Courage and Cowardice - Chapter 14
Courage and Cowardice - Chapter 14
"My father is Lord De la Poer himself, I’ll have you know!” “Oy’m the daddy now,” the driver grunted, as he trudged towards the trunk.
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”
-The Passing of Arthur
Standing up, Louis had towered over his brother. Jourdain had always been smaller than his peers, but next to his brother, he had felt positively minuscule. In everything Jourdain had struggled, Louis had excelled. Politics, war, administration, Louis had mastered them all, while Jourdain still floundered. And to tell the truth, Jourdain had never really minded. After all, Louis was to inherit their father’s crown, not him. He could survive being merely ordinary. While Louis had been weaned to reign squabbling dukes, lead battles, and feed his future kingdom, Jourdain had spent most of his time simply tending to the royal gardens. That was where Louis had spoken the words that had remained with Jourdain all his life, the words that had meant more to him than anything else in the world.
“I think you will be my greatest ally as a ruler, Jourdain,” Louis had said, as he gazed proudly at the hanging vines and opulent flowers Jourdain had so artfully grown.
“M-me?” Jourdain had sputtered at the statement, so taken aback he’d almost dropped his watering can.
“Yes, you,” Louis’ eyes had gleamed as he grinned. “Together I think we’ll make a kingdom far greater than any in the land.”
“But… what can I do?” Jourdain had moped. “I just… I just know about plants, that’s all.”
“You think knowing about plants is all it took to make this garden?” Louis had been amazed. “Look around you, Jourdain. There’s only one thing that could have made this paradise on earth. It’s love, Jourdain. To be a king, I’ve had to harden my heart. But you, yours is still bursting with love. So long as you have that, and so long as you show it to me, I won’t lose my way.”
Standing up, Louis had towered over his brother. Lying down, as Louis did now, he looked so small. It was so strange. It made no sense. Jourdain stroked the cold, stiff cheek of his brother, still so sure he was simply dreaming.
“I don’t understand, my lady!” the nurse sobbed to Antoinette in the background. “I gave him the medicine, just as you asked, but it did no good. The infection was simply too strong!”
Jourdain glanced at his brother’s arm, its white cast stained a dark crimson by the arrow that had struck Louis some days ago. While out hunting, one of the slaves had misaimed, and though the arrow had only grazed Louis, it was enough to infect, prompting his immediate hospitalization. Jourdain’s father had had the slave killed on the spot. He was like that.
“It’s alright, nurse,” Antoinette did her best to hold back her own tears. “You did everything you could for him.”
“But it wasn’t enough!” the nurse howled. “And with the wedding so soon!”
That’s right, Jourdain paled, the wedding. The union of Antile and Carolina, the political alliance to stand against the Rahmanite kingdoms. Was it all to collapse now, without Louis? This couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. Louis’ life flashed before Jourdain’s eyes, every moment, every memory they had shared together, all whizzing through his head like a wicked whirlpool. Jourdain felt himself suffocating at the thought of a world without his brother. What was to be done? What was he to do?
“Antoinette!” a harsh, hacking howl hurled Jourdain back to reality. He knew that voice. He would have known it anywhere.
“Darling!” Antoinette rushed over to the side of her husband, Jourdain’s father, King Charles II, himself having taken ill for many months. Naturally worried for her husband, Antoinette tried to support the hunched-over king, but he beat her back with his cane.
“Away with you woman! I shan’t return to bed before I’ve seen my son!” Charles barked, his vicious eyes gleaming with the fire that had made him such a fearsome king.
“But darling!” Antoinette nursed the newly-formed bruise on her cheek.
“My mind is made up!” Charles hissed, like a lion warning its kin to back away, before limping pathetically towards the bed where Louis now lay.
“Hello father,” Jourdain did not look up as the king came to stand beside him.
Charles did not respond, prompting his son to glance up in curiosity. When he saw the expression on his father’s face, Jourdain was truly amazed. Tears were starting to form in the old king’s eyes.
“Oh, my son,” Charles moaned. “Why did Yehovah see fit to take you away from me? Away from us all?”
“I’m sorry… father,” Jourdain muttered limply.
At that, Charles flew into a rage. “I have no need for your pity!” the king struck his son a blow that sent him flying across the room.
“Jourdain!” Antoinette rushed to her son’s side, as the king rose to his full fury.
“It should have been you, Jourdain! It should have been you!” Charles cursed, raved, and howled. “Louis was a proper son! He would have made a proper king! But you, you craven, little weakling, what good are you to the crown? Our kingdom’s fate is sealed in your miserable hands!”
“I… I…” Jourdain cowered under his father’s might, unable to stand against its vicious power.
“Charles!” Antoinette cried. “How can you say such a thing? One son is dead, and all you can do is torment the other?”
“Enough!” Charles spat, and made his way out of the room. “If this is how I am to be treated in my own house, I shall return to bed! Perhaps I shall die before I witness our kingdom’s demise!”
As the door slammed shut, the bedroom fell into silence, save the whispers of comfort Antoinette spoke to her son, ignorant to her own injuries. Jourdain lay there as though in a trance, his eyes settled directly on his fallen brother, his mind swelling with words. It should have been you. You will be my greatest ally. Something has to be done. He had spoken those words, this very morning in fact. For a moment, his bravery had been equal to that of his brother’s. Where was it now? Where had it gone?
“Mother,” Jourdain grasped Antoinette’s hand. “I’m alright. Thank you.” Then, as he stood up, “What about you?”
“Th-this?” Antoinette placed a hand over her bruise. “It’s nothing, Jourdain, nothing at all.”
“That’s not true,” Jourdain said. “You should have the nurse look at it.”
“But, what about you, Jourdain?” Antoinette asked.
“I… I need to do something,” Jourdain replied. “The dukes will be here this afternoon, won’t they?”
“Y-yes,” Antoinette seemed perplexed.
“Then I shall go and meet them,” Jourdain cast one final glance at his brother. “There is much I have to discuss with them.”
“Amazing!” the green-eyed girl gasped. “If what you say is true, then you’ve saved my life! You have the eternal gratitude of the whole House of Aragó.”
“Th-the House of Aragó?” Julia gibbered.
“Who?” Morien turned quizzically towards his companion.
“The House of Aragó!” Roland trilled in a manner most high-pitched. “My lady is none other than Princess Rosa Aragó, daughter of his Royal Majesty King Rodrigo I, lord and sovereign of all Antile! And you shall address my lady within the realms of proper protocol, as befitting such creatures of your lowly station, or else I-”
“Please Roland, do shut up!” a contralto cry cut in, as an older woman poked her head out of the carriage window angrily.
“M-my queen!” Roland stammered. “Forgive me, I-”
“If I have to put up with another moment of your sycophantic simpering, Roland, so help me Yehovah I shall have your head removed the moment we reach Aix!”
“Aix?” Morien piped up. “Say, that’s where we’re going!”
“Hush blackamoor!” Roland warbled wrathfully. “You should consider yourself lucky to share this space with my ladies for so long!”
“We would be honored to have you with us,” Rosa bowed demurely. “Anything for the ones who saved my life!”
“My lady!” Roland cried. “What in blazes are you going on about? These peasants-”
“Merchant,” Julia interjected.
“Peasants!” Roland peeped passionately.
“What’s all the ruckus?” Hobie hovered outside.
“Roland, I swear by all that is holy…!” the queen growled.
“We’re trapped in a tiff,” Morien explained.
“A trilling tiff,” Julia added.
“I do not trill!” Roland trilled tempestuously.
“I ask because I’m sensing something,” Hobie explained.
“That’s it! Driver! Tie him up and throw him in the trunk!” the queen commanded.
“Royght,” the lumbering brute of a man who drove the carriage dropped down with an audible thud, sending the balance of the carriage all out of order.
“N-now hold on, driver,” Roland sputtered. “Let’s just talk this over, shall we? After all, I was only thinking of my ladies’ best interests. Surely your microscopic brain is at least intelligent enough to comprehend that, isn’t it?”
“Oy don’t know what yooh goin’ on about,” the driver grunted, before wresting the knight from his charger as though he were a mere rag doll.
At that, Roland exploded in a fit of chirrups and cheeps. “Unhand me, you oaf! I am a knight of the Carolingian crown! Sent directly by his majesty Charles II to escort his son’s fiancée to his lands! I will not be treated like some common ruffian! My father is Lord De la Poer himself, I’ll have you know!”
“Oy’m the daddy now,” the driver grunted, as he trudged towards the trunk.
“Anyway, as I was saying, we’d love to have you journey with us,” Rosa turned back to the trio of travelers. As she noticed Hobie, her eyes lit up, and she exclaimed “Ah, an Angelic Sphere! You have one too?”
“What?” Roland twittered. “Impossible! Only one chosen by Yehovah to collect the three Keys may have an Angelic Sphere!”
“Well, uh, I…” Morien blushed.
“Have earned that right a thousand times over,” Hobie beamed.
“Yeah,” Julia remarked.
“A blackamoor hero? My orb shall have his je- Mmmffhhh!” Roland’s cries were muffled as he was tossed into the carriage trunk.
“Eva?” Rosa called from inside the carriage. “Wake up, Eva, one of your fellow Spheres is here.”
“Another Sphere?” Erin popped into the conversation. “Whoa!”
“How many of you are there?” the queen asked warily.
Hello, Yann poked his head out of the wagon cover to cast a charming smile the queen’s way.
“Hey! What did I tell you all about crowding the front?” Julia barked.
“Here!” Rosa rushed excitedly out of the carriage, much to the protests of her mother, eager to show the questers the orb of light that now lay in her arms.
“My word,” Hobie blinked breathlessly as he gazed into his mirror image.
“Of all things,” the other sphere flashed flabbergastedly as she gazed into her mirror image.
“Hello,” they both spoke as one.
“Prince Jourdain,” Captain Cazador, the envoy of Antile, stood from his seat in the meeting room as the prince entered, before bowing in respectful deference.
“Ah, Captain,” Jourdain nodded politely. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I arrived earlier this morning,” Cazador explained. “However, when I went ashore to meet with your brother, I found myself hastily escorted here, where I’ve sat waiting ever since. I hope I have not arrived at an inopportune time.”
Jourdain wondered how he should break the news to the captain. For several minutes he simply stammered and stared, a new wave of sadness and realization cresting upon him. But then Jourdain remembered his mission, and waded through the waters toward an island of calm once again.
“You may want to sit down again, Captain,” Jourdain said. “After what I am about to tell you.”
Cazador sat in stoic silence after receiving the news, his brow furrowed and lips thinly pressed in contemplation. Already Jourdain could see the captain had a better grasp of the situation than he himself, and the prince cursed himself for his own lack of regal preparation.
“I am sorry,” Cazador at last spoke. “The loss of a brother is a terrible thing. But you know what you must do, don’t you? With your brother gone, all his responsibilities fall to you.”
“I… I know,” Jourdain replied. “I just… what are we to do about the alliance?”
Cazador stared at him blankly. “I thought that to be obvious. Didn’t I just say, with your brother gone, all his responsibilities fall to you?”
Jourdain blinked in surprise. “W-wait… you mean… I…”
“Well obviously!” Cazador bellowed. “The fate of both our kingdoms is at stake here! Be glad you have two still-alive kings to help guide you during your first years of rulership.”
Jourdain cursed himself again. How had he failed to realize until now? Of course, if he was to take up his brother’s title of king, he would naturally take up his title of groom as well. But…
“Wait, no, you don’t understand,” Jourdain stammered. “That’s why I’m here, in the meeting room. I’m waiting for the dukes to arrive so that I can talk to them about the changes I’ll be putting forward.”
“Changes?” Cazador was taken aback. “My dear prince, and I say this with the greatest of respect as befitting your noble station, but I hardly think whatever ‘changes’ you have in store for national policy are wise, considering the already-chaotic state your brother’s death will surely bring.”
“I…” Jourdain faltered momentarily, before the face of Esmeralda brought him back. “No! These changes, or change, just one, it has to happen! I owe it to… I need to put it through!”
Cazador sighed as one would in the presence of an impatient child, before finally growling out “What is it?”
Jourdain gulped, gripped by a momentary bout of fear. But then, if what he had been told about the captain was true, Cazador might be his greatest ally in the political battle that would surely ensue.
“I wish to issue the full and immediate abolition of slavery throughout all of Carolina,” Jourdain finally said.
“So… are they… talking?” Julia muttered as the two orbs of light continued to flash and flare at an unusual luminosity.
“I… think so,” Morien murmured, scared to possibly disturb whatever sort of conversation there might have been going on.
“Amazing!” Rosa and Erin both lit up in excitement.
“It’s like they’ve got their own language!” Erin grinned.
“I wonder what they’re saying!” Rosa beamed.
“Rosa, please do get back in the carriage!” the queen protested. “You’ll spoil your dress!”
“Oh mother!” Rosa huffed.
Yann sat down and began adjusting his lute, while Roland’s muffled cries continued to come from the carriage trunk.
“Ah, there,” Hobie fizzled back to his regular glow. “Thank you.”
“Same to you,” Eva dimmed down as well. “Most illuminating.”
“So, what were you two talking about?” Erin and Rosa asked excitedly.
“Seems they’ve hit it off,” Julia remarked privately to Morien.
“Simply comparing each other’s experiences and conferring on our mission,” Hobie explained.
“Yes, that,” Eva said. “Normally if one of us had found a suitable candidate to retrieve the Keys, we would all know at once via our network. However, now that the network has been compromised, we’ve each been forced to find potential candidates individually, based on our own judgements.”
“Then why’d you choose that Roland guy?” Erin asked. “He seems like a real jerk!”
Rosa stifled a snicker, as some more muffled curses erupted from the carriage, before a kick from the driver silenced them.
“Why shouldn’t I have chosen him?” Eva seemed truly confused. “He comes from a noble family. His breeding is all in order.”
The casual comment seemed to strike Morien with a physical force, and for a moment he found it difficult to speak, or even breathe, as he clutched his saphie in pain.
“B-breeding?” Erin seemed truly taken aback.
“Bull!” Julia howled.
“Not so,” Eva countered. “All the previous heroes in the olden stories were of high birth. It would be ludicrous to assume a hero could be a villein.”
“But Morien here is both as villeinous and as noble as they come! Er… wait…” Julia sputtered for a moment, before definitively stating “He actually found the Key of Land already!”
“Yes, Hobie told me,” Eva continued in her clerical tone. “To this I can only assume two possibilities. One, your friend is of low birth, in which case the object he found could not have been the actual Key. Two, the object he found is in fact the Key of Land, in which case he must secretly be of high birth.”
“That’s… you…!” Julia fumed, before turning towards Morien furiously. “Come on Morien, tell her why that’s bull!”
“I-it’s okay,” Morien mumbled mutely. “I don’t mind.”
“What?” Julia saw through his fib instantly. “Of course you do! Why don’t you stand up for yourself?”
What good would it do? That was what Morien thought, but he remained silent. Eva’s words had cut him deeply, as deeply as the bullying torments of his childhood torturers. He hadn’t been good enough for them, either. Hadn’t been good enough for anyone, save the imam and his mother, and the friends he had made only so recently. It was so strange. He thought he had come so far, and yet as soon as someone like Eva began talking so contemptuously towards him, it was like he was a small and scared child all over again.
“As I have already stated to my comrade,” Hobie interjected. “I can confirm that the object which Morien found was indeed the Key of Land.”
“And as I have already stated to my comrade,” Eva replied. “This means one of two possibilities. One, your senses have been seriously dulled by the severance of our connection to the network, in which case you are mistaken. Two, your friend is in fact of high birth, in which case you are still mistaken.”
“I have made no mistake,” Hobie assured Eva.
“What’s the matter with you, Morien?” Julia pleaded. “You’re just going to let her talk to you like that?”
“Uh, look, Eva,” Rosa tried to interject. “Why don’t you come back inside? I’m sure we-”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook either, lady!” Julia hissed. “If this is the kind of bull we’ll have to put up with, you can forget about us escorting you! We’ll find our way to Aix on our own!”
“N-no, it’s fine,” Morien mumbled.
“Quit saying that when it’s obviously not!” Julia howled.
“Um, Julia?” Erin asked nervously.
“What?” Julia turned on her.
“Uh, maybe you should calm down.”
“WHAT?” Julia screeched. “Are you taking Eva’s side?”
“N-no!” Erin cried. “I just… I don’t think you’re really listening to Morien.”
“Of course I’m listening to him! I-” Julia was interrupted by a gentle hand placed on her shoulder. As Julia looked up to see Yann gazing calmly back at her, her ire slowly began to dim. Turning back to Morien, Julia seemed at last to understand, and with a long, sad sigh, she finally acquiesced.
“Alright,” Julia whispered privately to her companion. “If you’re really okay with it, we can travel with them. But if you ever want me to take care of them, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“It’s okay,” Morien mumbled.
“It’s not-!” Julia caught herself and sighed. “Okay, fine. But if it ever isn’t okay, you let me know immediately. You can count on me, Morien, on all of us.”
Morien stared blankly back at Julia, unsure of how to respond. Was this what having friends was like? Julia, Erin, Yann, Hobie, all his fellow questers were looking at him now, their faces filled with compassion and admiration, and all Morien could think was how alien the current situation was to him. Alien and unusual, it baffled him so. And yet, it filled him with a kind of warmth he had never known before. This was what having friends was like, wasn’t it?
“Th-thanks…” Morien at last managed to crack a smile.
“Very well then,” Eva sighed. “If you’re quite through, we can at last get back to- Agghh!”
Eva was interrupted by Molly, as the mule tried to fit the tasty-looking orb in her mouth. She soon however found the Angelic Sphere too hard to chew, and too big to swallow whole, thusly spitting the ball of light out in disappointment. However, while Molly failed to fill her belly, she did succeed in generating a very irate, slobber-covered Eva.
“You… disgusting creature!” Eva flared. “I ought to-”
“Come on, Eva,” Rosa scooped the orb up and away. “Let’s go back inside.”
“I… of course, my lady,” Eva’s fury subsided. “My apologies.”
“Heh, nice one Molly,” Julia snickered.
“Y-yeah,” Morien chuckled softly.
“Land! If it is not good to be back,” Boss Hank Morgan, Duke of Brittany, stepped off his horseless carriage to once more set foot in the courtyard of the Carolingian royal castle. Glancing around to see if any of the other regional dukes had arrived, and seeing that he was the first, Morgan turned his attention towards the slave who was nervously inching towards his carriage, unsure of what to do with it.
“Don’t worry,” Morgan chuckled. “I assure you, the beast is quite toothless. And made by my own hands, if I might add.”
“Er… how?” the slave asked.
“Magic,” Morgan grinned. “And a healthy dose of Yankee ingenuity. It’s amazing, what one can accomplish when the two are combined. You can park it as you would any other carriage, only without the insufferable follies of flippant fillies.”
“I-if you say so,” the slave still looked unconvinced.
“Well, it hardly matters,” Morgan shrugged. “To allow myself the services of a slave would hardly sit well with me anyhow. If you could simply direct me towards the appropriate area, I shall be much obliged.”
“Still your old self, I see,” a disapproving harrumph came from behind Morgan, and as the Boss turned around, he saw none other than Chief Gastronomix, Duke of Parody, getting out of his own carriage, with his two bravest warriors behind him.
“Heroix, Gigantix!” Morgan beamed at the Gaulish heroes. “Ah, yes, and old Chief Fatty.”
“Come on now, Hank,” Heroix coughed politely. “We know you don’t get along, but the chief is still our chief and deserves respect.”
“Yeah,” Gigantix added softly.
“Yes, well,” Morgan lit himself a cigarette. “At least he has dispensed with his silly shield and horde of carriers. Even I must admit that deserves respect.”
“For one so famously disdainful of nobility, you seem rather aristocratic at heart yourself,” Gastronomix growled.
“Ah, my dear chief,” Morgan laughed. “How I have missed our talks.”
“Shall I take your carriage sir?” the slave asked Gastronomix.
“Yes, yes, and be quick about it, slave,” Gastronomix huffed.
“Are we the only ones here yet?” Gigantix looked around.
“Seems so,” Morgan shrugged. “Though knowing Joan, she’ll surely turn up on time.”
And indeed, as the church bells across Aix rang noon, a glimmering golden figure materialized out of thin air before the dukes. There, smiling serenely before them, now stood Saint Joan, Duchess of Romany.
“Ah, hello friends,” Joan whispered in her sing-song voice.
“Oh, uh, I, uh, hello,” Gigantix giggled shyly.
“Watch it, Gigantix,” Heroix chided his companion. “She’s a servant of Yehovah.”
“Yes, and deserving our utmost respect and admiration,” Gastronomix bowed humbly.
“Please, please,” Joan laughed calmly “There is no need for that. After all, for the purposes of this meeting, we are all of equal rank.”
“Well that’s good,” Morgan said. “As I had no plan to bow to you anyway.”
“Ah, Morgan,” Joan laughed softly. “I see you have not changed.”
“And I see the same of you,” Morgan chuckled. “How has life treated you since last we spoke?”
“Life, as you well know, was something I left behind many years ago,” Joan replied. “However, I have continued to do my Lord Yehovah’s works just as dutifully since our last meeting. I trust He has shone upon you as well?”
“It would appear so,” Morgan shrugged. “He has yet to strike me down, anyway.”
“So then, with the chief, Morgan, and Joan all accounted for…” Gigantix muttered.
“Saint Joan,” Heroix corrected him.
“Oh, sorry,” Gigantix laughed sheepishly. “But then, isn’t there only one left?”
“Yes,” came the curt reply from the courtyard entrance, as a shadowy figure, dressed in black from head to toe, and showing no skin beneath his suit of armor, rode into the courtyard atop a single, pitch-black horse.
“Ha! And I thought I was the least suited to pomp and ceremony,” Morgan remarked. “Tell me, did you ride that horse all the way here?”
“Yes,” said the Chevalier Ténèbre, Duke of Saxony. None knew his real name, and none had seen his true face, though rumors abounded of him being strikingly handsome or hideously scarred. Not even the other dukes knew much about him, as they had only met him during their annual meetings with the king, in which the Chevalier had rarely ever spoken or participated.
“So…” Morgan tried to dispel the awkward silence that always followed the Chevalier around. “How has your time in Saxony been?”
“As usual,” the Chevalier grunted.
As the other dukes glanced at each other awkwardly, another slave came down from the entrance steps to greet them.
“Hello, dukes and duchess,” the slave bowed politely. “I have been sent to escort you to the area where you will be meeting with the prince, as well as to inform you of the tragic events which have transpired here recently.”
“Tragic events?” Morgan tossed his cigarette aside concernedly. “What do you mean?”
Jourdain sat in the meeting room, as he nervously awaited the dukes, whom he had instructed the castle staff to direct to him as soon as they arrived. Captain Cazador, meanwhile, stood with clenched teeth and stiff posture beside him.
“My dear prince,” Cazador growled. “Might I humbly ask you to reconsider?”
“No,” Jourdain gulped. “My mind is made up. This must happen. It simply must. There is a moral imperative.”
“Perhaps so,” Cazador said. “But this is hardly the time for a noble social experiment.”
“This is no simple social experiment!” Jourdain cried. “These are people we’re talking about here!”
“You think I do not know that, my prince?” Cazador moaned. “You think I am not thinking of people when I tell you this? These past few years, we have been luckier than our wildest dreams. Both of our kingdoms have only had minor skirmishes with the Rahmanites. But as soon as the Rahmanite caliphs catch wind of your brother’s passing, if they deem you a weak ruler, they may very well declare full-out war!”
“You think it noble and just then for us to enslave other human beings, to treat them as little more than property?” Jourdain argued.
“NO!” Cazador bellowed. “I do not! Were I able, I would rid the world of that blot immediately! But this is so much larger than you seem to realize! Don’t you-”
“The dukes, prince,” a slave entered the room and bowed politely.
Cazador sighed, as Jourdain bade them to enter, and each of the regional lords and lady paid their greetings and respects.
“My prince,” Chief Gastronomix kowtowed profusely. “Your brother was a kind and noble spirit. My warriors and I fought proudly by his side in many a battle. When news of his passing reaches my peoples’ ears, each and every one of them shall mourn. But I know their pain shall only be a pittance in comparison to the immeasurable agony which you now-”
“As for me,” Boss Morgan interrupted. “My disdain for you aristocratic dudes and dudesses should be well-known by now. But your brother was one of few men I felt deserving of his noble title. My thoughts and prayers are with you.”
“Though I have no power over my Lord Yehovah,” Saint Joan bowed politely. “My thoughts and prayers are with you as well. Indeed, I can think of no-one more deserving of receiving Yehovah’s grace than your brother.”
“Your brother was a good man,” the Chevalier Ténèbre nodded stiffly. “My condolences.”
“Thank you,” Jourdain politely accepted their words, though more than anything they reminded him of the immense shadow left by his brother’s passing. Steeling himself for what would surely come, the prince bade his dukes to sit, after which he made his announcement.
“So, um, as you all know by now, I am to take up my brother’s position, now that he is no longer with us,” Jourdain began. “I know I have little experience being a king, but I hope to do well by my people and my kingdom.”
Words of assurance quickly flew from the lips of his dukes, but Jourdain bade them to be silent as he continued.
“To that end,” Jourdain gulped. “I have decided to take the opportunity of this meeting to put forth the proposal of my first act as ruling monarch, which I shall take upon my wedding ceremony with Princess Rosa Aragó. This act… is the immediate and full abolition of slavery throughout the kingdom, including the realm of Antile, which we shall acquire through our newfound political alliance.”
Reaction was mixed. Gastronomix balked, Morgan grinned, Joan frowned, and the Chevalier remained as he was. Then at once, an explosion of emotion erupted from the dukes.
“You can’t just reorganize the entire class system of the realm just like that!” Gastronomix sputtered.
“He is the king,” Morgan remarked.
“Yes, well, soon enough anyway, but-”
“He has the power,” Morgan chuckled.
“Yes, yes! Within the realm of… of precedent and, and noblesse oblige and-”
“Oh, land!” Morgan laughed. “This is too rich! You try, you struggle, to contradict your king, but you cannot! You have bought into that taint, that reverence of rank and title, for too long! And now it has slithered about your neck like a noose, and you find yourself trapped! Haha! My congratulations, my king! The Boss of Brittany gives you his full and unreserved support.”
“Of course you would support him!” Gastronomix cursed. “You’ve been nothing but a tyrant and a radical since your arrival in these lands!”
“Indeed, indeed,” Morgan lit a cigarette. “I plead guilty on both counts. Ever since Yehovah saw fit to cast me in this strange and mysterious land, for reasons I still do not quite fathom, I have made it my mission to scrub out that taint which keeps good and intelligent men like chattel. Already, slavery has been made illegal in Brittany, and it is a peaceful and prosperous land, united by the common brotherhood of man.”
“United by fear of you!” Gastronomix cried. “You go on and on about your noble quest to weed out despots, yet all you’ve succeeded in doing since you came here is set yourself up as a new one! Under our class system, every man knows his place. But under you, they are all chattel equally!”
“Now such words are simply uncalled for,” Morgan said. “If I-”
“My prince,” Joan interrupted. “Are you sure this decision is a wise one?”
“Yes!” Jourdain squeaked. “To keep another man, woman, or child in chains is against Yehovah’s will. Surely you understand that!”
“It is…” Joan mulled. “As you say. Slavery is against the law of Yehovah. But the law of Yehovah and the law of man are two different entities. If it were not so, there would be no need for the conflict between Yeshuan and Rahmanite, or even for any distinction between the two. However, man is flawed. Man knows sin, and already this has diluted his connection to the natural law. I hold no love of slavery. It violates every principle of Yehovah’s law, and the Church has worked tirelessly to combat it. But it has become so ingrained into man’s law, our efforts can hardly halt it. The consequences of its immediate abolition… the effects would be devastating. At best, Carolina would fragment, at worst, it would be destroyed. Either way, there would be a war within Carolina’s borders, a war between those in favor and those against slavery as an institution. And no matter how mild this war may be, it would weaken the kingdom far too much to potential Rahmanite invaders. I’m sorry, my prince, but Romany cannot accept the terms of your proposal as they are now.”
Jourdain clenched his fists in fury. It was just as Cazador had told him earlier! But surely any civil war was worth the cost of abolition! How could they not see that? How could they be so blind to the fact?
“Perhaps,” Joan suggested. “A compromise could be made. The root of slavery lies within the conflict between Yeshuan and Rahmanite, does it not? It is against the law, both of Yehovah and of man, for Yeshuan to enslave Yeshuan. Therefore, if your majesty were to issue an edict, an assurance of manumission to any slave who underwent conversion, we could surely whittle away slavery with far greater ease.”
“No!” Jourdain cried. “While we whittle away, thousands could die under the heel of oppressive masters!”
“Hear hear!” Morgan cheered.
“Even to whittle is too much!” Gastronomix bellowed. “Slavery has been a part of our culture since the Aenean Empire! It has allowed us to till the fields and feed the hungry with far greater power and efficiency than any other system before it. To even chip away at it slightly may deprive us of the economic edge in securing our borders against the Rahmanite forces.”
“Wrong on both counts, my friend,” Morgan dissented. “My colleges and I have made it our mission to make slavery not only illegal, but impractical. You saw my horseless carriage outside. You think that is the limit of Brittany’s technological prowess? On the contrary, we have already made great leaps and bounds in producing ourselves machines to till the fields and feed the hungry. One such machine can do the work of a hundred men. A hundred of them could very well drive slavery to extinction.”
“Your technological ingenuity is as impressive as ever,” Joan smiled. “But surely, Morgan, you realize that a technological upheaval could be just as disastrous as a legal one.”
“Fah!” Morgan cursed. “It is just that sort of fear-based mentality I spit upon!”
“At your own peril,” Gastronomix growled.
“My life is not important,” Morgan grinned. “Actually, no, on second thought, it is. Very important, in fact. But not so important that the movement I have started will cease with my departure from this mortal coil. Mark my words, the old guard shall soon give way.”
Jourdain cursed beneath his breath. This wasn’t going anywhere. Gastronomix would not budge. Joan was too diplomatic. And Morgan cared more about his ego than anything else. Jourdain needed an ally, someone to fight for him. Hopefully, he turned toward the captain, but Cazador merely glowered at the young prince. Jourdain’s mind wailed piteously as he looked away. How could the captain glare at him so? Didn’t he see how noble Jourdain’s cause was?
“Ch-chevalier!” Jourdain gasped desperately.
“Yes?” the Chevalier grunted.
“Surely… surely you have something to say, don’t you?” Jourdain asked, praying the Chevalier was the friend he so desperately sought.
“Nothing, my prince.”
“N-nothing? At all?”
“No, my prince.”
“Come now,” Morgan said. “This is hardly the time to remain silent. These are important matters!”
“Indeed!” Gastronomix howled. “Surely you cannot stand to see our nation brought so low by this radical proposal!”
“I too am eager to know your thoughts on this matter, Chevalier,” Joan added quite calmly.
The Chevalier sighed. “There is nothing for me to say. This entire meeting is a farce.”
Instantly opposition erupted from all sides.
“A farce?” Jourdain cried. “How can you say that?”
“These are people’s lives we’re talking about!” Morgan growled.
“Our realm’s honor!” Gastronomix bellowed.
“Please, Chevalier, explain yourself,” Joan alone remained serene.
Again the Chevalier sighed. “Alright then. Here’s why this entire meeting is a waste of time. You all speak of people. You all talk about how important they are, how much their lives matter. And yet you still talk of them as though they were pawns in some massive game of chess, pieces to move and do with as you please. You want to rid the realm of slavery, and yet there is not a single slave in this room to speak for themselves. You seek to free them from afar, and watch the fallout from afar as well, never actually getting your hands dirty. And though you talk of Yeshuan and Rahmanite, not a word has been spent on the Eloy. Daily they are subject to atrocities just as wicked as those dealt by overbearing slave-masters.”
“B-but… the Eloy…” Jourdain muttered.
“I am the Duke of Saxony,” the Chevalier continued. “But I am not Saxon-born. Because of my valor in the conquest of Saxony, I was granted rule over it. Tell me, my prince, are you so passionate about the southern barbarians receiving emancipation as well? Or did you not even give them a thought? And this conflict, this civil war that will surely erupt should abolition be brought about. You speak of preserving the stability of the realm. But once we are strong enough to stand against the Rahmanites, do you really think we will be content to simply stand by and coexist with them? No. Both the Rahmanites and ourselves want the same thing, to extend our rule throughout the world. So, you really want a solution to your little pet project? I suggest an edict as well, only for this one, anyone willing to enlist in the Carolingian army shall receive their freedom. You’ll have an army strong enough to conquer the Rahmanites, and a kingdom free of slavery, all within a year. I guarantee it. That’s all I have to say.”
And at that, the meeting room fell silent.
As the sun began to set, and the sky turned a gentle amber, the royal carriage and merchant wagon continued their journey along the woodland path.
“I see…” Hobie muttered. “No, actually, I don’t. Run that by me again.”
“Okay, Carolina is broken up into five regions; Normandy, Brittany, Saxony, Romany, and Parody,” Morien explained.
“And soon Antile!” Rosa interjected from within the wagon. “After I have been wed to Prince Louis!”
“Why are you riding with us again?” Julia grumbled. “Shouldn’t you be in your royal carriage?”
“I like it here much more,” Rosa sniffed. “As you probably guessed, I find Roland and Eva utterly foppish.”
“Huh,” Julia had to smirk at that. “Well, I suppose this is the least we can do then.”
“Uh, anyways,” Morien continued. “Each realm has a regional lord overseeing its administration: the dukes.”
“‘Duke’ is just the official title,” Julia added. “Carolina came together after King Charlemagne united the various warring factions in the region, so several dukes have other hereditary titles.”
“Right,” Morien nodded. “For instance, the Gauls of Parody, that’s where Amadix came from, they were initially run by a chief. Once they became part of Carolina, the chief simply became the duke for the area.”
“Then you have that Morgan guy, fancies himself a boss,” Julia groaned. “Real egomaniac, came out of nowhere and put himself in charge of Brittany after the local lord died.”
“Wait, that was an actual guy?” Morien was surprised.
“Uh… yes?” Julia furrowed her brow.
“I, uh, I thought you just made him up to swindle me into buying that useless sword,” Morien flushed with embarrassment.
“Oh yeah, that,” Julia tried to suppress a smile. “No, I never lie about my clients, no matter how outlandish they may sound.
“And… besides,” Julia toyed with her hair shyly. “I wouldn’t call that sword useless. You saved my life with it back there, remember?”
“Uh… um…” Morien blushed for an entirely different reason.
“I take it Brittany is where Arthur Pendragon hailed from,” Hobie inquired.
“Haha! Yes! Yes, it is!” Morien laughed. “So! Uh… where was I? Oh yeah, along with Brittany and Parody, there’s Romany, Orlando’s home, where the head of the Yeshuan Church is located.”
“I know her!” Erin interjected. “Joan! She’s one of the Seven Spectral Sorcerers! Sister Yellow!”
“Wait, really?” Julia was flabbergasted. “A sorceress saint?”
“Sure. I mean, you don’t have to be a pagan to be a sorceress,” Erin said. “After all, Yehovah is supposed to be made of a golden light, so she figured she’d gained access to the exact wavelength of Yehovah’s holy light. She was nice. Ever since she became sanctified, she’s been trying to ease the Church away from pogroms and stuff.”
“Really?” Rosa was fascinated. “I knew the Church had become more pacifistic as of late, but I didn’t know it was because of that. Amazing!”
“How’s she doing on that?” Julia asked Erin.
“Not as well as she’d like,” Erin sighed. “It takes time, you know? A lot of time and a lot of energy to change a lot of people’s minds. Then she died. We haven’t really talked much since then.”
“I must say, Erin,” Rosa grinned. “You’re nothing like those stories I was told about pagans. You’re really nice!”
“Wait, like dead dead?” Morien was confused.
“Uh… thank you… I guess,” Erin shifted uncomfortably.
“Then how is she still Duchess of Romany?” Julia was confused as well.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” Rosa cried. “Was that prejudiced of me to say? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something so crass.”
“N-no, it’s fine,” Erin said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, really, if I say something stupid like that again, don’t hesitate to correct me,” Rosa shook her head.
“So, Saxony and Normandy?” Hobie inquired.
“Oh, uh… yeah,” Morien was still curious about the whole being-dead thing, but continued. “So, Saxony was colonized only recently. It’s home to the Saxons, but I don’t know much about it beyond that.”
“This song, a verified story
Hailing from distant Saxony
Concerns the vice all Saxons keep
That being secret love of”
“Hey!” Rosa cut Yann off before he could finish the verse. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Stereotypes are bad news!”
“Beep, keep, deep…?” Morien began counting down.
“Oh Yehovah, you are so naïve,” Julia sighed, though her voice held a strange tinge of affection now.
Everyone’s a critic, Yann shrugged.
“And Normandy?” Hobie laughed. “Beowulf’s home, correct?”
Yann motioned for Morien to go on, and though the young fellow still had not reached the end of the alphabet, he obliged the request.
“Yeah, but as far as I know, Normandy doesn’t have a regional duke,” Morien turned to Julia for confirmation.
“Nope,” Julia nodded. “It’s where Aix is located, so any local problems there are dealt with by the king directly.”
“I see,” Hobie glowed. “So then, I presume the House of Aragó shall take on a dukedom after Princess Rosa is wed?”
“Yes,” Rosa nodded. “My father shall take up the title of Duke of Antile upon my marriage. Though I suppose they’ll change the name to Antily, or something.”
“Ennnh,” Erin shook her head. “Sounds a bit off. Maybe something else?”
“Oh, yes,” Rosa said. “I suppose so. Perhaps Ibery then?”
That would certainly give the Andalusi Caliphate a fit, Yann supposed.
“Gotta be rough on the old man, giving up all that power,” Julia considered.
“Yes, but the alternative is extinction,” Rosa noted. “A short-term loss is worth a long-term gain.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Julia smirked. “An investment, then.”
“One could think of it as such,” Rosa smiled.
“But how d’you know this Louis guy is right for you?” Erin asked.
“No, no, no,” Julia interjected. “Before she answers that question you’ve got to answer that business about Saint Joan being dead.”
“She died but then she didn’t,” Erin shrugged. “She’s a ghost of light now.”
“There. See? Was that so hard to say?” Julia smiled.
“Not as hard as it was to understand,” Morien furrowed his brow. “Could you run that by us again?”
“Sorry, but that’s all there is to it, really,” Erin grinned sheepishly. “Except that it got her a sainthood and a duchy for her troubles.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Hobie remarked.
Indeed, Yann nodded sagely.
“Okay, so back to your boy problems,” Julia turned to Rosa.
“No problems,” Rosa sighed serenely. “He was a proper gentleman all throughout our courtship. I still have some of his letters.”
“So is he handsome or what?” Julia asked.
“Don’t know,” Rosa shrugged. “From hearsay he’s quite the dish, but I won’t know for certain till I get to Aix.”
“Ah yes, royal courtship,” Julia sighed. “Well, let’s hope he’s easy on the eyes and skilled in husbandly duties.”
“Personally I’m just glad he’s not much older than me,” Rosa said. “If not for this political alliance, I might have gotten married to one of my dad’s chums. Ever heard of Don Lardo?”
“Is… that a real person?” Morien wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know,” Erin muttered. “How do you know Prince Louis’ not just gonna turn evil on you soon as the wedding’s over?”
At that Rosa smiled slyly. “My mother has taught me well. I have sense enough to sense a grifter.”
“Drifter?” Morien furrowed his brow.
“No, no, grifter,” Rosa explained. “One who woos you with honeyed words only to reveal himself a scoundrel after your wedding vows have been made. A lady has to be on guard for that sort of fellow at all times. Lesson number one from my mother.”
“Well, mother certainly seems to know best, if I say so myself,” Julia remarked.
“Yes. My mother’s quite incredible,” Rosa sighed wistfully. “As a princess, I am of course limited in my political agency. But at least she has my back, and is always watching out for me. I fully intend to rule with all the skills she’s taught me.”
“Isn’t the king supposed to be the one ruling?” Hobie smoldered slyly.
“On paper, yes,” Rosa grinned craftily. “But one should know better than to underestimate the power of the feminine. If one is clever enough, one can easily find alternative methods of exercising authority.”
“Oh, I think I really am going to like you,” Julia laughed.
Jourdain stomped seethingly through the corridors, his frustration visible like the brightest beacon. The meeting had been a complete and total failure. Gastronomix still refused to budge. Joan still urged him to “be reasonable”. The Chevalier still regarded the whole ordeal as a farce. Only Morgan seemed to have Jourdain’s back, and he had already abolished slavery in Brittany. What was Jourdain to do?
“You seem troubled, my prince,” Cazador marched stolidly beside the prince.
“Yes, I am!” Jourdain turned on the captain. “Why didn’t you back me up? You could have helped me in there!”
“Need I remind you, my prince,” Cazador sighed. “That while I have been granted the title of envoy between the Antilian and Carolingian crowns, I do not possess any actual political authority? My word carries no more administrative clout than that of a slave’s.”
“But… I thought… you still should have helped me back there!” Jourdain grew flustered. “None of the dukes were being sensible!”
“The dukes were being perfectly sensible,” Cazador growled. “From just one meeting, you were able to formulate not one, but two perfectly sensible compromises on the slavery question. You should be applauded for having such sensible advisors.”
“No!” Jourdain howled. “I can’t accept any compromise! Compromise is just another word for cowardice!”
“Your idealism is admirable, but ill-suited for government,” Cazador said. “It takes great courage to compromise, especially on matters of such delicacy.”
“Delicacy?” Jourdain could not believe his ears. “You… of all the possible words you could use to describe the system of owning another human being, as though they weren’t really a person at all… it’s a matter of delicacy?”
“My prince…”
“No!” Jourdain cried. “Do you know what happened to the slave? The one that struck my brother by accident? His name was Edmund. He had a wife, and three children. Their names are Audrey, Oswin, Alphonse, and Edgar. When he struck my brother, on accident, even before his wound eventually took him, my father had Edmund flayed alive. For an accident! My father didn’t even give it a second thought! It was like getting rid of an old pair of boots to him! And he isn’t alone. Every day, countless people are treated like cattle, all because someone said it was right and just for them to be that way. Well I’m not going to be that someone! I’m going to be someone different! I’m going to be someone better! With or without your help!”
“My prince…” Cazador sighed softly. “That is an admirable goal. But you will find it difficult to achieve, should you see nothing in your path save that goal.”
“Don’t lecture me,” Jourdain scoffed. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Not every slave has as comfortable a life as your mother did.”
The moment Jourdain said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Even before he looked up, to see the icy blue eyes frozen in shock, the jaw so usually stiff now gaping wide, the military posture reeling back as though the captain had been slapped, Jourdain knew he had made a mistake. He knew he had just said a terrible, terrible thing, and crossed a line no sane man would have ever dared cross. He knew all that, and at once a gaping hole of regret and remorse swallowed his heart. But Jourdain knew, as soon as he felt the first waves of the captain’s seething hatred rip across him, that there was no way he could take back what he had said.
“I will pretend I did not hear that.” Every word Cazador spoke held the fury of ten thousand suns within. “You have had a taxing day, my prince, and it is my advice that you should rest.”
“P-please, Captain…” Jourdain sputtered. “I didn’t… I just… I owe it to… I have an obligation… I…”
Cazador stared at the prince blankly, before his eyes widened in realization, and the waves of hatred came crashing forth once more.
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Cazador said. “Very well then. You are correct. My mother was a slave, and from a certain perspective, one might suppose her life to be, how did you say, comfortable? Yes, comfortable. She was given the honor of bearing my father, her master, a son, and as that son had a complexion to his father’s liking, he was allowed to sit at his father’s table, drink from his father’s cup, and inherit his father’s wealth. So comfortable was her position, she was given no say in the matter of her son’s life. She was not allowed to publicly announce her parenthood, she was not allowed to acknowledge her affair with her master, she was not even allowed to feed her child, those first few months when he could still be carried in a single hand. There were other people for that, other people to take those roles, play those parts. Why put her through such discomfort? One day the mistress of the house found the mother whispering things to her child, nothing more than words of comfort and words of wisdom, the sorts of things a mother would be expected to say to her child. The mistress had her flogged, for daring to be dissatisfied with the comfortable life she had been given.
“Now you listen to me,” Cazador marched slowly towards the trembling Jourdain, until the prince could feel the captain’s icy stare and fiery breath boring into him like the sharpest drill. “Perhaps your upbringing has made you somewhat naïve to the ways of the larger world. But let me illustrate for you one of the most basic facts of life. Slaves do not, can not, say no.”
All at once, the very thing Jourdain had always feared, the nagging doubt that had lingered at the back of his mind since his romance began, the single thought that could destroy his resolve, was laid bare before him in the most cynical and unflattering terms. Jourdain sobbed in dismay, trying to deny the captain’s accusations, but in his heart, he knew a part of him had always feared those words to be true. What right did he have to abolish slavery, when he had surely benefitted from it himself?
“What’s the matter?” Cazador sneered. “Did I strike below the belt?”