Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
27 March 1019
Veronica’s Common, Edenford, Cumbria
My dearest cousin Armand,
When I last I wrote I told you that Maximilian and I should soon be setting out to canvas the Edges of Provençe for traces of ley lines, but I wrote prematurely. I am indeed writing these words at the table in our caravan, but our caravan is moored at present in a field in Edenford, a field that goes by the quaint name of Veronica’s Common.
Though I dread to write these words, I must tell you that Provençe is once again on the verge of war. There has been fighting in several areas, and the Royalists are in the thick of it.
You might think that the Royalists are determined to have their way by force of arms and so have attacked the forces of Le Deuxième Republique de Provençe, but you be only half right. There are several Royalist factions, as I have noted before; each have been gathering arms and men; and now, as the result of some insult, they have to gone to war with each other. It is almost too comical: they believe they are fighting for the right to name the next King of Provençe, when any sane observer can see that the army of the Republique could roll them all up in a matter of hours!
That was my response to the news, but I must tell you that Ambassador Ellesmere is little inclined to laughter. He agrees that the matter is comical, or would be so in any country but Provençe. Here, though, it seems that the Provençese people are beginning to take sides, as though rebellion were the national sport. As there has been blood shed in the provinces, there have been bloodied noses in Toulouse.
We left Toulouse after dining with Ambassador Ellesmere ten days ago. “The new Parlement has signally failed to win the hearts of the people of Provençe,” he told us. “They were popular enough at first, of course, any alternative seeming preferable to either Le Maréchal his predecessors. But if the members of Parlement lack the first Republique‘s thirst for blood, they also also lack the first Republique‘s ideals.”
Alec Gainsborough agreed. “They are all believed to be out for themselves. The broadsheets are now referring to them as the les choucas, the jackdaws.”
“And is that a just perception?” I asked.
“In the main, yes. Parlement is rife with squabbling, every man pursuing his own interest.”
“It would not be so bad if they were looking after the interests of the districts they represent,” His Lordship added. “But it seems they take no more thought for the provinces than, well—”
“Than the last king did,” finished Maximilian.
“Precisely.”
Alec filled us in on the players in this game. There are several claimants to the throne; they range from M. Montreil, the grandson of a by-blow of a past Duc de Moraine to M. D’Alphonse, the current Duc de Aquilune. Which has the best claim is a matter for the heralds—if you can find one, for the College of Heraldry was abolished during the Troubles and its records dispersed or destroyed. But naturally each faction has its herald, and naturally they do not agree.
Lord Ellesmere did laugh once, when he noted that the Cumbrian College of Heralds could likely settle the matter were the Royalists to apply to them; but of course they will not.
“It doesn’t matter a whit, anyway,” he concluded. “If it were a matter of the purest bloodline the factions would be having this out around a table, not in the fields.”
The real fighting has been confined to the outer provinces so far; it is in the country that support for Le Roi is strongest. Alec believes that none of the factions are ready to approach Toulouse; for any march on Toulouse will be decisive one way or another for the marching faction, and none of them can hope to succeed at the present time. The Royalists’ only hope is to build enough support that the Republique‘s soldiers abandon Parlement for the Royalist cause.
But this doesn’t mean that Toulouse is peaceful. No barricades have yet been built—building barricades seems to be a civic pastime in Toulouse—but the neighborhoods of the city have begun taking sides and wearing cockades of various colors. A man wearing a blue cockade is ill-advised to walk the streets of the Bois de Biliane, and in many neighborhoods men without cockades are looked at askance.
This applies doubly to Cumbrian citizens, as Cumbria is allied with the Republique.
And so Lord Ellesmere prevailed upon us to leave Provençe; that or to remain safely behind the walls of L’École du Sorciers, which Maximilian of course may not do. He would perhaps be safe enough in our apartment in the Albertine, for that quarter has always looked to L’École rather than to crown or parliament. But we have seen enough of warfare, we two, and as it clear that blood will be spilled sooner rather than later and so we have heeded His Lordship’s advice.
We brought Jérôme Lavigne with us, as he still wishes to study Cumbrian wizardry; and so we came with all speed to Edenford to introduce Jérôme to our good friend Dr. Tillotson, Maximilian’s former tutor. Dr. Tillotson is a fellow of Veronica College; and that is why we have dropped anchor in Veronica’s Common.
It is not the season for new students to matriculate, but Dr. Tillotson regards Jérôme as a colleague rather than as a student, and has installed him in one of the college’s guest rooms.
I expect we shall be here for some weeks, for we have much to discuss with Dr. Tillotson, and much research to do at the Cadwallian Library.
When the weather warms we will most likely continue our survey of the Edges of Cumbria; but for the time being you may direct your letters to Veronica College, Edenford, as we intend to make this our base of operations.
Your ex-expatriate cousin,
Amelia
____
Photo by Patricia Cimpan on Unsplash
Zymurgia House 