Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
30 October 1020, L’École du Sorciers
My dearest cousin Armand,
I fear that meeting His Deposed Majesty in the chapel late in the evening has become rather the habit.
Oh, Armand, you needn’t look at me that way. I hide nothing from Maximilian—and indeed, Maximilian has become well-acquainted with Charles as well. Due to his work at the Embassy, Max is as well-acquainted with the news of the city and of Provençe—the political news—as any man in Toulouse, and certainly more than any of the Masters of L’École. Thus, it has fallen to him to keep our royal guest apprised of the current goings on.
Thus, Maximilian speaks to Charles in the early evening, and I speak to him in the late evening, and in between Charles has become rather one of our favored topics of conversation.
And it is not that Charles seeks me out; or I do not think it is. It is simply that both Charles and I are awake and in the same location in the late hours. He is naturally restless, being confined to his chamber throughout the day, and the chapel is one of the few chambers he can presume to be mostly unoccupied at that hour; and I also am naturally restless due to my own, ah, confinement.
So I bring my knitting—I have begun my third little sweater—and Charles brings his doubts, and we sit before the tabernacle, each in our own pew. And, sometimes, we speak.
He tells me of his plans—his former plans, I mean to say, the things he wished to do for Provençe. I have begun to think it a pity that he has been so blocked by his dastardly pair of Ducs. Certainly he would be better for Provençe than they.
The mood here in Toulouse is not good. There is riotous feasting in the palace every night, so I am told; and during the day the followers of “their graces les Ducs” swagger through the streets, putting on airs, patronizing the citizens, and—I am distressed to say—outraging their daughters pretty freely.
They may have the bluest of blood, Armand, but no one has taught them that noblesse oblige. It is enough to make one a republican, or it would be if it could happen in Cumbria.
It is a great frustration to Lord Ellesmere, so Max tells me, that he cannot offer Charles the aid and support of Cumbria at this time. It is unclear whether Charles would welcome it or not; but it is clear even to me that a Provençese throne propped up by force of Cumbrian arms must necessarily be unstable.
Charles’ chief difficulty in enacting his vision was of course de Lancey and de Mauritaine themselves. Le Roi de Provençe might in principle be the absolute ruler of the land; but he requires a competent staff and administration through whom to rule. He knows this, and made some little effort to build one; but his bugbears would have none of it. All appointments must go to one or another of their cronies; and slowly all the men of good will but the King were driven back to their country homes while their places were filled by those of noble birth and no character.
The phrases Charles most grew to hate, so he tells me, were de Mauritaine’s oft-repeated, “No, I do not think we shall be doing that, Votre Majesté,” followed by de Lancey’s “Now, as to the next item of business….”
I—
31 October 2010
Armand, I was interrupted yesterday afternoon by Maximilian’s unexpected early return from the Embassy.
The barricades have risen, Armand, and the citizens of Toulouse have perforce risen with them. And Charles and de Marigny, may God spare their lives, have gone out to join them.
It is now just before dawn on the 31st. Maximilian is about to leave for the Embassy; it is where his duty lies, and he believes he can make it through. He will take this letter with him. Meanwhile, the rest of us will stand ready to defend L’École.
Amelia
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