Chapter Sixty-Four
I think it was Napoleon that said that a successful campaign involved ninety percent marching, and ten percent positioning. Whatever the reason, King Joseph had allowed the movement of a couple hundreds of men from the local garrison, and with the baton that marked me as a Marshal of Gallia, I had the dubious privilege of requisitioning more from whatever lord I came across if I so wished.
Hell, if I really wanted to make enemies, I could pretty much tell them to suck it up and get armored, because they were coming to the front-lines with me. The baton of the Marshal was pretty much similar to a Rod of Absolute Command, if without any magic associated with it. A wave of this, and any random noble in the street that swore fealty to the King would hurriedly follow, since otherwise they'd be marked as traitors of the crown.
Of course, it was always better to simply accept what a lord gave you, rather than requisition from them.
The lands of Gallia were beautiful to behold. Lots of rivers, forests, mountains-the entire country was a beauty unlike any others, and as I couldn't help but admire the countryside, a nearby knight with a crimson rose etched over his armor drew nearer. He was middle-aged, with salt and pepper hair, if by pepper one intended a light hazel-like color.
"The knights are wondering why the army is necessary, your highness."
"Lord...Castlemorre," I said, remembering his name. "The reason is that I wish to avoid bloodshed. My hope is that at the sight of overwhelming odds, if anyone wishes to act as a troublemaker, they'll rather surrender. I sure hope there won't be the need to spill any blood," I smiled. "My dear wife thought I might be in danger though, but rest assured, except for protecting me, you will not have to do anything else unless the situation drastically changes."
"As the knight-captain of the Eastern Rose, whatever is to be done will be done, your highness," Lord Castlemorre said plainly, "but going so slowly, won't the troublemakers know of our arrival?"
"It's what I'm hoping, honestly," I said with a sigh. "That way, if they go into hiding it is because they have something to hide, and if they do not, then they'll face us head on. In matters of religion, I have found that the best key to deal with it is a mixture of moderation, and a firm hand."
Lord Castlemorre perhaps didn't share my ideas, but he didn't voice an opinion, nor a suggestion, thus I let him be.
The County of Brittany was divided in small areas under the control of various petty nobles, who normally made their castles the hubs of commerce throughout the region. Isabella had explained it once, but it hadn't become clear what she meant until I saw it with my own eyes.
In this world, whenever there was trouble, a villager sent a letter to his village head, who in turn sent it to his lord, that in turn mobilized his knights, or called for the knights of a greater still lord. If the troubles reached a certain point, they sent a letter to the king himself, asking for his knights to provide aid.
I had expected the situation to be resolvable not with ease, but at least with a modicum of decency.
I hadn't expected the stakes to already be filled with the burned corpses of Protestants in the town square as we went by it, headed for the castle. The sour look in the people's faces told me everything I needed to know about how much they enjoyed such a thing, even though some were relatively happy. Honestly, whenever there's misery, extremism brews. So, if you want to avoid extremism, rather than burn people to the stake, start burning pigs and cows and giving food to everyone. The Romans might have crumbled, but they knew the truth of the world.
A population with a full stomach and entertained has no reason to rebel to their government, or to as much as lift a finger to right a wrong.
"It appears Lord Nantes has taken things in his own hands," Lord Castlemorre said, his lips twitched in displeasure from the sick, cloying smell that hung in the square. "He must have left the carcasses there-"
"Have them cut down and buried," I said flatly.
"They must have been excommunicated-"
"By the local clergy, but unless the Lord here has a letter signed by the church of Romalia, he had no right to a Heresy Inquiry. Thus, they are still our brothers in the faith, misguided as they might have been," I drawled, locking eyes with the Lord in question. "Rather than leave their bodies to be eaten by the vultures-have them cut off and buried. It's an order, Lord Castlemorre."
The middle-aged knight nodded, and then gestured to a few musketeers who sharply saluted before rushing to execute the order.
The citizens looked on with puzzled, or perhaps glad looks -having to sleep or live with the smell of rotting corpses in their squares might not have been the best thing for them.
The city itself was called Naintais, and while it wasn't big -and definitely stayed into the village bracket- it still had a few amenities that many smaller villages lacked, like barracks, an official church, and stuff like that.
The Lord of Nantes was a portly man with a pair of thick mustaches, hair orange -I had stopped bothering about the bizarre colors that the genetics of this world brought forth, but still, flamboyant orange had been a color I had been missing from my roster up until now- and with a severe sweating problem. He arrived in the middle of the square with a small retinue of soldiers, who however remained uneasily back at the sight of my own men -or perhaps, at the retinue of knights that escorted me.
"Lord Hugh Nantes?" I remarked from my manticore, Freedom staring at the man like someone would a tasty marshmallow, drips of saliva actually falling from his tongue. Bad manticore, you can't eat the noble. With all of the cholesterol in his body, he might just give you a heart attack.
"W-What is the meaning of this?" he said hurriedly from atop his horse -the poor beast panting already from having been pushed to a gallop, "I gave orders to keep the corpses in display! I don't know whose knights you are, but-"
I raised my baton and very, very calmly waved it right and left in front of his eyes. The paling of his skin made it clear he at least understood he was in no position to counterman any of my orders, and his own retinue actually took a few more steps backwards, as if to say he's the one you want, right? We're just commoners, and we're going to do our very best to become part of the furniture, or the landscape. "The letter, Lord Nantes," I said flatly.
"The...the letter?" the man mumbled.
"The letter from the Church of Romalia that allows you to do a Heresy Inquiry," I said calmly, "The permission of the Bishop and a letter from the Church of Romalia allowing it. Do you have both?"
"The Bishop-he said to go ahead," the Lord said.
"I understand," I nodded, "But the permission from the Church of Romalia?"
The man began to sweat visibly more, clasping his hands together. "They were commoners-certainly for such things-it was quicker this way."
"Better to ask forgiveness later, than permission? Is that it? Are you telling me you did this on your own? Lord Nantes, this isn't how things work. The Crown deals with this. Do you understand? Do you have any heirs?"
"Ah-yes," he nodded, "My beautiful daughter, Clementine! Would her grace, the marshal, like to meet with her?"
"No," I said flatly. "It's unfortunate," I sighed. "Really unfortunate." I raised a hand, and the musketeers formed a line right in front of me. First row down on one knee. Second row standing up. At that, the retinue of the Lord took a few more steps back. While some of them perhaps had a musket or two, the vast majority that had followed their lord was made of pikemen. "Lord Hugh Nantes, in my name as Prince Henry Philippe de la Valliere, marshal of Gallia, you are under arrest for the unlawful execution and burning of innocents."
The lord's eyes widened as no words left his open mouth. He shivered quite violently, and then hastily turned his horse kicking it as hard as he could, trying to escape. He could have surrendered, but he was probably scared senseless.
He couldn't hope to corrupt a Prince. If it had been any petty noble, or simply a bunch of knights-
"Shoot him down," I said, and the muskets did so.
The line of bullets traveled forward, impacting more than once against the horse, and the noble's back. As he fell down, a cry left his body even as I neared, the line infantry breaking up to allow me passage. The retinue of the lord didn't even bother rising to his defense. Honestly, they were far more busy kneeling and keeping their eyes down.
"You shouldn't have run, Lord Nantes," I said calmly. "Unless...is there something else you wanted to hide?" the soft groaning that came from the body riddled with bullets told nothing new, even as Lord Castlemorre drew near.
"Your grace-permission to use Water Magic?"
I thoughtfully looked at the bleeding noble, and then at the citizens that had gathered at the sound of gunshots to stare from the windows, or at the edge of the square.
"Why? I was going to sentence him to death anyway," I replied as I raised a hand. "Citizens of Naintais!" I roared, and my voice came out as strong as possible, making the commoners flinch. I had good lungs for a reason. "Henceforth, your territory is under direct control of the Crown of Gallia! The house of Nantes is from this moment forth cast into misery!"
"Permission to at least end his sufferings?" Lord Castlemorre asked as I finished speaking to the people gathered in the square.
The whimpering of the lord on the ground -it actually made my blood boil. What right did he have to meow like a simpering kitten, when he had burned people to the stake like slabs of meat? Did he think he'd get off this easily? Did he think I'd let him get away with this if he pleaded strongly enough?
"No," I said flatly. "You," I pointed at a random musket-wielding commoner, "Come forth." The man widened his eyes as he did so. "Affix bayonet."
"Y-Your highness-" the commoner actually stammered, understanding dawning on him.
"Affix. Bayonet."
The man did so.
"Your grace!" Lord Castlemorre exclaimed, "At the very least-"
"Lord Castlemorre!" I snarled, turning my sight on him. "Death on the stake is one of the most horrible deaths there can ever be!" I growled, my hands clenched tightly. "I will not have any of the subjects of this reign, be they commoners or nobles, think for just one second that using it wrongly will be approved by either me, or the Crown! So I want this to be remembered, and I want you to remember it." I narrowed my eyes. "The day we leave behind the laws that make the Kingdom of Gallia strong and just is the day we lose more than just our honor," I raised a hand towards the commoner, who swiftly affixed the bayonet. "It is the day we lose any right to call ourselves nobles! And thus-if we lose our right as nobles..." I brought my hand down, and the commoner obeyed, the last whimper of the lord coming with the choking on his blood, "Then we must die like commoners."
I took a deep breath and turned my sight away from the dead Lord. "Your name," I said to the commoner.
"Ah...ah..." the man looked at the bloody tip of his bayonet, and then up at me. "Arnold-your highness!" he hastily lowered his gaze.
I nodded. "Next time I tell you to affix bayonets, Arnold," I said calmly, "I expect you to do so without being told again." The man shuddered, head low. "That said," I continued, "job well done. Return to your post."
"Y-yes, your highness!" and with that, he marched hastily back in place.
I hummed as I looked at the silent crowd. "Now," I said with quite the calm tone, "did he say something about the bishop?"
Lord Castlemorre recovered his composure surprisingly fast.
Though by the time we reached the church, he was honestly expecting me to burn it down to the ground.
Silly Lord Castlemorre...
...you really know nothing of the Rule of Steel, do you?
