A Royal Audience, attn: admin

[Marguerite d'Angouleme]

Marguerite was exhausted. After receiving the formalized invitation from this new ‘government’ of Aquitaine, Marguerite had sent her household into a flurry of activity. This voyage to the tiny country to their south was of an indefinite duration, and as such every necessity was duly packed. In the end, Marguerite had left Paris on the Seine with three barges in tow. The journey up to the Atlantic had taken three days, and from there the transfer of her things and proper outfitting of the flagship Francois had summoned for her travels took another full day. After a fretful night of sleep (Marguerite hated travel on the ocean) all the living creatures boarded the caraque, and the following week had been spent avoiding the known lairs of privateers along the French coast. The ship had also run straight into a storm, which pitched the ship so violently along the sea that the journey had to be extended a whole two days, and Marguerite was almost certain her stomach no longer existed after all the retching she was the victim of. She finally reached the calm waters of La Gironde on the sixth day, and from there a healthy wind swept the vessel down the river and as near the city of Bordeaux as was safe for the hull. That had been earlier this morning. By this point Marguerite was so sick of the water that she insisted on riding through the countryside atop her steady mare rather than endure a single moment more of seafaring. The barges that had been commissioned in advance were to go on without her.

So it was that Marguerite disembarked with her ladies in waiting and her personal guards. Over the two hours the ride took, Marguerite began to feel much more herself, and decidedly more charitable towards the whole enterprise of her journey to Aquitaine.

When she arrived at the court of the Pretenders (as the King and Queen were known in France) Marguerite was pleasantly surprised by the chambers that had been set aside for her. Her barges had arrived an hour before she had, and the local servants had made an admirable job of her things. Of course it was nothing like the splendor of the palaces Francois kept, but for a false nation the Aquitaine’s had managed reasonably well.

A hot bath was waiting for her and there she soaked for a half hour as her ladies corrected what mistakes the local servants had made. Feeling civilized for the first time in a week, Marguerite donned her clothing. The chemise and stays were quickly donned, and then covered by what Marguerite called her state clothes. A kirtle made of cloth of gold brocade hid the linen of her undergarments, and undersleeves of the same material were laced on. From there a blue on blue brocade patterned with fleur de lis covered the better part of the kirtle, save the split in the front of the skirt, and the undersleeves that showed beneath the wide and pinned back sleeves. Marguerite’s hair was pulled back into a golden hairnet, and a sapphire studded necklace went around her neck. Her ladies were clothed in similar manners, though the cloth of gold was instead a rich saffron hue, and their gowns were a much paler blue. Satisfied that she looked the princess she was at last, Marguerite sent word of her preparation. A few hours were spent reading before she was told at last that the assembly had been gathered, and the King and Queen were ready to receive her. By this time candles had been lit in all the halls, and Marguerite’s gown practically glowed in their light.

The doors opened, and Marguerite prepared herself to plaster a smile on her face. It was no secret that the French thought these rulers’ claims to the throne a joke. A sigh was internally heaved as Marguerite resigned herself to long months of false smiles. As soon as the porters had stopped the doors Marguerite moved forward to the foot of the thrones, passing where she dipped a courtesy appropriate for a princess to a queen. Her ladies in waiting did much the same though their descent was much further. A count of ten and then Marguerite raised her head and body to gaze first at the King then at the Queen. This whole interaction was to be rife with ceremony, but Marguerite did not blush to feel the unfriendly eyes of the most powerful men and women in Aquitaine on her. They would come around in what time the Lord provided for.

”Your majesties, I present myself, Marguerite d’Angouleme, Countess of Perche, Duchess of Berri, Princess of France to your court. I have been sent by my brother the King in the hopes that the friendship between France and Aquitaine that has begun with our treaty may continue and deepen to levels that satisfy both our lands. With our deepest respects, France offers the gift of two steeds for your majesties, bred from the Asil Kehilan and Asil Seglawi lines of the Arabic Bedouins. We also present a sword for his majesty, created by the master armorer, Etienne Delaune. For her majesty we present a necklace, crafted by the finest joaillier house in Paris.”

When she stopped speaking, Marguerite’s two ladies advanced, and opened the boxes they had been carrying. Inside each laid the gift Marguerite had described, and a collective gasp was made by those ladies and gentlemen who could see their contents. The sword, Marguerite knew, was both beautiful and practical, balanced and keen. The necklace was all delicate beauty, with deep green peridot sparkling in it’s gold settings.

Glad to have the most formal of the coming speeches over with Marguerite waited to hear the response from these rulers, and hoped they would not see fit to make her presentation to their court more difficult than it had to be.

((Do the King and Queen accept the gifts? Do they seem pleased or merely gracious? Do they have anything planned for Marguerite’s arrival aside from this audience? Do the nobles in the room make any comments or gestures of derision that Marguerite can see? Does anything else in the atmosphere seem out of the ordinary?))

[Thom]

(( The King and Queen are happy to accept the beautiful gifts the Princess has offered them. It's hard to tell whether their expressions of pleasure are true or if they're just fake manners put on for foreign guests, but a good sign comes when the King removes the sword from its box to weigh it in his hands. Beckoning Marguerite to follow the Queen invites her through a pair of ornate doors and into a large cavern of a room, admiring the Princess's dress and trying to spark up conversation about her journey. Inside are long tables running the length of it, all with high-backed elaborately decorated chairs and signs of cutlery and plates. As they walk it's obvious the nobles are talking about her, but their hushed whispers are hard to here. Marguerite catches the odd word but manages to get little from them; they're likely just excited to see a foreign Princess, especially one from France. The only out of the ordinary thing first seen is the armed guards that hover beside all the doorways. They seem a bit less subtle than most Palace guards, with thick swords and leather armour. ))

[Marguerite d'Angouleme]

If they weren’t pleased, the King and Queen of Aquitaine were marvelous actors. Marguerite couldn’t help the small upward twitching of her mouth when the King reached for the sword. Francois had done much the same when it had been brought from Ettienne’s workshop. Balancing the sword on the tip of his finger, Francois had gone all wide-eyed and pathetic on her, asking if they couldn’t keep the sword for him, just this once. Francois was King, but he was yet young of spirit from time to time, and Marguerite was glad of that. A King should never grow cold too young.

As the King and Queen admired their gifts, Marguerite strained her ears to catch what words she could from the mouths of the courtiers. They were all whispering, wise on their part. Occasionally the tone of voice she heard was unpleasant, harsh and accusatory, but the words still evaded her. All she could ever manage was to hear a few familiar name, that of herself or her brother. Ah, just as well. Her ladies would be able to gage the court gossip once she set them loose.

When beckoned, Marguerite walked forward to match the Queen’s step.

“Princess Marguerite. What a pleasure it is to have you at our court. May I compliment you on your attire? The blue is a beautiful hue.”

To the Queen’s pleasant, but predictably generic speech, Marguerite smiled and responded in kind.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. My own happiness to be in your court has been rivaled by few of my travels… Your gown is very beautiful as well. Those sleeves, I believe, are after a new fashion I rather like.”

As the two women stepped into a new room, this an admittedly impressive banquet hall, Marguerite did a quick scan of her surroundings. Nothing seemed too strange to have at a reception for a member of another royal family, save… save the guards that watched the hall. These men were not dressed ceremonially, but in practical leather fittings, with long, mean looking swords at their side. Marguerite was glad she had chosen to let her own guards rest for the night. No doubt there would be tension should the two groups been forced to coordinate their actions. She wondered why they were there. None of the possibilities seemed pleasant to Marguerite.

They could be there only as a deterrent, but whether it was meant to stop her people from attacking the high nobility of Aquitaine, or to stop the high nobility of Aquitaine from attacking her, she could only guess. Her thoughts were interrupted by a new comment from the Queen.

“Yes, I have heard of your adventures, Princess. May I ask how your journey from France went? Was the sailing smooth?”

Marguerite stopped a grimace from flashing across her face as she thought of the violent pitching of the ship.

“Tolerably. We did encounter a storm that set us off course, but the ship held up admirably. I never once feared for my life, though my stomach was another matter entirely. I shall be glad to eat on dry land again. I did manage to finish a book though… Lefevre d'Etaples. It’s a new treatise on Astronomy. Has it reached you?”

The pleasantries continued, Marguerite glanced back at the guards. Where were they watching? No, they didn’t so much as glance at her. Then it wasn’t for fear Marguerite would do something stupid. It was for the nobles in the room. A shiver ran down the princesses spine. Was the sentiment really so hostile that the monarchs thought their nobles would consider killing a Princess? Drawing her eyes away from the guards, Marguerite resolved to post men outside her windows as well as her doors.

At last they reached the high table where Marguerite was seated next to the King. While she was a Princess, she was also an ambassador on this visit, and where the Queen would normally be Marguerite’s dining partner, there were bigger things to talk about tonight. Her ladies were seated with the Queen’s, and Marguerite’s mouth twitched in pleasure at what she saw. Already her girls had drawn one of the other women into a focused conversation. She did so enjoy having intelligent women in her employ. They made life so much more interesting.

The first course came out, but before the King took a bite to allow everyone else to eat he stood, gilded cup in hand. A rustle of fabric met his action as the room rose to their feet.

“A toast, to our neighbors the French, and their Princess Marguerite. May our friendship be long and well met.”

The King downed his wine, and everyone else followed suit.

Seated at last Marguerite turned to the King.

“What a gracious toast, Your Majesty. My brother is invested in making sure such sentiments are fulfilled. I only hope I can facilitate them in my time here.”

(How does the King respond? Does he seem to take her seriously, or is he merely indulging a foreign princess? Do any of the nobles draw Marguerite’s attention? Who is seated next to her? Do her ladies learn anything interesting to tell her at a later time?)

[Thom]

(( He assures Marguerite in her abilities, recounting the rumours he'd heard or her intelligence and significant education. The King seems thoroughly enthralled by their new guest and pays her attention over all others at the table, even when conversing with them. His attention to Marguerite is only rivaled by another, a man about his thirties with a pulled back mane of hair tied neatly at the back. His eyes look slightly sullen and inset, but it's plain that in his early years he'd have been an attractive fellow. Like everyone he's extravagantly dressed in bold reds, and a cup of wine teetering in his delicate fingertips. Noticing Marguerite's eyes on him he bows his head and turns to one of the others sitting around him to discuss things, but soon later -- once he believes Marguerite is looking away -- his eyes are back upon her.

Sitting next to Marguerite is an elderly general, plump as most advanced officers get with inaction and age. He's dressed no differently to the others, but the man has already told Marguerite several times that his name is General DeMontford -- and continues to tell her his name at every opportunity, as if she were likely to forget it -- and begins rambling on about how his ancestors in fact came from a little town outside Toulouse. Whether he expects her to know the town, or the ancestors he's talking about isn't clear, but it's obvious he's not going to stop.

One of her ladies in waiting swoops in onto the table, giving a curtsy to the guests before leaning over to whisper into Marguerite's ear. They believe they've found a helpful friend for their lady, but she seems reluctant to say more here and disappears as quickly as she appeared. ))

[Marguerite d'Angouleme]

Marguerite was pleasantly surprised by the King’s attentions. Though she had borne no doubt that her reputation of being educated, and one of the finest female minds in Europe preceeded her, those things often had very different meanings to powerful men. Some thought even the smartest woman was secondary, at best, to the dullest man. Others thought her reputation of education meant she could produce embroidered works at particularly high speeds. Still others thought it unnatural that a woman should possess any real faculty of mind. The princess had expected some trouble in getting the King and his advisers to take her seriously as a political entity as well as a social one, but it seemed as if Marguerite should have spared her worry. Indeed, Marguerite almost wished the King would be less lavish in his praise and attention. No doubt the other guests felt neglected, and it would have given her more time to deal with the two other people who demanded her time.

The first was a general who was well on his way to being portly. Some officers were always indulged and overweight, but at this man’s age they would have fit the description of obese by now. The man’s physique instead suggested an appetite that could no longer be compensated for by the action of war. At his first introduction, Marguerite thought the man might be the friendly type of military man. By his fourteenth, Marguerite couldn’t decide whether he was being pompous or senile, though she supposed the former was more likely as he was thought to be an appropriate diner at the high table. Another six introductions past the fourteenth, he thankfully began to speak of things besides his name, though this new conversation turned instead to his childhood home. What joy was hers.

”General, you said the town was outside Toulouse? My brother has a most talented architect in his employ from Toulouse. The brickwork the man creates is marvelous. He is building Francois a new hunting lodge at present. Did you live in a home with such brick?”

With that the subject shifted, this time to a topic Marguerite could speak to if she kept only half an ear to the conversation.

She was glad to finally be able to observe a man who’s eyes she had noticed on her more than once that night. He was well dressed, and his posture and pose lent elegance to his air. Listening to the General speak on the merits of the bricklayers in Toulouse, Marguerite contrived to interrupt him as he drank his wine.

”I hope you do not mind these ceaseless questions of mine, General, but I wondered if I might ask… Who is the gentleman in the red, with his hair tied back?

Before the general could respond one of Marguerite’s ladies approached the table, and dipped a curtsey. DeMontford finally ceased prattling on, and Marguerite could finally lend her ear to another voice. Stooping in close, Marguerite’s attendant spoke in hushed whispers that would have been nigh on impossible for anyone else to hear. Marguerite smiled at the news her lady had to tell her, and sent her back to the other table with praise for her efficient work as DeMontford opened his mouth once more. It seemed he was impatient to answer the question Marguerite had posed.

[Does DeMontford have many things to say about the man in red? Does Marguerite suddenly recall any battle a General DeMontford was critical in? Does the King seem inclined to discuss the heavier matters of state with her? Does the man in red keep on staring at her? ]

[Thom]

(( DeMontford identifies the man in red as one Count Russell, who only a year or so ago suffered the distress of his wife passing away along with their child. Although a mere Count he's enjoyed the King's favour, though his influence has declined. To the more military minded individual DeMontford would be known for his defense of the frontiers during several French pushes, though his name isn't draped in quite a much glory abroad as at home.

Any attempt to discuss the serious matters of state are quickly thrown off by the King, who insists they simply enjoy the festivities being put on. Those topics would be his first port of call afterwards, he swears, but throughout the entire discussion he seems distant and preoccupied. The words seem to come more from habit. He calls for more wine, impressing it upon Marguerite before ordering his favourite song be played by the musicians for everyone's enjoyment -- or perhaps to prevent his guest pursuing the conversation any further.

Count Russell appears to be fully involved in the conversations around him, and doesn't seem to be paying the Princess so much attention. Still, Marguerite gets the distinct feeling that eyes are upon her when she looks away. ))