A Flawless Gambit
La Tour de Kerlochwas a formidable fortress perched on a jagged, treacherous cliff overlooking the tumultuous, turbulent sea. Inside its massive stone crenelated walls, Ugolin le Clou sat with his father, Robert Cauchon, and Onfroi—the wealthy and powerfulVicomte de Vannes—at a large rectangular wooden table in the well-appointed antechamber.
Ugolin stared in disbelief and disgust at the trio of incompetent, idiotic knights who stood at attention, having just returned to the castle.
Without the captive princess.
“Where is she?” he snarled at the burly, brawny Sir Tréguier. The intrepid knight who never failed.
“She escaped, my lord. Four of our men swarmed her royal guard, Bastien de Landuc—but he slew them all. Two others attempted to capture the princess, but she fought them off. And killed them both.” Tréguier lowered his eyes in shame, averting Ugolin’s icy glare.
Ugolin bolted to his feet, his chair toppling to the floor behind him. “The princesskilled two highly trained, armed knights?” Incredulous, his mouth agape, he stared in stunned stupefaction at his disgraced, dejected, demoralized soldiers.
“With a dagger, my lord. She slit Enguerrand’s throat. And hurled the blade right into Vauquelin’s heart. She and her guard escaped on horseback into the woods.” Piers—second in command to Tréguier—examined the felted hat he held in his quavering hands.
“And you did not pursue them?” Livid with rage, spittle flew from Ugolin’s scathing tongue.
“We did, my lord. We found the horses. Without their riders.” Guarin, the third knight to have returned from the failed abduction of the princess, lowered his blond head in dishonor and disgrace.
“I send two dozen of my best men, and you three return in humiliating defeat. Twenty-one men were lost?” Ugolin stomped back and forth, pacing furiously in front of the window where the crashing waves of the thunderous surf depicted the pounding rage in his thundering heart.
His father’s scornful sneer followed his every move.
“Giles was wounded, my lord.The knights of Beaufort… took him back to their castle.” Tréguier’s dark eyes reflected the dire implications of that capture.
Under torture, Giles would talk.
And inform King Guillemin of Finistère that Ugolin le Clou had sent the henchmen to abduct his royal daughter.
Sufficient grounds for retaliation.
Even outright war.
“Sit.” Ugolin ordered the trio of disgraced knights to join his scowling father and scheming colleague as he took his own seat at the head of the table. He motioned to a servant, who promptly poured mugs of mead for all and discreetly retreated to his position next to the elegant sideboard against the rear wall. Ugolin drained the contents of his mug and slammed it down on the table.
The contrite failures flinched, nearly jumping out of their respective chairs.
Ugolin glowered at his father. “Isnard must eliminate Giles.”
Robert Cauchon replied cautiously, “Indeed… before Giles can talk.” The Marquis de Nantes drank from his goblet, eyeing his son over the engraved pewter rim.
“We need to ensure that Tréguier wins the Yuletide Joust. By any means.” Ugolin raised his goblet for the servant to refill before continuing. He stared at the dark-haired champion who would represent him in the joust. “With your unparalleled skill, Tréguier, you will advance to the final match of the competition. To ascertain your triumph as the champion…” he drawled, handing a small burlap bag to the dark-haired knight, “…your squire will add this to the feed of your opponent’s horse the morning of the joust.”
Tréguier guardedly examined the contents of the sack.
“Yew needles. Extremely toxic. Mix them into the horse’s hay.” Ugolin gulped from his goblet and wiped his sullen mouth with the back of his hand. “When the tournament begins, the animal will become disoriented, uncoordinated, and jumpy. Enabling you to quickly unseat your rival. Kill his horse with your lance—thereby eliminating any suspicion of poisoning. You’ll be declared the champion. Redeem yourself for today’s calamitous defeat. And win me the coveted hand in marriage of the Princess of Finistère.”
A valet appeared in the doorway. “My lord, the healer Isnard has arrived with an urgent message.”
Ugolin shot a quick glance at his scowling father before responding. “Bring him in.”
His slight shoulders slumped, balding head lowered in humility, the healer Isnard slithered into the room. “Forgive the intrusion, Lord Ugolin, but I bear news of utmost importance.”
“A chalice of mead for my honored guest.” Ugolin snapped at an alert attendant who quickly complied. “Please, be seated, Isnard. I am anxious to hear your report.”
With long, skeletal fingers, the macabre healer accepted the proffered beverage and swallowed a large gulp before speaking. Sinister delight danced in his dark eyes. “I was regretfully forced to fleele Château de Beauforttoday, for the Princess Gabrielle suspects me of harming the king with myherbal treatments.”He grinned wickedly at Ugolin. “I overheard her tell her father that she plans to have the Lady Laudine—Sir Bastien de Landuc’s mother—and the Lady Viviane, the High Priestess of Avalon, analyze the contents of the elixir which I attempted to serve the recalcitrant king this morning.” He gulped more mead and set down his goblet. “Both ladies are skilled healers and would easily recognize the toxic herbs. Hence my decision to depart before being apprehended for attempted regicide.” A feral grin bared his long, yellowed teeth. “But Lord Ugolin—I bear much more important news. Information that you will deem invaluable.”
Ugolin leaned forward in eager anticipation. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity, Isnard. Impart this urgent message.”
