Chapter 61: The Court
“Stand up for bastards!”
William Shakespere
Toulouse, September 3, 1082
Bregida and Eberhard were the last ones to arrive at the appointed place at the center of the woodlot. She had decided to accompany him on the walk there from the manor. Everyone else had easily outpaced him so she had hung back. He had been looking down at his feet, carefully pacing himself through the mud (it had raided the night before). Every once and a while he would glance around nervously.
“Are you alright,” she had asked him gently.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure,” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Eberhard froze in place and turned to her, “Honestly?”
“Yes,” Bregida insisted, “honestly.”
“To tell you the truth,” he said, “he scares me.”
“Who,” she asked quizzically, “Miquel?” When he nodded Bregida grabbed his arm, urging him forward, “If this works you won’t have to worry about him. He won’t try to hurt anyone now.”
“Aren’t you afraid of him,” he asked.
“No.” That was a lie, and Bregida knew it. She genuinely felt bad about lying to Eberhard, since he seemed to trust her so much, but she also felt it was necessary in this case. She was hoping to reassure him and make him feel as comfortable with the situation as she could. She couldn’t afford to show fear herself.
The clearing at the center of the woodlot was filled with the children of the nobles and servants of the manor. At the far end was Robert, sitting on the highest stump in the clearing. He was acting as the duke of the court in Gaston’s absence. He seemed to be thrilled with his newly acquired responsibility, despite the gravity of the situation. Clara sat on the shorter stump next to Robert’s. She was looking down, her hair hanging over her face. Peironela had a hand on her shoulder and was whispering something in her ear, hoping of comforting her. Running perpendicular to the stumps was a long rotting log where most of the children sat. Miquel, the cause of all of the trouble, was sitting on all alone on a rock at the center of the clearing. Without another word, Ebehard hustled over to the log, obviously with the intent to avoid Miquel’s gaze.
Miquel turned back towards Bregida, glaring, “Do you know what this is about?”
She clenched her fists, “Yes,” she retorted, “and you do too.” She couldn’t show she was afraid, not in front of him.
“Alright,” Robert started, trying to defuse as much tension as he could, “everyone is here so we should get started.” Bregida made her way over to Clara and Peironela, never breaking eye contact with Miquel the entire way. “The first order of business is to, um, articulate the grievance,” he glanced at the girl on the shorter stump. “Clara?”
She looked up, revealing a black eye. This effectively silenced any remaining side conversation more effectively than Robert ever could have. “I have one,” was all she could manage to say.
Bregida had a feeling that Robert would have to literally drag the rest out of Clara so she went on bluntly, “Miquel has been beating her.”
Miquel was fuming, “I don’t know what you talking about.”
“You’re a liar,” Bregida shot back.
“There will be order here,” Robert shouted over both of them. “Uh, try to be civil.”
Ignoring Robert, Miquel went on, “How are you so sure I did that, Bregida,” he jabbed a finger in Clara’s direction. “Anyone here could have done it. Why would I do anything like that to her?”
“Yes,” Bregida nodded sarcastically, “why would you?”
Robert looked down towards her, “You have proof of this, Bregida?”
“Yes,” she replied, not still glaring back at Miquel, “we have an eyewitness.”
“Would the eyewitness please step forward?”
At that, Eberhard, who had been attentively focusing on his shoes the entire time, looked up, his gaze settling on Bregida, who nodded to him.
All he needs to do is to stand up, she thought,
if not against Miquel or for Clara, he needs to stand up for himself. She smiled as he did stand up, because he looked pretty steady and sure of himself at first. However, when Miquel turned around to see who was testifying against him, Eberhard visibly began to tremble. He limped up to the front as fast as he could, and sat on a rock on the other side of Robert’s stump from Clara.
“Eberhard,” Robert continued, “is it true you have witnessed what Bregida has -”
“Y… Yeah I have,” Eberhard stuttered.
“I hope so,” Miquel interrupted, “If not this is just a waste of time.” He was trying his best to put up his innocent front, but Bregida could tell it was slowly beginning to crack.
“A while ago, down by the creek,” Eberhard went on, trying his best to ignore Miquel. “I was alone. I heard somebody coming, so I hid in a bush. It turned out to be Clara and Miquel.” He was beginning to tear up, “He was beating her up and shouting at her about how she was illegitimate and that she should be crawling around on the earth instead of walking it.”
Clara, who had gone back to looking down at the ground in front of her since she had first spoken up, looked over at him, “It was you in the bush?”
“Yes.”
Miquel was caught so off guard that he did not have any immediate retort ready. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging slightly open. He fumbled for a response, “Robert, why exactly should we trust his word?”
“We do not have any reason to not trust his word,” Robert replied. “We have evidence you have done what you’ve been accused of.”
“Sh… she deserved it.”
“Deserved it for what,” Clara shot back, “being born?” Bregida smiled; Clara was also beginning to stand up for herself.
He shot up, attempting to use his height to its full effect, “I’m protecting Gaston.”
She was perplexed by his response. “How?”
“I saw you two before all of the crusaders left, hugging and probably kissing when I wasn’t looking.”
It took a while for Clara to understand what Miquel was talking about, “Oh, I was just slipping a gift to Bert into his pocket from - ” Her eyes widened, knowing she had said a little more than she should have. Bregida’s own heart skipped a beat.
Miquel sensed this panic rising within both of them, “Who was it from?”
Reluctantly, Bregida answered, “Me.”
A smirk appeared on Miquel’s face as he advanced on her, “Now why would you give a gift to Bert? That’s an interesting question.”
Bregida swore silently to herself. She wasn’t expecting this to come up. Meeting him face to face between his rock and Robert’s stump, she answered, “I happen to like him, is that a crime?”
“Is that all?”
“No,” she screamed, “that isn’t all!” Everyone was taken aback by Bregida’s outburst, especially since she was reserved by nature. “I’ve kissed him. Are you satisfied now, Miquel?” She had been hoping that she could keep that secret for a long time, but thanks to Miquel she couldn’t. She was trembling with rage.
For years afterwards, everyone who was present would remember what happened next. Miquel, who was caught completely off balance since everyone was on to him and united against him, lashed out at Bregida, “You God damned whore!”
She slapped him so hard he fell flat on his back, clutching his jaw. A deathly silence fell over the clearing. Bregida was standing over him, shocked at her own actions and staring at her hands. She was in her own little world before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw it was Eberhard, who lead her over to the rock he was sitting on earlier. When she sat down, feeling a little dizzy, she saw what she thought to be a look of admiration on Eberhard’s face. She wished he’d stop looking at her like that.
It was Robert who broke the silence, “Uh, I believe we are done here.” He looked down at Miquel, who had just sat up, “As duke of the court I issue you a stern warning not to continue what you have been doing. We are all watching you. This court is adjourned.” Almost everyone left the clearing as quickly as they could, leaving only Miquel, sitting alone in the center and still clutching his jaw, Peironela, Clara, Eberhard, and Bregida.
“We did it,” Eberhard whispered into Bregida’s ear.
Yes, she thought,
but was it the right thing to do? Could we have approached this better?
Suddenly, Clara got up and walked over to where Miquel sat. As he looked up she offered him a hand.
“What do you want,” he spat. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
Clara ignored his harsh tone, “Maybe we should start over.”
“Huh?”
“We should reintroduce ourselves. Forget any of this ever happened.” Her hand was still outstretched.
Doubtfully, he took hold of it, “Miquel de Toulouse.”
She pulled him up, “Clara.” She offered to help brush him off (he had fallen back into a puddle of mud), but he shook her off her help, and turned to leave the clearing.
Well, Bregida thought,
it’s a start.
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This was the longest one I've written yet. It did take a while to write. I hope at least somebody will read it and comment (hint, hint).