did. Including my brother. He surrendered and laid down his sword, as noble knights have done since the time of Charlemagne, expecting quarter and ransom. Instead”—Maraud shoots Cassel a look heated enough to melt iron—“the general accepted his surrender and his sword, then beheaded him there on the field.”
A collective gasp goes up among the king’s advisors, and the bishops cross themselves.
The king turns cold eyes on his general. “Is this true?”
General Cassel stands rigidly straight, shoulders back. “It is true that I slayed enemy combatants, Your Majesty. Traitors who had taken up arms against their rightful sovereign. My instructions were to put down the duke’s insurrection at any cost.”
“I meant spare no effort and explore all tactics. I did not mean to spit on the accepted form of honorable surrender and kill in cold blood.”
The general’s hands twitch ever so slightly, and he shifts his gaze to the wall behind the king.
“Ives was my last surviving brother. When the general learned who I was, he devised a different fate for me.”
“A hostage,” the king says.
“Yes. A message was sent to my father, informing him that the price of returning his last remaining son was preventing the marriage of Anne of Brittany to Count d’Albret and arranging for the duchy to fall into French hands.”
“He lies!” The words explode from the general. “He was dressed as a common mercenary. I did not know he was Crunard’s son.”
“Is this true?”
“I was dressed as a mercenary, sire, but it was well known that as a fourth son, I fought with the mercenaries who served Brittany rather than under my father’s banner.”
The king leans forward, his face almost hungry. “You defied your father?”
“We had different ideas on how a man should live his life, what loyalty looked like, and where our duties lay.”
The king carefully banks all the questions burning within him and instead asks, “What happened then?”
“I was imprisoned at Baugé, then taken to Cognac and placed in Angoulême’s dungeon.” The king’s glance darts briefly in my direction. “I was held for nearly a year before being placed in the oubliette.”
The king unleashes his full anger on the general. “You took a man of noble birth who was deserving of every honor and courtesy, not to mention ransom, and put him in one of those rat holes?”
Cassel gives a sharp shake of his head. “That was not on my order, Your Majesty.”
“Then whose?”
Maraud lets the silence draw out before saying, “I believe it was the regent’s.”
Chapter 101
“Yet more lies, Your Majesty!” The regent shoves her way through the small wall of advisors between her and the king.
“He does not lie, Madame.” My own voice echoes into the room, surprising everyone. It is also the first time Maraud sees me. A brief measure of warmth crosses his face, then is gone, nothing in his expression indicating that we are acquainted. “You forget that I, too, resided at Cognac and can confirm the order you sent Count Angoulême.”
For a moment, I half fear the regent will launch herself at me and strangle me with her bare hands. “How do you know?”
I say nothing—she knows I am convent sent, and she can guess how I acquired such information. Feeling the room turn against her, she glares at me a moment longer, then collects herself before returning her attention to the king. “If he was placed in such a fetid rat hole, how does he come to be here at court in front of us?”
“Would you care to enlighten us?” the king asks Maraud.
“After I had been in the pit for weeks—possibly months, time has no meaning there—I heard a voice.” His own has fallen into the rhythm of the mummers when they tell stories. The king, the bishops, even the general and regent hang on every word. “Since I was certain I was dying, I thought it an angel, but no. It was a lady, a lady who served the convent of Saint Mortain—”
The bishops take in a collective gasp, and the king’s gaze darts to me once again, but briefly.
“She brought me water, fed me. Spoke with me and pulled me back from the darkness that had encircled me for so long.” I am struck by how he tells the story, making me out to be the hero of it. “I trusted her enough to share my tale.” How easily he polishes over all the distrust between us. “When it was time for her to leave Cognac, she freed me from my prison out