Some of the stricken quality eased in Gaspar’s expression, but not all. "Baudoin has been implicated."
I drew in my breath sharply at his words, and Alcuin’s fingers closed on my elbow. I glanced at him and he shook his head, cautioning silence. Delaunay, frowning to himself, gave no sign that he had heard it.
"You’d best come in," he said to Gaspar, "and tell me what you know. Get your men en route to Fourcay. We’ll devise a letter to de Somerville, and you’ll petition the King for an audience. Ganelon de la Courcel is no fool. He will hear you."
After a moment, Gaspar nodded curtly, and gave the orders to his men, tossing them a purse for the journey. We heard the sound of their mounts' hoofbeats recede through the streets of the City. In the distance there was shouting as the news began to break like a wave through the D’Angeline populace.
"Come in," Delaunay repeated, holding out his hand. Gaspar Trevalion grasped it wordlessly and dismounted.
Once in the house, Delaunay ordered food and wine to be brought. I thought him mad to entertain at such a time, but once Gaspar had eaten a bite of bread and cheese and taken a long gulp of wine, he sighed and seemed to grow calmer. Since then, I have seen it is true, that people are reassured by the act of taking sustenance in time of great trauma. Alcuin and I hovered in the background, endeavoring to make ourselves either useful or invisible, and Delaunay made no move to send us away.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
Over the course of the next hour, Gaspar laid out the story for us, as best he knew it. He had got it from a friend who was one of the King’s lords-in-waiting, so it bode fair to be accurate. Gaspar had gone directly to Delaunay with the news, not knowing where else to turn for advice, but he believed his friend had spoken truly, being concerned only for his well-being.
The story he had heard was that Isidore d’Aiglemort had learned of the matter through the careless boasting of one of Baudoin’s Glory-Seekers, deep in his cups after a fruitless patrol of Camlach’s borders. D’Aiglemort had investigated, and upon obtaining proof of it, gone straight to the King with the matter, riding day and night to reach the City in all haste. With typical Camaeline bluntness, he hadn’t even bothered to request an audience, but gone directly to a public hearing and made his accusation: Lyonette de Trevalion had conspired with Foclaidha of Alba and her son, the new Cruarch, to join forces. Backed by a Pictish army, she planned to seize the regency of Terre d’Ange and place Baudoin on the throne. In exchange, she would put the forces of Azzalle at the disposal of Foclaidha and her son to hold the kingdom of Alba against the disposed heir and his allies among the Dalriada. To accomplish this, the Azzallese fleet would sail directly against the Master of the Straits. While they had little hope of defeating him they could perchance distract him long enough to ferry the Pictish army across the Strait at its narrowest point. Once they had secured the throne, they would have the whole of the royal fleet at their disposal to achieve their return.
"It was a clever plan," Gaspar concluded, wiping his brow with a velveted sleeve and holding out his wineglass for a refill. "Dangerously clever. If d’Aiglemort hadn’t proved loyal…Baudoin was his friend, after all. He might have stood to gain."
I thought of Melisande Shahrizai’s smile, and the dark glitter of the Duc d’Aiglemort’s eyes behind the jaguarondi mask. I was not so sure he did not still stand to gain.
Delaunay had to ask; he did it gently. "What about Marc?" There was no love lost between Gaspar and Lyonette, but Marc de Trevalion was his cousin and his friend. Gaspar shook his head somberly, eyes shadowed.
"My friend, if I could answer you truly, I would. It is in my heart to say that Marc would never do such a thing, and yet…he is at odds with the King over the matter of Quintilius' fleet, and there is a question of pride at stake. He has long disapproved that Ganelon will not see his granddaughter wed and the fate of the realm settled. If Lyonette presented her plan to him all of a piece…I do not know."
"I understand," Delaunay said, and pressed the matter no further. "How did d’Aiglemort get the letters?"
Gaspar gave the answer; it was one he had at the ready, and one we already knew. "Melisande Shahrizai."
I opened my mouth to speak. Delaunay gave me a look, warning me not to divulge what I knew of her involvement, but I knew that well enough. It was another question that puzzled me. "Baudoin was in her thrall. Why would she give him up, when he stood to gain the throne?"
"I would like to say it is because House Shahrizai is loyal," Gaspar said, and gave a short laugh, running a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair, still disheveled from his ride. "But I think it more likely that Melisande knew full well that Lyonette would never allow Baudoin to wed her. Lyonette seeks a biddable daughter-in-law, preferably one who brings a formidable alliance with her. If Baudoin has not defied his mother in this yet, he would surely not do it when she had it in her power to win him the throne. Melisande Shahrizai is formidable in her own right, but she’s no match for the Lioness of Azzalle."
The former rang true enough, but as for the latter…If I had not been her farewell gift to Baudoin de Trevalion, I might even have believed it. But Melisande Shahrizai had known long weeks before Isidore d’Aiglemort had supposedly gained his "proof." That the treachery was real, I had no doubt, nor the proof of it. But I had no doubt, either, that the plans for its exposure were laid with more cunning and subtlety than the treachery itself. There was naught we could do; an ambiguous word spoken carelessly to a Servant of Naamah was proof of nothing. Only I knew for certain what Melisande had meant by it-Delaunay, Alcuin and I. No, we would hold our silence on this, I thought, and Melisande Shahrizai would gain praise for having done the right thing.
And the young Duc d’Aiglemort, already a war hero, would unexpectedly rise again in prominence. Someone had said, I remembered, that all scions of Camael thought with their swords. I did not think this one did.
In the days that followed, matters fell out in accordance with Delaunay’s prediction. Parliament was convened, and a High Court trial summoned. While the royal army, under command of the Comte de Somerville, swept through Azzalle toward Trevalion, the King heard Gaspar’s petition and granted clemency to the estate of Fourcay provided Gaspar place himself under the aegis of the Palace Guard until the trial was called to order.
Nothing travels faster than gossip. A full day before de Somerville’s messenger arrived, we had learned that Trevalion had surrendered after a short, pitched battle, headed in the main by Baudoin and his Glory-Seekers. It was his father, Marc de Trevalion, who had ordered the surrender. Percy de Somerville accepted his sword, left a garrison in charge of Trevalion and set out for the City with Lyonette, Marc, Baudoin and even his sister Bernadette in his custody, along with their entourage; all the principles of House Trevalion.
When they arrived at the Palace, the trial began.
Because Delaunay would be called to testify on behalf of Gaspar Trevalion-for his loyalty remained in question-we were able to attend, Alcuin and I, somberly attired in Delaunay’s colors. No seating was allocated for the retinues of attending nobles, but we found standing room at the sides of the Hall of Audience. At the far end, a great table stood. The King sat in the central seat, his granddaughter Ysandre at his right hand, and flanking them were the twenty-seven nobles of Parliament. Members of the Palace Guard lined the hall, and two Cassiline Brothers stood motionless behind the King, grey shadows in the background, only the glint of steel at their wrists betraying their presence.