An Uncertain Choice

The sheriff and bailiff stood stiffly by the double doors of the Great Hall, flanked on either side by two of my soldiers. While the bailiff’s expression contained the same fear I’d seen at the market square earlier, the sheriff’s dark scowl reflected his irritation and none of the submission I desired.

“Think about the predicament from his perspective,” the abbot continued in his calm and quiet tone. “If he allows a few to break the law without repercussion, then others will think they can do the same. Such lenience could lead to anarchy.”

“You know I don’t condone stealing,” I said. “But if the poor are desperate enough to break the law, then we must increase the amount of their assistance.”

The abbot rose and tucked his hands into the wide sleeves of his habit. Although a slender man from his many fasts, he was not weak. The reverent lines of his face radiated the strength I had come to rely upon over the past four years.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and instead stared straight ahead thoughtfully and prayerfully.

I turned my own critical eye toward the view. The enormous hall with its high arched ceiling, palatial colonnades, thick tapestries, and glazed windows attested to my wealth. As did the elegant engraving on the golden chair in which I sat. What need did I have for such lavishness when my subjects languished? Selling or trading the opulent throne and tapestries could provide months of provisions for the poorest in the land. What need would I have for it anyway once I entered the convent next month?

The abbot finally sighed. “You have a soft heart, child. And you have already given more than you can afford.”

My stomach cinched at the feeling of ineptness that weighed on me whenever I conversed with the abbot about the financial predicament of my lands. If there was one point of disagreement between the abbot and me, it was on the distribution of funds. Even though I supported the architectural plans for the cathedral and abbey he was designing, I wanted to remain generous to the poor. We seemed to be growing at odds on how to do so without draining the coffers.

“We must do more,” I said more to myself than to the abbot. My parents had sacrificed their lives in order to help the people of Ashby. I’d vowed to do the same, to become the kind of ruler that my parents would be proud of, to do all I could so that their death wouldn’t be in vain.

The abbot finally gave a resigned nod. He knew that I’d made it my life calling to rule my people with compassion. “In the meantime,” he said, “you must show the same compassion to the sheriff that you wish to show to all of your people.”

I glanced again to the swarthy face of the man in question, half concealed behind a full black beard. Across the distance, his eyes glittered with a hardness that had always unnerved me. “But he knows I forbid the traditional methods of punishment in favor of more humane discipline.”

“I’ll speak with him,” the abbot said with a nod at my guards. With curt bows, they ushered the sheriff and bailiff out the double doors. As much as I wanted to punish the sheriff and show him that he must obey me as his ruler, whether he respected my authority or not, I couldn’t disregard the council of the one man in the world who often understood everything about me better than I understood myself.

The abbot rounded my dais and bowed before me, giving me a view of his shiny bald spot again. As he started down the long center aisle of the room with his slow measured steps, I wanted to call after him to stay. I wanted to talk about the problems in my kingdom. In fact, I would have been content to converse about anything rather than having to face the loneliness that had been growing in my life.

Lately, every time I entered the castle walls, I felt like I was returning to a deserted fortress. The enormity of the empty hall dwarfed me, reminding me of how alone I was. The long tables lining the walls had once been filled to overflowing, and the room had rung with laughter, the clink of goblets, the melodies of lutes, the songs of minstrels, and the chatter of the many guests who’d often visited.

But it was not so anymore. Few had stepped foot inside the Great Hall since that fateful night after my mother’s death, when I’d found the parchment in her chest. It had been the first time I’d learned of the sacred vow my parents had made, the vow that said I must enter the convent upon my eighteenth year.

For a long while after that night, I hadn’t wanted visitors. I’d decided it was useless to form friendships when I would have to sever them all too soon. Then after a time, word of my circumstances and my parents’ vow had spread throughout the realm. Any potential suitors who had once considered vying for my hand in marriage no longer had reason to visit. The abbot encouraged me to continue to facilitate good relations with neighboring lords, but without my father, and having only a young woman ruler to contend with, the lords also visited infrequently.