Chapter 8: Trials

The morning of Arista Essendon’s trial arrived along with the first snow. Despite not having slept, Percy Braga did not feel the least bit tired. Having set the wheels in motion the previous morning by sending the trial announcements, he had a hundred details demanding his personal attention. He was just rechecking his witness list when there was a knock at the door to his office and a servant entered.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” the man said with a bow. “Bishop Saldur is here. He said you wanted to see him.”

“Of course, of course, send him in,” the archduke replied.

The elderly cleric entered, wearing his dress robes of black and red. Braga crossed the room and kissed his ring as he bowed. “Thank you for seeing me so early, your grace. Are you hungry?” May I arrange for some breakfast to be brought for you?”

“No, thank you, I’ve already eaten. At my age, one tends to wake early whether one wants to or not. What exactly did you want to see me about?”

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any questions about your testimony today. We could go over it now if you do. I’ve scheduled some time.”

“Ah, I see,” the bishop replied, nodding slowly. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a clear understanding of what is required.”

“Wonderful, then I think everything is in order.”

“Excellent,” the bishop said and glanced toward the decanter. “Is that brandy I see?”

“Yes, would you like some?”

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge so early, but this is a special occasion.”

“Absolutely, your grace.”

The bishop took a seat near the fire as Braga poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to the bishop. “To the new Melengar regime,” the archduke proposed. The crystal rang clear like a bell as their glasses touched. Then each took a deep drink.

“There’s just something about a bit of brandy on a snowy day,” Saldur remarked with a tone of satisfaction in his voice. The cleric had white hair and gentle looking eyes. Sitting in the glow of the fire, casually cupping the glass in his wrinkled hand, he appeared the quintessential kindhearted grandfather. Braga knew better. He could not have risen to his present position without being ruthless. As bishop, Saldur was one of the chief officers of the Nyphron Church and the ranking clergy in the kingdom of Melengar. He worked and resided in the great Mares Cathedral, an edifice just as imposing, and certainly more beloved, than Castle Essendon. As far as influence was concerned, Braga estimated that of the nineteen bishops who comprised the leadership of the faithful, Saldur must be in the top three.

“How long before the trial?” Saldur asked.

“We’ll begin in about an hour or so.”

“I must say you’ve handled this very well, Percy.” Saldur smiled at him. “The Church is quite pleased. Our investment in you was substantial, but it would appear we made a wise choice. When dealing with timetables as long as we are, it’s difficult to be sure we’ve put the right people in place. Each of these annexations needs to be handled delicately. We don’t want anyone suspecting us of stacking the deck the way we are. When the time comes, it has to appear as if all the monarchies voluntarily accept the formation of the New Empire. I must admit, I had some doubts about you.”

Braga raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“Well, you didn’t look as though you had the makings of a king when we arranged your marriage to Amrath’s sister. You were a scrawny, pretentious, little—”

“That was nearly twenty years ago,” Braga protested.

“True enough. However, at the time, all I noticed about you was your skill with a sword and your staunch Imperialist view. I was afraid, being so young you might—well, who knew if you’d stay loyal, but you proved me wrong. You’ve grown into an able administrator, and your ability to adapt in the face of unexpected events, like this sudden timetable shift Arista caused, proves your capability to manage problems effectively.”

“Well, I’ll admit it hasn’t gone exactly as I planned. Alric’s escape was unexpected. I clearly underestimated the princess, but at least she was good enough to provide me a convenient means to implicate her.”

“So, exactly what are you planning to do about Arista’s little brother? Do you know where he is?”

“Yes, he is at Drondil Fields. I have several reports of the mustering of Galilin. Troops are converging at Pickering’s castle.”

“And you’re not concerned about that?”

“Let’s just say I wished I could have caught the little brat before he reached Pickering. But I’ll be turning my attentions to him as soon as I conclude with his sister. I hope to take care of him before he can bolster too much support. He’s been quite elusive. He slipped through my fingers at the Wicend Ford. Not only did he escape, but he also took horses from my men. I thought he would be easy to find, and I had scores of troops watching every road, valley and village, but for several days he just vanished.”

“And that’s when he got through to Pickering?”

“Oh, no,” Braga said. “I actually managed to catch him. A patrol picked him up at The Silver Pitcher Inn.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why isn’t he here?”

“Because my patrol never came back. An advance rider brought the news Alric was captured, but the rest of them disappeared. I investigated and heard some amazing rumors. According to my reports, two men traveling with the prince organized the locals and staged an ambush on the men bringing Alric in.”

“Do you know who these two men were who came to Alric’s aid?”

“I have no names, but the prince called them his Royal Protectors. I’m certain, however, they’re the same two thieves I setup to take the blame for Amrath’s death. Somehow, the prince has managed to retain their services. He must have offered them riches, perhaps even land and title. The boy is more clever than I thought. But no matter, I have made adequate arrangements for him and his friends. I’ve been bolstering the ranks of the Melengar army for the last several weeks with mercenaries loyal to my money. Amrath never knew. One of the perks of being the Lord Chancellor is not having to get the royal seal on all orders.”

There was another knock at the door, and the servant once again entered. “The Earl of Chadwick is here to see you, my lord.”

“Archibald Ballentyne? What is he doing here? Get rid of him.”

“No, wait,” the bishop intervened. “I asked the earl to come. Please send him in.” The servant bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

“I wished you had discussed this with me,” Braga said. “Forgive me, your grace, but I have too much going on today to entertain a visit from a neighboring noble.”

“Yes, yes. I know you are quite busy, but the Church has its own matters to attend to. As you well know, you’re not the only kingdom we administer to. The Earl of Chadwick possesses a certain interest to us. He is young, ambitious, and easily impressed by success. It will do him good to see firsthand just what kinds of things are possible with the right friends. Besides, having an ally on your southern border has benefits for you as well.”

“Are you suggesting I try and sway him away from King Ethelred?”

“Ethelred is a good Imperialist, I admit, but there can be only one Emperor. There’s no reason it couldn’t be you, assuming you continue to prove yourself worthy. Ballentyne has many assets that could help in that endeavor.”

“I’m not even king yet and you’re talking Emperor?”

“The Church hasn’t lasted for three thousand years by not thinking ahead. Ah, here he is. Come in, come in, Archibald.” Archibald Ballentyne entered, brushing the snow from his cloak and stomping his feet. “Toss your cloak aside and come to the fire. Warm up, lad. The carriage ride must have been a cold one.”