by SL Figuhr
“Perhaps one day you will understand, and think differently. Good day, your lordship.”
The door slave scrambled to get the portal open, trying to pretend he hadn’t eavesdropped. Illyria swept past him, leaving a furious Martin behind. The young man dearly wished he had someone he could trust to confide in. Instead, he slammed his fist into the newel post, and then stomped back to his office.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The throne room was packed with people, and more waited outside in the cold, huddling together for warmth. Braziers were placed at intervals, and great gouts of flame blazed as the wood within was consumed.
The royal court had been in session for several hours. For once, the crimes and sentencing of prisoners were held out in the open. To the left of the great doors giving entrance into the royal presence, a chopping block sat in the snow. Blood lay in deep, frozen pools, and the bodies had been stacked to one side like a pile of cordwood. Four men, of various heights but all highly muscular, who were rumored to have been paid handsomely for their jobs as executioners, sat beside a bonfire huddled in their cloaks. Each of them was cleaning and honing his weapon of choice, two with great axes, two with heavy swords. No one knew for sure who they were, as each wore a black hood over his head, the eye and mouth holes all that could be seen of their faces.
Despite the serious nature of events taking place, a festive air permeated the grounds. Enterprising merchants moved about the crowd or stood beside carts, selling a variety of food and drink. A few people performed simple acrobatic acts. More than one petty thief and pickpocket slipped amid the crowds, liberating coin purses, watches, or jewelry when possible.
Inside and outside the throne room, many different conversations took place, rumors and gossip flying, the currency of the day.
“I can’t believe there were so many prisoners inside.”
“Who are half of them? I barely remember what they did.”
“The sheriff still doesn’t know who killed all those people at the marquis’ party. Including the marchioness and Lady Caroline.”
“Lady Elizabeth is looking more haggard than normal.”
“That uptight cow! She deserves all her humiliations and more. I always said them nobles ain’t any better than us.”
“I can’t believe the earl divorced her! And their daughter not long dead too!”
“I can’t believe he waited so long. I bet Her Grace used her new position to force it through.”
“They’ll never be received together in public.”
“The youngest is still going to be married. They’re not even going to wait the proper length to mourn.”
“Hmm, maybe she’s with child, despite what they say.”
“Ohh, I don’t think the king will take well to the news, if the rumors of the father are true.”
“The Great One save us! Do they mean to empty the entire dungeon? Does this mean they’re cleaning it out for more prisoners?”
“How can they have gotten the truth out of those who were arrested after the head questioner was found dead? How can they trust anything of what those criminals said?”
The onlookers commented on the proceedings. Most people whispered to each other or their neighbors, not wanting to miss hearing any of what was taking place at the base of the throne stairs.
For once, His Majesty was not sleeping, or distracting himself with his harem, of which only two attended the king. They knelt at his side, occasionally reaching up to wipe long, glistening strands of drool from his mouth.
“What is wrong with our king?”
“I heard from my sister who works as a scullery maid, he’s mad. The physician has to keep him drugged; otherwise he runs screaming throughout the palace, believing he is being chased by assassins, and ordering those he runs across to be put to death as traitors.”
“I bet Her Grace loves it.”
“If he doesn’t get better, who will be our king? Those damn nobles will fight over the right, and it’s us who’ll suffer the most for it.”
Most of the people noted the marked difference in the king. His head lolled about, as if he could not lift it up. When Maceanas did briefly look up, his face seemed wan and the skin sagged. Those closest could see a fine tremor which constantly made his hands and arms shake. His Majesty had yet to speak.
Aranthus stood halfway down the stairs, in his best court outfit, staff polished to a high shine. The entire royal guard unit lined the perimeter, and formed a boundary across the front of the room to prevent anyone getting too close to the open space before the dais stairs. Outside, the sheriff and his lawmen, now numbered at two dozen, patrolled.
To the left of the dais, facing the crowd, sat a mixture of nobles of both sexes selected at random. To the right, the same for the prominent townspeople, guild and artisan members. The royal advisor stood at the bottom of the stairs, in the center position. Her crimson and silver outfit, black leather pants, and dual swords, along with the faintly foreboding aura around her, kept the proceedings continuing smoothly with a minimum of chicanery. The two groups had heard the evidence and any testimony from accused and witnesses, if they were alive and available, the week before. Today’s final was the culmination of their decisions for each case, with the royal advisor and the king being rumored to have the final, deciding vote for or against any punishments.
Even the townspeople noticed how the nobles frequently snuck glances toward His Majesty.
“Is he truly mad?” Baron Stavic whispered to his seatmate.
“So she says,” he replied with a subtle nod to the advisor.
“You don’t think . . .” Stavic said.
“That she’s poisoned him? Not with his personal physician overseeing. I heard those two arguing. They hate each other. He won’t let the duchess do anything other than inquire about the king’s health. Nor will he leave her alone in His Majesty’s presence.”
“Does she really think the king will let Sydney, a divorced man, marry her?”
“Shhhh,” someone behind them hissed, “do you want her to hear?”
The nobles stopped gossiping long enough to focus on the next prisoner.
“We will now hear the case against Tanner, former royal treasurer in charge, and those workers under his supervision who participated in his crimes,” the chamberlain called out, banging his staff against the floor.
The whisperings rose along with townspeople standing on their toes, trying to get a good look at the people being led forth from a side chamber.
The prisoners were all males, ranging in age, filthy, gaunt, and pale from their weeks of incarceration. They were barefoot, collars around their necks from which chains had been attached to both sides linking them to the person next to them in line. A chain at the front of the collar ran down the length of their bodies, connecting the manacles at hands and feet together.
“The High Lord Treasurer Tanner is found guilty thusly: abusing the trust of his appointed position which he was placed in by our late king’s father; stealing funds from the royal treasury for his own personal use; conspiring with certain men of his office under his supervision to hide said crimes; the planning and intention of escaping with his ill-gotten gains.”
The accused man held his head up defiantly, eyes glittering with rage.
Aranthus continued reading from the scroll he held. “Evidence has been given by Anson, the second-in-command to the treasury, and by the other co-conspirators. Additional proof was found in the traitor’s home itself, where he’d hidden what he stole, along with detailed accounts of how much he stole.”
The crowd pressed forward, eager to hear the punishment. Those at the very front were roughly pushed back by the guards and sharply reprimanded.
“As justice for their crimes, they shall pay thusly: the clerks are sentenced to work as slaves collecting trash and night soil and the disposal of such. Any remaining funds which they received for their roles will be seized by the crown. If no such funds remain, the amounts shall come out of the auction of a
ny personal property or possessions bought by said funds. ”
Several wails rose up near the back of the hall, along with a few shouts of anger or sadness as the families of the men learned the fates of their loved ones.
“The second in command, Anson, is to be branded a thief and become a barge slave for the duration of his life, his thefts of funds to be repaid in the same manner as the clerks.”
Another wail was heard, which dissolved into hysterics and largely ignored.
“High Lord Treasurer Tanner: in addition to being stripped of your office, all your property and personal possessions are herewith seized by the crown. Your hands and feet shall be cut off, the wounds cauterized. You will be branded a thief, and placed in a hanging cage to die and rot.”
The loudest scream to be heard yet rang throughout the room on the tail of the sentencing. A small pocket formed around the woman who had made the noise. She was Tanner’s wife, and a passel of children stood around her, scared and crying.
Aranthus had to shout his last words in an effort to be heard over the noise the woman made. “All sentences are to be carried out immediately!”
The chamberlain banged his staff as the royal guards led their charges off, shuffling. There were stirrings in the crowd, as relatives of the condemned left the hall seeking a chance to speak with their loved ones.
“The position of royal treasurer is hereby formally conferred upon the Lady Raina Downton, Countess of Smirkin.”
Outraged shouts, boos, and shaking of fists commenced at Aranthus’s words, most of it directed toward the duchess. Slowly she turned her head, and each protester noted how her gaze uncannily found them in the crowd, a grim smile the only expression on her otherwise neutral features. She held a hand up, and the noise petered off to be replaced by an uneasy, waiting silence.
“If you continue to disturb the proceedings, you will be removed and barred from further attending. Those who have problems with the appointments may voice their complaints to me after we are done here.” Her fierce gaze swept the crowd.
A nervous shuffling of feet and coughing broke out in the suddenly uncomfortable atmosphere. She turned and signaled to Aranthus to continue with the proceedings.
After the treasurer followed various other palace officials who had been revealed during the ongoing audits of having stolen funds, goods, or otherwise abusing their offices. They too were sentenced in much the same manner as Tanner and his clerks. The hall still held a fair amount of people, as they were in flux, dividing their curiosity between the executions outside and the events inside. Rumors were circulating since the arrests, as the townspeople and nobles understood positions of importance and power were opening up. Anyone with the knowledge, or funds, who thought they had a chance, had been doing their best to put their names forth for consideration with any noble or the chamberlain himself, whom they thought would advance their cause. As Her Grace didn’t mention any more names for open spots, the people considered chance still in their favor.
Aranthus banged his staff yet again, and the king held a trembling hand up, signaling he meant to address his people. His head rolled back so he could look out upon his subjects. Those in the hall immediately sank in deep bows or curtseys. His voice came out slurred.
“My people! My advisor, the Duchess Illyria, will be in charge of interviewing and selecting those she feels are fit for the serious and demanding nature of the positions needing to be filled. As I will it, so it shall be. You will obey her decisions as you obey mine.”
His head dropped back toward his chest, and Maceanas struggled up from his chair; a few of his guards rushed forward to lend their support. The two harem women wobbled under the weight of their king. The guardsmen reached His Majesty just as his eyes rolled back, showing the whites. His whole body jittered, causing the women to lose their grip. They all landed in a pile on the floor. Screams rose, a combination of dismay and fear.
Above it all rose the duchess’s voice. “Get the royal physician in here now! As for the rest of you, keep order!”
The guards before the throne braced themselves as the crowd surged forward, hoping for a better look as their view became cut off by nobles and important townspeople standing, craning to see.
“What’s going on?”
“Is he dead?”
“Did someone poison him?”
Dr. Greggson must have been nearby, for it didn’t take him long to appear. He snapped out orders, the guards obeying. Aranthus hurried the few steps up to the top in time to see men trying to restrain the king’s violently flailing body. Blood poured down his chin. After long moments, the fit ended. The physician turned the king’s head to one side and pried his mouth open. Bloody saliva pooled on the floor. Next, he checked Maceanas’s pulse and pupils.
Despite the noncommittal look his face wore, several small nervous tics gave away how serious the king’s health was. The harem women still knelt on the floor, albeit to one side, clutching each other in fear.
The physician finally lifted his head, spotting Aranthus and the duchess. His nostrils flared briefly in distaste before he stood and approached them. He kept his voice low in an effort not to be overheard. The throne room had never experienced so much silence while packed full of people. Dr. Greggson’s words could not be heard clearly, only the soft murmur of his voice.
“He has had some sort of fit. I don’t know what kind, or why.” The man paused to glare at the duchess. “It could have been brought on by the amounts of herbs you insisted he ingest, Duchess, to keep him calm.”
“I insisted he be provided with a level of care to help him remain in such a state. If you have overdosed him because you are inept in your profession, then you will have to answer to a tribunal.”
“How dare you cast aspersions upon my character? I recall quite clearly what you said.”
She ignored his accusations. “According to you, the herbs would have run out a month ago. What have you been giving him?”
“Aranthus,” Dr. Greggson turned to the chamberlain in an effort to dismiss the woman, “we must get the king back to his chambers immediately. I cannot conduct a proper inspection in these conditions.”
The man ground his teeth in mute rage as the eunuch looked toward that wretched woman for direction.
“An excellent notion,” the duchess approved. “Before you go, if you could say a few words to ease the crowd’s fears.”
“I am not supporting your power grab,” he spat.
“I am not asking you. I am telling you to give the people hope.”
Dr. Greggson turned and looked out over the assembly. A mixture of fear, curiosity, and uncertainty met his eyes. He cleared his throat as behind him he heard Aranthus giving instructions to the royal guards.
“Loyal subjects to the crown, I cannot say for certain what caused the king’s collapse until I further examine him. For the time being, he is alive. When I know more, I’m sure the advisor will be eager to share the updates. Thank you.” He turned and walked toward the king’s body, now loaded on a makeshift litter.
Behind, the noise of the crowd rose and swelled, many people calling out questions.
“Long live the king! All hail the king!” The duchess’s forceful voice overrode all others as she called out from her spot in front of the throne.
The people had no choice but to follow her salute as His Majesty was carted off.
Before those gathered could devolve into idle speculation again, she continued to speak. “Good people, while Dr. Greggson works to restore the king back to his former health, it is important we all continue on with our jobs, and our roles to keep the kingdom running. As His Majesty’s advisor, and the highest peer of the realm, I will be guiding our kingdom as we wait for the king to recover and take back up the mantle of his rule.”
The voices rose in a buzzing wave of sound. Many of the men who’d hoped to bribe their way into a position appeared disgruntled. There were deep mutterings of displeasure at having a woman take precedence over t
hem.
“Those individuals wishing to be considered for any of the positions available with the royal offices should have copies of their qualifications and any recommendations or references sent to my home. If any person has questions about what the posts are, or what kind of work is entailed, the descriptions have been affixed to my gates. I will be allowing one week for persons interested to drop off their materials before deciding on who will merit an interview. Thank you. If there are other problems or issues not dealing with the royal offices, I will be holding court from midday to dinner at my house. There will be a second court held from mid-afternoon until supper at the palace.”
She paused to let her eyes rest on the crowd. Everyone present received the feeling she knew exactly what they thought, good or bad. The sensation intensified until many present dropped their eyes, unable to gaze upon her further.
“You are all dismissed,” she commanded.
Rustling of clothing commenced as the people bowed or curtsied, and filtered out. Their voices kept to a whisper, many believing the itching between their shoulder blades was because they were being watched by Her Grace. Once outside, those who hadn’t seen what happened called out for information.
The doorway soon became jammed. The nobles and merchants of affluence hurried to scramble from their seats and intercept the duchess. She moved forward with determined strides. The guards who were still in line snapped to attention as she descended the dais, and Eron slipped out from behind the pillar he’d concealed himself behind to join her. The guards formed a moving box around her, clearing space with their stentorian calls of “Make way for the royal advisor.”
She continued on out of the hall, the jam seemingly melting away. The duchess stopped in the middle of the courtyard as the guards knelt around her.
Those townspeople outside bowed or curtsied as she briefly recounted what had happened to the king and reiterated her commands for work to continue.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE