You thought you'd sold the magnificent tapestry to a discrete buyer. One who was going to add the piece to their private collection, and let only a select audience lay eyes on its majesty. How wrong you were. Somehow the tapestry ended up in foreign hands, hung on a distant capital's inner city walls, where it was pilloried and defaced. Apparently one scene showing you addressing your people has been used as target practice. Several throwing knives are lodged in your chest, while a errant arrow sticks from your eye.
The citizens are proud and blame you for the mockery of their empire.