29 October 2020

Triggers:

Fragments were found…

‘I’d like to introduce you to our Dungeon Master.’

Footprints in the snow

The Count pays his tax

They had escaped into the blizzard, just ahead of the Count’s awareness of his family’s jewels and gold being missing. Justin de Tourney had gone to the strongroom deep in the interior of the turreted stone castle that his family had inhabited for 300 years. He was bringing down the latest taxes he had collected from his vassals at the end of a dinner in the long main hall and wished to secure them before heading to his quarters for sleep.

It was his traditional quarterly feast that brought together all his subordinates from the surrounding fiefs. The knights, men at arms and village prelates who ruled in his behalf in his sprawling lands in the center of france, were required to bring all monies wrung from the peasants, merchants and tradesmen on the last saturday of every third month. Each had a quota and favors or punishments were meted out depending on their submissions at the beginning of the dinner.

Those exceeding their target were granted more territory to scavenge for the next quarter, usually at the expense of those who had disappointed Count Justin with their take. His vassals greatest fear was being the one who failed the most in reaching his amount for the quarter. De Tourney’s chamberlain would tally the totals while the dinner was being served. There were those who knew they would survive the evening drank and ate and laughed and caroused. There were those who knew they had not done well but felt they would survive another day. They ate quietly and spoke little, not wishing to attract any attention.

Then there was the last group. Those who were on the cusp of being the one who brought in the lowest amount against their quota. It mattered not to De Tourney if the land under one of his minions was rich or poor or had been reduced over time making it ever harder to extract tribute. He was only interested in his gathering wealth. Those who could not help him were considered weak and ultimately to be discarded and their land given to the most successful. At the end of his meal, Justin would command his chamberlain to come forward and present the parchment containing the accounts. One by one, he would call out the name of his vassal and note his success or failure with an appropriate reward or punishment. Such that the most rapacious of his men became ever more in charge of Justin’s territory.

And it was the last which he had called forward on this cold gray evening in the dead of winter. “Remy Guisement, stand before me. You have been warned before about your lack of aggression in fulfilling your requirements as my vassal. What have you to say for yourself?”

Sir Remy Guisement was one of the Count’s knights and master of arms. His father, Albert had served Justin’s father well in the wars, saving the old Count’s life on more than one occasion and been rewarded with a small estate of farms and villages that had prospered under Albert’s wisdom and favor. Remy had inherited his father’s skill with horse and sword and bow. Likewise he was a kind and benevolent manager of his lands and people. He cared for them and protected them as much as possible against the predations of de Tourney. He often used his own portion of bounty from the lands to cover the tax demanded by Justin, saving his people from poverty. He ensured they had enough grain and animals in store for the long cold winters. But this year the harvest had been destroyed by a late season hail storm after a long hot and dry summer. Thus their combined larders would only allow them to barely survive the winter and have enough seed remaining for planting in the following year.

Remy was taller and stronger than most men of his day. Long years of riding and tending to the needs of his people and lands left him lean and confident. His long dark hair streamed down his back as he gazed directly with his light blue eyes into the dark holes of de Tourney. “My Lord. The Guisements have served your family faithfully for generations. We have never failed in our commitment to support the de Tourney’s against your enemies or with our share of income to your Lordship. But you must know, this year has been extraordinary in its devastation to our people and land. We will barely survive this winter as it is. What little we have will allow us to once again plant our fields in the next year so that we may repay your Lordships benevolence in the future.”

The room was absolutely silent. Even the hounds, scrounging for scraps on the floor under the tables, sensed the tension in the room and stopped their chewing, looking out at the humans for a sign of what was to take place. De Tourney’s long thin closely cropped bearded face remained impassive for a moment, then exploded in anger. “So you blame your failure on the weather? Not one other of my men have used such a lame excuse in bringing in their portion. And then, in your next breath you admit that you have left the peasants with sufficient fare for next year? Next year will take care of itself. It is the now I’m concerned with and it is clear to me that you are not willing, or able, to do what is necessary to serve our needs. I think it is time to introduce you to our Dungeon Master so you can learn that your family history gives you no special favors. I declare your lands and possessions forfeit. I believe Sir Wintour will be able to bring order and fealty to those vagrants who live on those lands.”

Guillome Wintour, stood and bowed. Wintour was the worst of de Tourney’s men. A glutton for food and cruelty. He had clashed often with Remy both in the field and in counsel to de Tourney, always coming out the poorer. His hatred of Remy had a longstanding base. “I am certain my lord that the former lands of Guisement have much left to offer. It shall be a pleasure to extend your lordship’s requirements over them.”

Remy stood impassive, taking in the events unfolding before him. It had not been unexpected. At an order from de Turney, two guards came forward taking him by the elbows out of the room toward the guardroom and the stairs which led down to the dungeon.

Wintour preened and raised his cup to the Count. “May I drink to your health My lord. And to your wise decision in ridding us of this man who pretends to serve you.” And he laughed and the room burst into loud conversation and cups were filled and the debauchery escalated. The Count sat and watched and smiled slightly at how he had finally found the men who’s loyalty served only to him. And he thought about the increased riches that would be his. He could barely wait to go down to his vault and regard again his growing wealth. For the moment he stayed to observe.

As they reached the end of the stairs to the gate of the dungeon, one of the men called out.“Dungeon Master, we have a prisoner for you. Count de Tourney said you are to teach him a lesson.”

The hairy brute, reeking of fat and sweat and blood, came forward clanking his keys. “Ahh then, something to warm me on this cold night” he declared as he unlocked the iron grate leading in to the dungeon. Opening the gate he declared, “I’ll take him from here,”

But as he pulled Remy through, one of the guards pushed hard against the gate while Remy grabbed the keys from the dungeon masters hands, pushing him to the floor. Both guards then jumped on the flailing dungeon master, beating him into submission with their truncheons.

“Quick now, Sebastian, you bind and gag that monster and put him in the last cell. Clement, you come with me to the strongroom. I think it is time we liberate some of the wealth of the count and return it to the people to whom it belongs. We have much to do.” Sebastian and Clement were long time friends with Remy. They came from families who lived on Remy’s estate and were well aware of what would happen to them once Wintour took over.

Remy had prepared well. Clement came back down from the guard room carrying 4 large satchels. The powder room next to the strongroom was opened and 4 barrels of gunpowder transferred from one to the other. While the two guards gathered up jewels and gold into the satchels, Remy prepared the surprise that would greet the Count when he came to make his deposit.

A cocked pistol was fixed in a pile of black powder with a piece of line attached to the trigger so that when the door was pushed open, it would flash into the black powder. A line of powder was led into the powder room next door. The door to the strongroom was left ajar and the gate open as the three men climbed the stairs back up to the small door which exited the castle through an underground tunnel. Footsteps in the snow led them to where three horses being held by an armed guard, another of Remy’s men from inside the castle, and off they road into the blizzard and the night.

Justin, Count de Tourney, had enjoyed the evening. He had a full sack of gold and silver, had rid himself of the one vassal who had resisted his extraction of every sous from his domain and now had only his most loyal men in control. They had all drunk themselves into a stupor and were laid out on the tables and floor, snoring loudly. Yes, it had been a good evening, Now to go down to the strongroom and add his current takings to the piles.

Using the main stairwell at the end of the hall, going down into the bowels of the castle, he came upon the open door to the dungeon. Yelling out for his dungeon master, and getting no answer, he walked through, then noticed the door to the strongroom ajar. “Who’s in there?” he screamed and rushed into the room, throwing open the door seeing it emptied. There was a click, then a flash.

They had not gone far when a tremendous explosion erupted from the castle. Remy and his men stopped and turned back as they saw the keep on the far hilltops first billowing fire and smoke and then slowly tumble down into itself. When the king’s men arrived, all that were found were fragments of the Count and his men.

As the Guisements were an ancient family who had long served the crown, the king named Remy as the new Count and master of the fiefdom. And his people prospered and the king was well pleased with the tax and grain which continually flowed his way.