Trial by Combat - 1
The one who suffered the greatest collateral damage from this day’s trial by combat incident was none other than Clondel Archbishop Herbert Eastport. (After his inspection of Polbury, that bizarre rumor had somehow spread to every last soul inside the castle.)
He had sunk into a sweet slumber of only a few hours when the loud pounding on the door dragged him awake, irritation flaring. He opened the bedroom door himself, ready to repay the servant for disturbing his honey-like nap with a torrent of savage curses. Yet it was not a servant standing there, but a junior officer of the Royal Guard. The Guard had never come to wake him before. Still, if they had a reason, several possibilities came to mind.
“A trial?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
At the words trial and Your Grace the Archbishop, Herbert instantly understood the situation.
“I refuse. Absolutely not.”
“Your Grace.”
“Damn it all. It has been well over a hundred years since the Apostolic See banned trial by combat. What lunatic is petitioning to challenge the authority of the Apostolic See in the very heart of Zylan’s royal power, in the very heart of Zylan’s ecclesiastical authority!”
The Royal Guard officer answered with an awkward expression. “Well… first of all, it is not a man. It is a woman.”
“What?”
A look of utter disbelief slowly spread across Herbert’s face.
“And… I know this will sound absurd, but the one wearing the Zylan crown has personally requested permission.”
“What kind of nonsense is this! Her Majesty calling for trial by combat? Never in all of history has such a thing—”
Herbert could not confidently claim that such a thing had never once occurred in the Zylan royal house. Though he was the Clondel Archbishop, the kingdom’s chancellor, the royal herald, and holder of countless other high offices—well-read and deeply versed in history—he was, after all, a foreigner in Zylan. He could not be certain whether such a precedent truly did not exist here. The ancestors of people like Richelle had been that sort of character. Moreover, in the old days when the land was still barbarous and the codes of chivalry had not been properly established, he could not swear that female knights who had once been men had not gone mad and staged countless trial by combats.
He let out a sigh and began to don his archbishop’s robes.
“I shall have to go to Her Majesty in person. Let me dress. Will you wait a moment?”
“Of course, Your Grace. That is precisely the order I received from Her Majesty.”
==========
“Good heavens.”
Herbert doubted his own eyes. The space that had been a modest but proper office when he left that morning had transformed into a bizarre hybrid of study and dressing room. The original palette of beige and reddish-brown was now violently assaulted by the ivory, cream, and pink of a vanity, mirror, and dressing stool. The colorful dresses hanging on the portable rack the maids had brought, along with the white undergarments behind them—adorned with eye-catching flashes of luxurious, vivid fabric—dizzied the gaze.
He turned his eyes, searching for somewhere safe to look. The gathering of people only added to the chaos. The maids and the Queen’s nurse were present; the Queen and her consort were quarreling; and, strangely out of place amid the scene, Royal Guards and their sergeant stood there as well.
Herbert asked the Royal Guard officer, “Can you explain what on earth this spectacle is?”
“It… would be better if you heard the pre-trial hearing directly.”
The captain of the guard spoke, then announced the Archbishop’s arrival. The crowd of dozens parted—maids to one side, guards to the other—revealing the Queen and her consort in the center. Even then the pair were growling at each other in heated argument. It was a sight Herbert had seen many times, and the fact they had not yet drawn blades was almost admirable. Yet something else entirely seized his attention.
“Huk?”
He drew in a sharp breath. It was the Queen’s attire. Her shoulders were completely bare, and a large portion of her undergarments and the upper curves of her breasts were exposed. The simple, short Zylan-style dress she wore looked like something a child might wear; not only the hem of her petticoat but her ankles and calves were fully visible. And she was clearly aware of it!
“Oh, Archbishop.”
His Queen came running toward him in high-heeled shoes. She had gathered the fluttering hem of her Zylan dress in one hand, clutching the skirt at thigh height to keep it from revealing anything further, while the longsword tucked under her opposite arm created a jarringly fierce impression.
“Y-yes… Your Majesty.”
Herbert answered Richelle with a stiff face. Richelle paid him no mind and spoke only what she wished.
“Let us go.”
“Where… if I may ask?”
“Where else? The garden. We cannot very well hold the duel here, can we?”
“B-before that, would you please explain what is happening? I cannot make sense of this situation at all. A trial by combat between Your Majesty and Prince Consort Marion? No—forget the duel between Queen and consort for a moment—the trial by combat itself. Did the Apostolic See not prohibit it over a hundred years ago?”
“No one pays attention to such prohibitions.”
“You must pay attention!”
Herbert cried out in frustration. “Even if no one else does, You must, Your Majesty. And I am paying attention! You are the head of state of this kingdom, its lawmaker, and the guardian of its laws. As your chief advisor, I must counsel you to uphold the law. Trial by combat, of all things!”
“I have some advice for you as well,” Richelle said after listening to Herbert’s lengthy admonition. She grabbed him by the collar and growled directly beneath his chin. “I am the head of state of this country. And the honor of the head of state has been insulted by a mere maid and the spouse who insists on acting as her defender. The head of state—who is the state itself—has no one to save her but herself. Is there any argument in that fine legal knowledge of yours to refute me?”
There was not. And even if there had been, Richelle was the Queen of Zylan, and no matter how autonomous the Zylan Church might be, the Clondel Archbishop was still her vassal. If Richelle pushed her claim to the end, Herbert—who was not even a councilor—had no authority to reject her decision. The only thing he could do was timidly quibble over wording.
“…But trial by combat is prohi—”
Herbert saw Richelle’s terrifying glare and quickly changed his words. “It goes against the sacred doctrine of the Apostolic See.”
“Indeed. Then we simply won’t call it a ‘trial’ by combat. How about we just call it a duel?”
That was even worse. A trial by combat was at least a duel conducted as a form of trial, but a plain duel was not. Herbert agonized for a moment, but the choice was obvious. In the end he nodded.
He told Richelle, “Very well. Then, as the highest authority of the Zylan Church, I shall serve as witness to the trial by combat between Her Majesty Queen Richelle and Kelly Evergreen.”
==========
Almost everything had gone exactly as Richelle wished, yet her heart was not at ease. It was because of the conditions for the duel that Herbert, the Church’s representative and the highest authority of the Zylan Church, had put forward. Those conditions were as follows:
Spectators shall be strictly limited. Aside from the parties, their advocates, and their families, no one may watch the trial by combat.
This was uncommon, but it was a condition raised in quite a few trial by combats. Richelle could accept it.
Weapons shall be blunted longswords.
This too was reasonable. The weapon of the nobility was the sword, and the Church could not permit an act that might stab someone to death.
Yet the other two conditions displeased her.
Neither party shall wear armor.
There was no real problem here. Even the latest full field armor, no matter how light it had become, still exceeded sixty-five pounds (about twenty-nine and a half kilograms). Wearing it would put Marion—who had received no training whatsoever in armored combat—at an overwhelming disadvantage. Besides, it removed any point in using blunted weapons. The only real dissatisfaction was that she could not torment Marion any further.
Both parties shall wear ordinary clothing.
Of course, this meant ordinary nobleman’s attire for Marion and ordinary noblewoman’s attire for Richelle. Richelle naturally rebelled fiercely.
“That is absurd!”
“Why?”
“You expect me to swing a sword in this?”
Richelle pointed at her own clothes. They were clearly not suited for wielding a sword. They were not even clothes that would help with any sort of active movement. Herbert had clearly seen his sovereign walk toward the garden with graceful, distinctly feminine steps only moments ago. He had not expected her to fight properly in her current attire. This was, in a way, petty revenge.
“But given Your Majesty’s skill, would it not be more unfair if you fought with your full strength?”
“Ugh.”
“Would it not look ridiculous for the knight of knights, Her Majesty, to face someone like Prince Consort Marion with all her might?”
“Sophistry! Where in the world is there a trial by combat conducted in fluttering clothes that expose one’s chest—”
Richelle spoke of her own breasts and quickly averted her eyes from Herbert.
“A-anyway! Where in the world does anyone hold a trial by combat in clothes like these?”
The corner of Herbert’s mouth rose of its own accord. He prayed inwardly that Richelle would not look his way. Gazing down at his sovereign’s beautiful, thoroughly flushed form as though admiring a work of art, he said,
“Well, where in the world does anyone hold a legal trial by combat? The Apostolic See is opposed to it, you know.”
Richelle ground her teeth audibly. “You cunning bastard.”
She turned completely away from Herbert and walked to the plaintiff’s stand. Rio stood there with an expression that was half worry and half dissatisfaction.
“Are you really all right, sister? That Herbert fellow…”
“I’m fine. Do you think I cannot defeat a beginner just because my clothes are a little uncomfortable?”
“Still, isn’t this too much? What kind of trial by combat makes people fight in clothes like these…!”
Rio was venting the anger Richelle should have expressed. It was touching, yet because of it she lost the chance to rage herself. She smiled awkwardly and instead spoke as though defending Herbert’s position.
“Is Herbert not protecting my honor in his own way? It would be ridiculous for me to go all out against a beginner like Marion. Imagine if I had put Marion in the pit and fought. It would have ended with a single downward cut. But that sight would have been many times more absurd. I have no desire to do such a thing either.”
When a man and a woman settled a dispute through trial by combat, they usually hired champions. If they did not, the man would stand in a pit with his lower body buried while the woman fought from outside. If the man dropped his weapon or let his hand touch the ground, the woman won; if the woman was dragged into the pit, she lost.
“That is true, but…”
“Do not worry. I will return without a scratch, having won in the blink of an eye.”
She patted Rio’s shoulder a few times, then turned toward the defendant’s stand. At the same moment, both of them looked at Marion and Philip, who was giving him various pieces of advice.