Page 13 of Confounding Oaths
“Well, no,” conceded Lord Hawksmoor. “While many a gentleman might have feltcompelledto strike a gentleman over such a slight, few gentlemen actuallywouldstrike a gentleman over it. That isalsounbecoming.”
“Certainly it isn’t fit forpolitesociety,” added Lord Hale. “And that says nothing of the interference from”—he waved a dismissive hand in the direction of Captain James—“this individual.”
“That individual protected me from serious injury,” said Mr. Caesar, and he was surprised at his own conviction. Partly, of course, it was simply that he tended to assume any physical altercation would result in serious injury, but mostly it was out of an unexpected desire to protect the one who had protected him.
His uncle, however, was paying no attention. Instead he turned to Lord Hawksmoor with the conspiratorial affect that rich, powerful men used in their private dealings with other rich, powerful men. “What we have here is a private dispute between two gentlemen”—I can see the hearts of mortals as knots of coloured string, and a green skein of resentment twisted through Lord Hale at having to admit his nephew to be a gentleman—“in which a common soldier chose to intervene and, in intervening, brought disrepute on himself, his uniform, and the king’s army.”
Like all of the best horseshit, it was passionately delivered, and Lord Hawksmoor considered it for long enough that Captain James felt compelled to speak.
“I’m not a common soldier, my lord,” he said with almost touching conviction. “I’m an officer, promoted by Wellington himself.”
Lord Hawksmoor looked grave. “A fact that will remain true only so long as you continue tocomportyourself like an officer.”
“Which he has not,” added the major.
“And cannot really beexpectedto,” continued Lord Hale, “not being a gentleman.”
If there is one thing I respect about mortals, it is their ability to invent meaningless hierarchies for themselves. My own kind do it as well, of course, but we at least have the insight to know that it is nothing more than a game.
Mostlya game. My lord Oberon, by contrast, holds his power and title by natural right and by virtue of his many fine qualities so self-evident that they need not be explicated.
Before the group could further debate the complex philosophical question of whether shouting at underfed men in a muddy field was truly a skill one needed to be born with, they were interrupted by voices from outside.
“—can’t go in, his lordship’s—”
“Nonsense, my son is in there and you willabsolutelylet me through.”
“Now, now, Mary, fellow’s just doing his job.”
The harried ancillary opened the door and announced Lady Mary Caesar and her father, the Earl of Elmsley.
“Dicky,” exclaimed Lord Hawksmoor, “what’re you doing here?”
“Mary brought me,” explained the earl. “Said there’d been a spot of bother involving young Johnny and that maybe I could clear it up.”
Lord Hale gave his sister a cold look. “That was ill done, Mary. This was a matter of internal military discipline.”
“Then why are you here, Richard?” asked Lady Mary, placidly. “I always thought you rather despised the army.”
This was half a truth. Lord Hale had no special contempt for armed service, it was just that he seldom neededspecialcontempt to consider something contemptible.
“Besides,” added Mr. Caesar, “hadn’t we established that this was a private matter between gentlemen?”
“I think we had, actually,” confirmed Lord Hawksmoor. “Look, I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Dicky, but it really isn’t the sort of thing you need to worry yourself with.”
Where I come from, the resolution of this matter would have been simple. Each party would have abducted a mortal champion,transfigured them with fey sorcery into the most terrifying form possible, and then made them fight each other. The winner, naturally, would have been the contestant whose representative died most amusingly.
But in the mortal world, apparently, there were other, less sophisticated systems in place.
“The way I see it,” the Earl of Elmsley said with the confidence of a man accustomed to his way of seeing being treated as fact by all around him, “this is all a very nasty business. Mary has told me what happened and while I’m sure different fellows have different perspectives, it seems to me there’s no reason why we can’t all just shake hands and put it behind us.”
Lord Hale was looking at his father with a quintessentially human combination of despite and deference. “That may settle matters between John and Major Bloodworth, but there still remains the question—”
But his father didn’t let him finish. “Of the captain? Well, far be it from me to intrude on a military matter, but as I see it, if he’s good enough for Wellington he should be good enough for us.”
“Yes, well.” Lord Hale’s habitual distaste for anybody different from himself continued to war with his instinctive respect for his social superiors. “I’m nottotallycertain I’d take character references from an Irishman.”
Lord Hawksmoor pursed his lips. “Now, now, Hale. That Irishman is a peer of the realm. And a privy counsellor.”
