His Grace Sir Guy du Artois, Duke of the realm, was a powerful man. His territories in the western heartlands were some of the most populous and fertile in the Kingdom. On the northern coast however, the Monforte’s held sway. A compromise had allowed our symbolic force to quarter itself in Dusien. The trade deals negotiated with the Isles were in favor of us and Artois. Despite being in the same faction, the Monforte’s had little to be happy about. That went some way in explaining our frosty reception. The common people were ambivalent of us, the nobility… taciturn.

I was bought in with Lord Cedric to act as his valet during an afternoon social invitation. It was the first of such events the Isles had been invited to. For me, it was the first time I made my rounds in an official capacity. The new clothing had yet to be completed. So, I had opted to take this as an opportunity to sit back and observe. It was better to not draw any attention to myself before I was ready. I was curious myself as well. Janie had said that there was only one reason nobles gathered for social events. It was to make a statement. This was the arena of spectacle and illusion. True deals and alliances happened in backrooms and dinners far from prying eyes. What happened here would be the result of a predetermined consideration.

Madame de Gien, wife of Count de Gien, had sent invitations to a closed selection. From what I could gather, theirs was a minor but well-established house. It was a small private affair that invited twelve guests in total. That was not counting the attendants attached to said guests either. She was holding an afternoon tea. How that differed from a morning or evening tea I had no idea. I had never drunk nor seen tea before. Additional to the luxurious beverage being served, there was a veritable feast of little morsels. The bumpkin in me was astounded how they managed to fit in dinner after all that. I had yet to learn of highborn society. In this case most of the treats served were left untouched.

Lord Cedric sat a long table set outdoors. We additional hangers on withdrew a polite distance from the meeting. Far enough to be unable to overhear their conversation, but close enough to attend to a raised voice. I was accompanied by Llain, the youngest housecarl who looked the friendliest amongst the lot. Besides me, I saw that most guests bought three to four attendants with them. What their roles were, I could not begin to imagine. It was obvious in our case. Llain was the shield bearer and I the errand boy. I pitied the housecarl behind me. Not only was he armed and in full armor, he was holding the battle sword of Lord Cedric. Thankfully, he had no shield. As the bearer of his lords’ weapon, he could not let the sword touch the ground. Will Breaker, Lord Cedric’s sword, was something greater than the usual highborn weapon. Matching his strength and stature, it was an additional half-length longer than my own weapon. It was as thick as a finger and weighed so much that holding it alone was taxing.

Whatever the reason for this gathering, we became the center of attention. Or lord for a start had caused some trouble with the seating arrangements. His prodigious size had required him to sit at the opposite head of the table. A small side desk had replaced his original seat. It was hard to muster any decorum when your knees were visible above the tablecloth. Looks of wonder and mild offense were occasionally thrown in our direction. The absurdity of their quibbles was personally amusing. It wasn’t our fault he was so big. What could we even do about it anyway? Madame de Gien took it all in stride and carried out what could only be described as a social execution.

A few words, observed expressions, and a little lip reading was enough to put the story together. Someone up high needed heads to roll. Someone from this unlucky lot had been chosen for that role. A young gentleman would take that fall. Discontent from Artois’ deal made him entertain Radical sympathies. Looking at the demeanors and unease of the other attendants, he was not the only one. There was an opportunity to exploit if handled well. I kept my eyes opened and watched everything play out.

Eugen Alfonse was the sacrificial lamb. His was an unenviable position. Old familial allegiances tied him to a cause that served him poorly. The foundations of the Conservatives may have been lands and wealth, but their greatest weakness was uncertain vassals. They had more to gain by crossing over to the Radicals. By title, house Alfonse was a baronet. Except he was a rump lord whose realm consisted of a hamlet and a country house. It was a formality more than a true feudal holding. He had not the prestige to assume the prefix of Sir, nor the wealth to live off his rents. Most if not all the younger generation of nobility were in such a state. His wealth came from trade with the Isles. If Duke Artois won this power struggle, trade would return. It would have been a win for the Baron if not for the extremely low tariffs negotiated. His loyalty to the Conservatives earnt him little in the end. It was fertile grounds for Radical sentiments to take root.

Madame de Gien had selected her victim and now was going to make sure the lesson would go to heart. Nobody at that table was entirely beyond reproach. Maybe except Lord Cedric, he was there for an entirely different reason. The muted socialization came to an end when the hostess’ voice cut through all conversation.

“My dear Alphonse, how have you been doing as of late? I was so very concerned for you. You do not write nor come to visit us anymore. My husband has been asking about your health.”

“Ah, my good Mademoiselle, I assure you I have am as hearty and hale as I could be. I apologies for any slight I may have unintentionally conveyed by my absence. Why, I have been so occupied by our new guests I hadn’t the time. Speaking of guests, I haven’t been introduced to our northern fellow.”

It was a good attempt at a deflection. But that meant nothing here. This was a murder room of a situation. His inexperience showed from his attempt to redirect the conversation. There was no escaping the headsman, or in this case headwoman.

“I am Cedric son of Harold, born of house Averntide.”

Looking dead into the eyes of Madame de Gien, he addressed her instead of him. I was a too was a statement meant for everybody. As rude as the gesture was, there was nothing he could do about it. Even in other circumstances what could he do to? Call him out in a duel? The fight would have been over in a single blow. All he could do now was see this through and hope to come out the other side.

Madame de Gien politely cleared her throat. “Well, now that you have been acquainted with my guest, I would love to be acquainted with some of yours. I hear that you have been seeing the lovely Madame Ambrose. I have yet to have the pleasure of being introduced to her. The state of the court has made the meeting impossible so far.”

That was what they called it. The acrimonious “state of the court”. Politics had divided the Kingdom in such a way it made even the most mundane action come under scrutiny. Not that Eugen was entirely innocent.

“My dearest lady I do confess to having shared a conversation or two at events we both happen to be at. Our meetings have been by chance rather than design. Though I must say that the lady in question has proven to be a wonderful conversationalist. A charming little thing but little more than a pleasant distraction.”

“And that brings me to my next point my dear Eugen. You are of the age in which distractions must become commitments. There are responsibilities to assume for your liege and house. I will cut to the heart of the matter. It is high time that you have taken on a wife. Family and obligations will see that you will settle down and set your mind to more productive pursuits.”

Eugen visibly paled at the notion. “Madame de Gien I-! “

“I understand your reservations Alfonse. But I insist that you leave these matters in my hands.”

Her tone brooked no argument, but the young aristocrat tried to get a foot in.

“Whatever my indiscretions, I must protest!”

“You must? Eugen my boy, must you overreact? We know. We all know.”

Tea ended in a serene manner. I realized that even the ladies in petticoats had skins thicker than iron. One of their number had been cut down before them but they carried on as if nothing had happened. You ask what had happened? Let me explain it to the best of my ability. The first thing to understand is that no subject is never addressed directly in high society. There are no opinions but something you heard from a friend. Problems are inconveniences and concerns are crises. Eugen’s chance conversations were negotiations with the Radicals. When Lady Ambrose first approached him, a loyalist would have unequivocally turned her down. He was not a man in such a position to warrant more than one attempt to woo. Their continued engagement denoted a degree of receptiveness from his end.

Yes, it was a rather petty excuse to nail the baron with. But consider this, none of the people at the table were clean either. Lady Denise was an informant to Count Guiscard, a Radical. Most of it was stray gossip but she still took their coin. Even Madame de Gien played both sides to her advantage. Bring up more culpable actions would have been bad taste. They were no outright traitors. Yet. House Monforte knew the sentiments of their vassals. They leaned on them to produce examples. Eugen had proven indiscreet with his dealings and more importantly, expendable.

Ah, it was the punishment you were curious about. As members of the lower orders none of you would know of such things. I do not mean any insult against you when I say that. In some ways being one of the little people has its graces. Marriage in the aristocracy is largely a loveless affair. I know, what would the Briar Thorn know of it? What I do know is politics and skullduggery. Marriage has long been a staple weapon wielded to terrible effect. By the laws of this land, if a man wished to marry a woman, they must acquire the permission of their liege lord. You probably did not know of this. It is because in the lower orders permission is almost universally granted. The lord in question does not have the time to approve or disapprove of every union in their holding. Instead it is forwarded to a magistrate for clerical reasons. What happens between couples is a family affair.

This is not so amongst the upper crust of society. Their unions have consequences. Doubly so for the highborn, they must take breeding into account. I am sorry to say that no peasant boy will be marrying any princess in this realm. Permission is deeply considered by their direct lieges. As I previously stated, nobles do not give orders, they make suggestions. When Madame de Gien spoke of picking out a suitable partner, it was one such suggestion. And what a terrible arsenal of potentials she had. Perhaps an aged spinster with a sharp tongue if he was lucky. Or maybe it was a lady saddled with crushing debts. The possibilities... I see that I have ruined the good name of marriage. Take solace gentlemen, there is always wine.

We served our role as neutral witnesses. I went away with a newfound respect for the arena I was about to enter. As the brief but conclusive drama played out between the great and good, I watched the servants attend to their duties. Llain and I did not participate in the hurried exchange of cards and letters between attendants. I surmised that they were another channel of communication that I had to gain access to. There was another world of hidden industry that required my understanding.

The Maron residence received an unexpected caller in the afternoon. A northerner bearing a sealed note delivered his letter to the doorman. He instructed the servant to pass the message to an individual of consequence. Whilst such an outlandish request would have normally been scorned and forgotten, the individual bearing the message had left quite the impression on the doorman. A grim warrior dressed for battle was an unorthodox but striking herald. Godwin had acted as my errand boy with ill graces. But I had counted on his surliness, it would accentuate his performance. I owed him a bottle of whisky but that was a price worth paying. I attempted to get him or Oskar to do it over a game of knucklebones. I lost but we came to a compromise. Wulfric and I had come to a mutually profitable agreement, I could secure Godwin’s vice for a price.

A few days after the afternoon tea, both commanders of the foreign contingents had received messages from the Duke. Word that the autumn session of the Estate General will be held was given. Official invitations for the leading lords were expected to arrive soon. The army would march after the summers end celebrations. For all my excitement to see the capital, it was sobering reminder of my uncertain future. As far as I knew, it was all over once we hit the road and finished our tour. I would be taken into the services of the Isles, or part ways permanently.

I had my fingers in multiple pots whilst I waited for a response form house Maron. The unfortunate’s Madame Gien had chastised had all been accounted for. I was new to the game, but I had made an attempt of sorts. I knew their houses by reputation, and they were not as discreet as I thought they were. What a few Isles schillings could buy was impressive. My entreaties to the Maron’s was an entirely separate affair. I had not managed to discover any implications of disloyalty to prey on, but they were a reputable house who could be leveraged. The Maron’s were a cadet house of the Monforte’s. Theirs was a family met by one crisis after another.

As highborn blood relatives of the Monforte’s, they should have been affluent gentry. That was true until the former Count and Countess went fey. Their titles were passed to their eldest child. Eldest legible child. The eldest son had joined his parents. Underaged and frankly unprepared, the heir and their inheritance had been put under guardianship. The Monforte’s were in a prime position to reclaim Maron holdings. Whilst I did not know the character of the current heir incumbent, but I saw a potential opportunity. Regardless of success or failure, the attempt would send the right message through society. We had the will and ambition to play in Auburn politics.

The reply to my proposal came far more swiftly that I had expected. I had paid Godwin for his services and he was generous enough to share it with the band. Oskar had managed to scare up a few geese from who knows where, and we were set for a feast. Alwin and Osmund were plucking the birds when Llain entered our midst. He frowned at our obviously less than sober state. Godwin and Oskar handled their drink well. The younger members of our lot were less adept.

“You lot eat better than the housecarls!” Llain shook his head at the injustice.

“Greetings esteemed shield bearer. What brings to our humble abode?”

I gave him an exaggerated court bow. Tottering on my crossed legs, I almost fell into the ground. Believe it or not, I was terrible with drink. A few mouthfuls of whisky were enough to go to my head. Llain looked at me with a mix of envy and disappointment.

“No idea, just that his lordship wants to see you. Said it was important. So, you better shape up before you see him.”

Serious but not quite sober, I made do. On my way to the tent I appreciated the cool breeze on my skin. There was a warm glow in me that was not entirely borne from the drink. I realized that I looked forward to the dinner. I looked forward to the camaraderie and sense of easy friendship. I ran my hand down my face as if attempting to squeeze the haziness out of my system.

“I’ve bought your scribe Lord, is there anything else?” Asked Llain.

“No, not yet. Stay for this, you will need to hear it to.” Lord Cedric answered.

The Lord was toying with a note in his hand. The seal had been broken and thus evidently read. I managed to catch a glimpse of the wax and recognized the markings. I cleared my throat and initiated the conversation.

“What news from house Maron, Lord?”

“Yes, how perceptive of you. Though you would make a poor servant if you did not know. After all, you initiated these events. Consider me pleasantly surprised by your results young Saker. I had expected you to make inroads into the less savory aspects of Auburn society. Your history and set of skills had led me to believe so. Instead I find that you have become something of a courtier. Unexpected perhaps but not unwelcome. I respect initiative amongst my followers, but only in those I trust. Opening relations with the upper nobility however strikes me as something beyond even your resourcefulness. What had you in mind with the Maron heir?”

I gave him my answer. Lord Cedric was thorough but swift with his questions. I had my replies prepared beforehand. Perhaps I had stepped beyond of my bounds with the planning. The wheels were already in motion. In many ways I was receiving permission after the fact. Still, I received his permission and authority to act within certain bounds. He gave Llain to me. The housecarl had either received a demotion or a promotion depending on how you looked at it.

The initial vagaries of my remit had been exploited fully. I was becoming more than just a scribe for him. Should things go well, I would establish myself as the unofficial go between my Lord and his southern peers. None of that mattered to me at that moment. I answered my questions quickly and dutifully before being sent away. The business was over in a matter of minutes and I was left with the evening to myself. I considered the time and figured that it would be a good hour or so before the goose was cooked. We had finished at least half the bottle of whisky when I had been called away. I knew of a few bottle shops that could provide plentiful cheap wine. Soon, I could have a lot more silver in my pocket if all went well. What did it hurt to spend some of it early? We had a raucous evening. I had my first hangover. Life was good.

Salons were new institutions back then. A private room in a sophisticated coffee house seemed a far better environment for negotiations than an army camp. The letter that Lord Cedric received agreed to a meeting as soon as possible. I sent Llain with a reply the very next morning. The Maron response was unusual in its promptness. Most correspondence of such a nature usually took days in reply. It was almost unseemly in its alacrity. I decided to book a small parlor and arrange for refreshments at a new but well-furnished shop.

The meeting was set for three in the afternoon. Time was another novelty for me. I had an awareness of it, but rarely ever adhered to its strictures. We had occasional sundials in the Isles, but they did little good on account of our grey skies. The affluent of the south had mechanical marvels from the Free Cities that accurately told the time. Devices that ran on springs and sprockets were rare and expensive. But they were all the rage back then. Even now they are worth a pretty penny. I arrived at the venue half an hour early. Just to make sure everything was to my satisfaction. Not that I had a keen eye for that kind of detail. It was more to ease myself into the environment than to oversee preparations. As additional hands I had bought Llain, Winston, and Osmund with me. The shield bearer was there to look imposing whilst the other two were there to pad the numbers. Well, in Winston’s case it was. Osmund could take notes and check numbers. He may have had a poor grasp of the language, but I could translate for him.

All of us had turned out in our best. Llain looked every inch the fearsome housecarl. Osmund being from a wealthy background had an appropriate wardrobe. Winston looked neat and just happy to be here. Whatever he wore just fell on him easily and looked… wholesome. Except his one cloudy eye, he had a face mothers loved. In my case, Jeanie and the tailors had pulled off something special. Earlier in the day I had visited a barber to neaten up my patchwork hair. Like most young men I had normally taken a knife to hacking clumps off it. Neat and well dressed, I wore the first coat from the two that arrived. Along with the outfit, Jeanie had ordered two jackets for me. One was navy with a silver fur trimming, they were in the colors of house Averntide. The other was in burgundy and sable. Both had intricately etched scrimshaw buttons and fastens. I wore it with the Lighthouse pin.

Standing by a window I watched the street traffic go by. It was nearly time for our guest to arrive. A hackney carriage drew up in front of our establishment. I motioned for the boys to get into position. We had rehearsed our routine as if it was a stage production. In many ways it was. Everything in society was a show. It was odd that the representative of house Maron would hire a hackney rather than use their own. That line of curiosity was overthrown when I saw the figure that exit the carriage.