Promise her a better opportunity for familial and restoration

"The truth is, I know that Ivo was a good man from a proud line, and I am truly, truly sorry that he died..." you say softly. You don't even have to lie that intensely. It is true that Ivo came about when the son of Tula's reckless grandmother reacted to being exiled and denied his inheritance of land in exchange for a comfortable stipend of coin, which he then used to tour poor villages and cajole ignorant farmers' daughters into marrying him, then abandoning them whenever he grew slightly bored - bringing about a daughter who was only legitimate in the most technical sense of the term, who in turn managed to conceive Ivo illegitimately by a southern baron within a year of being hired as a nanny by the man's wife... and, it is also true that Ivo himself was a crude, violent, lecherous drunk already by the age of 20 (you'd known all of this in theory, but it had slipped your mind... you are terrible at remembering names) After all, in spite of all that, the man Ivo had died in the process of killing was a foreigner, and after all, isn't the **** of foreigners the entire point of knighthood?

You continue. "...but there are greater stakes of, ahem, honor at play here. Now I know that you think you can defeat Count Mace's troops..."

"You're damned right I can!" Tula replies. She punctuates that response with by slamming the mace painfully into your thigh, making tears fill your eyes and your voice quaver. You stagger on your feet and the crowd gasps. But, you will your delicate legs to keep you upright.

"...but he has thousands of men at arms, or more! Your... retinue... is not the cream of the crop, and you know it!" You topple forward against her, locking weapons with her again - she could easily knock you down, but she listens with arrogant curiosity.

"They're horny, malcontent second sons riding steeds that the vassals of the king passed over or discarded!" you go on, voice growing more and more strident. "And, and you think that Johari is going to give you victory? Those awful reeking corpses she and her order can make march like puppets aren't good for anything! They cannot bear armor, they cannot dodge, they swing a weapon slower than a 60 year old drunken invalid, and they come apart like a pile of old rags with a single hammer swing! And if, IF you win, it will all have been a distraction from what should've been your real goal all along!"

"Ruling your city? Seems like I'm about to have that with one more little love tap, Zoe. Do yourself a favor and stay down. I promise I won't break any of your bones or throw you in a dungeon if you do." Tula's big mouth (literally and figuratively) splits into a grin as she twirls her weapon in her hand and prepares to bring it down on top of your back (or your head, if you are unlucky).

"No! I mean reclaiming your birthright! Your family's original claim! The Frostpeaks! The County of Ausboden! Don't tell me you've forgotten?!"

She hesitates at last. "Navar... but... hah, do you think I'm stupid, Zoe? Duke whatshisface's father took that for his own personal demesne ages ago."

You say the next part loud enough for the crowd as a whole to hear. "Duke Magnus has fallen in battle, with no heir! The Frostpeaks is intestate! I had received the messenger bearing such news right before I went out to confront the advance of Aldergrove's mercenaries. If you had just had a SLIVER of patience I could have told you! The path is open for you to reclaim your original lands! But you'll never get them without MY witches, and MY..." you almost say 'Gaelicans' but remember Cadh is supposed to be keeping that under his kilt for a little longer yet. "...militia! And they won't follow you, not all the way to Aldergrove and CERTAINLY not to the Frostpeaks and Ausboden!"

Of course, you are lying - the Duke is merely wounded. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll die eventually. But even if he doesn't, you need Tula to give in to you right now.

"I, umm.... perhaps I acted hastily..." Tula says, blushing, looking from side to side causing her long brown braid to whip back and forth like a horse's tail.

"And don't think that you aren't going to pay me back for this indignity," you say, heat rising in your cheeks. "But, I will overlook it, for now. Now kneel."

"But..." she says, furrowing her brow. You have to go all out to bluff her into giving in. "I said kneel! Down! If you want that title, if you want to lead an actual army instead of a sad little band of vagabonds then you are going to kneel right now and, in front of everyone, you are going to KISS. MY. ARSE."