FRANCE
Waking up alone always felt blue. Detangling herself from the dregs of her dreams in a bed made for two that held only one was a curse that Mary hated second only to pulling herself out from underneath the covers. Mary held her eyes shut for a moment, not yet ready to acknowledge the arrival of a new day. She turned towards Francis's side of the bed. The mattress was cold, but when she forced her eyelids open there was a note on his pillow. Good morning, my love — it read. There are some matters I must attend to, but I will be back. I have a surprise for you. I'll tell you what it is on the way there. Love, Francis.
Mary smiled at the smudges his left hand made as it travelled across the words it had already written. The language was made for the right handed people of the world, yet the special ones, like her Francis, managed to break free of the norm.
She brought the paper over to the table in the room and dipped a quill into the ink pot. She signed a swirling I love you too before setting down her pen. It was a silly message she had written, one that Francis would doubtless never read, but it brought a fire into her heart. And this surprise Francis was talking about, well that would be an adventure. She started to draw absentmindedly. There was no better way to spend a morning than on one of Francis's adventures. Granted she had nearly lost a horse and a limb on the last one, but the way that his smile looked when he was outside of the world of the castle, that was what she loved the most about them.
The door to the bed chamber swung open, and footsteps echoed on the cold marble. "Good morning, my love," Francis said, nestling his face in the nook between her neck and her shoulder. Mary reached up to stroke his face.
"Good morning," She said.
"What are you drawing?" Francis said as he picked the note up. "Is it some sort of…some sort of…"
"I'm not quite sure what it is, it just happened I suppose," Mary said, painfully aware of her writing on the note. It was true that she loved him, and he knew that, but it was the writing of it that conveyed a sense of childishness she hated to acknowledge.
"Well," Francis said, "I think that it looks like an elegant serpent."
"A snake? The limit of my artistic abilities is a snake?"
"An elegant serpent is so much more than a snake. For example, only my wife has the skill to create such an elaborate drawing."
"Here, let me see," Mary demanded. Francis handed her the paper. She stared at it for a moment. "It's not quite an elegant serpent. I'd say it's more of…a speckled worm."
"A speckled worm? I thought you meant to envision something much grander."
"Unfortunately I can only work with what I'm given."
Francis smiled and took the note back from her. He folded it and put it in the pocket of his embroidered coat. "So," he said, "are you curious about my surprise for you?"
"Of course," Mary said.
"Well, like I said, I'll tell you exactly what it is on the way there, but one thing I will tell you is that you should change out of your nightclothes. And wear something you can move around in easily."
"Wonderful," Mary said. "Ladies's dresses have the most acclaimed mobility throughout all of France."
Francis put a hand on her shoulder. "I suppose, if you're open to the suggestion, Mary, I could lend you my wardrobe for the morning."
Mary rose out of her chair and planted a kiss on Francis's cheek. "My Francis. Always full of surprises. I think I will accept your offer. To adventure!" she declared.
Swords of various shapes and sizes lined the grey stone walls. They hung there, casting reflections of the rising sun onto the walls across from them. The rest of the room was bare except for a rack of still more swords and a table at the far end of the room. Inside were whetstones and polishers for metal and leather.
Laughter came from the hallway outside the door. "And you want to teach me to fight?" Mary asked.
"Well, it's not that I think that drawing worms or milking a goat is not a useful skill to have, but maybe growing acquainted with a sword would be more … applicable to you."
"With your mother it will be," she said. "One day I'm going to make you learn how to milk a goat. We'll go to a farm, and the King of France will sit on a stool and squeeze a goat's teats."
The doors opened, and Francis pulled Mary into the room. Mary's breath caught in her chest. "Oh, Francis," Mary said. "Did you make all of these?"
"All but the ones in that rack there."
"Francis, they're beautiful."
"I'm glad you think so. Choose one."
Mary pushed away from him to search his face. "What?"
"Pick a sword. I want you to have one. It'll be too long for you now, but I'll shorten it, and then it will be perfect for you."
"No, Francis, keep your swords. I couldn't take one away from you."
"Mary, look around. I have plenty. I want you to have one. Choose."
Mary bit her cheek. The shine of a sword broke her train of thought and her resolve. "Alright. I pick that one," she said and pointed to the sword casting the sun in her face.
Wordlessly, Francis stepped over to the wall and took down the sword. He held it for a moment, caressing the sweet whisper of metal. He did not say a goodbye to it, but rather smiled at its future. He walked it back to Mary, both hands extended. "For you," he said.
Mary reached forward and inserted her hands underneath the swords blade to lift it free of Francis's hands. She reached around and grabbed the sword's hilt. She stood there frozen as though she were a statue. She looked at the blade, looked at Francis, then looked back at the blade before she broke out in hysterics. "Oh, Francis," she said, "I have utterly no idea how I am supposed to hold this."
Francis chuckled. "Let me show you." He walked around behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "Move your right hand higher up on hilt, and put your left hand just after the pommel of the sword. Like so," he said as he slid her hands to their designated positions on the leather.
Mary pressed into him to feel his heat. "And how do I use it?"
"Here," Francis said. He pulled away from her, and Mary's back grew cold. He grabbed two swords from the wall. "We'll want to use these for now," he said, handing her one of the swords. These swords had dulled tips, and their edges were flat. Mary put the first sword back where it had come from and faced Francis. She put her right hand above her left and gripped the sword's leather hilt just the way he had shown her. "The first thing you have to learn is how to stand," Francis said. "Put your feet apart, slightly more than the distance of your hips, and bend your legs. Put your strongest foot in the back. Likely it's on the same side as the hand you write with." Francis demonstrated the stance as he explained it, and Mary copied it. "This way you are prepared for anything." Francis jumped forward, forcing Mary's feet to instinctively carry her back. "You see? Your mind already knows the basics of fighting."
Mary laughed. "I suppose that's true."
"Now there are specific areas you are looking to strike others and where your opponents are looking to strike you: the upper arms, shoulders, torso, and thighs." Francis tapped these spots on her body with his sword as he said them. She shivered at the cold kiss of the steel. "Of course, you also want to protect your neck," he said.
"There are four main attacks that your opponent will try to use," Francis continued. "All others are variations on these attacks, and can be defeated in the same method. The first one is this." He held his arms above his head with his wrists crossed. His sword extended from his arm like a viper poised to strike. "From this position I can twist my top arm down to cut your upper arm, ribs, or thigh. I can strike quickly and with such strength that it can be extremely hard to stop."
"Then how do I prevent a blow like this?" Mary asked.
"Put your sword up in front of you and move it forward. You will clash swords with me and slow down my blow."
"But you said I could not stop this attack. How would slowing it help me?"
Francis smiled. "This is the fun part. You moved your sword forward because it would slow me down faster, but also to gain more space. With my blow moving at a slower speed, you can flip your blade around mine by lifting your elbows. Here, try it."
He slowly took the blade over his head and began cutting towards Mary's ribs. Mary's brow furrowed in concentration as she moved her hands forward. Their blades clinked together. "Good," Francis said. "Now flip your blade over mine." Mary lifted her elbows and spun her sword around to tap Francis's side. "Now you're a true professional." Francis smiled at her.
The door banged open. Francis and Mary pulled apart from one another to face Bash. "Well," he said, "this is not quite the embarrassing entanglement I thought I would find you in this morning, but it might be just as good."
Mary blushed, and Francis said, "Bash," in the tone of voice so that Bash would know that Francis was displeased, but Bash smiled. Francis was blushing too.
"Anyways," Bash said, "Catherine has told me that the two of you are needed in the Map Room immediately. And she doesn't seem happy."
"Thank you, Bash," Francis said, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder as Bash left. Francis turned toward Mary. "I suppose it's time to practice the art of verbal attacks."
"What do you mean Netherlands has struck at our borders?" Mary asked.
"Mary, I simply mean that the people who live in Netherlands have used weapons to take control of several towns on our shared border," Catherine de Medici replied.
"But why?" Mary asked.
"Why doesn't matter," Catherine snapped. "What matters is that Netherlands has tested your strength, Francis. You need to fight back. And what in God's name are you wearing, Mary?" Catherine asked with a look at Mary's trousers.
"It's not important right now, Catherine," Mary spat back.
"Mary, Mother, stop fighting for one moment, I need to understand what is happening here," Francis said.
"What's happening is that they are making a fool of France," Catherine said.
"Francis, look," Mary said. She pointed toward the huge map on the wall. "Those towns they attacked, what do they all have in common?"
Francis took in a sharp breath. "Oh, Mary Stuart, you are a genius. Mother, those are all towns with grain stores. They're not trying to invade France, they're trying to get grain. It's not surprising really, with the recent uprising. They've had a food shortage, and now with the revolt against Spain they have no where to turn for help."
"Francis, open your eyes," Catherine said, placing her hands on her son's shoulders. "I implore you to look beyond the surface of this situation. They have a revolt against Spain. France is what stands between Netherlands and Spain. Your sister is married to the King of Spain."
"Catherine, that's ridiculous. They're just trying to feed their families," Mary retaliated. "The answer to this situation is in a diplomatically negotiated trade deal. They are a new country, they don't know how to handle themselves. If France shows them the way, then Netherlands will be indebted to us."
Catherine scoffed at Mary. "Even if that's their only goal, you know that their plight is great. In order to invade France they must have exhausted all other resources. You want to offer a trade deal, Mary? The best terms they will offer you will be your life. France's grain stores cannot sustain two countries. Given the choice between slowly starving to death from sharing grain or thriving from taking it all, I assure you that they will choose to take all of our grain."
"Enough!" Francis slammed his hands on the table. Catherine's mouth closed slowly, words dying on her tongue. "I have made up my mind," Francis said. "France will send troops to the France-Netherlands border."
"Francis!" cried Mary.
"Thank you, my son," Catherine said as she caressed his cheek.
"But," Francis said removing his mother's hand from his face, "they are not going there to attack Netherlands. They are going with a negotiator, whom I will inform of the acceptable terms, and they are going to see that the negotiator gets a meeting with whomever is leading Netherlands. Should there be fighting on the border at that time, the troops there will fight on behalf of France for the villagers there."
"But, Francis," the both of them said simultaneously. They stopped, looked at one another, and then Catherine dipped her head towards Francis. She exited quickly.
"Francis, is this what you think is best?" Mary asked. "Don't let me change what you feel. You have good instincts. Do you believe that they aren't coming for France, for you?"
Francis took her hands in his. "Mary, you and my mother never agree, but if there is one thing I know, it's that neither of you would put me, or France, in danger. I trust her, and I trust you. This is the best option for France."
Mary swallowed. "Alright then."
Francis tightened his grip on her hands. "Mary, I would never put you in danger. Never doubt that. Every decision I make is for France, but it is for you too."
"My life is not what I am concerned about," Mary said, caressing his face.
"I will be fine, Mary. France will be fine."
ON THE BORDER BETWEEN FRANCE AND NETHERLANDS
The flag of Netherlands whipped in the wind, attempting to tear itself off its pole. A man stood below it, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore a full suit of armor, and his cape flapped around him in an array of blues, whites, and oranges.
"My lord?" A soldier said as he approached the man from behind.
The man did not move from his statue like stance.
"My lord. There is news." The soldier hurried through his message, not pausing for interruptions he knew the man would not give. "The towns you sent us to take have been captured. The grain will be sent back immediately, and the weapon stores have been distributed among the men. France's soldiers have retreated. The negotiator's head is on a pike. The path toward Versailles and the throne of France is open."
"Look," the man said as though he had not heard the soldier at all. "What do you see?"
The soldier shuffled his feet. "My lord, well, I see France. All her rolling hills, her lakes, her fields. I see the skeleton of our neighboring country."
The man laughed. "A poet in our midst." The soldier blushed. "Poet," the man said, "what you see, what you say, all of France," the man turned to face the soldier, "that will be ours."
A fire flickered in the soldier's stomach as he stared into the face of William of Orange. He felt the glow of revolution that William of Orange had begun but years before in the country that was yet to be Netherlands, and now there was not just independence in the future, but the control of France. And William was going to lead them to it.
"Yes," the soldier said. "All of France."
FRANCE
Francis waved along the concoction of potions meant to cure him of his cough. When the king became ill the whole castle was either trying to save or poison him, and sometimes those who meant to save him were so hasty in their eagerness to do so that they ended up giving him poison. It was an occupational hazard. The main reason Francis didn't take one of their potions was because they always tasted like dirt or metal, and no one would willingly subject themselves to the hell of drinking one.
Mary reached over and took his hand. "Francis, how are you feeling?"
Francis squeezed her hand. "Better now than this morning, though I can't say the same of our situation with Netherlands. Our grains stolen, their men moving forward while ours move back. It's not a situation I like to be in."
"And the diplomat, Lord Hugh. The one you sent to negotiate with Netherlands at my urging. What will his family do? His wife must be in torment, but maybe the children are too young to understand. Francis, what do I do? Lord Hugh died for me."
"Lord Hugh died for France. He was a true hero, and his family knows that. We must do what we can to protect France. Meanwhile we have done what we can for his family. I will be here by your side for anything you need."
Mary lifted his hand and kissed it gently. "Thank you," she said.
Francis stood up and led her down the steps to the floor of the throne room. "For now, we must figure out what to do about Netherlands. My mother was right, they are threatening France. They must be halfway to the castle as we speak. Even now they might be-"
"Curtains!" Lyra screamed as she stormed into the courtroom. "My husband dead, for you, and your remedy is to change my curtains!"
Mary's stomach tightened. "Lady Lyra, please. I understand your pain. Lord Hugh was brave, and it seems that God is determined to take the best and bravest from us first."
"God did not take my husband," Lyra growled. "You did. You gave the order for him to march to the border. And what could you know of my pain? If you knew anything of my pain you would never ask another man to fight in your meaningless wars."
"Lady Lyra," Francis warned.
The spark of wildness faded in Lyra's eyes as she looked at Francis. "Your Majesty, I beg your pardon. It's just that he was my husband, you see? He was my world, and he is gone. No curtains, rugs, or portraits can cover up that fact." The words stumbled out of her mouth now. "He was the man I was sure would always be there at night to hold me, and to hear my troubles. And he was just here. He was just here, and I could have touched his hand one more time, and I could have told him that I loved him one more time. I could have apologized for all the things I had done wrong, and he could have smiled at me. Draperies will not place his head back on his shoulders, and they will not force air into his lungs. What use do I have for curtains if they cannot bring me back my life?"
Francis approached her and hesitantly stood before her. He reached out and took her soft hand. She looked at her hand and then back up to Francis. "It is always harder for whomever is left behind," Francis said. He looked up towards the high arches of the throne room. "Do the dead have regrets? Do they watch us from heaven and mourn us as we mourn them?" He looked at Lyra. "Do they know how strong we must to be to heal ourselves? Lady Lyra, there is much that I do not know, but I too have lost someone close to me. My father was not always the best king, but he was my father. Queen Mary lost one of her closest friends soon after she arrived in France. We do know your pain. I cannot speak for Mary, but if there is anything that I have learned from my father's death, it is that the wound will heal. It will take time, yes, and there will be days when you think that you cannot go on. But you will heal. Lady Lyra, accept our gifts, not as payment for your husband's death, but as our condolences. Stay at court with our blessing, and heal here where you can be near friends. Lord Hugh will be missed by us all."
When Francis released her hand it remained there, hovering in the air, for a moment. There were tears carving a path down her face. Francis turned before he let the same water prick his own eyes. Mary, too, felt his words weigh on her. Lady Lyra turned and walked from the throne room. Her footfalls punctuated the eerie quiet that was rarely present in the light of day. Mary draped an arm around Francis. "That was a beautiful thing you said to her."
Francis pulled Mary close and held her so that she could feel every beat of his racing heart. He took a breath and whispered into her neck, "I am afraid, Mary. That will not be the last time I say such a thing to a widow before this war is done. We need troops. We need men. We need lives, and I am afraid to ask for them."
Mary hugged him even closer. "I will be by your side."
Amelie wasn't in the castle when the order was issued. She had hung up her apron and walked in her sorry excuse of shoes on the King's Road to the village. She carried a pouch of gold pieces by the permission of King Francis, and it was that which she had placed in a hidden pocket of her dress. She covered the weight of the gold by bunching up fabric around the pocket.
There had been news of a Spanish merchant selling spices, which was her official business in the market, but there was also a young, scrawny boy. He had just passed fifteen, and his name was Tristian. Amelie had been sneaking scraps from the palace kitchens to give to him when they met in the marketplace. She couldn't, of course, give him the gold from the castle, but she provided for him. He was her brother after all.
The market was as it always was, hurried and crowded. Amelie's basket was filled with bones and crusts of bread as she searched for Tristian in the frenzy. She lifted her head in hopes of seeing a mop of red hair. With her neck extended and her eyes off the road, her foot caught on the road. She stumbled onto the man in front of her, barely saving herself from a fall.
"Watch your step," the man in front of her said.
"Sorry, sir," Amelie responded, hugging her dress around her. She was nearly past the man when she felt a pull on her dress and heard a rip. She spun around in time to see the last of the coins fall to the ground.
The man stood there, looking at the coins on the earth. "That's the King's coin," he said.
Amelie knelt to gather the coins. "I warn you," she said, "I am in the employment of the king, and this is the coin he gave me to buy spices for his meal. This is the property of the king, and should you take a single one of these twenty six pieces I will know and I will come after you."
The man laughed, "Of course, miss." Amelie blushed. "No, please," the man said, "I too am in the employment of the king. Very recently, I am afraid, but I will have time to spend his coins to enjoy what maybe the last days of my life. I understand what your situation is, no one trusts anyone carrying the King's coin unless he is the king himself. Though maybe I have not quite been in your predicament," the man said with a glance at Amelie's exposed leg.
Amelie blushed all the more furiously as she tried to cover her leg. "I would appreciate some help if you are in a position to give some," she snapped.
"Of course," the man said. He knelt down and scraped up the last few coins. "Here," he said, handing her a small leather pouch. "A bag to replace the one you lost."
"Thank you," Amelie said. "Please, what's your name?"
"Jerard," he replied. "And yours?"
"Amelie."
"Amelie." He rolled the word around in his mouth. He smiled. "You have a beautiful name, Amelie."
"Thank you," Amelie said. Jerard poured the coins into the bag, and Amelie added hers as well. She took the bag from him, then paused. "You said that you are recently employed by the king. What are you employed as?"
"The only work the king would ask of me," he said bitterly. "To become a soldier."
Amelie's heart stopped for a moment. "The king is conscripting?"
"Do the wars ever cease?"
"There is peace now. The wars have stopped. There was a skirmish up near Netherlands, but-"
"The king has declared war on Netherlands. He says that they are attacking our border. They are advancing toward Versailles as we speak."
"Versailles? The king will want every available soldier at the ready then."
"Every man over fourteen I am told."
Amelie swallowed. Tristian. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry, but I must be on my way."
" 'Till next time then, eh?"
Amelie flashed a worried smile at Jerard before she scurried off toward the tiny room where Tristian lived.
She darted around the corner of the main street to the alleyway. Her feet guided themselves through the twists and turns of the path before she stood in front of a wooden door.
She knocked. "Celine? Celine, is Tristian in? Celine?"
The door swung open. An old woman with a forest of gray for hair stared at Amelie with her eagle black eyes. "You, young missy, are going to yell loud enough for the landlord down the street to hear that I've been keeping boarders. And then where will your brother be?" Celine turned into the house. "Dax," she said to the boy sleeping in the window well, "where's Tristian?"
Dax yawned and stretched his too short to reach the sides of the window well arms. "Tristian left," he said rubbing his eyes.
"Left?" Amelie asked. "Left where?"
"Not sure," Dax said. "Said he was going to protect us. Don't know what Tristian thinks he can protect us from."
"Dax, was Tristian carrying anything with him?" Celine asked.
"Everything from his corner. Had it all tied up in a sack he did. He took some bread too. I tried to stop him, but he pushed his way out and said his sister would bring us food. That was good enough for me. Did you bring us any food, Amelie?"
Amelie showed him the contents of his basket before handing it to Celine. "That will do fine," Celine said. "Don't know what the boy was thinking, taking bread like that without asking or paying for it."
"I think he was conscripted," Amelie told her.
Celine's glittering eyes went dead. "Conscripted?" she whispered. "No. No, they don't want boys Tristian's age. Sixteen, that's when they start taking them."
"I ran into a soldier in the marketplace. He told me they were taking anyone over fourteen."
"He would have left a note, something explaining where he went," Celine reasoned with herself.
"Tristian has always wanted to fight for the king. He wouldn't risk you dragging him out of camp by his ear," Amelie argued back.
"Dear lord," Celine said. "Dax, when did Tristian leave?"
Dax scratched his head. "It was…somewhere 'round…maybe…yesterday morning?"
"Yesterday morning!" Celine hollered.
"Well, he said not to tell anyone. He said he was going on a secret mission to save us.
He said you were going to be coming around, Amelie, and that he had to leave with his group before you got here."
"So he's gone," Amelie said, the life draining out of her.
Celine swallowed, and Dax looked around. "He'll be alright though, won't he?"
Amelie didn't answer.
The map of France had been laid out on the table and wooden figurines were positioned around the towns with troops. "If we send six companies to the front lines, we can contain them. Four should split to cover the two sides, and two ought to go right down the middle," Catherine said as she slid the wooden men toward one another.
"If we send two companies down the middle, they will see our men from miles off. Those men will be dead as soon as they're in range," Mary said. She picked up the men and put them back to where Catherine had moved them from.
"It's not a pleasant job, but somebody has to be be the bait," Catherine snapped. "Don't allow your soft heart to prevent my son from keeping his crown."
"My heart is not what is telling me what is wrong with this plan of yours, it is my eyes. You are wasting men here. Men who could be fighting elsewhere. You call me soft hearted as though you question my ability to rule," Mary said.
"Oh I do dear, but for your sake let's keep that between us." Catherine smirked at Mary.
"Catherine, take these men you are wasting and put them somewhere where they can be useful. Add them to the ones flanking the army of Netherlands. They can fight well there."
"They will die just as easily there as they would facing their enemies like real soldiers."
"You would sacrifice them for the sake of time."
"It's more valuable than gold, some would say."
"But the lives of these men are not."
"Mary, it is the duty of these men to protect their nation."
"It is mine and Francis's duty to protect our subjects."
"Then wrap your head around the cost, Mary. Two companies of men. It takes but two companies of men to ensure the safety of France, and you will not pay the price of peace."
"Not if it means killing these men, who, contrary to your belief, do not have to die to save France."
"Then France will have no peace," Catherine said. "Mary, Francis sent us here to devise a strategy. He needs us to come to a solution, which will not happen if you continue sticking to your ill thought out strategy."
"My plan will save France and as many French subjects as possible."
"Well you certainly haven't had any qualms before about sacrificing unnecessary lives in a war before."
"If this is about the war in Scotland we don't have time for this. Later you can hurl your insults at me, Catherine, but, like you said, Francis needs our help now. And as soon as you stop fighting for your ridiculous plan, we can present him with what we agree upon."
"Fine. I am willing to agree on two companies down the middle with two companies on either side to surround the army of Netherlands."
"Catherine!" Mary slammed her hand on the table. "Have you not heard a single word I have been saying?" Catherine's blank face stared at her. Mary wrung her hands and stared at the ceiling. "Catherine, every fiber of my being is telling me not to do this, but I think we can come to a compromise. Three companies on the east, two on the west, with the river acting as another border, and one company in the middle as bait." Catherine examined her nails. "Catherine, please!" Mary pleaded.
Catherine looked up at Mary, her mouth curved in a smirk. "Well no need to get testy, Mary. I suppose that something of that manner could be arranged." Mary let out a breath. "But I get to sit on your throne for a day," Catherine threw in. Mary glared at her. "Half a day," Catherine said. Mary leaned forward. "Three hours." Mary's hands tightened into fists. "Fine!" Catherine threw her hands in the air. "One hour."
Mary leaned back and rubbed her temples. "Fine."
Catherine smiled. "Let's go tell the king of our plan then, shall we?"
The room cleared itself for them when they entered because of a combination of Catherine's stare and Mary's cough. Francis flicked his hand to dismiss the attendant. "Francis," Catherine said once the room was empty but for them. "Mary and I have come to an agreement. We will have three companies-"
"Stop," Francis interrupted.
Catherine stepped back as her chest tightened. She looked at him, really looked at him. She saw his eyes were heavy, and his head was stooped. The wood in the arm of the chair seemed chipped where his fingers rested. His shoulders slumped, and it seemed as though the crown atop his head were crushing him. "What's happened?" she demanded.
Francis rested his head in his hands. "Netherlands," was all he said.
Mary walked up the steps to where he sat, and she knelt in front of him. "Francis," she said, "what's more is wrong with Netherlands?"
Francis gave a wry laugh. "What more is wrong?" he asked. He drew his hand down his face. "What more is wrong. Mary, Netherlands has slipped armies into our country."
"Yes," Mary said, "Catherine and I have come up with a plan to counter their attack."
"No, Mary. You came up with a plan to counter one of their attacks. It's not your fault. The information never made it to court."
"Francis," Catherine said.
"Mother, Netherlands has slipped through our lands undiscovered. I don't know how, but they did it. They must have sent ships across the ocean because they infiltrated us from the north as well as the east. There may even be nobles here at court who are sheltering this foreign army. There is no one to trust, and now Netherlands is but at the castle door." Francis gripped his throne. "We are all but dead. France is all but lost."