“How can it be otherwise, dearest Godmother? But before I depart to—to distant places, I want you to know this:”—and he stopped and reached out a hand to touch her cheek, down which tears promptly sped in response—“I will never suffer my sword, or those of my men, to be lifted against yours.”
“I remain a vassal of Philip, so how can you make such a promise?”
Hugh looked at her steadily. “I make my oath and I pledge my life upon it.” And then he studied her more closely, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “But I foresee that my promise may not be so difficult an oath to keep as you suggest. I see other changes afoot, Godmother. Don Fernando proclaims himself the king in the Low Countries, but not the king of the Netherlands? What careful distinctions. They almost seem like mincing steps and mincing words, if I didn’t know him—and you—better.”
As his smile widened knowingly, she felt another stab of panic: does he suspect our plans? He must not! Not yet, anyway—for his own sake. And his next words did indeed quicken her fear that Hugh might have stumbled upon the subtle machinations she had activated for his eventual benefit and of which he had to remain unaware, for now.
“And Fernando’s careful steps towards greater autonomy also lead me to wonder: which Americans have had your ear in the privy chambers? And how has Philip reacted to your receiving their counsel, and to Fernando’s unusual declaration? No, do not tell me. If I do not know Philip’s will on this matter, or your plans—and you do not know mine—then Philip can never accuse you of being a traitor to his throne, no matter what might occur.”
Isabella managed not to release her breath in one, great sigh of relief. No, he had no specific information. He discerned the looming crisis—the inevitable conflicts with Madrid—but nothing more specific. Thankfully, he had not learned of their plans or his envisioned role in them.
Hugh was now completing and expanding the oath with which he had begun. “So finally, know this too, Godmother. Once I have returned from my travels, if you call for my sword, it is yours. And, if Don Fernando finds himself estranged from his brother’s good opinion, and still in your favor, he may call for my sword as well.”
Until that moment, Isabella had always cherished a view of Hugh as the wonderful, smiling boy that had made her childless life a little more bearable. Now, he was suddenly, and completely, and only, a man and a captain, and, possibly, an important ally in the turbulent times to come. The ache of her personal desolation vied with the almost parental pride she felt for the boy who had become this man. The contending emotions washed through her in a chaotic rush and came out as another quick flurry of tears. Through which she murmured, “Via con Dios, dear Hugh. Wherever you may go.”
He smiled, took his hand from her cheek, and put his lips to her forehead, where he placed a long and tender kiss. She sighed and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, he was gone.
Amiens, France
As du Barry entered, Turenne looked up. “What news?”
“We have word concerning the earl of Tyrconnell’s clandestine northward journey, sir. He slipped over the border into the Lowlands without incident four nights ago. Soon after, he apparently began the process of bringing the first group of troops down to us, the ones that will go with him to Trinidad.”
“Excellent. And how do you know this?”
“Reports from our watchers near his tercio’s bivouac report a smallish contingent making ready for travel. Several hundred more seem to be making more gradual preparations for departure.”
“I see. Did Lord O’Donnell ask for their release from service at court in Brussels?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how did he manage it?”
Du Barry reddened. “I regret to say we do not know, Lord Turenne. Once he crossed the border, our agents were not able to keep track of him. He is far more versed in the subtleties of those lands and those roads. For a while, we even feared him dead.”
Turenne started. “What? Why?”
“The very last reports inexplicably placed him in Colonel Preston’s camp just outside of Brussels during a surprise attack upon a council of the other captains of the Wild Geese tercios. Our observer necessarily had to hang well back, so as not to be picked up in the sweeps afterward. By the time he returned, he could find no trace of O’Donnell, nor pick up his trail.”
Turenne thought. “Is there any chance the earl himself staged that attack? As a decoy to distract our observers, and to escape in the confusion of its aftermath?”
Du Barry shrugged. “Not unless Lord O’Donnell was also willing to sacrifice a number of his own men to achieve those ends, sir. And his reputation runs quite to the contrary of such a ruthless scheme. His concern for his men is legendary, and a matter of record. The only friction he ever had with his godmother the archduchess, other than some puppyish clamorings to be sent to war too early in his youth, were his complaints over the recent welfare of, and payrolls for, the common soldiers of his tercio.”