I often wonder what history will look like when this is all over. When the scholars and historians of the future look back and… barring some invention of someone other than Ciri being able to travel through space and time, I cannot imagine that history will be written any other way than it is now. Which is to look at all the sources on the time in question and choose the account that best fits what else we know.

But when those future historians look back at this period and the events that I have seen. When they gather all the sources and all the accounts of what happened and put it all together to try and find a truth in the middle of all of that that they can believe and that sounds feasible. I wonder what that will look like.

I wonder who it will be that history will decide, woke Sleeping Beauty. I wonder what history will decide about the events regarding the rebirth of the Spider-Queen of Angraal as that has already called into question the histories that were written about her before she was able to put her own side of the story across.

I have already heard of a song being sung in more than one tavern about how Jarl Helfdan and Ciri, star-crossed lovers, dismissed the Skeleton Ship between them. Even now, Francesca’s entire life is being rewritten so that she can be the saint that Toussaint, and some say the world, desperately needs in order to be able to find some light in the darkness.

Not that it’s particularly dark. It just feels that way sometimes. The world has all but recovered from the wars in all the important ways bar one. The famine is over, the pestilence is over. The outbreak of banditry is being driven back up into the hills, the forests and the marshes by regular patrols of armed men. But entire economies are floundering and it is still taking a lot of time for the world to get back on its feet. Even worse, there is no bad guy to fight against, no enemy to point to and say that they are at fault. Because the bad guys are already defeated.

So I am left wondering how long it will be before Francesca becomes an only child. Some virginal image of purity that the woman herself would not recognise.

How will the Empress’ coronation be remembered? How long will it be before the fact that Francesca was part of the entourage of the Empress will be forgotten.

It is impossible to know these things. Impossible. I can only hope that my work will be taken into account when those future scholars settle in to decide what is true and what is not.

The reason I bring this up is that I can absolutely believe that history will remember the destruction of Sir Morgan and the lessening of the traditionalist faction in Toussaint, as being a relatively quick affair. That after the challenge in the courtroom, he and Gregoire armoured up, headed out into the courtyard of the palace and that Gregoire ended the life of the other Knight on the spot. I can also believe that the stories of the women involved will be forgotten. Anne will be the wronged woman (that trope again, I bet the witch of Lynx crag is getting more powerful by the second.) Pure and virginal as history will not like to remember what she had done for a living up to that point.

Freddie’s note: I can’t remember if I’ve talked about this before. Professor Dandelion once told me something that I found fairly interesting. He said that in all of the old stories, women fall into two camps. The first is the virginal princess. (Cold, remote and innocent.) The other is the worldly whore (humorous, sexual, wise). Whether the woman is the hero or the villain of the piece will just dictate how these character traits were used. I spent an evening once trying to disprove that claim by coming up with examples from the various stories that I know and he calmly stabbed each suggestion as he pointed out which of the two types the lady fell into.

I imagine Lady Tonlaire will rarely be talked about at all. She will be, not forgotten, not that. I think it is far more likely that she will become a side character. When people ask whether or not Sir Morgan was married people will say “Yes, of course he was.” and then move on.

But that’s not what happened.

What happened was that Morgan tried to escape the coming duel while trying to appear as though he was accepting it gladly. He didn’t do too well at that.

His first ploy was to try and attack the legality of the duel. There are certain things that are required for a duel to happen officially and one of those things was the presence of proper witnesses. Leaving aside the fact that, clearly, the entire court was going to turn up to watch the thing happen, there are still meant to be witnesses for each camp to ensure fair play.

As you will know, they are called seconds. Technically speaking, according to law, a duel that takes place without proper seconds as witnesses is not a duel at all, but rather a brawl, which is criminal in nature and can result in the winner, if they survived in the first place, being hanged for his trouble. The presence, or lack thereof, of seconds is hardly ever commented on. As to why it’s necessary, it is something to do with whether or not the duel is of just enough cause that other men would turn up and help a man fight for it. In theory, seconds would fight the duels in the place of the principal if no-one shows up. A clause that is hardly ever invoked as a person who knows that they are going to lose is much more likely to just turn up and get it over with.

It is certainly not a commonly made excuse as it is thought to demonstrate the heights of cowardice. Guess which point of law Morgan tried to hide behind.

“This is preposterous.” Morgan protested. “Who would be willing to be seconds to such an absurd claim? This is an insult of the highest order. What man would put his name next to a matter of such ridiculousness. Who would back the word of a whore on behalf of the Brute of Beauclair? A well known bully, rapist and murderer.”

It was not his first mistake. Nor would it be his last. But it was a mistake.

Gregoire’s face darkened. “I hope you have proof to back up your claims of rape and murder.” He said. “Otherwise, even if it is ruled that I cannot kill you on my fiance’s behalf, I will certainly kill you on my own.”

Sir Morgan licked his lips. He was scrabbling, stuttering and sweating. “Who would put their name next to a cause such as this one. It is ludicrous to expect that…”

“I will.” Guillaume called, stepping forward. His wife, Lady Vivienne, stood a little behind him, beaming with pride. “This cause seems just to my eyes and the only reason that you are not fighting me on the ladie’s behalf instead, is because Sir Gregoire was faster. Such are the benefits of love I suppose.”

The court laughed. Getting behind Guillaume and Gregoire, even if the bigger man misread the laughter for a moment.

“I am honoured.” He said to Guillaume. “We are not friends you and I, so I did not feel as though I could ask.”

“Pssh.” Guillaume grinned and waved his hand dismissively. “I am a Knight. It is my right and duty to support any cause that I feel is just. Just as it is your right and duty to take the lady into your care. As I say, I feel that your cause is just. As for friendship? Do please assume it. I would be glad to call a man who would do what you did today, my friend.”

It was a small speech. Butchered from the original effort that was, almost certainly, fed to Guillaume by his wife beforehand which would almost have mirrored Gregoire’s speech perfectly. But it had a profound effect on Gregoire who nodded his gratitude to the other Knight.

“There you are Sir Morgan. I have a second.”

“The law requires…”

“Oh for the love of the prophets.” Gregoire groaned. “Will anyone else serve as my second?” His eyes fell on me. “Lord Frederick. I know that you are the wronged party here and you have no reason to love me. But the rumours of my supposed crimes might mean that others…”

“I would be glad to serve Sir Knight.” I said with as ringing a tone as I could manage. The events of the past two days, as well as the effort involved in getting Gregoire to act were catching up with me. Admittedly, I did not realise that at the time. I never do.

Gregoire nodded. “So I have my seconds Morgan. Who are yours? I notice that it is now you that is struggling for witnesses.”

Morgan paled and called a couple of friends forward who looked a little sheepish and ashamed to be so used.

But that wasn’t the only ploy that was used. Guillaume and I went to work almost immediately in order to gather our… principle’s dictates for the coming duel. He didn’t care a great deal about it very much. He wanted an apology to Anne from both Morgan and his wife, on their knees, followed by them both turning over any information that they might have gathered to Syanna and her duly appointed representatives.

That last bit was an afterthought.

The rest of it? He didn’t really care about it. He didn’t care if Morgan wanted to fight bare-chested or fully armoured. He didn’t care if he wanted to fight with maces, swords, bows, lances or… and this is a quote “fucking desert spoons.”

So during the preparations and the negotiating phase of the duel, which all happened in court, before the court and the Duchess, Morgan began to play another strategem.

“My friend.” One of Morgan’s seconds began. “Requests that the duel take place in the morning so that he be properly allowed to put his affairs in order.”

“No.” Guillaume said. “This is regarding a criminal affair and a matter of treason. For all we know, “putting his affairs in order” will be an effort to hide what evidence there still is to be found. Or to gain time to flee.”

“My Friend would never flee from a fight. As exhibited by the fact that he is wanting the duel to be to the death.”

“So that he can avoid the worst punishments for treason when it is proven.” Guillaume said.

“That’s as maybe,” The Second commented. Yes, I am protecting his identity, he seemed an ok sort for the court of Toussaint. He had not come to our attention as part of the investigation. He seemed like an older man who was enjoying the slow and gentle slide into retirement. “But nevertheless, my friend insists on the delay.”

Guillaume and I looked at each other. Both of our instincts went against this but, the honour of the matter meant that we were acting on behalf of Gregoire and we needed to check.

He laughed at us both in a loud, booming and hungry way when we told him about Morgan trying to play for time. He was pacing behind us all as he waited for the negotiations to continue. He looked like a caged animal.

“No.” He said. “This happens now. I will not allow Anne to suffer on these indignities for a moment longer than I can arrange it.”

He stepped past us.

“Have you forgotten your code of chivalry and Knighthood Morgan.” He said. “Our oaths to the Duchess. We are required to be ready for duty at all times. Required to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice for precisely this type of reason. So that a quarrel between Knights will disadvantage the Duchess for as small a time as possible. So that our service will be delayed for as small a time as possible. We are required to be prepared to fight a duel, at any time, in any place, for any reason. Merchants, craftsmen and unknighted nobles can request delays and make appointments because they serve in other ways.”

It felt like he was quoting something.

“But we are Knights,” Gregoire finished. “Oathsworn, anointed and charged with our duties. You should be ready now, this instant. I am ready. Why aren’t you?”

“He’s right.” Syanna called. “That is why Knights wear their armour and weapons to court after all. So that they can leave on a quest at a moment's notice. It would seem that the Brute of Beauclair knows more about being a Knight than you do Sir Morgan.”

There was laughter and I saw the barb strike home.

“A tradition.” Morgan stuttered. “A tradition that is…”

“I am ready, should the Duchess choose to call on me.” Gregoire shouted. “Why aren’t you?”

“Who takes such things seriously?” Morgan protested again.

“I do.” Guillaume said. “Apart from anything else, how else would I protect the Duchess from the assassin’s blade if I am not armed and armoured.

“So do I,” said a voice and I was astonished to see Sir Raoul standing, fishing around in his mostly empty paper bag.

Morgan looked at Sir Raoul in horror.

The matter was decided soon after that and the entire court trotted out to the winter sunlight. It was afternoon by that point and I watched the sun falling towards the horizon with a slow, sinking feeling.

But I didn’t have time for that, I nodded at Guillaume who was leading Sir Gregoire out to the courtyard by way of the armoury so that his proper armaments could be fetched.

Sword, shield and so forth.

I caught him before he vanished entirely though. “Take your time.” I said. “Still a couple of games to play.”

“I did not enjoy being one of your playthings Lord Frederick.” He admonished me.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I can explain everything, but later. The entire thing hinges on making Gregoire out to be the hero and for that, there are a few other things that need to be arranged. Otherwise the crowd turns on him and therefore us. So take your time. Make sure he looks good and shiny.”

He glared at me for a while. Then his face slackened as he looked over at the huge figure of Gregoire that was pacing up and down. “I have misjudged him.” He said sadly. “Badly.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you are in good company.” I told him. The entire country, indeed the entire world has agreed with you up until this point. You can apologise to him later. But I guarantee that he won’t mind. He will even be astonished that you care.”

“How did you see it?”

“Guillaume, I love you, and I swear that I will tell you later. I will even tell you how ignorant and stupid you have been if it will make you feel better to have someone harrangue you, but for the right here and right now of the matter. You need to get him ready to fight and I need to get Anne into position. I will join you as soon as I can.”

As I have said before, Guillaume is one of those people that wears his heart on his sleeve. His expressions showed me what he was thinking easily. I saw impatience, anger, self-recrimination, rueful acceptance, amusement and then determination.

“I will see you there.”

He headed off to join Gregoire who was all but dancing with impatience.

I dashed over to my family who were clustered around a weeping and whimpering Anne. had had to sit her down on the steps to the throne because there was a real sense that she wouldn’t be able to stand up otherwise.

Emma and Laurelen had their arms round the sobbing woman while Mark, Kerrass and Lady Vivienne stood around and hid her from view.

Syanna and the Duchess were nearby in close conversation.

Anne saw me first. “What… What is happening? Why did he do that? Why is this happening? What… What do I do?”

She was a woman on the edge of hysterics if ever I’ve seen one.

“Anne?” I said, sinking to my knees in front of her. “Anne? I need you to look at me. Anne?”

She nodded and stared at me, blinking furiously. “Why did he do that?” She asked between sobs. “What is happening?”

“I do not have a lot of time.” I told her. “Nor do we as a whole. But in short. Sir Gregoire is about to fight for your life as well as, I think, his own soul. In doing so, we are going to defeat an enemy of the Duchess and one of the more powerful forces against change in the Duchy.”

“He didn’t mean that?” She was talking about Gregoire and I realised that I was losing her. She was looking at the piece of golden wire that was on her finger. “He can’t have meant that.”

“My assessment is that he meant every word.” Mark muttered audibly.

“Anne?” I tried again. “Our victory is not yet assured. Anne?”

“Why did he do that?” She moaned.

“Because he loves you.” I tried. “I think he always has. And if you try and tell me that you don’t love him back I am going to call you a liar.”

I tried to make it a joke but I think she was too far gone. Her face was crumpling and she wailed with enough emotion mixed into the middle of it that it brought a lump to my own throat. There was despair in that voice as well as a deep grief that I could not fathom.

“Dammit.” I swore.

“What do you need Freddie?” Emma wondered. “This is your play.”

“She needs to be the Princess.” I commented.

“What?”

“In the story of this moment,” I said. “She needs to be the virginal Princess that Gregoire is fighting for. We need a plain white dress, her hair needs brushing out. She needs subtle makeup to make her look as though she isn’t wearing any at all. And she needs a scarf, something light and floaty.”

“What, why?” Mark’s voice.

“I get it.” Emma said rising to her feet.

“So do I.” Vivienne said. “Let’s get her to my rooms. We do not have a lot of time. Although, where we are going to find a plain white dress?”

“I might have one that will serve.” The Duchess approached.

“Why are you all doing this?” Anne wailed again.

“Fuck it.” Kerrass muttered and gestured. White light danced around Anne’s head as she calmed instantly.

There was one of those moments when we all turned to glare at Kerrass. “What?” He said. “Come on, you all needed it to happen and there is not a lot of time. You can all yell at me later.”

“I was not far off doing something similar myself.” Ariadne commented as she got one of Anne’s arms over her shoulder.

“I will go and hold them up.” Syanna headed to the courtyard. “I can get all, legal and delay things.”

“Apart from anything else, I want to see this.” The Duchess called as she helped lever the dazed looking courtesan to her feet.

Syanna waved to say that she had heard while she was heading for the door.

“I should go as well.” I said. “I have duties to perform after all.” I headed to the door before turning back. “And don’t forget the scarf.”

“We won’t.” Vivienne called as she was leading the party towards her quarters.

“Freddie wait,” Ariadne was next to me in a flash and kissed me soundly before I got a chance to react. “Proud of you.” She told me before leaving with the others.

Nothing quite like the love of a good woman to keep you strong.

I sprinted through the palace, picking up my spear and belly knife as I went. Not that I was expecting trouble, but you never know and the truth was that it didn’t occur to me to not have my weapons with me.

Toussaint has many, many different aspects to it. One of the things that has surprised me about the place is that… honestly… and I hope that neither group of people gets too offended at this. But one of the things that has been constantly surprising is how similar they are to Skellige in many ways.

And before readers in either part of the continent get so offended that they stop reading. Apparently my readership is not large enough to be able to be cavalier about offending different people. Let me explain.

Both groups of people enjoy a good party and both of them can organise a party, or a feast, at the smallest hint of the need of such a thing. Both have their own code of honour. Both of them have rules that seem to govern their way of life and have rigid caste structures that govern the world that they live in.

While also elevating and hero worshipping those that manage to break free of such. But that’s a different argument for a different day.

And they both love stories. Skellige is the land of saga and legend where Toussaint is called the fairy tale kingdom. Not so different really.

Apart from everything else, the similarities are also a factor.

But the other things that they have in common is that they are prepared for a fight, or a duel at the moment’s notice. There are rules to go with it all that are also remarkably similar in both cases, but also, everyone wants to see it. The difference between the two, is… organisation. For Skellige, it can happen at the drop of a hat. But for Toussaint? It needs organising. And naturally, there are servants to organise it.

In the time from the duel being announced, they had literally set up stands in the courtyard so that more people could be there to see it. There were wooden frames with steps and chairs and everything. They looked obscenely heavy. Impossible to get it set up in such a short period of time. I actively stopped and came to a skidding halt as I sprinted through the courtyard so that I could stop and see if the entire thing was on wheels.

It wasn’t.

Even if it was in parts originally, getting them all into place and reassembled must have taken an extraordinary amount of effort in so quickly.

I looked around briefly before I heard my name called. Guillaume was off in one of the corners outside a pavilion, waving to me and I jogged over. As I did so, I could see Syanna arguing with a bunch of people. I recognised the Ducal herald in the group of people as well as a couple of representatives of the court.

“How’s everything going?” I asked Ariadne through our link as I jogged over.

“What? Oh, slowly, far too slowly. We’ve got her out of the dress and into a bath. Part of the problem is that she’s freaking out about the fact that one of the people scrubbing her clean is the Duchess of Toussaint.”

A flash of a memory of Anne’s naked body crossed my mind and I did my best to squash it as ruthlessly as I could.

“Don’t worry about it Freddie.” Ariadne told me. “You’re only human. One day it will be my naked body that you think about.”

She deliberately sent an image of her examining herself in a mirror.

“That was mean.” I told her.

“Yes.” She admitted. “Just so long as you can stay focused. She will be there. Just keep your man on target. He might be as good a man as you suggest but there is a terrible violence in him.”

I nodded, I had skidded to a halt outside of Gregoire’s pavilion.

“I won’t keep you.” I told her. “I love you an awful lot.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“And don’t forget the scarf.”

She laughed at me and went back to sorting out Anne’s intended clothing.

“How are we doing?” I asked as Guillaume led me into the tent.

“Good actually.” He told me. “Gregoire’s a bit bemused about the entire thing.”

“Is that Lord Frederick?” The man himself called.

“The very one.” I called and walked in to find him being dressed by a number of armoured men. I recognised Guillaume’s squire as well as a couple of the other squire’s that I had seen around the place.

“I would normally do all of this myself before a fight.” He grumbled. “But I will admit that it is not unpleasant to have people doing it for me.”

Another Toussaint feature was in the corner of the room. A drinks table and I went over to pour myself a drink to restore some energy. Thirsty work all of this being romantic.

“Well take your time.” I told the squires. “Make sure that it’s all in place good and solid. Don’t rush.”

“What’s happening?” Guillaume demanded in my ear.

I filled him in on what the plan was as I looked around. Once again, the sheer size of the man in question was like a hammer blow to the face. There was a sword in the corner, a broadsword pattern that was easily as long as Kerrass’ own sword that he uses two hands to wield. As well as that was a huge two handed sword that was resting in a stand on a table nearby. It looked impossibly big.

“Try and lift it.” Guillaume smirked. He had guessed what I was looking at. “I have and I needed both hands at the balance points”

“With your permission Sir Gregoire?” I wondered.

“What? Oh yes, of course.” He had been in conversation with one of the squires about armour straps and proper seating of something. “Lift away. Everyone tries.”

“You should charge by the attempt.” I told him. “Donate the proceeds to a church or a hospital or something.”

He considered this. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

I couldn’t lift the sword.

“Brute of a thing.” Gregoire commented from the corner. “I wouldn’t use it but people expect it of me now. The Brute of Beauclaire hammering away at better men with his ugly sword.” The way he spoke seemed off hand. Quiet, as though he had his mind on other things.

Guillaume caught my eye and nodded towards the entrance of the tent and we left to let Gregoire get on with things.

“Bit cloudy for it.” I commented. And I was right, the cloud cover was getting thick.

“A bit better for all of that.” Guillaume said. “That way no-one would be able to claim that the sun shone off someone’s armour and blinded the other.”

“Yes, but I rather fancied sun beams to shine down on Anne as she watches.” I sighed and gave voice to a small fear. “Gregoire will win this won’t he?” The way I said it, almost sounded like a prayer.

Guillaume laughed. “There is always an element in any fight.” He said. “Always a chance, another reason that cloud cover is good. There will not be a frost for either man to slip on. But you have never seen the Gorgon fight before have you.”

“I have not.”

“It will be something to see.” He told me.

The courtyard filled with astonishing speed. Word had gotten out that things were happening I suppose and as a result of that, people that hadn’t wanted to come to the courtroom to share in Sir Morgan’s madness, did want to see him getting destroyed. As we watched and waited for things to get started, we could see a nigh on constant stream of messengers heading down into the city letting various people know about what was happening.

The palace Grooms were doing a roaring trade. A large number of merchants were arriving as well. Any chance to be able to rub shoulders with the movers and shakers of Toussaint politics. To see and to be seen at the highest political events of the land. So as a result, people were streaming in on horseback. All of those horses needed taking somewhere and so the palace Grooms would come rushing out to do little more than take the horses bridle and lead the poor beast off somewhere. And because this was Toussaint, each time this was done, the groom would be given a coin by the noble or merchant that was leaving his horse in the care of someone else.

My father would have been outraged.

As a result of this, the Grooms would probably stand to make quite a bit of money for very little work as there was no banquet planned for the evening. No ball or anything of that nature. I mean there probably was one somewhere in the Duchy but there certainly wasn’t one at the palace. Someone had pointed out that it might be seen as bad taste for the Duchess and her peers to be seen partying while there was a serial killer on the loose. So what that meant was that as soon as the Duel was over, then all of those horses would need to be produced back out. They would not have had time to be desaddled or brushed down or anything. So in all likelihood, they were being released into another secure courtyard where they would spend the time eating the Duchess’ rosebushes.

Beyond that, the assembling… There really is no other word for it that adequately describes what was happening. The assembling crowd were milling around, having drinks and nibbles brought to them by palace servants that had, like the grooms, risen to the occasion.

I felt an odd kind of conflict in my heart. I said earlier that there are many similarities between Toussaint culture and Skelligan culture. This is true. But now I was seeing a difference and I didn’t like Toussaint’s version of it.

In Skellige, a duel is a solemn occasion. It is a time for passions and the ultimate culmination of honour. So there is certainly a buzz in the crowd of people that are waiting for honour to be fulfilled, but mostly they are treating the fact that someone is, very probably, about to die with the respect that the event deserves. They wait, jostle for position a bit and then watch and listen. To be sure, they would be the first to cheer and applaud a well fought duel. But it is a matter of respect rather than an excuse to do other things.

Whereas Toussaint was getting ready for this as though it was another form of entertainment. I didn’t like that. That was what Tournaments were for. That is a martial sport for entertainment purposes. It is also very different. Over and over again, as Kerrass would be amongst the first to point out, the difference between a Tournament fight or a sport piece of fencing, and an actual struggle for survival, are completely different. The thing that got my hackles up here, more than a little bit, was that this was treated as an extension of the court. It was… it wasn’t about the fact that a duel was taking place where someone might die, let alone the fact that the future of Toussaint might change. This was just a passing entertainment to some of these people. Something to watch while they discussed trade deals, the coming parties, balls and tournaments.

It was as though the fighting and the reasons behind that duel beginning in the first place, were the least important parts of it,

This was made even more prevalent when people started to approach Guillaume and I in an effort to play politics. It seemed that there was little doubt in popular sentiment as to who was actually going to win the duel, but people wanted to capitalise on the expected victory. I was literally told to pass on this message to Sir Gregoire.

“Please could you convey my warmest regards to Sir Gregoire. Tell him that I am looking forward to seeing him trounce that fool Morgan. I have always said that there was more to this “Brute of Beauclair” nonsense than people were letting on. Very unfair I thought to paint a man in such hues of villainy without proof or proper evidence. We are supposed to be a reasoning scientific people after all. Will you tell him that?”

“I will,” I lied. “I promise that I will tell him all of that.”

“Excellent. Tell him that I would dearly like to have him and his new betrothed over for dinner at some point. Perhaps the day after tomorrow. You are invited of course Lord Frederick and maybe bring your lovely fiance with you?”

“I cannot commit myself.” I told the man. “I am likely to still be dealing with the business that led to this combat. I will convey your message and invitation to Sir Gregoire although I would suggest that he will have other things on his mind at the moment and over the next few days. So I would not anticipate a swift, or a positive acceptance if I were you.”

“Yes of course, of course. But please convey my earlier message.”

“I will.” I lied again.

That was early enough that Guillaume wasn’t yet dealing with his own enquiries on this matter. He told me that I handled that well and that there was no way that Guillaume would respond to all of that in the positive. Apparently the offending idiot had made it well known that Gregoire was a villain and deserved to be treated as such.

“Yes.” I responded. “I also noticed that he invited Ariadne and myself as well. So a dinner party where he would almost certainly remind Gregoire, over and over again that Anne had gone from my bed to his. And then reminded Ariadne that she had a competitor for my affections.”

Guillaume considered this.

“I have changed my mind.” He declared. “You should accept the invitation. You should take Ariadne and Anne together and then watch as the idiot and his insipid wife tie themselves in knots while they figure out that you have Gregoire’s undying friendship and that Ariadne and Anne are working on becoming fast friends.”

I laughed at the image.

But then it started to get more intense.

We could see the other pavilion on the opposite corner of the courtyard where Sir Morgan was making his own preparations. There was still some traffic of people coming in and out of that tent. He didn’t seem to have any kind of monitors or gatekeepers needed on his tent though, or maybe he didn’t want them. Not for me to question either way. I wondered if he was trying to politicise his coming defeat and probably, his death.

I didn’t think so. He had portrayed himself as being afraid and I more than thought it was more likely that he would be just trying to get into the headspace of the coming fight, or trying to think of new ways to back out of it. I could easily imagine him doing his best to brainstorm with his wife as to what he should do or how they could get out of this mess.

I knew the answer of course. There is always an answer.

If survival was the goal then he would apologise, he would be on his knees begging for forgiveness, but I couldn’t see that happening. It would mean that his wife would be guilty in the eyes of the court and the land. For spying on me? Probably an exile of some kind, but for spying on the Duchess? That is treason no matter which way you cut it. So she would be for the headsman.

So the quickest and easiest way out of it would be to let Gregoire kill him. Nice and quickly, let the death be as brutal as possible. The wife, Lady Tonlaire would then be able to blame her husband for everything. That would depend on the evidence that Anne had, and how she had pointed out Lady Tonlaire, but nevertheless, it could be done. She could easily say that she was forced to do it to avoid her husband’s disgrace or something similar. And there would be no gainsaying her because her husband, therefore the offending party, would be dead.

I looked to see if I could find the woman in question. She was already on the stands themselves before a seat. She was standing as still as a statue and, for all intents and purposes, she was ignoring the entire affair. She seemed calm, reserved and unruffled. If I concentrated, I believed that I could see how her stance could go either way. She was making herself a mirror for people to project their own interpretations onto. So if people wanted to believe her innocent of the charges, then that could certainly be seen in the figure of the woman standing before us. But likewise, if you wanted to believe that she was a diabolical mastermind, then that could be seen here too in the fact that she was clearly uncaring about what was about to happen.

I found that I was looking forward to the impending interrogation of her. One way or another, she would be answering some very insistent questions.

Syanna was doing well. Demanding that the field be cleared of all obstacles. She had even more servants sweeping the courtyard so that no debris was going to be in the way. She was also arguing with one of Morgan’s seconds. The poor man, who I didn’t get to know, was doing his best to save his friend’s life. Coming up with reason after reason why the duel should not go ahead but Syanna was destroying every argument. The terms had actually been settled rather quickly and having been settled, there was nothing that could be done. But the poor man tried anyway.

Then the fanfare sounded.

“We’re on our way.” Ariadne told me. I nodded and passed the message over to Guillaume who stopped being polite with the people that were trying to get into the tent. Gregoire had been fully fitted with his armour some time ago and now he had just done some warm-up exercises in the huge, massive armour that he was wearing. Gregoire poked his head into the tent to speak to him while I continued to watch.

After the last echoes of the fanfare died away, the courtiers finally started to take their seats. It was a slow, agonising process and Syanna was getting visibly annoyed with the entire process. It was not lost on her, just as it was not lost on me, that the sun was still continuing, inexorably, towards the horizon and we did not have a lot of time before sunset. We needed this done. We needed this over with so that we could interrogate Lady Tonlaire and find out what she knew so that we could prevent another death. And now we were being held up by the fact that people couldn’t be bothered to stop gossiping and take their seats properly.

Then the fanfare sounded again and people started to get the message and properly get into place.

One day, I will meet the director of the fanfare. I want to meet them and ask them a series of questions. Like, “How exactly do you make it so that the fanfare sounds impatient?”

The crowd were still remarkably slow to get to their places though. Lone people showing their reluctance to finish previous conversations in the middle of their… whatever. Last few stragglers commandeering drinks and small snacks from the various attendants. They will not be happy to hear this, but they reminded me of a group of children being told to take their seats as the priest begins his religious instruction. Or students getting into place when the lecturer walks into the lecture hall. You know the thing, where people are reluctant to let go of the conversation that they were having with a member of the opposite sex.

I watched Lady Tonlaire. Not to see what she was doing. She had already proven that she was adept at the courtier’s mask. The facial expression that you wear when you want to avoid letting people know what you’re thinking. What I was looking for were the people that were going over to her in order to wish her well. Who was giving her words of encouragement, that kind of thing.

It was not as many as I had expected but at the same time, she was not sitting alone. There were other people near her that I took to be some kind of knitting circle that she was part of. Her nearest and dearest. Friends or even family members.

I realised that I had fallen into a trap with this woman. I didn’t believe that she was part of the Jack conspiracy, not really. I still found it difficult to believe that a woman could be part of something like that. To do that to women requires a certain level of hatred, or worse, indifference to the female gender that I rather thought, or hoped, could only be achieved by a male.

But I had taken her for granted. She was the wife of a powerful, expressive and outspoken man. She faded into the background, didn’t say much and so, automatically, I had dismissed her. And lo and behold, she had turned out to be one of my more powerful enemies.

There is a lesson there. One that I thought I had learned before but it seemed as though I needed to learn it again. I could always claim the excuse that I had been injured and that I was still sick, but that did not… remove the fact that I had made this mistake and that I had nearly paid for it with my life.

Yes. This game is played on that level.

Syanna moved to the centre of the courtyard and turned up to where we were now expecting the Duchess’ party.

But first there was another spectacle. Ariadne and Emma led Anne out to the stands where a seat had been reserved for them near the front. This, a position of honour, was kept for her on the grounds that it was her honour that was being protected here and as such, the people of Toussaint seemed to think that it was important that a person watch closely when their lives tumble down around their ears.

I looked at Anne for a moment before I had to turn away. The ladies in my life had done me proud.

I have never met an Elven princess. It’s the kind of thing that you never actually get to do, but if you could conjure up the image of what that would look like, then this was what they had produced. She was wearing a white, demure dress. Quilted against the cold but it was one of those, almost old fashioned now, long flowing affairs. Since the Empress has displayed a taste for practical clothing, coats, trousers and boots as well as skirts, that has been the direction that women’s fashion has gone in. But whoever had chosen Anne’s wardrobe had gone in the other direction.

As I say, it was long, floaty, demure and chaste looking. There were the long sleeves that flap about that also displayed an inner lining of deep, forest green. The dress was simple in it’s elegance and I could easily believe that it had come from the Duchess’ wardrobe as the Duchess had threatened.

Although I never found out for sure where the dress had come from.

It was all held together at the waist by a green sash of the same shade as the dress’ lining. She wore a green choker at her neck and although I could not see it clearly, there was something that glittered on it. Her hair had clearly been brushed so that it hung loose down her back. There is an art to that kind of thing, or so many of the women in my life have told me. You can’t just brush it and expect it to lie like that. It takes hours of work. I thought, again, that I could see the efforts of the Duchess’ hair stylist.

Of course she has one.

I looked and I saw that there was a green scarf that was draped around her shoulder.

“Thank you.” I sent to Ariadne.

“It was a close run thing,” she told me. “Finding a dress, scarf, and sash that all matched. Would you believe that we were caught up by a servant who was chasing us with it flapping in the wind?”

“I would actually.” I responded.

Anne looked pale though. Ashen faced. Still beautiful but plainly terrified. The red of her face from the weeping had been disguised with clever cosmetics. Something to do with the use of green to cancel out the red apparently although I couldn’t tell you why that works.

But she was visibly trembling. I could see Emma whispering in one ear and I could easily imagine my sister leading the other woman through events carefully. Ensuring that Anne didn’t trip over anything as she moved while also keeping her mind off all of the assembled people that were watching her. Even despite Emma’s guiding hand, I saw Anne stumble a couple of times.

Ariadne had weaponised a glare. She was glaring around herself while she held Anne’s hand and supported the majority of her weight. As it was, Anne was leaning on my fiancee with a not small amount of weight and I could well imagine the white knuckled grip that was going on there. But Ariadne had appointed herself as Anne’s champion. Not literally as Gregoire was doing that function. But it was more that, any time someone looked, or even suggested as though they were looking down on Anne, Ariadne would glare at them before the offending idiot would quail in terror before the wrath of the elder Vampire.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

It is still, sometimes difficult to read what Ariadne is thinking. But in this case? I rather thought that she was enjoying herself.

They led Anne into place and sat on either side of her with Laurelen taking a seat on the other side of Emma.

Then there was another fanfare and everyone stood up again anyway. The Duchess was making her entrance.

I really must make a note to hunt down someone who leads those fanfares. I mean, who composes them all apart from anything else. Can you imagine writing a fanfare with all the harmonies in place to try and suggest a proper regal atmosphere. Something designed to get the people out of their seats and into a standing position. Only to get one of the harmony lines wrong?

Also, where do these people practice? They have to practice at some point. But where do they do that? I have never once been wandering through a palace or a castle to find a room where there’s a dozen or so people wearing everyday clothes, practising their fanfares. The sound must be devastating after all.

The Duchess was making her entrance. She had also had a quick costume change. Nothing too overt. A similar golden dress only an outside version that was cut for warmth. She was also wearing a shawl as a sop to the fact that it was still quite cold outside. She was accompanied by Lady Vivienne who was wearing one of her official frocks. Apparently she has several.

I know these things because Guillaume was offering a commentary in my ear. Apparently, as one of the most senior attendants to the Duchess, Lady Vivienne was often wearing outfits that were used as statements. As the Duchess herself could not have too varied a wardrobe, it was up to her “ladies” to do that for her. As a result, Lady Vivienne had a mourning frock, several “angry” frocks although they came to varying degrees. A happy frock as well as numerous others. She also had to keep fashions of the various countries that she might visit. The Duchess was always the Duchess of Toussaint, but her ladies would often have to dress according to the fashions of Toussaint, or the various countries of the North depending on which embassy they were visiting.

In this case, this particular frock was one of “stern regality” with overtones of “contained and simmering wrath”. One of the things that Guillaume would complain about was that his wife had thrown out most of his old wardrobe and completely rebuilt it from the ground up. He had a most comedic face on him when he gave me the following gem.

“Apparently there are some occasions where it is not acceptable for a gentleman to be wearing armour.” He was most disgusted as he said that. Not able to immediately think of one for himself.

I didn’t tease him for this. Sometimes a target is just too easy.

The Duchess came down and moved to her steps with all of the stately regality of a warship. And she slid into position just as easily. She signalled to Syanna before gesturing to a waiting servant to bring her a drink.

“Seconds?” Syanna called. Which meant us. Guillaume and I moved over to where Syanna waited for us. We got there first as it seemed that Morgan was still talking to his seconds.

“How’s he doing?” Syanna wondered of us.

Guillaume shrugged slightly. Not enough so that the crowd could see us. Again, it was a little astonishing to me how a man could be so worldly wise in certain areas, while also being utterly naive in others. “He’s fine. Kind of wanting to get this all over with. A little bemused to find himself the hero for once.”

“I have to admit that I did not see this coming.” Syanna was pacing a little, the sound of her armour covering her words as she paced, one hand tucked behind her back and the other resting on her sword hilt. “How did you manage it Lord Frederick?”

“It was not hard.” I muttered. “You have all been seeing what Gregoire has wanted you to see for far too long. The fact that he didn’t actually know how to do anything else was a problem. But if any of you had bothered to look into it a little, I suspect that you would have been astonished to find a good man.”

“But why didn’t he join the Knights when I offered?”

“I don’t know.” I suggested. “It might be money. I don’t know but I suspect that his jousting is the only way that he knows how to make money. It is possible that the fact that he could make money from the questing simply never occurred to him. The other option is that he simply didn’t think he deserved the position.”

“I have a lot to think about then.” Syanna commented, frowning in thought before turning towards Sir Morgan’s tent with a gesture of impatience.

“Come gentlemen.” She called. “Your delay is unseemly.”

One of the two came out and made a placating gesture.

“Your opponent is ready.” Syanna said. “Why are you not?”

With that rebuke, that man put his head into the tent and said something. The other second came forth at a jog as though he had quickly run out before slowing to the sedate walk that is properly expected.

Syanna paced a little, taking the time to turn her back on the audience and the approaching seconds of Sir Morgan. She winked at us as she did so, which prompted a snort of disapproval from Guillaume. I don’t know though. Was it inappropriate? Absolutely but I found that I couldn’t blame Syanna for looking forward to the coming display.

I found that I felt sorry for the other two seconds though. It was not their fault that they suddenly found themselves on the side of the villain. A situation that they were obviously unused to, and uncomfortable with. And in any other case, a duel between Morgan and Gregoire, they would have been the plucky underdog heroes taking the fight to the villainous giant.

The slower one of the two was outright stunned as the crowd literally booed him. His look of confusion was pronounced.

“Finally Gentlemen.” Syanna said when they got there. “I must say that I am rather displeased with the delays. This is a matter of Ducal security that needs to be addressed and every second that is delayed is another second that the Duchy’s enemies are free to cause mischief.”

Guillaume cleared his throat. “We would draw the Duchess’ representative’s attention to the fact that the Gentleman that I represent in this matter was ready some time ago. That the delay is not his, nor our, fault.”

“That has been noted.” Syanna responded.

The other two men squirmed a little. It was in exactly the same way that time wasting students squirmed when caught out by a lecturer. I have been that person on more than one occasion and I could recognise the movements.

“Further to this,” Syanna went on. “The Duchess will not tolerate extended negotiations. This matter has gone on long enough and further delays are cruel. Especially as, on the outcome of this duel, the future of two women rests. Not just the future of the two duellists. Prolonging this matter further will be seen, by the ducal crown, as being cruel and even should they be the victor, they will know the Duchess’ displeasure. Am I understood?”

We all nodded.

“Very well. I must formally ask the terms of the duel.”

One of Morgan’s seconds cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose the matter could be settled with a contest of first blood?”

I don’t think he expected it to go anywhere. It had the feeling of something that he had to say to just get it out of the way.

Guillaume laughed at him. “This is a matter of honour. My Gentleman is willing to lay down his life for the defence of the lady’s honour. Does your gentleman value the honour of his lady less? If so then he is a coward and is further insulting both ladies in question. I feel sure that I would be forced to demand satisfaction on those ladies behalf if that avenue is pursued. I would do that anyway except my friend has the first claim. Such a request is only a further example of your friend’s abject cowardice and lack of general…”

“Yes yes, they will do.” Syanna jumped in. “Apart from anything else this is something that the Duchess was clear on. The matter includes an accusation of treason. Simply letting the matter go with a duel to the first blood would make for a dangerous precedent for the future. Therefore I am invoking Ducal oversight on the matter. The Duel will continue to the death, inability to continue, or to the yielding. I was hoping to avoid having to do so, on the grounds that I was expecting both parties to act with proper honour in this matter. Another point against your gentleman.” She said to the two, openly squirming nobles. “Also, shame gentlemen. This is not a contest. This is not a sport for the entertainment of the masses. This is a duel for the honour of the realm.”

“Yes of course.” The poor man whimpered in the face of Syanna’s wrath. And her artfully increased volume so that the rebuke would carry to the crowds. “A slip of the tongue. I apologise.”

“Understandable.” Syanna relented on him. “I have little doubt as to who was at fault there. You gentlemen should know that, should this go against either side, that the seconds are acknowledged to be faultless in this matter.”

The other two men nodded gratefully.

“I cannot speak for my companion.” I said. Not really wanting these men to be let off the hook yet. “But I share the right honourable gentleman that I represent’s, outrage and I also share his cause.”

“As do I.” Guillaume added. “Indeed, The only reason that your man is not fighting me is that my Friend was quicker off the mark.”

“Gentlemen.” Syanna snapped. “This bickering is pointless and is, once again, leading to delays. Now... weapons?”

The other noble, who was looking at his feet. “The Gentleman wishes to be carrying his coat of arms. Therefore we ask for weapon and shield versus whatever your gentleman wishes.”

Guillaume and I looked at each other. “That is acceptable.” I said.

“Very well.” Syanna said. “And finally then, I must ask if this is necessary. Would either of you back down or offer terms for this duel to be avoided. Both parties should be aware that backing down may lead to legal consequences.”

“The Gentleman that I represent demands a full apology.” Guillaume got in fast. “A full apology to be delivered, on their knees to the lady that was wronged and her son, by both Lord and Lady Tonlaire. The apology will be public before court as well as in a public venue so that all of Toussaint can see that justice be done, no matter the station of the criminal or the victim. After which, Lord and Lady Tonlaire will deliver themselves to the Duchess’ judgement for whatever the Duchy requires of them. They will serve without complaint and without question.”

Our opposite numbers exchanged glances. “The Gentleman that we represent requires an apology from Sir Gregoire. The woman will then be turned over for justice.”

Syanna nodded.

“One of you may take the offers back to your duellists.”

Guillaume nodded. “I will go, although I am fairly sure I know what the Gentleman’s answer will be.”

Sir Morgan’s friend retreated.

I turned to watch Guillaume enter Gregoire’s pavilion. There was a short delay before Gregoire’s laughter could be heard echoing out across the Courtyard.

“I think you have your answer.” I told Syanna.

“It would seem so.”

Guillaume came out and nodded. “I’m afraid that the terms have been rejected by the right honourable gentleman that I represent.”

Syanna nodded in response.

The other man was much longer coming back. Long enough for Syanna’s expression to visibly darken before my eyes. Moving past the amused kind of condescension and onto an angrier, continued feeling. Like me, every so often, she was checking to see where the sun was. Which of course we couldn’t really see because it was overcast. That was not as reassuring as you might think.

“The Gentleman says no.” He told us.

“Very well. Then an inspection of weapons, primary and secondary please.”

This was something that was different about Toussaint than it was in Skellige. There, the duels that I had seen had been inspected by druids and priests. Or in the matter of honour in the woods, it was just assumed that neither warrior would so besmirch his own honour in order to poison his weapon. Here it was a matter of course. Just one of those little rituals that was built into the process.

Think of that for a moment. No law, no rule in existence has ever been dreamed up out of nowhere. So it stands to reason that, in Toussaint at some point, poisoning or otherwise tampering with one or other weapon was so common place that it became necessary to build weapon inspections into the process.

I found that thought rather chilling.

We went over to Gregoire’s tent first. Guillaume produced the huge two handed sword as well as a dagger that would have put more than one short sword to shame which he placed on a nearby table. All four seconds and Syanna examined both in minute detail before nodding our satisfaction. One of the other seconds plainly wanted to object to the massive weapon but his friend shushed him before it could get out of hand.

Then we went across the courtyard to where we inspected Morgan’s weaponry. The dagger was shorter and thinner, a stabbing weapon. While the sword that he intended to carry was smaller, also thinner and meant for stabbing. A rapier.

Do not make the mistake, as I have, of thinking that a combat rapier is the same as one of those thin, bendy, almost circular blades that is used in a fencing sport. These things are easily as heavy as a broadsword. Just longer and less designed to use the edge. They do feel lighter in the hand but that is a matter of balance rather than anything else though.

We all nodded, there was clearly nothing at fault in either set of weaponry.

“Then bring out your fighters gentlemen.” Syanna told us.

Guillaume and I had the longest walk.

“What do you think?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “I still think that there isn’t much doubt. But Morgan is being clever about it. He’s going to come out with a huge, heavy shield to absorb the blows that Gregoire is going to rain on him while using a quick, sharp blade to find the weak spots in Gregoire’s armour.”

“Sounds like a good strategy.” I found that I was nervous.

“My friend.” Guillaume told me. “Do not trouble yourself. As I say, you haven’t seen Gregoire fight yet. And Morgan’s tactic is not a new one and Gregoire has faced it before. It’s, really, the only tactic that might work against the Brute of Beauclair. Also, think of the sheer size of Gregoire. It would take more than one pin prick from that sword to bring down the giant. You could probably stab Gregoire three or four times with that thing before he would even begin to feel it. There is enough muscle there that it will take work to get through all the armour, padding and then skin and muscle to get to anything vital. Do not be too worried.”

“Ok, now I am worried.”

He laughed. The laughter did much to make me feel better.

I looked over to the stands and where Anne was sitting.

“Does she know what to do?” I asked Ariadne through our link.

“In what way?”

“Gregoire’s going to ask for a token. She will need to stand and…”

“Ah yes. I remember. I will warn her.”

“Also… She looks a little.... Could you do something to make her, I dunno, shine or something.”

It was a strange sensation to see Ariadne frown at that distance but to be all but whispering to her and hear her as though she was standing right next to me.

“Why?”

“Picture the scene. When Gregoire asks and the sun shines through the clouds down upon the innocent…”

“Ah. I will speak with Laurelen and see what we can manage.”

I nodded.

Then I got another astonishment.

We walked into Gregoire’s tent to find the huge man on his knees before a small shrine to the prophet. I would have felt terrible but Guillaume was easily as surprised as I was.

“It’s ready.” I said.

Gregoire nodded and rose to his feet.

“I never pictured you as a religious man, Gregoire.” Guillaume said.

“I always pray before a duel to the death.” The big man said. “I don’t expect to lose, but at the same time, I would not want to stand before my ancestors, the saints and the prophets without having made some effort to prepare my soul.”

“I get it.” I said. “It prepares the mind.”

“That too.” Gregoire agreed. He bowed before the shrine again and went to pick up his shield. I was astonished that it was a surprisingly, to me, small thing. Only a little larger than a buckler which he strapped to his forearm.

“Anne is waiting.” I told him. “Don’t forget to ask for her favour.”

“What?” He looked confused.

“You know. You’re the hero here, Gregoire. Ask the ladies favour.” Guillaume told him with a smile. “She has a nice, lightweight green scarf to wrap around your wrist or something. You know how it goes. You must have done it before.”

“No.” Gregoire told him. “No woman would ever have given me her favour.”

Guillaume gaped at him.

“This one will.” I told him. “She loves you too.”

He turned and stared at me in horror. “She hates me though.”

I sighed.

“Ok look. The two of you can fight it out later after this is done. Who loves and hates who. But for right now, before the duel starts. Go and accept her favour. If for no other reason than it is expected of you and she made the effort to make sure that she had something to give you. Then kill the other fucker so we can all get on.”

He grinned at the last. “That bit makes more sense.”

“Make her proud.” Guillaume told him and we all stepped into the light.

I have never, never, never felt, seen or heard anything like it. The sound as we walked out into the open air was like a hammer blow to the ears to the point that I nearly staggered with it and lost my balance. Guillaume didn’t seem to notice it but it had another profound effect on Gregoire as, like me, he nearly staggered with it.

“Oh Prophet.” He prayed. “What do I do?”

“It’s a hero’s welcome.” Guillaume whispered to him. I say “whisper” but it was all but a yell. “Raise your sword in a salute. Just a simple one. Don’t shout or beat your chest or anything. Just salute the crowd and the Duchess and of course… The Lady Anne.”

“Oh right. Where issss….. Oh.” He breathed as he saw her. “Fuck. I need a rose.”

For those that might need reminding. A rose is a sign of admiration of a person’s beauty and to be fair, she did indeed look radiant. She had shot to her feet when Gregoire had emerged from his pavilion. Leaning on the rail in front of her, she stared at her champion with an intensity that would have bored through the steel of his breastplate. Ariadne had done me proud. THe clouds had parted in just a small way so that one of the beams of sunlight. Something that us followers of the Eternal Flame call “Flame rays.” Where you can see individual beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was shining on Anne herself.

It was now certain that the dress that Anne was wearing was one of the Duchess’ own. There was some kind of metallic thread that was in the dress itself. Silver and gold if I was any judge and it reflected the light so that she seemed to glow in the light.

Radiant is definitely the right word for it.

“Roses are out of season.” I told the big man. “Now go and kneel before her and beg for her favour.”

Poor man. I venture that I have been wearing the same expression when I see Ariadne in all her splendour after some time apart. I bet I looked exactly like that when I first saw her when she came to Skellige to meet me. I looked up into the face of the man they call Gorgon and I saw my own reflection there.

Then he blinked as the crowd refused to quieten down.

I don’t know what would have happened there otherwise but Guillaume guided him through it with lightly muttered words of encouragement. He raised that obscene, brutal, horrific sword high in the air as a salute to the crowds and to the Duchess before marching over to where the Duchess was standing as well. Guillaume followed, muttering a marching cadence so that Guillaume wouldn’t lose his step.

It was a valid concern. Other than checking occasionally to make sure that he knew where the Duchess was so that he wasn’t going off course, Gregoire had not taken his eyes off the woman that he loved.

I was looking at the other pavilion where Morgan had not emerged. His curtain twitched though and he had seen that Gregoire was getting all the plaudits that he must have been used to. I could feel the dismay in that party as they saw that this time, they were the villains of the piece.

Guillaume caught me looking and winked at me. I smiled back. This was his arena now. I had done what I could and now the only thing left to do was to sit back and hand things over to the professionals.

Gregoire marched up to the Duchess and saluted again, this time as a Knight would, rather than raising his sword.

“Your Grace,” he called as the crowd quieted. “I beg leave.”

The Duchess waved. If the Oxenfurt dictionary ever does an illustrated version of their dictionary. Next to the word “Gracious” there would be a picture of this wave. I wonder if there was a tutor that had to teach people how to wave and the different versions of that waving that come up. I wondered if there was an arsenal of them. In the same way that people have a variety of different smiles, whether there are also different waves. An aggressive wave, a regal wave, a gracious wave and so on. This one was a gracious wave.

My mind often goes off on strange tangents when I’m nervous or stressed out of my brain. But I am charged with reporting and recording these things as accurately as possible and this would be no different. I saw that particular wave and that was what I thought. As I say, looking back, it is plain to see that I was tired and struggling to keep myself upright and keep my head in the game. But it is always to see these things easier by looking back rather than at the time.

After her wave, Gregoire moved down the line and again, saluted Anne. I wondered if anyone else noticed Emma shifting her weight so that she could whisper in the poor woman’s ear. Anne looked ready to faint and I also noticed that Ariadne was ready to catch her should she end up doing precisely that.

Gregooire started to mutter and Gregoire repeated the words loud and proud for all to hear.

It was not painful. It was stirring in a strange way. Gregoire’s voice was obviously not trained. Not for him the smooth and melodious tones of a professional speech maker or a courtier. His voice was rough and primal. But in turn, this combined to make his words come across as being all the more believable, passionate and utterly sincere.

I even give him the credit that the pauses where he was waiting for Guillaume’s words to catch up were not too long.

“Lady,” he began. “I go now to defend you and the nation that I love, upon the field of honour. I do so gladly with comrades at my side and a smile at my lips. As the light of my life, I would humbly ask, nay I beg, that I be graced with a token of your favour so that you might fight beside me.”

I was watching for it, so I saw that Emma’s mouth was moving.

Anne pulled the scarf from around her neck with shaking hands. Guillaume, knelt on one knee and offered the hilt of the sword for her to tie the scarf around the pommel.

“Go now my champion.” She said, “Go, and may your blows strike true in honour and the name of the lands that we love.”

And I thought that the crowd’s volume had been loud before.

“Don’t wave.” I caught Guillaume hissing in Gregoire’s ear. “This is not a tournament. Stoic Knight. Stoic hero.”

Gregoire took the point. Once again, he saluted the Duchess who gave another one of the little gracious waves before Gregoire led us to the middle of the courtyard where Syanna was openly grinning. Her smile was only slightly defeated by how impatient she was being.

Then Morgan tried to keep us waiting a little bit longer. Gregoire paced while the noise died down and people started to mutter. I wanted to be close but Guillaume pulled me back and out of the way.

“This is the part where he doesn’t need our help.” Guillaume whispered. “Let him fight.”

“I’ve heard that duels start long before the first blow is swung.” I muttered back.

“And they are right.” He said, staring at Gregoire in awe. “It’s like he’s a different person now. This is the Gregoire that he shows the world. In tournaments and the like. It’s like… It’s a performance. It’s like he’s playing a part.” He shook his head. “I want to believe that the man I met briefly in the tent. The man that I saw in the courtroom is the real Gregoire. But I see this kind of thing and I wonder.”

“They are both the real Gregoire.” I said. “We all put on different faces in different circumstances. In court I am one man. In a fight, on the road, at home among friends and family, before our parents and before the people that we love. We swap masks and guises as though we are changing clothes.”

“I find that thought leaves me sad somehow.” He said. “Which is the real us?”

“If you ever figure out an answer, then I know a publisher that would love to hear from you.” I told him. “Ah, here we go.”

When Gregoire had emerged from his tent. He had been astonished that the crowd had cheered his arrival. When Morgan emerged from his tent. He was astonished at the gentle smattering of light applause that he received. It was the courtesy of the thing that caught him off guard I think.

He had clearly and plainly used the time to get himself into the mental state necessary to make him go outside in order to fight one of the most feared fighters on the continent. Not the best or the most courageous. But one of the most feared. He had heard the crowd's adulation of Gregoire and now he was emerging to hear the crowd being… polite.

He saluted the crowd and the Duchess who managed to make her gracious wave a little colder and more… condescending than it had been with Gregoire. I have devoted a, not small, amount of time to figuring out how she did that.

His wife gave him a small scarf that was tied around his upper arm. All the while that this was going on, Gregoire was pacing restlessly. It sounds like a cliche to say it. And it is, but as I’ve said before, sometimes cliches are so famous for a reason. Gregoire looked like a caged animal. He was violence contained in the figure of an armoured man.

Finally, after a lot of what Guillaume described as “faffing about”. Morgan came on. Black gauntlet on his hand.

“Gentlemen.” Syanna said coldly. “I say again, the ducal throne has remarked on the fact that there have been far too many delays in all of these proceedings. It cannot be denied that the majority of these delays fall in the camp of Sir Morgan. This is unacceptable.”

Morgan murmured something. One of the seconds stepped forward.

“The right honourable gentleman apologises. He admits that it was his duty to be prepared for this, but he was shocked to be accused of such a thing and as such, his delay was involuntary. He will beg for the forgiveness of the Ducal throne in person after his victory is assured.

Guillaume snorted quietly.

Gregoire did not stop pacing. I wondered if he was doing it consciously and deliberately. If it was a deliberately, calculated attempt to intimidate Morgan, or if it was an automatic thing. If he was barely suppressing his rage and this is how he coped with it. Either way, it was effective.

But it also meant that everything that was said and done was punctuated with the gentle clashing of armour as Gregoire paced.

Syanna spoke.

“In which case the terms are set. The duel will continue until one combatant is dead, unable to continue or yields. Both men should be aware that even the yielding will come with legal consequences. There will be no breaks for rests. Nor will new weapons be provided should weapon or shield become useless. The matter needs deciding and it needs deciding here and now. The world is watching gentlemen. Have at it.”

Then, as never made sense to me in this kind of thing, the two men backed off. Morgan sliced the air with his rapier, making the air whistle with a couple of quick cuts. Gregoire watched him, still pacing.

Then Gregoire stopped and laughed. He laughed for a long time and he laughed loudly, before tearing his shield loose and casting it aside in as measured a gesture of contempt as ever I’ve seen.

“That man should have been born Skelligan.” I said to no-one in particular.

“Come black hand.” Gregoire sneered. “Let’s see if your little pigsticker can do the job.” Then he reached up and clanged his visor shut.

Morgan said nothing, closing his own visor with a crash before crouching behind his shield and advanced slowly and carefully. Gregoire laughed again before beginning a slow spin. It was very similar to one of Kerrass’ pirouettes.

Morgan dashed forward quickly, hoping to take advantage of the moment that Gregoire had his back to him.

But Gregoire’s timing was perfect and the sword hammered into Morgan’s shield with a crash that hurt the ears.

Morgan fairly flew backward. I mean, it was more of an onward backward stagger but it certainly turned into a backwards flight. It was certainly that which the poets and singers are calling it in Toussaint as I sit here writing these words.

Gregoire didn’t advance. I would have, Kerrass certainly would have and indeed, when I talked to the Witcher later, he was actually rather scathing in his assessment of Gregoire’s fighting. At least, until Guillaume gave his own analysis of the duel.

Gregoire was toying with the other man.

For all that Guillaume’s opinion of Gregoire had changed and is still changing according to when I last spoke to Guillaume, he did say one thing. Gregoire was violence contained. He wasn’t a berzerker by any stretch of the imagination. There was far too much calculation and tactics contained in the way that he fought. But there was a violence and a terrible rage that simmered within the bigger man’s heart. And what would happen was that he would unleash this violence in carefully curated and timed moments.

Most commonly in the melee in the various tournaments that he visited. It doesn’t always work in the jousting fields and there are far too many rules in the sword and other contests for him to be able to unleash this side of him.

It was there that Gregoire was able to give voice and anger to the raging torrents within his heart. So now, in this moment, he was able to let go of the constraints that he, Gregoire himself, had placed on that aspect of his mind. Instead of being the villain in some organised Knightly display that was partly arranged in order to sell tickets and entertain the masses. He was now a hero. And facing him was one of the many men that had tormented him all his life.

In many ways, Gregoire was not unlike that which Raoul claimed to be, although he would not be able to put it as eloquently as Raoul did. But like them, he had trained as a Knight, had become as deadly as he possibly could be and then had wondered why people hated and feared him for it. Here was one of his tormentors. Morgan the black hand.

And he was finally… finally the hero of the story.

And there was a beautiful woman’s scarf tied to his sword to prove it.

I can well imagine how he felt.

There was a philosopher named Jonat who was once asked what his idea of paradise would look like. He was one of those men that argued about moral standpoints and the nature of good and evil. He was not a man given to religious arguments and as a result, he spent most of his time trying to argue different sides of the same issue with the overall question, what is good and what is evil. The point being that either is in the eye of the holder.

I will quote you this piece from his biography, written by the scholar Kevan Tendral. There was a time when Jonat was working on something or another, probably trying to convince a girl that it would be worth her while to marry a philosopher at a time when people still valued money, title and land over the ability to think.

Come to that, they still value that kind of thing.

But a church scholar of a nameless religion challenged the philosopher with the question of “What would heaven look like? What would it be like?” After a certain amount of wrangling over what the word “heaven” meant, eventually arriving at the term “Paradise” Jonat gave this answer.

“Paradise is certainty. To know, without a moment of doubt in either direction, that what you are doing is right. That you are in love with the right person for you. That you are in the right occupation, that your cause is just, that you worship the right God or Goddess. That your King is better than their King. That your side in the war is the right side. To know that your children will live longer than you will and grow up to surpass you in every way. To know that bad guys are always wrong, that good guys are always right. But most of all, the knowledge that when some stupid idiot asks you a stupid question, that you are giving the correct answer.”

It might not surprise anyone to know that Jonat was burned at the stake for heresy. It turned out that the church scholar that he was talking to was the second son of a local Duke.

But that was what I saw there, that was where Gregoire was in that moment. He was the hero, his cause was just and by the Flame, the prophets and the saints. He was going to enjoy every moment of it. Could he just have rolled over Morgan? Almost certainly. But he wanted to enjoy the moment. And although some people might call that cruel, I found that I was on Gregoire’s side on the matter.

He waited for Morgan to approach him before, in an almost identical movement to the last one, he sent another huge blow hammering into Morgan’s shield. Morgan was a little bit better prepared this time and was able to fend off the huge blow that came at him with just a small stagger backwards.

Morgan stepped backwards out of the reach of the huge sword and cut the air with his absurdly slim looking sword, again making the air whistle with the passage. I could almost feel the older man working on the problem in his head. He needed to get inside the reach of the big man’s blade in order to be able to make a strike. But the blows were so strong that it was all but impossible.

I remembered watching Skallagrim fighting Kerrass in Skellige and his offering the same dilemma. Except Skallagrim never stopped moving, where Gregoire was just waiting as Morgan did his best to try and figure it out.

Gregoire laughed at him. The laughter was harsh and metallic.

To this day, I do not know whether Gregoire was playing with the older man or not. I don’t know if it was a conscious decision, a series of conscious decisions or whether or not, that was just the way that he was choosing to act. I don't even know if Gregoire himself was quite aware of just how… clever he was being.

Morgan was getting frustrated. Unused to being both the underdog and the crowd’s least favourite. Especially when it came to fighting the brute of Beauclair. He was getting visibly wound up. He had gone from, only that morning, being righteously outraged at the infringements on his personal freedoms and rights. Where he was downtrodden, hero of the people. Bullied by the Duchess with a growing mob behind him. A Knight and a nobleman at the height of his power. Then he had been accused of espionage and treason and now he was fighting for his life. With a hostile crowd and his opponent laughing at him.

He darted in, going fast instead of slow and cautious. Using very similar movements to what Guillaume had used when fighting the Jack imposter, Gregoire used his armour as a shield. He twisted so that the blade skittered off his back plate. Meaning that Morgan would have to draw back and start another lunge before he could bring the blade to bare.

In the meantime, Gregoire brought the pommel of his sword into play, driving it into the centre of Morgan’s shield with one strike before bringing it down towards Morgan’s head. Morgan jerked backwards, again staggering backwards.

I didn’t think that Gregoire had stopped laughing throughout the entire thing.

“Damn you.” Morgan yelled.

Contrary to popular belief, you can actually do quite a lot in armour. It’s heavy and takes a lot out of you, that’s not in any doubt. But you can still be fairly nimble around it.

Morgan closed again, trying to bring the point of his sword into the play. From the stands, Emma would claim that it looked like Gregoire barely moved while Morgan stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. Accordingly, she claimed that Anne screamed with every stroke, but being closer, it was much easier to see what had happened. Gregoire was a big man, and if anyone has the strength and endurance to do fantastic things in all of that armour, then it was Gregoire.

He certainly moved, but just barely. Small movements. Small twists of the body, small movements forward, to one side, forward, backwards. So every time that, otherwise, Morgan’s blade would have pierced flesh, what it met was metal at enough of an angle that the blow was forced wide by the impact.

Guillaume thought it was a masterful display. If in a little poor taste.

“FIGHT ME DAMN YOU.” Morgan shouted. His voice rasping with desperation.

Gregoire visibly shrugged and brought his sword round again for another huge strike, again, into Morgan’s shield.

Kerrass told me that the correct thing was to give up on the rapier and shield and get into the bigger Knight with the dagger. Guillaume agreed, the ploy of using the rapier hadn’t worked. It was not a new tactic to try and defeat the Brute of Beauclair and Gregoire had practised against just such a tricks.

The shield was slowing Morgan down. It was heavy with the fact that it would be expected to take the brute force of Gregoire’s blows. But in turn, that meant that Gregoire found it easy to strike him. And Morgan was just not physically powerful enough to brace the shield enough and fight back. He tried it multiple times. Block with the shield while moving so that he could find a target with the rapier. But every time, the sheer force of impact from Gregoire’s blows sent Morgan stumbling which, in turn, meant that the attack went wide and missed the mark.

After this kind of exchange went on for a while… I say a while, it was a matter of heart beats at most. Gregoire moved to properly attacking Morgan. I mean, I had thought he was attacking before that, but this was the real thing. He stepped forward and smashed Morgan backwards with a giant swing before following up with his first and last lunge in the entire thing.

I had thought it was pointless. With a blade that size, you barely needed to sharpen the thing and it would still be a deadly metal club. I mean, I knew that Gregoire had sharpened it. But I certainly thought that the point would not be sharp enough to achieve anything.

I just had time for that thought to register enough before I could see what had happened. Gregoire had pushed Morgan back even further with that lunge before, on Gregoire came.

A sword that size should not be able to move that fast. With something that size, you expect the slow, ponderous movement. Inexorable in it’s weight and the horror that it would render to the people that it struck. It should not have moved that fast.

As I watched, a small part of me wished that I could have seen The White Wolf versus the Beast of Beauclair. That must have been something to see.

The blows were not fancy. Not for Gregoire the spins, twists and fancy tricks of the Witcher. This was simple, brutal and blindingly fast. Guillaume had been right. This had not been in any doubt at all.

You could see Morgan getting more and more desperate. The two men were fighting in silence now but for the crashes of Gregoire’s sword against Morgan’s shield. Morgan was still trying to bring his sword to play but it was clear that he just didn’t know how. With the constant onslaught he was being overwhelmed as all he could do was to hold on and hope that Gregoire tired.

Gregoire started to batter him around the courtyard, the same way that a cat plays with a ball or a mouse. First one way, then making him stagger the other way. Morgan’s shield arm must be going numb as he was becoming slower and slower to get his shield in the way. The protection was getting less and less and a new sound started to echo across the courtyard. At first I didn’t recognise it.

Morgan was weeping in fear.

Then he made a mistake. I don’t know why or what was going through his mind. I never talked to Morgan about it after all. But he tried to block one of Gregoire’s blows with his rapier.

Which snapped.

“This is it,” Guillaume stepped forward.

The blow had all but ignored the rapier, barely slowed at all as it crashed into Morgan, partially into the breast plate, partly into the rim of the shield. The metal of the shield shrieked as it tore. Not designed to stand up to such stresses and Morgan fell, some instinct causing him to scurry backwards.

This time Gregoire followed and raised his sword high above his head.

I swear that the blow was descending. I winced in anticipation of the older man’s death.

“Mercy.” Cried Morgan. “I yield.”

By some obscene display of strength, Gregoire wrenched the blow to one side and instead it struck the stone of the courtyard next to Morgan’s head, striking sparks and sending chips of stone flying.

Guillaume ran forwards and I ran with him.

“What?” Gregoire demanded coldly, breathing hard.

“MERCY.” Morgan howled much louder. “I Yield.”

“WHAT?” Gregoire’s fury was creeping into his voice. “You Yield? Yield? After everything you’ve done?”

Syanna got there first. “It’s over Gregoire.” She shouted so that all could hear. “He Yielded.”

“Like fuck.” Gregoire swore. “Someone give him a sword.”

We just got there as a wet patch started to spread underneath the whimpering Morgan.

Morgan’s seconds and Guillaume turned away in disgust.

Personally speaking, as a man who freely admits to pissing himself in terror on more than one occasion, there is nothing that a man can do about controlling his physical responses. Sometimes, our bodies disobey us and there is nothing that we can do.

But robbed of it’s target, Gregoire’s battle fury was still on him.

“The court of honour is decided Gregoire.” Syanna said, as gently as I think she could manage. “You have won.”

“Anne is safe.” I tried, adding my small efforts. “You did it.”

Gregoire tore his helmet from his head. It took some effort as his gauntlets were huge and ungainly. He was gasping for breath and control.

“Now you apologise.” He hissed at the stricken Morgan. “He apologises first. Then the Duchess can have whatever’s left. He apologises now, or I swear I kill him.”

He didn’t see Syanna nod in agreement. Morgan’s seconds had already turned away in disgust and shame. Gregoire seized the fallen morgan by the back of the breastplate and fair carried his opponent over to where Anne was waiting, tears streaming down her face.

Morgan was dumped in front of her.

“Now apologise.” Gregoire hissed. “Apologise now you piss streaked coward. You filth. You dog. Apologise to a woman whose shoes you do not deserve to lick clean. Apologise to this woman who’s kindness and goodness…”

I was getting worried. Gregoire was going mad. Whatever he had done to himself to get into the mindset of the duel had been stymied and it was in danger of turning inwards. He was ranting. Morgan was too terrified to articulate even the most basic apology and Gregoire just kept on ranting.

“Gregoire,” I tried.

He ignored me, continuing to rant at the fallen Morgan.

Sensing something, Guillaume put a gentle hand on Gregoire’s shoulder which was shrugged off.

We didn’t see Anne rise.

“It’s ok Gregoire.” She said gently and clearly. The sun still shone on her and her face was a mask of relief, horror and amazement. There were other emotions there as well but I didn’t see them all, or recognise them all. “It’s ok.” She said. “You have defended me. I am safe. I do not need his apology. He is…” she sneered down at Morgan. “He is beneath me.”

Gregoire gaped at her in silence. Then he nodded and seemed to fold in on himself.

The crowd cheered themselves hoarse.

The Duchess was at Anne’s elbow. “Sir Gregoire?”

Through an effort that would have been beyond me, he swallowed his rage. “Your grace?”

“We are well pleased. Remove your arms and armaments as I feel we have some things to discuss. This matter is not yet over, although I promise that your fiance is safe, I must monopolise her for a bit longer. Perhaps I could beg you to come and wait on our freedom when you are properly recovered from your battlefield activities and we can discuss your plans for the immediate future.”

“Yes Your Grace.” He bowed, Guillaume and I followed suit before escorting the big man back to his pavilion.

He was outright trembling when he got back there. Enough so that his armour jingled while he walked.

We got him through the tent entrance before he tore the helmet from his head and hurled it into canvas wall. Then he stood there for a moment, standing as perfectly still as you can imagine before he gasped.

He had been holding his breath.

He took another deep breath and held it, and another.

Then he carefully set his sword on the waiting stand before he sat down and started to weep.

Guillaume made me proud. One of the squires that had come with us to help us “see to” Sir Gregoire was dispatched to the Kitchens for some food and some mulled . The other was ordered to find hot water and bring a bath, before Guillaume himself Knelt at Gregoire’s side and started to undo buckles.

“What do I do?” I wondered quietly.

“What it comes down to.” Guillaume told me. “Is that we need to get him out of the armour. Basically, you can’t go wrong if you undo buckles. Work from the outside in, taking pieces off as you go. I nodded and got to work. It was much harder than I thought it would be and a few pieces in I said as much.

“Slack armour straps are no good to anyone.” Gregoire rumbled as he seemed to be coming back to himself. “That would mean that the armour would shift mid-fight.”

I nodded. “Every day is a day for learning.” I quoted.

He laughed at that. “Isn’t it just though.” He sighed. “So that is what it is like to be the hero of the tale.”

It was like he deflated as he shrunk in on himself.

“Yes.” Guillaume was pretending he wasn’t noticing Gregoire’s shifting moods. “That is what it is like.”

Gregoire considered this for a long time. “I am not sure I care for it.”

“Oh?”

“Now I must live up to how they see me.”

“Is that so bad?” Guillaume wondered carefully. “It strikes me as being better than living down to how you are expected to behave as a villain.”

“That is true.” Gregoire answered. “But at least, being the villain, I am not invited to attend upon the Duchess immediately afterwards.”

“Heh.” I chuckled. “You are right there. There is almost surely going to be a ball.”

Guillaume sighed as he saw what I was going for. “Ugh. Dancing.” He worked a piece of armour free.

“Pointless food,” Gregoire joined in, “Watered down wine, pretty conversations where you can just see that the person that you are speaking to is trying to figure out how they can tear your spine out. I hate balls. If there is one reason to lose at the joust it is so that you don’t have to go to the balls afterwards.”

“Is that why you always let Raoul beat you?” Guillaume wondered.

“That and there really is more money in it if you build up the anticipation.” Gregoire grinned. “It’s the payoff. I let him win and the crowd goes wild while I swear vengeance. The crowd loves it.”

“So you let him win?” I wondered.

“Not always. He really is very good with a lance. On any given day I could not tell you which way it would go between him and me.”

Silence reigned for a bit.

“Still,” I said awkwardly. “There is one good thing about going to all the balls and banquets.”

“And what’s that.”

“You will have a beautiful woman on your arm to share it with now. I mean, it has to be said, in this company only. That although I stand by my declaration that Ariadne is the most beautiful woman in existence. The ladies that you gentlemen escort, follow closely behind.”

“I would agree.” Guillaume saw what I was trying to do. Desperately pull Gregoire’s mood out of the hole. “Obviously my wife is more beautiful than either of you gentlemen’s fiancees. But they are comely ladies nonetheless.”

Something rumbled in Gregoire’s chest. “She is not my fiance.” He finally whispered.

“The ring on her finger begs to differ.” I told him. “Even if it is made out of wire rather than solid gold.”

“It was a ploy.” He answered. “It was an effort to save her. There is no way that she would marry someone like me. She deserves better than one such as I.”

I sighed. “Gregoire, I know we do not know each other very well and I have had more than a simple feeling that you might actively hate me. But I once made the mistake of deciding what the lady deserved for her. In fact, I did it twice and both times she told me the same thing. She told me that she gets to decide what she deserves or not.”

“Besides big man.” Guillaume clapped him on the shoulders. “You just risked your life for her wellbeing. What’s not to love?”

“Apart from the fact that a fight leaves me a gibbering mess afterwards. Apart from the fact that I am ugly, I have a temper, I don’t know how to talk to women, I can’t dance, don’t know any poetry, have no appreciation about art, philosophy, history, music or religion. I know swords, armour, lances and horses. I leave the management of my estates to better men. I am a drunk, a rapist and a bully.”

“Stop it.” I snapped. “You and I both know that you barely drink and that you are not a rapist. A bully? Yes. Probably. But that is a matter of correcting behaviour. Of knowing the problem and taking steps to fix it. Truthfully, I do not know why you have allowed people to call you that before as I have looked Gregoire…”

I was lying at the time but I don’t think he needed to know that.

“... and I have found no evidence of anyone that claims that you raped them. You make, admittedly clumsy, advances and then when you get turned down, you take the lady at her word and then move on. It is always a cousin’s, sisters, mother’s friend who talked to a bloke down the pub who heard it from a passing merchant. I don’t know why you stand for it.”

“And as for the rest of it.” Guillaume was working on the buckles of the breastplate. “You have a fairly standard battlefield reaction. You work yourself up to violence and when you were there, that violence was frustrated and then it has nowhere to go. There are ways to work on that. I can show you if you like. I would agree with Freddie that you have been a bully. The question is, do you want to be better?”

He finished his work and levered the breast plate clear. “I would go so far as to say that you have among the best possible reasons to try. After Vivienne of course.”

“And Ariadne.”

He nodded unhappily. “I will think on what you both said. I need to talk to her anyway.”

He rose and Guillaume stepped in front of him.

“Before you do that though Champ. I would suggest a bath, which I just happen to have prepared for you. Because you stink and a man should not go to meet the woman he loves with armour stink. And something to eat which will help with the shakes.”

Gregoire stood and stared down at his hands that were indeed shaking before looking up at the pair of us for a moment.

“Why are you helping me?” He wondered. “I am not a clever man, but I am clever enough to know that… Why are you both helping me. You, Guillaume who have had every reason to distrust and hate me. You Lord Frederick, who is passing me his… his…”

“Stop.” I told him. “I cannot speak for Guillaume but first of all I would disagree with you calling yourself stupid. I know enough about jousting to know that it happens in the mind as much as it does in the body and with the skill. You are what I would call, uneducated but you are far from stupid. If anything I would say that you are very clever, even educated very well in certain areas. Swords, lances, horses and the like. As for why I am helping you? I will admit that part of it is because I am helping Anne. She is a good woman and deserves better than what she got. She deserves to be happy and although you have yet to have that conversation with her. She loves you.”

He opened his mouth to protest.

“Yes she does.” I told him. “Yes she does and you love her back. You have hated me because you are jealous of me. I get that. I understand that. Anne has been very good to me and has been very good for me. Even despite her betrayal which is something I am going to need to think about at some point in the not too distant future. But she deserves better than what she has received at the hands of TOussaint society. Morgan and his ilk. She deserves a happy ending and a new beginning and if I can help her get that. I will do that.”

“Would you not be jealous?” He wondered. “You will never know her…”

I held my hands up to stop him. “One of my best friends married a woman that I was all but in love with. I was angry with them both for a long time but it was plain to everyone including me, that they loved each other. So I got out of the way. It was not that great a sacrifice. I have known other women. Women who had been with other men before me and would be with other men after me. That was their choice and I hate neither them, nor the men that they chose afterwards. As for you and Anne? I care for Anne a great deal. I am hurt by her betrayal as I trusted her. But she was used as a weapon to hurt me so I am more angry at the hand that wielded that weapon. I will get over it.

“Why you? I think that you too deserve a happy ending. You have been in the shadows for a long time now.”

“Waxing poetic Freddie?” Guillaume teased.

“Shut up.” I told him. “Toussaint is rubbing off on me. And you can’t claim different.”

He nodded to acknowledge the point.

“You have been in the shadows for a long time,” I went back to talking to Gregoire. “You were put there by your Father, society as a whole and yourself because you have convinced yourself that you deserve it. I think it is time that you walk in the light.”

Gregoire stared at me for a long time.

“I agree with Freddie.” Guillaume said, taking a bit more control and steering Gregoire towards the bath. “I have hated and feared you for a long time. You are a bully, I agree with that but I think, compared with Raoul, Crawthorne and the others, it is because you do not know any different. But the man that I saw today. The man that stood up to the entire court of Toussaint and told us that we were wrong. That was a brave man. A noble, good man. That man is one that I respect. Even admire. It is a man that deserves better than to be hated and feared. And as Freddie says. I am a man of Toussaint down to my bones. Is there anything better than a good old romance of the Princess and the Knight. Where Love redeems the brute?”

“She is not a Princess.” Gregoire protested.

“All women are princesses in this kind of story.” I told him.

“It’s what makes the stories so memorable, now into the bath Sir Knight.”

“I do not like being ordered around.”

“I am still wearing armour and you are in your shirt sleeves while also suffering from battle shock. I reckon I can take you. Into the bath Gregoire.”

Gregoire frowned. “Nor do I enjoy being spoken to in this way.”

“It’s how friends talk to each other.” I told him. More than a little shocked that he didn’t understand the banter.

He grunted. “Maybe this is why I struggle with friendships.” Then he grinned. Suddenly looking like a fraction of his actual age. “Still, it will be an interesting new skill to try.”

“Lovely that you think so.” I told him. “Now get in the damn bath.”