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“No, but it is a reprieve, and I will gladly take it.”
“As will I. Now be safe. And Godspeed to you all.”
Of course, the king does not take my word that I will leave and has chosen to send an escort to accompany me to the Abbey of Saint Odile, the place recommended to us by Father Effram. I do not mind, for the hardest part is behind us. Now all we must do is warn the Breton barons of Rohan’s plans, aid them as necessary, then return with the proof of his treason. While Rohan is one of the wealthiest land owners in Brittany, he is only one man, and his resources are limited.
The abbey is but an hour’s ride from Paris. As we leave, the fear and tension is pulled from my body, as if the end of it has snagged on the walls of the palace gate. It slowly unravels until it is naught but a thin, frayed thread that snaps when we pass out of the city limits.
When we arrive at the abbey, the abbess herself greets me. She was born in Brittany, and her mother was a dedicand of Saint Brigantia. She does not offer any refreshment to my guards, but instead ushers me inside while they turn around and begin their ride back to the city. Once we are within the sturdy stone walls, she glances at me. “Would you like to rest and partake of some refreshment?”
“No thank you, Reverend Mother.”
Her mouth twitches. “I did not think so. And it is just as well, as I think the larger one is going to chop all my trees into firewood to pass the waiting.”
We proceed through the abbey to the grounds behind it where I spy the others. Beast looks up just then, drops his ax, and begins striding toward me. “It is done. We are free.”
Chapter 72
“How many do you think there are?” Poulet keeps his voice low so it does not carry down into the valley.
Lying on his belly with half his chest hanging over the edge of the ridge, Beast grunts, “Two hundred.”
We are all on our bellies, spying on Rohan’s troops that surround Marshal Rieux’s holding at Châteaugiron, but Beast is the only one risking life and limb. I resist the urge to yank him back from the edge. As if I could budge his great bulk.
Lazare spits off to the side. “Are we sure he’s not working with them?”
It is a fair question, given the marshal’s fickle loyalties in the past. “I think the eight cannon pointed at his castle are a fair indication that he is not,” I say.
Lazare shrugs. “Could be for show.”
“To show whom? No one is coming as far as they know.”
He lets it go, but not without muttering something under his breath. I ignore him and angle my body to better hear what Beast is saying.
“Two hundred men, eight cannon. No other siege engines, except a battering ram.”
“Is that normal?” Gen asks.
Beast shakes his head. “They are trying to stay as nimble as possible.”
Gen stares back down at the heavy cannon, each of them at least five times the weight of Beast. “Those are nimble?”
Beast grins. “Compared to other siege engines. And they can do far more damage in less time.”
“How do a dozen of us overpower two hundred men and their cannon?” Gen muses. To her credit, her voice gives no hint that she thinks the task impossible.
Beast scoots back from the edge. “Very strategically.”
Lazare rolls over and stares up at the sky. “We will foul their powder.”
Aeva frowns at him. “They will have more brought in. Why not simply aim their cannon at them?”
“Cannon aren’t very effective against infantry,” Beast explains. “They’re too scattered to provide a solid target. You might take out a few, but you won’t do any lasting damage.”
Lazare sighs to make sure we all know how we try his patience. “Besides, then we wouldn’t have the gunpowder.”
“Wait. If we want the gunpowder, why not just steal it?” Gen asks.
“Because we don’t want them to suspect anyone is out here working against them.” Lazare shoots her a lopsided grin.
“What is the advantage to having fouled powder?”
He rolls his eyes. “They will send for more. And when they do, we’ll ambush that shipment of powder, and we will have it and not them.” His eyes take on a dreamy, faraway look. “Do you know what I can do with all that powder?
I smile. “I have a good idea.”
Beast nods in approval. “Now we just need to get a message to Rieux to let him know what we’re planning. If timed well, he could use the interval to turn his cannon on them and do some damage without risking his holding.”
We all stare down in silence at the impenetrable fortress surrounded by two hundred foe and wonder how in the name of all the saints we are to get a message through that.
“It’s impossible,” Poulet finally says.
Aeva scoffs. “It’s as easy as breathing.” She motions to the castle. “I get close enough to shoot an arrow over the wall.” I eye the distance dubiously, but if anyone can, it is she. “Unless he’s of duller wit than I remember, he will recognize the fletching as belonging to Arduinna.” She glances at me. “And he can read, can’t he?”
* * *
It is decided, over Beast’s protests, that Genevieve, Aeva, Lazare, and I will be the ones to sneak into Rohan’s camp and foul the powder. The four of us were born to shadow or forest, and we are armed with knives and garrotes, arrows and wineskins.
“We will accompany you as far as the edge of the woods,” Beast insists.
As we head out, Aeva gets close enough to mutter, “He wasn’t nearly this fussy before you got here.”
I shoot her a withering look. “That’s because he doesn’t care what happens to you.”
“Or he knows I’m not as impulsive as some.”
Lazare cuts us off. “Unless you are planning to alert the enemy to our approach, I suggest you all hush your flapping mouths.” We are nowhere close enough for Rohan’s men to hear us, yet we stop talking all the same.
Once we draw near the camp, we spread out. It is more difficult to notice one person moving in the dark than an entire troop. The sentries on night watch do not so much as cast a glance in our direction as we sneak past them. At the main camp, there are a dozen pitched tents—we are having a warm, early spring, so many of the men sleep out in the open.
The artillery wagon is with the rest of th
e supply train. While a number of men have laid their bedding around it, there are no additional posted guards. They are either certain of their watchmen or confident that they will meet no opposition. They are wrong on both counts.
Aeva stays back from the supplies, on the far side of the sleeping men, with her bow drawn in case any should wake and want to interfere. Lazare leads Genevieve and me toward the wagon. After peering at the contents for a few moments, he springs lightly up into the wagon bed and begins silently moving around.
He finds seven small wooden barrels and carries them to the back, where Gen and I wait. He removes a knife and pries the cork from the hole, then peers inside. “This is it.” His voice is nearly indistinguishable from the soft night noises around us.
Using my knife, I pry the cork from the barrel closest to me, then lift the wineskin and pour all the water from it into the barrel, moving the stream around so as to soak as much of the powder as possible. Beside me, Gen does the same.
But we have only brought six wineskins, and there are seven barrels. Before I can ask Lazare what we should do for the seventh barrel, I hear a faint trickling sound. Beside me Gen makes a muffled noise. When I look up, Lazare grins over his shoulder as he pisses into the final barrel. From the twinkle in his eye, I cannot help but think he planned to do that, no matter how many barrels there were.
* * *
When we have finished with the powder, we return to the woods where Beast, Yannic, and Poulet are waiting. Aeva glances at the sky. “The wind has died down, and the camp is asleep. Now is the best time to send the message.”
“Do you have a spot picked out?” Beast asks.
Aeva points.
“Very well. Lead us to it.”
She stares at him. “I do not need an armed guard to shoot an arrow.”
Beast shrugs. “Mayhap not, but we are going to provide one, nonetheless.”
It is clear she wishes to argue, but having traveled with him for weeks must have taught her the uselessness of such effort. With a quiet huff, she heads toward her vantage point.
