The Rise of la Vallée part I

Mordred's Tale

As the fire burned low in the hearth, outside the old croft the wild Highland wind whistled in the dark, and four auburn haired bairns gathered around their grandsire as he dozed.

"Tell us Grandda another tale. Please Grandda, please?"

The children piped at the old man. They clustered even closer around him, as they tugged at his plaids and implored him to speak again of times past. Finally, a craggy brow creaked open and a wild gleam of sea green eye appeared. The weather beaten face broke into a smile, like an early Spring sun upon the heather, as the wizened warrior looked upon his grandchildren.

"Och, ye nasty wee kerns, cannae a mon get nae rest in his dotage?"

"After a story, after a story, after a story!"

They chanted in unison, knowing the old man's bluster was simply that.

Seeming to ignore them, he closed his eyes again. But the children fell silent, knowing that he was ruminating on times long gone. Finally after what seemed an eternity to his young audience, the old man shifted in his chair, and as he stretched himself he showed a hint of the once tall and mighty swordsman he had been. As his eyes fully opened, they lit upon the long clae mor hanging above the fireplace. The flames glinted in the large piece of amber set in its pommel, not with red or yellow but with an odd gray green light more reminiscent of the old man's eyes.

"Alright then cease yer caterwauling, I'll tell ye a wee bit more of my visit amongst them prissy preening foreigners of Montaigne."

It was the third day of Quintus, 1669. I was still feeling more than a tad stiff from my wounds earned in the fight in the Charouse Cathedral the week before. Pukey foreigners with their accursed new fangled pistols!

I was then staying at an inn with Borstennskoldmund the Skjaeren, Avon Arthur, Antonio Mondavi, Sir Owain of Avalon and that strange Porté warlock of the many names and the many guises, Dandelion. I ken not the name of the inn now. In those days the Revolutionary Guard kept us on our toes shifting from inn to inn every other day, or so it seemed. In vein did I suggest to Borstennskoldmund that we would be a little less conspicuous if he cut off his three foot braids. The Vestenmannyvanjar was surprisingly offended by my proffered solution and said that for my own part I might assist if I were to change my kilt for the pukey trews which the others wore.

Borstennskoldmund and I were working up to a good old fashioned pub brawl over the issue of who was the most obvious when the landlord brought an envelope into the snug where we were breakfasting. This quelled the quarrel instantly. With horror we all watched him hand the document to Dandelion. We knew that every time that that wretched man got a letter from one of his endless array of ne'er do well so called friends, family and hangers on, it could only mean trouble for the rest of us.

The envelope was of exceptionally fine paper. The writing was in a fine copperplate script. Whilst at that time I was yet to learn the duckling scratchings that them Montaignans called writing, Dandelion groaned, saying that it was addressed to 'Denis'.

"My good man, I am Dandelion, there must be some mistake."

He said to our rotund innkeeper, extending the envelope back.

"No my lord... er I mean Citizen, the messenger said that I was to deliver it to the exceptionally well dressed dyer or pickle merchant staying here, and so you see..."

"Alright, alright, here's a Pistole for trouble, merci."

As the landlord scurried away, we grouped around Dandelion. Dandelion then opened the letter with what appeared to be a silver stiletto which he produced from no where. Antonio asked him whether the document was a plea by one of Dandelion's cousins who wanted us to shift Montaigne a little to the left so as to give the whole country a fashionable tilt? Borstennskoldmund opined that, no, surely, it was an invitation to perform again at the opera or perhaps some fan mail for him. Avon scratched his golden locks and inquired where Pistol was, querying whether it was yet another report of that strange Innishman's arrest? I simply groaned quietly to myself.

"Non, non. It is none of those things. It simply asks me... er I mean someone called Denis... to gather as many armed followers as I, I mean he, can and get them to the Place dela Revolution, as near as possible to the Chambre du Parlement, by midday. The letter is simply signed with the letter B. Most curious."

But who was B? We all quizzed Dandelion as he rattled off a score or more names of friends, acquaintances, relatives and enemies whose names could possibly be abbreviated down to a single "B". Avon then said that maybe it had something to do with someone involved in the new Montaigne Parliament? This reduced Dandelion's list down to three or four, the most likely of which seemed to be Armand la Bierê, a deputy in the Parliament and a leader of the la Couronne faction.

One of us, I ken not now, asked Dandelion who or what was la Couronne anyway? With some weariness Dandelion embarked upon a long and convoluted explanation of the various cliques within the Chambre du Parlement. His lengthy discourse seemed to boil down to the fact that there were two main groups, the more fashionably dressed la Couronne and the more gauche la Vallée. La Couronne seemed to prefer a cautious and moderate approach to change whereas la Vallée represented a more militant brand of revolution.

Dandelion sought to demonstrate his explanation by referring to the latest edition of La Plúme. His demonstration faltered in mid flight.

"Oh non, the idiots, non, non, c'est impossible"

What is it, we all asked? With increasing frayed patience, Dandelion explained.

"Today is the first Amordi of the month, that is the day when any deputy may propose any motion without notice from the floor of the Chamber. Just the sort of day when some fool is likely to throw a lit chandelier into the powder store!

And if I recall rightly, my friend la Bierê was never over supplied with judgment"

After some debate we agreed, that one way or the other, we should go to the Chambre du Parlement to see what was unfolding. And then I looked at Borstennskoldmund's braids, he looked at my kilt, and as one we turned and gazed upon the bloody Porté stains on Dandelion's hands... But how? Surely the place would be ringed with Revolutionary Guards and they would recognize us instantly? Suddenly Sir Owain ceased sucking on the leek held in his hand, the last of his breakfast, and said, why not go as obviously as possible, perhaps as a bizarre tribe of natives from the Midnight Archipaelego?

Sir Owain's plan proved that he was cannier than most of those from Avalon and it was with great gusto that we commenced painting ourselves red, donning grass skirts [which are not all that different from breezy kilts actually], mocking up false bones through our noses and a variety of garish, if not absolutely hideous, face paints. Dandelion in particular made a magnificent job of disguising himself as a Midnight Archipaelegan shaman complete with greased spiked hair, at the same time saving lots of red paint on his lower arms. Antonio decided that he would pose as the great Castillan explorer, Amerigo Colombo, and donned his puffiest sleeved tunic and his most outrageously coloured cloak [it was only later as we strolled down the streets of Charouse that Antonio remembered that the only phrase in Castillan that he knew involved describing how his flying conveyance was full of eels, but every good plan requires at least one fatal flaw!]. Avon and Sir Owain, being less implicated in our previous counter revolutionary activities, decided that they would remain in mufti as the companions of the great Colombo.

It was after 11.00 o'clock when we left the inn [och I wish I could remember which one it was, the kitchen there did a particularly passable spotted jock as I recall] and we immediately noticed that there were many people in the street already. Most of whom were sans culottes brandishing a variety of improvised weapons and the odd firearm or rapier. Good, I thought to myself, for once Dandelion has not sewn us into the haggis, we will have lots of potential allies if trouble brews. But as we drew closer and closer to the Chambre du Parlement our erstwhile allies started to repetitively chant "la Vallée, la Vallée". Somehow they did not strike me as likely to prove to be friends to Monsieur la Bierê... One of them dropped a shiny new coin which rolled into our path. Avon stooped to pick it up, noting how recent the minting appeared to be, one of the new revolutionary Pistoles fresh from the coin press, before returning it to its cudgel wielding owner.

Indeed, the streets leading into the Place dela Revolution were choked with people chanting "la Vallée" many of whom seemed to clutch similar coins. Dandelion noted with concern the odd well dressed group or individual hurrying away in the opposite direction from the Chambre du Parlement. Dandelion pointed out to us one deputy of the la Couronne faction who, when he saw Dandelion, ducked into an alley way, a sheepish expression his face. Aye, I could feel the haggis closing about us as usual!

Finally we were making almost negligible progress due to the throng when Avon suggested that if we could not pass through, then why not over, pointing to the terraced roof tops of the houses abutting the avenues which fed into the Place dela Revolution. And so up we went. I was surprised that the crowd paid so little attention to us but as all foreigners are mad, particularly those of Montaigne, perhaps the madder a man behaves amongst them, then the more he fits in?

As we made our way over the last alley way to the apartment buildings facing towards the Chambre du Parlement, some 100 yards or so across the Place dela Revolution, Borstennskoldmund saw below us a troop of Montaigne horse artillery concealed in the alley. By this time the shriek of "la Vallée, la Vallée" was almost deafening.

We crept to the edge of the building up which we had clambered to see a young ensign, with a powdered wig and slightly olive cast to his complexion arguing with a burly sergeant of artillery. I could just make out over the crowd the young ensign's order to the sergeant to deploy the cannon in the street to clear the Place dela Revolution and the sergeant's insolent refusal. Trouble was indeed brewing.

Things moved quickly at this point. The young ensign drew his pistol, cocked it and pointed it square in the sergeant's face as he repeated his order. Borstennskoldmund then leapt onto a nearby laundry line and sought to swing into either the ensign or the sergeant, it did not appear to me quite clear who, but only succeeded in landing face down on the cobbles below, miraculously free from major injury. Avon knocked an arrow which he loosed towards the ensign and the sergeant, narrowly missing them both. I grabbed one of my trusty harpoons which I threw with all my might hoping to disarm the young ensign before blood was spilt and a riot started. The Montaigne troopers cried out and the sergeant bashed the butt of his musket into the ensign's jaw. By the time I scrambled down to see if Borstennskoldmund required assistance, the ensign lay unconscious on the ground whilst the sergeant led the artillery troop away from the Place dela Revolution. From the roof top Sir Owain called out that he could see another troop of artillery from across the square, which was also hurrying away. Had we averted a massacre or had we simply laid extra faggots on a pyre which would ultimately consume most of Montaigne? Only time would tell.

Borstennskoldmund and I returned to the roof and made our way with the others to look out over the Place dela Revolution. There were some other strangers sight seeing on the roof who waived companionably at Dandelion. As we gazed into the square, on the main balcony of the Chambre du Parlement appeared the Herald du Parlement. A loud hailer in his hand seemed to magnify his voice far more than it should as he called for silence. Like the calm before the storm, the throng filling the Place dela Revolution hushed themselves. In my minds eye it seemed that the whole city throbbed in time to one massive heart beat as all of Charouse, nae all of Montaigne, turned their whole attention, all of their hopes and fears, onto what was occurring inside the Parliament.

The Herald's voice boomed out again, the acoustics of the square seemed marvelously focused onto that balcony, from which once l'Empreur himself had addressed his subjects.

"Citizens, the Chambre du Parlement is now in session.

The Speaker calls out for any motions without notice.

Deputy Armand la Bierê rises to his feet."

[boos from the crowd at this point, emanating from a number of spots about the square, as if this was all somehow pre-arranged].

"Silence! Deputy la Bierê proposes a motion. He moves that:-

1. The Council of Eight be directed to resign.

2. Jean Marie Rois et Reignes and Anne du Montaigne be appointed as regents.

3. All new penal laws be temporarily suspended until the Regents assume power."

[boos and loud vehement cries of "Treason", "Traitors", "Reactionary Dogs", "Death to la Couronne" etc filled the square, as well as, of course, "la Vallée"]

For a moment the herald was drowned out before once again the strangely booming voice emanating from his loud hailer quelled the noise.

"The Speaker calls for a seconder.

The Speaker again calls for a seconder.

[silence]

The Speaker again calls for a seconder and says that if none come forth then the motion fails.

[silence]

The Speaker announces that... non, wait, Deputy Henri du Milhaud seconds the motion."

[more boos, cat calls and chants of 'la Vallée']

"Silence. Deputy la Bierê seeks to speak to the motion but Councillor Hubert du Gloyure moves that the preposterous motion be put to the vote on the instant so that the time for the business of liberty is not further wasted by such nonsense.

Dozens rise to second Councillor du Gloyure's motion.

Councillor du Gloyure's motion is carried by acclamation.

Deputy la Bierê's motion is put.

There is a division.

53 oui.

217 non.

The motion fails."

[cheers and screams of relief from the crowd].

"Silence. Councillor du Gloyure now moves that Deputy la Bierê be arrested and that all those who supported Deputy la Bierê's motion be expelled from the Chambre du Parlement as plotters against the nation.

Councillor Arnaud du Charouse seconds the motion.

The motion is put.

There is a division.

165 oui.

101 non.

The motion carries."

[more cheers and screams of 'la Vallée']. The expelled deputies then began to leave the Chambre du Parlement singly or in small groups. The waiting crowd began to tear up flag stones from the square and in an instant the first expelled la Couronne deputies were felled by a hail of missiles from the angry citizens.

My friends and I looked at each other, the grim expressions on our faces saying without words that we could not permit this massacre to happen. Avon produced a long length of rope which he fixed to an arrow. Borstennskoldmund returned to his washing line where he found a convenient pulley. Dandelion opened up a bloody rent in space from which he drew a big ball of sturdy twine. By this time our sight seeing colleagues on the roof top began to edge away from us, carrying with them long barreled hunting muskets which they had amazingly concealed from the eagle eye of Dandelion. Who had they planned to shoot? We never found out for they swiftly fled down the stairs whilst in the square a fresh batch of la Couronne deputies was felled by the masses.

With a mighty shot, Avon fired his arrow across the square, imbedding itself into the gilded awning above the balcony of the Chambre du Parlement. As the Herald looked on in amazement, Borstenskoldmund fixed the pulley to the rope attached to Avon's arrow as Dandelion in turn fixed the twine to the pulley. And with a huge cry of

"Yipppppeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"

Borstenskoldmund slid down the rope clutching the pulley which propelled him onto the balcony beside the astonished Herald. Antonio and Owain swiftly pulled upon the length of twine so that the pulley would return to our roof top. By the time Antonio had slipped down the rope to the balcony, Dandelion had opened a bloody hole in space, filling our roof top with the smell of sulphur and the other worldly shrieks which accompany such Porté rents, and he boldly stepped in, his eyes fastened shut.

Once Owain had again drawn back the pulley. I went to tip my tam-o'-shanter at Owain as I grabbed the pulley from him, but instead only found the bit of bone tied up in my hair, which I tweaked at him instead. And I then slipped down the rope to the balcony. By this time Borstennskoldmund and Antonio were in a heated debate with the Herald that he should order the dispersal of the crowd and the cessation of the attacks on la Couronne deputies. It appeared that the so called non-partisan herald was staunchly la Vallée as he no less staunchly refused to accede to our requests. But when Dandelion appeared beside Borstennskoldmund through yet another bloody [and smelly] rent in the air, the Herald summoned the guards of the Chambre du Parlement. Things could have got nasty at that point but with one heroic swing of his deadly Dracheneisen zweihander, Borstennskoldmund felled the first six guards as they rushed out onto the balcony. In doing so, Borstennskoldmund's false headdress fell off and his two long straw coloured braids dangled neatly down his back. Oops...

Nevertheless, the Herald realized his precarious position and retrieved his loud hailer, ordering the crowd to disperse. But as he did so he mixed in with his monologue invective and curses against the hapless la Couronne. As the crowd began to leave the Place dela Revolution we ourselves realized that it was time to get away before more reinforcements could come to the Herald's assistance. Knowing that Sir Owain and Avon were safe across the square, for our part, we quickly clambered down the wall of the Chambre du Parlement making our way towards one of the many grates accessing the putrid sewers which underlie all of Charouse. With a grimace, Dandelion opened up yet another gory gap in space into which he stepped. As we went, I thought perhaps there are after all things that smell worse than the Charouse sewers?

After a brief sprint we made it to the grate. Borstennskoldmund and I heaved open the sewer grate just as a platoon of Revolutionary Guards entered the square. Maybe it was Theus who shielded us that day, or perhaps even good old Saint Kolomba, for although the Montaigne had time to give us a volley, Borstenskoldmund, Antonio and I were only slightly wounded before we slipped away into the dank if safe darkness of the sewers...

----

The old gaffer then shook his head distracted and brought back to the present by the even heavy breathing that surrounded him. He saw four nodding heads resting variously on his legs, the arms of his chair and on the floor beside him.

"Ah well ladies and lassies, we'll finish that tale another time, aye we will."

He whispered to himself as with effortless ease, despite his age, he gathered up all four bairns and carried them away to their beds.