Silence fell.
De Rohan was white as parchment. “You-You traitor!”
D’Eu frowned. “My pardon, Monsieur, but detesting you is not treason.”
“You are the one who shields the Queen and warns her!” he began.
Jean de Vrailly stood. “As master of this household, I must require you, cousin, to withdraw your challenge.”
Gaston D’Eu also stood. “On what grounds?” he asked.
Jean de Vrailly’s eyes all but begged him to withdraw. “By my will,” he said.
“You mean, when you killed Towbray’s cousin and I begged you to withdraw-that was different?”
“He challenged my honour,” Ser Jean said patiently.
“De Rohan has just pronounced me a traitor,” D’Eu said reasonably.
“He will retract it,” de Vrailly said.
D’Eu nodded, pursed his lips, and sat. “I will consider,” he said.
De Rohan frowned. He whispered a few words to his squire, D’Alace, and looked at l’Isle d’Adam. “If I am to be given the lie, perhaps I should not continue,” he said.
“I will continue,” the Archbishop of Lorica said. “And perhaps no lout will give me the lie. These people hate us. They are nothing but a nest of heretics and rebels. And the so-called ‘Order of Saint Thomas’ is nothing less than a heretical cult. They harbour witches and Satan-workers, and they have never been approved by the scholastica.”
Patiently, as if dealing with a fool, D’Eu said, “Cousin, you must have been here long enough to know that the Albans follow the Patriarch in Liviapolis and not the Patriarch of Rhum. They care nothing for our scholastica or the theology of the bishop or the University of Lucrece.”
“Heretics,” Bohemund de Foi insisted. “The Patriarch of Rhum has never approved of them. And he, not the upstart infidel in Liviapolis, is the primarch of the world.”
D’Eu made a motion of his hand. The motion suggested that he wiped his arse with the bishop’s argument.
The bishop turned bright red. “You dare!”
D’Eu set his jaw. “What I see, gentlemen, is a small set of my countrymen determined to stop at nothing to create a civil war here. I will be kind and suggest that it is ignorance and not malfeasance that leads you, my lord archbishop, to say these things.”
De Vrailly tapped a thumb on his teeth. “The Order of Saint Thomas were, my lords, fine knights and good men-at-arms when fighting the Wild.”
“Oh, the Wild!” the archbishop all but spat. “All day I listen to this prattle. Weak minds deluded by satanic manifestations! The Wild is nothing but a snare of this world, like women’s wiles and gluttony.”
De Vrailly combed his twin-pointed beard with his fingers. “In this, my lord archbishop, I cannot agree. The Wild is-quite palpable. My angel says-”
The archbishop held up his hand. “Please, Monsieur de Vrailly.”
Silence fell for a moment as the two men glared at each other.
“I propose we move against this Order and suppress them,” the bishop continued. “I have recorded enough of their use of satanic powers to burn every one of them. They brag of their powers.” The archbishop turned on his cousin. “And you threaten your immortal soul every time you consort with them. Or the Queen and her witches.”
De Vrailly was not a man who enjoyed being spited, especially not at his own table and in front of his own squires. “You speak too forcefully for me, my lord archbishop,” de Vrailly said.
“I speak for the good of your soul,” de Foi replied. “The Queen is a witch and must die. The Order are her minions. Everyone in this room knows that what I say is true. If we are to save the souls of these Albans, we must begin by ridding ourselves of these two forces for evil.”
Gaston D’Eu snorted his derision. “I don’t know any such thing,” he said. “And I recommend that my lord archbishop take a dozen of his priests and some animals and ride west into the mountains. I would strongly suggest that what he experiences there may change his mind. If he survives the experience at all.” D’Eu tapped his dagger on the table.
His lieutenant, D’Herblay, laughed with him. Even de Vrailly nodded.
The King’s Champion frowned. “As is often the way, there is merit in what my cousin the count says.”
De Rohan shook his head. “Do you deny that the Queen has committed adultery? We have shown you proof often enough. Are you suddenly a convert to her party?”
De Vrailly shook his head. “I am saddened that we are so divided on these matters. No-I know in my heart she is an evil woman. My angel has told me.”
At the word “angel” the archbishop slapped his hand to his forehead, as if in pain.
“I would at least like to order-in the King’s name-the arrest of this woman, Blanche Gold.” De Rohan took a scroll and handed it to de Vrailly. “She has consistently been one of the Queen’s go-betweens with her lovers. We have witnesses,” he said in a low voice.
Gaston D’Eu watched his cousin accept the scroll and he rose. “I cannot be party to this,” he said.
De Rohan shrugged. “Then take your divisive accusations and your treasonous talk and go, my lord.”
D’Eu shrugged. “I have already challenged you. I cannot do so again. That you ignore my summons to combat says all that needs to be said.”
De Rohan didn’t meet his eye.
“Coward,” D’Eu said.
De Rohan grew red.
“Caitiff. Poltroon. False knight.” D’Eu shrugged. “I see that my words cannot move you. I pity you.” D’Eu turned. “My dearest lord, I take my leave.”
“Wait!” de Vrailly said. “Ah, sweet cousin. Please await my pleasure.”
D’Eu bowed and left with D’Herblay at his shoulder.
“He will ruin everything we seek to build here,” de Rohan said, pleading with de Vrailly.
The King’s Champion looked at him with surprise. “How can you not respond to his challenge?” he asked.
De Rohan drew himself erect. “I serve a higher cause. I can ignore a private quarrel, no matter how unfair it is.”
De Vrailly pursed his lips. “I think you should fight him,” he said. “You are a great knight. I trained you myself. You are the match for any man but me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Otherwise, I have to wonder if he is right. Don’t I? And my lord archbishop, I can’t support arresting the Order of Saint Thomas. We’d have riots. And they help us hold the frontiers.”
The archbishop looked pleadingly at de Rohan.
De Rohan sighed. “If you have lost confidence in me, my lord, perhaps I should withdraw to the King’s court at Lucrece.” He bowed to the archbishop. “I agree that they are a nest of heretics. A woman saying mass? It’s an abomination.”
The bishop raised his eyes to heaven.
De Vrailly looked at them both for a long time, his expressive, wide blue eyes going back and forth between them. “Archbishop, I have every respect for the cloth, but I have difficulty separating your rank from your youth. De Rohan, if you do not feel that you can respond to my cousin’s challenge then you have my permission to withdraw to your estates in Galle.” He rose, his armoured legs making a slight clack as his legs went straight.
When he and his men-at-arms were gone, the archbishop put a hand on de Rohan’s arm. “I’ll deal with it,” he said. “I have a man.”
De Rohan shook his head. His hand on the table was shaking. “That he would dare!” he hissed.
The archbishop put a hand over de Rohan’s. “In a week-less, if the winds are fair-we’ll have three hundred lances, fresh from Galle. We will own this city, and we will have the whip hand we need.”
“He exiled me!” de Rohan said.
The archbishop shrugged. “Wait and see,” he said with a smile.
When the impromptu council broke up, de Rohan and his people went back to court, where the Count of Hoek’s new ambassador was due to be received by the King. Jean de Vrailly listened to his squire for a moment and followed the younger man into his private study, where D’Eu stood quietly.