Rough winds peppered the windows with drizzle, fireplace crackling. Opposite her sat a man a good bit older than herself. His hair saw its first touches of grey, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth lingering after he finished smiling. However, he carried within himself a strength, a feeling of being greater than the constraints of a body which, while still in good condition, would only become a burden as the years continued.
On the other side of the room, her knight happily chatted with her guest’s wife. This was not a particularly delicate affair and, while some privacy was preferred, it was not essential.
Rather, this arrangement served her well for it emphasised this was a discussion of status.
“Before we begin, my condolences, Lord Schwanstein. I greatly admired the late Lord’s vigour and passion for foreign artwork,” she said, a solemness to her voice that found support in the dull outfit she wore, the only hint of colour the subtle blue of a rosemary flower pinned to her chest.
While he had composed himself to answer at first, her words had him second-guess, gaze flickering down a moment. “My Lady is aware of his passion?” he asked.
A guarded voice unlike his father’s, for it seemed that apples either fell straight down or rolled far away, at least in her experience.
She put on a small smile. “While I looked for a suitable place to race horses, it was him who offered that land. He saw the value of encouraging his peers to hone their knightly skills and virtues. Whenever I would visit to oversee the construction, he made sure I had a suitable place to stay. While I am certainly not complaining, far from it, I often felt that he simply wished for company to show off his little collections.”
Her voice thus far had been gentle, yet empty, words spoken not simply without emotion, but as if speaking them drained her of emotions. However, this changed as she continued with a small joy in her tone.
“I recall his favourite to be a Persian carpet that bears his coat of arms, made in Isfahan no less, which he had sent payment for many years before it finally arrived. Oh how he thought he had been conned, so much so that he swore he would have challenged the merchants to a duel if not for My Lord’s mother calming him down. Once it arrived, though, he fell in love, from then on picking up what artwork and trinkets he could from the region.”
He listened with a growing smile that didn’t quite reach his lips; however, it touched his voice. “My Lady is mistaken.”
“I am?” she asked, tilting her head. “Pray do enlighten me.”
“My father wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the lion faces the wrong way,” he whispered.
For a moment, she looked in thought, then broke into a silent chuckle and brought up her handkerchief in her other hand to dab at the corner of her eye. “I did find the arrangement unusual. To think the late Lord had such a trick up his sleeve, that he would have his guests view it in a mirror to better preserve it….”
Silence settled, the creak of wood, the quiet chatter on the other side of the room, the crackle of a mild fire and drumming of light rain.
“If My Lord wishes, we may certainly spend the day reminiscing. I do expect My Lord has other plans, though, so perhaps I should not keep him,” she said.
He sobered at her words, not that he had shown any emotion before. Still, whatever softness had touched his voice, there was now none. “My thanks to My Lady for being understanding.”
Neither rushing nor dragging it out, she picked up her cup and took a sip of tea. After placing it back down, she drew in a breath, only then speaking. “I do hope My Lord returns that understanding as I would not be careless in my duties as liege-lord. To begin with, the arrangement between the Count of Augstadt and the Baron of Schwanstein has been that, in lieu of taxes, the Baron should keep the castle in good order and maintain a suitable garrison. That and all other rights and obligations are detailed in this document.”
Upon saying that, she pushed over a stack of vellum, the fine parchment thin, yet the stack no shorter for it.
“My Lord may read over that at leisure, no need for urgency,” she said.
Still, he lifted the first page and glanced over it: words upon words and most of them simply detailed the history between the two families. Such a document was, after all, a work of art in its own right.
Just as he readied to speak, she continued.
“However, I would ask My Lord to refrain from signing it.”
After a moment, he placed the page back down, then raised his gaze to her.
Several factors pulled at the tension now between them, no longer blurred by the pleasant conversation of before. This was once again an older man before a young woman, a vassal before his lord, and everything that stemmed from those matters.
“Is there something wrong with the contract?” he asked, stoic, yet it was as if he’d swelled, sitting that little taller, broader, his arms coming to rest on the table that bit closer to her.
Whereas she showed no difference, offering the same, small smile she always did. “It is in substance identical to the contract between our fathers, as well as to the contract between myself and My Lord’s father, so no, there is nothing wrong with it.”
“Then why would My Lady not wish for it to be signed?”
His eyes held an edge that she had never seen in his father’s, yet she was sure his father had been capable. Age, like a stream, had a way of rounding off even the roughest rocks, but rocks they still were.
However, his father was not the one opposite her now. An apple who had rolled far from the tree. Yet, no matter how far an apple rolled, it was still an apple.
“Whenever there is a group of people, they invariably choose a leader. Whether that is a family under a father, a tribe under a chief, or even the history of our Empire’s kingdoms. They look among themselves and choose someone whose judgement they trust. In return, that leader promises to lead with wisdom and compassion.”
She spoke slowly, carefully, aware of his displeasure at her poetic meandering, keenly aware he dared not interrupt her.
“My Lord, this contract is exactly that: a contract. It is not the relationship between a vassal and liege. Across our realm, I see a similar change. A distrust. That is not to say I necessarily disagree, though. These are not the days of old where one has a choice of liege nor that our titles are recognition of our service.”
In those words, he found some interest. “My Lady surely is speaking of… strange things,” he said, sounding neither chiding nor curious.
However, she knew well these little games. For people like him and herself, it was important to know how to say things without saying them—how to let people hear what they wanted to hear. The less the other knew, the stronger one’s position.
It was precisely because she knew these rules so well that she knew how best to break them.
“If My Lord signs the contract, then nothing shall change. Matters will continue between our titles as they did before. However, if you’re willing to trust in my leadership, I shall be a liege worth trusting.”
A pause, then he chuckled, lowering his head with a gentle shake. “Really, My Lady can make such a promise?”
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She did not reply so that, eventually, he had to raise his head once more and meet her gaze. No emotion flickered across her face, only a small smile upon her lips.
“When my mother passed, my father gathered what talented midwives and doctors he could to share their knowledge. One such doctor questioned why he should divulge his secrets to his competitors….”
She had spoken in an even tone, dry, yet her gaze dared him to look away.
A dare he did not fulfil. “Pray tell, how did Lord Augstadt answer?”
“What good does a dead mother do for anyone?” she said, her tone still even.
He considered it for a moment before she then continued.
“My father did much good for the city. However, he was not perfect.”
He couldn’t keep himself from asking, “Why does My Lady say that?”
Her lips quirked and he found cause to look away, then reluctantly looked back at her.
“That is, if he had lived longer, perhaps I would not say such a thing. As it is, he had an intense focus on the city while neglecting those others he owed his attention. One of my first undertakings was to have mills built across my holdings for the peasants.”
Although not a question, he found himself again under her gaze that seemed to pull the words out of his throat. “My Lady is certainly charitable.”
“Charity has little to do with it,” she said, brushing aside the compliment with a flick of her wrist. “I charge a small fee to use the mills, which necessitates the peasants bringing produce to market. That produce supports carpenters and blacksmiths and cobblers. Upon seeing what else there is to purchase, the peasants end up bringing more produce to sell.
“That is where my father erred when he relied on merchants. The city prospers, but it is not our people who benefit; when our people prosper, we benefit. That is our role—our duty as leaders. The people entrust us with their honest work that we put it to the best use for the betterment of everyone. To that end, it is necessary that we are people of dedication and learning, which we foster in our heirs that they may, in turn, become wise leaders.”
He sat opposite her, his expression blank, and yet even that said so much to her. A complicit silence. Her thoughts became all the more sure once he replied, “My Lady certainly has an interesting… philosophy.”
While her small smile remained unchanged, it now reached her eyes, pinched them, then even her small smile melted away and voice became quiet. “I cannot know what my father would have done, or what plans he had to begin with. However, I would like to think that, if not exactly correct, I do have some notion of what he had intended….”
“Please, do share, My Lady,” he said.
Words not drawn out by her expectant gaze this time, that gaze of hers now fixed to a spot in the middle of the table. It remained there as she answered. “My grandfather was a kind man, which both my father and I have benefited greatly from. Many people, great and small, have returned his kindness to us in ways that cannot be measured.
“That kindness, though, did not come cheap. My father believed in risks because he was confident in his own abilities. So, I believe, he intended to bring in the Nelli family to revitalise the city, then banish them. My father had a close relationship with the late Lord Grosburg and I do guess that the two arranged for the grain tariff to weaken the Nelli family’s position.”
A second passed, then she covered her mouth as a titter rang out.
“Like father, like daughter,” she whispered, perhaps loud enough to reach her guest, perhaps not. Regardless, she raised her head once more and returned to her polite smile. “If My Lord would indulge This Lady with an assurance of secrecy….”
She waited for his slight nod before continuing.
“I honestly believe that he died because he fell in love,” she whispered. “I believe his feelings for my mother delayed his plans and, ultimately, the Nelli family acted first.”
Although not what one would call animated before, her words utterly stilled him. “My Lady would not jest?”
She opened her hands, smile ironic. “It is no secret that the Nelli family have a certain reach in Italy. If they considered my father a threat and knew of his capabilities, to me, it is a reasonable conclusion. However, what evidence could remain after all this time? No serious investigation was made at the time either.”
What her voice didn’t betray, her hands did, clasped together so tight.
“The same Nelli family my lady now does business with?” he said, neither chiding nor curious, but questioning all the same.
That question broke the tension in her hands and she let out a gentle breath as her hands returned to her lap. “Indeed, I am confident in my abilities. By pivoting them towards fine cloth, their caravans have steadily brought less grain, and pushing the sale of that cloth through the textile guild has kept the workers compensated. A perfect solution for everyone.”
“My Lady is most wise,” he said, sounding neither sarcastic nor patronising.
Of course, she heard what he didn’t need to say. “Whether or not I am wise will be left for future generations to decide. For this generation, all I need know is whether I am trusted.”
Punctuating that, she pushed the stack of pages closer still to him.
“My builders are experienced now. I wonder, what does My Lord desire?” she asked, her head tilting to the side, brow furrowed, and lips pursed. “Of course, My Lord’s grandsons are young. In some years, they would be served well by an academy, would they not? Somewhere that boys can be boys, yet still taught proper discipline.”
He let out a single note of laughter. “Well, My Lady certainly knows how to sweeten a deal.”
Her smile soured and she once again brushed aside his compliment. “Whether or not My Lord signs that document, this will be done. For what reason would I not want My Lord’s family to be full of capable people? I would love nothing more than to have a vast pool of talented people to whom I may seek advice on any and every topic. Perhaps, in twenty years, little Reginald would be my architect, helping to design a cathedral that would make every bishop outside of Rome envious.”
This time, her casual brush of familiarity did not have him second-guessing. However, it did bring flickers of memories to mind, lazy afternoons watching his grandsons play together—one building a castle out of firewood for his carved-and-painted knights.
A brief conversation had covered such a vast distance, not exactly tiring, but he had grasped this intention of hers. As if far away, even her most outrageous statements now seemed small. Not to mention that she rarely dwelled on them. No, what she dwelled on were her own praises, at times humble, other times boastful.
Someone who said a lot and yet said so little and yet left a lasting impression.
How often he’d heard his father praise her, thinking him gullible. He understood now. Not that he agreed, but he understood that this was the kind of woman his father would praise. A woman like his mother. Someone who knew their limits—and decided they knew better.
From those thoughts of his, she yanked him out with a single sentence: “One thing I did find sad, My Lord’s father wouldn’t talk of My Lord’s brother.”
After a moment, he softly said, “Is that so?”
“I understand it is a difficult subject for a parent to discuss; however, I would like to know more about him if My Lord is willing. I mean that truly, knowing it is not my place to bring pain.”
“Pain…” he whispered, his lips curling into a bittersweet smile. “My Lady knows it is painful and would still ask.”
“The pain shows us how much they meant to us. Even now, I feel the ache of losing my father, as if he took a piece of me with him. I hope he did, that we are still together in some way.”
He let out a trickle of chuckles, his hand coming to cover his mouth a moment, only to then fall back down as the trickle dried up. “My Lady knows how to wax poetically.”
“This Lady, despite how much she has spoken thus far, does also know how to listen if there is anything My Lord wishes to share,” she replied, her voice gentle—inviting.
At first, he simply breathed. After a few seconds, he picked up the glass of brandy and took a sip, then spoke in a soft and clear voice. “My brother… was a brilliant child. Even as his older brother, I could not keep up. Everyone loved him. Oh how I hated him, hated losing to him, hated how much everyone else loved him. Yet I loved him the most. So yes, his death has always been painful to us all. My mother… always said… that God needed him. However… we needed him too. We still do.”
True to her word, she listened, attentive, expression the perfect balance of sympathy that it was neither too much nor too little. He could have laughed if not for the knot in his stomach.
“What does My Lady wish to hear about?” he asked, knowing she would ask about his death, already seeing flashes of memory—of the water, of his brother’s last smile, of those cursed words that had haunted him all these years—
“I understand he liked reading. Does My Lord happen to remember which books or authors he particularly liked?” she asked.
There was no sense of ambiguity to her words, no underlying agenda, not a question that asked something without asking it, that said something without saying it. It felt to him a curiosity carefully shaped to be courteous.
As if she truly only wished to know more about this person, nothing more.
“Marcus Aurelius. He had a fascination with the ‘good emperors’ of Ancient Rome, so, when our father heard a manuscript by one of those emperors was to be printed, he made sure to buy two.”
“Two?” she quietly asked.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One for my brother, and one for me. Not that I read it at that age,” he said, his hand gesturing to the side.
“At what age did My Lord read it?” she asked.
“At the age I was the day after my brother died.”
She inclined her head, saying nothing more on it, and moved on. “While I did find his work fascinating, I did also find it lacking in one area.”
“Which area would that be?” he asked, a touch of forced humour to his voice.
“Just as we may strive to withhold from reacting to those things which would harm us, so too may we strive to indulge in the joys life brings us which would nurture us.”
A silent chuckle fell from his lips. “Perhaps My Lady is right,” he said softly. “I have taken many of his lessons to heart, yet find it to be… awfully cold.”
“As if a person should exist in isolation and any interruption to that is necessarily something to be resisted.”
He nodded along, by the end showing a small smile. “My Lady has put to words what I have struggled to convey so long.”
So the conversation went, continuing to say a lot while saying nothing, and leaving behind a lasting impression.