Louis wore long, royal blue robes with large, silver arabesques around the collar and shoulders. The sleeves were split open on the ample white shirt underneath. He had dark blue pants and his usual riding boots. His outfit was elegant but as sober as it could be. Lissandro rode behind him, in parallel with Selen. His friend was radiant. Not too hard to figure out why, Lissandro thought, amused. He had to admit that Selen was a man one would love to cherish, and Louis never did things halfway. Selen was dressed in light beige robes and pants of the same color. He had braided a silver chain around the length of his long, lilac hair. It was held on the side of his head by small pearls that glittered in the light. Selen looked like an elf who had escaped from his magical land. As for himself, Lissandro had opted for embroidered, pale green robes, which did not make him look less from an enchanting place. Like Louis’s, his hair floated in light brown curls around his shoulders, but in a slightly fairer tone. Their horses had been combed and braided. Judging by the three riders at the front, Lissandro considered it was more an elven king invading Nysa Serin than Caesar returning from the Gauls. This blatant lack of virility was barely rectified right behind them by Pembroke and Folc, restricted in their colorful, puffing doublets and exuberant burgundy hoses of the latest fashion. The two men wore golden necklaces and large hats with feathers. The whole army of the Rebellion followed them in a bright line of polished plates and greased leather.
The street opened wide. In front of them, the square leading to the temple was littered with thousands of people. It had a sloping pavement in red bricks and ended in a long flight of stairs. A prestigious assembly composed of the nobles, the high priest, and his deacons waited for them in front of the gilt-bronze doors of the majestic, white building. The temple was as large as the cathedrals Lissandro had seen in his world and was surrounded by four spire towers. Column statues of white marble representing the twelve gods adorned the façade. It was also embellished with a colorful mosaic on the tympanum. Lissandro regretted that he would not see the inside of the temple, not today at least.
The cortege halted. Louis dismounted and climbed the stairs. Lissandro, Selen, and the captains followed him and placed themselves on the side with the nobles. The high priest was a chubby, short man with a thick, white beard dressed in an embroidered golden chasuble. Lissandro could tell by his surly look that Louis’s decision had deeply offended him. The nobles did not look more joyful. Still, they were curious and observed their future king with inquisitive eyes half hidden under hats with large rims and pastel organza.
The high priest opened the ceremony with a pompous speech about the ancient lineages, the calamities of war and the gods above. His interventions were broken by hymns sung by a choir of young boys. Lissandro listened with only half an ear. He stared at the crowd. While some people bore on their faces the scars of the pangs of war, others displayed shameless wellness. The four years of Agroln’s tyranny had not affected everyone the same way.
The crowd cheered. Louis stepped forward and addressed the people, glorifying the bravery of the soldiers of the Rebellion and the peace to come. Lissandro had beseeched him to keep it as simple and short as possible. The crowd wanted a show, not a monologue on the constitution.
The high priest recited a prayer and walked towards Louis. “In front of the gods, in heaven and earth, the king will now swear the oath concerning his people and the Church,” the old man said towards the crowd.
Louis stepped to the edge of the stairs and knelt, his arms open as if to embrace the multitude. “I, Louis, King of Trevalden, swear to guarantee the security and the peace of my people, to administer justice, and to protect the faith.” Lissandro noticed how his friend twisted the last word. While incense dangled around them, the high priest said the prayer of the consecration.
There was a religious silence as a little girl in a plain white dress climbed the stairs. Under her crown of flowers, her auburn hair flew around her face. Her broad, innocent smile revealed her white teeth and the gaps where the milk ones were missing. With her small hands, she fixed the circlet on Louis’s forehead and, in a childish reflex, brushed his hair back. Louis raised his head and looked at her with the kindest gaze. He took her hand in his and rose, smiling at the crowd. His people broke into loud demonstrations of joy and enthusiastic hails.
Congratulations, you have crowned a regicide, Lissandro thought. May the king live forever, amen. He turned around. The reaction from the esplanade was ice-cold. Lissandro had no illusion about how things would turn out in the future.
The festivities were held in the great hall. The place had been scrubbed clean, and the floor was now covered with long benches and tables decorated with wreaths and bunches of flowers. On the dais, a group of musicians played charming songs. There were three tables, one for the king and the most eminent men of the city, and two long ones, perpendicular to the table of honour. The guests entered the hall. Pembroke sat down at Louis’s right side. To honour him for his deeds, Louis had proposed the seat on his left to Josselin. Lissandro noticed Kilda’s absence. He guessed that the change would have been too hard on her. Lissandro chose a seat at the long table on the right.
“May I sit next to you?” Selen asked. His friend wore long watery green robes with gold threads that suited his hair color perfectly. His appearance was the evocation of spring reflected on water.
“Of course,” he answered. “Are you afraid to mix with the crowd?” Lissandro grinned.
“Yes,” Selen answered feebly, candid as usual. His voice was barely audible under the notes of the hurdy-gurdy. “I should not be here.”
“Louis has dedicated this day to the Rebellion. You have every right in the world to be here,” Lissandro said, carving his bottom in the cushions on the bench. “Besides, I do enjoy your company.”
When everyone had taken a seat, the servants came with the wine in golden carafes. Once served, Lissandro put the filled chalice to his lips. The claret had the color of cherry and was fruity with notes of raspberries. At his side, Selen took a large sip of his cup. Lissandro wondered how many cups his friend would need to survive his environment.
There was no boundary in the luxury of the table settings. The plates were of punched tin and the silver cutlery was gold rimmed. Lissandro took his knife in his hand and admired the sparkle on the pointy end. Dishes were served. A whole wild boar stuffed with cherries was placed in front of them. Lissandro sliced an ear and gnawed at it.
“I always thought it was only a dog snack until I tasted one,” he said, chewing. Selen struggled to move a pheasant leg onto his plate with his dagger. “You can use your fingers,” Lissandro suggested. Irritated, his friend stabbed a pink apple instead.
“I don’t really wish to give the same sight as what I see around me,” Selen replied. He put the fruit to his full lips. Lissandro watched him take a bite. The apple crackled under his white teeth. Droplets of juice dribbled from the peel onto his skin. Lissandro broke his stare and looked around.
The guests helped themselves to civets of hare, salted stags, or swans stuffed with mushrooms. The nobles sucked on their greasy fingers and tore the roasted flesh with gluttony. One man swallowed oysters. The salty water ran copiously on his chin. Another lord in front of Lissandro took a whole mutton leg from a platter and gnawed at it. There was no end to the cortege of plates. The guests were offered capons flavored with cloves, sturgeons in ginger, plums stewed in brandy, sweet tarts, candied fruits and many more expensive dishes Lissandro could not see.
“I do hope Louis did not pay for this,” Lissandro whispered. The capon wing in his hand tasted like paradise. He relished every bite as if it were his last supper.
“He didn’t,” Selen said, picking at the mulberries on his plate. “They paid.”
“Oh? We will count this as his first miracle,” Lissandro picked a hare leg and put it on Selen’s plate.
The nobles fluttered about in their glimmering clothes, sharing amiabilities and compliments on the ceremony and on thei
r overdone outfits. It was a ball of mannerism and syrupy smiles.
Lissandro’s neighbor leaned towards him. The man was young with an amber complexion. He had dark eyes, and Lissandro would swear that his eyebrows were enhanced with kohl.
“And you, what is your task in the government?” the man asked, all toady.
“I am responsible for the archives and the library,” Lissandro answered.
“Oh,” the man raised an eyebrow with indifference. “Did they have well-read people in the Rebellion beside Pembroke?” Lissandro just learned where an archivist could situate himself on the social echelon.
“Do you suggest that the king is uneducated?” Lissandro inquired.
“Well, you have lived in the mud for four years, as I have heard. Quite a rustic way of life for civilized people,” the man said, biting at a plum.
For his own safety, this man should never pass less than a hundred yards from Louis. Expatriation would even be recommended. Lissandro decided not to share the precious counsel. “If I may suggest his lordship to step back. You may fall down looking at me from such a height,” Lissandro sneered. The man pivoted contemptuously to his other side. “So much for making new friends,” Lissandro muttered to himself and turned to Selen again. His friend had finally decided to eat something consistent and chewed on a quail’s bone.
“So, how is the life in your apartments?” Lissandro asked. Considering that Lissandro had kindly agreed to sleep simultaneously in two bedrooms, he guessed that Selen understood his insinuation. “Still feeling in a cage?”
“I still do,” Selen replied, “but I have to admit that you were right. One gets easily used to comfort. I could spend half my day in the bathroom and the other half in the garden. Yet, I still can’t wash away the filth of these last months.”
“I can assure you that you are beyond clean, especially if we take the present assembly as a point of reference. Rub harder with your soap, and you will polish your bones.” Lissandro decided to taste the sturgeon. The fresh ginger burned in his mouth.
“I have found interesting books in one of the solar’s cabinets. Are there some in your apartments too?” With his greasy fingers in the air, Selen searched for a napkin. “Have you seen bread?”
“Don’t search in vain. It’s the bowl of water in front of you, or the tablecloth,” Lissandro whispered. “Yes, I have some books as well. I found one about ornithology. Are you interested in something in particular?”
Selen had opted for the tablecloth and cleaned the tips of his fingers with an expression of slight disgust and shame. “Actually, I would be interested in learning more about the history of the land and politics.” Selen leaned towards him. “Sometimes, I don’t understand what Louis wants to say, and I don’t like to feel stupid.”
“Don’t worry about that. It’s not you. All the books in the world won’t help,” Lissandro said but realized it might have hurt his friend’s feelings. “Still, I will give you all I can find about politics and history.” He smiled.
As the wine and hippocras flowed, the manners loosened. Men shouted lewd jokes and women chirped. The man in front of him was fed fried duck hearts by a giggling young woman sitting on his lap. In her corsage, she put a morsel that the man tried to fetch with his mouth. The guests around them laughed coarsely. One mimicked the sound of a pig and got applause for his interpretation. Even women displayed tasteless behavior. A red-haired woman got a golden coin to have her breasts kissed.
“Wealthy and greedy for more,” Lissandro sighed.
Some guests rose to dance in the space between the tables. The colorful satin, the rich brocades, and the organza veils twirled around the emerald lace in the rhythm of voltes. Men in silk and carved leather raised hats decorated with beads and feathers.
“May I have this dance?” he whispered to Selen, teasing.
“Don’t make me say yes,” Selen grumbled. Lissandro was surprised to notice disgust in Selen’s eyes. His friend who had been radiant during the ceremony this morning, gazing at Louis like Hephaestion at his Alexander, had now turned morose.
“You’re right. It may not please the king,” Lissandro said, turning his eyes on Louis. The look on Louis’s face was even worse than Selen’s. Lissandro wondered if they had crowned a raptor. His smiles were hints of bites, and all in his features displayed a blatant condescendence. The articulations of his fingers looked sore as he twisted them together in anger. Fortunately, this rude sight was compensated by Louis’s cold appeal.
“My dear,” Lissandro heard Honfroi address the giggly company sitting around him. “How dreadful the preparations of this day have been. The servants were so terrible at their tasks. It was a miracle that I could find enough brandy in that damn city. And you should have seen my terror when I learned that the shops were out of figs.”
“What do you know of terror?” Louis snapped. “Has your neck been near a blade once except to shave your chins?”
The fat man fell silent. He probably had sensed the wind of the blade.
Pembroke rose and left his seat to dance. Lissandro took advantage of the situation to slip away from his place and sit next to Louis.
“Work on your smile. It’s turning into a rictus, and it’s scaring me,” Lissandro whispered to his friend.
“Look at those indecent imbeciles,” Louis whispered, raging. “Talking only about debauchery, mode, lifestyle, and horses. We should be celebrating the Rebellion, the soldiers. These men take the laurels for deeds they could not achieve. Such decadence. Look at this scene. It’s only missing the buffooneries of fools and the fondling of courtesans, and only because I can’t see behind the curtains. Their words are poison in wicked mouths. And to display such prodigality right after a long war, when our people starve. Their despicable baseness is barely conceivable.”
Louis’s anger was so sincere and passionate. Lissandro had to admit that there was something enticing to it. No wonder Louis had led the Rebellion with style. Lissandro would have picked up any sword, should Louis had said the right words. “It’s called a court, and you know that,” Lissandro said. They watched Selen rise from his place and leave the hall with dignity. Their friend could not endure it anymore.
“I know,” Louis sighed, “and I’m the king of that flock. Wait until tomorrow. They will have to justify all that.”
“Careful, Louis. I know what you want, but they are powerful. Move cleverly.” As Lissandro spoke, a drunken young lord from the table on the left had opened a serving maid’s corsage and poured wine on her tits. He dragged her onto his lap and raised her skirts. The giggling girl sat astride the lord and wiggled while the man licked the wine. There could be no misinterpretation of their actions. The men sitting on the side encouraged their friend.
“That’s enough,” Louis snarled, infuriated. As he rose, all the faces swiveled towards him. Lissandro looked at Louis with appealing eyes and moved his lips in a clear no. The veins on Louis’s throat bulged. “In the name of the Rebellion and the Crown, I wish to thank all the noble families for their generosity and wonderful festivities. I will now retire myself and hope you will enjoy the rest of the evening.” The lords rose and hailed him, raising their goblets. Louis bowed his head in a short salute and left the hall with the dignity and coldness of death.
“Back in the saddle,” Lissandro whispered. He took a last sip of his wine and gazed at the crowd. His friend had seen pigs, and he would make them squeal.
CHAPTER 61
“Strength is neither justice nor law. But it’s impossible not to use it to enforce law and justice. The government, and here I mean the institutions, must be strong to be just. It is neither oppressive nor harsh, as only evil will suffer. The citizen is accountable to his conscience and the ethics; should he forget it, he is still accountable to the law; should he despise the law, he is no more a citizen,” Selen whispered, reading the papers. Such hard words and yet so true. There were more pages to read, all covered with reflections and thoughts. Some were crossed out and
some had been hastily written in a corner.
Selen caressed his love’s soft curls. Louis slept, his head resting on Selen’s bare abdomen. He looked so peaceful and fair despite the shadow of a morning beard. Selen wondered which pages had been written last night. The festivities had awoken dark memories in Selen’s mind, but it had infuriated Louis. His friend had not shouted. He had thrown one of the porcelain decorations on the floor and had sat on the bed in silence, his ice cold gaze lost in thoughts. Selen had crept behind him and had held him. Though he had wanted to assure Louis of his support, he had not forced him to confide in him. Once his temper had cooled down, Louis had taken the quill and had written pages throughout the night. Selen was curious to know what kind of reflections had followed from it.
“What are you reading?” Louis asked. He had woken up and his half-opened, blue eyes looked up at Selen.
“Your notes,” Selen answered. “They were scattered on the bed, so I guessed I could. It’s very interesting.”
“Do you think so? I mean, do you agree?” Louis inquired, surprised.
“I don’t understand some concepts, but I agree.”
“So you will probably agree with my intervention at the high council today. I wonder who will sit there. Pembroke said we will be eight.” Louis grazed a finger around Selen’s navel.
“Probably Honfroi Tollbridge and the other, that weasel…” Selen’s eyes narrowed. “Evrardin,” he said with disgust. He had met the man the day before and had noticed something vicious in his smile. “I am more worried for this afternoon.” They would face the whole court in the great hall. Everyone would look at him at one point.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 39