The Hollow March

by Chris Galford

  With a smile to Charlotte, and something distinctly less to his step-mother, whom she now saw—but did not comment—was younger than he, Joseph settled Sara into the chair beside Charlotte, and sank down into the other. He crossed arm and leg, and waited patiently for the trial to resume. Once he had, the crowd felt content enough to seat themselves as well, and the trial went on. Even more soldiers, to complement both the Empress’s and the duke’s, took up places along the walls and the doors.

  “Mine own men,” the duke’s voice rang out once more, “have found you wanting in the face of questioning, ser. They and representatives of His most holy church, sent to inquire…”

  “My apologies as to our absence thus far, my good count,” Sara said to Charlotte’s father, while looking at Charlotte. “It was not our intention to be such rude guests, but the days have treated us unkindly as of late.”

  Walthere delicately peeled himself from the proceedings to eye the woman. His face became placating, his demeanor dipping down low, as he nodded in acceptance of her apology. “Do not let it trouble you so,” he said, voice tinged with regret. “We all know well of House Durvalle’s tragedy. You have my deepest condolences, my lady, and you, highness. We all dearly loved His Highness Gerome. He was ever-kind, and faithful in his duties.”

  “So was this Matair, as I understand it, and I think it shall not avail him either,” Joseph said bitterly.

  Walthere smiled through the remark. “At any rate, I am sorry we could not make the journey to Anscharde. As you can imagine, we have had our eyes open and ears to the ground searching for any other signs of traitors afoot.” Her father loosed an exasperated sigh and shook his head in pity. “The Veldharts? I would never have imagined.”

  “It is fine. Gerome is no less dead because you did not grace his murderers’ ends.”

  “Joseph—” Sara started to interject. Her brother did not give her the opportunity.

  “And if you have seen one execution, you have seen them all. This will be no different, I am sure. And I am certain there will be ample opportunity for more such ventures in the future, my good count.” At this, the man turned, so that Cullick could fully see his wicked smile. “In a world where even palatines turn upon their lords, I should say nothing is so certain as death.”

  “…how do you plead?”

  “Ah, but one must take care, highness. When we start seeing traitors anywhere, we begin to see them everywhere.”

  “Assal above. That is just what I was saying to Sara as we rode here—father, that was who we were missing,” the prince said at a deadpan. “Sometimes I forget how close some people sit,” he added, eyeballing his step-mother all the while.

  Seemingly oblivious to his scorn, the Empress smiled cheerfully from one to the other as she felt the eyes on her, then turned back promptly to the duke. She was bent slightly forward, anxiously drinking in every word, wide mouth slightly agape. Like a cow, Charlotte concluded.

  “It is only humble and good to serve your family to the best of our ability, highness. Be it yourself, one day, as well as your father.”

  Joseph snorted and sank back, his mood souring as he focused back on the trial.

  In his place, his sister picked up the conversation. “So you must tell me, my lady,” Sara was saying to Charlotte suddenly, “how does it feel to put all this nastiness beneath you?”

  “…to every charge? You do not deny them?”

  She considered her words before responding. Her father would be hanging on every detail. “Quite well, I should say. Though it shall ever haunt me that the culprit remains abroad.”

  “Oh you poor dear.” The woman looked genuinely hurt. “I couldn’t even imagine the horror. I do not think I would ever recover. You must be a strong woman, Charlotte.”

  “You honor me, highness. But I have heard tales of your own strength and beauty as well, and I should say, I do not think the stories do you justice.”

  Flattery will get you everywhere in politics.

  Sara giggled and blushed, taking her hand and giving it a caring pat. “After all this nastiness is done, you know you must come to court sometime in Anscharde.”

  The Empress took that moment to butt in. “Oh, you must, dear. You are just a darling. And you would love the city. Oh, how it shines in the evening! Have you ever seen the Klein aglow with its light? Nothing is quite so precious. And I know for a fact my darling Lothen would, for one, adore to have you.”

  “He is not sick is he?” Walthere cut in. “I note you do not bring him to court today.”

  “Oh, this would simply bore him to tears. I left him to my ladies in your yards, if you—”

  “Hush,” Joseph bulled in. “I cannot hear Rusthöffen, and that is a feat.”

  By the time their focus shifted back, the duke had grown considerably ashen. The crowd stirred in confusion and scandal as Rusthöffen conferred with his fellows at the judges’ table. For the second time he asked Matair if he was certain as to what it was he had confessed, and twice he was met with a simple yes, so soft Charlotte had to resist edging forward in her seat just to hear him. Rusthöffen turned to the lawyer-priests at either side of him, in disarray.

  “Off with his head,” someone yelled from the back.

  Charlotte knew the questions, pondered the answers. Why would a man admit such things? So callously besmirch and incriminate himself? For these men that spent their lives at maintaining their own prosperity, it would have been a horror of a thought. Only she had seen the reasons why. She, and a maddened woman so stricken she might have lurked above their very heads, that instant, stalking the halls and plotting their demise.

  The woman the nobility called “the Many-Starred” had lost two of her brightest, each a father in their own way. Charlotte had a thought of the woman sneaking into their rooms at night and stabbing them all in their sheets. She tried to press it off.

  Rusthöffen thoughtfully stroked at his beard. “Do you repent these crimes?”

  “I do not.”

  The crowd stirred, louder and louder, and the duke struck his table so hard its legs wobbled. “Silence,” he boomed, and the hall quieted to a tomb. Rusthöffen settled back, sighing heavily as he spread his hands before him.

  Almost sadly, he reminded the lord that his confession would not spare him the justice of the court. Matair did not ask for such mercies, nor speak a word to his own defense. The Empress, for her part, looked sullenly disappointed at that. If there was no protestation, no resistance, then there was no substance nor amusement to be drawn from these baser acts of man.

  When asked if his family partook of his wanton crimes, the lord paused, sighing deeply. From the way his shoulders arched, it was as a great weight lifting—a man gathering his fading strength into his limbs for a final, bloody thrust. He straightened, shook his head. Even from the back, there seemed a certain aura about him then. A strength she had glimpsed in moments and phrases in their own discussion, and in the nights, so long ago, when he and Walthere might have sat within the same room and smiled.

  Yet as important as the court’s proceedings might have been to her father, Charlotte already knew how they would end, and drew no pleasure in them. The Durvalles were more important, and she could not leave them in so cold a place as her father had left them. It was he that had told her to smile. Smile until they see it in their sleep. Then stab them as they dream.

  Dreams and blood. It all came back to that. Everything seemed as a dream of late. The people and their petty plots. Every one of them was scheming over another man’s blood, and behind them all lurked the deadliest of flowers. Tame, her father called the witch. His little workhorse.

  She believed in the power of will. But never before had she seen it put to so potent a force. Usuri. Sweet, broken flower. She might drown them all in blood at a bitter whim. They, who had taken much, and maneuvered ever to take more, whilst whispering promises and delivering disappointment.

  Men did not frighten Charlotte. The witch alone held that mos
t bitter honor.

  “So, highness,” she said, leaning away from her father, “I hear His Majesty has at last joined with the war. I must confess I am surprised at your presence here, amidst such fuss. I should not think he would leave without one of his finest generals.”

  Joseph eyed her a moment before replying. “Someone must keep things in order, and it is not as though we can give the Effisians both emperor and heir in the same fight.”

  “A noble point. I believe we should all feel safer already.”

  Joseph leered at her. “My, she does know the part to play, doesn’t she? I think Sara and you should get on swimmingly.”

  “My brother,” Sara added, “means to thank you for your words. Only his own at times get tangled before they might emerge.”

  “I say exactly as I mean to say,” he growled.

  “You must forgive him. He has our uncle’s temper.”

  Charlotte dismissed the thought with a shake of her tresses. “Oh, it is nothing. I know it is inconvenient to so travel, and at such times as these. How do your brothers get on?”

  “They manage, and mourn, at home behind our walls.”

  “Will you return to them before the cremation?”

  “If fate is kind, we shall be back to them as soon as this one lies dead. We should not have come at all, but…” Joseph’s gaze flicked back to his step-mother, settled again on the court. “She insisted on coming, and as you say, these are not the times. Not to ride unaccompanied. It would not be proper at all.”

  Sara let loose a sigh, though the slightest hint of displeasure never crossed her face. “I, for one, simply had to get away. Without Gerome, those walls seemed simply barren.” Her eyes crossed over Kasimir and his judges, and only slowly slid back over Charlotte, carefully evading her. Her words took on a harrowed delicacy that seemed at once unbecoming of this angel. “Oh, his wife is a mess, and the children…”

  “I am sure he rests easy now,” Charlotte said, eager to shift topics.

  “It’s true. He rests with the Maker now.”

  “With my god, not yours.” Joseph snapped.

  “They are the same,” Sara shot back.

  Joseph grunted and dismissed them both with a brusque wave. Sara looked hurt for a moment, but hastily brushed it aside, squeezing supportively at Charlotte’s hand and whispering, conspiratorially, “I believe we share convictions there.” Charlotte blinked, then slowly smiled. The princess smiled back. A secret between friends, as it were.

  “Lord Kasimir, it is to my displeasure that I must commit you to the justice of this court. Whatever a man you may have been, you have shown nothing but contempt here today. You admit to your wrongs, yet you will not repent. In this, my hands are bound, the path clear. Two days hence you shall be taken to the yard, there to be executed at dawn, your head cut off. Your body shall be set aflame, the ashes entombed beneath our feet, and your family, should they escape the woes you have brought upon yourself, shall never know where you have been lain.

  “Your lands shall be seized and put to other, more capable hands. Both your name and your title shall henceforth be removed. Your deeds shall remain in testament to the man you were, but no more. No more. Your children shall, until proven guilty, retain the titles they themselves have earned, and shall be knights and dames accordingly, but their personages shall be removed to places far and abroad, lest they be tempted into vengeance with familiar tongues and familiar hands.

  “May you find peace in the other world, ser. Your duties and your deeds to His Majesty’s empire have been unending, and unyielding. I hope as the Maker weighs the scales against you, that these might weigh more heavily than the things you have shown us here today. May he judge you, and find you still within his favors, for we cannot.”

  Noblemen began to cheer. Some clapped their hands upon their thighs in joy. Rusthöffen let them continue for a time, then silenced them with another, softer slap of his hand upon the table. One of the lawyer-priests slapped his cane three times against the stone.

  “Poor, foolish man,” Sara whispered. “What do you suppose shall happen to the family?”

  “Whatever His Excellency desires, I suppose. Perchance execution, though his words now seem to favor life,” Charlotte replied.

  “The family, too?” the Empress squeaked. “Oh heavens no, he mustn’t! You heard the man. It was his doing alone. I should not think we would have it done any other way.”

  They all turned at another of Joseph’s derisive snorts. “That’s a woman’s logic for you. Nonsense. He should have them off as well, if he were wise. Blood begets blood. If you leave one alive, he’ll sure enough return to gut you for it later.”

  “Surely that is no way to rule,” the Empress said, a little softer now.

  “I must concur. Surely there is a place for mercy in this world.”

  When she heard her father’s voice added to that, Charlotte might have died of shock. That he would preach compassion could only be some hidden card in a stacked hand. Hostages, perhaps, against the sons still abroad. At least one had an army, if only a small one. Perhaps as lures. He had a move to play, some process at work, though she was not certain what. Joseph was, after all, correct in this instance. Blood begets blood. If the Matairs were left alive, it was not Rusthöffen they would come for. It was Cullick. Not that they would be able to do much, but history had shown that even the smallest of flies sometimes proved the greatest of plagues.

  A man that did not know the count might have suggested it was a sense of mercy only a parent could intone. She might have laughed at that, as well. If he shared a tear for Gerold or her, it would only be a means to an end. Now, she rightly feared for the Matairs. Though fear was not the right term. Pitied them, more like.

  The eyes. Those storms of eyes were watching.

  “Destroy your enemy utterly, or be destroyed in turn. Mind that.” The message, she knew, was for his step-mother, but Joseph’s eyes focused all too intently on her father. The tone, and the message behind it, made her altogether shudder.

  “Are you cold?” Sara asked.

  “I shall, highness, I shall,” Walthere said. “As ever, we benefit from your wisdom.”

  “Yes. Merely a chill coming on…”

  At that point, Charlotte expected to rise and to go. The trial was done, the hearts and minds of the nobility now satisfied that justice was to be done, and a traitor to be expunged. Their quota for blood would be fulfilled for a day, and to those both closest and furthest from the good lord’s heart, the time would come to feast upon the scraps he left behind. More pawns for her father’s game.

  The trial was done. All the duke needed to do was rap his knuckles on his table and call the courtroom out. Rusthöffen rose, and made to do this, only to lean forward across the table at some seemingly sudden thought. Then he did something completely out of order.

  He honored the man he had just sentenced to die.

  “Kasimir Matair, you have ever been a faithful servant of the court, and of its people. Might I trouble to ask why now have you so chosen to flout the laws that define them?”

  Charlotte looked to her father. Inside, she could tell he seethed. Monstrous fires became his eyes, glued to the duke. His hands twisted in his breeches, so tightly she feared he might tear them. When all this was settled, his would be a terrible wrath.

  Joseph, beside her, groaned and shook his head. “What does this oaf think he’s doing? He’s already denounced him.”

  “Most unusual,” the Empress said, leaning forward in her seat, as though the two men were like to leap from their seats and put themselves into a duel, merely for her amusement.

  “I am sure he has his reasons,” her father muttered.

  Kasimir looked as startled as the rest of them. He took a moment to collect himself, staring at the duke all the while, some invisible thought passing between them. She might have groaned, if decorum had allowed. She should have known. She would not have been the only one to visit the lord in the night. Not
when they were the duke’s own guards outside his cell. They had come to some arrangement, and she could guess as to who would suffer for it.

  “To save my son. He has done naught wrong, in all the days of his life, ser. His only crime was to cross our good palatine.” There was a clamor in the court at that, and he had to raise his voice to speak over it. “It was never my intention to do harm to their Imperial Majesties, or to the Empire. Merely to guard my son against what I saw as a great injustice. I ask that you blame not my family for my err, and that if death must follow, that it be mine alone to atone for this aggrievance. I ask—nay, beg, for this mercy.”

  Some began to jeer angrily, others sneered, and there were more than a few queer looks directed at her father and herself. Joseph, alone amongst the crowd, let out a short laugh, and grinned at Walthere. His sister squeezed Charlotte’s hand and wordlessly apologized to her, whilst the step-mother gasped and clapped a hand so sharply over her mouth Charlotte thought her empty little head might pop.

  “The audacity,” the Empress wheezed.

  The duke had chosen to use Kasimir’s final act to embarrass Walthere before his peers. For that, she had little doubt, her father would see him pay. There was a time and place for such things. That Rusthöffen would do so when the man he struck was clasping at the hand of his own empress stank of a childish sort of stupidity. The words would wound her father, but Walthere would do more than wound the old antelope.

  As for Matair, she felt a sneer rising in her. A cold and monstrous hate. Vengeance, he had told the witch, it is a plague. So much for the words of honorable men.

  Chapter 13

  The Vorges contained, among many other things, the tale of a man accused of a murder he did not commit. The man, Massel, was put before his peers on the word of a neighbor, who coveted his property and his wife. For all his pleading to the contrary, Massel was found guilty by his fellow men and stoned to death in the middle of the street. His wife, rather than face a world without him, plunged a dagger into her heart and set her house aflame, such that the very things the neighbor had killed for would ever be denied him.