Page 369 of Historical Hotties
“They say thatde Russe is in London now, in residence near the Tower,” said the barkeep to le Foix. “He must have business with Gloucester or with the king.”
Armand le Foix had spies all over London, trying to discover the whereabouts of Bastian de Russe, but it was the faithful barkeep who finally had the information he sought. Leaningback in his chair with a full cup of ale in hand, le Foix listened to the barkeep with great interest.
“Who says this?” he wanted to know. “Reliable sources?”
The barkeep shrugged, wiping at his hands with his dirty bar towel. “English soldiers have come in here and they have spoken of many things,” he said. “Yesterday, there were five or six of them, Gloucester’s men, who spoke of de Russe’s presence at the Tower.”
Le Foix sighed, mulling over the information. It was late, the night dark and cold, but the tavern was oddly empty. He looked over the crowd that was there; merchants and travelers only. There was even an old drunk at the table nearby, his head on the tabletop. Perhaps he was asleep, perhaps not. There were no soldiers or knights about, in any case. He looked back to the barkeep.
“So we know he is there,” he said. “But I cannot get into the Tower.”
The barkeep was thoughtful. “If it is de Russe you seek, mayhap we can bring him here,” he said helpfully. “We can bribe him somehow to come here. Do you want to kill him?”
Le Foix shook his head. “Nay, I do not,” he said. “De Russe is much more valuable to me alive than dead. I think… I think, mayhap, he may understand our cause. He was close to the Maid and if what the English soldier said was true, then mayhap he was closer than we think. I do not wish to kill the man– I only wish to speak with him to know if he indeed has a relic from the Maid. It is the relic I truly want.”
“But why?”
Le Foix looked at the man as if he were completely daft. “Think on it, Arneau,” he said. “Think on the supporters that would rally to a true relic from Joan of Orleans. Her cause would not be lost nor would the cause of France. It would renew the faith of the weary and convince them to continue the fight.”
It seemed logical enough, passionate words spoken by a passionate man. The barkeep studied the dark French knight for a moment.
“Did you know the Maid, le Foix?” he asked.
Le Foix drew in a long, thoughtful breath and his eyes took on a distant look. “I was with her when we marched on Auxerre,” he said softly. “I remained with her when we marched on Troyes and eventually to Reims. I had never seen anything like it in my life, Arneau– the armies that surrendered in her path, the people who would fall at her feet… it was like Christ returning to Jerusalem. She represented more than God’s favor. She represented the heart of France. If I have this relic that de Russe has, then the heart beats again.”
Arneau the barkeep had never seen le Foix express such sentiment. True, the man was deeply loyal to France, but in speaking of the Maid, there was something more to his expression. There was love there, but not for the Maid. It was for what she represented.
“Then we will have men watch for de Russe and we will follow his movements,” Arneau said. “Mayhap you will be able to speak with him.”
Le Foix nodded. “Possibly,” he said. “If I only knew where his possessions were and where he slept at night, his habits in general, mayhap I would not need to speak with him at all. It is the relic I want, after all. Whether or not de Russe agrees to give it to me, I will have it.”
Arneau looked up as two weary men wandered into his bar. He watched them take a seat at a table away from the door before returning his attention to le Foix.
“But you must confirm that he has it,” he said. “The soldier could have been lying.”
Le Foix nodded. “I realize that,” he said. “But the man seemed very sure. The only way I will know for certain, Isuppose, is to ask de Russe or to find where he keeps his possessions.”
“But what if he will not give it to you?” Arneau wanted to know. “What if he wants to keep it for himself? If he took it, surely that was his intention.”
Le Foix looked up at him, serious meanings on his dark features. “It is more valuable to the people of France than it is to him,” he said quietly. “If he will not give it to me, then I will kill him and take it.”
Arneau lifted an eyebrow. “You are speaking of the Beast,” he reminded him. “If you truly intend to kill him, it will not be easy.”
Le Foix didn’t seem particularly concerned. “How do you catch a beast, Arneau?”
The barkeep shrugged his shoulders. “Poison?”
Le Foix shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “A trap.”
Arneau didn’t say what he was thinking. It would take a very big trap to snare this particular beast. He headed back to his bar duties while le Foix drained what was in his cup and left the tavern, heading off into the night. For now, their conversation was finished.
On the table nearby, the man they believed to be a drunk sleeping off his alcohol lifted his head. He hadn’t been asleep at all. He had heard every word spoken.
Perhaps the information might be worth a bottle of wine to the right people.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Young Henry wasboth thrilled and frightened at the prospect of spending the night at Braidwood. He’d only really slept in two places in his entire life, and his world in general was greatly structured, so the introduction of a new environment had the boy very nervous. Excited, but nervous.
