Lucrece Calphurnia

In amongst the many varied duties of Kingship, the meetings with the Royal council, maintaining relations with the various noble Ladies and Duchesses of the Northern Kingdom, and other tasks involved in the day to day running of a realm, King Lucrece, often called “Lucrece the Peacemaker”, always made sure to hold open court at least twice a month, where anyone, no matter their rank or station, might wait their turn to present their case before the King.

As was often the case, this particular day at court had lasted many hours, for though she was not immune to weariness, it was a point of pride to the King that none were turned away, and that she would hold court for as long as was necessary, listening to every plea and protestation that her people brought before here.

Stood to the side of the throne, dressed in black armour as if merely some common bodyguard, stood the King's husband, Duchess Tiberius, Lord Martial of the North. Though he was not always available, whenever possible, he made a point to stand beside his wife, showing no sign of tiredness despite the hours on his feet, listening to the troubles of nobles and peasants alike, and offering his advice only when asked, otherwise standing silently, cold and impassive.

The case before the court was long and convoluted, a sordid tale, that apparently began as a simple dispute between a local noble and a few of his subjects, and had, (by all accounts, largely because of the actions of this noble) had now escalated and spread amongst the rest of the townspeople, almost to the point of open rebellion.

Wishing to avoid bloodshed, and understanding that (however justified their grievance) peasants with farm tools cannot hope to defeat armoured knights without terrible loses, the townspeople sent a representative to plead before the King to rein in their cruel and overreaching lord.

The noble in question, hearing this, had also ridden to court post haste to denounce this so called 'ringleader' and demand that the King aid him in swiftly putting an end to these open acts of defiance from the peasants. So convinced of the legitimacy of his wounded ego that he was certain of the rightness of his claim.

For over an hour, the two had spoken (and sometimes shouted in the case of the noble) and the King had asked questions, attempting to find the root of this disagreement, to find some amicable solution.

Now, every question having been answered, each man having said his piece (at great length), the King sat silently in contemplation for several moments.

When she spoke, it was not to address the men in front of her, to whom she had spoken plenty, but rather to those beside her, her various advisors.

First, she asked for the opinion of her legal advisor, who carefully expressed that while his actions might be questionable, much of what he had done was within his legal rights as a lord. Only those who knew the King well would recognise the slight dissatisfaction this answer caused her, for she maintained a careful visage of neutrality.

Next, she turned to the man beside the throne.

“Husband, Lord Vinnici asks that we crush a rebellion. As Lord Martial, what say you?” Her tone carefully neutral.

Tiberius voice was also neutral, but with none of his wife's warmth, for that was not his role.

“I see no rebellion here. I see people, given good reason to believe the one who leads them cares more for his pride than the lives of those beneath him, and who have brought their concerns up the chain of command…”

Only those close to the King could see the almost imperceptible smile at the corner of her lips, but she maintained her regal tone as she replied “and what would you advise in such a case…?”

Now it was Tiberius turn to pause in thought before speaking “if this man were an officer under my command, I would strip him of rank and have him publicly flogged as an example to others. Each soldier's life relies on the one above them, and the ones below. If you do not have the trust of the people beneath you, you are not fit to lead.”

At this point Lord Vinnici, face red, shouts, “This is ridiculous! They aren't soldiers, they're disobedient peasants!”

Tiberius doesn't shout, his voice gets dangerously quiet, “And yet you would have me bring the Black Legion to fight them? I am not here to fight disobedient peasants Lord Vinnici, I'm here to fight disobedient Lords…”

Something in his voice brings the man up short, colour slowly draining from his face.

Lucrece smiles and turns to her husband, “I thank you for your wise counsel.” Then she turned to face the room, “I have made my decision.

Lord Vinnici, you are correct when you say that as lord of your lands, you have the right to declare the forests of your lands to be off limits to hunters without your decree, and to protect those forests against poachers…”

The face of the noble twists into a look of triumph, while the representative of the townspeople begins to look worried.

“However, your people have hunted and foraged in those forests for generations, and rely upon it as a source of sustenance. Your arguments that the peasants cannot be trusted with stewardship over common land without unduly burdening its resources belies the fact that they have done so successfully since time immemorial.

The wellbeing of your people is your sworn duty, and your rights as a lord end where your duties to your people begin. By not considering your people's needs, you have neglected your duties…

But what is worse, is how you have acted after that point. You accuse your people of poaching, yet they came to you to beg your mercy before anyone violated your decree. Only when it became clear that you were not amenable to reason were people forced by desperation and love of their families to 'illegally' enter your forests in search of game.

From then, it seems to me, each and every action that you have taken has been driven by pride and ego. You make demands and levy punishments without thought to your people's lives, you demand obedience without offering compassion. With each new decree, you made the lives of your people harder, pushed them into a corner, and giving them little choice but to resist your rule… you have shown exceedingly questionable judgement.

You will revoke your declaration regarding the forests. The people may hunt freely there, taking care, as they have ever done, to avoid placing more strain upon the forest than it can sustain. The draconian restrictions and punishments that you have levied will also be reversed, effective immediately. In addition, the crown will grant a shipment of grain from its stores to the townsfolk, to further alleviate their suffering.

You will permit your people to live with dignity and will not needlessly impose additional hardships upon them.

If I should hear that you have done otherwise, in pursuit of some baseless grudge or wounded pride, you will have proven yourself irredeemably unfit to rule, and your lands and title shall be revoked.”

At this, his face no longer full of triumph, Lord Vinnici can no longer restrain himself, “This is ridiculous! I will not-”

“YOU WILL BE SILENT!” the Lord Martial's shout echoes like a whipcrack through the audience chamber, “You will be thankful that the King is as committed to mercy as she is to justice, or you will get your wish to see Royal soldiers marching on your lands, but you will not enjoy the results…

This is not a punishment, but an act of great kindness, she has put down your so called 'rebellion' without a drop of blood, and given you a chance to become a better steward of your people's welfare. I suggest you take that chance.

But should you refuse the Kings decree, then you will fall under my judgement.”

For a moment, Lord Vinnici stared at Tiberius, eyes full of rage, looking like he wished to argue further, but he was unable to bear the weight of the lord Martial's pitiless stare. Instead, his eyes turned to the floor, and he turned to the King, bowing deeply

“I will of course follow her Majesty's decree, as I am her humble servant.”

Later, in the privacy of their chambers, Tiberius warned his wife, “I know that look in his eyes. He will bear a grudge against that judgement… perhaps try to rally other nobles to his cause, those who do not care for your compassion for the people.”

King Lucrece smiled, not the kind gentle smile she showed to her people, but the cunning savvy smile she only showed to those who new her well.

“Should he do that, he will find it rather difficult… his nearest neighbours do not care for him any more than I do, and we have done a decent job playing them against each other… each lord who bears a grudge against the throne also bear grudges against each other… a web of interdependent grievances that keep them all to divided to worry about fighting me…”

Tiberius chuckled and replied, “And people think I'm the dangerous one…”

Lucrece drags a finger along the stiff collar of her dress. A young girl used to sit in elocution lessons in this house, fantasising about the moment she could slip into her room and tear the rough fabric away from her throat. She glances at an ornate, tarnished mirror in the hallway, watching her reflection glide past. She smooths the collar against her neck.

The visits to her Uncle’s house grow more tedious each time. He holds open the heavy door of the study for her, and it clicks shut softly in her wake. She eyes the twin armchairs in front of the fire with apprehension; she remembers the rarest collection of evenings where, illuminated by the firelight and perhaps the whiskey, Richarde had bestowed on her knowledge of a new conspiracy, and then dictated her part in it. Before her hesitation becomes noticeable she takes her place in the scene, reassuring herself that anything to come will not be worse than the first secret her Uncle told her.

“It will be, eventually-” Tiberius’ voice echoes in her head, from their first visit here together. “He can be placated. He dresses his intentions nobly enough-” she had responded. She tries to believe it, too. Everything she believes has come from her uncle: all of the principles that have allowed her to lead people with compassion, her violent empathy, thirst for peace- He could not have designed her so well if he did not believe it too.

She had been more certain then.

She glances across, and realises her Uncle has already begun talking. After a few moments of nodding along to his musings on the pitfalls of meritocracy, she drains her glass and refills it from a heavy crystal decanter on the table between them. She has learnt that, while his orator’s eyes are fixed on her intently, he does not seem to be able to see her.

It is with a false sense of security, then, that Lucrece settles back into her chair to watch the fire, letting her mind wander over matters of the court, and upcoming social commitments. “Is is precisely why now is the time to strike- relations between the North and South have never been so strong, a Royal funeral will bring the Empress right into our hands-”

The words slice through the comfortable haze of the drawing room.

“No-” She groans, thoughts snapping into a neat pile like a well shuffled deck of cards. “No” she hears it again, her own voice, resigned but pleading. “The consequences would be immense, Uncle, if any Southern nobility were harmed so close to the death of our own- how could you contrive something so transparent-”

She watches him sit back in his chair, leisurely preparing to dispel her fears. She leaves him to it, frantically trying to settle within herself how to proceed. She scours his face for some fragment of a blessed childhood, a memory that has not since been stained with hindsight.

“We cannot shy away from the consequences of such a thing, but after Iohanna’s militant leadership, and our alliance with the Legion, we have never been better suited to succeed in war-”

“Our alliance with the Legion, Uncle?” Lucrece grips the arm of her chair, and Richarde has the audacity to look incredulous.

“We have the same ambitions, Lucrece. I understand you are upset but I had thought enough time had passed since the business with Callistian that you were…” Richarde considers his words carefully, oblivious to any greater danger here than calling his niece sensitive inelegantly.

“You understand nothing!” Lucrece’s volume rises, feeling hammering against her ribcage while she tries to moderate her anger into the right words without pen and paper to rely on. “You are calling for a war! When we have done everything to bring the North to the cusp of prosperity- after everything you have taught me-” She springs to her feet, struggling to translate her thoughts as they collide in the swell.

“I thought I had taught you that hardship may be necessary for us to succeed-”

“I do not want to succeed. You have been a fool, Uncle, you are being a fool.” Lucrece looks down on her benefactor, most trusted advisor, the spectre of a father figure, and her anger dissipates into bitter disappointment. “I am exactly what you intended me to be. I have been hollowed out and filled with ideals, philosophies- How could you believe for one second that I would agree with you now? When what you want is the antithesis to peace?”

She stands behind her chair, watching Richarde grapple with her disobedience. When he looks at her again, she stands under the scrutiny owed to a stranger.

“Maybe I do not understand the… burden of your position.” His voice is gentle. Wheedling. “And perhaps it was unfair, to ask what I have asked of you…” He watches her hungrily as she moves back to take her seat. Takes her hand eagerly when she reaches for his over the table.

“I did not kill Callisian because you wanted me to, Richarde.” The kindness in his eyes dulls. Sharp fingernails dig into her skin.

“I have done everything for you-” he hisses.

“I do not believe that any more.” Lucrece pries his hand away, rising to her feet to leave. The heavy door of the study clicks shut behind her, and Lucrece smiles at her reflection in the ornate tarnished mirror as she breaks into a run.

— Written By Charlotte N.