Chapter 6: Gabrielle I

Prioress Gabrielle stalked the halls of River-of-the-Lilies Cathedral like a leopard out for prey. The news from her eyes and ears had been dire- Houses Amrien, Nessane and Oculi, all visited in turn by the king and the savages he called his royal guard. Although her spies confirmed that only Lord Oculi had been arrested and charged, all three have had their personal guards suddenly “volunteer for the Royal Army”. Amrien’s moronic trophy wife, Lady Nessane and her sheltered little brat were hauled off somewhere- likely the castle so the king could keep them as hostages.

The nun was still in the fullness of youth and beautiful to look at, with raven-dark hair and matching eyes, contrasting against her pale skin, and a shapely figure that her habit was not quite able to hide from the hungering eyes of the capital’s priests. Though she had kept true to her vows of chastity, Gabrielle was formerly a base orphan, raised on the streets, and thus knew well how easily the wicked hearts of men could be lead by a pretty face and a shapely body.

Rank and authority among the sisters was determined by age and piety, but with a seemingly native talent for politics and deceit, and the favour of the priests and bishops who did not quite dare to try and tempt her from God, Gabrielle ruled over spinsters and retired ladies alike in spite of her youth. Having grown up within the intrigue of the church, she knew it very well indeed, and until now had navigated it without fault or foul.

As Gabrielle moved through the halls, her face a thunderhead of barely-restrained fury, novices quailed from her, scattering out of her way. When she arrived at the door to cell, she clawed aggressively at the handle and then slammed it shut behind her. It had to have been that perfidious witch. The king had access to her at all times, and Gabrielle herself had warned their little conspiracy against trusting that pagan whore! And now, everything was falling apart like a paper parasol in the rain.

She reached into the armoire that all nuns were allowed to hod her spare clothing and what little grooming supplies they required, and tugged free the leather satchel that was hidden behind the layers of black fabric. She had packed the bag as a precaution, not truly believing that one day she would come to need it, but it contain civilian clothes- a simple homespun dress- some money, and handful of other things that Gabrielle would need to make good her escape. She was too important, and had too much authority for anyone within the cathedral to stop her, all she had to do was make her was to the edge of the grounds, where the ancient, crumbling wall sat low in the earth, change her clothes, and then...

She was startled out of her plans by a hammering upon her door. “Prioress Gabrielle!” came the muffled voice of her supposed superior, Bishop Mathys, “Open this door! King Roland is here, and he demands to see you this instant!”

Garbielle took a moment to compose herself, before returning her satchel to it’s hiding place and silently closing the armoire. Things were beginning to look grim, but perhaps there could be some other way out of this. She answered the door, a sweet smile prepared for the fat old bishop, but when she saw the black-armoured giants accompanying him, her look immediately soured.

“What are these pagan brutes doing, standing on holy ground!” she demanded, accusing, “Is it the habit of the church to give in to the demands of a mortal king who surrounds himself with witches and brutes? You know where this path leads, Mathys, if we begin bowing before secular authority, it weakens the church as a whole.”

The Bishop nodded, then turned to one of the royal guards. “Pardon me, sir, but perhaps I could be more convincing if we spoke in private?”

The royal guard seemed to think a moment, then nodded. “That can be allowed. You have five minutes.”

Bishop Mathys pushed himself into Gabrielle’s cell, closing the door behind him. At this proximity, Gabrielle couldn’t help but wrinkled her nose at the wine on his breath, and the stink of his sweat.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long, Gabrielle,” he hissed at her, keeping his voice low, “And how funny, how damned hilarious it is to see you fall on the authority of the church now, when you’ve been subverting my authority for years! But perhaps, you’re right, perhaps it would be best for the church as a whole if we were seen to protect our own. But I would need some ... proof of your renewed piety and devotion, if that were to be the case.”

The bishop reached for the belt on his elaborate holy robes and began to undo it, and Gabrielle shook her head. How painfully predictable. She reached out, and slapped the bishop, hard, across the face. “I may be caught, but I still have some pride,” she spat, “You take that sad cock of yours out, and I’ll happily bite it off. Perhaps you could attend your holy duties better without it to distract you.”

Mathys returned her sour look, then simply opened the door to the cell. “Forgive me, good sirs, but I could not convince her. She is yours to remove as you see fit.”

The guards moved with an alacrity that belied their massive size, and she was dragged bodily out of her cell, in front of the Bishop and a crowd of her fellow sisters. Rather than fight and scream, embarrassing herself in front of her former peers, Gabrielle instead chose to go limp. She was already forming a plan in her mind, and she would be no easy prey for this arrogant, petty king. He had never experienced the full wrath of the church, and when word reached the Papess it would come down on him with a vengeance. Then Gabrielle would seek out that perfidious little whore of a witch and make her pay, dearly.