"Without, of course," de Toluard reminded him, "tipping our hand."
"Of course." L’Envers inclined his head, only slightly sardonic.
Gaspar Trevalion scratched his chin. "Where," he asked Percy de Somerville, "are Prince Baudoin’s Glory-Seekers now? D’Aiglemort petitioned the King for them."
"You ought to know," the one-time Royal Commander said sourly. "In Trevalion, under Ghislain’s command, making trouble. I wonder Marc suffered their insubordinacy."
"My cousin was always a patient man." Gaspar grinned. "He survived marriage to Lyonette, didn’t he? This is my thought. Send d’Aiglemort the Glory-Seekers, let him think the Queen is softer than her grandfather was. Baudoin’s Guard bear no love for Isidore d’Aiglemort, who brought down their Prince and disgraced their name. Let them dissemble, let them ride the length of Camlach and see where loyalties lie."
"And what is to guarantee their loyalty?" Roxanne de Mereliot inquired. "It was House Courcel that had Baudoin de Trevalion executed."
"Ah," Gaspar said softly. "Yes. Ganelon de la Courcel. But it is Ysandre de la Courcel who could recall Duc Marc de Trevalion and his daughter Bernadette from exile."
"And strip my son Ghislain of his estates?" Percy de Somerville asked dangerously. Gaspar Trevalion looked evenly at him.
"I have heard great things of your son, my lord de Somerville. But he is a scion of Anael, and they will never love him in Azzalle, whose sin is pride; never, unless he were to become one of them. To wed, let us say, a Trevalion."
"Bernadette."
"Even so."
Ysandre followed the exchange with acute attention, her face grave. "Azzalle holds the flatlands, and we cannot risk dissention there," she said calmly. "My lord de Fourcay, your cousin has committed a crime against the throne, in withholding knowledge of Lyonette’s plan. If he were given a chance at redemption, would he take it?"
"Your majesty." Gaspar Trevalion, the Comte de Fourcay, bowed to her. "He is a D’Angeline in exile. Yes, he would take it. And this I swear to you, upon my name, that he would be twice fierce in his loyalty, for being given a chance to prove it. Never while you live will House Trevalion give you cause to regret this clemency."
She was young; she bit her lip, then nodded. "Let it be so, then. You know where he resides?" She glanced at Gaspar, who inclined his head. "We will communicate with him, then. But let the offer be made to Baudoin’s Guard first, and let them understand that upon their loyalty-and their discretion-rests the redemption of their House. Will you undertake this, my lord?"
"I will," Gaspar said firmly.
"Good." Ysandre looked stronger for the resolution. "Now, I have spoken with Prince Benedicte of these matters, insofar as I dared. You should know he and my uncle the Duc have made peace between them." She glanced at Barquiel L’Envers, who nodded curtly, no mockery in his expression. It was well done, I thought, impressed that she had brought them to concord. Oh, they had underestimated her direly, those D’Angelines who had called for Baudoin to replace her; there was steel indeed in Ysandre de la Courcel! "La Serenissima cannot aid us with men," she continued. "They are too near the Skaldic border, at too great a risk themselves. But they can aid us with intelligence, and that Benedicte has sworn to do." She gazed round at the others. "We require knowledge, my lords and ladies. Knowledge of Aragonia’s support, and the other Caerdicci city-states. Knowledge of the movements of the Skaldi. Knowledge of the loyalties within our own realm. Knowledge of the extent of the forces we can marshal, and the degree of their readiness. This knowledge we require, and we require that it be obtained in secrecy. What are you prepared to do?"
I will not detail the conversation that followed, for it was lengthy and complicated. In the end it was resolved that each of them would take various measures toward these ends, moving with the utmost of discretion. The Cassiline Brotherhood would serve as the conduit for this intelligence, forming a network of couriers to carry information to all the provinces. This was well-conceived, for no one would suspect the Cassilines of politicking. Indeed, I think the Prefect would not have agreed were he not anxious to remove the taint that Joscelin’s actions had cast upon his order. It was resolved too that no word would be given on the matter of the alleged traitors, until such time as there was proof at hand, and an advantage to be gained in revealing it.
When it was done, it was Barquiel L’Envers who returned to the topic of Alba. "Well, Ysandre," he said wryly, "we have planned our first steps toward handling civil war and invasion as best we may. What of your blue lad? How stand matters on fair Alba?"
It was Gaspar Trevalion who answered, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Everyone was weary by this time. "Drustan mab Necthana escaped the bloodbath and fought his way, with his mother and sisters and a handful of warriors, to the western side of Alba, to seek refuge among the Dalriada. This we know. If the Dalriada would fight for him, it is likely that he could retake the throne from his cousin Maelcon, but thus far they have refused."
"Yes," Barquiel replied sarcastically, "I’m aware of this, as is much of the realm, as was Ganelon, which is why he was inclined to break their betrothal, which, of course, was never made public in the first place. Is this the extent of your vast intelligence, for which Anafiel Delaunay was slain?"
"No." Thelesis de Mornay intervened softly, but with the poet’s command of tone that summoned their attention. "Delaunay was in contact with Quintilius Rousse, who carried a request to the Master of the Straits. We pleaded that he grant passage to Drustan mab Necthana and his folk. Were they to gain D’Angeline soil, he and Ysandre could wed. Terre d’Ange would aid him in regaining the throne of Alba, and Alba would aid Ysandre in retaining the throne of Terre d’Ange."
"The very plan of the Lioness of Azzalle," Roxanne de Mereliot murmured.
"Which nigh succeeded," Gaspar reminded her. "Yes. Except we sought the compliance of the Master of the Straits."
"Which," Tibault de Toluard observed, "I take it he did not give."
"He answered thusly," Thelesis said, and quoted. " ‘When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede.’ Those were the words of Quintilius Rousse, and the message for which Delaunay was killed."
I knew the words, knew them well; and yet they tugged at my mind, an echoing memory.
"A message which makes no sense," L’Envers said acerbically.
"Not so." Thelesis shook her head. "There are dozens of tribes in Alba and Eire, but they fall into four peoples. The folk of the Red Bull, to whom Maelcon and Foclaidha are born; the folk of the White Mare, whom the Dalriada follow; the folk of the Golden Hind, to the south, and the folk of the Black Boar, to whom Drustan mab Necthana was born, Cinhil Ru’s line. The Master of the Straits is saying that he will grant our request if Prince Drustan can reclaim Alba."
"Ah, well then." L’Envers shrugged. "Likely he would grant our request if Blessed Elua returned from the Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond and asked him a boon. It is a moot point."
The memory that had evaded me at last came clear.
"Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym," I said aloud. "Hyacinthe!" I shook him in my excitement. "Do you remember? Your mother said it to me. Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym." I repeated it. "Don’t discount the Black Boar!"
He frowned. "I remember. It didn’t make any sense."
"It does now," I said. "It means Prince Drustan."
"You say your mother had this gift?" Ysandre asked, bending her gaze on Hyacinthe.
"Yes, your majesty." He bowed. "Greater than I. And she said this, it is true."