No Honeymoon
It was a cool morning, just after dusk as Sir Gilles rode down the streets in Nantes. Today he was inspect the fleet with the Duke and discuss his responsibilities as High Admiral. He was indeed honored for the position and hoped it would bring him a chance for excitement and honor. Glorious battles at sea, courageous boardings of enemy ships, all the while whipping against the sea, the thoughts that danced in his head. He could not help but think that is seemed strange one as young as he would be Admiral, but as well the Duke's brother before him had been young. Gilles shrugged it off and continued on, his mind turning to other matters, foremost that he had missed his turn and had no idea where he was. As he got lost down a narrow meandering street of the city it was almost night again as the cramped buildings shut out the sun, too low in the sky to offer the street light. Gilles surveyed his surroundings, he was obviously in the slums of town, even worse than the rest of the large city. He stopped on his horse and tried to get his bearings, he had only been to Nantes thrice before.
Back at his castle the Duke set in his office, a large open room on the first floor, where the mundane duties of daily administration were carried out. He was scribbling on a sheet of paper, something to do with tax rates in one or another tiny port town, his concentration fading amongst the stack of papers next to him. After a few more arduous minutes, John was disturbed by the hurried pace of footsteps coming towards him. Looking up he was greeted by the Chancellor Armand du Redon.
Your grace.
Armand.
Umm...yes, well..see..there's a bit of a problem...
The Duke looked quizzically at Armand, telling him to spill it out with a cold stare.
Perhaps you should come see for yourself.
For the love of Christ, Armand.
The Duke slammed his quill down on the desk with a pound of his fist and stood up quickly. The two men walked hurriedly, the Duke following Armand until they arrived at the main courtyard. They were greeted by an amazing spectacle. There stood, actually more of wobbled, the Arch-Bishop of Nantes, obviously inebriated. He was ranting and rambling.
He is coming! He is coming! There is no hope!
The clergymen's eyes were intense, sweat pouring from his face, despite the cool air. His hands flailed about him as the Duke looked on with dumbstruck amazement, sharing a shocked look with the Chancellor.
Sinners..re..repent now!
The man tried to continue, but gurgled and than vomited like a great wave of filth spewing from his mouth, than fell forward into it. The Duke, finally, waved to some guards to approach.
Men, take this 'man' to the holding cells and inform me when he awakes. And also do not speak of this abomination, god knows what is wrong with him.
The men could hardly keep themselves from mimicing the Bishops vile discharge as they dragged him gingerly across the dirt. The Duke exchanged another bewildered look with Armand and shook his head.
I do not know m'lord...
With that the Duke sighed exasperated and marched back into the castle. Where was Gilles anyhow.
Damnation...Gilles exclaimed, now dismounted, looking for a shop or open door to ask direction. Dragging his horse at his side he strolled down the street a bit to a building with a large sign hanging of its side, probably a tavern. As he approached he read the sign, 'The Fallen Angel' Odd name for a tavern he thought as he headed for the door. A few steps shy of the door Gilles bent over to tie his horse to the rail outside. As he straitened his back again a stabbing pain drove into his lower back dropping him to his knees. He could hear the rustle of feet as he grabbed at his back and felt a thick wetness, blood, lots of it. He grabbed his sword hilt turning back to his left, where he saw a man in beggars clothes grabbing the pack off of his horse, blooded dagger in hand. Gilles screamed something in German and the horse bolted, almost dragging the thieft to the ground. Gilles tried to rise but could not as the thief staggered towards him. The knight clenched his sword hilt and pulled across the front of his chest, he could feel his sword cleave into the mans stomach as another shooting pain stabbed into his left shoulder, just behind the collar bone, and he fell forward on his side. Seconds later a group of men ran forth from the tavern to a gruesome sight. The thief lie on his back, his bowels leaking, Gilles sword cleaved so deep into his belly it had grooved itself into his spine. a few inches away on his side lay the knight in a pool of blood, motionless. As they surveyed the scene Gilles horse returned and stood at its master's side.
A group of guards ran into the castle, two of them bearing a man by arms and legs. They rushed into the castle and headed for the infirmary, the first amongst them pointing towards it as he broke off and ran towards the Great hall. With a frantic look the man yelled at the first servant he saw.
The Duke, the Duke...wh, where is he! Now!
The dumbstruck servant sensed the urgency in the mans voice and pointed off towards the Duke's office.
My lord! Come quickly the lord Gilles may perish!
The Duke looked up alarmingly jumping to his feet at the guard, whose bloody hands were held out towards the Duke, carrying a message of urgency. The two of them ran in unison out of the office towards the infirmary speaking as they ran.
Dammit! What happened to him?
A brigand sir...he was stabbed twice.
The atacker?
Gilles killed him.
That the man was dead was some solace, solace that quickly faded as the Duke entered the room and saw Gilles lying on his stomach a group of doctors working messily to stop the blood pouring from his back. There was nothing he could do and rage poured into John, his face was red as he barked at the guard.
Get the bailliff in here NOW! And assemble 20 of the best guards...this can not happen in my city.
The guard did not even answer and ran off quickly. The Duke shot a vicious look at the head doctor and stormed off to his bed chambers. The Duchess lye there resting, startled as he slammed through the door, the crash of the oak doors against the walls sending a roar of noise throughout the castle. Gienivieve looked worriedly at her husband as he ripped off his clothes and arrayed his armor.
John, what is happening...what is wrong?
This cursed slum of a city...it has claimed Sir Gilles, the streats will be cleansed today.
He looked crazed as he stared back at her, ripping on his battle underdress. She rose and helped him strap on his armor, she had never seen him so disturbed. His muscles were tense and the veins jumped from his arms as she handed him his gauntlet. He marched over to a rack and grabbed the first sword on the left, it was the largest of them all, and its hilt was ornately decorated, a family relic. The Duchess came up behind him and strapped the belt on for him. He was calm for a second and he looked at her, his face contorting from vicious to determined.
John, be careful and be prudent. I want you to be here when your son is born.
He did not answer but came closer and kissed her forehead and still without a word left the room. Gienivieve sat back down on the bed, exhausted. She had not had any energy since she was with child.
