Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen – The Peasant Lord.

 Agace was irritated. The formal dresses that Nevaresian ladies wore were horribly uncomfortable garments. They involved tight corsets made from whale bone imported from the Southern Empire. Agace was also expected at these formal occasions to wear her hair in an impossibly tall tower-like construction. It was so elaborate that it required wooden dowels to keep its structural integrity.

That was not really what had her annoyed though. She was quite enjoying the role she was to play in this elaborate plan for Erec to win her hand. It was just the kind of elaborate scheme that she loved to set up as a goddess. She could not muster up the enthusiasm she once might have, no matter how entertaining duke Roche’s predicament would be.

The problem was that Erec showed absolutely no interest in her. She tried to see him and hang around him, as often as she could but most of the time, he would see her coming or intuit that she would be coming and then disappear on some errand. In the month that he had been in Stormbreaker he had kept himself extremely busy. Agace was not sure of everything he had done but he had, she gathered, essentially fought a one-man war against the organised crime of the city.

Just yesterday the whole city had been abuzz with the news that the body of the thieves guild Guildmaster had been found strung up in the main square. Erec had also trained all of the people Agace had brought to him, into a very competent household staff. Giroux’s lancers had become, at least in Agace’s estimation, an almost unparalleled fighting force.

Agace very much enjoyed the stricken and resigned look Erec adopted every time she brought a new person for him to train. She did not think he even noticed that they were all strangely quick to take to the professions she suggested he teach them. To Erec they were all still subpar. To man as accomplished as him it must be difficult to see the natural talent of other people. He was never unfair or overly harsh with his subordinates, however. In fact, he hardly seemed to treat anybody as a genuine subordinate. Agace had had to subtly adjust the mentality of the house to think of him as a Lord instead of a teacher and friend.

The whole household knew that Agace ‘liked’ Erec. She had made many not so subtle comments and flirted with him almost to an indecent extent. The problem for Agace was that it was not entirely an act anymore. It was difficult not to find such a competent and kind man attractive and he was very cute when he was exasperated with her.

Erec however showed no interest! Even when he had been explaining this morning’s plan to get permission from the king to marry her, he had been workman-like. Agace was starting to doubt her own beauty.

Coming back to the moment Agace observed the ravenous eyes of the gathered nobles in the great hall and decided that judging by their badly disguised lecherous looks. she must be as pretty as she thought she was.

She was standing at the kings left hand. Today was her birthday and the king had made it known that he had chosen a man to engage her to. The Stormbreaker grand hall was in the keep and far too military and practical to be truly a grand throne room for a king. Over the years Perceval and his forebears had covered the walls with bright banners and tapestries but the lack of windows still gave the chamber a dull listless atmosphere.

The herald was in the process of calling the gathering to order and was just finishing the king’s long list of self-styled titles… “defender of Nevares and true heir to the Imperial Throne of Tulan. His majesty King Perceval Mercier the third.”

Once the herald finished the last title the room burst into overenthusiastic applause After a minute of this Perceval raised his hand for silence and spoke, “We have come to a decision as to the marriage of our charge Agace Martel. Duke Roche, please step forward.”

Duke Roche was still dressed in all black mourning cloths. That had not prevented him from attending festooned in jewellery including that gold chain dotted with large chunks of purple mana. He approached the king and prepared to kneel.

Perceval interrupted him, “no need to kneel Roche. This is a reward for your great service to the kingdom. I would have you receive it on your feet.”

The king was smiling and given what Erec had told her of his machinations the king was a surprisingly good actor to show no trace of his anger at Roche.

Roche halted his kneeling and said with feigned shock, “your Majesty you cannot mean to marry me to the girl. I am still mourning my wife.”

Agace could not help rolling her eyes. She knew too from Erec that this had all been arranged by the Duke beforehand.

Perceval played along as he coaxed Roche, “come now you are still young and deserve a reward for your loyal service. The timing is somewhat abrupt, but you must remarry at some point.”

Agace was starting to feel sickened by this pair. During this whole exchange neither of them had even looked at her. The king had not once consulted her, if he had had his way then this would be the first time she was hearing about her husband to be. That did not seem to bother Perceval in the slightest. She was somewhat disappointed that she had not directed Erec somehow into killing all of these nobles. She supposed that manipulating them was fun too.

Duke Roche seemed to struggle with himself and then acquiesced, “thank you your Majesty.”

The king clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Excellent, now let us discuss when to set the engagement banquet.”

Just as he finished speaking the doors to the hall slammed open. Erec strode in wearing a set of what appeared to be rusty and ill-fitting plate armour. He also walked like a man unaccustomed to the weight. He had at his side an equally rusty sword. It was not full length, closer to a short sword than a real tourney length sword. Something about the spectacle and Erec’s manner sent the hall into giggles. At one point on his way to the throne Erec tripped and almost fell over. That sent the whole place into outright laughter.

After recovering and making his way to the same distance from the throne as Roche Erec dropped to his knees and pulled out his sword. The guards began to draw their own weapons, but Perceval waved them down.

The king was clearly amused, “and who might you be sir to disturb this meeting and how did you make it into the throne room armed?”

Erec looked bashful and stammered out, “I am… well your Majesty when I told the guards my business, they felt obliged to let me in.”

Perceval raised his eyebrow and replied, “oh indeed and what business is that? Perhaps you wish to petition the crown for a new suit of armour sir…?”

The king left this sentence hanging as if to let Erec fill in the blank of his name and title.

Erec blushed but seemed to screw up his courage, “I am no knight your Majesty. I am but a simple servant in the Martel household. I am here though to issue the right of challenge for the Lady Agace’s hand in marriage.”

Erec punctuated this with a furtive glance at Agace. Agace knew that this was her part in today’s play. She scrunched up her face in disgust and exclaimed, “you scoundrel, how dare you! My father should have never taken you in from the streets.”

Agace had had to raise her voice to a near shout as the hall had erupted into a combination of laughter and exited chatter.

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The king raised his hand for silence and then sighing continued to question Erec, “and what makes you think that you, a peasant, have the right to challenge the Duke in such a manner.”

Duke Roche was visibly enraged that a peasant would challenge the honour of his house in such a way.  

Erec quacked where he knelt but firmed his resolve, “I love the lady Agace. In all the stories even, a peasant can challenge for a women’s hand before the king. I had someone at the city library look up the law. If I best the man in three martial competitions of his choice, then I may win the lady’s hand from him.”

Perceval looked at his lore master who nodded to him. Perceval threw up his hands in defeat, “well far be it from me to hinder ancient custom. What do you say Roche it has been sometime since we have had any sport at court.”

As he said this he winked at the Duke. Roche seem to have caught the king’s meaning and smiled, “of course my king, I will of course appoint a champion to fight in my place. It would not be fitting to fight while I still mourn for my wife.”

The king smiled back, “of course perhaps your son would be a good choice.”

The room started to catch on to the game now and laughter and sporadic clapping went around the room. The duke’s eldest son was the most renown fighter in the kingdom. Watching him carve up this arrogant peasant would be wonderful entertainment.

Agace almost sneered at their conceit, but she kept up her pretence, “your Majesty please. How can you even consider…”

The king cut her off, “silence. The challenge has been made. Besides I am sure that the house of Roche will not let us down.”

As the crowd became exited a man in his early twenties stepped forward. Unlike his father the son was dressed stylishly but practically. He wore no jewellery and carried with him a fine sword. He approached the king and bowed low.

The king smiled again and addressed a question to the man but projected his voice to include the whole crowd, “may I assume that your choice of first challenge is the sword?”

The man swept his blade from its scabbard and saluted, “yes your Majesty.”

The king clapped his hands, “wonderful the fight will be to first blood, but we all know how difficult it can be to restrain yourself sir. Some injury is to be expected. Besides your opponent has the better of you for being armoured.” This last was said teasingly as by the state of Erec’s armour it did not look like it could resist anything.  

This comment drew another guffaw from the assembled nobles. No doubt they expected Erec to be killed out of hand.

Erec quickly scrambled to his feet and levelled his sword with a shaking hand at his opponent. Agace could not help but feel nervous. She knew Erec was the better swordsman. Of course, he was but Erec intended to pull off an act at the same time.

The swordsmen squared off and when they were settled, and the crowd had made a space for them, the king signalled them to begin.

Roche moved quickly and jabbed at Erec’s face to gauge his reaction. Erec clumsily stubbled back and waved his rusty sword in front of him to ward off the blow. After this first move Roche determined that his opponent was hopeless and far to weighed down by his useless armour. Roche began to play to the crowd and humiliate Erec. He danced around and feinted sword thrusts in Erec’s direction. Erec always swung too slowly to muster any kind of real defence, never mind an attack of his own. The crowd were egging the young lordling on. Shouting and cheering whenever he hit Erec with the flat of his blade.

After a few minutes of this Roche the younger decided to end the farce. He raised his leg and made to kick Erec in the back, probably intending to finish him off on the ground. Agace might have missed it if she did not know who Erec really was and what he could do. Just as Roche launched his kick Erec adjusted the angle of his body and the armour he wore. What would have been a solid kick to his back instead became a glancing blow that carried the young noble forward and off his balance. To the unobservant crowd it looked as if the man had just misjudged his footing, but Agace had no doubt that Erec had planned the misstep.

Roche sprawled onto the ground and before he could roll away or otherwise recover, Erec placed his sword to the man’s throat. Erec exerted a bit more pressure and a trickle of blood flowed down Roche’s neck to the tiled floor.

Erec panted out, “First blood.”

The hall was dead quiet. Roche was red with anger and shame. The king coughed and to break the silence and embarrassment he said, “the first round goes then to the peasant lord.”

The lame joke broke the shock of the crowd and soon they returned to laughter.

Agace felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She could see in Erec’s eyes that same kind of twinkle that her sister had often told her she had. As if she knew a joke that no one else did. His green eyes pulled her in as she watched him sheath his ridicules sword. He turned to her and bowed maintaining eye contact. Agace’s heart started to beat faster, and her cheeks flushed.

She caught herself then and her humour was replaced by melancholy. She should have known it would happen. She had found the soul of a man she thought was interesting and then put him in a handsome body. She had insured that he was incredibly competent and orchestrated that he save her, a damsel in distress.

“Damn it,” she whispered to herself.

She had fallen for him herself and he only thought of her as a mission. Absolon really had chosen a good revenge. A goddess had fallen for a mortal. A mortal that did not love her back.

 

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