Palais de la Cité
Paris, Kingdom of France
The gathered members of the King’s Court and their honored guests, seemed in fine spirits as Marcus watched the tragedy unfold. The charges were read, the accused named, and those in attendance were giddy with delight at the salaciousness of the crimes.
It was theatre.
Entertainment.
But it was real lives on the line, including his cousin’s, who was named, though not presented, the prosecutor indicating she was still at large, though perhaps already in custody, a unit dispatched last night to arrest her in Crécy-la-Chapelle.
It sent a shiver up and down his spine, as they still had not received word from David and Jeremy. He hoped they were safe, and had managed to escape the clutches of those sent for their charge, but he couldn’t rely on that.
He regarded King Philip, on his throne, the slight curls at the edges of his mouth suggesting he too was enjoying the show, the three women in custody led around the Court for all to see, their tear-stained cheeks and soiled clothes heartbreaking, even if they were guilty of the crimes of which they were accused. And though they might be, and though they might deserve whatever punishment the Court recommended, his cousin wasn’t.
He stepped forward. “I am Sir Marcus de Rancourt, and I ask to be heard on the matter of the charges against Lady Joanne de Rohan.”
Silence swept over the massive room, whispers beginning as those who recognized him from several weeks ago made themselves heard.
But it was the King who would decide.
King Philip’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized Marcus, a frown spreading momentarily before his displeasure was checked. Marcus had always suspected the King was behind what had happened several weeks ago, at least tacitly, and with his plans thwarted, Marcus had little doubt the monarch wasn’t pleased to see him again.
He flicked his wrist, and Marcus bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness. I am not here to address the charges against these women present today, only those against Lady Joanne. I now have proof that she is innocent of all charges.”
Gasps filled the room, and the prosecutor who had presented the charges stepped forward, outrage on his face. “And what proof do you have?”
Marcus acknowledged the man with a slight bow. “The body of a woman posing as Lady Joanne, and admission from the man Lady Joanne is accused of having an affair with that he was misled into thinking the dead woman was her.”
“Ridiculous! Witnesses have put Lady Joanne with Sir Denys on numerous occasions, and he has even admitted it to others.”
“Others who are no doubt here today?”
The man nodded. “Some.”
Marcus surveyed the room. “And if they took his word that he was having the affair, will they now take his word that he was actually mistaken in her identity?”
Laughter erupted from those gathered, though he noticed a few eyes cast at the floor.
“How, Sir Marcus, could that possibly have happened?”
Marcus spun back toward the prosecutor. “Through an elaborate plot that I have only uncovered part of.”
The man chuckled, giving an exaggerated sweep of his arm toward those gathered. “Oh, pray, do tell!”
Marcus smiled, taking the insolence as an invitation. “Thank you, I shall.” He turned to his audience. “My cousin, through my sister’s marriage, Lady Joanne, arrived at my farm yesterday, pursued by men acting on behalf of her husband, Lord Charles. After a discussion, they departed, and I agreed to meet with her husband, to discuss the accusations against her, accusations she swore were false.”
“As any guilty woman would.”
Marcus kept his back to the prosecutor. “Perhaps, but also as any innocent woman would. We arrived in Paris last evening, spoke to her husband, and found out the name of the man with whom she was apparently having the affair, Sir Denys de Montfort. We met with him shortly after, and he revealed a portrait of him with his lover, that he was to surprise her with that night. The woman in the portrait was not Lady Joanne.”
Marcus held up a hand, cutting off the prosecutor before he could interrupt, though he had to wait for the shock to subside upon the members of the Court. “Rest assured, I did consider the possibility that perhaps the artist was simply better suited to another profession, though his likeness of Sir Denys was excellent. This question as to the identity of the woman was enough to convince Sir Denys to let us accompany him to his latest rendezvous with the supposed Lady Joanne. We caught her, and she did indeed match the portrait painted in her honor. We challenged her as to her identity, and she refused to admit the truth. To settle the matter, we took her to meet her so-called husband, Lord Charles, and he confirmed he had never seen this woman before.”
Gasps filled the Court, an eruption of angry questions and charges of lies and deceit filled the air for several moments before a raised hand from the King settled them. Marcus continued.
“After interrogating her, she admitted she had been hired to impersonate Lady Joanne, the reason for which I am not yet aware, however I suspect it has something to do with what is going on here today.”
The prosecutor chuckled, a mocking smile on his face as he looked at those gathered. “And what would a Templar knight know of the goings on of the Court?”
Marcus finally acknowledged him. “Enough to smell a set-up when I see one.”
Chuckles and more outrage, likely split between those who believed the charges, and those who didn’t, spread through the room.
He raised a hand slightly. “I will only say this. Lady Joanne is innocent, as accepted by her husband and her alleged accomplice, and all charges against her should be dropped. And I would suggest, that all charges against these other women be examined carefully, for perhaps they too have been set up like Lady Joanne, in order to embarrass their husbands for some nefarious scheme someone in this Court is fully aware of.”
This time the outrage was near universal, the perceived insult to the Court unacceptable among those who held themselves above all others.
Time to leave.
He bowed deeply to King Philip, then spun, marching swiftly from the Court, Simon on his heels. They stepped outside and descended into the courtyard.
“Well, you certainly know how to make an impression.”
Marcus chuckled. “Too much?”
Simon shrugged. “Perhaps a little. Soon we won’t be welcome there at all.”
Marcus grunted. “I can’t say that would disappoint me.”