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The Bell Tolls for Me 55: When the Cat’s Away, the Mice Will Play
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 07:03:28 +0000 UTC“Let us begin the first of many interregnum councils to decide who will take the throne after the departure of King Claude I,” Isabella said, her voice firm and clear. “As the king decreed before his departure, I will be presiding over this council as Princess Regent until a new king can be decided upon.”
Only two days had passed since King Claude abdicated. Nevertheless, these royal council chambers were packed with more people than they ever had been. There were people crowding the spaces behind those sitting at the council table. The prominence of one’s seat was proportional to the influence that one wielded. And right now, sitting at the foot of the table opposite Isabella at the head, sat Cesare. He and his men had made themselves rather comfortable in the royal palace. Still, Isabella felt safe with holy paladins all around.
“I believe that is an issue that should be addressed, Your Highness,” Prince Roland spoke up. “There is no precedent for a princess presiding over an interregnum.”
“There are few precedents for interregnums in general,” the new archbishop, Leo, spoke up. He was an older man with a kindly face. Though the archbishop was technically chosen by the College of Cardinals, Gaspar had all but chosen him personally. Gaspar gave Isabella assurances that he was both a man of integrity and a man firmly committed to Gaspar’s aims in the court, though Isabella thought those points seemed contradictory. Though he had been incredibly busy putting out the fire that Alistair had started, he was proving his positive predisposition to her right out of the gate.
“And beyond that, there is a deep history of women serving as regent in times of unrest,” another contributed—a cardinal.
“Yes, but such regencies mostly fell to the queen,” Roland continued.
“Or the sister of a recently departed king,” Leo argued.
“The role of regent would fall to the prime minister in the event the queen was incapable, and no others had been designated,” Isabella interrupted. “Namely, Archduke Felix. Even ignoring the fact that my assumption of this role is the direct order of the king, do you have any issue with my appointment, archduke?”
“None,” Felix said firmly. Prince Roland looked miffed, but he couldn’t argue the point further.
“Then the matter is settled,” Isabella said, brooking no room for argument. “Former legal interregnums saw a tremendously large assembly of nobles gather in the capital or another such suitable environment to vote upon the next king, with one’s rank bearing considerable weight. I see no reason to change that model. Geographical distance yet constrains many of the nobles of the realm, so we’ll not begin discussing the vote for a new king until a majority are present.”
Most people agreed with that assessment easily. They wanted time for their allies to arrive. Isabella noticed someone in particular. Bernadetta was sitting at the table. She must have been attending as a representative for her betrothed, Prince Rupert. Isabella had the power to break their engagement, but… perhaps now wasn’t the time to get distracted.
“While we wait for the other nobles of the realm to gather, I believe it prudent to establish which of the royals are in contention to take the throne,” Isabella said. “It will allow us to make valuable use of the time that we have while the others gather their forces.”
“So, you intend to suppress those who are not present to defend their claim?” one count called out.
“I merely wish to—”
Another person interrupted Isabella, with a voice louder than her own. A louder voice took its place. In response, Isabella looked to Gaspar. He gave a subtle signal, and all around the room, the holy Paladins began drumming their breastplates with their fists. Each strike came in unison, unsettling all those sitting—even Cesare. It very quickly served its purpose: restoring order. Only when Isabella raised her hand did all the paladins cease their loud pounding.
“I will not have this council devolve to a shouting match. This interregnum will have order and dignity from all its members… or they will be removed,” she declared, her voice quiet yet firm in the quietude that followed. “But nor will I have it be said that I am intimidating all of you into acquiescence. While I will remain the regent, I intend to assign the role of palatine to Duke Brett. He will ensure that all get their fair say in this council while maintaining order. Do you agree, duke?” She looked at the dignified old man.
Duke Brett stood up. “You honor me, Your Highness. I shall accept the role with pride.”
“Excellent,” Isabella said. “Let’s begin, then…”
***
Isabella caressed her head after the long and grating first day. Valerio’s mother, Veronica, stood by Isabella’s side, a stack of documents in hand.
“I took comprehensive notes on the proceedings. If you’d like to review them for tomorrow, feel free,” Veronica said. “You did quite well. I was pleased to see that you didn’t hesitate in prevailing upon Gaspar to make your authority known.”
Isabella rose to her feet. “Not only do I have to contend with well over a dozen candidates to the throne, each with their own distinct backing, I’m also doing this in the midst of an incredibly large religious schism. My support in the church is solid, but the church itself is too weak to provide genuine support. But above all…” she looked at Veronica. “I’m worried for Valerio.”
Veronica laughed heartily. “Have you ever seen my son fight?”
“Have you ever seen him outnumbered 5-to-1?”
“Yes,” Veronica said with a nod. “And that was before his gift from the elves.”
Isabella closed her eyes. “But these men are hardened mercenaries. And I know the man leading them well. He’s as skilled with his sword as he is with magic. Many people say that he’s as good a fighter as my father.”
Veronica put a reassuring hand on Isabella’s shoulder. The words that came out were less kind and gentle. “Stop being utterly daft. Do you really think I’m so terrible a mother as to raise my son so poorly that he would lose to that grinning devil you faced in the council today?”
Isabella looked up at her. “Why are you so confident?”
Veronica removed her hand and looked out the window. “My son has always been an unconventional fighter. Where most men use swords or spears, he used knives. When he starts a fight, it’s over very quickly… and in ways his foes never expect.”
***
“I need to borrow the holy paladins,” Valerio said plainly.
“You wish to ‘borrow’ a sacred order sworn to protect the sovereign of Dovhain?” Gaspar looked at him incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Of course.” Valerio nodded. “Come now, don’t be stingy. You know as well as I do that there’s no fighting force in the city as strong and as disciplined as they are. They’re what I need to expel these mercenaries from the city. I need them for my surprise attack.”
Gaspar scoffed, pacing around the room. “That’s a fruitless endeavor. Isabella has confirmed that Cesare has people in the royal court. The moment that the paladins leave the palace, I’m certain that they’ll signal to begin pillaging the city. It’s what Cesare fears most.”
“If we went about it in a stupid way, sure. But we just need to be clever,” Valerio said. “Outside of show-offs like you, most of the paladins aren’t recognized by their face. They wear these things called helmets.” He knocked Gaspar’s head with his knuckle, and the man flinched away. “For good reason. The head is important. If we swap out the holy paladins with normal people, Cesare’s people won’t be able to tell the difference between one suit of armor and another. So many people come and go in this place, it’ll be easy. The only thing that differentiates you in appearance from a normal warrior is that gaudy white armor that you wear.”
“It’s… dubious,” Gaspar said, his arms crossed.
Valerio put his hand on Gaspar’s shoulder. “Do you think I’d jeopardize Isabella if I wasn’t certain?”
***
Isabella wasn’t fully convinced.
“Even if he can muster the men… I worry about his ability to deal with those that have taken root in the city,” Isabella said. “From what I hear, they've based themselves around the walled estate of one of the princes within the bounds of the city. It was one of the few places that was untouched when Claude ascended the throne. Many mercenaries died trying to break in.”
Veronica poured herself a drink. “If I know my son… I think I can tell you when he’ll attack.”
Isabella stepped closer. She refused the offered drink. “When?”
“When the cat’s away…” Veronica downed the drink in one go. “The mice will play.”
***
“Why would I lend you my personal guard for this fool’s errand?” Felix asked Valerio.
Valerio stood before the Archduke’s desk. “To get rid of the mercenary, obviously. Bit of a dumb question, Your Grace.”
“Yes, hence my term, ‘fool’s errand.’”
“I’ve secured the—”
“Holy paladins, I know,” Felix interrupted, then leaned in. “Cesare may be able to be fooled by your… prank, but I’m not. Even with the holy paladins, it would be a difficult fight. His men entrench themselves in that walled estate within the city limits. It’s no castle, but it wouldn’t be easily taken, especially not when the attackers are outnumbered.”
Valerio put both of his hands on the desk. “Cesare has grown so confident in his superior numbers that he’s made a fatal mistake. He’s expending more effort placating his commanders than he is ensuring that his mercenary band remains a coherent fighting force.”
“What do you mean?” Felix asked.
Valerio tapped the table. “Every day, when the council starts, Cesare takes all of his commanders with him to the Royal Palace. None of them want to be left out of the proceedings. They think that they’ll be excluded from the deal if they’re not present. The men are left without a single commander to enforce discipline,” he said enthusiastically.
“When the cat’s away… the mice will play. Without any commanders, they leave the estate—the vast majority of them. Partly, they’re watching to see if their commanders will be betrayed, whereupon they’ve been given express orders to pillage the city. But mostly… they hate being cooped up in that estate. They want to drink, want to let out some of their baser needs. There’s only so much happiness a fine home can bring you.” Valerio stared hungrily.
Felix went silent for a few moments. “And what’s your plan? How can I be sure you’ll win, outnumbered as you are?”
***
“If I were to append a modest gloss to the venerable matron’s eloquent appraisal of her prodigious brute of a son, then let it be known that Valerio is, by all credible accounts, a monster of the highest pedigree,” Randolph said, his tone taking on its dryly humorous tone. “Like your late father, he enjoyed the distinction of reputed invincibility—never bested in combat, never humbled in duel. Rumor claims the two actually dueled to a draw.”
“Valerio dueled my father?” Isabella said in surprise.
Randolph nodded. “One hears tales whispered in taverns and courts alike. That he once boarded an enemy vessel single-handedly, once dispatched a dozen armed men alone, and once crossed blades with your father himself… only for the bout to conclude in a draw, when both drew blood concurrently.”
Veronica scoffed. “My son would never allow some pampered king to walk away from a duel with all his limbs.”
“I saw Edgar the Great only once,” Randolph said more seriously. “Only Valerio has since given me a similar feeling of dread. All this to say… fret not over your boy toy, Your Highness. I’m sure he’ll be back by nightfall to lavish you with puppy-dog eyes that disguise his concupiscent ambitions.”
“I’ll not have you accuse my son of concupiscence, nor his fiancée of inspiring such prurience,” Veronica said sternly.
Both Isabella and Randolph looked at Veronica in surprise.
“…I believe I’ve missed the meaning,” Isabella admitted.
“Better that way,” Randolph and Veronica both said, then looked at each other. There was slight rivalry in their eyes, but mostly curiosity.
Isabella sighed and walked to the window, gazing out. What would the future hold?
***
Cesare tried his best to pay attention as the proceedings of the council played out, but he had to admit… the nuances of ruling were incredibly dull. His band had been indulging in the delicacies of the capital for well over three days now, and the various factions that were forming in the city were beginning to come into focus. Isabella kept her word. She had done no more courting. The offer that she made was still among the most tempting, though, and none would even dare approach it. Certainly not Albert himself.
Rather than willingly make themselves hostages, the majority of the nobles that arrived had made camp outside the capital and sent representatives rather than attend personally. Even Duke Albert hadn’t yet entered the city. Cesare would allow these representatives in, but not with their guards. He didn’t want anything to shift the delicate balance of power. This occupation promised to be a very long process, but the potential payout was far beyond what he could get by looting this city.
His eyes naturally wandered to one of the many holy paladins standing guard. Once, his father had nearly intended that life for him. That was why he had grown so adept at the sword and magic. But in the end, his father had given that role to Gaspar that Cesare might have more flexibility. He thanked his father every day for that choice.
As he watched, though… he saw the helmet that the paladin was wearing slide down his face. The man corrected it.
His helmet’s too big, Cesare realized with amusement.
For a few moments, it was nothing more than an amusing anecdote. But as he thought about it more…
All holy paladins have customed-forged armor when they’re given the role, Cesare reflected. They stay in rigorous shape. What could’ve made his helmet too large?
His eyes wandered around the room, scanning the various different paladins standing guard. The one that he had seen wasn’t an anomaly. The discipline that he had seen on display his first day in attendance at this council was nowhere to be found. He saw slackening postures, oversized armor, men fiddling with the pommel of their swords, paladins openly yawning, leaning against walls…
It was only when he saw Knight-Commander Gaspar standing straight and disciplined in stark contrast that he realized that something was definitely very amiss.
Cesare stood to his feet very suddenly. His breathing was heavy, and he stared Princess Isabella in the eye.
“Is something the matter?” Isabella asked.
Her face, her tone… it was subtle, but Cesare could tell right away. Something was wrong.
“Pray excuse me a moment—I find myself in need of a short reprieve,” Cesare said composedly.
At that, he turned and left the council room as quick as his feet would carry him. His best men followed behind him while his other commanders remained behind, but as he looked down the grandiose halls of the Royal Palace, he felt infinitely more vulnerable than the days before. If those weren't the holy paladins in that room...
Cesare came to a window overlooking the city, and scanned the buildings frantically. He took a deep breath when he saw what he feared most.
Battle.
“Cesare, son of the traitor Archbishop Pius,” came a strong and authoritative voice. He whipped his head to its source. Those ‘holy paladins’ stood there, swords readied unprofessionally. They must’ve been common soldiers or the like. “Under the authority of the Princess Regent, for the crime of conspiracy to commit treason, you’re being placed under—”
Cesare drew his sword. “We must make for the city!” he commanded his men. “Rejoin the others!”
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Comments
Isak Mark
“Anyone that can offer you better than what I am is simply lying. There is a route for your success. If you’re wise, you’ll take it.” our merc should have taken the deal instead of facing possible ruin.
Basil Harpham
Luckily they only needed one day.
