“Then I will return to his men,” Giroux responded, “to giveMonsieurPhilippe 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, wereMonsieurPhilippe’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 themaître. 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.
“Maître, 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.MonsieurPhilippe 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 hismaîtreaghast. “I refuse,” he stated plainly. This was all a steptoo far, too dishonorable. Giroux just wanted to help his people, not murder innocent men in cold blood.
Hismaîtrepaid 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 themaîtreturned 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.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Philippe rode steadily back to town. When he reached the stables, the attendants helped him get Alex off the horse. By then she had completely passed out. He tried to rouse her enough to stumble to her room, but her legs gave out. He solved the problem by picking her up and carrying her through the doors to the inn.
At the sound of guests, the innkeeper came rushing out to be of service. He looked at them questioningly. Philippe knew the humor in his expression had to confuse the old man.
“Is she alright,Monsieur?” the innkeeper asked.
“Yes, she’s drunk,” he said. “She will be fine. Would you mind sending a pitcher of water and a basin to her room?”
“Certainement,Monsieur,” he said.
“And if you could find me a change of pants?” he asked, indicating his soiled leg.
“Oui, Monsieur,” he said, scuttling off but not before giving Philippe another odd look.
Philippe maneuvered her down the hall to her room and got through the door with the help of several expectant attendants. He laid her on the bed and began to undo her boots. The innkeeper brought the water and Philippe directed everyone out. He pulled off her boots and stockings andrid her of her weapons. Though a little disheveled, with torn pants and a rumpled shirt, she’d remained reasonably clean, Philippe himself having gotten the worst of it. Her body was floppy and limp, making it easy for him to work, but she’d still crumple up her brow and let out a protesting moan every now and then. He worked quickly, having done this very thing for his brothers and his men multiple times in his life. Succumbing to drink was a common problem on the road, but he had never cared for a woman like this. Though he kept her modesty in mind, he worked with efficiency and purpose. Once she was laid out more or less unencumbered, he took a cloth, dipped it in the water and began washing her face. He leaned her forward and put a second pillow behind her, propping her up.
“Alex.” He attempted to rouse her with a gentle shake. “Wake up.”
“Mmmmm,” she whined in protest.
“Come now,” he patted her cheek. “Open your eyes.”
“No,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.” She tipped forward and he caught her.
“Drink this water or you will feel worse in the morning.” He held the cup against her lips.
“I don’t want it,” she said, shaking her head.
