“. . . have taken Lady Sybella’s counsel to heart and have moved up the marriage between Anne and the Holy Roman emperor. It will be taking place this afternoon, by proxy. Hopefully the marriage will afford the duchess some measure of protection, especially since I have received reports that d’Albret and his forces are preparing to leave Nantes and march on Rennes. They may even have left by now, as the last message was hours old.”
Even though I have been expecting the announcement, it sends a spasm of fear down my spine. He will sniff me out just as he did when I was but eight years old and hiding one of the mongrel pups his favorite hunting bitch had given birth to.
Except I will not be here. I will be heading straight for him. Under his own nose may be the one place he might not think to look for me.
Captain Dunois is the next to speak. “Thanks to the Lady Sybella, we have rooted out what we hope to be the last of the saboteurs, so d’Albret will receive no aid once he arrives.”
How can he be so certain? I wonder. We have found seventeen men, but what if there are more? What if I missed some?
“What of the Spanish troops?” the duchess asks, her face drawn and shadowed. “Will they be here before d’Albret?”
“They arrived early this morning, Your Grace,” Captain Dunois says. “My second in command is seeing to their quartering.”
While that is good news, we all know that the one thousand Spanish troops is nearly insignificant against d’Albret’s numbers.
“And the free companies?”
“They have been contracted, Your Grace,” the chancellor tells her. “They should be here in a fortnight.”
Not soon enough.
The duchess turns back to Captain Dunois. “Has the weather cleared enough to let the British troops land?” Those six thousand troops are our one hope of breaking d’Albret’s siege of the city.
Dunois and Duval exchange a grim look. “We have just received word, Your Grace,” he says gently. “The French have taken Morlaix.” A gasp of distress goes up around the room.
“But the English troops!”
“Precisely. They will have to fight their way through the French to reach us—”
“Or be slaughtered where they stand,” Captain Dunois finishes.
There is quiet while we all ponder this latest disaster. It is as if a noose is being tightened around our poor kingdom’s neck. Duval bites back an oath and stands to pace.
Beast, who has been sitting like a simmering pot for the past few moments, finally speaks. “I will leave tomorrow and make all due haste to Morlaix, taking the charbonnerie with me.” He looks at each of the councilors in turn, as if daring any of them to object.
Chancellor Montauban frowns. “You cannot take on a thousand French troops with a handful of charcoal-burners,” he says, and I cannot help but wonder if he truly knows Beast at all.
“No, but we can provide a painful diversion that will allow the British a chance to land.”
“It is possible,” Duval says, sounding hopeful for the first time in days.
“As we travel, I will raise the countryside against these intruders who would pluck our very land out from under our noses. Perhaps some of them can join us in Morlaix.”
“I still say we cannot put our trust in the charbonnerie,” Chancellor Montauban says. “They are too unpredictable, too rebellious. I fear they will run when we need them the most.”
Beast’s eyes when they meet the chancellor’s are as frigid as ice on a pond. “They have given their word, Chancellor. And I, for one, am inclined to believe it.”
“But they are not well versed in the art of warfare,” Chalon points out. “We do not have time to train them for battle.”
Beast leans forward. “That is the beauty of the charbonnerie. They do not fight with conventional tactics. Rather, they use stealth, cunning, and surprise. Deception and ambush are their most effective weapons.”
“But there is no honor in that,” Chalon protests.
“There is no honor in defeat either,” Duval points out. “I cannot help but wonder if d’Albret’s move is timed to coincide with this latest French attack. Did he know our aid from the English would be delayed, and is that why he marches now?”
“We will know soon enough.” The abbess speaks into the quiet room. “The Lady Sybella will be returning to her post with d’Albret’s household, so we will have access to his plans, hopefully before he acts on them.”
The duchess turns to me with stricken eyes, and Ismae’s face goes white as snow. “But it is no longer safe for her there! He must know—or at least suspect—that she aided Beast in his escape.”
“It is not a question of safety, Your Grace, but of how we can best serve you, and, through you, Mortain.”
“Your loyal and dedicated service is duly noted, Reverend Mother.” The wry note in Duval’s voice reassures me that he does not wholly trust her either.
There is a long moment of silence, then the duchess speaks again. “I fear I must agree with Beast and the chamberlain, my lords,” she says. “We have few options available to us. I believe we will give these charbonnerie a chance to prove themselves.”
I will not be the only one riding to a likely death on the morrow—Beast will be as well.
Chapter Thirty-Four