“True enough,” Captain Dunois agrees. “I suppose it is too much to hope for that if Count d’Albret decides to march on Rennes, he will run into the French and they will eliminate each other.”
Duval gives a rueful smile. “Would that we were so lucky.” He pauses to look at his hands, then meets his sister’s gaze full on. “It is said that bad news arrives in threes, Your Grace.” Looking as if he could happily commit murder, Duval delivers the final blow. “We have received a letter from Count d’Albret.”
All eyes in the room turn to me. I ignore the sharp sting of their regard and concentrate wholly on Duval and the duchess, as if we are having a private conversation. “Does he know Beast is here?” I ask.
“Not that he indicates. The purpose of the letter was to ask that the duchess reconsider honoring their marriage agreement, else he will be forced to do something she will not like.”
“Besiege the city,” I whisper.
Duval nods. “He does not come out and say so, but that is my assumption as well.”
The duchess, who has gone pale at this news, visibly gathers herself. “What of the Holy Roman emperor? Has he received word of how dire our plight?”
“He has. He will send two auxiliaries to aid us.” Duval’s voice is drier than high summer.
“Two auxiliaries?” Captain Dunois says. “Is he serious? So few, and not even professional soldiers?”
“I’m afraid so. He is also suggesting that we perform the marriage ceremony by proxy in order to get the thing done.”
Jean de Chalon shifts uneasily in his chair; it is his overlord they are speaking of, and perhaps he feels his loyalties are being stretched thin. “I am sure he is doing all that he can. He is much besieged by his war with Hungary.”
Duval does not deign to answer this. The duchess’s mouth tightens in disapproval, but she does not contradict her cousin, although I feel certain she wishes to. “Does a marriage by proxy even count in the eyes of the Church?” she asks the bishop.
“Yes, it can, if done properly.”
“But we still won’t have his troops to defend the alliance,” Captain Dunois points out.
“What of mercenaries? How difficult would it be to get companies of mercenaries here?”
“Not too difficult.” Duval’s voice is gentle, as if he wishes to take the sting from the words that now follow. “What presents a problem, Your Grace, is that we have no money to pay them.”
She looks at him blankly for a moment. “None?” she whispers, then looks to her chancellor.
He confirms Duval’s assessment. “I’m afraid not, Your Grace. The duchy’s coffers were greatly strained by the wars with the French over the last two years. The treasury is empty.”
The duchess rises from her chair and begins pacing in front of the fire. She is very nearly out of options, and she must know it. “What of my family’s jewels? The silver plate? The crown—”
The bishop gasps in horror. “Not your crown, Your Grace!”
“Will that bring enough coin to pay them?”
“Your Grace! Some of your jewelry has been in your family for generations,” Chalon says. I cannot help but wonder if he is keeping track of what he would inherit if anything were to happen to the duchess.
“Jewels can be replaced, my cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.”
The room is silent as the company digests her words, then Beast leans forward to speak for the first time. “There are some who would fight at our side for free,” he tells them.
“Who?” Captain Dunois and Chancellor Montauban ask at the same time.
“The charbonnerie.”
“This is no time for jests,” the chancellor says with reproach.
Beast meets his eyes levelly. “I am not jesting. Furthermore, they have already agreed to fight by our side.”
“They are nothing but outcasts, ruffians who must scrabble in the forest to get by. Do they even know how to hold a sword?” Montauban asks.
“They do not fight by conventional tactics, but with the art of ambush and surprise.”
Chancellor Montauban opens his mouth to argue some more, but Duval interrupts him. “I do not think we are in a position to turn down any offers,” he says. “Beast and I will talk of this later.”
The abbess of Saint Mortain breaks the awkward silence that follows. “What of d’Albret’s men?” It is only years of practice that keeps me from flinching at her words, for while she directs her question to Captain Dunois, I know in my bones it is intended for me. “Have you been able to locate any of the saboteurs?” she asks.
The captain shakes his head. “No, there are so many men-at-arms in the city, all from such scattered parts of the country, and not all are known to me. I have begun to put word out to the garrison commanders to be wary, but there are over eight thousand men-at-arms, and two dozen places where they could help d’Albret’s main force breach our defenses. It will take time.”