but as he stood outside the Queen's audience chamber he felt butterflies in his stomach and that was something that he hadn't experienced for many years. He imagined that this was the same feeling that actors felt before they stepped onto the stage for their first night, knowing that they were about to begin a performance that might define, or indeed ruin their career. He smiled. It was indeed a apt comparison, he thought. The doors opened slowly inward as he waited, and a crying woman walked through the doorway, her head buried into the shoulder of the man that supported her. He had wrapped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her out of the chamber. The woman continued to sob as they passed, making their way along the corridor.
A man in dark robes approached Courtenay, a black leather-bound ledger tucked under his arm. He removed it and opened the book at the place marked by a thin strip of parchment, looking down the page. Then, he lifted his gaze back up to Courtenay's face.
'Lord Courtenay, I assume?' the man said.
'Indeed.' Courtenay stared after the couple that had left the chamber a moment before. 'May I be so bold as to ask what is wrong with that woman?'
'A failed appeal for clemency.' The man's voice was cold and matter of fact. 'Her son hangs in the morning. Follow me, please,' he said, and set off into the chamber.
Courtenay raised his eyebrows and as he walked into the hall he was struck with how different the place was from the audience chamber back in the Imperial Palace in Highport. Wooden panelling lined these walls, but there were no vaulted ceilings here. Windows had been built into the stonework, high up, and soft natural light poured into the room, cutting through the gloom to floor level. Motes of dust glittered in the sunlight as they drifted through the air.
As Courtenay looked around him he was reminded of an arena. For a start, on one side of the hall sat eleven men and women, head to toe in rich clothing, their seating banked upwards in three ranks each one a little higher than the one before it. The occupants watched him as he strode towards the throne. At the far end of the hall the woman he considered must be Queen Ysabel regarded him in silence, her brown hair had been lifted up onto her head and a pearl and diamond tiara sat atop. Her silver and blue flowing dress cascaded over her knees, dragging the ground. To her left stood two dark-clothed men, who Courtenay took to be her advisers, and one of them leaned in, whispering into her ear.
Courtenay approached the Queen and bowed deeply. Despite his claims to the contrary, this was as good as foreign territory and he knew it. He was not strictly recognised as a Commonwealth citizen having been born across the border in New Brunswick, and the next moments could be the start of all he had planned for, or the end, depending on the impression that he made on the woman.
'My Lord Courtenay,' Ysabel's voice was crystal clear, cutting through the silence like a sharpened knife, 'I understand that you come to my court wishing to petition for political asylum.'
'That is correct, Your Majesty.'
Ysabel raised her hand and gestured towards the audience around the room. 'May I introduce the Electors, My Lord. They are my council,' she said, 'although in many respects they are also my betters, and even I have to answer to them, ultimately.'
A wry smile crossed her face as she glanced across at the Electors, and several of them seemed to chuckle, nodding in acknowledgement.
'I am, of course, well aware of who you are,' she continued, 'and also of your reputation, as I am also aware of the role that you undertook within the Emperor's administration.' She watching him intently. 'Naturally, I am intrigued to hear your pleas, so let us get down to the business at hand,' she shifted in her chair and brushed out the creases in her dress.
'To be frank, ' Ysabel said, 'I have heard various, shall we say, unsavoury stories, mostly coming from my own men within the Empire, regarding your most recent activities, Lord Courtenay. What I would really like to know is whether they are true, or whether they are a work of fiction?'
'With the greatest respect Your Majesty,' Courtenay replied, 'it would help me to answer that question if I knew the detail of such stories.'
Ysabel nodded to one of the men on her left. He took out a parchment, unrolling it, and lifting it to read.
'Reports suggest,' the man said, 'that Lord Courtenay did conspire to assassinate Emperor Frederick; did conspire to provoke open warfare between the Commonwealth and the Empire; and did knowingly order or cause the deaths by means of his command or action at least four citizens of the Empire.'
'So,' Ysabel asked, looking over at Courtenay, 'are these accusations true?'
'I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I did not realise that I would be attending a court hearing this morning.'
'Answer the question, Lord Courtenay,' Queen Ysabel said. 'I am normally a patient woman, but I do not know you directly and you may be very close to losing any good will that there might have been for you in this room.'
'I apologise, but I have not prepared a defence.'
'What is there to defend?' Ysabel looked around the men and women that sat at the sides of the hall. 'If there is no guilt, there is no need to defend.'
'Of course, Your Majesty.' Courtenay looked across the room at the Electors but their faces were cold and blank. 'I did not do these things, Your Majesty.'
'Then, perhaps, you would care to explain to me from where you think it is that these stories may have originated?'
Courtenay had rehearsed his speech in his mind for many weeks, during his journey, and knew that this was his one and only chance to set the scene for his plans. The next moments would be critical and he had to get the tone just right. He took a deep breath.
'Emperor Frederick is a spiteful, jealous, and vindictive man, Your Majesty.' He looked up at Ysabel but her face, too, remained as blank as her colleagues. 'He says one thing, but intends another, hiding his true motives from all around him. He toys with people's emotions, and uses them as if they were his playthings. He cannot be trusted when it comes to matters of state. He has seeded many stories, particularly about me, that are outrageous falsehoods.'
'Frederick struck me as being an honourable man, and eminently reliable when I met him. A man that I might consider a potential ally, in fact.'
'Of course, Your Majesty, he is a seasoned manipulator. But, do not be fooled, he is a trickster.'
'Oh? A trickster, you say. How so?'
'He would have you believe that he wants peace, Your Majesty, but behind your back he gives secret orders to build up his troops near the border.'
'For what purpose, Lord Courtenay?'
'Invasion, Your Majesty.'
'I knew it!' came a voice from the side of the chamber as one of the men in the council stood.
'Be calm, Duke Whitney,' Ysabel said, waving her palm, 'please sit. There is more to hear, yet, I am sure. Allow Lord Courtenay to continue.'
Courtenay felt pleased with himself. So far, he thought, this was going just as he had hoped. This Duke Whitney had evidently revealed a belief within at least one member of the council that there was something to fear from the Empire and it was time to reinforce that feeling.
He continued, 'Frederick would have you believe these lies about me since he knows that I have information that would reveal to Your Majesty what is truly in his heart.'
Ysabel raised her head and looked around the room. Courtenay followed her gaze, but there was no dissent directed towards him.
'Which is?' she asked.
Courtenay said, 'The Emperor would have you believe this propaganda, and would try to divert your attention away from his true plans. The peace summit was a diversion in itself, a ploy to lull you into a false security of sorts.' He could feel his confidence rising but tried to remember that this was a dangerous feeling and one to be controlled.
'He seemed genuine enough to me, My Lord.'
'As he does to all those he wishes to manipulate, Your Majesty. You obviously know that I was close to him for many years,' Courtenay said, 'I heard the lies, myself. I can no longer live amidst such lies and I would
therefore throw myself on Your Majesty's mercy, and beg for your protection.'
Courtenay sank to one knee and bowed his head, his performance now finished. Inside, he smiled.
'Please,' Ysabel said, 'stand, My Lord.'
Courtenay raised himself to look at the Queen. Her face was a little warmer and he followed her eyes as she seemed to be assessing the reaction of those to the side of the hall.
'I have to say, Lord Courtenay, that I am deeply suspicious of your motives as I would be of any man that would turn coat against his own people.' Ysabel stared at him. 'What say you to that point of view?'
'It is perfectly understandable, Your Majesty.' Courtenay had expected her to say as much. 'In your position I would, no doubt, feel the same. But, I am eager to find a place where I can live a just and honest life, and I had hoped, no, I know, that it would be under the protection of your Royal House.'
'It is true,' Ysabel replied, 'that you are likely to possess much information that this Commonwealth would find useful.
'I too believe so, Your Majesty.'
'Need I point out to you that as a Lord of this realm you would have an obligation to obey my commands, and to support the Crown in any way commanded, as a member of this court.'
'That is a given, Your Majesty, and need not be said.'
Ysabel paused for a moment. 'Then,' she said, 'with all my power, you are hereby granted asylum, Lord Courtenay, and I welcome you to my protection.'
Ysabel
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