Thief By Knight

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

With mixed feelings Grantaire watched the dawn spread across the distant hills and onto the surface of the water. Here the light sparkled merrily, as if delighted to find such a perfect spot to play. It was a beautiful sight. After so much time spent crawling through dark tunnels, Grantaire knew he would never again think of the new light of day as anything less than a gift.
Even so, he dreaded the start of this day. He looked over his shoulder at his sleeping friends. They'd been lucky so far. By all rights, Enjolras should have been killed by his fall, and Grantaire and Felix by the screechers. Instead, after the three of them had wandered blindly into a labyrinth filled with hundreds of bandits, it was the bandits who had paid the price. Grantaire shuddered. The sight of those men being eaten alive was one he'd not soon forget.
After everything they'd just been through, it would have been nice to take time to rest. Grantaire had kept watch all night, fearful of being discovered by fleeing bandits, and he had seen Enjolras toss and turn, restless with the pain of mending bones. Even Felix's sleep had been troubled by nightmares.
But the dawn would not be delayed because they were tired. Instead, it grew brighter, reaching out to the sleepers like a slap in the face. Enjolras's eyes opened as soon as the light touched them. He sat up, wincing a little, and gave Grantaire a weary smile. Felix groaned and rolled over, hiding his face in his blankets. He immediately resumed his snoring.
Grantaire studied Enjolras's efforts to stand up. He pushed himself up with his good arm, wobbling a little. He straightened his back slowly, like an old man in the grip of rheumatism, and walked stiffly over to Grantaire.
"Good morning."
Grantaire stared at his friend. He took quick, shallow breaths, either unwilling or unable to breathe deeply. His left arm hung in a sling, and the pallor of his skin revealed deep shadows beneath his eyes.
"Well, I guess it's a better morning than the bandits are having. But it could be better. You look like hell."
"It could have been much worse, Grantaire. We three are still alive. We are together. And we have time to reach San Sebastien before the Festival of Lights. As Saint Alexandre tells us, dwell not on they misfortunes ere they come to outweigh they blessings."
"Enjolras, I think our misfortunes are pretty heavy whether we dwell on them or not. Have you taken a good look at yourself? How far do you think you're going to get before you fall over?"
"I am not badly hurt, Grantaire. I have used my gift to speed the healing as much as I can."
"Oh? How much is that?"
"It will be enough. I appreciate your concern, my friend, but we do not have time to rest here any longer."
Grantaire sighed. It was over x miles to San Sebastien. Why couldn't Enjolras just admit defeat? "We might as well rest here until you're well -- we can't walk all the way to San Sebastien."
"We will find horses, Grantaire."
Grantaire looked around. "Where? I don't see any grazing on the rocks. Or maybe you were planning to fish for some?"
"Have faith, Grantaire. We have just been rescued by intelligent beings we once thought of as nothing more than animals. By comparison, finding horses for our journey is not much to expect."
"That reminds me -- there's something I need to tell you about the screechers."
"What is it?"
"It's about the deal I struck with Gajdinok."
"Deal?"
"Yes. You don't think he helped us out of the kindness of his heart? Did he tell you anything?"
"A little. It was difficult to make sense of his speech, and I hope I understood him. He explained how his people had made their home inside the caverns, and that they had been learning to speak. It was quite an amazing story. But Gajdinok warned me not to tell anyone. He said his people simply were not ready to make their peace with humans, but I sensed that he was not telling me everything."
"I got that feeling, too. Gajdinok is a cagey one. In return for helping us to find you, he made us promise you would make the people of Allier stop killing screechers."
Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "That is quite an undertaking for a new king."
"Well, you are a miracle worker." Grantaire sighed. "It's going to take a miracle for you to even become king, Enjolras. It's a long way to San Sebastien, and we only have four days, maybe five. How long were we in those caves anyway?"
I'm not certain. I was unconscious much of the time."
"Lucky you."
"But it could not have been more than two days. Have faith, Grantaire. We will succeed."
"Will we? Was that part of your vision, Enjolras? When God told you to go to San Sebastien, did He promise you'd get there safely? Is that why you're so sure of yourself? I'd really like to know. Do you know we're going to make it, or are you just trying to make me feel better?"
Enjolras shifted the sling around his wounded arm. "Confidence is very important, Grantaire. We can not possibly succeed if we don't believe..."
"You're dodging the question." Grantaire stood so he could look his friend in the eye. "I want to know if we're all going to get through this in once piece."
Enjolras regarded him steadily. Grantaire thought he saw a sadness in those blue eyes, and it scared him. Maybe he didn't want to know the answer to his question.
"I honestly don't know, Grantaire. I don't know for certain that any of us will reach San Sebastien alive. I only know that we must try. Can you accept that?"
"You know I can." It was a relief, at least, to know Enjolras hadn't foreseen their deaths. Even if he had, Grantaire didn't think he could desert him now. "I'm not here because of a tavern, Enjolras. Not any more."
"I know." Enjolras smiled. "I'm glad you can finally admit it. You're a good man, Grantaire. You always have been."
Grantaire looked away. He would never get used to compliments -- not even from his friends. "All right, Enjolras. I'm a good man. I'm your friend. I chased bandits for you. I climbed cliff walls, and I crawled through tunnels. I took an arrow in the shoulder, a hoof in the head, and I even let you dump my ale. But I will not walk to San Sebastien. Where do you expect to find horses?"

"In Auburne. It's only a day's walk from here." Enjolras extended a hand, and Grantaire allowed himself to be helped to his feet.
"You're not planning to steal them, are you?" Grantaire thought sadly of his lost coins. "We don't have any money."
"Baron Henri is a friend, Grantaire. He will loan us horses for our journey. If we ride day and night, we can reach San Sebastien with time to spare."
"Day and night, huh? That ought to be fun."
Enjolras smiled. "Don't worry, Grantaire. I will ask for animals that do not bite. Now, we had best be going. There is no time to waste."
"All right, all right. I'll make breakfast. You wake up Felix."

It wasn't a fair division of labor. Gajdinok had provided them with packs full of food, and all Grantaire had to do was open one. Waking up Felix was never that easy. When Enjolras grew tired of shaking the priest and calling his name, he pulled him out of his blankets with his good arm. Felix's eyes flew open.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Enjolras let him down gently and Felix sat up, looking around him. "Nothing's wrong, Felix. We must be going. Come eat your breakfast."
Taking pity on the bewildered priest, Grantaire walked over and handed him a biscuit. "There's dried beef, and fruit. Eat fast, we don't have much time."
"We're leaving now?" He looked at Enjolras, who had leaned against a tree to eat. "But, your wounds. You need to rest."
"Give it up, Felix. He already dodged that argument while you were sleeping." Grantaire popped the rest of his biscuit into his mouth and shouldered the heaviest pack. When Enjolras made to take the other one, he snatched it away.
"Oh no, you don't. You'll be lucky to carry yourself." He tossed the pack at Felix, who watched it hit the ground with a heavy thud. "Felix can carry this one."
Enjolras stared at Grantaire in surprise. He wasn't used to being ordered around. Grantaire wasn't used to giving orders either, but for once it was kind of fun. He started walking, letting the others fall in step behind him. Recalling a lesson his mother had taught him, that a hard journey was best undertaken cheerfully, he began whistling a lively tune.

As the day wore on, Grantaire lost the strength to whistle. As much as he hated horses, he began hating the slow and weary progress of walking even more. Each step taken with sore and tired feet seemed to bring no change in their surroundings; one tree looked pretty much like another. The distant horizon remained, to Grantaire's fixed stare, forever distant.
At any other time Enjolras would have found encouraging stories about the saints to tell. No doubt at least one of them had walked his feet to bloody shreds on some pious mission or other. Even a story like that would have been a welcome distraction from the long, monotonous journey.
But Enjolras never spoke a word. When he thought no one was looking, he would wince and rub at his ribs or arm, trying to ease the pain. Grantaire wanted to tell him to stop, that they should rest more often. Healing was so exhausting for Enjolras that he just couldn't seem to do it properly when he was already weak from his own wounds. A few more hours of rest might restore some of the energy he needed.
But there was no time for rest, and Enjolras knew that. Even pushing as hard as they could, they would be lucky to reach Auburne before nightfall. That left them barely enough time for a hard ride to San Sebastien, assuming they weren't delayed by Armand and his allies. So Enjolras suffered in silence. Grantaire and Felix walked beside him, wishing they could do more for their friend than exchange worried looks and hope everything would be all right.
Late in the morning the sky clouded up, and a chill autumn wind harried their steps. By the time they finally came in sight of the city walls they were shivering so hard their teeth chattered. Enjolras had put aside his pride and leaned on Grantaire for support for some time now. All of them stumbled over their own weary feet. They must have looked, to the guards who watched them from the front gate, like three drunkards.
Grantaire studied the guards who greeted them with suspicious frowns. The tall, iron gate behind them was clearly built to withstand an assault and would not be moved by the plight of three weary travelers. They had to convince the guards that, despite their scruffy appearance, they were worthy gentlemen who deserved to be let inside. Since Enjolras was too tired to speak, and Felix unwilling, Grantaire decided it was up to him.
"Good evening." He smiled at the four men who stood before him, pretending not to notice that their compatriots on the wall above had fitted arrows to their bows.
"My name is Sir Grantaire Matrice." For once, he didn't mind using the title. "My companions are Sir Enjolras D'Cheval and Father Felix Billaud. We're here to see the baron."
Many of the guards raised their eyebrows at this, and a few stared openly at Enjolras. The son of a neighboring baron was a distinguished visitor indeed. But the oldest of the guards, a burly man with plentiful scars and graying hair, gave them a doubtful frown.
"You're awful far from Cheval to be showing up here at a time like this. And with no retinue. No baron would send his son off without servants, and soldiers to look after him. No baron's son would have come without sending word." He sniffed loudly. "You smell like you crawled out of the gutter. Be off with you. The gate opens at dawn. You can come in then with the rest of the rabble. If you leave your weapons behind."
The guard pulled his sword half out of its sheath and made a shooing motion with his free hand. Grantaire glared at him, trembling with the effort of controlling his anger. He wanted to wrap his hands around the guard's throat and choke the smug expression from his face. All that would get them was a quick death when the guards atop the wall shot them full of arrows. Besides, he couldn't throttle the guy without dropping Enjolras.
"How can you doubt us?" Felix protested. "Sir Enjolras is personal friend of the baron. You can't treat him like this."
Grantaire could have hugged Felix for reminding him of that. He gently transferred Enjolras to the priest and stepped up to the big guard, keeping one eye on the archers.
"Get out of here before--"
Grantaire poked a finger at him, cutting off his haughty retort. "This man," he said, pointing to Enjolras, "is a personal friend of your baron's. He is wounded, and he needs help. You can doubt us all you want to. But I really don't think the baron will be happy when he finds out tomorrow that you let his friend sit out here all night. Now, if you value your hide, I think you'd better send a messenger to the baron right now and tell him we're here."
The man's initial shock turned to a guarded, thoughtful expression. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to send word. Do you have a token for the messenger?"
Grantaire looked questioningly at Felix. The priest slipped Enjolras's signet ring from his finger and handed it to him. "Give him this. The baron will recognize it."
He glared at the suddenly nervous guard as he gave him the ring. "We'll wait here for your messenger to return." He turned around, not waiting for an answer and took Enjolras's free arm. "Come on, Felix, let's get him over here where he can sit back against the wall. He looks like he's ready to faint."
The nestled themselves against the wall, out of earshot of the guards. Enjolras closed his eyes; he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
"You weren't lying, were you?" Grantaire whispered to Felix. "Enjolras really is a personal friend of the baron's?" If he wasn't, they were going to have some very angry guards on their hands.
"Of course I wasn't lying. The baron's oldest son, Reginald, was a friend of Enjolras's. One of few. He spoke of him often in the monastery. They studied horsemanship here; the baron raises the finest animals in Cambrai, you know."
"Oh? Since when are you so interested in horses?"
"Since I just walked half way across Cambrai. I hope that messenger hurries. I'd give anything for a warm bath and a hot bed."
Grantaire looked at Enjolras. He was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. "Enjolras, are you awake?"
There was no answer. Grantaire looked at Felix, whose eyes mirrored the worry he felt. If Enjolras was this exhausted now, how was he going to manage riding day and night to San Sebastien? They would only have one night for him to rest and heal from his wounds -- it hardly seemed possible. Then again, the impossible had a tendency to happen while Enjolras was around. They couldn't give up hope.
"Don't worry, Felix. Once Enjolras becomes king, I'm sure he'll treat us to a hot bath and a bed. He's generous that way."
"If he becomes king."
"Felix, how can you --"
"Oh stop it, Grantaire." Felix shook his head. "You have the same doubts -- I see it every time you look at him. Why wouldn't you? He can barely stand. Yet he expects to ride non-stop for leagues, with every soldier and cut-throat Nigel D'Brucie can muster standing in his way. He's not going to survive, Grantaire."
"He has to!"
"No he doesn't. He doesn't have to be king, Grantaire."
Grantaire looked steadily at Felix, not certain he understood what the priest was implying. Or if he wanted to.
"What do you mean?"
"We could force him to stay here in Auburne until he recovers."
"Force him? Why, because he's weak? You want us to make him stay here. Make him give up everything he's fought so hard for. We promised to help him see this through, Felix. We gave him our word. You know how much that means to him."
"I know. Believe me I know." Felix bit his lip, and Grantaire thought he saw tears in his eyes. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. I don't want to betray him, Grantaire. But I don't want to help him die either."
Grantaire looked at Enjolras, sleeping against the cold wall. He wanted so much to agree with Felix, to protect Enjolras at any cost. But he couldn't do it. Enjolras was their friend, not a pretty bird they could keep in a cage because they didn't want it to get hurt.
"Felix, we can't. You know why he's doing this."
"Yes. I know. But countries have survived bad kings before. He's a healer, Grantaire. The only one we have. Cambrai needs him alive, even more than she needs a good king."
"Maybe she does. But it's not your call Felix. Or mine. Enjolras is determined to do this. He believes he has to. We can't go behind his back and take that choice away from him, no matter what our reasons."
Felix hung his head, saying nothing.
"Please, Felix. This is hard for me, too. I need to know you're with me on this." He held out his hand. "Promise me you'll stand beside him, Felix. No matter what it costs."
Grantaire waited a long time. Finally Felix took his hand and shook it. "You're right, Grantaire. You have my word."
They waited in silence until the messenger returned, with a troop of soldiers at his heels. Grantaire was relieved to see they'd brought a carriage, and even a litter. As he struggled to his feet, their leader slid from the saddle and walked over to them. He gave them a low bow.
"Greetings, I am Captain Marsade. The baron bids me welcome you, and give you his apologies for not coming himself. I am afraid the family is still in mourning."
"Mourning?"
Not hearing him, the captain turned around and gave a few brisk commands to his men. Before Grantaire could blink twice, they were helping Felix into the carriage and attempting to get Enjolras into the litter. Enjolras opened his eyes and protested.
"Please, I am not badly hurt. I would prefer to ride with my companions."
The soldiers gave their captain an uncertain look. At his nod, they backed away. The captain himself stepped forward and helped Enjolras to his feet.
"Sir Enjolras, it is good to see you again. I wish it could be under better circumstances." He smiled wryly at Enjolras's numerous bandages. "And with you in better health."
"As do I, Siane. But, why is the family in mourning? What has happened?"
Captain Marsade gave him a surprised look. "You didn't know? But, I thought that's why you were here. Surely you must have heard."
"We've been out of touch," Grantaire said. "We haven't seen or talked to anyone for days."
"I'm sorry." He looked at Enjolras, genuine regret in his eyes. "It's Sir Reginald. He was killed two days ago."
Enjolras's face turned even paler. Grantaire stepped closer, afraid his friend was going to fall over.
"Killed?" Enjolras shook his head. "But how?"
The captain gave Enjolras a shrewd look. "We shouldn't keep you standing here. You're all exhausted. Please, let me help you into the carriage. I'll explain everything on the way."
Enjolras didn't protest. As it was, he needed help getting into the carriage. Grantaire had never seen him so weak. And now to find out that his friend had died -- it was bad timing for such dismal news.
"I'm sorry, Enjolras. Felix told me that Reginald was a friend of yours."
Enjolras only nodded. The carriage lurched as their driver urged the horses into a brisk walk. Grantaire caught sight of the guards at the gate, looking timid and sheepish as the ragged visitors headed into the city. It occurred to Grantaire that, if he really wanted to, he could get those impertinent guards into serious trouble. They deserved it for making Enjolras wait for so long, when he desperately needed to rest.
As Grantaire turned around in his seat and got his first glimpse of the city of Auburne, the guards were forgotten. In all his travels, he had never seen anything so magnificent. The streets were brick, not dirt, and lined with lanterns that hung from artfully arranged wooden poles, carved at their apex with a likeness of the roaring lion that adorned the Lierre coat of arms. They passed an ornate fountain, its waters still now in late autumn. Despite the beauty of the town, the people they passed seemed unhappy. People walked slowly, speaking in hushed tones, and no one smiled. Almost everyone wore black.
Grantaire was amazed to see an entire town in mourning. This Reginald must have been a good man, to merit such devotion. But then, he had kept good friends. Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras. He was talking to Captain Marsade, who rode his bay stallion close beside the carriage.
"It was an assassin," the captain was saying. "No doubt about it. It was D'Brucie that sent him, mark my words. Him or that pet snake of his, Armand D'Essai." He spat onto the ground, as if he found the name distasteful.
Enjolras winced at the news, as if he'd been struck a blow. Grantaire could guess what he was thinking -- if only they'd done something about Armand sooner, Reginald might have been saved. Even now, Armand might still be alive, assuming he'd escaped the screechers. Grantaire sighed. He wasn't even king yet, and already Enjolras wanted to take responsibility for the whole of Cambrai, and everyone in it. It was a heavy burden for one man to bear.
Enjolras was staring at nothing, silent and troubled. He seemed unwilling to continue the conversation, and Grantaire couldn't blame him. But there was one thing Grantaire just had to know.
"Captain, do you know why Sir Reginald was killed?"
"Everyone knows that, m'lord. He was trying for the throne. D'Brucie was eliminating the competition."
Nodding, Grantaire leaned back against the cushioned seat of the carriage. It was the answer he had feared. D'Brucie and Armand were killing anyone who got in their way. And Enjolras was very much in the way. Suddenly, he didn't feel much like talking either. He looked up at Felix, who shook his head sadly, as if to say there was no turning back now.
The building to which they were escorted sat at the top of a small hill, nestled in a cluster of sweet-smelling pines. The keep boasted large stained glass windows and one splendid turret with a golden replica of the Circle of Divine Unity shining brightly at its pinnacle. Ivy crawled along the side of the house, and two marble lions crouched protectively at the entrance.
Captain Marsade bid them good night as they were ushered inside the keep. They were greeted respectfully by the seneschal, a somber-faced gentleman with graying hair. The servant left them in a comfortable waiting room and went to fetch the master. Felix sank at once into an enormous, stuffed chairs. Enjolras remained standing, looking uneasily after the departing servant.
Grantaire stood awkwardly beside his friend. He was a stranger here, with no right to intrude on the mourning of a family of noblemen. It seemed disrespectful, under the circumstances, to lounge around in their lobby. He turned around to kick Felix, who got to his feet with a reluctant frown.
They didn't have long to wait. A young man walked into the room and stopped, looking at Enjolras in astonishment. He was tall and slender, almost feminine in his beauty. Long, blond hair spilled freely down his back, and his pale skin shone against his black garments.
"Enjolras!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "It is you. It's been so long." The boy stepped forward and shook Enjolras's hand. Grantaire noticed deep circles under his eyes, as if he had been long without sleep.
Enjolras smiled kindly. "Eugene, it is good to see you. You have grown much since last we met. These are my companions, Sir Grantaire Matrice and Father Felix Billaud. Eugene, I'm so sorry about Reginald. He was a good friend."
The boy managed a weak smile. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Yes. He was a good brother." His voice broke on the word, and he turned away from them. "Please, I am sorry. I am being a terrible host. We can speak in the kitchen. Maxime will fetch you drink and food. You look exhausted. Please, follow me."
Enjolras tried to protest, but Eugene turned and strode briskly down the hall-way, leaving them no choice but to follow him. He proved determined to see to their every comfort. They were seated at a great table, brought mulled wine, bread and venison. Maids were sent to prepare their rooms and draw hot baths, while others brought warm cloaks to replace the ones that were now so worn with travel. These domestic duties seemed to calm Eugene, for his broken voice recovered as he gave directions to his servants, and his eyes were dry when he finally sat with them at the table, a glass of wine in his hand.
"Eugene, I am so sorry," said Enjolras. "I had no idea. We have been traveling for a while, and have not heard any news. If we'd known..."
The young man smiled sadly. "It's not your fault, Enjolras. But I wish you had come sooner. He would have liked to see you once more. You were always so much alike."
"Eugene, what happened? Captain Marsade said he was killed."
"Reginald was out hunting. It was his favorite sport, you know." This comment he directed to Grantaire, as if desperate for this stranger to somehow come to know the brother who had been lost to them. "He and Enjolras used to hunt together often. They were quite good at it. I was too young to join them, but in truth, I never minded. I am not strong or healthy, and sport wearies me. Father despairs of my weakness, but it never bothered Reginald. He had a talent for finding the good in people. He always told me how much he admired my intelligence. Sometimes, I even think he meant it."
"He did, Eugene. Reginald loved you very much."
Eugene gave Enjolras a grateful smile. "Everyone loved him, Enjolras. That didn't stop someone from killing him, did it? It was an arrow that took him, and they never found the man who shot it. Some coward, hiding in the bushes, who ran for his miserable life while my brother fell to the ground, bleeding. They tried to help him, but there was nothing anyone could do. The arrow pierced his heart. He died so quickly, before my father or I could even get to him. Father hasn't spoken to me since. He just sits in his room, drinking. Enjolras, I don't know what to do."
It was Felix who answered him. "Let us speak to your father, son. He should not bear his grief alone."
"No, please. You musn't see him like this. It is disgraceful."
"Grief is never disgraceful, Eugene." Enjolras reached out, covering the boy's hand with his own. "I care about your father very much. Please, let us try to help him."
Eugene looked at them uncertainly. Torn between hope and doubt, he seemed ready to burst into tears, an overreaction to Grantaire's mind. After all, he had drowned his sorrows in wine before and had always managed to recover. Baron Henri was new to drunkenness. How bad could he be?
When Eugene relented and led them to his father's rooms, the noise outside the baron's chamber made Grantaire think that, as far as getting drunk was concerned, the baron had been a quick study. A deep, hoarse voice was singing, loudly and out of tune. I loves the women and I loves good wine. The women they kiss me and make me feel fine. The wine makes their kisses taste so divine, and they'll give more than kisses if I pour enough wine. Oh I love the women..."
Eugene paused at the door, his face reddening at his father's performance. "I'm sorry. He's not usually like this."

"It's all right, Eugene." Enjolras gently nudged him aside and opened the door. The hinges creaked alarmingly, and the singing stopped.
"What? Who's there?"
The baron's question was an angry roar. Cautiously, Eugene and Enjolras stepped into the room. Grantaire looked doubtfully at Felix, who urged him to follow. He didn't like this. Barons were known to have people killed for no good reason when they were in a bad mood, and former thieves happened to be prime candidates. He kept carefully behind Enjolras as he walked into the room.
The baron sat up in his enormous bed, clutching a half-empty bottle and glaring at them suspiciously. The bed coverings were strewn about the floor and littered with empty bottles, many of them broken. The scent of wine filled the air like a heady perfume, and traces of it stained the sumptuous carpeting and even the walls. The baron himself, with his sleeping gown likewise stained and his graying hair sticking up wildly on end, looked no better than his chamber.
"Who are you? What do you want?" His puffy eyes narrowed as he squinted at them. He seemed to recognize no one, not even his own son.
"Father," said Eugene timidly, "this is Enjolras and his friends, Sir Grantaire and Father Felix. You remember Enjolras. Don't you?"
Enjolras strode boldly over to the bed. The baron stared up at him for a moment, then nodded excitedly, spilling more wine onto the bed. "I remember you! You're Pierre's boy. You used to hunt with my Reggie."
The baron sobbed, hiding his face in his hands. The wine bottle slipped from his grasp, and Enjolras caught it before it could do more damage to the bed. He handed it back to Grantaire, who took it awkwardly, and patted the old man on the shoulder.
"Sir, I am so sorry about Reginald. He was a good friend."
The baron sniffed loudly and wiped a hand across his eyes. "Being good didn't save him, did it? They killed him anyway. They killed my boy."
Heedless of the stained floor, Enjolras knelt stiffly beside the bed. "Who killed him, sir? Please tell me what happened."
"I'll tell you what happened." The baron's face grew hard as he spoke, and his hands shook. "Reginald wanted to go to San Sebastien. He wanted to be king. He would have made a good one too, but I talked him out of it. I told him I needed him here. I'm an old man, and Eugene isn't fit to run things after I'm gone."
Enjolras looked sympathetically at Eugene. He had turned to the wall, trying to hide his hurt feelings. Baron Henri took no notice.
"Truth was, I was worried about Reginald. Nigel de Brucie wants the throne worse than anything, and he'll stop at nothing to get it. He's got help too. You remember Essai's nephew, Armand. He's even more of a scoundrel since you knew him, and he does Brucie's work for him. Others have died who have tried to make it to San Sebastien -- Mallory D'Elan, and Roger D'Marin's son, Etienne. I knew what would happen if Reginald tried to go. Brucie and his lackeys would cut him down, like they did the others. So I talked him out of it. But I was too late, Enjolras. They must have heard of his plans, and didn't know he'd changed them. They killed him anyway. Those bastards took my son from me. There was nothing I could do about it. I've got nothing left, Enjolras. Nothing."
Only Grantaire stood close enough to hear Eugene's strangled sob at this. Without a word, the boy quietly left the room. No one moved to stop him.
"Sir," said Felix. "Your son's death is a tragedy. But you mustn't say such things. You have another son who still needs you."
"He's not half the man that Reginald was."
Enjolras stood, pushing away the old hands that still clutched at him for comfort. "Eugene is a good man, and he loves you. You disgrace yourself, sir. Sitting here alone in this room. Rejecting a son that cares about you. Reginald would be ashamed of you."
Silence fell at the angry reprimand. Grantaire saw the look of fury in the old man's eyes, and took a step back towards the door. This was it. Enjolras had offended the baron, and now he would have them all arrested. The old man got shakily to his feet, the better to look Enjolras in the eye, but he did not call for his guards.
"How dare you speak to me like that?"
"I speak the truth, and you know it. I say what Reginald would say to you, if he could. He was my friend, and I owe him that much. He can not protect his brother as he used to do, so I must do it for him."
"Protect Eugene? From me? I would not hurt my son."
"You already have."
The baron looked hatefully at Enjolras. "You've changed, boy. You used to respect your elders. I didn't believe it when you left home. I said, Enjolras is a good boy. He respects his father. He wouldn't go against his wishes like that.
"But I was wrong. And now look at you. I've lost my son, and you come here to lecture me. Well, I won't have it. I won't be lectured by a disrespectful little boy. Get out of my house, Enjolras. Get out of Lierre. You're not welcome here."
For a moment, no one moved. Enjolras and the baron stood close, staring at each other. Grantaire shivered when he looked at Baron Henri; the hatred in his eyes was the kind he'd only seen in an angry drunk. He knew how deadly it could be. He'd seen enough tavern brawls in his time, and some of them had ended up with blood being spilled. He gave Enjolras a pleading look, hoping he'd have the sense not to provoke the man any further.
Enjolras didn't say another word. He simply turned on his heel and left the room. Relieved, Grantaire and Felix followed him. Eugene was waiting for them outside.
"Eugene..." Enjolras tried to place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, but he dodged it.
"I know, he doesn't mean it." He laughed bitterly. "Believe me Enjolras, I've been hearing that a lot over the past few days. Sometimes I even believe it." He turned away from them and started walking down the hallway, leaving them no choice but to follow him.
"You'll stay here tonight. He won't even remember this tomorrow."
"Eugene, if there's anything..."
"Thank you, Enjolras. But there's nothing you can do." He tried to smile at them, but all he managed was a slight quivering of his lips. "There's nothing anyone can do. My servants have prepared rooms for you all, and hot baths. Please, rest yourselves. We can speak again in the morning."
He turned and left. Enjolras tried to follow, but the household servants descended upon them, whisking them up to their rooms with the brisk efficiency of a bar maid sweeping dirt. Grantaire found himself clean and lying in a soft bed in less time than he usually took to change his clothes. He fell asleep faster than he'd ever done without a bottle in his hand.
He woke suddenly, thinking he'd heard a noise. The room was very dark, with only a little moon light filtering through the room's small window. He sat up and listened carefully, but all was silent. He rubbed at his eyes. They were still sore, and his body ached. What was he doing awake in the middle of the night?
He started to lay back down when the door opened. A man stood there, holding a lit lantern with shaky hands. Grantaire caught a whiff of ale.
The man lurched a few steps into the room. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Grantaire's breath caught in his throat. It was Baron Henri. There was a drunk baron in his room. His hair hung in wild tatters to the shoulders of his wine-stained robe. He stank like the worst of unwashed peasants.
"Join me for a drink?"
"A drink?"
The baron staggered closer. Grantaire looked warily at the lantern swinging so wildly near the bed clothes.
"Come on, boy. I know where they keep the good stuff."
The baron's words were slurred, but Grantaire had had a lot of practice listening to drunks over the years. After all the times he'd woken up with his face in the dirt, they practically spoke a common language.
"All right." Grantaire edged over the sight of the bed, closer to the lantern. "Here, let me take that, m'lord." Gently, he pried the lantern from the baron's fingers. He didn't protest.
"Come on, son. Let's get a drink."
Grantaire followed the baron as he staggered down the hallway. All of the servants were asleep, no doubt exhausted from enduring their master all day, and no one came to rescue him. He shook his head as he plodded along the cold floor, wishing this were all a dream. In a way, this situation was even more bizarre than meeting Gajdinok.
"We're almost there." Grantaire winced -- the baron was very loud. It was amazing no one heard them. Resentfully, he wondered if some of the servants had awaken and were pretending otherwise. It was exactly what he should have done. Of course, if he hadn't gotten up, the baron might have set his bed on fire.
The baron led him to the wine cellar. Grantaire managed to follow close behind him as they stumbled down the steep, wooden stairs. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Eugene and explain that his father had broken his neck in the middle of the night.
It was cold in the wine cellar. Grantaire shivered and stared resentfully at the baron, who was too drunk to feel the chill. He lurched happily over to a large cask and slapped it with the palm of his hand.
"This one's my favorite. Came all the way from Abignon. That Merion's got the best damn vineyards." The huge wooden cask had already been tapped. The baron walked up to it and turned the handle, watching with delight as bright red liquid began splashing onto the dirt floor.

"Smell that nectar! Isn't it sweet?" He bent over and lapped at the steady stream like a thirsty dog.
Tired as he was, Grantaire couldn't stand by and watch good wine go to waste. Desperately, he looked around until he spied some goblets resting on a shelf. He grabbed two and hustled over to the baron. When he came up for air, Grantaire filled the goblets and turned off the tap.
Baron Henri didn't seem offended by the interruption. He took a goblet and tapped it against Grantaire's, sloshing wine over the edge. He grinned and drank heartily.
With a heavy sigh, Grantaire took a sip of the wine. It was cool, sweet and refreshing. The best he'd ever tasted. He took a long swallow. He would have to remember this, when he was running Talley's Corner. The people of Savin would love this, and shipping it from Abignon would not be difficult.
Baron Henri sat down on one of the barrels. He'd drained his goblet and held it close to him, staring sadly at nothing. Grantaire had seen this before, the sudden transformation from drunken joy to black despair. It was never pretty. He sat down on another barrel and drank the rest of his own wine -- he had a feeling he was in for a long night.
"Oh, God. Reggie. What am I going to do without you?" The baron dropped his goblet, where it rolled along the hard dirt floor until it clattered against an empty cask. "First my beautiful Lisande. Now my boy. I can't take it. I just can't."
Grantaire felt a lump in his throat as he watched the baron bury his face in his hands, sobbing. He had known this kind of despair when his mother had died. It was a black and terrible thing that no one could penetrate.
The baron looked up at him, his eyes strangely clear. "What am I going to do?" he asked.
Grantaire didn't know what to say. When his mother had died, there was no one around who cared enough to search for words that would make him feel better. Not that any such words existed. Left alone, Grantaire had let himself become bitter and angry. It wasn't what his mother would have wanted, and he regretted it now. But then, at least he had an excuse. He'd been a ten year old boy with no one to turn to. Baron Henri was a full-grown man, and a baron. He had another son who loved him. Grantaire was tempted to walk away and leave him alone with his wine, if that was the kind of company he wanted. He didn't know this man. He owed him nothing.
The baron was still watching him, waiting for an answer. It was hard to walk away from that. Besides, he was Enjolras's friend. For that, at least, Grantaire owed him an honest answer.
"You're going to have to go on living. Whether you like it or not."
"I don't like it." The baron gulped some more wine. "I don't like it at all. My Reggie's gone, and I'm still here. That's not how it was supposed to be."
Grantaire sighed. The baron's whining was getting on his nerves. He was tired, and he didn't have the patience to coddle a drunk. "Fine. Curl up and die. They can bury you right here in the wine cellar. I'm sure Reggie would be proud."
Grantaire just had time to duck when the baron hurled his glass at him. He brushed away the drops of wine that had sprayed his face and stood up, backing away from the baron's angry glare.
"You forget yourself, boy. Who are you? Just some peasant from nowhere. What right have you to lecture me? I rule this barony -- I could have you killed for your insolence."
"I don't think so. I'd be long gone before you sobered up enough to give the order. You don't rule this barony -- not like this. You might as well hand it over to D'Brucie and save him the trouble of killing the rest of you."
Grantaire grabbed the lantern and left, not waiting for the baron to answer. He was too angry. He didn't appreciate being dragged from his bed in the middle of the night to be asked for advice, only to have it thrown back in his face. He stomped up the winding stairs, not caring if he woke anyone up.
It wasn't until he reached the top and opened the door that it hit him what he'd just done -- he'd just provoked a powerful baron in his own home. The man had threatened to kill him. He could do it, too. No matter how drunk he was, his men were still sworn to obey him. Grantaire looked back down the stairs, straining his eyes for some sign of movement where they disappeared in shadow. Nothing stirred. He was alone. But for how long? Grantaire wondered if he would soon regret giving the baron the idea of burying people in the wine cellar.
The lantern was shaking in his hand. Grantaire set it down. He hadn't meant to do it, but he realized he'd left the baron in the dark. It was his only advantage right now. The baron might be too afraid to climb the stairs without a light. Of course, being drunk, he might try it anyway. And break his neck. Grantaire had little doubt who would get the blame for that.
He rubbed at his tired eyes. All he'd wanted was a decent night's sleep -- how had he gotten into this mess? Why couldn't the baron have woken up somebody else? Felix was a priest; surely he could have come up with some better advice. That was his job.
Well, Grantaire was sure of one thing -- he wasn't going to deal with this by himself. He hurried over to Felix's room and went in without knocking. The priest was lying on his back, snoring. Grantaire put the lantern on the bed-side table and shook him none too gently.
"Felix, wake up!"
After a few more shakes, Felix sat up. He winced at the lantern light shining in his eyes. "Grantaire? What's wrong? Is it Enjolras -- is he all right?"
"He's fine. Look, Felix, I need your help. I've done something stupid."
"In your sleep?"
"No, not in my sleep." Grantaire sat down on the edge of the bed and explained what had happened as quickly as he could. Felix was wide awake by the time he'd finished.
"You're right," he said. "Baron Henri could have you killed."
"I know that." Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. "I didn't need you to tell me that, Felix. I need to know what to do about it."
Felix chewed at his lip. "Well, we can't leave the baron down there in the dark."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, I'm not taking him a lantern."
"No." Felix swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his slippers. "I'll take the lantern. You're going to wake up Eugene."
"What for?"
Felix stood and grabbed the lantern. "Because if I can't calm down the baron, you just might need Eugene's protection."
"Oh. Well, if the rest of us can't get any sleep, why should he?" He followed Felix to the door. "What am I supposed to tell him?"
"The truth." Felix gave him a wry look. "But try to be a little less brutal about it this time."
Grantaire watched, feeling abandoned, as Felix disappeared down the hallway with the lantern. He didn't want to wake up Eugene; he hardly knew him. What was he supposed to say -- your father is wandering around drunk and threatening to kill your guests? He was tempted to wake up Enjolras. But that was cowardly and he knew it. Enjolras needed rest more than any of them.
There was no help for it; he'd just have to deal with this on his own. He headed down the hallway, now dimly lit by failing torches, telling himself he had nothing to be afraid of. Eugene seemed like a decent kid -- surely he'd understand.
Grantaire reached Eugene's chamber and rapped on the door. The noise sounded harsh in the slumbering castle. But no one answered. Grantaire knocked again, harder.
Finally, the door creaked open. A young page stood in the doorway, blinking in confusion.
"M'lord? Can I help you?"
"I need to speak to your master."
"What, now?"
"Yes, now. It's very important."
The boy chewed on a fingernail and looked doubtfully up at Grantaire. "I'll have to wake him."
"Then do it."
"Well, all right. Wait here." He shut the door before Grantaire could answer. He paced in front of the door, rehearsing what he was going to say. He wondered how Felix was doing downstairs.
When the door opened again, it was Eugene who stood before him. He wore a sleeping gown, and his eyes were red. "Sir Grantaire, is something wrong?"
"Yes, I..." Grantaire forgot the words he'd been rehearsing. He couldn't even remember what title he was supposed to give Eugene. He felt guilty for waking the kid up -- he looked like he'd been crying.
"Is it Sir Enjolras? He seemed unwell at dinner. I can send for the physician."
"No, it's not Enjolras. I was talking to your father. Just now."
"Oh, I see." Eugene opened the door wider. "Please, come in. Sit down."
Grantaire shuffled inside to find himself in an opulent sitting room. There were eight chairs to choose from, and a velvet-cushioned settee. He picked the closest chair and perched on the edge of it, too nervous to make himself comfortable.
Eugene rang a tiny bell and the page reappeared. Eugene asked him to fetch some brandy, then he sat down and gave his full attention to Grantaire.
"Tell me, what has my father done now?"
"Actually, I think it's partly my fault. I said some things I shouldn't have. I meant well, really I did. But the baron got mad and, well, he threatened to kill me. I'm not sure if he meant it or not, but I don't know your father well, so I didn't stick around to find out."
"Don't worry -- you're safe here. This isn't the first time this has happened. My mother's death was hard on him, and now Reginald..." Eugene stopped as the page returned with snifters of brandy. Grantaire accepted his with trepidation, wondering if he could possibly drink any more tonight.
"I'm sorry," said Eugene. This is my burden to bear, not yours. Tell me, where is my father now?"
"He's in the wine cellar. Felix, I mean Father Felix is with him. I didn't think he should be alone." He decided not to mention having taken the only lantern; he didn't want Eugene to think badly of him.
Eugene stood and reached for the door. He stopped and turned to Grantaire with a weak smile. "I apologize for all of this -- it was a rude awakening for you. There's an extra bed in Sir Enjolras's room. Perhaps it would be best if you spend the rest of the night there."
"Thank you." Grantaire followed Eugene into the hallway. He should have been relieved. He'd safely dumped the drunken baron into someone else's lap, and he could go to bed now. God knew he could use the sleep. But he couldn't rest easy, leaving things like this. He blamed Enjolras's bad influence for causing him to meddle so much in other people's affairs. The old Grantaire would have ignored the baron from the start.
He stopped Eugene's hand when he reached for a torch still burning in its sconce. The boy stared at him in surprise.
"Is there something else?"
"Not exactly. Look, I know I've no right to ask you this. But I want to know what you're going to do about your father."
Eugene frowned. The lines around his eyes deepened, making him look older than his years. "I've already told you that you have nothing to fear. How I deal with my father is not your concern. Please, get some rest."
"Yes, it is my concern. I know it's not my place. I'm a peasant. Well, I guess I'm a knight, but that doesn't mean much. Your father is a powerful baron. I'm very much aware of that. But I've been where he is now. I know what it feels like to be that alone, or think you are. He's down there in that wine cellar because he feels like that's the only comfort he can find."
"Don't you think I know that?" Eugene snatched up the torch, his knuckles white around its stem. "I've tried to help him. But he doesn't want my help. I'm no use to him."
"You could be."
Grantaire watched the boy's hostile expression turn into a wary hopefulness, his eyes glittering in the torch light. "How? How can I help him? I've tried to be patient. I've been kind. What more can I do?"
"Don't be kind. Be honest. No matter how hard it is. Tell him what he's doing to you, and to his people. He needs to hear it from someone he trust, or he'll just keep hiding."
"How can you be so sure?"
"It's something I learned from watching Enjolras. He's honest, always. That's why people trust him, not because he can heal or quote the scriptures. People can count on him to tell them the truth. If he were stronger now, he could do that for your father.
"But he's not. So you have to be."
Eugene gave him a searching look. "It would seem, Sir Grantaire, you have learned something of Enjolras's wisdom, as well as his honesty. I will take your advice, and bid you good night. I trust, this time, that your rest will not be disturbed." He gave a little bow and departed, holding the light before him.
Grantaire yawned. He was so very tired. There were no obligations left to keep him out of bed. No matter what happened now between Eugene and his father, Grantaire had done all he could. He padded down the hallway to Enjolras's room and crept inside. His friend slept soundly, unaware of the night's excitement. Smiling, Grantaire slipped beneath the covers of the extra bed. He barely had time to appreciate the softness of the feather pillow before he was fast asleep.

***


"Grantaire, wake up. It's almost dawn."
Grantaire reluctantly peeled back an eyelid to see Enjolras standing over him with a burning candle in his hand. The barest hint of sunlight peeked through the window behind him.
"It's almost dawn?"
"Yes, Grantaire. We must be going. We have a long ride ahead of us, and little time to spare."
Grantaire sat up and looked closely at Enjolras. It was hard to judge his condition by candle-light, but there seemed to be a brightness in his eyes that had been missing yesterday. He wasn't wearing the sling either -- an encouraging sign.
"You're looking better."
"Thank you, Grantaire. I am much improved. But you seem tired. Are you well? Was something wrong with your room?"
"Oh, well, it got a little crowded." He'd almost forgotten about the baron's late night visit. He wondered how Eugene had fared. "Listen, Enjolras, there's something you need to know. I realize Baron Henri is your friend, but he might not be very happy with us this morning."
"Don't be concerned, Grantaire. I may have spoken to him harshly yesterday, but the baron is not the kind of man to hold a grudge."
"Oh, really?"

"Yes, Grantaire. I know him well."
"So, he wouldn't, for example, threaten to kill someone for saying something offensive to him?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, that's good to know." Grantaire sighed as he hauled himself out of bed. He'd never known Enjolras to misjudge someone so badly. Of course, he'd probably never seen the baron drunk before.
They managed to wash and dress themselves without interference from servants -- no doubt it was too early for them. Grantaire tried to take his time. He wanted to put off facing the baron as long as possible. But Enjolras rushed him. They had four days left to reach San Sebastien, and they couldn't afford to waste any time.
Grantaire was surprised when Felix met them in the hallway; he'd never seen the priest wake up of his own accord. He tried to get the priest's attention to warn him that Enjolras didn't know about the baron, but Felix was busy scrutinizing their friend's condition.
"You're looking better," he said. "Let me see that arm."
Enjolras looked a little embarrassed, but he dutifully held out his arm for inspection. Felix poked at it, then pronounced it nicely mended.
"I'm glad to see it. And you look like you got a good night's sleep. At least one of us will be well rested for this journey."
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't Grantaire tell you what happened with the baron?"
Grantaire backed up a step as they both turned to stare at him. "Well, I was going to. I haven't had a chance yet. Besides, there really isn't time. We'd better get going; we can tell Enjolras all about it on the way."
"Really, Grantaire. We can't just leave without giving our regards to the baron and Eugene."
"We could leave a note."
From the stern look on Enjolras's face, Grantaire knew he was in for a lecture. But he was saved by the timely arrival of a page. He bowed deeply to each of them, a charming gesture from a ruddy-faced child of no more than eight.
"My lords, the baron would like to see you now. Would you please follow me?"
Enjolras returned the page's bow and fell in step behind him. Grantaire and Felix exchanged a nervous glance before following. If Eugene's late night talk with his father had gone badly, this meeting could be about their arrest. The only reason they were greeted by a page instead of armed guards could be courtesy to Enjolras.
The page led them to a vast chamber appointed with rich tapestries and golden candelabras, and little else. Guards flanked a walkway that led to the only chair, an elaborate throne resting on a stone dais. Baron Henri sat on the throne, and Eugene stood by his side.
As they followed the page down the walkway, Grantaire looked at the guards for some clue about the baron's intentions. This was obviously the baron's formal audience chamber, a place where he was accustomed to showing his strength. What Grantaire wanted to know was, did his new-found strength come from his sobering talk with Eugene, or from anger? The stony faces of the guards gave him no clue.
They reached the dais, where he page announced them and departed. At Enjolras's prompting they all bowed to the baron. His expression remained stern, but Grantaire couldn't tell if he was angry. He glanced at Eugene, hoping for a sign. The boy smiled at him, and Grantaire suddenly found it easier to breathe. Eugene would not be smiling if they were about to be executed.
The baron studied them for a moment. Curious, Grantaire dared to meet his gaze. His expression was speculative, as if he couldn't quite decide what to make of his guests. He nodded at Grantaire -- a gesture of gratitude?
"Sir Enjolras," said the baron, "it has been a long time since you last slept within these walls. Too long, I think. Eugene and I are both glad that you have come."
"I am glad to be here, my lord."
The baron smiled. "We are doubly grateful that you brought your two friends here. I had some opportunity to get to know them last night. It was enlightening. I had forgotten how refreshing plain speech can be."
Grantaire caught Enjolras giving him a curious look out of the corner of his eye. He shrugged, as if he didn't know what the baron was talking about.
"Sir Grantaire, Father Felix, I must thank both of you for your advice. It was unwelcome at the time. Good advice often is. I would like to repay you with some advice of my own. Enjolras, my son tells me you intend to try for the throne. You must know how much I would rejoice to see you as our king; you would be the best kind of ruler Cambrai could hope for.
"But I must urge you to give it up. D'Brucie will cut you down like he did Reginald. Cambrai can not afford to lose you."
Grantaire looked at Felix, wondering if it were an accident that the baron now echoed the priest's words. Felix me this gaze briefly, then looked away, his guilty expression betraying everything. He'd promised to stand by Enjolras, and Grantaire knew he would. But that didn't mean Felix would stop doing everything he could to talk him out of this mission.
Enjolras looked steadily up at the baron. "My lord, I know your advice comes from your affection for me, and I thank you for it. But Nigel D'Brucie must be stopped. If he becomes king, Cambrai will be a country ruled by thieves and murderers. We three must go to San Sebastien to offer the Archbishop a better choice."
"Enjolras, think of all that stands in your way. You have four days to cover near two hundred miles. That leaves you no time to be subtle in your route; no time for anything but a straight, hard ride to the city. All D'Brucie has to do is leave a few assassins behind to stop you. You can't possibly succeed."
"We will succeed, sir. With God's help, and yours."
"My help?" The baron stood, towering over them. "You want me to help you throw your lives away, you and your brave friends? You know I could force you to stay here. Your father, Enjolras, would thank me for it."
"Perhaps once, sir. But he understands now why I must do this. Please, don't try to stop me. For my sake, and for Cambrai, we must go to San Sebastien. I beg you to help us get there."
From the stern look on the baron's face, Grantaire thought he would refuse. Eugene stepped close to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Father, how can you even think of refusing him? Nigel D'Brucie killed Reginald. We can't stand by and let him take the throne. Helping Enjolras is our best chance of avenging Reggie's death."
The baron regarded his son for a moment, for once giving serious weight to his opinion. Then he smiled.
"My son is very wise. He must get it from his mother. Enjolras, I will grieve more than you know if anything should happen to you. But your life is your own to risk, and you do so with good cause. I will do all I can to help you. Horses, soldiers, anything I can give is yours for the asking."
Enjolras bowed. "Thank you, my lord."
"You know, Enjolras, when we first heard stories of you performing miracles in San Genevieve, Reginald was the first to believe them. He said it was just like you to run off and become a saint without telling anyone. You'll succeed, Enjolras, as you always have. You'll be our new king. That will be the sweetest revenge of all, won't it?"
"Yes, sir. I believe Reginald would approve."

They prepared to leave as their supplies, necessarily light, were gathered together and saddled on to the horses. With Baron Henri and Eugene to direct their efficient service, this took almost no time at all. Enjolras thanked the baron for his helpfulness, but to Grantaire helpful did not begin to describe all the baron had done for them. He had given them his finest horses, and sent messengers to arrange for fresh mounts along the way. Knowing their best chance to survive lay in escaping notice, he had conceded to their refusal of an armed escort. Instead he had sent groups of them along different routes towards San Sebastien, hoping the casual observer would assume that Enjolras must be among them. A messenger rode to Enjolras's family in Cheval to explain hat they might need some help along the way. With precautions like this, Grantaire thought they just might make it to San Sebastien after all.
"Just remember," the baron urged, "what's at stake here is more important than Reginald's memory. For all the people of Cambrai, you must succeed."
Enjolras embraced his old friend. "We will, sir. God willing, we will not fail."





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