The Maid's War(56)
He remembered that Jeremy had asked him a question, and he let out a pent-up breath. “I received a letter from Genette,” he said gruffly. “Before I knew her, she couldn’t write her own name. Now look.” He waved the letter. “She’s not just dictating letters to a scribe. This is her own handwriting.”
“What does she say?” Jeremy asked. “Is she still hammering fruitlessly at Compenne?”
“No,” Alensson said, shaking his head. “She abandoned it.”
“Really? Where is she now?”
“She’s heading to Shanton.”
Jeremy’s brow wrinkled. “The border city? Why there?”
Alensson rolled up the letter and stuffed it into his saddlebag. “I learned from her that Chatriyon is giving that city to the King of Brugia.” He frowned with resentment. “Obviously His Majesty didn’t see fit to consult with me on the matter. Giving Brugia a foothold in Occitania is dangerous. If you let the wolf’s snout inside the henhouse, he’ll soon be eating the hens.”
Jeremy chuffed loudly and in surprise. “I truly didn’t believe the king would be such a fool. But why is the Maid heading there?”
Alensson smiled ruefully. “Because the city of Shanton isn’t keen on being surrendered to the Brugian army. They’re holding out, and they asked the Maid to come help them.”
“They asked her to defy the king?”
He gave his captain a knowing look. “She says she’s obeying the will of the Fountain. She bids me to join her in preventing Brugia from taking over. Apparently they’ve sent a strong force to threaten the mayor of the city. She sent this message six days ago, so she’s probably already there.”
Jeremy’s brow wrinkled with concern. “And what are you going to do, my lord? The king wants you here to keep the pressure on Deford. I don’t care how accomplished the man is, fighting three fronts at once would cause anyone grief. Surely Deford doesn’t want Brugia intervening.”
“Of course not,” Alensson said, rising and beginning to pace. “Remember that Brugia and Ceredigion are currently allies, bound by marriage. King Philip must tread carefully, because if he provokes Deford too much, he’ll get invaded himself.”
“And Ceredigion controls the Brugian city of Callait, does it not?”
“Indeed. They have a foothold. And there’s another reason why it would be foolish to give Philip one with us. What if he’s deceiving Chatriyon? What if the foothold is a pretext to help Ceredigion? It could be disastrous for them to have a fortress inside our realm. I can see why Genette is so upset. She called the king a few . . . unflattering names in her letter.” He grinned as he recalled them.
“How fares your wife?” Jeremy asked after another moment’s pause. “The babe is due before the winter, aye? Or was it spring?”
“The spring,” Alensson said.
That opened up another festering sore inside him. It must have shown on his face, for Jeremy said, “Is she not well?”
“It’s been a difficult pregnancy thus far,” Alensson said, continuing to pace. He clenched his fist, wishing he could punch something. He hated being so far away from his wife, especially since he knew how much she suffered. He knew his decisions affected not only himself but also Jianne and their unborn child. It was a torturous position to be in. “She can hardly keep any food down. She says this is normal, but she’s suffering and lacking the comforts her station deserves.”
“Is she still in Lionn? Surely her uncle’s attending to her needs?”
Alensson shook his head. “No, Lord Hext is at Shynom trying to negotiate his brother’s release from prison in Ceredigion. She went back to her cottage in Izzt.” He ground his teeth with frustration. “Would I were there instead. But what could I do? I’m no nurse, no midwife. I’ll go back for the winter months, and she says she’s content to wait until then.” He let out his breath, feeling torn and conflicted. Genette wanted him at Shanton. The king wanted him to stay in La Marche. His wife needed him. What was he to do?
Jeremy rose from his bench. “I’ll give you time to think about your answer then. Your men will follow you no matter where you lead them. Maybe it’s time we attacked the palace of Kingfountain, eh?” He chuckled softly. “That would surprise them.”
“Indeed,” laughed Alensson. “As you said, my mind is in turmoil. Grant me some time to ponder the dilemma before I give orders for the morrow.”
After his captain’s departure, the only sound was the chorus of the crickets. Alensson took a drink from his wine flask and winced at the bitter taste. He rummaged through his saddlebag again until he found the pile of letters he’d bound with a strap of leather. They were all from Jianne. He carefully untied them and started to read them over again, admiring the penmanship and savoring the words of love and encouragement from his wife. There was such a difference between her letters and Genette’s. He paused, his thoughts drifting to the Maid once more. She had seemed so certain that the Fountain would deliver Pree into their hands. Yet she had failed. Rather, the king had pulled back his forces too soon—he hadn’t given the Fountain’s magic time to aid them. Alensson had thought on that decision over and over since they’d abandoned Pree, and he still believed the king hadn’t wished for her to be successful. How would he take her actions now? If she’d truly gone against his wishes, it would give Chatriyon justification to declare her a traitor. Would he dare do that? If he did, did that mean Alensson would be considered a traitor for helping her?