Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
They traveled through the morning, stopping by a bubbling little stream that cut through a lazy green meadow filled with yellow poppies for a well-deserved lunch of jams, cheese, and bread.
The men ate as though it had been days since their last meal, the warm ride that morning having already begun to tire them out.
Philippe paced as he crammed a hunk of bread in his mouth, unable to settle in.
Though there was little risk of confrontation in this area, he remained hyper-vigilant and alert so his company could relax.
He ran through his list of tasks in his mind.
Men, horses, maps, supplies. The scouts had already been sent ahead to prepare accommodations, and the porters were busy tidying their path.
He checked everything once and then again.
He refused to be overwhelmed by this unclear and complex mission.
He didn’t have much information to go on, and he already felt the needling fingers of frustration piercing his patience.
He wanted to start assembling the clues as soon as possible.
So once the men began licking crumbs from their fingers, he hustled them up to leave.
He fed his horse a handful of sweet grass and retied the pack to the saddle.
He scanned the men and did another mental survey of everyone’s condition.
Maurice’s horse would need a new shoe soon; Daniel’s water sack had torn; Bernard had clearly hit his flask pretty hard but seemed the better for it.
Once satisfied that everything was accounted for, Philippe prepared to saddle up himself.
Before he did, he keyed into a conversation between his mapmaker and his guide.
They were about to enter the sun-soaked Bright Hills, which had several possible trailways for them to use.
Alex was recommending going straight through some of the ravines.
It would be faster and shield them from the day’s high heat, at least for part of the journey.
The streams would also be running, which would be nice for the horses.
The mapmaker, Henri, however, disagreed.
“It will be too much water. We should go over the top,” he insisted.
“That path is far more strenuous,” countered Alex. “And we’ll be exposed to the sun with very little shade.”
“If you are wrong,” he sneered, “we shall be wading our horses through an angry river rather than a stream.”
“I’m not wrong, good sir. There have been no storms to disturb the flow of water.”
Philippe mounted his horse and trotted over to them. “We are ready to leave. What is the problem?”
“My Lord,” said Henri. “Your guide here wishes to travel through a blocked path to gain a little shade. ‘Tis not safe. We must go over the hill rather than through it or risk the danger of unrestrained water against our horses.”
“Ah, Henri,” Alex teased. “I think you are more worried about getting your fancy boots wet than your horse.”
“My boots?” Henri blustered. “These cost more than a penny, young lady!”
“Okay, okay,” said Philippe. He turned his head. “Alex?”
“We face no issue traveling the path I have suggested. It is safe. The call is yours, Monsieur,” she replied, looking at him with deference.
Philippe looked from Henri to Alex, weighing both of their arguments.
In the end, he had sworn to treat her no different than any other guide he had worked with.
“It is simple,” he said. “We go where our guide guides us.” He grinned at Henri.
“If she is wrong, we can hold it over her head the rest of the journey.” Philippe then turned and called for the men to start.
He gave it no more thought and left the two of them to sort it out. But the small smile she had tried to hide wasn’t lost on him.