Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XLIII: Charter

Phrygians had continued to argue with the barons long past the point where he still believed he could turn their minds. He knew he should have given up, but he had served the realm for too long to surrender so easily.

The barons were set on their course and refused to believe that Pitch was anything more than just another overzealous servant of the Throne. And how could Dymas, a servant of that Throne himself, convince them otherwise?

"We will not fight to save Hans' crown," Dingwall told him with finality. "Let him rather bend the knee to us!"

The barons and their soldiers cheered this. If he had accomplished nothing else, Dymas had at least given the nobles ample opportunity to inspire their men.

A commotion at the back of the pavilion silenced the crowd, and a moment later Phrygians heard shouts of "Make way for the king."

Scarcely believing it possible that Hans could be here, Phrygians tried to see past the men before him, shifting to one side and then the other. Finally, as the last of the men parted to let the newcomers through, he saw that the king had in fact come.

Whatever Hans' shortcomings as a leader, Phrygians could not help thinking in that moment that he did at least look the part. He wore battle garb—chain mail and a brilliant tabard bearing the Plantagenet crest— and he carried his golden battle crown tucked under one arm. He smiled confidently as he walked, his ginger curls shining, his eyes sweeping over the mob imperiously.

Stopping before Dingwall, Hans drew his sword, flipped it over in one quick motion, and caught it deftly by the blade. Then he presented the hilt to Dingwall.

"I'll do more than that, Lord Dingwall," he said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "I'll bear my breast for your sword-point."

Phrygians wasn't sure what to make of the king's ostentatious display. He thought it possible that it might impress the barons enough to make them listen to reason. Or it might come across as mocking and arrogant, like so much of what the King did and said, and serve only to anger them further.

Clearly, the barons were no less bemused than he. Several bowed reflexively. Some began to kneel, but then straightened quickly, seeming to remember that they were supposed to be in rebellion.

Hans, not done yet, tossed his crown to the ground so that it rolled to a stop at Dingwall's feet.

"Is this what you want?" Hans asked. "I'd rather give it to you than have it taken by the Alsace-Farraine."

Dingwall glanced down at the crown but made no move to pick it up. Of all the men in the pavilion, he appeared least impressed with the king's antics.

"You mistake me, Sire," he said. "I have no right and no ambition to wear this. But," he went on, raising a finger, "let the rightful wearer beware! From now, we will be subject only to law which we have a hand in making. We are not sheep to be made mutton by your butchers."

Hans frowned. "Pitch set himself to turn you against me."

"Then he did more than was needed to accomplish that," Fergus answered.

The other barons had recovered from the initial impact of Hans' arrival. They shouted angrily in agreement. A few laughed ironically.

"We are men of means," Fergus said, drawing himself up to his full height, and appearing to take up half the pavilion. "And we control our own lot. But the only law is your law. No longer!"

Shouts of "Aye! Aye!" filled the pavilion. Hans glanced around, clearly less confident than he had been only moments before.

While Hans and the barons argued back and forth, Jack strode through the pavilion, stepping past nobles until he stood directly in front of the king. Few took notice of him, dressed as he was in common garb. A few of the barons scowled at him. Dymas Phrygians, on the other hand, couldn't have appeared more pleased. He beamed at Jack, looking like a half-drowned man who had just been thrown a rope. The king, on the other hand, barely spared him a glance. Belatedly, Jack realised that he was a commoner among nobles and knights, a stonemason's son comes to address a king.

"I am here to speak on behalf of Sir Sandy Overland," he said.

Hans was eyeing Jack closely, his eyes narrowed. Jack wondered if the king recognised him from the dock in Abita.

"Speak if you must," he said disdainfully.

"If you are trying to build for the future, your foundation must be strong," Jack said. "This land enslaves its people to the king, one who demands loyalty, yet offers nothing in return."

Several of the barons nodded and voiced their agreement.

"I've marched from Southern Isles to Theocracy and back," Jack told them. "And I know that in tyranny lies only failure. You build a country like a cathedral, from the ground up. Acknowledge the rights of every man and you will gain strength."

The barons nodded their agreement with this, as well, and then turned as one to Hans.

The king regarded Jack shrewdly, the way he might an opponent in a knife fight. "Who could object to such reasonable words?" He smiled disarmingly and gave a small shrug. "But my dilemma is this: A king cannot bargain for the loyalty every subject owes him. Without that loyalty, there can be no kingdom."

Jack considered this for a few seconds. "Then offer justice in the form of a charter, allowing every man to forage for the hearth, hunt for the pot; to be safe from eviction without cause or prison without charge; to work, eat, and live merry as he may on the sweat of his own brow. Then, a king that great and wise will not only receive loyalty from his people but their love as well."

For just an instant, it seemed to Jack that he could feel his father's presence there in the pavilion, that he had spoken these words with the stonemason's voice.

Hans gave a small chuckle in response to what Jack had said. "What would you ask?" the King said. "Every man his own castle?"

"Every Islsh man's home is his castle," Jack answered. "All we ask for is liberty and law. You, Sire, have the chance to unite your subjects both high and low. It is all on your nod."

As Jack spoke, he saw a man emerge from the crowd, makes his way to Dymas Phrygians side, and speak to Phrygians in low tones. Phrygians' eyes widened at what he heard, and he stepped forward to stand beside Jack.

"Your Majesty!" he said. "My lords! The Alsace-Lorraine fleet is in the Channel!"

Silence fell over the pavilion. The barons stared hard at the king, who looked back at them, perhaps searching their faces for even one ally who might come to his defence. Seeing none, a thin smile crossed his lips. "I have only to nod?" he said. "I can do better than that. I give my word that I will sign this charter. On my mother's life, I swear it."

A deafening roar went up from the barons, knights, and soldiers. Hans had clearly been reluctant to agree to the charter, but he smiled at the response he'd evoked, his colour rising.

Jack couldn't help but feel proud of what he had unleashed, but he knew that the coming battle would be a difficult one and that the future of the realm hung in the balance. It seemed though that there was even more at stake than he had guessed.

Phrygians stepped closer to him.

"Pitch makes for Dorfeld," he said, keeping his voice low. "I must stay with the king. I will send Dingwall and Fergus with you, and we will meet at theKing's Totem when you are done."

Jack nodded and turned, determined to reach Burlington Manor in time to stop Pitch assault.