Travis Starnes
patreon
An Ending of Oaths - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2024-08-10 14:00:11 +0000 UTCValemonde
“… so pigheaded,” Isolde said, her nostrils flaring as she tried in vain to keep her temper in check. “Can’t you see we have to end this stupid war? How many more must die before you see reason?”
“Quite, damn you,” her father said, massaging his temples. “I was having a peaceful evening before you stormed in here. Why must I deal with your constant nagging?”
“Because someone has to tell you when you’re wrong. You’ve surrounded yourself with sycophants and toadies who only tell you what you wish to hear.”
“You speak of matters beyond your understanding, child. Your naivety is showing.”
She knew she’d scored a mark though, as his face reddened.
“Naive? Naive is believing this war ends in anything but disaster for our people!”
“Hold your tongue,” Baudric growled.
“I will not. I am not one of your stooges, who cower whenever you raise your voice. I know you think I’m a fool who knows nothing of the world, but I’ve actually spoken with our men, something I don’t think you’ve done in years. I listen to them. I observe. We’re losing this war, Father. The Sidorians control nearly the entire northern coast and our major shipping lanes.”
“A few temporary setbacks,” her father said, waving a hand.
She knew he didn’t believe that. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he insisted on keeping up this front even in front of her. He was vain, but he’d never been shy to acknowledge mistakes when it was just the family. He always said it was valuable for them to learn.
And yet, lately, the more she’d pushed him, the more he’d tried to hide failures from her, instead of admitting his mistakes. Her siblings had started to act the same, pushing her to the outside. She hated it, feeling like an outsider in her own family, but she couldn’t stop how she felt. Someone had to look after the common people.
“Temporary? Our supplies dwindle by the day. Ships from Werna must sail halfway around the continent and up the southern passage. What once took weeks now takes months. We’ve lost countless troops this last year and the Maw will claim even more before winter breaks. Come spring, the Sidorians will march down the Lysmir and lay siege to Valemonde itself. Can you not see the writing on the wall?”
“That will not happen,” he spat, standing up and slamming his fist on his desk. “Our people are far from defeated. You should be ashamed, spouting such defeatist nonsense.”
“Ashamed? For speaking the truth? It’s not what I’ve heard from our soldiers, or what your own generals whisper when they think no one’s listening.”
“Complaints and exaggerations, nothing more,” Baudric countered, but Isolde could see even he didn’t believe that. “We have an entire army in Talabot and when the snows melt, they will deal with the Sidorians once and for all.”
Isolde snorted. “Like you said about our forces on the peninsula? Or in the Lysimir woods? Or the men at Barentez? The Sidorians crushed them all, Father. How many more must die before you see reason?”
“You speak of matters beyond your comprehension, girl. I’ve been emperor longer than you have been alive. You think gossip from frightened men gives you insight I lack?”
“It’s not just gossip, Father. It’s…”
“Enough!” Baudric roared, slamming his fist on the desk again. “I’ve had enough of this. Get out of my sight before I lose my temper.”
“Fine. I’m leaving for the front. Someone needs to show our soldiers they haven’t been forgotten.”
“You’ll do no such thing. The roads are far too dangerous.”
“Dangerous for me, but not for our men who die there every day?” Isolde countered. “Our family owes them more than empty words and broken promises.”
“I forbid it. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.”
“Safe? While our people starve from your war taxes? While villages go hungry because we can’t protect the supply lines?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Baudric spat. “You’re not going, and that’s final.”
“Someone from this family needs to see what’s truly happening,” Isolde insisted. “To remind our soldiers why they fight.”
“I said no! By the ancients, girl, I’ll have you clapped in irons if that’s what it takes to keep you here.”
Isolde glared at her father, her brown eyes burning with defiance. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
***
Starhaven, Kingdom of Sidor
The Grand Hall was quite possibly the most magnificent building in the world, perhaps aside from the Hall of the Mystics where the Council of Elders who presided over the worship of the ancients resided. Massive stone pillars lined the room, their surface carved with swirling patterns intricate to a degree not possible since the fall of the ancients. The vaulted ceiling soared above the unnaturally perfect flooring colored by the light filtering through the high stained glass windows.
A space used for coronations and stately funerals, for kingly audiences and world-altering diplomacy. To the general public, it probably seemed as if no one could enter its magnificent doors and be anything less than enthralled and euphoric.
‘Of course, the general public were generally idiots,’ Edmund thought.
Something that was being proven right before his eyes as he watched the new Council of Commoners begin their first meeting since the signing of the treaty that ended the peasants’ rebellion, as it was becoming known. Edmund had to hold back a sneer watching them, each one thinking he suddenly had been risen to the level of kings and nobles. It seemed as if not a one of them was skilled enough in diplomacy or even basic negotiation enough to notice how precarious their position was, and that no piece of paper was a strong enough shield to guarantee their safety.
Edmund might have agreed to this arrangement for expediency, but it should have been evident from the sour expression on the king’s face, slumped in his chair, that he would rather hang them all rather than be here for a minute longer. It had taken Edmund every ounce of his ability to convince Serwyn that, for now, his best choice was to play along. It wouldn’t take much for these fools to counter his hard work.
The men selected by their peers were a mixture of merchants, small landowners, and tradesmen. Well-to-do men, when compared to the average village peasant, but commoners all the same. Men who faced common challenges and understood little of the world.
As happens in bodies like this, coalitions of people with complementary interests had formed, and several had meetings prior to the first council to put together demands that they thought the most important. The first hour of the meeting had mostly been squabbling among the ‘councillors’ to determine which group would get to present their proposed laws and orders to the king.
An hour in which Serwyn stewed, becoming more and more agitated.
Finally, one of the men stepped forward, bowed low, and said, “Your Majesty, we come before you to present a proposal to reduce the taxes on grain. The current rates are crippling our farmers and leading to severe food shortages.”
“Why should I even …” Serwyn started to say, until Edmund gently placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Perhaps we should hear out the full proposal, Your Majesty.”
Serwyn scowled, but at least didn’t keep complaining. Edmund gestured for the man to continue.
“The tithe is so high that most cannot even sustain their families anymore, let alone have any to sell at market, which in turn is making it hard for even tradesmen to have enough food. We are close to a real famine because of it. We ask that you lower the tithe from one fourth to one sixth, and request that you require the barons to do the same. With the crown and the barons together taking half of each farmer’s crops, not to mention what smaller local magistrates might take, the burden has just become too much.”
“We will take it under advisement and pass it to the Council of Nobles,” Edmund said.
“The Council of Nobles approved the current tax plans, you can’t …” the man said, until Edmund held up a hand, cutting him off.
“As per the Treaty of Starhaven which formed this body, all new laws now require the agreement of both councils in order to pass. This includes new and changed taxes. We made sure to make the provisions available to all of you prior to the start of this session and are simply abiding by the guidelines set down in it.”
The man grumbled, but there wasn’t much he could say. Edmund had made sure that if he had to agree to this foolish Council of Commoners, he had some protection from having them destroy the kingdom with incompetence.
Serwyn, however, did not take solace in that and muttered something about peasants playing at politics, but thankfully left it at that.
The meeting went on, with minor grievances and alterations, most of which seemed geared at reducing the privileges of the nobility. Things such as the right of roadway, hunting grants, and conscription laws. Some, the ones that would have the least impact on the nobility, Edmund could see letting through, to appease the peasants. They would have to be slow played, of course. Giving them too much too quickly would embolden them and lower the supply of unimportant changes that could be used to string them along until such time as he could dissolve the council.
The last request, however, wasn’t minor.
“Your Majesty, we, the Council of Commoners, present a petition to investigate corruption among the tax collectors,” A man in simple but well-tailored clothes said. “There have been numerous complaints of extortion and theft, with many collectors taking more than what is due and lining their own pockets.”
Edmund had no doubt this was true. There was an unspoken rule among the king and the dukes, the dukes and their barons, and even the barons and their servants that a small level of graft was acceptable, as long as it didn’t affect what those above them received. It usually meant taking more than the level below wanted, or was required, to give, but they always had the option of expanding what was required to those below them to make up for the loss.
There were some, such as his brother, who scoffed at the practice, but Edmund had always thought a little graft helped the nobility run. It made each feel like they were getting something over on those above them, the purloined wealth weighing heavier in their pockets than it would have had it been just given to them through proper channels.
It kept people satisfied, at least enough to stay in their station, not wanting to rock the boat for fear of losing the extra they managed for themselves. It also forced them to turn their head when the levels of society above them did the same, not wanting to expose their own misdeeds.
It was an unspoken thing, an oil that greased the wheels of society.
True, it weighed heavy on the peasants at the bottom, who had no one below them to pass their losses to. But that was the place of peasants in society. They got to live their little lives with structure and security in return for their labor.
They were soon going to learn what it meant when they tried to reach above their station and forgot that place in society. When the security and structure they took for granted went away. Of course, he had to find the barons backing them first and remove the assets that were fueling their success.
“Such matters are typically handled internally by the nobility,” Edmund said. “It ensures that those familiar with the intricacies of governance and law can manage the investigations efficiently and judiciously.”
This created a ripple of murmurs across the assembled councilors. One man, a large burly fellow with darkened, stained hands, stood up and said, “The agreement that formed this council gave us equal authority with the nobles. If the nobility is involved in the corruption, how can we trust them to investigate themselves?”
More men called out in support. More demands for a separate investigation, which was something he could not tolerate.
“You misunderstand. I was proposing that an investigation be conducted by individuals appointed by the nobility, who are then overseen by a committee of nobles and commoners alike. This ensures impartiality and thoroughness.”
“We demand that at least one member of the investigation team be chosen by us. Someone we trust to represent our interests and ensure transparency,” a man, Edmund couldn’t see who, called out.
Serwyn, his patience wearing thin, opened his mouth to protest, but Edmund’s hand on his shoulder silenced him once more.
“Very well,” Edmund conceded. “Present His Majesty with a list of candidates you deem suitable for this task. We will review them and include one of your choosing in the investigation.”
There was some more grumbling, but several actually seemed surprised and found themselves arguing back against their more hard-lined members. It’s why Edmund had given in. They were building to a resistance that could make things more complicated, and the smartest thing he could do was take the wind out of their sails.
Now, of course, he needed to ensure whoever they picked was pliable enough to not be a problem. And keep the real troublemakers off of whatever committee was put together to look into the investigation.
“I think this has been a successful start to our first council,” Edmund said, wanting to wind this down before Serwyn, who seemed ready to rip out of his own skin with agitation, became unmanageable. “I will have the royal scribe work with you to compile your final proposals for submission to the nobility. It will take some time, but I’m sure we can work out most of these provisions and find a way to grow and improve Sidor for the future. Until then, I know the king thanks you for your diligence.”
Not all of the men were satisfied, and some might have been smart enough to see they were being maneuvered so that they didn’t continue to pose a problem. The majority, however, seemed pleased with the day’s progress and began to break the council up and head back to their little lives, leaving the agitators no other option than to leave with them.
Edmund made a note that, at the next council meeting, he needed to identify those agitators, however, for dealing with them in the future.
The men had hardly started moving out of the hall when Serwyn shot up out of his throne and stormed toward the exit, flanked by royal guards. Edmund frowned as he followed his nephew.
He had known the entire process would be hard on the boy, who didn’t like being dictated to even by his most highly placed advisors, but he could see even his worst-case scenario couldn’t have fallen short of the mark.
They entered Serwyn’s private study, the boy stopping to slam the door behind them. A pointless act for a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.
“Those insolent peasants!” he roared as the door slammed, the thick wood quivering slightly. “How dare they make such demands? Who do they think they are?”
“Your Majesty, I understand your frustration, but…”
“Frustration?” Serwyn said, whirling on him. “This is beyond frustration, uncle. This is an outrage! They speak of investigating our tax collectors? Of reducing our tithes? It’s tantamount to theft!”
“It doesn’t matter. None of it does. You know we are simply biding time. None of these laws will survive the Council of Nobles. We have safeguards in place.”
“And what of the reverse? The same is true the other way. We’re allowing these... these peasants to grind our kingdom to a halt with their petty grievances and foolish notions.”
I am already working on them,” Edmund assured him. “Peasants should be more pliable even than nobles. They have more they want, which gives us more leverage to use against them. Finding which of these councilors can be bought or turned shouldn’t be hard. It’s a delicate process, but…”
“It’s not enough!” Serwyn snapped, cutting him off. “We need to deal with how this started. We wouldn’t even have to listen to them if it wasn’t for their damnable revolt. I want the man Fletcher dead.”
No, Your Majesty. We still need to let tempers cool. Killing one of their leaders now would only…”
“Who cares about their tempers. You should be concerned with mine, uncle. And it is heating dangerously.”
“I understand your anger, but rash action now will undo everything we’ve worked for. We must be patient. I promise we will take care of all of them. Not just the peasants, but anyone who helped them. This will not stand. We just have to be smart about it.”
“I’m not going to wait this time, uncle. I will not sit through another one of those councils and I grow weary of this game. If you can’t deliver what I need, perhaps I’ll find someone who can.”
“That would be a mistake, Serwyn.”
“Then see that I don’t need to make it. I have a headache. Leave me.”
Edmund frowned but left. Serwyn was at least pacified for the moment, but the boy was too erratic, and it was going to need to be dealt with.
Comments
Brett Grayson
Good chapter.
