“My Lady,” said the Duke of Baria, his silver fork speared with venison poised in the air before his mouth, “I am informed that you attended the Aldermen’s Ball last week without me.” The Duchess did not look up from her plate.
The Duke put the skewer of meat in his mouth and chewed on it for a moment, looking down the immense dining hall of his castle.
“It seems that you danced with the Marquis of Beaufort at the ball,” he went on, his fingers playing with the embroidered napkin to his right, but his eyes serious.
The Duchess said nothing.
“And then you accepted the invitation of Baron Knapp for a walk in the gardens of the Alderhall mansion after the ball had concluded at midnight.” He waited a heartbeat before adding, “I am told you hold him in high—”
But before he could finish, a heavy jangling of spurs made both of them look up at the person who had rushed into the dining hall and was now kneeling on one knee before the Duke.
“Captain General,” asked the Duke with his eyes narrowed and his voice rising, “what is the meaning of this intrusion?”
“Many pardons, Your Grace.” said the intruder, “But the Duke of Lenster has attacked our duchy. Your presence is required immediately at the front.”
The Duke of Baria stood up in one move, pulling the embroidered tablecloth with quartz and opals set in on its borders along with him, until one of the servers quickly rescued it from his dress.
“I knew this would happen one day,” he roared. “Has he crossed the river?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the army man. “With three thousand soldiers.”
They both dashed out of the room, the Captain General half a stride behind his Duke. The Duchess silently indicated the servers to place in front of her the next course of the meal.
***
After three days, reports of fierce fighting in the west came to the castle. The Chamberlain informed the Duchess that the Duke had surprised the invader with the promptness of his defense, but had been somewhat overpowered as he had not been able to muster as large an army so quickly. The situation was still in balance, even with reinforcements coming in from the south of the duchy.
“Next time,” she said, “let the Captain General’s messenger talk to me.”
“Of course, My Lady,” he said as he bowed out of her chamber.
Two days later, a soldier rode up the ramparts of the Duke’s castle on a grey horse and asked to present himself directly to Her Grace.
“What is the news?” asked the Duchess.
“My Lady,” he said in a low voice, “considering the present state of battle His Grace suggests you move, along with the rest of the household, to the royal lodge in the forest. The castle is likely to be the first target of attack in case the enemy breaks through our lines.”
That very instant preparations started for moving the Duchess and her retinue to the lodge, and the messenger was sent back with a confirmation to the Duke.
Two days later, early in the morning, the Chamberlain entered the chamber of the Duchess, and found her already awake and sitting in her chair and reading. The book was covered in a jacket of velvet and a thin bamboo-and-porcelain pagemark lay on the study table beside her.
“My Lady,” he said slowly, “I have some grim news.”
“What is it?” she asked, putting down her book.
“His Grace has been captured in battle,” said the Chamberlain slowly, “and the Duke of Lenster has taken the castle. He is now heading to the lodge and is expected any minute.” The Duchess thought for a long moment and then gave her answer.
“I wish to be left alone,” she said.
The Chamberlain withdrew with a bow.
***
From the window in her room the Duchess saw the Duke ride up the path to the entrance to the lodge, with the hated colors of Lenster on his dress and on the fluttering banners on his spear. The visor on his helmet was down and his silk cape flowed in the wind behind him. None of the soldiers at the lodge tried to stop him. They knew their master had been defeated.
The Duke of Lenster got off his horse at the gate, and walked up the few steps to the main entrance of the lodge. She heard him coming up the main stairway, and then suddenly he stood framed by the door to her room.
“Stop right there,” she said to him.
She had a dagger in her hand and its point was pressed against her own neck. The handle of the dagger was made of chalcedony and its blade was pure steel.
“If you take another step you will be the last person to see me alive,” she said. “And while I live, no man save the Duke of Baria may lay a hand on me.”
A laugh, which she had not heard for a long time but was nevertheless familiar to her, came from behind the visor. The intruder flung it back as he opened his arms and advanced towards her crying,
“My faithful Duchess, how wrong have I been to suspect you!”
The dagger dropped from the Duchess’ hand to the floor.
“His Grace, the Duke of Baria!” she exclaimed, rushing into his arms.
“In the flesh,” he said, picking her off her feet.
“And the Duke of Lenster?”
“Defeated and thrown into the castle dungeon!”
“How did you get his colors?”
“I took them off him!”
“But the Chamberlain said…”
“He lied,” said the Duke, “By my orders.”
As they stood embracing, the soldiers, ladies-in-waiting, cooks and servers slowly filed out in the courtyard of the lodge and silently waited for their orders to move back to the castle.
Mishkat Bhattacharya writes out of Rochester, New York. His fiction has previously appeared in The Antioch Review, Every Day Fiction, and Lightning Strikes: An Anthology of Flash Fiction by Fifty Indian Writers.
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