The man nodded and rose to standing. As they walked away from the others, Philippe noticed a slight limp in the old man’s step and battle scars covering his arms. Despite these signs of having fought many battles, the man still had a steady and calm demeanor, which made Philippe feel he could trust him.
“Please tell me your name,” Philippe replied.
“I am Jacque Demore from Genoa. My family is in Menton now, not so far from here,Monsieur.”
“Call me Philippe, good sir.”
They walked for a moment, down the path towards the main yard. To their right, grass sparkled in the early evening mist, and to their left, several tall trees overhung the path. Jacque took his steps carefully, his limp slowing them only just.
Philippe continued, “How did you come to know your mistress, may I ask?”
“MademoiselleAlex? I met her in La Rochette.” Jacque answered. “I have this old injury that has kept me from finding much work,” he patted his right hip. “People don’t always trust a man with a handicap. But I can offer a sword and a knowledge of the country.” He paused a moment to avoid a dip in the gravel. “Mademoisellehired me to help with a large party of gentlemen traveling down to the coast. I was grateful for the opportunity. She’s hired me and several of the others on many a job since.”
“Would you say you know her well?” Philippe asked.
“As someone I have traveled and worked with, yes,” he replied.
Philippe held his words for a moment. “I must ask you a delicate question,” he continued.
“Please do so.”
They came upon a bench beside the path. Jacque took a seat and Philippe leaned against a tree across from him. “There is a chance that I have offendedMademoiselleAlexandra,” he began.
“That’s a shame.” Jacque watched Philippe, waiting for Philippe to continue.
“I had heard in the tavern this afternoon the great, and possibly embellished, stories of her… lovemaking.” Philippe paused. “I assumed they were true.”
Jacque snorted a laugh, then pulled a snuff box from his pocket. He put a wad of tobacco in his lip. “Would you like some?” he asked Philippe, holding the box out.
Philippe shook his head no.
Jacque returned the box to his pocket and continued. “Monsieur—” He corrected himself. “Philippe. Whatever you have heard was untrue.”
“You don’t know what I heard.”
“Do you think a woman who invited that kind of attention could survive very long on her own?” he said, shutting the idea down as absurd. “I’ve never seen her involved with a man. In fact,” he paused, spitting a mouthful of brown liquid into the grass, “I have seen her fight for her chastity. I dare say it has made her skills far sharper than mine.”
Philippe was quiet for a moment. “I am an ass,” he said finally.
“Perhaps you are,” Jacque nodded. “But who of us isn’t when it comes to a pretty face?”
The following evening, the Duke and Duchess sat with Philippe in the Duke’s study, discussing the upcoming mission. Duchess Laure watched the two men go back and forth, marking towns that had been struck and trying to discern some meaning from the seeming chaos on the maps spread before them. The politics were important, but she, at the moment, was more concerned with her son, and if this mission he was being sent on would be safe. Just that morning, reports arrived that an entire farm had been burnt to the ground in the Peillon area, leaving another family without a home. Her husband was furious, which meant he was all the more eager to send the party into the unknown.
The primary contact for Philippe would be the Marquis du Ponce, an old comrade of the Duke and someone who held a tight rein on the northern reaches. However, the Marquis did not have the skilled fighters to go after the rebels or any idea what had prompted the violence. Her husband suspected it had something to do with the river that cut just above Ponce. It was one of thefinal territories of Provence and vulnerable to anyone who came in from the Alps. People from the north or even other Frenchmen could be the culprits. Perhaps some robber baron wanted to take control of the river to charge unsanctioned tolls to merchants but could not do so because the Marquis was so close. Whatever it was, her husband was determined to stop it.
The Duke sat at the head of the dark, heavy table in his high-backed chair where he had planned many missions, with Philippe to his right and the Duchess to his left. Laure looked over the map and saw the uncharted area they planned to explore, feeling a sense of dread come over her.
“I’ve sent scouts here, here, and here.” The Duke pointed to three different towns. “They have not seen any shadow of unknown travelers.” He dropped his finger to a section of the map that showed very little detail. “They’re here. I’m sure of it.”
“Father,” Philippe said, “I know the foothills well, but I’ve spent the majority of my tours in the East. I can’t lead a troop with any kind of certainty through this region.”
“That is why we have hired a guide to accompany the group.”
“What guide knows these caves?” he asked. He paused for a moment then looked to Laure. “No,” he said.
“It was your father’s idea,” she replied, shaking her head.
“What should I do?” said the Duke, his voice insistent. “Put my men in jeopardy because the guide who knows this area best happens to be a woman?” He looked at his wife. “You started this when you let her take up the sword.”
