017 To hold a j̗̅̃ͦ͢u̝͓̺̹̹s͈̯͈̒̓ͯͦͫ̚t̛͐ trial (Patreon)

To hold a j̗̅̃ͦ͢u̝͓̺̹̹s͈̯͈̒̓ͯͦͫ̚t̛͐ trial

• 29.02.1623

Towleigh.

WAKING up to the news of a small army amassing at his gates was an experience Lord Timel wished to never have to suffer again. The count had just drifted off to sleep when the sound of urgent knocking on his chamber door woke him with a start. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and called out to the visitor to enter. "Who is it?" he groused.

"It's me, my lord," came the voice of his steward. "I'm sorry to wake you, but there is news you must hear."

Lord Timel sighed and swung his legs out of bed, reaching for his robe. His wife grumbled from underneath the blankets as he rode to his feet. The count opened the door to find his steward, breathless and anxious.

"What is it, Tavish?" he asked, frowning.

"My lord, I fear we have a problem," the man replied.

"What is it? Speak, your vagueness annoys me.”

"There's an army outside the town bounds, My Lord," Tavish said, his voice shaking. "It looks to be a small force, but they look well-armed and dangerous. The sentries also reported that they were flying the banner of House von Grifenburg."

The count felt a knot form in his stomach. “Lord Aden?” he asked, paling. "Send for the captain of the guard and have him meet me in the courtyard!" Timel ordered, turning around to hurriedly don some clothes.

“What is the matter, my love?” his wife asked, bleary-eyed as she turned to face him.

“I don’t know,” the man groused in response. “For some reason, the duke’s force sits just outside our borders.”

“Lord Aden?” the countess exclaimed, sitting up. “Why would he be here?”

“I don’t know!” The count threw on his gambeson before bolting out the door. As he made his way to the courtyard, Lord Timel could hear the mutterings of guards and servants rising in a chorus of fear and confusion. When he arrived in the courtyard, the captain of the guard was waiting for him, his face grim.

“My Lord,” the man greeted.

“What’s going on?” the count asked, sparing his response.

“The Earl of Faywyn sent a man inviting you to parley, My Lord.”

“The earl?” Timel asked, confused.

“Yes, My Lord,” the captain replied. “It appears Lord Levi has taken to ruling in his father’s absence.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement, Timel decided. “So, why is he here then? Shouldn’t he be off at Faywyn playing lord or something?” he asked, baffled.

“...The earl claims you colluded with Count Hera in an attempt to usurp his father’s lands, My Lord. He also claims to have the count and his house in custody and says they confessed to your involvement in their schemes and are willing to testify against you.”

“What nonsense is this?” Timel exclaimed. “Fetch my horse!”

“Yes, My Lord.”

…

Lord Timel had to admit. The forces the earl had mustered for this farce he was playing at were quite intimidating. Rows upon rows of uniformly armoured men bearing the von Grifenburgs’ crest filled the expanse at the mouth of the forest. To the left of the army was a contingent of armoured cavalrymen; from the way they poised on their horses it was clear to the count that they were experienced men. To the right stood a band of arbalist bearing pavises and in the centre was a forest of men stood bearing great, towering pikes; their polearms extended into the sky, the morning sun glinting menacingly off their iron points. What unnerved the count the most was how silent the army was; if one looked away for a moment, they wouldn’t be faulted for forgetting the danger was even there at all.

The count exhaled as he trotted his horse forward towards the army with a band of his best knights in tow. Glumly, he realised he had already lost to the earl, at least if their respective intimidation factors were pitted against each other.

“What do you want, boy?” the count goaded, hoping to rile the earl up into making a mistake and showing whatever despicable scheme his fiend of a father had put him to. The earl simply smiled pulling at his horse’s rein as the animal came to a stop, his gaze condescending.

“Feigning ignorance, are we now?” the earl asked, smiling still. “I cannot believe the gall of you to collude with Josh to steal my father’s lands and now claim some deviant innocence before me.”

“Lies,” Lord Timel countered. “Baseless accusations, that’s what this is.”

Lord Levi leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I have letters that prove otherwise," he said, producing a small bundle of papers from his pocket. "Letters that detail your plans to overthrow me and seize my lands for yourself."

“That’s impossible,” Lord Timel said, his heart sinking as he realized what was happening. “I received no such letters!”

“Is this not your signature on a letter agreeing to wed your daughter, Lizra, to Earl Gilbert after the count returns from Norcastle?” The earl pulled out one letter from the bundle in his hands. “Did you not agree to receive some more territory as dowry? What other land did Josh have to give but my Father’s?”

Timel paled as he saw the letter he sent Count Josh over the winter in the earl’s hands. "That's absurd," he protested. "Aside from the wedding agreement, those letters are all clearly fabricated. I have never once conspired with Count Josh against his grace; I wouldn’t dare!"

“...Bring them forward,” the earl said to the knight by his side.

“Yes, My Lord,” the man replied, riding off.

“...Just to be clear,” the earl said with a smile, “I do not intend to lay siege on Towleigh at the moment; it should be obvious given my visible lack of siege weapons. These are all the men I could muster in a week and they are here only to signify my House’s willingness to resort to violence. Should I be dissatisfied with the resolution of our discussions today, I will simply retreat to Faywyn and only return when I am certain I have enough men and resources to take Towleigh and put you and your house to the sword. Am I clear, Lord Timel?”

The count remained silent. A few minutes later the knight from earlier returned with two bound men in tow; Count Hera and his heir, Timel realised after a moment of observation.

“Josh,” Earl Levi called turning to face the count, “earlier, you confessed to me that you received the count’s aide in your scheme to overthrow my House. You are before the accused now, do you still maintain that stance?

“...Yes, My Lord.”

“Lies!” Timel growled, drawing his sword. The earl’s knight and his did the same but the earl simply sat there staring blankly at him.

“...So you would resort to murdering a witness to hide your treachery, would you now, Lord Timel?” the earl asked.

“This is no witness!” Timel snared. “You! I will not be blackmailed," he said firmly. "I have done nothing wrong, and I will not be forced to pay for crimes I did not commit."

The earl's smile faded, replaced by a look of cold anger. "You are making a mistake," he said. "I have given you a chance to make this right, but you have chosen to refuse. Should I depart today, you will regret this, Lord Timel. Mark my words."

“...What do you want, foul creature?” the count ground out, his gaze wary.

“I require your House to send reparations for the losses my House suffered and resources we expended in putting down the rebellious Heras. This would include a damaged store of grain that was lost a week prior to their intended assault as a result of their machinations, some measure of blackpowder and forty-seven thousand gold royals in lost or damaged valuables. Everything should be listed here.” The earl tossed a scroll to the count.

“This is absurd!” Timel exclaimed. “I can scarcely afford what is listed here even if I have six months to prepare!”

“I do not insist everything be paid at once,” the earl replied. “I am after all magnanimous enough to understand and consider your plight, hence I would accept payments made in instalments. But for that, I would require a guarantee; collateral of some sort. Your son Lars would make a perfect candidate.”

Timel glowered. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I propose he serves as my squire for the duration of the payment,” the earl replied. “During his stay at my fief, he would be provided outstanding accommodations, be fed, and receive a weekly stipend with which he can do as he sees fit. He would be a guest and would be permitted to return home once this debt of yours has been settled.”

The count fell silent for a moment before turning around. “I will not forget this slight, boy,” he said as he rode away.

“I hope you don’t,” the earl called out to him, laughing.

***

• Later that night.

Faywyn.

Reamus sat at a table overlooking the bustling tavern. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale and roasted meats. The main room was dominated by a large stone hearth, where a roaring fire blazed, providing warmth and light to the patrons gathered around it.

The walls were adorned with various bits of decoration, such as animal pelts, hunting trophies, and crude paintings. The tables and chairs were simple and sturdy, with rough-hewn wooden benches and stools, often filled with groups of people huddled together in conversation.

Behind the counter, the tavern keeper presided over the scene, dispensing ale and wine from large barrels and serving up hot, hearty meals to the patrons. The kitchen behind her was a bustling hub of activity, with the cooks preparing stews, roasts, and other hearty fares over an open flame.

A musician sat in one corner of the tavern, their melodies weaving in and out of the conversations and laughter of the patrons. Occasionally, there would be dancing as well, with couples whirling around the room to the beat of the music.

The atmosphere in the tavern was one of camaraderie and conviviality; the bustle of it all grated at Reamus’ ears.

A man walked into the tavern, looking around for a moment before making a beeline for the bandit lord’s table. “So?” Reamus asked, his lips shielded by the mug of ale he raised to his lips.

“The duke is not here,” Outhor said, “Neither is his son.”

“...A pity,” Remus said. “And here I was hoping they would be present to receive the first of my many gifts in person... A great pity indeed.”