What’s a little extortion between two aristocrats…​ [29.02.1624]​

Towleigh.

TIMEL Lone had just drifted off to sleep when the sound of urgent knocking on his chamber door woke him. Annoyed, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Who is it?" he groused.

"It is I, My Lord! Tavish!" came the voice of his steward immediately after. "I'm sorry to wake you, but there is urgent news you must hear!"

Lone sighed. Reaching for his robe, he swung his legs out of bed. His wife grumbled from underneath the blankets as he rose to his feet. He 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... 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 proper 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 sits just outside our borders with an army.”

“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, Lone 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?” he asked, baffled. “Shouldn’t he be off at Faywyn playing lord or something?”

“...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 have testified against you.”

“What nonsense is this?” Timel exclaimed, a dark cloud forming between his brows. “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 impressive. Rows upon rows of uniformly armoured men bearing the von Grifenburgs’ crest—an armoured gryphon, rampant—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 all 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. The silent army unnerved the count; if one looked away for a moment, they wouldn’t be faulted for forgetting the danger was even there at all.

Lone 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 a battle to the earl; he had been forced to relinquish his position of authority. A minor loss, true, but a loss all the same.

“What do you want, boy?” The count goaded, hoping to rile him up. The earl simply smiled in response, his gaze condescending.

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

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

The earl leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Are you calling me a liar? You dare debase my honour—my house’s honour? My father’s honour—to dodge responsibility for your actions? I have letters that prove your involvement with the Heras in their schemes," he said, producing a small bundle of papers from his pocket. "Letters that detail your plans to overthrow us and seize my House’s 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 eldest, 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 territory as dowry? What other lands did Josh have to give but my own?”

Timel paled as he saw the letter he sent Earl Gilbert 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!"

The earl stared at him for a few moments before saying to the knight by his side. “Bring them forward,”

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

The count remained silent as he glowered at the younger man before him. A few moments later the knight from earlier returned with two bound men in tow; Count Hera and his heir, Gilbert.

“Josh,” Earl Levi called, turning to face the count, “earlier, you confessed to me your crimes. Seated before you is the one you named as your accomplice, correct? You are before the accused now, do you still maintain that stance?

A moment of silence. “...Yes. Yes, My Lord.”

“Lies!” Timel growled, drawing his sword. The von Grifenburg bannermen 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?” Levi asked.

“This is no witness, boy!” Timel snarled. “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 unsatisfied, you will come to regret this, Lord Timel. Mark my words."

Silence.

“...What do you want, you foul creature?” the count spat.

“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, some measure of blackpowder and other amenities, as well as forty-seven thousand gold Royals in lost, stolen 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!”

“I do not insist everything be paid at once,” the earl replied. “I am after all magnanimous enough to recognise and understand your plight despite the blot of unfaithfulness that mars your name. Hence, I would grant you a chance to repent. Your reparations can be made in instalments. But for that, I would require a guarantee; collateral of some sort. Your son, Lars. He would be a suitable candidate.”

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

“He will serve 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. I believe I have been lenient enough?”

The count fell silent for a moment before turning around to leave. “I will not forget this slight, boy,” he said as he turned to leave away. All Lone got in response was a cold smile.

***​

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, 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 fares over an open flame. A musician sat in one corner of the tavern, his jaunty melodies weaving in and out of the conversations and laughter of the patrons. There was dancing as well, a young, blushing couple cavorting around the room to the beat of the music as they were goaded on by a gaggle of men.

The atmosphere in the tavern was one of camaraderie and conviviality; Alive.

It grated at Reamus’ ears.

A man walked in, 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. The little bastard’s off on a vengeful jaunt to the south. He shouldn’t be back for a few days at least.”

“...A pity,” Reamus replied. “And here I was hoping at last one of them would be present to receive the first of my many gifts in person.

“A great pity indeed.”