The city of Veroli sat perched on a hill, a crown of ancient stone and Roman heritage. It was nothing like the bustling, dirty commercial hub of Ceprano. This was a city of old power, its streets dominated by the imposing facade of the great cathedral and the sprawling, fortress-like palace of the Bishop. As Alessandro's small party rode through the gates, they felt the weight of centuries of authority pressing down on them. Their simple black falcon banner looked provincial and insignificant here. They were small fish swimming into the leviathan's maw.
They were escorted to a waiting area in the Bishop's palace. The antechamber was already filled with petitioners, clerks, and men-at-arms. Across the room, Alessandro immediately spotted his accuser. Baron Valli was a paunchy, sallow-faced man in his late fifties, his fine but stained silks doing little to hide his air of discontent. He glared at Alessandro with impotent fury.
More unnerving, however, was the group standing near him. The powerful Baron of Monte San Giovanni, a man with a warrior's build and a cold, predatory gaze, stood with his smirking steward, Rinaldo. They were not here by chance. They had come to watch the falcon's wings be clipped.
Finally, a clerk called his name. "Lord Alessandro de' Falchi, you are summoned before His Grace."
Alessandro and his small delegation were ushered into the great audience hall. The room was designed to inspire awe and diminish all who entered. Sunlight streamed through high, stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in jewels of color. Dozens of clerics, scribes, and nobles lined the walls. At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais and seated in a heavy, throne-like chair, was the Bishop of Veroli. He was dressed in the formal robes of his office, his expression impassive, his eyes as sharp and analytical as a hawk's.
After a prayer and the formal opening of the court, a canon read the charge aloud. The petition of Baron Valli accused Lord Alessandro of Rocca Falcone of "unlawful incursion, theft of feudal lands, and incitement of the peasantry," demanding the immediate return of Pietra Secca and punishment for the aggressor.
The Bishop called on Baron Valli to speak first. The older man stumbled forward and launched into a whining, self-pitying tirade. He spoke of his ancient rights, of the loyalty his family was owed, and painted Alessandro as a young wolf, a land-hungry upstart who had brutally conquered his peaceful village. His speech was long on grievance and short on facts, and his blustering tone did little to win the sympathy of the court.
When he finished, the Bishop fixed his gaze on Alessandro. "Lord de' Falchi. You have heard the charge. How do you answer?"
Alessandro stepped forward, his heart pounding but his voice steady. He bowed respectfully. "Your Grace, I do not deny that the people of Pietra Secca have sworn an oath of fealty to me. But I deny the charge of theft. A thing cannot be stolen if it has already been abandoned."
He turned to the court. "To speak to the truth of this matter, I wish to call my first witness. Giacomo of Pietra Secca."
A low murmur went through the hall. It was highly unusual for a common peasant to be called to testify in a dispute between nobles. Giacomo, terrified but resolute, was brought forward.
"Tell the court, Giacomo," Alessandro said gently, "what life was like in your village before my men arrived."
In a simple, trembling voice, Giacomo told the story. He spoke of the bandit attacks, of the stolen food, the captured women, the constant fear. He told them how he had personally petitioned Baron Valli for aid, only to be turned away. Finally, he told them how, in desperation, he had traveled to Rocca Falcone to beg for help from a neighboring lord. His testimony was not eloquent, but its raw, honest suffering was more powerful than any of the Baron's blustering.
When he finished, Alessandro addressed the Bishop again. "Your Grace, the heart of the feudal oath is mutual. A vassal provides service, and a lord provides protection. Baron Valli admits he could not control the bandits. He admits he could not protect his own people. He broke his sacred oath first. I did not conquer a village; I answered a cry for help. I restored the Bishop's peace to a land that had fallen into chaos."
He then produced the parchment signed by the elders of Pietra Secca, and Bastiano, his voice clear and proud, read their formal plea for Alessandro's lordship aloud.
"I did not take Pietra Secca, Your Grace," Alessandro concluded. "It was given to me, freely, by a people desperate for the justice their own lord denied them."
A thoughtful silence filled the hall. Alessandro's defense was logical, compelling, and rooted in the very laws of duty and obligation the court was meant to uphold. Baron Valli looked apoplectic, but had no immediate answer.
Just as the Bishop was about to speak, a new voice cut through the hall.
"Your Grace, if I may?"
All eyes turned to the Baron of Monte San Giovanni, who rose smoothly to his feet.
"As a concerned neighbor who shares a border with both these men," the Baron said, his voice full of false concern, "I believe I can shed further light on the… character… and the unusual methods of my new neighbor, Lord de' Falchi."
The Bishop's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of interest in his impassive face. "The court grants you leave to speak, my lord Baron."
Alessandro's stomach clenched. His carefully constructed legal defense was about to be ambushed by a political assassination.