Vol. 3: The Roman Orgy
Three months into my term as Duke of Averic, things were finally starting to recover from the tumult of the plague. With almost one-third of the population perished, I reorganized the serfs so that the nearest, most productive fields were adequately tended. Some of the crop in fields nearest the border ended up rotting on the vine for lack of manpower at harvest time. With fewer goods and services produced, there was less income to Castle Averic. It would cost money to rebuild the guard to a sufficient size to protect the province—but now was not the time to demand more money of the few, bereaved peasants that remained. I dipped into the family's own treasury to help keeps things afloat and cut back on unnecessary expenses, like fancy balls.
Even the Church was suffering. The Archbishop and I had a personal enmity dating to my childhood, but I respected the important role that Church played in the lives of the people and knew that the Church and state served to counterbalance each others' power. Clergy had been especially hard-hit by plague, perhaps because they had been exposed to so many of the ill when administering last rights. And the peasants, in dire straits, were unable to give to the extent that they used to. Just how hard the plague had been for the Church became clear to me when I received a call from Sister Dominia, Abbess of the Convent of Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering. They Abbey lay in the east of Averic, near the border to the King's own lands. When I was a schoolboy, Sister Dominia taught catechism, and we thought she was so old that she would fall over dead in the midst of the lesson. Ten years and one plague later, half of her convent had perished, but Sister Dominia continued on.
"Sister Dominia!" I exclaimed in half-disbelief as she came to see me for an audience.
"Your Grace," she replied as she strode forward.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked.
"The Abbey," she said, getting straight the point as she always had, "is in dire need. So many sisters were taken by plague that one of the two halls of the Abbey stands empty. The roofs of our buildings leak so badly the sisters get drenched if they are saying vespers during a storm. There aren't enough of us to tend the grapes, so we will produce little wine this year, and that is our only source of income. We need help."
"I am sorry to hear that, Sister," I said honestly, "but surely the Archbishop is the one who can help you?"
"The Archbishop has turned his back on us," she answered bitterly. "In the past, the Archdiocese could help when needed, but there is barely enough coming in to the coffers to keep the churches open. He has told us flatly that he cannot help us out."
"Unfortunately, the plague has hit us all hard," I answered. "The fields likewise have not enough peasants to farm them, and tax revenue is way down. I have had to use my own personal funds to pay the guard. We are all in the same boat."
"And that boat shall sink if we do not patch it soon," she replied. She wasn't surprised that the government couldn't help, but she owed it to her Abbey to ask. "We would take any assistance we can get—if not financial, manpower, materials, anything."
"If we can spare anything, I shall think of you," I promised. Sister Dominia bowed and took her leave. We both knew those words likely meant nothing.
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While it seemed everything was suffering from the results of the plague, one industry thrived: witch hunting. The superstitious masses blamed almost everything bad on witches, and a group of them somewhere decided that witches must have been behind the plague, and set about trying to uncover their coven. Mysterious flyers titled "Identifying Wytches and Wytchcraft" were circulating, not just in Averic but throughout the kingdom. Across the realm women of all sorts, and even a few men, were being charged with witchcraft. In almost all of the other fiefdoms, witches were turned over to the Church for prosecution. What happened to them depended on the diocese, but the vast majority ended up being tortured to death.
Not so in Averic.
I personally tried those suspected of witchcraft, and had exonerated the accused in every case. At first, I had even offered positions in my household staff to the fairest of the accused, and as a result I had two lovely two paramours living in my castle. Eve had been the first; raven-haired, ample of bosom and in her mid-twenties, she was an experienced and sophisticated lover. Arianna was in many ways her opposite; flame-red haired, slight, and younger even than I at 20, she was naïve and inexperienced but made up for it with a strong willingness to please. I was fortunate indeed, but had also had resolved to take on no more, even if my finances would have permitted it. I wished both of my concubines to be equals, and vowed to share myself with them equally—but I also thought that I would be the one to initiate relations with them. Instead, there developed a friendly competition for my attention as each sought to reassure herself that she remained in my favor. Thus each became increasingly proactive in offering me her charms, and in order to avoid jealousies forming and keep peace in the house I felt I should not turn down any reasonable advances. Thus I found myself passing nearly every idle moment engaged in the pleasures of the flesh. A wonderful problem to have, but one I had to maintain limits on, or surely I would expend so much energy on me personal entertainments as to neglect my responsibilities as Duke. That is why the arrival of Maris caused me such concern.
The guards had heard reports of a stranger being seen in a border town. They located and questioned her, then brought her to me to decide her disposition. As she was brought forward, Jauffrey announced "The Duke shall now hear the case of Maris, vassal of the Count of Merseinne."
