Eat the Poor

XXXVII

⚠️ CW - violence, gore, death

The sound of cheering filled the courtyard.

Two crowds swarmed on either side of a path from the chapel to the court gate. The peasants stood on one side. The stonemasons, the kitchen maids. The ones who would tell their children for years to come about the day they glimpsed the newly-wedded King and Queen.

The nobles, English and French alike, watched from the other side. They sat on blankets and craned their heads out of carriages. Some held pipes and breathed smoke out into the crowd.

Brownie-Paulo reared his head as stray hands reached up to pet him. One man grasped my foot in the stirrup and tried pulling my boot off.

"Let go," I hissed. I kicked him, harder than I meant to, and watched him stumble into a woman with raggedy clumps of hair hanging from her cap.

She stared up at me with terrified eyes. "Please, we're sorry, sir! Forgive him!"

I looked down at my stark white shirt and ironed coat. Only the castle guards and I were on horseback. Without hesitation, the woman bowed her head, cupping my foot and placing a light kiss on the leather.

I opened my mouth to stop her, but she was already pulling the man away. I fought through the sea of bodies to the edge of the courtyard and dismounted, throwing the reins over a tree branch. A horrible, sick feeling unfurled in my stomach.

My horse snorted and pawed the earth. I stroked his mane and joined the peasants, inching forward till I found a spot where I could see the open path. The wedding procession was about to pass through.

Too many people.

The stench of all the bodies was enough to make me gag.

A man's elbow hit my side and I jumped. Our eyes met, and he scowled before stepping before me, blocking my view. "Pardon," he muttered. The sun beat down on my face. My head began to spin.

Every servant from inside the castle was now outside. They would watch the procession and cheer, give flowers and handmade gifts to the new Queen perhaps, and then it would be over. They would all go back to work.

Revulsion. How easily I had lost myself in this place. Given the chance, I would have joined the feast tonight, eaten and drank myself to oblivion with the nobles. I looked around me. These were the people who deserved a good meal. These were the ones who deserved to eat.

Anger. The same I'd felt while serving the King's guests at the luncheon. Anger and guilt.

I heard the cheers before I saw anything. A pair of guards on horseback led the way. One, two, three carriages followed, each pulled by white horses. Another line of guards held back the crowd as they passed through. In the center of the courtyard, the carriages turned in a wide circle and stopped. Three footmen leapt down to open the doors.

From the first carriage emerged the Duc de Montpensier. Two women were left sitting inside, their dresses pulled down about their shoulders. One bent to kiss him as he stepped out. Cherry-red lip rouge streaked her chin.

The Duke wore a black wig and a blue cloak that swept the ground at his feet. The maids waved handkerchiefs and screamed as he strutted back and forth before the crowd.

"Pathetic, isn't it?"

I stiffened at the voice behind me. Low, unexpected. Familiar.

"Look at them. All of them. Cheering. Bowing." My heart beat faster. I did not want to turn around. To face him.