The Baron of Monte San Giovanni was a man who understood the theater of power. He stepped forward not as a belligerent accuser, but as a concerned statesman, his voice smooth and laced with gravitas.
"Your Grace, lords, esteemed fathers," he began, his gaze sweeping the hall. "I do not wish to speak to the fine points of law between Baron Valli and Lord de' Falchi. I wish to speak, as a loyal servant of this diocese, of the unsettling nature of the change that has swept over the valley of Rocca Falcone."
He proceeded to paint a masterful and venomous picture. He did not call Alessandro a sorcerer outright; the accusation was too crude, too direct. Instead, he sowed the seeds of superstitious fear with cunning insinuation.
"A swamp that has been cursed for a century is drained in mere weeks," the Baron said, his voice resonating with wonder. "Strange machines of wood and rope, the likes of which have never been seen, lift stones that fifty men could not budge. Plows of a demonic design now carve the earth. These are not the works of common men, Your Grace. They are… unnatural."
The word hung in the air, potent and venomous. The mood in the hall, which had been leaning in Alessandro's favor, began to shift. The clerics, in particular, looked at Alessandro with new suspicion.
The Baron pressed his attack. "And who does this boy-lord choose as his chief instrument? A man known to all of us. Lorenzo, the Lame Bear. A violent, dishonored brawler, cast out from his guild for crippling a knight of noble blood. This is the company our young lord keeps. He finds his tools among the dregs of society."
Finally, he brought his assassination to its point. "And now, with these strange new tools and criminal friends, he has raised an army and taken the lands of his neighbor. I ask the court to consider: is this an act of justice, or the first move of a dangerous and unchecked ambition? An ambition fueled by methods we do not understand and which may not be holy? I, for one, sleep less soundly knowing such a strange new power is growing on my border."
He sat down, leaving a trail of poison in the air. He had brilliantly reframed the debate. It was no longer about a legal dispute over one village; it was about the very nature of Alessandro's power.
The Bishop's gaze, cold and hard, fell upon Alessandro. "You have heard the testimony of the Baron. These are serious implications, Lord de' Falchi. How do you answer?"
The hall was silent. All eyes were on the young lord, who now stood accused of not just theft, but of heresy and dangerous ambition.
Alessandro took a breath, letting the silence hang for a moment before he spoke, his voice a calm counterpoint to the Baron's dramatic rhetoric.
"I thank the noble Baron for his… concern," he began, a subtle edge in his tone. "He speaks of unnatural works. I speak of ingenuity. He speaks of strange machines. I speak of reason."
He addressed the court. "My valley was starving. I studied old texts, Roman texts, that speak of drainage and engineering. I used the intellect God gave me to apply those lessons. If it is 'unnatural' to use one's mind to turn a cursed swamp into a productive field that will feed the hungry and pay a double tithe to His Grace, then I confess, I am guilty of being unnatural."
A murmur of approval rippled through the lay nobles, who understood the value of a full belly.
"The Baron speaks of my master smith," Alessandro continued, his voice gaining strength. "I did not seek out a friend for my table. I sought the best craftsman in the region to forge the tools my people needed. A man's skill is a gift from God. I believe it is a sin to let such a gift rot because of past quarrels. I offered a great talent a path to redemption through honest, productive work. I ask you, is that not a Christian virtue?"
He then turned to face the Bishop directly, addressing the final, most dangerous charge. "The Baron speaks of my ambition. My ambition is simple: to be a strong, prosperous, and faithful vassal to you, Your Grace. A Rocca Falcone that is wealthy and secure is a far greater asset to this diocese than one that is weak and impoverished. I ask the court, which is the greater threat to the Bishop's peace: a lord who steps in to stop banditry, or a lord who allows it to fester on his borders?"
His rebuttal was complete, a masterful defense that had turned every accusation into a virtue. He had framed himself as a pious, intelligent, and effective administrator, a lord who brought prosperity and order—exactly the kind of vassal a ruler like the Bishop should value.
The Bishop of Veroli listened to it all, his face a perfect, unreadable mask. The arguments had been made. The testimonies had been heard. He held the fate of Rocca Falcone in his hands.
He raised a hand, calling for silence. "This court has heard the petition of Baron Valli and the answer of Lord de' Falchi. It has also heard the concerns of the Baron of Monte San Giovanni." His eyes swept the room. "These are weighty matters. The court will recess. I will deliver my judgment on the morrow."
With that, he rose and swept from the hall.
Alessandro and his delegation were escorted back to their quarters, the tension thick enough to taste. They had done all they could. The hours until morning would be the longest of their lives. As they walked down the long stone corridor, Enzo, ever watchful, noticed a flicker of movement ahead. The door to the Bishop's private chancellery was closing, but not before he saw the smirking face of Rinaldo, the Baron's steward, slipping out.
The trial in the hall was over. The real verdict was now being decided in the back rooms, through the dark arts of politics and influence.