow themselves to be spied on then they deserve everything that they get.”
That sentiment got a little more traction than I would have been entirely happy with.
“We promised them safety Lord Tonlaire.” The Duchess hissed with suppressed and artful rage. “We gave them hospitality. I gave them hospitality on behalf of all of Toussaint. They shouldn’t have had to be on guard in our palace. They shouldn’t have had to watch what they say in the privacy of the rooms that we gave them. Once again, I am made an oathbreaker and once again I am made so by the actions of those that I should be able to trust. The Empress has refused to allow me to step down and as such I am forced to act accordingly.”
There was some more general shifting about and sounds of displeasure. I took the opportunity to move a little further round the room. All eyes were on the dais of course but I was still being careful to pay attention to who was watching me. To do what I needed to do I needed to be quiet. I was to be the stone that starts the avalanche and that only works if no-one sees you coming.
“Some of you may be wondering how we know all of this.” The Duchess said. “And the answer is simple. The spy turns out to have more honour than the spymaster. The Spy appreciated that the Coulthards are a family of honour and as such, they made themselves known. They will admit that they didn’t have much of a choice on the matter but they acted to prevent any other efforts that might have hurt others while we were hunting them out and the story becomes clear.
“The spy was coerced. She didn’t have a choice.”
The crowd shifted again. The use of the feminine had struck home.
“The woman in question was forced by that oldest of cares, the very primal nature of our womanhood. Something that I myself have come to realise only today when I adopted a daughter of my own. The instinct to protect one’s child is an all consuming dictate that cannot be set aside for any reason at all. The spy masters knew this and as such, they kidnapped the spy’s child and held a dagger to the child’s throat.”
The room literally exploded. I wish I could tell you why, but I never really had the chance to go into deeper detail with it. I didn’t get to sit down with the Duchess, Syanna, Guillaume and his wife to discuss this because by the time it was all getting to the point where I felt as though I could, it had all become irrelevant.
So I only have guesses. That the spy was a woman was a shock to the room. They just didn’t expect that a woman would do something like that, so that was point one. Then that the spy’s obedience was secured with the use of a hostage, well that was outrageous to the court of Toussaint. Not only was the spy instantly made to appear as the damsel in distress, but then that she was forced to do so by way of the use of another innocent. A child. That was beyond the pale. It reached down into something primal in the soul of the people of Toussaint and they didn’t know how to deal with it. They were shocked. Appalled. Outraged and dismayed. Plus the inference that one of them could be responsible for that was even worse.
The Duchess could not have played her part better. Whereas Morgan had united the crowd against her, to a certain extent at least, now they were shattered, looking at each other. I could all but hear them thinking “Who would do such a thing?” While they were looking at each other with accusations in mind.
I saw a couple of people’s reactions. The first that I saw, because I was specifically watching for it. Was Sir Gregoire. Fury has a name in my head right now and that fury is Gregoire. Specifically when he put all of it together. He was looking at Anne fiercely for a moment and then he started to look around the room. He was shocked and appalled as much as the next person, but then that was overtaken by a rage that would have started a fire. Just as unpleasantly, it was also clear that he was one of the foremost suspects in all of this. A significant part of the room automatically saw him as being one of the people that were probably responsible for this. His look of rage would have been one of the primary reasons as to why people might assume such a thing. I saw righteous anger in his face. Outrage and shock. Everyone else saw the rage of a man who had been caught out.
I also saw Sir Raoul’s face. His face was a caricature of righteous anger and outrage. He saw me and winked.
I was most surprised by Sir Morgan who wore almost exactly the same expression as Sir Gregoire. He was just as shocked and appalled as everyone else in the room, but a growing fury started to overtake him. A righteous anger that, like Gregoire’s rage, was shocking in the extreme.
“Silence.” Syanna called, into the room. It was not called loudly but it was said in such a way that it cut through the hubbub and outrage. You can be trained to do that. There’s a trick to it apparently.
“How dare you?” Morgan demanded in a hiss. “How dare you suggest…” I found myself wondering if he wasn’t lying. You would need…. Something. Something that I rather think Morgan lacks to be able to pretend to that much outrage.
“I suggest nothing Sir Morgan.” The Duchess snapped. “I suggest nothing because I make statements of fact. I know all of these things because I have spoken to the spy. As has the Knight Commander and we are satisfied with her story. Not least because her story has been backed up by action and the discoveries we made.
“The spy cooperated with us at every turn and as such, despite the kidnappers and blackmailers best attempts,” the crowd literally hissed, in the same way that children and families do at the market puppet displays, “... to keep their whereabouts a secret. She gave us enough to be able to lead our forces to the Kidnappers and her son. As such, we know that to be true. We know it. There is no getting around it. This is not some matter of their word against others. This is a fact that cannot be denied. The child behaves towards the spy as a young son would to a mother.”
She fixed Sir Morgan with an icy stare. “The child was found in your riverside house Lord Tonlaire.”
And I thought that the sound that the court had made earlier was loud.
“Along with records of her reports and the reports of other spies. Including our own chambers….”
And just like that she was drowned out.
I caught the signal this time as the Duchess signalled her sister who made the same call for silence. The Duchess had allowed the outrage to run its course a little bit longer than the previous efforts.
“There is no denying these… facts Lord Tonlaire. They are known to be true. We have seen them with our own eyes.”
“This is ridiculous.” Sir Morgan was thinking furiously. “It cannot be denied that I own the house and I would not. I have recently felt the need for a property that was still in town but had a view of the river. In my later years I have found that I quite enjoy the sights and sounds of Toussaint industry and as such I bought a small property that would suit my needs. I resent the implication that I use that property to circumvent the, quite correct, taxes and tolls that the Ducal crown would exert over the local area. But as for the rest of it?”
He shook his head as he began to feel himself on firmer ground. I had reached the back of the main crowd now and started to gently move through the assembled people with muttered “excuse me’s” while taking advantage of the occasional shifting of weight and shifts in position so that people can get a better view, in order to move forward.
“There is no proof.” He said. “No proof at all that I had anything to do with any of that. The reason I know that is because I have not had anything to do with placing a spy inside the rooms of the Coulthard family. I share their, and your, disappointment and anger that such a matter has been acted upon. Such a matter is outrageous. I agree with all of that but I say again that I had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
“As for the child being found at my property. That I cannot answer for. The property was much misused when I took ownership of it, despite it only having been built recently and I had some people move in in order to renovate it and to take care of it so that it might meet my exacting specifications.”
The court was shifting. Sir Morgan’s story was entirely believable and he was harnessing the fear of the crowd. The fear that nobles with perfectly legitimate stakes in the business of the realm would be victimised. That they would be presumed to be guilty before the full facts of the matter were known. And it felt right, it felt believable. There was a conviction to the way that he was talking that left me feeling that he wasn’t lying.
I was more and more convinced that his story was accurate. That he genuinely had no idea what was happening or why. But I had also seen Syanna’s face as well as the Duchess’ face. Neither had shown any dismay and the Duchess was not the sort of person to take a shot in court unless she was absolutely certain that her aim was true.
They were just getting their ducks in a row.
I took another step forward.
“Those people were staying in my property while they worked on it with my blessing. They told me that they would be better off working towards things from inside the building. That this was their method. They would work, live and stay at the house or grounds that they were renovating and then move on when the contract was fulfilled. They came highly recommended. If these people have been using my house and my grounds for the persecution of a conspiracy against the Coulthards, who’s work for the realm I support other than their obvious bias towards breaking certain traditions, and against the rest of Toussaint. If that is the case, then I share the outrage of the Duchess and the court. Bring them forth I say and have at it. I demand the harshest sentence.”
When I heard that, I was waiting in the throng for a gap to open up so that I could move forward again. I had time to think that he might even live to regret demanding such a thing.
“But, I say again.” He went on with no small amount of relish. “You cannot link these people to me, these spies to me, or these crimes to me because there is no link. You have invaded my home without my input or my permission. You have damaged my property in doing so and you have done that on, at best, questionable motives. If he was a hostage, the child was not in any danger as the child would not have been risked as without the child, the agents had nothing. And although serious, a spy is still a spy and I would be forced to ask, do they even deserve the mercy of our help and the help of the Knights of Francesca when there are real killers and marauders on the loose.
“I notice that Jack still hasn’t been found and that while all of this is going on, those that would be looking for Jack, including myself, are held up out of the way.”
“We were never going to accuse you Lord Tonlaire.” Syanna said after being nodded at by the Duchess. Her voice was resonant, a little harsher than her sisters as would be expected from an armed person. But I noticed that it carried.
A gap opened up and I was able to take a step a bit closer to my goal.
“We know, or are fairly confident that you had nothing to do with it.” Syanna went on. “Our witness does not name you and has not recognised you. So we do not accuse you although we notice your callous attitude towards the child hostage in question. As though his life has less merit than others. As for the other matter, we do believe that this matter might be connected to the matter regarding Jack as we have reason to believe that the information that was gathered by this spy has been used to assist the person masquerading as Jack in his activities.”
“Then who do you have in mind?” Morgan demanded. “You would not have called the court together if you did not have, at least, a suspect. If not me, who do you have…”
“Your wife.” Syanna said simply. “We accuse Lady Tonlaire of this activity.”
There was an audible gasp and an intake of breath. The kind of which I always find faintly amusing. I had to stop my forward momentum for a second to forcefully suppress a fit of the giggles.
“What?... But?...” Sir Morgan spluttered. “How do…?”
Then he turned to face his wife, much the same way that the entirety of the court had done the same thing.
For herself, even though I was only watching things from behind her and slightly to one side, Lady Tonlaire seemed impassive as the crowd opened and exposed her to be standing there. She did not look ashamed, nor did she look particularly shocked or outraged. My view was limited but if it was anything then I would suggest that she seemed faintly bored.
“But… That’s OUTRAGEOUS.” Morgan bellowed.
“I quite agree.” THe Duchess said calmly.
“I… I uh….” Morgan produced a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I demand proof. Such a thing is impossible.”
There is a common story that, if you remove the head from a chicken then it will continue to run around unaided for a period of time, often while blood is still pumping from it’s neck as it goes through the motions of life as though it hasn’t realised that it was dead.
Sir Morgan reminded me of that. He just kept speaking until gradually, he remembered what he was going to say.
“How dare you make such an accusation of my wife?” He demanded. “My wife is a good, noble, meek and gentle woman…”
I was in the middle of the crowd, or audience if you prefer, when he said this and I heard more than one person snort in laughter at that.
“She would never do such a thing. She is far too gentle to use a child as leverage. She would never stoop so low, she does not have the steel in her backbone or the… the… wit to…” He visibly realised that he was about to say that he thought his wife was too stupid to carry out such a scheme.
He rallied brilliantly though, and in doing so missed the naked fury and hatred that his wife sent his way.
“I demand to face the accuser.” He said. “Does not a person have the right to face their accuser in the open, or is this spy that has given you all of this information too used to skulking around in the shadows. I demand to face my accuser.”
“Gladly.” The Duchess said and gestured behind her.
“Here it comes.” I thought to myself and made the final steps to get into position as the crowd shifted to see who was going to be produced.
Anne stepped round the Duchess and pulled her hood down. I had to focus to keep myself moving, keep myself doing what I needed to do. She looked like a broken woman. She looked like a woman on the way towards her own execution. Saying that she had been crying was obviously redundant but it also looked as though she was drawn out. If you had told me that she had been tortured and otherwise interrogated then I would have believed you. She looked dreadful.
But she also looked defiant as she gazed into the courtroom. This was a woman that, for all the world, seemed as though she was already dead. But still, left inside the depths of her eyes was the glimmer of her spirit. And she looked out on the courtroom with loathing and hate. There was defiance there as well as she looked around. I watched as she locked eyes with various of the men there and I guessed them to be former clients in one way or another and she showed nothing but contempt for them.
Sir Gregoire was just as affected as I was, more so even. He turned away which was a bit worrying as he almost turned to face me. I was all but directly behind him after all. But he didn’t see me, he had screwed his eyes closed, his fists and jaw were clenched as he shuddered with the determination and the effort that he was putting in to stay calm.
Then he forced himself to calm. Opened his eyes and turned back to the tableau.
He didn’t see me. I was right in front of him at one point and he didn’t see me.
I was not in a worse way. Anne looked awful and I desperately wanted to rush to her side. I wanted to call out the Duchess and Syanna for their cruelty as well as to force Morgan and his wife to apologise before the court. How dare they? How dare they besmirch so wonderful lady as this.
Again, she flashed through my mind. Naked and rising above me. Dressed for bed and cradling my head as I wept from the aftereffects of a nightmare. Writhing beneath me. Smirking as she dodged my hands in the morning and just the quiet moments where we would sit near each other, talking gently of unimportant things.
She had betrayed me and I desperately wanted to help her.
But that was what I was doing.
She saw Gregoire though and for the first time, her resolve shook as she saw him and once again, I was sure that I was correct. This was going to work. I looked at Kerrass side long and he was standing in place behind Guillaume. He saw me and nodded.
The court was shocked to hear a single person laughing. “This.” Morgan’s sneer was obvious in his voice. “This is your witness. This is your spy? Well this is just the final ridiculous straw.” He laughed the laugh of a victor. “You would set the word of a whore, a harlot against the word of so noble a woman as my wife. This bitch is the worst kind of the worst, making her living by selling her body on the lower docks of Beauclair. How can you possibly believe this… this scum to be telling the truth when the real truth is much more likely that she just needs some extra money for her next fix of fiss-tech.”
He was starting to warm to his subject now as he paced back and forth.
“This?” He demanded of Syanna. “This is the best you have? Well this is just sad. You can’t do better than this. You can’t do better than a jaded harlot, mother to a bastard. I will grant that she is beautiful but she does not have the honour of a piece of dung. She has sold her honour along with her body years ago. She is the worst of the worst, a piece of sputum that floats along the harbour along with the dock rats from whom she makes her living by opening her diseased legs to show her even more diseased… I will not even say the words. My wife is insulted to even be in the same room as this piece of filth. How can you believe a word that she is saying.”
“She took my son.” Anne wailed. “She went into my home and took my son so that I would betray better than…” There were tears streaming down her face. “She was there and she laughed as she enslaved me and threatened his life.”
Morgan sneered and actively spat. “I give that for your son. How dare you accuse your betters of these crimes. How dare you suggest that my wife, a good and noble woman of ancient and wondrous lineage. A woman of integrity and purity. Of grace and beauty that you would only dream of carrying. How dare you suggest that she would be so base as to stoop so low.”
“She did.” Anne wailed. “And she laughed as she did so.”
I saw Syanna and the Duchess look over to wear Guillaume was standing. The Knight went to take a step forward. I locked eyes with Kerrass who restrained the young Knight.
“Not yet,” I muttered.
“Ha.” Morgan went on. “Ha I say. Stupid bitch. What did they promise you I wonder. What did they promise you if you besmirched my wife’s reputation. What did they promise you? Some small coin perhaps. A house, a chance to retire. A cure for all of the poxes that war over your stinking diseased body and rot your brain. What did they promise you to insult me in an effort to remove an opponent to their rule? What did they promise you so that there would be one less person willing to call them out for their bluster and their falsehoods. After all, you sell your body for scraps, it cannot be too much of a leap to suggest that you would sell your soul for less.”
“She laughed.” Anne whimpered, she was looking around for help. Guillaume was struggling against Kerrass who’s grip was of iron. Syanna was looking desperate.
“Come on.” I willed Morgan to go further.
And he did. He stalked over to Anne. “Admit it, whore. You have whored yourself out even further than you would have normally. You have made a whore of yourself, a whore of your son and a whore of your integrity. You have betrayed yourself and you have betrayed your betters by lying about them to the authorities. Whether you did that for an empty promise or not is the only thing that can save you now. You are nothing but the dung that I would wipe from beneath my boot and the insects that crawl over it. You are a diseased thing, the lowest of the low. The only way out for you now is to admit that you betrayed us all by spreading lies about a good and decent woman. Admit it and accept a quick death. Admit it and tell the world who put those words in your mouth for you to parrot them. Admit it you dreadful, diseased, honourless wretch. You whore. You harlot. You bitch.”
He moved forward as if to strike her and she quailed before him.
I leant forward and whispered in Gregoire’s ear.
“You’re not going to let him get away with that. Are you?”
His great head turned towards me. His expression was unreadable. Not because of the usual way a face is unreadable, which is when there is too little emotion on a person’s face to be able to properly catch what they were thinking. But because there was too much. Rage, hurt, sadness and a profound pain that almost caused an answering pain in my own chest.
I was committed though. No turning back. Twist the Knife Freddie.
“Talking about the woman you love in such a way. I mean really.”
He spun away from me. I literally flinched out of fear that he was going to strike me.
“ENOUGH.” He roared and truly spoken, the court silenced, instantly and on the spot. “I have had more than enough of this… this travesty of honour.” He pushed through the crowd to the front. I used the fact that all eyes were on him, to calmly and quietly slip backwards and out of the way. It was not hard. All eyes were on Gregoire after all. The only person that saw me was the Duchess, I think, who’s eyes followed me with a hard expression. Her and Sir Raoul Leblanc. Who not only had seen my retreat but had also seen what I had done. He applauded ironically.
I bowed to him, just as ironically.
“Big men,” Gregoire was still talking in his rough, undisciplined voice. “Powerful women using the courtroom as a… as a stage while they trample lesser folk under their heel. Well I’ve had enough of it. I’ve had enough of men using words like swords and noble blood like… like… weapons.”
There was a small titter of laughter out of a couple of throats. Those people were unwise as Gregoire’s furious gaze scanned the court looking for someone to vent his, not inconsiderable wrath against. Finding none, he turned back to an astonished Sir Morgan.
“You will take back your words and your foul, disgusting and untrue insults. You will then apologise to the Lady, right now. Or I will kill you, right now.”
Sometimes the most carefully written speech does not stand up to the passionate words of a simple man.
Morgan gaped at him. I still felt the gaze of the Duchess on me and I looked up at her as I moved around the courtroom. I think she saw it then. The weakness in their plan and what I had done. Syanna was frowning, thinking furiously. As weas Guillaume. Lady Vivienne was moving towards her husband in the same way that I had moved up on Gregoire, she looked like a woman with a purpose.
“Surely….” Morgan had to clear his throat. “Surely you jest my friend.”
Gregoire stiffened at the familiar time.
“Surely you jest. My wife is a lady of the highest birth. This woman is a whore. A common street harlot who sells her affections for a few coppers. As I’m sure some of the other men in this room…”
That was a mistake. For two reasons. The first was the suggestion that other men in the court room had partaken of a whore’s services. It’s one of those unspoken things. Everyone has visited a brothel, especially when there is a good one available. You might not have partaken of the services and just gone there for the drinks and the flirting. Thie because, quite often, the local brothels also sell the best drinks for what you need. But the thing is that it is exceedingly rude to talk about such a thing.
The other reason was that, calling Anne names only led to increasing Gregoire’s fury.
Gregoire hit him and Morgan fell backwards.
“Fine.” The man who was, after all, named for the local mountains. “Then let us examine the two women. On the one hand you have your wife, Lady Tonlaire, who never says anything about anyone unless there is some way that what she says can cut the person to the bone. Who disdains the people around her. Who beats her servants and looks down on all of those that she thinks of as being lesser than herself. Which, as you point out, is everyone.
“Then we have Anne. Who is the best, kindest, gentlest and most wonderful soul to ever have been born into the world that the rest of us stain with our presence. Where your wife cuts with her words, Anne heals. Where your wife hurts and goes out of her way to hurt. Anne soothes. Where your wife puts others down. Anne lifts them up. Including me.”
For the first time in the speech, Gregoire turned and looked at Anne, really looked at her. Anne looked horrified.
Gregoire mistook the expression and turned away in answering horror and disgust.
Morgan was scrambling to his feet.
“My wife is a noble woman.” He protested “and she is nothing but a…”
“And I am a noble man.” Gregoire pointed out. “But that doesn’t stop people portraying me as a villain. Spreading lies about my behaviour, what I have done and what I have not done. Such matters have been useful to me in the past and if I called out every man that insulted me in such a way then the Duchy would be awash in blood. I, too, am noble born. As acredited before the heralds and the notary’s. It has not stopped you, all of you, from believing lies about me. So why would it prevent you from believing the truth about Lady Tonlaire.”
He laughed. In that moment he reminded me of the men on Skellige and it dawned on me clear and openly. Here was a man born in the wrong place and at the wrong time. If this man Gregoire had been born in Skellige then he would be a mighty warlord and champion. He would be wealthy, married, respected and admired. But in Toussaint, they had made him a villain.
“This proves that saying that she is a of noble blood is pointless and a wasted exercise.” He said. “Just as saying that Anne here is of low birth and low profession. If we took the two women and placed them side by side. If we dressed them identically and removed the knowledge of their names and their stations from the assembly. If we only gave the court the knowledge of their past words and deeds outside of any profession that they might hold. Then who would be believed I wonder. Who would be considered most noble?”
Lady Vivienne was whispering into Guillaume’s ear. He was watching the court intently and nodding to what she was saying. Ariadne, Emma and Laurelen looked as though they were ready to catch Anne who was all but swaying on her feet. For all the world as though she was the one that had been struck.
Syanna had caught up and had settled back to watch things unfold with interest. Not unlike Kerrass.
The Duchess was watching things carefully.
“Nevertheless.” Gregoire turned back after his brief moment of introspection. “I know who’s honesty I would prefer to stake my life on.”
He turned to Anne. “I believe you.” He told her and turned back to Morgan.
“I declare that your wife is false sir. I declare that your words are unfair and insulting. I declare that Anne is a good woman, a far better woman than what your wife forced her to be. I declare these things, sir, before these witnesses here assembled. I demand that you apologise to Anne, and apologise to the court for purporting these untruths and then you will turn over your wife for judgement. My sword awaits your answer.”
“I… uh… I cannot be expected to…”
“I WILL HAVE YOUR ANSWER NOW SIR.” Gregoire bellowed with ear hurting intensity.
“I… I… I do not have to answer this.” Morgan began tentatively. “My wife and I are both of noble blood. Although I acknowledge Sir Gregoire’s claims that he is likewise of noble blood, even if his birth was sinister in nature. The woman Anne is not. My wife’s words automatically have precedence over such as she.”
The crowd had already begun to shift away from Morgan’s sympathies but here, they outright turned on him. And so although I was as caught up in the moment as anyone else, I later thought it a tragedy that Gregoire did not notice the first time he became the popular hero in the eyes of the court of Toussaint.
“Fine.” He said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine, if the nature of your defence is that your wife is a lady and Anne is not. Then I shall rectify it myself for I do declare that there is no-one. No-one in this room that is more noble of spirit than she.”
He stamped over to where Anne was standing. She stared at him in open astonishment and horror.
“Anne.” He began before sinking to one knee.
Anne staggered and gave a moan, almost a scream. Ariadne was there like lightening and caught her.
“Anne, I am a poor excuse for a man.” He continued, not daring to look at her. “It is not without reason that I am called a brute and I will admit that I am not a good man. I do not know how to be a good husband. I do not know how to be a good man. But I do know that I would learn for you. I have no ring to offer you right now…”
“Take mine.” Ariadne offered. “If it is a symbol that you need, then take mine. My betrothed knows how I feel and I am confident in his love for me that we need no symbol to declare that I am his and he is mine until you can return it to me.”
“No, take mine.” Lady Vivienne called. Already tugging her ring from her finger. “I am already married and I need no...”
The hall was suddenly ringing with female voices offering the loans of jewellery.
Gregoire tugged at his sword hilt and as we all watched, the court went silent as he pulled the golden wire that wrapped the hilt free. He tugged his gauntlet off and fashioned a quick ring using his own little finger as a model.
Even the brute of Beauclair has a romantic soul.
“I thank you all.” He said. “But the ring should be of my own making.”
He held up the wire ring to Anne in the traditional pose. “It is a poor thing.” He said, tears in his voice. “A poor thing to go with a poor proposal from a poor husband.”
Ariadne was literally propping Anne up by this point. Tears were streaming down Anne’s face.
“Anne of Beauclair.” Gregoire said formally. “I know that this is sudden. Unexpected. But will you take this poor Knight as your husband?”
The court groaned. I noticed that Morgan was scrabbling for something, looking for an exit but both Guillaume and Kerrass were standing behind him, preventing his escape.
Lady Moineau had not moved during the entire thing.
“Take the ring,” Gregoire pleaded. “Take it, I beg. Take it and I can protect you. I can keep you, and your son, safe from all and if you wish it, you never need to see me again.”
I saw Ariadne’s mouth moving.
Anne nodded and held her hand out. It was shaking so badly that she had to hold it steady so that Gregoire could put the ring on the finger.
“I will buy you a better ring when this is over.” He said before turning back to Morgan.
“I am sir Gregoire de Gorgon.” He said. “I am of noble blood. If a lady is engaged to me then she is a noblewoman. I am proud to call her my betrothed, even if she is not yet my wife. According to the law that you hide behind like a fucking coward, I believe that this makes her as good as a wife and a noble in the eyes of the courts.”
“It does.” Called Syanna.
“Then I will again, demand your apology sir. Or you will answer for your slanders to the lady, my betrothed, or my sword will have it’s answer.”
(A/N: I have never tried to deny that I am a romantic. Don’t @ me. I don’t have time. Thanks for reading folks.)