Chapter 19 #2
There they stood. Philippe’s men with their backs to the cavern, the three rebels with their backs to the river.
It was the moment they had been inching towards since they left Chevalerie, and Alex could feel the pressure radiating in the walls and centering on Philippe and the man before him.
But she herself actually felt at ease, more interested in chasing a moth that had fluttered towards her than the meeting.
She brought her hand to her mouth to laugh, but she passed it off as a sneeze.
The eyes of the man at the center darted over to her. She coughed and looked away.
“I am sent here by my master to discuss a treaty,” the large man said, in the formal language of France. The words were eloquent and respectful, not at all what she’d expected to come out of his mouth.
“I am disappointed that he doesn’t come himself,” responded Philippe. The same formal language fell off his tongue easily, not showing any surprise if he too felt it.
“He sends his most trusted lieutenant, Monsieur,” the man replied with a bow. “As I see the Duke has done.”
They continued in the same formal language and navigated the introductions.
No one paid much attention to Alex, far off to the side, and she congratulated herself for remaining inconspicuous.
When they sat, she followed but sidled further towards the opening of the cave, the cool air feeling good in her lungs.
The fire continued to pop and break, sending occasional hot sparks into the air and causing the men to jump and brush them away.
Despite the haziness in her head, she listened closely, eager as the rest of them to understand just what the crux of this problem was.
She determined that the three men were not cut from the same cloth.
The leader carried himself very differently from the two brutes who accompanied him, each of whom seemed as dumb as he did nasty, but the man in front had intelligence in his eyes.
The leader went by the name Girard Giroux and had an ancient form of nobility behind his speech.
Even his name, she felt, was historically significant, but she couldn’t quite remember why.
Giroux. She tried it on her tongue to see if it brought up any recognition.
It didn’t, but the sound earned her a sharp glance from Philippe. She shut her mouth once more.
The discussions went on for almost an hour, or it could have been ten minutes from her cloudy perception.
Philippe had a keen sense of fairness marked with a demeanor that was not to be provoked.
Giroux, likewise, was deferential but not a pushover either.
He had an agenda and wanted Philippe to know his story.
Giroux was from a small village known as Babin, one of a series of little towns along the banks of the Durance River.
Alex knew of the town but had never visited it herself.
The river towns were tucked into recesses in the canyon and are notorious for being inaccessible.
Because of their isolation, there was very little trade, and the river, which was prone to flooding, had made it impossible to farm items that could be exported to larger towns.
The townspeople were suffering, and Giroux explained to Philippe they felt forgotten by the Duke and their country.
They wanted to tax passage through the unregulated river.
Currently, boats traveling the river paid no tolls.
Babin sat at a critical bend, making it the perfect place to administer a toll, which Giroux insisted would be fair, bringing revenue and trade into the region.
There was no reason the northern part of Provence should not benefit from the ships commuting to the South.
And with no assistance or change to the regulations, their home was sure to die.
Alex didn’t follow the politics of the region too closely, but she felt like this river was always causing problems. The Duke had refused a tax in the past, and, as Philippe explained to Giroux, he wanted the passageways into the region to be unfettered, fearing a tax would cause dissidence and fuel aggression towards these very people.
The river was an important part of Provence and any alteration to the expected tolls could be felt throughout the region.
According to Giroux, the attacks had been intended to get the audience of the Duke, which, by bringing Philippe and his men to them, it had.
Giroux and his master did not expect to be discovered and had hoped to meet on more even footing.
Uncovering their hideout had disturbed their plan.
They first thought to run but then decided it was in everyone’s best interest to face up to their crimes now, before any more innocents were hurt.
Nevertheless, Giroux argued, they had gone out of their way to strike areas that were not heavily populated.
Though it was unfortunate for those who lost their homes, he claimed much thought was put into choosing areas that were economically prosperous and could absorb the losses.
“But more has been lost than homes,” Philippe said to Giroux.
Giroux nodded and looked down. “The boy that died,” he said. “I can say the attacks as of late have become more…impulsive. I take responsibility. And I grieve for his lost potential.” Then he raised his head once more. “I did not dare say our plight was free from sin.”
“Why do you hire mercenaries?” Philippe asked abruptly.
“Monsieur?”
“The men you command, they are mercenaries, no? Not your countrymen.”
Giroux paused for a long moment. “We have hired some mercenaries to help us.”
“But your attacks suggest the unskilled doings of men with no resources.”
“Monsieur, I have expressed that the attacks were solely to gain your attention.”
“And you had no other means by which to gain our attention? It seems a lot of preparation went into trying to hide the fact that you have a benefactor.”
“There was a lot of preparation to be sure no one was injured.”
“At that you failed,” Philippe said, watching Giroux. “Someone gave orders to attack that house with the boy. But they were not your orders, were they?”
Giroux stood uncomfortably for a moment. “I don’t know exactly what you are questioning, Monsieur.”
“An army can be built only on loyalty,” Philippe said. “Or it is doomed.”
Giroux stood mutely, clenching his jaw against Philippe’s words.
Philippe watched the man for a long while.
Alex could tell he was working something out in his mind after the strange series of questions.
Finally, Philippe spoke, slipping into a stately, formal tone fit for a Duke’s son.
“On behalf of the Duke, we were not aware of the suffering on the banks of the river.” He rested his hands on his knees in a sign of deference. “I assure you, they will be cared for.”
“I thank you,” Giroux nodded.
“But I can promise,” Philippe continued, leaning back once more, “there will be no money or aid until someone stands for these crimes.”
“That is understandable. Though I beg you, Monsieur, my countrymen are innocent.”
“We shall find a reasonable outcome,” Philippe continued. “The Duke is a fair man.”
“Then with your permission,” Giroux nodded to Philippe and then indicated to the two men beside him, “We shall take our leave. I will deliver this news. And you have my word, Monsieur Philippe. I will do whatever I can to ensure the peacefulness of your proposition.” Then he shifted uncomfortably, “though I don’t expect my leader will accept these parameters. ”
“If he sponsored these attacks in the name of his people, there should be no question that my offer is fair,” Philippe said. “If he did this for himself, then it will clearly be unacceptable. Perhaps we shall both see who your leader really is.”
The men rose then. Philippe shook Giroux’s hand.
Luc handed back their swords. Philippe directed Maurice and Auguste to go along with Giroux, to accompany his party back towards their camp to wait for communication.
Then Philippe dusted his pants and returned to sitting, where he resumed his whittling.
And like that, Alex realized the meeting was over.
She was surprised that Giroux had been so humble.
She was expecting a far more unstable bunch, but luckily, they didn’t seem interested in causing problems.
As he turned to leave, Giroux hesitated. He slipped into that nearly forgotten dialect from the North they had heard in the Sable Noir and tried it on Philippe. “The girl,” he said.
Alex’s ears perked up, though she didn’t lead on that she understood.
“What about her?” Philippe asked coldly, using the same dialect. She was surprised Philippe spoke it, but guessed most of the other men didn’t. Giroux had been right in assuming a duke’s son would be privy to the languages of his people.
“Before I go,” Giroux began, “I must ask, why bring this woman with you?”
“She is our guide,” he responded, not looking up.
“That is strange,” he replied. When Philippe didn’t respond, he continued, “If you wish to send a message of goodwill, I think my master should very much like a guide, as such.”
Philippe’s movements ceased. “She’s not going anywhere,” Philippe said with an eerie calm.
“It would be a very amicable gesture,” Giroux pressed as his eyes flicked over to Alex.
“You have my answer,” Philippe responded, his voice icy. The only other sound was that of his knife slicing persistently against the wood in his hand.