Noreveaux

(translated into Modern English by M. Crutaoun)

Day One, Week One

You came here to take the last will and testament of a condemned man. You have succeeded in this yet you have returned. I have nothing to give and no family to give it too. My business with you should have been short, and you should have left me to my fate as a hated man. But you wish to hear my story? I fail to understand as why you, Sir Recorder, would care about such a thing. You have a life to live, I do not. You probably have a family, I have no one. I cannot see your interest in me, and I would think a wise mine such as yourself would have business elsewhere

But I best get on with this tale before I bore both you and me to death. I am the knight Francois Gerardine de Toulouse, but you know that. Everyone here knows that. Oh how that name must chill the spines of man and beast alike, and I must admit even to me it rings hollow in my bones. Pah! In all the thousand hells that preachers ever preached none of them could ever produce such a hated name to me! It has been the cause of all these problems ever since I was old enough to know the difference between noble and peasant, lord and serf, peon and conquistador. The nobility in my blood burns me like the Eternal flame that screams day and night in the Temples of Jews or even the great hot sun bearing its face down upon these tired veins. I assure you Sir Recorder had I any belief in the divine I would pray to God for sixty weeks, sixty years, sixty centuries to remove that filthy stain from my blood…but alas God is dead to me and dead to the world and dead to all the things He took his sweet seven days to make. If he was even remotely alive none of this nasty business would have ever happened.

But I digress. My father Antoine Gerardine was a noble of the Frank kingdom though he should not have been. You know my ancestors were extremely lucky in this aspect, for back in the days of Charlemagne a great ancestor baked the King of the Franks a quite excellent loaf of bread. The king, having drunk too much wine for even his royal person to handle, called the baker (my ancestor) and right there and then had his royal scribes give him land and a title as a minor house noble. That loaf of bread gave my progenitors serfs to work for them, beautiful country to live off, and the peace of mind that none of us would ever have to slave over a hot oven ever again. My father was four or five generations worth of offspring from this noble ancestor, and therefore never learned the humility of what it means to really work. By that generation the meaning of good work was meant only for the peasants, and a good life meant how much money could he make and how many women could he take. Every other week a different maiden from a different kingdom and every now and then from a different country. Algeria, Tunisia, England, Germany, you name it and my father has sampled one of its maidens. He might have impressed all the women of the world but all of his fellow “nobles” despised him. Here was this pompous, self-loving minor house noble who gained his title though an ancestral freak accident bragging away and acting like he is the Heir Errant to the throne! It was insulting, and they did something about it, oh they did. You have heard of belladonna nightshade haven’t you? Of course you have what decent historian hasn’t! One of the most common poisons of all time! Cheap but so very, very deadly. Well I will tell you something that you don’t know. There is another plant that is a very distant cousin to belladonna nightshade, and is possibly thrice as poisonous, yet they sit there taking in all the Lord’s sunlight and nobody gives them a second thought save their berries which the rich find delightful to consume. It’s the cherry tree, Sir Recorder! The cherry tree may make delicious berries, but every other part of that plant is pure poison! A large leaf, boiled and pressed makes a fine white powder that if ever inhaled or eaten causes near instant death. There is no disgusting vomiting or discoloration like most other poisons, the victim merely stops breathing. So they served it to my father during one of his many nightly sweet cravings and he dropped to the castle floor like a sack of manure. Just…dropped. No “goodbye my son I’ll always love you” for me, there was no report from the doctor that my father might die in a few days. He just…dropped….he probably wouldn’t have said anything to me anyway… Well that should be it, you have all that you came for yes? You have my confessions and my last will and testament, and that is all you came for yes? Good. Now leave. I’m tired of this conversation, and I want to sleep. Yes I am quite aware that it is daylight out and I am not hungry for supper. Leave me be.

Recorders Notes:

M. Gerardine seemed deeply disturbed by my presence, understandably so. He signed the confession so it is no secret of what he did at Noreveaux, however I want to know why he did it. The guards did not like me disturbing M. Gerardine, but for the sake of this country I must know, why is a nobleman locked up like this? Why is he being treated this way when even the filthiest peasant is treated better? I must know!