Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Afew miles away, Giroux and his companions were racing to their outpost. The hooves of the horses pounded on the ground as they whipped through the trees.
How had the young lord known so much, he wondered, feeling a pall hover around him.
Their plan, which had been so carefully crafted, had been unraveled right before him.
He didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew his leader would not be pleased by the clever connections the young man had begun to make.
Giroux had been lucky that his benefactor desired to bring aid into the region.
Giroux had long advocated on behalf of his village, but no one important ever wanted to listen.
Until, that is, Giroux had stumbled upon the man who would be his champion and who gave him a willing ear.
Suddenly, there was an objective and a plan.
There was money to fund their actions. It may not have been a noble army behind him, like his grandfather had once led, but Giroux had been given a voice and was proud to be leading a mission to help his people like the great men in his lineage had done before him.
Loyalty to his master—his ma?tre—had burned in his chest.
From the beginning, however, Giroux wasn’t always comfortable with the practices of his leader.
The man was quick and brutal; he refused to use names and spoke to few.
But the ma?tre was a smart man, far more intelligent than Giroux himself, and Giroux had given up trying to understand the finer details in his reasoning.
Though Giroux may not have always agreed with the tactics, his ma?tre was much better at getting results than Giroux had ever been.
His ma?tre had said that the Duke would not listen to reason unless he was forced, and that’s when they began making the raids, even though Giroux was against it.
His master had assured him that the attacks must match the desperation of the impoverished men of Babin, or no one would take their plights seriously.
But the men with whom he worked were not his countrymen.
They were mercenaries—as Monsieur Philippe had deduced—who had no honor.
They stole, they pillaged, they killed livestock.
Though Giroux had struggled to contain it all, several of the attacks had happened without his sanction.
That was how the boy had died. Giroux always staked out his targets to be sure of the number of inhabitants and always made sure they had sufficient means of escape during the attack.
But without his presence… Giroux had wept in solitude when he learned of the boy and requested humbly that they stop the raids.
But his ma?tre had spoken soothing words and promised it would serve the greater good in the end.
The five-man party approached a shallow bank of the river then.
It was a good spot for a small camp and Giroux left Monsieur Philippe’s two men there for the night.
He would meet with them in the morning, and they would return to Ponce with the ma?tre’s response.
Giroux’s own camp was not twenty minutes beyond the riverbank, but he wanted a moment for himself to collect his thoughts.
He directed his two soldiers to return to their group, saying he would be along shortly, while he himself took a moment to travel a little ways downstream.
He traveled only far enough to feel the isolation, then dismounted his horse and plunged his face into the cool water of the stream.
Tonight, he’d been given the chance he’d been waiting for.
He’d spoken to Monsieur Philippe with sincerity and passion about the suffering of his people.
And Monsieur had listened. Even after the brief meeting, Giroux felt he could trust the confident young man’s word.
Monsieur Philippe’s one criterion in providing aid was that his leader would stand trial.
Giroux laughed to himself as he wiped the water from his face.
His ma?tre was many things, but he was not a man who would face the public.
He was also a man, Giroux knew, who could be very dangerous if he didn’t get what he wanted.
Then, of course, there was the debacle over the girl, the strange girl who they had observed traveling with Monsieur Philippe’s party.
Giroux shook his head as he removed his boots and stockings, dipping his feet into the clear water.
The cold cut into his skin, but it helped him to clear his chaotic thoughts.
Being flushed from the caves earlier that week had come as a great hit to their safety and anonymity.
The interactions with the Duke’s men would have been on their terms as long as they had stayed hidden.
Once they had been discovered, Giroux’s ma?tre had floundered to find new leverage.
Then his leader had set his eyes on the girl.
No competent leader would give up a comrade, any comrade, but if he happened to be in love with one of them…
Well then, they had found a way to force his hand.
Giroux had adamantly refused to bring her into it at first, but once again his master’s smooth tongue had convinced him to do something that made him uncomfortable.
One mention of her tonight proved the theory correct.
Monsieur Philippe’s response was just what his master had predicted and, furthermore, had given Giroux powerful insight into just who the young man would be as an adversary.
Giroux felt trapped. He didn’t know which man would be a more devastating enemy.
However, he had a solution. One that became clearer as he sat with his sore feet dangling in the water: Giroux would be the one to stand trial in Chevalerie.
Though the crimes may have not been his idea, he had been part of them.
As long as he knew his people would be taken care of—his ma?tre would be left to protect them—his own fate mattered very little.
He just hoped he was putting his trust in the right man.
He remounted the horse and set off towards their camp. He rode until he came into range. He smelled the fire before he saw the outline of the small hunting shack that served as their marker. There were voices and the outlines of men he recognized.
He passed the corral where they kept their horses and came into the clearing. He jumped to the ground and asked, “Has Ma?tre arrived yet?” in the northern dialect, which was the only language most of them spoke.
“He is among us,” one of the men responded. He pointed in the opposite direction.
Giroux swung around and saw the hooded figure seated on a log at the edge of the clearing.
He was surprised at first that his master would let himself be so casually among his soldiers, as Giroux was typically the only one to deal with the leader directly.
He should have guessed the man would be eager to hear of the outcome.
“Ma?tre, I come with news,” he said, approaching the man. He returned to proper French as his master rejected the language of commoners.
“Indeed,” his master spoke. He sat still, with his hands placed on his knees. His face was obscured by the cloak, but his bearing alone confirmed his identity. “I see he did not give up the girl.”
“No,” Giroux responded. “He became very aggressive when I asked of her.”
“Hmm,” was his reply.
“But I have his response,” Giroux continued.
“Speak then. Tell me he abides.”
“He said fifty francs per month per village, but we relinquish access to the river,” explained Giroux. “And someone must stand trial for the loss of property and the boy.”
“That is an insult.” He did not break his rigid posture.
Giroux then kneeled before the man. “I beseech you, My Lord. The deal is not so bad.” He lowered his head into a bow. “I will stand trial, Ma?tre. If you will allow it.”
“And then what?” the cloaked man asked, rising. He took a few strides away, staring off into the night. “The money will be sent to the towns?”
“Yes,” Giroux rose from his bow and watched the man. “That is the deal.”
“I just hope he keeps his word,” he continued.
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” Giroux said.
The man turned then and took three powerful steps towards Giroux.
“Of course, you don’t,” he said potently.
“Because you are an honest man. Honest men have trouble picking out liars.” He held his hands behind his back, adjusting his posture once more.
Giroux could just make out his jawline, and it was set in sternness.
“My friend,” he continued. “You do know that you are being manipulated, don’t you? ”
“I don’t see how, Ma?tre,” Giroux responded.
The ma?tre strode away again and waved his hand out towards the other men.
“You or I or any of these fools could stand trial. Don’t you see?
Once the Duke can parade around his catch and show that he has found the man causing the trouble, your wishes will be moot.
He will secure another generation of power while you and your people pay the price. ”
“I didn’t think of that possibility,” Giroux said stiffly.
“The tax on the river is the only deal we want. Do you trust that after all these years the Duke will suddenly reach into his own coiffeurs and begin sending tribute to your home? Your cast-aside, forgotten home? Just because you asked?” He laughed into the night.
“My friend,” he said, putting his hand on Giroux’s shoulder.
“The only way to control the flow of money is to control the river yourself. You know that. You also know a mere fifty francs per month is a pittance if you even get it. Do not let the Duke and his minions cheat you out of what you deserve.”
“Then I will return to his men,” Giroux responded, “to give Monsieur Philippe our answer. We will negotiate a more suitable agreement.”
The cloaked man turned his head and watched out into the forest. He stared for a moment before replying, “I have a better idea.”
Giroux heard the clamor of bodies in the brush before he saw them. He squinted his eyes into the dark. Had they been followed? He grabbed towards the sword on his belt.
He shortly realized it was unnecessary. It was his two men he had left moments ago.
The tension in his body dissipated, only to come surging back a second later when he saw with whom they traveled.
Tied at the wrists and gagged, were Monsieur Philippe’s two soldiers, the ones Giroux had left by the river.
They stumbled behind their captors, wild eyed and frantic.
The prisoners were shoved to their knees before the ma?tre. They looked around madly, and when they saw Giroux, they spoke incoherent pleas to him through their gags. The other men from the camp were looking over and had begun to move closer, vultures to a kill.
“Ma?tre, there is no need to bind them,” Giroux said anxiously. He had not expected these men to be in danger. “They came with my approval.”
“My friend,” he said. “You must learn to take advantages where you find them. Monsieur Philippe wants my response?” He looked to the prisoners for a moment then nodded casually towards the one on the right. “Send his head.”
The bound men sputtered panicked appeals into the night. Giroux stared at his ma?tre aghast. “I refuse,” he stated plainly. This was all a step too far, too dishonorable. Giroux just wanted to help his people, not murder innocent men in cold blood.
His ma?tre paid no mind. “Who here will earn his position in the new regime we create together?” he said at large to the group, conceding to the commoner dialect.
The mercenaries looked at each other, snarls forming while a silent battle elected the bravest.
“I will,” said one, stepping forward. He removed his blade from his belt and, in a remorseless motion, swung at the man's neck, taking his head off with two hacking cuts. Blood pooled at Giroux’s feet as the body slumped to the ground.
The other prisoner screamed behind his gag, pulling against his binding until he too collapsed, twisting in the dirt.
The hooded man approached the struggling prisoner and pulled him up by the shirt. He grabbed his chin and angled him up to his own obscured face. “I would like you to tell your leader what you have witnessed here tonight. Can you accomplish that?”
The man nodded his head violently, speaking terrified nonsense into this gag.
“Take him back,” he said in dialect, and the two men who had brought them in, as of yet unfazed, leaned in to pick him up.
Then the ma?tre turned coldly to Giroux and spoke. “You have followed my leadership thus far. If you choose to stop now, then all of these sins will all have been done in vain.” He kicked the head to Giroux’s feet. “Now, I believe someone is waiting for our reply.”